The Blight of Muirwood

Lia wondered who was being the bigger fool, but she said nothing and finished the porridge before joining Sowe and Brynn in the loft.

“Has anyone toppled the old man off the pole yet?” asked Lia mischievously.

Brynn answered first. “No, but they have tried. This is my first year to dance. They better not knock him down.”

Sowe touched the glass gently. “There are more people out this year than normal. They must be very excited. You look tired.”

“I feel it,” Lia replied, drawing near, hovering above both of the sitting girls, and stared out the panes into the village. Sowe’s hair was freshly combed and she smelled of purple mint. Over the year, she had blossomed even more. Lia could see it now, see how her shyness and soft-spoken demeanor gave her an alluring quality. The other wretcheds of the Abbey adored her, except the laundry girls.

Amidst the crowds swarming the village green, there appeared horses with poles fixed with standards bearing the Queen Dowager’s emblem. Lia stiffened at the sight for they were pushing through the crowd towards the main gates of the Abbey.

“Look at all the horses,” Brynn murmured in awe, but Lia was already moving. Her sleeplessness was gone as her heart began pounding in fear. Snatching her bow sleeve and quiver, she hurried out the kitchen and sprinted towards the gate.

* * *

Pareigis sat astride her foam-white stallion. She wore the familiar black velvet gown as well as a black headdress and gauzy veil that shielded her face from the warm midsummer sun. The late season storm had turned the entire landscape green, and the starkness of the contrast between the Queen Dowager and her mount was striking. She was surrounded by knights, also astride, their hands resting menacingly on sword hilts or the domes of studded maces. Lia approached the gates just behind the Aldermaston, in his wake but close to him to keep an eye. Positioned at the gates ahead of them were much of the Abbey helpers and teachers, as well as Colvin, Edmon, and the Earl of Dieyre. Lia was the only girl in the company.

When they advanced within earshot, the Queen Dowager stiffened in her saddle. “Your gatekeeper forbids me entrance, Aldermaston! I, who was your honored guest but a few days ago. I told you my coming was to be expected, yet I am forbidden to enter!” Her voice rang with fury.

The Aldermaston stopped near the gate, his face masking the pain she had noticed earlier. Anger brooded in his eyes. “You may celebrate Whitsunday in any quarter of the realm you desire, Queen Dowager. But you have violated the oath of hospitality and so are refused admittance to the grounds. There are many fine inns within the village to choose from.”

“Open the gates,” Pareigis ordered, and Lia felt a surge from the Medium at her words.

The Aldermaston stared at her curiously, his eyebrows arching. He kept his focus on her, but Lia searched the faces of the soldiers surrounding her. One of them stood out in the baleful sunlight, for his eyes glowed silver. It was Scarseth, wearing the Queen Dowager’s livery. His hand clutched the fabric near his heart, and she knew he was fondling the kystrel. Lia felt the Medium quicken within her.

“I forbid it,” the Aldermaston replied.

The white stallion pranced and twirled and the Queen Dowager adjusted her view of them from her haughty pose. “Open the gates, Aldermaston. I have just returned from the killing fields of Winterrowd. Do you wish me to accuse you so publicly?”

It was a taunt, one spoken with malice intended. Lia stiffened her hold on the bow stave.

“As this was your intent all along, why ruin it? Say what you must and be done with it.”

Lia could see the Queen Dowager’s teeth. She rose higher in the saddle, her back stiff and straight. With a black glove, she pointed directly at the Aldermaston. “I accuse you of high treason by the name of Gideon Penman, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey. For you did willfully and unlawfully bring about the death of my lord husband, the late king of Comoros. I charge that you did aid and abet fugitives of the king’s justice, even the earls of Forshee and Norris-York. That you sent your own sworn man, Jon Hunter, to bring them safely through this Hundred to plot my husband’s death at Winterrowd. That your sworn man, Jon Hunter, did fell the king with this bloodied arrow!” Her voice had built to a fevered pitch and she thrust the arrow into the air within the sight of everyone assembled.

“Therefore I arrest you, Gideon Penman, for the murder of my lord husband. You will stand trial for your crimes and be punished in the manner befitting a traitor. I charge the Earl of Forshee with high treason. I grant amnesty to the newly made Earl of Norris-York, for he was not a party to the plot. Now in the name of the young king, I command you to open the gates!”