The Banished of Muirwood by Jeff Wheeler Page A

determined by how many fleas infest the pallets. It is judged by the food.” Tayt grabbed a hunk of bread from the table and dunked it deep into the bubbling cheese.
    “Your friend will not join us?” Collier asked in a low voice.
    Tayt glanced over his shoulder, and they both saw the kishion standing at the counter with a cup of ale or some other drink, sipping it slowly.
    “He is the sullen type and does not enjoy jovial company. Never disturb a man in his humors. Try the cheese,” he offered to Maia, ripping off another hunk of bread and dipping it into the molten cheese. It was pale yellow with a brownish powder floating on the top. Maia mimicked his action and dipped some bread in. It was hot enough to burn her tongue, but the flavors made her start with surprise. It was delicious! She was uncomfortable eating with the stranger, who seemed to be watching her very closely.
    “Ah, she likes it,” Collier said with a grin. “Are you as quiet as your friend at the counter, my lady? What is your—”
    “You said the Mark’s army is thirty leagues away,” Tayt interrupted. A flash of anger came in Collier’s eyes. “Is he bound for Roc-Adamour? I noticed the manor house looked dark as we arrived.”
    Maia was grateful for Jon Tayt foiling the man’s attempts to draw her into conversation. She felt assured enough to speak to him without giving away too much, but the less he learned about her, the better.
    Collier pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. He is not coming here. As I said, I was planning to ride to Argus to see you. You said you would not work for the Mark even if he paid you ten thousand. What about twenty-five?”
    “Twenty-five marks?” Tayt asked incredulously.
    “Twenty-five thousand ,” Collier said. “You could almost buy your own Hundred for that. Perhaps you want a title to go with it? The king’s sheriff?”
    The hunter dabbed the bread with cheese and stuffed the piece in his mouth. He brushed his hands together and wiped crumbs from his tangled beard. “The more he offers me, the less I trust him. I am not worth even five hundred marks. No.”
    Collier nodded in satisfaction. “I told him as much.” He turned to Maia again, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “If I ask you about the weather in the mountains, are you permitted to speak? Or will Tayt interrupt me again?”
    “It was quite windy,” Maia replied, a small smile dimpling her mouth. Despite herself, she was a little flattered by the persistence of his attentions. But she was equally resolved to limit her interactions with him.
    “She speaks!” Collier said with a laugh, clapping his hands.
    “I will not serve that man,” Tayt said, lifting another skewer from the pot of seething broth. He mumbled with delight as the hot meat burned his tongue; he was clearly savoring it. “Tell him no amount of coin will seduce me.”
    “He is quite determined to remain poor,” Collier said to Maia. “Yet I respect him for it. You cannot buy integrity, as the mastons say. No man can hold his virtue too dear, for it is the only thing whose value will ever increase with its cost. Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it.” He grinned. “I memorized that one, though I am not a maston myself.”
    Maia nodded, studying his face, saying nothing. She noticed a little scar on his left cheek, just under his eye, that could only be seen up close. His eyes were so blue, it was like looking into the sky. She squelched the curious feelings this observation aroused, knowing they would soon be on their way and she would never meet this man again. Feint Collier, a wretched of Dahomey. It was a rare thing to abandon a child in her kingdom. If a child were abandoned at an abbey in Comoros, there were any number of families who would step forward and quickly claim it. Her heart went out to him, but she could not allow herself to care. Not when a loose word from her or Jon Tayt could reach the