The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(85)

There was a rustle from the tent wall, and the kishion slipped inside. In his presence, the small comfort she had derived from the tome faded. When Suzenne saw him, she grew pale with fear and the tendons in her hands stiffened.

The kishion looked from the two of them to the tome, and a smirk hovered on his mouth. He looked restless, full of energy. She had not seen him throughout the journey, but she had sensed he was there, lurking in the shadows. Always just out of sight. Always watching her.

“Out,” he said dismissively to Suzenne.

She did not move, her eyes staring into his cold ones with fear and resolve.

“I wish her to stay,” Maia said softly, firmly, keeping her grip on Suzenne’s hands.

“If you wish her to hear what I have to tell you, so be it,” he replied with a scowl. “It matters not.”

“Say what you must,” Maia sighed, forcing herself to be patient. She stared up at him, feeling the mood in the tent shift. He looked edgy and nervous. He kept glancing back at the tent door as if he expected soldiers to come rushing in.

“We should go. Tonight,” he said to her.

“Where?” she demanded. “To Muirwood?”

He snorted with laughter. “Do you really think an abbey will save you? Of course you do, look at that tome.” He scrubbed his gloved hand through his mass of hair, as if trying to scratch a violent itch. “The end is nigh, Maia. The Naestors are almost here, and they did not leave their victory to chance. They will not stop until you are dead and your people are murdered. I know you cannot abide this thought. That you cannot dwell on the fact that so many will be slain in cold blood. But believe me, I know these people. I am a Naestor.”

Maia had rarely seen him so emotional. “I know what they intend. I believe you.”

“Then come with me!” he seethed, stepping forward. Suzenne looked shocked, her face struggling to conceal her revulsion. “They are encircling you. Like hunters cornering a deer. They send the dogs to flush you out. But soon it will be spears and arrows. It is almost too late. Once the circle closes, it is over.” His eyes were wild with intensity. “These are not your father’s soldiers . . . they are not knights. They do not fight with honor, but with ruthlessness and savagery.” He stepped back from her, his voice low and compelling. “Each man has multiple weapons. Spears, throwing axes, battle-axes, and swords. Each man carries a shield, which they will wedge together to create a wall. Throw a man against that wall and he cannot break through. Throw a dozen men and they still will not manage to budge it. Then the soldiers will jab at you with their spears. They will hook you with axes. The wall will advance and advance and advance, and you will have no way of stopping it. Not with arrows. Not with a battering ram! They are trained like this. Each unit travels with a Dochte Mandar to keep fear away and to embolden the men to murder. They are connected like a hive of bees, and they swarm and sting. Maia, your knights have never faced this sort of enemy before. Naestors are quick, they are fearless, and they are numberless. It is not an army. It is a horde.”

Maia stared at him, her mind full of the sight and sound of clashing men, screaming in guttural tones as they slew their enemies. She closed her eyes, quelling the violent thoughts. Then she opened her eyes and stared at him with as much serenity as she could muster. “The Medium will deliver us.”

He looked at her with disdain. “I knew you were going to say something trite like that.” He grunted with ill humor.

Maia shook her head. “The Medium can be forced, it is true. But do not be deceived. That is not the true order of things. If we trust it and if we believe in it, the Medium can save us. All you do is poison my mind with your words. The Medium is not warning us to flee these shores. It commands that we gather together, that we summon our wills together to withstand the Naestors.”

“They will make you watch,” he said in a low, strangled voice. “You do not understand the violence of which these men are capable. I have trained with them, Maia. I have fought alongside these war bands, seen them destroy villages and raze cities!” His jaw quivered. “I cannot bear to watch them destroy you too. Come with me. Tonight!”

His thoughts were so powerful, his will so strong, Maia felt a trickle from the Medium nudge against her. Part of his mind opened to her in that moment. Just a flicker of insight, a flash of intention. He was not trying to deceive or trick her. He was a desperate man who had never felt love in his life until now, and the object of his secret, sacred feelings was about to be butchered and massacred in a way that would devastate him. He was trying to protect her, not just from death, but from witnessing the savage atrocity of his people. He had absolutely no doubt that Corriveaux would win.

Maia rose from the table and approached him deliberately, using her force of will to counter his. She stared into his eyes, watching his look turn pained. As if being too near her hurt him.

She reached out and took his hand between hers. His heavy, gloved, murderous hand. She watched as his neck muscles stiffened at her touch. He stared at her in confused amazement.

“I know your heart,” she whispered to him. “But I cannot give you what you seek. I love another.”

He frowned at the words. A cold and chilling frown. “He is a dead man. Everyone you love will be taken from you.”

“Even so,” Maia said, holding him fast. “I will not surrender. I will not abandon my people. If they are to die, if it is the Medium’s will that we perish, then I will perish with them. Do not ask me to go with you. I cannot forsake my people. And the Medium will not forsake those who believe.”