The Hunted (The Dawning of Muirwood), page 1
ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER
Your First Million Words
Tales from Kingfountain, Muirwood, and Beyond:
The Worlds of Jeff Wheeler
The Dawning of Muirwood Trilogy
The Druid
The Hunted
The First Argentines Series
Knight’s Ransom
Warrior’s Ransom
Lady’s Ransom
Fate’s Ransom
The Grave Kingdom Series
The Killing Fog
The Buried World
The Immortal Words
The Harbinger Series
Storm Glass
Mirror Gate
Iron Garland
Prism Cloud
Broken Veil
The Kingfountain Series
The Poisoner’s Enemy (prequel)
The Maid’s War (prequel)
The Poisoner’s Revenge (prequel)
The Queen’s Poisoner
The Thief’s Daughter
The King’s Traitor
The Hollow Crown
The Silent Shield
The Forsaken Throne
The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy
The Wretched of Muirwood
The Blight of Muirwood
The Scourge of Muirwood
The Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy
The Banished of Muirwood
The Ciphers of Muirwood
The Void of Muirwood
Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy
Fireblood
Dryad-Born
Poisonwell
Landmoor Series
Landmoor
Silverkin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2022 by Jeff Wheeler
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
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Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542035040 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 154203504X (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781542035033 (digital)
Cover design by Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Cover Image Credit: © Africa Studio / Shutterstock, © faestock / Shutterstock, © Michal Balada / Shutterstock, © Viorel Sima / Shutterstock, © Renata Sedmakova / Shutterstock, © Kirk DouPonce / DogEared Design
To Alli
CONTENTS
MAP
In the tome . . .
CHAPTER ONE The Town of Isen
Captain Hoel Evnissyen . . .
CHAPTER TWO Captive
The message has . . .
CHAPTER THREE The Púca
Mordaunt is gone . . .
CHAPTER FOUR Lightning
It is almost . . .
CHAPTER FIVE Wintertide
First appearance deceives . . .
CHAPTER SIX Kishion
The fish has . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN Allies and Enemies
Either do not . . .
CHAPTER EIGHT Consequences
We had the . . .
CHAPTER NINE The Watzholt
At times it . . .
CHAPTER TEN Disguised
In an easy . . .
CHAPTER ELEVEN A Broken Window
He came again . . .
CHAPTER TWELVE Naked Shields
Ovidius said that . . .
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Seeking the Stars
One of the . . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Aldermaston Kalbraeth
When I was . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Harbinger
Too brief is . . .
CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Knowing
The interior of . . .
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Hetaera’s Brand
Sometimes even to . . .
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Coming Storm
I came across . . .
CHAPTER NINETEEN Wills Colliding
He came again . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY Lady Montargis
A messenger arrived . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The Pig Keeper
A Naestor ship . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The High Seer
The villagers by . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Schism
What is deservedly . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Away
He came to . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Twisted Fates
During the time . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Perilous Abbey
The other hunters . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Too Many Enemies
A boy was . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Unspoken Truths
Mordaunt came to . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE To Be One
My hand trembles . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY Mirror Gate
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Epilogue
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In the tome of Ovidius, one of the Twelve, there is a saying. “There is no such thing as pure pleasure; some anxiety always cuts through it.” The opposite may also be true. Even in moments of anxiety, one can find hints of relief.
I received word from the High Seer that a village near the abbey of Holyrood in Pry-Ree was attacked by marauders. They traveled up the river swiftly in longboats and then attacked the village nearest the abbey. Some villagers were slaughtered. The women and children were taken as prisoners. No one knows where they were brought.
I’ve notified the sheriff of Mendenhall of this news. We must increase the guard.
Captain Hoel still has not returned with Eilean or the tome. I must trust that he will, however, as his return will proffer a little hope amidst such disasters.
—Sivart Gilifil, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER ONE
The Town of Isen
Lady Gwenllian Siar enjoyed her morning walks in the heart of the town of Isen. Only, that was not her true name, nor was she really a lady. She was, in fact, a wretched escaped from Muirwood Abbey. And while she did not know who her parents were or where they had come from, she had knowledge they had likely never possessed. With a word, she could unlock a door. With another, she could summon clouds and rain. With yet another, she could converse in any language in any realm. But speaking those words came with a price. The words of power drained her and left her weak and dizzy if she used them too often. It was a careful balance. And more than once she had pushed herself too far and lost consciousness.
Isen was a beautiful town in the Thuren province of Hautland. The buildings had plaster walls painted dozens of different shades—purple, yellow, orange, pale green, and blue as robins’ eggs—and sloped roofs with shake shingles. Businesses were housed on the lower floors, advertised by wooden signs hung from ornate, fanciful iron bars, and upper floors were reserved for living spaces.
At that early hour, there were few carts clacking, and there was a pleasant stillness to the streets. Lady Gwenllian had learned Hautlanders treasured their sleep and didn’t start the work of the day until the morning bell was struck from the many bell towers.
As if summoned by her thought, the bells began to toll, and immediately doors opened and people began to bustle about in great urgency, as if they’d been waiting behind the doors with their hands on the knobs.
“Blessed morning, Lady Gwenllian,” said a hatmaker from a mint-green building as he carried out a rack with displays to showcase his craft.
“Blessed morning,” she answered, fluent in their tongue. After traveling through Hautland for a while, she knew the standard greetings. The spell xenoglossia was a tutor of sorts. Each time she used it, she understood more and more about the tones and meanings of the language. There would come a day, if she lingered, when she wouldn’t need it at all.
Other than a few pleasant greetings, she kept herself aloof from passersby lest they ask too many questions and force her to use the Medium’s power. Passing beneath an arch between two tall stone bell towers, she took a moment to study the side of the nearer building. The ivy climbing the lattice looked faded, and barely any leaves clung to it.
It would be winter soon, and she still hadn’t managed to arrange a meeting with Aldermaston Utheros. Time was running out. There was no self-deception on her part. Hoel would find her eventually. And every day, she dreaded that he would do so before she could complete her mission.
She continued to the dwelling that she had rented. It was a narrow building—a delightful ocher color—crammed between two taller ones. The bedroom she shared with “Holly,” whom everyone believed to be her maid, was on the top floor. Their home was simple, with a sitting room on the second floor, and beneath it a small kitchen, a fireplace, and very little else. Still, it was more opulent than any personal space they’d had previously, and it provided them with shelter while they continued their attempts to gain admittance to the castle. Better yet, the old woman they rented from left them alone, except when it was time to collect their monthly payment.
Lady Gwenllian approached the house, inserted the key into the lock, and turned it. When she entered, the sizzle and aroma of cooking sausages met her nose. Holly was in the back of the kitchen, preparing the morning meal.
Once the door was closed, the pretense ended. She was Eilean again, and “Holly” was Celyn, her childhood friend and companion. They’d fled Muirwood Abbey to seek out Aldermaston Utheros, who was supposedly guilty of heresy. They believed differently. The maston order had succumbed to pride, and the leaders were acting increasingly despotic. The High Seer’s refusal to reveal why Utheros was a heretic, despite sentencing him to death, suggested his heresy was anything but. Eilean hoped he would prove an ally capable of making real change in the order. She also hoped he could make use of the tome the druid Mordaunt had entrusted to her and use the knowledge therein to help their world, something Mordaunt, as a prisoner at Muirwood Abbey, could not do directly.
If only they could find a way to reach Utheros.
The Aldermaston had escaped death, temporarily, because he’d been granted a writ of safe conduct to attend his trial. He’d disappeared for a time before it was discovered the prince of this province of Hautland had brought him to the safety of his castle. No one knew why the prince had taken such a risk, but only one explanation made sense: he believed the excommunicated Aldermaston was innocent.
He was certainly taking every precaution to protect him. Entering the castle without an invitation was now a crime.
So Mordaunt’s tome sat hidden on the ground floor of the ocher house at the bottom of a barrel of beans they’d purchased after arriving.
“How was your walk, Eilean?” asked her friend.
“It’s getting colder each morning. Winter is nearly here, and soon I won’t be able to walk outside anymore without freezing.” Eilean tugged off her gloves and set them on a small end table by the door. She removed her cloak and hung it from a hook. Her dress, which they’d bought in Bridgestow before crossing to Hautland, gave her a foreign look compared to the costumes of the locals. But that was intentional. She’d hoped to rouse curiosity in her arrival so they’d get an invitation to the castle on the hill.
So far it had not worked.
Celyn took the pan and dumped a sausage each onto two plates on the table, which already held bread and cheese. There was no third plate since Stright spent most nights at a cell among the greyfriars, and he would eat with them. He’d picked up the Hautland tongue very well since they’d arrived, and none of his “brothers” of the order appeared to suspect that he wasn’t one of them. His strange ways were attributed to his foreignness, but in truth he was a druid from the Bearden Muir in the kingdom of Moros.
After drinks were poured, Celyn carried the tray up to the sitting room floor. Eilean followed. They ate their meals together by the window so they could observe the foot traffic through the arch at the base of the bell tower. There was less of it than in previous days.
“It is going to start snowing soon,” Celyn said after eating some of her sausage and bread. “Then we’ll be trapped here all the rest of winter.”
Eilean had another bite of the delicious sausage. “I’m wondering if I should just use magic to get into the castle. I think I could do it.”
Celyn frowned. “I know you could transform yourself to look like a servant or something, but it would be terribly dangerous. If you had to maintain the illusion too long . . .” She shook her head. “I think we should keep waiting for an invitation.”
“But what if one doesn’t come? What if Utheros changes locations in the spring? We need to speak with him, Celyn.”
“I know, I know. But I’m worried about you. Not even the greyfriars are allowed up there. It’s heavily guarded.”
Eilean avoided her gaze, looking out the window. A man in gray robes was walking toward their door, and she immediately recognized the stride, his gait. It was their friend.
“Stright is coming,” she said.
Celyn’s worried eyes brightened upon hearing his name. She was as enamored with him as he was with her. Eilean was a little jealous of their connection, but so far neither of them had confessed their feelings to each other. At night, however, the lady and her maid had many frank discussions about it.
Celyn hurried downstairs to let him in, and the wooden floor was so thin Eilean could feel the vibration through it. A knock sounded, followed by the sound of the door unlatching, and the two exchanging greetings. Soon her friends were both up in the sitting room.
“Blessed morning,” Eilean said to Stright in the Hautlander fashion.
“Indeed it is,” he replied in their own language. He lifted his eyebrows. “I think I’ve found a way into the castle.”
“Really?” Celyn asked with delight.
There was a third chair by the table, and he sat down, leaning forward eagerly. “I spent the night in the woods near the castle.”
“Weren’t you cold?” Celyn asked with worry.
Eilean sipped from her drink, suppressing a small smile.
“I’m more comfortable there than in that dank cell at the hostel. It’s a punishment, I tell you.”
As a druid, Stright preferred dwelling out of doors, in proximity to the spirit creatures that proliferated in the natural parts of the world and shunned towns and cities. The amulet he wore allowed him to commune with them and influence them to use their magic on his behalf. No spirit creatures lived within the town of Isen, so he had been communing with the ones that lived in the woods surrounding the town.
“How close to the castle did you get?” Eilean asked him.
“Very close,” he said. “And I know where Utheros is staying within the castle.”
“Truly?” Celyn asked with delight. She gripped his wrist with enthusiasm. He looked down at her fingers, his cheeks turning a little pink, and she hurriedly removed her hand.
“Did one of the spirits tell you?” Eilean asked.
“Yes. A púca. They are mischievous sorts. Normally you have to win their trust, but this one was a companion of Mordaunt’s.”
“Truly?” Eilean said with great interest. “I don’t remember seeing it.”
“Púcas can alter their form. This one favors the shape of a rather large bat. So it was probably disguised when you were around. It offered me a ride to the castle, but understand that if you accept a ride from a púca, they have power over you until the ride is done.”
Eilean’s stomach dropped. Fly to the castle? “That is not very reassuring, Stright. What kind of power?”
“It doesn’t have to take you there immediately. But you’ll be safe. Spirit creatures cannot lie,” he said, holding up his hands, “so it would not have claimed to be Mordaunt’s companion if it were not true. I know of their kind through the druid lore, but I’ve never met one before. Since coming here, this púca likes to fly up to the castle at night and torment the soldiers on guard.”
“Mischievous indeed,” Eilean agreed.
“The púca has seen the man being kept at the castle. It’s Utheros. The creature wanted to make contact with you and Celyn, but it came to me when it realized I was a druid. It knew I could pass on its message.”
“So it can get us inside the castle?” Eilean asked with interest.
“It’ll only come out at night, so we’d have to spend the night outside the city walls.”
“Are you sure we can trust it?” Celyn said nervously.
Stright sighed. “As long as you understand these creatures, they will not harm you. I’d be willing to go first, to tell Utheros about Eilean and Mordaunt’s tome. That might earn you an invitation at least.”
“But what if it doesn’t? What if you’re captured?”
All druids were considered heretics by the maston order, regardless of whether they worked with the Medium, like Stright, or twisted its power to their demands, like the dark druids. If Stright were taken, the consequences could be severe.
Stright looked at Celyn. “I’m willing to take that risk. It won’t be long before Hoel finds us, and if we don’t find a way to get into that castle without giving away why we’re here and what we have, we’ll run out of time. Those guards will never let us in without scrutinizing our story. They’re taking serious precautions to keep Utheros safe. We all know his life is in jeopardy.”
“What do you think, Eilean?” Celyn asked.
“I should be the one,” she answered. “I’m the one who knows Mordaunt. Utheros is more likely to listen to me. Besides, if he calls the guards, at least I could use my magic to get out. Would the púca also bring me back?”
