She looked at him, at the conflicted, angry expression. “You have nothing to say?”
“What would you like me to say?” he answered tightly.
Angrily, she thought about shoving the tray into his stomach. “You could start with something resembling gratitude. That you realize I did not betray you deliberately. I was tricked by one of the sheriff's men. I wanted to make it right…”
“Do not justify yourself. I know you did not betray me. But we are far from being safe or free. Did the Aldermaston send you?”
“No.”
“Then do you have a way out?”
“Your horse is being saddled.”
“But then where? Is there shelter other than the abbey for me?”
“I have the orb.”
“What?”
“I said I have the orb.”
“It is useless to me. I cannot work it.”
“I know,” she answered, wondering why he was being thick-headed. “But
I
can. I am coming with you.”
He halted, grabbed her arm, stopping her as well, sloshing broth onto the tray. “What?”
She looked at him fiercely in return. “I stole the orb. Do you think I will ever be welcome at the abbey again? I am coming with you.”
“You would go with me to the battle field? And then what will you do?” He shook his head, muttering darkly. “This sheriff will hunt us. He wants you.
You.
I do not know why, but he is determined to have you. He hardly seemed to care that he arrested me. It is
you
he wants. A wretched. He kept asking about
you
. He is arguing with the Aldermaston to turn you over to him.”
Lia’s stomach, which was just beginning to untwist as they left the room, coiled again. “Why would he…?”
“Several reasons I can think of and I have had nothing to do but think since I was arrested. You should be hiding. And yet here you are, in the lion’s maw. When you came into the room, I swear…” He shut his eyes, looking more furious than ever.
“I came to help you!” she scolded. “I promised you I would. I keep my promises. If the king is coming to kill you, I will not let that happen, not if I can stop it.” She tugged her arm free, but he let her go. “We are wasting words. When we get away, then we can talk it over.” Her feelings were hurt – she had hoped he would offer to protect her, to offer her sanctuary in his earldom. He had not.
“Agreed.”
At the end of the hall there were steps descending. As they started down, the sound of others coming up met them. Men’s voices. One of them, Lia recognized.
“A mob, I tell you. By Idumea’s hand, the fools. Better ride out while we still can. Who cares about the girl when we have the other prize.”
“You tell Almaguer I will stay behind and find the wretched. I know this abbey. She cannot hide from me for long.”
“Tell the sheriff yourself, Scarseth. Let us fetch the stripling and ride back to Shefton and meet the king. I do not think it matters which village the boy dies in.”
Lia froze in the stairwell. She recognized the thief’s voice. Now she knew his name. She was so sure – so sure she would have enough time to get him out of the Pilgrim. Three sets of boots came up the stairs, were almost at the top. There were three sleeping men in the room at the end of the hall. Three men down below but coming quickly up. There was no more time to think. It was time to act, but she had no ideas and Colvin had no sword. Helplessly, frantically, she froze as their heads appeared from the stairs below.
“I am telling you, if the mob riots, we will not make it out of town unscathed. The Aldermaston has all the power here. These villagers count on him, not Mendenhall. I told Almaguer not to confront him over the girl.”
“Well, you are wasting breath with me. There are twenty of us with swords and hauberks, and if we leave a river of blood, then it is the Medium’s fault. No one challenges Almaguer’s authority in this Hundred. Aldermaston or no.”
Lia saw their faces. It was over. She had done her best but it had only made things worse. Now both she and Colvin would be captured by the sheriff’s…
It happened so quickly, she nearly shrieked with surprise. Colvin yanked the tray from her hands and threw it at the sheriff’s men below. Warm broth and water splashed, the crockery shattered, and the tray itself struck like a catapult stone, toppling one of them back into another in the narrow stairwell. Colvin leapt down the full flight of stairs, and Lia clutched the rail and watched.
Curses, shrieks, grunts, crunches. The sheriff’s men fought back, fought for their lives. There was no room or time to draw swords – the stairwell was all a tumble of arms and legs, of fists and chins and red-specked spittle. The force of Colvin’s attack toppled the two men and Scarseth. Blood gushed from one man’s nose, and Lia thought she saw a tooth fly from his mouth and rattle and drop down the stairwell like a pebble.
“Brickolm! Brickolm!” the other screamed, but Colvin grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, and silenced his cries by encircling his neck and throat with his arm. With a twirl, the man went head first into the wall and dropped like a sack.
Scarseth, dripping with broth and looking horrorstruck, scrambled down the steps. Lia started after him, but Colvin was already there, jumping and grappling him as he wriggled to free himself and both tumbled down the stairs.
The thief cried out in pain, then, “I swear it, I can help you! Do not kill me! I can help you!”
Scarseth raised his hands up, palms open, trembling like a shiver in winter, his eyes wild and fearful, blood dripping from his lip. “Almaguer is coming back now. A dozen men. You will not get free if you waste time on me. Please, for the love of Idumea, you are Demont’s sworn man. I know you are. Not even he murdered. Please, for the love of Idumea, spare me!”
Lia reached them both, staring into the thief’s blazing eyes. He looked up at her, recognized her, then closed his eyes shut as if he knew he was going to die.
“This belongs to
my
family,” Colvin said with revulsion and fury mingling in his expression. His eyes blazed with hatred. He drew the maston sword from Scarseth’s scabbard, the blade that Lia had admired. She stood there, helpless again, seeing the flesh at the thief’s throat constrict as he swallowed
The tip of the blade aimed at that point. Lia blinked quickly, quivering, believing she would see a man die in front of her. Colvin’s eyes burned with passion. Part of her hungered to see it happen. Part of her knew she would never forget it if she watched.
“You betrayed me to die,” Colvin said huskily. “But in this thing only, you do not lie. I am Demont’s man. And I cannot end a man’s life who lacks the spleen to fight me.”
“I saved your life,” Scarseth whispered hoarsely, his eyes opening again. “I could have left you to bleed to death by that tree. I carried you to Muirwood in a rainstorm. I carried you. She will tell you. I did save your life.”
He coughed with contempt. “Your greed saved me, not you. Your cowardice saves you now.” He paused, raising the sword, staring down at the shivering man. Their eyes locked. Then kneeling down, Colvin clutched Scarseth’s throat with his free hand, sword poised above, ready to fall. “You are a liar. You will always be a liar. But you will betray her again.”
“I swear I will not!” he squeaked, his voice choking.
“By the Medium, I take your power of speech. You will not utter another word.”
Lia felt it, as if a gust of wind suddenly swept up the stairwell. She had sensed it that night long ago when a great storm had raged and the Aldermaston calmed it. The Medium was there.
Colvin released Scarseth’s throat, and the thief’s own fingers replaced them. His eyes bulged. His lips moved but no sound came out. Tears ran down his cheeks. Grabbing the man’s belt, Colvin hoisted him up off the floor, then severed the belt in the middle, spilling him back to the floor. He grabbed the scabbard, tugged it free, then motioned for Lia to follow him.
They escaped out the rear of the Pilgrim Inn on a horse held by a grinning boy named Brant.
They did not make it far. The sheriff and his men rounded the corner.
“The girl!” Almaguer shouted.
Colvin stamped the flanks. “Hold onto me. Tightly! Squeeze as hard as you can. No, even harder! Lock your fingers together or you will bounce off! Quickly now – before we start to gallop!”
At first Lia thought the horse was already galloping, but when it started, the entire feel of the animal changed. The sensation in her stomach went from nausea and fearfulness to glee. Her wild hair whipped behind her, the cowl of her cloak bouncing against her back.
Behind them, against the rush of the wind in her ears, she could hear the sheriff’s men shouting. But running men, thronged by villagers, could not catch the surging rush of a galloping stallion. The motion jarred Lia and she feared she might tumble off the back of it.
“I am slipping!” she shouted.
One of Colvin’s arms tightened against hers, pressing her arm painfully, but it steadied her.
“Use your legs. Squeeze them against the flanks. Press against me tightly!”
A voice in the crowd shouted out her name. She turned to look, but the movement nearly made her lose her balance the other way.
“Stop twisting like that!” Colvin threatened. “Press against me!” He kicked the stallion again and it felt as if they had left the rutted street completely – that they were now flying.
Lia wondered who had called her name. She pressed her cheek against the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt and held on until her muscles ached. So many times in her life she had mixed dough, churned butter, used her arms and fingers as her tools. They did not fail her. Her grip was hard, and she managed to cling to him despite the bouncing, the speed, and the rush of wind. They rode down Chalkwell Street, along the Abbey’s eastern walls. The tall spire of Muirwood rose sharply into the sky, but it was getting smaller with each hoof-beat.
She watched the abbey – her home – fade away into the distance. Her entire life had been spent inside the grounds. Her nights, for as far back as memory spun its webs, she had spent in the kitchen. The face of Pasqua came into her mind, and it brought such a stab of pain and heartsickness that tears came to her eyes. Lia had not said goodbye. The huge oaks of the Abbey grounds could be seen above the wall. The branches of the younger ones swayed, as if waving farewell to her. She would never see Muirwood again. The grief was crushing her heart.
Turning her face the other way, to shut out the sight that would haunt her days, she saw the Tor rising ahead to the east. The Tor was a nearby hill, the highest point in any direction – a bald, crouch-backed hill with a few rings of trees along the lower fringes of its steep green slopes. As a child, it had always tempted her. But it seemed so far from the abbey walls that she knew she and Sowe would never be able to make it there, climb it, and return before dark. The best she had been able to do was get Jon Hunter’s description of it. He had been to the top many times.
It is nothing but a bald, crouch-backed hill
,
Lia. It is a lonely hill. There are other hills in this Hundred with better views than it.
But that made Lia love it even more, even if she believed she would never be able to climb it.
How long before the sheriff and his men would have their horses saddled? How long before their pursuers came after them? She did not know the land very well but she imagined the road was not safe, not with the king’s army on the way. Being a wretched, she only knew the names of the streets the bordered the Abbey on two sides – High Street and Chalkwell.
Looking up at the Tor again, she had a thought. If they needed a place to hide – or a direction to ride – the Cruciger orb would guide them.
“Stop the horse,” Lia said.
“Are you sick?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No, remember the king’s army. The orb! I have the orb to guide us.”
Colvin sharply pulled on the reins and the mount fought him. He tugged harder, several jerking motions, and tamped the flanks with his boots, even though he did not have spurs. The stallion snorted and huffed, still giddy with the thrill of the run. Colvin calmed it with his voice as it finally came to a stop and thrashed its mane. He patted its neck soothingly, while Lia opened the pouch at her waist and with trembling hands, withdrew the Cruciger orb. Her arms shook from holding on to him so tightly, and the orb wobbled in her hand.
In her mind, she thought the words,
Show us a safe path to Winterrowd.
Again the amazing spindles went to work, spinning deftly and quickly, pointing due east, directly at the Tor.
Colvin looked back at the direction. “It is pointing east. Winterrowd is the other way. The last time you asked it, it pointed west. This makes no sense.”
Lia looked at it sternly. “Show me Winterrowd.”
The spindles swung around and pointed west.
“Why is it showing us both?”
“Show us the
safe
way to Winterrowd,” she answered, and the spindles pointed back to the Tor. Writing appeared on the lower half of the orb.
“How can Winterrowd be in both directions?” Colvin asked.
But Lia understood. “Because it knows things that we do not. It knows the way to Winterrowd, but it also knows other things. Like what is down this road. The safe way to Winterrowd brings us to the Tor. Guide us there and if it changes directions, I will tell you.”