A low growl sounded in Argus’s throat.
“Bah, be quiet,” the hunter scolded. He sat against the rock wall of the cave, a throwing axe cradled in his lap. “Old dog.”
Maia reached down and stroked the hound’s neck, gently caressing its pelt. It looked back at her, its tongue lolling from its mouth.
“I do not want you spoiling my hound now, my lady,” he said, a wry smile in his voice. “I would cut off the hand of any man besides me who tried to tame him, but since you are not a man, I will leave your hand intact.” Jon Tayt’s boot edged out to nudge the dog’s flank. “He guarded you all night, even when you were thrashing. Bad dreams?”
Maia blinked, awash in the memories. This was the second vivid dream of her childhood she had experienced recently. It felt almost as if the Medium were trying to communicate something to her while she slept. Not only were the dreams vivid, but they were part of the series of events that had led to her quest. Her heart was on fire with the emotions of the past—feelings she struggled to bury. What was she supposed to learn from revisiting her old memories?
“Hmmm? Bad dreams?” she replied evasively. “Some, I suppose. Did I fidget, truly?”
The hunter nodded. “A little frightening to watch. I thought you might be chilled, but you were sweating. Then, when I started to worry it was a fever, you cooled down. You are a riddle, Lady Maia.” His voice became very serious. “Why you are traveling with a kishion?” The emphasis on the word showed his distaste. “I don’t need to ask why the Dochte Mandar are hunting you, the medallion you wear and your silver eyes are answer enough. Ach, what trouble brings you to Dahomey?”
Maia stared at him, wondering how much she should trust him. He was Pry-rian, so he did not share all the political machinations of the Dahomeyjans, whom she knew very well not to trust. He had aided in her escape from Corriveaux’s men, and in so doing had probably become an outlaw himself.
“I cannot help you truly,” he said, “if you keep secrets from me. Let me start with what I already know . . . what I wheedled out of your protector. If he did not think I could be trusted, I doubt I would have woken up, if you get my meaning. He said something about a lost abbey you found in the cursed woods on the other side of the mountains. You were passengers aboard the Blessing of Burntisland, which if you ask me, is a strange name for a ship. Your father’s escort is dead or, ahem, murdered. The Dochte Mandar have captured your ship, so you will not be sailing back the way you came. What did you come to Dahomey to find?”
Maia continued to stroke the boarhound as the hunter spoke. She realized, of course, that the kishion would probably try to kill the hunter. He knew too much. But he had forsaken his quiet trading village in the mountains to help her, and she would do everything in her power to save him from the kishion’s blade. She stared at his coppery hair and felt that uneasiness stir inside her again, warning her that she was about to be foolish.
“When my father cast the Dochte Mandar out of our realm,” Maia began slowly, continuing to pet the animal, “our people began to suffer from a variety of strange behaviors. A cycle of . . . viciousness. It was not the same as the Blight that pummeled our ancestors. Rather than a revolt of nature, it was a revolt against decency. My father was desperate for answers, so he searched through their tomes—the records of ancient days preserved by the Dochte Mandar.”
“I thought our forefathers kept the tomes,” Jon Tayt said, wrinkling his nose. “The mastons.”
“Yes, the maston records go back to the time of the Scourging, when our forefathers sailed away from these shores. The records of the Dochte Mandar describe what happened to this land after the mastons left, when the abbeys had all fallen or been ruined. When the mastons returned and found the Naestors inhabiting the seven kingdoms, they discovered that the Naestors had learned to interpret the tomes of the Dochte Mandar and resurrected some of their beliefs. The Naestors feared the mastons, for their tomes claimed it was they who had summoned the Scourge. These new Dochte Mandar sought a truce with the mastons, allowing them to claim their lost kingdoms. Some of the noble Families were even invited to take up rulership of the various kingdoms, but not of Naess itself. They have guarded their secrets diligently.”
“What secrets?” Jon Tayt pressed, leaning forward.
“The secrets of the lost abbey,” Maia answered. “Only the bravest of the Dochte Mandar ventured into the lands south of here to find it.”
“You mean the ruins of Dochte Abbey?” he asked.