He could feel the bile rise up in his throat. Anger began to churn inside Corriveaux’s heart. He would not lash out at the man. Kicking down underlings was not a way to foster loyalty.
The kingdom was abandoned. There was no opposition awaiting us. The Aldermaston sent a delegation to us to sue for peace and—
Tell me! Corriveaux thought firmly. How can a kingdom flee? Where did they go? Did they leave no tracks?
Of course they left tracks, Corriveaux. There are no walls or fortification around the city, as you know. The hunters went tracking into the woods and found nothing. All the tracks were within the city. They led to the abbey.
Corriveaux tried to restrain his impatience. From Pralt, he was sensing different emotions now—mingled frustration and fury. They had sent legions of soldiers to Assinica after whispering promises to them about plunder, rape, and riches beyond their dreams. Dreams of the glory to come had been enough to motivate the soldiers to risk the wrath of the Medium by slaying thousands of mastons. And now there would be no battle. It was entirely possible the armada would revolt against their Dochte Mandar overseers.
Pralt, we know that many abbeys have tunnels constructed beneath them, secret passageways that enable people to escape. Surely that is where the mastons fled.
Pralt exuded a sense of contempt for Corriveaux, which only inflamed his anger.
We know this, Corriveaux. I am not a simpleton. You cannot move a herd of kine without leaving a trail of dung. You cannot move a herd of people without evidence either. The trail leads into the center of the abbey, not into the dungeon where the learners are instructed and where underground trails are most likely. There is a screen of wood. The Rood Screen. The markings of their feet were evident all the way to the screen. Then they disappeared.
Corriveaux listened in shocked silence. He could almost see the other man’s thoughts, could tell that Pralt had personally led the inspection.
They are gone, Corriveaux thought bleakly.
That is what I am trying to tell you. You must tell the Hand. What would he have us do? I am awaiting orders to raze the abbey and burn the city. The fleet is settling in and occupying houses. They left . . . they left cooked meals for us, Corriveaux. Every table was set as if expecting visitors. They left their belongings. All of them. Clothes, cloaks, vases, looms. Everything was abandoned and left behind for us to pillage. It is difficult maintaining order. The men want to go ashore and begin plundering. They left it all for us to take. Why would they do that?
Corriveaux gritted his teeth in fury. A peace offering. He knew that was what it was. We are innocent and harmless. We give you our city. We give you our possessions. Spare our lives, our culture. Do not hunt us.
The Apse Veil is open, Corriveaux thought.
What is that? Pralt demanded.
You have not studied the maston ways sufficiently. Their legends are as deep as time. The Apse Veil links the abbeys together, much like these waymarkers link us. If the Apse Veil had opened in any other kingdom but Comoros, we would have been the first to hear of it. It must mean they have gone to Muirwood. The mastons have returned after all, just as the Hand feared they would.
What would you have us do? Pralt asked.
Be vigilant. They may have left spies behind to study our reaction. Have the abbey guarded night and day, but in secret. The mastons may be peaceful, but they are cunning. Some may try to slip through the abbey again. Be watchful.
I will make it thus. Farewell, Corriveaux.
Farewell, Pralt.
Corriveaux released the waymarker, and the din from the celebration flooded his ears, making him nauseous. He was sweating beneath his velvet tunic, so he took a moment to calm himself, repeating the dirge of the Dochte Mandar in his mind to focus his thoughts.
As soon as he felt centered, he hurried out of the chamber of the waymarker and down the hall—the racket of the revelers increasing with each step. He avoided the doorway leading into the great hall, where hundreds of Leerings illuminated the vaulted beams and provided heat and warmth for the men gathered inside. After they had their fill of the casks of drink that had been provided, the slave women would be brought in to dance, inflaming them all the more. Every day new ships arrived from foreign ports, bringing a new glut to be enjoyed—whether it be wealth, food, fabric, or art. Though it disgusted Corriveaux, it was necessary. Men would only commit the worst murders when they could drown their senses afterward and if they truly believed that those killings would improve their standing in their next life. It did not hurt that any last traces of guilt could be purged by the kystrels.