The Banished of Muirwood(40)

“By Cheshu,” Jon Tayt said in a small voice. “That is quite a tale, is it not? How much of it is true, I wonder?”

“Even the mastons believe it is true, Jon Tayt. When they returned, they found the Naestors inhabiting their lands. Many could speak the ancient languages, or at least well enough to communicate.” Maia stroked Preslee’s mane. “But Dieyre had left a prophecy of his own before he died. He told the Naestors that a woman with a child of his seed had gone with the mastons. He named that child’s posterity as his heir, the heirs of his empire.”

“By the Blood,” the kishion swore softly. “The greedy Mark is his kin?”

Maia nodded. “Do you understand why I must flee Dahomey as quickly as I can? If the Mark captures me, he will claim my birthright as the king’s daughter to win another kingdom for himself. The Mark wishes to rule all the kingdoms, as Dieyre once did. I have just told you what happened when one man tried to do that.”

“Everyone perished,” Jon Tayt said flatly.




They reached the town of Briec well before sunset, having ridden hard for the remainder of the day. The town was fenced in by a low, crumbled wall that would not have repulsed an army of any size. Jon Tayt explained how the towns farther north were all heavily fortified and had seen battles throughout the years as the various kingdoms plundered one another.

The town was not large enough to have its own abbey or castle, but the main inn served as the largest and most distinctive structure in town. There were at least six gabled roofs in the same style she had seen in Roc-Adamour, except the main building looked like six of the long, narrow Roc-Adamour buildings smashed together into one. Each gabled roof had a different style and size, and several jutted out at odd angles. A large central chimney rose above all the roofs and vented a cloud of smoke. The stables were adjoined to the inn, and they found a stable boy ready to take their mounts from them.

The interior of the inn had an enormous common room with trestle tables and a single fire. It was full of travelers with packs, staves, and heavy boots, who had stopped to share drinks and rest from their various journeys. The room was warm and lively, and a set of musicians were tuning their instruments near a small stage at the far side of the room. Maia stared longingly at the troupe, eager to hear them play. Several of the inn patrons waved at her and her fellow travelers, acknowledging them cheerily. Some glanced more than once at Maia, and she regretted not raising her cowl before entering.

“How long should we stay?” she asked Jon Tayt.

“I will walk about the village a bit to gather news,” he replied, nodding at a fellow who seemed to recognize him. “With the Mark’s army so near, it may not be wise to stay the night. Get some food and drink for supper. I will be back soon. Try not to draw attention to yourself.”

Maia nodded and headed toward an uninhabited table in the shadows, trailed by the kishion. A server brought over a tray of meat and bread and oil with herbs to start, collected a few coins from them, and then returned later with a cruse of oil and a pot of bubbling cheese and another filled with steaming broth. Maia was now familiar with the custom and began to skewer pieces of meat and set them in the pots to cook. The kishion was not one for conversation, so they silently dunked the bread into the cheese and ate.

The musicians began to strike up some music, an airy tune. Some of the younger patrons began clearing away the trestle tables to form a space to dance. It seemed like this was the place that many of the young in town came to enjoy themselves. They began some of the popular dances that Maia had learned as a child, and soon the floor was thrumming with reverberations from their shoes and boots, and the music filling the hall was joined by ardent clapping. The feeling was lively and fresh, and it reminded her of some of the court parties her father was famous for. He was a lively dancer himself, and Maia had always enjoyed it.

The kishion snorted, brooding over a cup of wine.

Hoping to glean some information, Maia asked one of the serving girls if she could see the innkeeper, whom Collier had identified as Clem Pryke. The girl nodded and left to fetch her master. Moments later a man came up to the table, furiously wiping a tankard with a rag. “Welcome to the Gables,” he said. “We do not have any rooms free, but you are welcome to enjoy a meal and dance with us, lass.”

“You have no rooms available?” Maia asked curiously, surprised they were already so full.

“The king’s army is nearby, and I have been asked to hold rooms in case. I am sorry, my lady.”

“And what if the king’s men do not come?” asked a familiar voice.