Reaching the edge of the gully, she stared down as Colvin’s eyes met hers, his face an expression of shock.
The cave had been filled in with earth. She could sense the Leering still, but it would take too much time to dig their way through. Not with so many pursuers – not with so many so close. The sound of crashing in the oaks. The scream and hoarse cries of vengeance. This was the moment. She realized it instantly, felt a cool pang of satisfaction for recognizing the Medium through the chaos.
“That way,” she said, nodding towards the gully trail. “Maderos’ lair is that way. The ossuaries. Go!”
The ossuaries. The place of the dead. The place where all the rings had been found. She knew it was the end. Her final moment with him. Reaching around her neck, she pulled off the string that held the gold wedding band. It flashed in the sunlight, the ring that reminded her of the Medium. It was something she had clung to since she was a child. She tossed it to him, staring into his eyes as he caught it.
“I love you – always,” she said and before her courage could melt, she ran the other way, where she knew the Leering was that would summon the Abbey defenses. She heard him shout her name, but she ran, bringing her bow around as the knights saw her.
“Run!” she screamed, waving her arm ahead of her pretending Colvin and Ellowyn were ahead of her still. “I will hold them off!”
The knights rushed at her from three sides. Lia pulled an arrow back and brought down one. Three arrows left. One swore at her, cursing her weapon. She dropped him next, his face a spasm of pain and frustration. Two arrows left. Lia ducked the blow aimed at her head, spun around and hooked her boot around his ankle. Grabbing his empty scabbard, she yanked hard and tripped him over her, letting him crash on the ground. She did not stop to kill him, she just ran as fast as she could, rushing to the Leering she knew was ahead of her.
From that very direction appeared four men, swords drawn. She changed course, using the trees to separate them from her. A crossbow bolt slashed against her shoulder, splitting her skin and sending a searing line of blood against her flesh. Her breath was so hard, she barely felt the sting. A knight grabbed at her, missing. She smacked him across the face with her bow.
They missed her again as she surged past them. There was another knight now, blade ready, waiting for her. Behind him, she saw the Leering – a boulder about waist-high and carved with the face of a fierce-looking man, a bearded man. It was the Aldermaston’s face when he was younger. Another man knelt by the Leering, head bowed, one arm out, his palm on the stone. The eyes on the Leering were beginning to burn, to flame.
Lia shot down the last knight opposing her, leaving her a final arrow. The man bowing before the Leering turned an rose, looking back at her with familiarity.
Scarseth, his eyes glowing silver.
She had one arrow left and yanked it roughly from her quiver. Her fingers started to tremble as she nocked it and lifted the bow. Everything seemed to freeze around her. His eyes burned into hers. His thoughts whispering in her mind.
Release me! I beg of you!
She pulled the arrow back. It felt like pulling a bucket rope full of stones. His shirt was open, revealing the gleaming kystrel. The reddish brown matt of chest hair did not disguise the whorl of black tattoes on his chest that snaked up to his throat and across his shoulders. A sign that he was fully in its thrall.
You are strong enough, girl! I can help you!
She hesitated, wanting to let the arrow fly. Then she experienced the full force of the Medium slam against her. All her desire gutted out of her. She was tired, exhausted, wasted. The bow string was so heavy, so very heavy. She could not let the shaft loose. Her fingers would not obey her.
Pain.
The crossbow bolt stuck into the side of her leg, deep into the flesh, into the bone. Every thought turned into fire and she cried out in agony and crumpled. Horses crashed through the expanse of oaks and then she saw him, the Earl of Dieyre with a mass of knights. He was garbed in mail, a brown tabard fluttering as he reined in his mount. His eyes were livid, his face a contortion of delight and vindication.
“Caught you at last!” he crowed, swinging off the saddle, sword in hand. Three knights had crossbows trained on her. The fourth was reloading a bolt.
On her knee, her leg throbbing with agony, she stared at Dieyre with hatred. She brought up her last arrow and aimed for his throat. She saw the crossbowmen fire, but she was faster. Pulling back, she let the arrow loose and then twisted her shoulders and collapsed on her back, hoping some of the bolts would miss her.
With reflexes honed by battle, Dieyre swung and shattered the arrow with his sword. Gracefully, his sword arm lowered, his grin defiant. One of the bolts struck her hand, impaling it. The others missed. It was worse agony than the first and she screamed in pain. On her back, she dropped her bow.
The pain made tears swim in her eyes. She could hardly see Dieyre as he approached. Shoving with her legs, despite the pain, she pushed herself closer to the Leering. The entire face of it was burning. If she could only get close enough to touch it. Close enough to touch it with her blood. A maston’s blood screamed when they died. She could hear the sound of her own in her mind. A cry for help, for vengeance, for justice. The cry of one about to be murdered.
Dieyre’s voice was mocking. “You should have joined me when I offered, girl. It was quite a chase, but I am persistent. It would amaze you how patient I can be.”
One of the knights kicked Lia savagely in the ribs. “Can I kill her now, my lord?” he demanded.
“Not yet,” Dieyre answered curtly. “Let her watch Muirwood burn before she dies. Fire the Leerings.”
* * *
“When I first saw the child, that babe in a Pry-rian shawl, I knew that she would be my death. Over all these years as I have watched her grow, steal, tease, and laugh, that knowledge has whispered to my mind many times. That little girl, so full of life and affection, would bring about the fall of Muirwood Abbey. Yet even knowing this, despite how it pained me, I could not resist loving her or honoring the request her father had made me vow.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
Lia couldn’t breathe through the pain. She tasted blood in her mouth. Determined to fight to the last of her strength, she pulled her dagger free with her uncrippled hand and jammed the blade into the boot of the knight who had kicked her. As he wailed with agony, she struggled on her elbows towards the Leering. It was so close, but not close enough. In her mind, she willed the fire to cease. The flame spasmed and guttered out.
Scarseth swung around violently, staring at her. His eyes were still glowing.
“Summon the fire!” Dieyre ordered.
The two wrestled for control of the Leering. Lia shoved his thoughts as hard as she could, willing the flames to die. If she could only touch it, she could summon the defenses. A boot struck her in the small of her back and she could think of nothing but blinding pain. Her concentration snapped and the fire bloomed again. She could not get a grip on her thoughts, could not collect them past the haze of suffering. She was going to die. Another kick would do it, another crushing blow. She was so tired, so weary. The Leering was too far.
“My lord, a maston!”
“No crossbows. He is mine,” Dieyre said in a low, greedy voice. Then louder, “So you
do
care for the girl! A true man after all. Her suffering will end quickly. I will not let them play with her first. But you have just wasted her sacrifice. Not that you could have hid for long with all the tunnels blocked.”
Lia opened her eyes. She could not see through her tears, but she heard his boots approaching, heard the stiff rasp of breath. Blinking quickly, the scene opened like a flower before the sun – Colvin walking towards them, maston-sword gripped in hand. Thumping against the leather jerkin on chest, the ring she has tossed to him. The sword tip pointed down, but she could see the angry clench of his fist, the cool hate mirrored in his eyes.
“Forshee!” one of the soldiers whispered gruffly but with grudging respect.
“Where’s the Demont girl?” said another. All attention seemed to be facing the two noblemen who clearly hated each other. Lia started scooting slowly, so slowly towards the Leering. The blood in her mouth was choking her.
“I have been waiting for this moment,” Dieyre said, closing the ground that separated them. “Ciana has sworn to be my wife as long as I spared you. But you know how good I am at keeping my promises.” There was a grin in his voice that made Lia sick. “I know she wanted to be married in an Abbey. But after today, there will
be
no more Abbeys. It ends here. It ends today. Your lands are mine. Your sister is mine. Even your curly-haired wretched is mine. You have nothing left that I want.”
The soldiers had not seen Lia slinking away. The ground was rough against her back, the trampled oak leaves and twigs dragged against her. The pain was beyond anything she had experienced. It took biting her tongue to keep from whimpering with each fervent twitch. Closer, closer!
“I am not afraid of you,” Colvin said, his voice hoarse.
“Of course not. You are too stupid to be afraid. Everyone who has relied on you is in my hands. Your poor useless friend York…I left him in a puddle of blood. Demont is dead and every maston with him. You are the last, I think. The last to fall. You should have fallen at Winterrowd. Let us end it here.”
The swords clashed with a shower of sparks. Dieyre came again, faster than a lightning strike, and again it was parried. It was a whirlwind of blows, sweeps, and cuts. Lunges and stabs, as if a thousand iron shields clattered down stone steps in a moment. Dieyre was wearing armor, and Colvin had none. They traded blows and cuts, shoving and stomping and grappling at each other, then moving back and circling, feinting, only to charge and rush again.
Lia gasped as a ribbon of blood appeared on Colvin’s cheek from Dieyre’s sword, one that nearly took out his eye.
“She is crawling! Look at her!”
They had seen her.
A shadow fell across her body. Scarseth, a dagger in his hand. His eyes were glowing fiercely. She could see the tattoo marks expanding across his throat as he maintained the power over the Leerings, his teeth clenched, obviously wrestling with the Aldermaston in his mind to keep the flames going.
Save me!
he screamed at her in his mind.
I do not want to hurt you! Pareigis is making me!
But what could she do?
Fight it!
she screamed back at him.
Fight her off!
The clash of steel stopped suddenly. The two knights circled each other, sweat dripping from their faces. Dieyre sounded impressed. “You are better than you were. You have been
practicing
, Forshee!” The swords met again, clashing after clash. Lia could not bear to look. She was angry at him for sacrificing himself. He was supposed to take Ellowyn to Dahomey. Who was left to carry out the Medium’s will?
Scarseth’s hand suddenly closed around her throat, squeezing it. The dagger came down next. Lia caught his wrist with her good hand, arresting the stroke. He was so strong with the Medium’s power. Her eyes went black for a moment then she focused. Dangling over her, loose from his shirt was the kystrel.
Dieyre continued his taunting. “I wish you could have seen her beg, Forshee. The way she begged me to spare York’s life and yours. It would have cut through any other man, especially the tears. I made her promise and seal that promise with a kiss.” The blades struck harder and harder. Faster and faster. “Not just any kiss. She had to mean it. She had to want it! And she did, Forshee. I will cherish that memory. Her arms around my…”
And then Dieyre’s sword whistled, arcing in the air, end over end until it landed with a thump on the heath.
Colvin’s boot stomped hard on Dieyre’s foot, his elbow snapped Dieyre’s head back, and Dieyre flopped on the ground. The point of Colvin’s sword came down on his chest and stopped.
The soldiers were shocked. A hushed silence fell.
“Kill me,” Dieyre growled. “If you are a man, then kill me!”
Lia shoved against the wrist, but the blade was getting closer to her ribs. Her whole body trembled with the agony and effort. She could not hold him. Her strength was going to fail.
“Kill me!!” Dieyre roared, craning his neck. “You are a man! I spoiled your sister! I ruined her! Do not show me mercy. Do not you
dare
show me mercy, Forshee! You defeated me. Now end it! End my life!”
The kystrel dangled right in front of her. One of her hands was transfixed by a crossbow bolt. She could not even move the fingers. If she let go of Scarseth’s wrist, she could snatch it.
Colvin’s voice was full of anger and loathing. “I will not, Dieyre. I can see your thoughts. You ordered that she be killed if you met your death. I will not be her executioner and yours.”
Lia’s strength failed.
She released Scarseth’s arm and grabbed the snail-shaped medallion which was the source of his power over the Leerings. The edges were hot in her palm as the dagger plunged into her ribs. She closed her eyes, summoning the Medium’s power to help her in her final moments of life. All the flames from all of the burning Leerings, she summoned into her hand. She could feel the light and heat from her fist blazing. She made it hotter and hotter, a forge fire of intensity. The kystrel melted in her hand and the binding on Scarseth was snapped.