The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(86)

He stared at her, his eyes brimming with doubt. “You are a fool,” he whispered. “The Medium did not save you from your father. I did.”

“Then it used you to save me,” Maia replied.

When she said that, she saw something flash in his eyes. His mouth parted, but he said nothing. Turning, he stalked back out of the tent and vanished into the night.





Maia rode on her palfrey, the air hazy with dust from the exodus to Muirwood. On horseback, they passed several small wagons and carts trundling toward the land ahead. Very often she would hear her name called from a little child waving up at her. And Maia would smile and wave back, wondering how she had been recognized without any of her royal finery. Word had undoubtedly spread through the camp. The queen rode with them. No one could harm them so long as the queen was there. If only that were true.

The day was dusty and hot. Riders coming back and forth to scout for the Naestors would pass her, for she kept an easy pace, not a breakneck one. They rode toward Mendenhall, a castle where she would spend the night on the last leg of the journey before reaching Muirwood. Her prisoners had been moved to the dungeons there. It made her think of Maeg’s father, who had been the last sheriff of Mendenhall. She found herself wondering where Maeg had gone after issuing her warning. When all this was done, Maia would reward her for her loyalty. If Maeg had not come forward, Corriveaux’s plan would have undoubtedly prevailed. She would need to seek Suzenne’s counsel on how best to honor the other girl.

One of her knights came from the road ahead at a gallop and reined in when he saw her. The horse was frothing at the mouth and the knight looked grizzled and intense. “My lady, a column of soldiers is coming toward us from Mendenhall.”

Maia looked at him, confused. “All the soldiers were assigned to protect the exodus. Who is it?”

“I know not, but they wear the colors and fly the banner of Comoros.”

“Dodd’s army?” Maia wondered in surprise.

“It could be a trap,” the knight warned. “Captain Carew has gone ahead to challenge them, but we may need to flee, and quickly.”

The line of wagons and carts that strung out before and behind her was utterly defenseless. She had her household knights, but they would be insufficient against a sizeable force. Then she saw Jon Tayt’s pony coming from ahead, and he looked calm and easy in his saddle.

She tapped the flanks of her horse and hurried to meet him. “What news?” she asked worriedly.

Jon Tayt looked dumbfounded. “My lady, it appears you have another army.”

She looked at him with concern. “Who are they?”

“The young lads from Assinica,” Jon Tayt replied. “Nary a one is older than you, my lady. They have never fought before. But they are dressed in hauberks and shields. They have spears and maces . . . some have maston swords . . . and they are marching to aid Earl Caspur in his retreat. They heard he is losing men every day, so they rallied to come shore up the retreat.”

It was Maia’s turn to look surprised. She caught sight of the advancing columns through the haze of dust—ten men deep, they held spears and banners fluttering with the insignia of Comoros. She could feel the shuddering of the ground as they drew near.

“And who leads them?” Maia asked in wonder. She saw a man on horseback in their midst, the sunlight gleaming off his helm and shield.

“You will see,” Jon Tayt said with a gruff smile.

Maia led her palfrey into a canter and approached the advancing column of soldiers. Their tabards were brown with dust from the march, but the young men looked sturdy and strong. These were blacksmiths’ sons, the children of artisans, stonemasons, and musicians. As they approached, she noted the look of calm and steady dignity in their faces. Though they had never fought before, they were now marching to war in a land they called home.

To Maia’s surprise, Aldermaston Wyrich rode amidst the first ranks of the soldiers, wearing armor. A flanged mace hung from his saddle strap. He wore a gray tabard over his hauberk, reminiscent of his Aldermaston robes.

“Aldermaston Wyrich,” Maia said with a surprised greeting. “What have you done?”

He smiled warmly at her. “I intended to stay and supervise the defenders of Muirwood at the abbey, Your Majesty. But these lads insisted they could not wait to defend the walls while so many in your army were dying. They wanted to help bring the Earl of Caspur’s troops back safely. Until then, their posts are being held by the city watch of Comoros under the lord mayor’s charge. They wish to face our enemies, my lady. I could not oppose them.”

Maia glanced behind and around him. These were all very young men, as Jon Tayt had warned her, but she saw a seriousness in their eyes.

“They are mastons?” she asked.

The Aldermaston nodded approvingly. “Each one is. They fight to defend their families, the abbeys of the realm, and they will defend your crown, my queen.”

“How many are there?”

He looked at her seriously. “Just over a thousand. They do not fear death, Your Majesty. They believe the Medium will save them as it did Garen Demont at Winterrowd. They asked if I would lead them,” he said in a humble voice. He gripped his flanged mace, his look serious and imposing. “And so I have agreed. The Medium bids me to rescue the Earl of Caspur’s men and see them safely to Muirwood. I have asked Richard to stand in on my behalf.”