The Banished of Muirwood Read Online Free Page B

response to her pleading thoughts. She did not know if it was the Medium.
    Before nightfall, she realized that it really was.

When I was a wretched living in Muirwood Abbey, a strange fellow named Maderos told me a tale about the hill near the abbey, the one we called the Tor. A crew of warriors from the north came. Not men from the seven kingdoms, but from a land of dark pools and steep firths. These warriors came on painted boats to conquer our lands. They massacred a small village along a lake near the abbey and came marching to Muirwood itself. The Aldermaston raised his hands, and a hill from a surrounding area lifted from the ground, hovered over the enemies of the abbey, and then plummeted down, smashing them into oblivion. Some of the attackers survived, great-granddaughter. They fled back to their dark land and warned of the inhabitants of the seven kingdoms and the awful power of the Medium when provoked. What you need to understand is that these people, the Naestors, came and inhabited the lands that we forsook. They are a cunning, warlike people. When the mastons return again to the seven kingdoms of Comoros, Pry-Ree, Dahomey, Hautland, Mon, Avinion, and Paeiz, they will discover an eighth kingdom has claimed all that we abandoned. Though they will feign friendship, they will not trust you. They will fear you. They will bring back the Dochte Mandar. Be wary.
    —Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

CHAPTER THREE

    Argus
    T hey smelled the chimney smoke first, just the hint of it on the air. Before long, the plumes became visible and directed their course. With Maia’s tired legs aching from the rocky climb, they crested the snow-spattered ridgeline and gazed down at a village nestled along the shores of a small lake. The crags of the mountains were steep and full of cracked shale and broken stone, making the footing treacherous and difficult. The sky held wisps of fleecy cloud th at passed over them, blocking the sun for moments as they gazed down at the tiny hamlet. Maia noticed that many of the pine trees along the crest and down the slope were dead, the bark turned to silver with little protruding stubs. She rubbed her hands on the smooth, graying bark and gazed down at the village. Her stomach growled enviously at the thought of the provisions they might find there.
    The kishion looked back the way they had come, watching for signs of pursuit, then returned his gaze down the slope to the hamlet.
    “No more than twenty stone hovels down there,” he said disdainfully. “Not much by way of help.”
    “Yes, but my legs are weary, and we need water and food,” Maia said. She winced, her knees aching from the arduous climb. “Even if we sleep in the brush, it is better to move forward. Maybe someone down there knows the land. They could help us find the way.”
    “Or give us trouble instead,” he said gruffly. “The village is too small for a garrison, so we need not fear meeting the king’s men. At the least there are fires to keep warm. The ground is treacherous, Lady Maia. Hold my hand as we descend.”
    She was grateful she did, for several times her boots slid on the crushed shale, causing rocks to patter down the winding trail or scatter off the edge of the cliffs. Her heart pounded with fear and exhaustion as they traversed the winding switchbacks into the valley.
    She admired the seclusion of the place, the rugged privacy that kept it away from the rest of the land. There were no obvious roads in or out, but as they walked down the ridge, they encountered a small footpath that had been trampled amidst the brush and debris—proof that the villagers below were used to climbing up to the peaks. The sun was beginning to set, and the gusts of wind were violent enough to chill them to the bone, causing Maia to grip the kishion’s hand more firmly as she maneuvered her way down.
    They had encountered a number of strange plants and wildlife along the trek into the mountains, but the feeling in the