The Wretched of Muirwood

His eager smile lost none of its radiance. “I will. And I will tell her about you.”

* * *

When Lia awoke on the warm and comfortable pallet, she found she was being watched by a young man she had never met. His eyes blinked as did hers, and she sat up in alarm.

“Do not be frightened,” he said, rising quickly from the chest he sat on. He held up his hands in a placating gesture and backed away. “Your name is Lia. I know of you from Colvin. He asked me to watch over you, to see that none disturbed your rest.”

She rubbed her eyes, feeling awkward and embarrassed, for his was a handsome face. Younger than Colvin but older than her. Probably sixteen or seventeen. His hair was long and fair, the color of straw. It was unfashionable, but he was still handsome. His features were slender.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, aware of the filthy dress she wore. Part of the sleeve was ripped and she wore a man’s bracers and girdle. “Who are you?”

His eyes widened. “I have embarrassed you. Forgive me. I have had sufficient time to mop the blood from my face while you kept vigil all night. I should have remembered that my sisters are keenly aware of their appearance, yet I thought nothing of it. Again, forgive me. My name is Edmon. My older brother was the earl of Norris-York.” He stepped closer, looking into her eyes pleadingly while fidgeting with his hands. “I am now to hold that estate, humble as it is.” His expression became pained. “Let me explain. My brother was sent to bring Colvin Price to Winterrowd. Our domains border each other. My brother was to find him near Muirwood and bring him here. I have since learned that it was you who led Colvin here because my brother was murdered by the sheriff of Mendenhall. You are the one who found where his body lay in a garden near Muirwood.” He looked down for a moment. “I am indebted to you. Because of you, Colvin brought me our father’s sword and chaen shirt. His blood-stained tunic. I am not yet a maston, but I will be within the year, if the Medium wills it.” He stopped, turned red in the face, then bowed his head. “I wanted to thank you in person, Lia of Muirwood. My gratitude may be small compared to Colvin’s, but I feel it most keenly. You made it possible for me to fight this day and win my collar. I will always be grateful to you and count you as a friend.”

Lia had no idea what to say, she was so dismayed by his gratitude. She had not suspected the maston sent to fetch Colvin would be another earl of the realm. Like Colvin, he had refused to say his name and reveal his identity. “I am grateful to meet you, Edmon,” she said, and it felt hollow. She felt filthy, unworthy of the look of kindness on his face.

He stood quickly then went to the tent flap. “I will tell Colvin you have awoken.” He parted the curtain and looked outside. “By Idumea, what is happening?” he said, almost to himself.

Lia pulled away the blankets and joined him at the entryway. She heard the voice before she saw the speaker. It was loud and strong and throbbed with emotion. Outside the pavilion, a hundred men clustered around a wagon. The speaker, an aging knight-maston, stood atop. His face was spattered with blood and grime, so much so that she could hardly make out any features except his dark hair, wavy and matted with sweat. A helmet nestled in the crook of his arm and his maston sword hung from a scabbard at his side. His voice was hoarse and raspy, and it reminded her of the Aldermaston.

“I am told by the king’s herald that many fell on the fields of Winterrowd this day. The numbering is now done. Bodies are being laid to rest in mother earth. In number, over eight thousand were killed from the king’s army.” A gasp and sigh went through the camp. “All the day long I have been plagued with questions. How many of our brothers have fallen? Do I know what happened to a lad carried away from the field in blood? How many who stood beneath our banner fell this day? I know that Trowbridge and Holland are still with the surgeons. Many of you sustained grave wounds today. But here it is, nearly dusk.” He looked up at the red-rimmed sky and swallowed his surging emotions. “By Idumea’s grace alone, there is none of ours fallen this day. Not one. I am…I am astonished beyond measure.”

Another rush of sentiment began to churn, but Demont held his hand high into the air. Lia saw the gray flecks in his hair above his ears, watched as the crowd fell silent. His lip trembled. “It is through the will of the Medium that we owe our victory. Let no man who was here this day declare otherwise. My brothers…the day is ours.”

Lia saw the tears tremble on his lashes, and she knew what he was thinking. His thoughts were choked with visions of Maseve and the battle his own father lost.