Secrets at the Keep (Kingdom of Denall Book 2) (11 page)

Kaz shook his head from side to side. “No, that would be impossible from this vantage. The arrow would be angled downwards. If I aim high on the close advisor and angle it just right, I can kill the closest advisor while probably hitting the second, maybe a leg shot if I'm lucky. They just need to be very close together or it'll never work.”

“Whatever you think is best,” P said, and then she silently waited, listening for any sign that Kaz's hunch was right.

“What I think is best?” he repeated. “I doubt very much that is what you are interested in.”

P patted Kaz on the shoulder, “You’re wrong about that,” she corrected. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since your caravan came to Lexingar. I’ve watched how you looked out for your friends, I watched how you treated Maggie at the tournament. I’ve watched how you train. I know you are honest, and considerate. I picked you for so many other reasons than your archery skills.” Kaz was surprised by P’s sincerity and openness. Despite their mysterious beginnings, he felt that he did trust her.

Kaz watched the group walk over to the flower garden, where 'Omer' gave some gruff commands and criticisms to the workers. They were moving back to the stables when Kaz stood up and drew his first arrow. He paused for a moment then shot. The dark shafted arrow with white feathers easily pierced through the fancy clothing of the first advisor as he whispered into the ears of 'Omer's guard'. The advisor dropped to the ground and immediately there was a shuffle of people. The guards all dropped the façade and blocked the real Omer from any harm as they all rushed toward the gate. Kaz frantically searched to see whether he had hit the second advisor.

“It got him,” Kaz announced. “That should slow him down until I…”

P expected Kaz to draw a second arrow and take down one of the men huddled around Omer, but the second shot never came. She looked up to him expectantly. “Did you kill both of them with one shot?” No answer. “Is the second advisor dead?” No answer. P grabbed Kaz and shook him back into reality. “We have to get going. What happened?”

“The second advisor, the one I injured.” Then a long pause.

Impatient and needing answers P urged him on. “What is it!” she demanded.

Finally Kaz breathed out his reply. “It's Bendar.”

Peyton’s cottage was in the middle of a large, open field surrounded by small flower gardens, a cultivated vegetable patch, and some strategically placed fruit trees. It looked like a cozy place to live and a safe place to visit, but Mylot and Bethany approached with caution and stealth.

“He probably knows we’re coming, but it is always best to be safe.”

“What are you talking about?” Mylot asked.

“He may be old and eccentric, but I doubt he has lost his edge.” She crouched to the ground and pointed. “Do you see that?”

Mylot squinted as he looked where Bethany was pointing on the ground. “No.”

“Right there,” she continued to point, “that small, depressed patch of ground.” The almost imperceptible change in terrain had not registered as important to Mylot, but now that it was brought to his attention, he could see. The small, oval shaped spot in the ground was unnaturally smooth around all edges.

“What is it?”

“Most likely some kind of trap, or trigger. Don’t step on it or walk over it,” Bethany said as she slipped around the small oval.

“So what is Peyton like?” Mylot asked as he maneuvered around another indentation in the ground.

Bethany bobbed her head back and forth silently as if trying to find the right words. “He’s very kind. But his information has been off for the past couple of years.”

Mylot shrugged and tried to be optimistic. “Well that’s what we want isn’t it? We want this lead to be a dead end.”

“That’s true,” Bethany admitted, “but we don’t want to be riding across Denall every six months to find that it is a dead end. Last time I came here for an urgent message, he told me about a hidden slave village near Omer’s Keep. As I rode up to Omer’s Keep I found some of his guards, and they gave me an escort around his estate. There’s miles and miles of vineyards, and open fields, but no slave villages.”

Mylot continued walking, thinking about what they might find in the cabin ahead, when the door burst open. “Who is out there?” a harsh voice demanded.

Bethany stood up and waved to Peyton, then gestured to Mylot. “We have come about your message.”

“It’s about time.” Then the door was shut.

Not knowing whether they should move, Mylot looked at Bethany expectantly. “What do we do now?”

Instead of an answer from Bethany, Peyton called out again. “Come on in you two, leave your horses out there to graze.”

Mylot gave Bethany a confused look. “Does he really think we were planning to take them inside with us?” Bethany shook her head, tied her horse securely to a nearby fruit tree so that it wouldn’t wander into any of Peyton’s hidden traps, and headed toward the house. Mylot tied Gapol next to Bethany’s horse, and then followed her inside, still looking out warily for any strange looking sections of the path.

Inside, the cottage was just as tidy as the gardens were outside. When he first entered, Mylot looked around at the comfortable living area. The cottage had a small kitchen, a sitting room, and two doors that led to other rooms. Peyton shuffled through the small home into the sitting room. There were four chairs, and a table set in the middle of the room. On the table there was a large map of Denall.

“Sit.” Peyton motioned to the chairs. “So, did they find the slaves?”

Bethany gave a knowing look to Mylot. “Not yet, but I’m sure we will find them soon.”

“Good. Nasty business, those slave holders.” He nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Mylot. “Have we met?”

“No, I don’t believe we have.” Mylot answered slowly. “I’m Mylot.”

“Mylot, that name sounds familiar.” Peyton stopped and rubbed his bald head for several moments. After he was sure he could not place the name or the face, he shook his head. “Never mind about that now, we have important business. Did you bring back my pigeon?”

“It should have arrived days ago.” Bethany answered. “It was to bring the message that we were on our way.”

“Oh yes, that is right.” Peyton got up slowly and made his way to a stack of papers. He leafed through them several times, the four intellect marks on his lined forehead flaring red.

Mylot leaned forward on his seat and rose to his feet. Before he could speak, Bethany grabbed his arm. He looked down at her and she was shaking her head and motioning for him to sit back in his chair. Ignoring her, he took a step toward the older man. “Would you like help with that?” Mylot asked, trying to be helpful.

Peyton turned on Mylot, his thick, bushy white eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl. “Well that is rather insolent. Don’t you think an old man can find a sheet of paper?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mylot tried to explain.

“Oh, perhaps you think I’m too frail to carry such a heavy object?”

Mylot raised his hands as if to surrender. “I meant no offense; I was just offering to help.”

“I keep this place up on my own; I can very well get my own… Well I can get… Now look what you’ve done. I don’t even know what I’m looking for!”

Bethany stood up and walked to Peyton, helping him back to the table. “You were just about to tell us the important news that you have about Mordyar.” Mylot watched as the older man let Bethany lead him back to his seat. He joined them again at the table.

All annoyance left as Peyton’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” He again stood up and went to his pile of papers, this time undisturbed. He came back with a small pigeon scroll. “Here you go, can you help read that for me? I am not as young as I used to be.” He handed the scroll to Bethany. “Thank you, you are such a sweet girl.”

Mylot looked around the room from Bethany to Peyton, confused at how offering help had been so offensive just a few minutes ago, and now was an admirable trait.

“Do you mind if I read it aloud?”

“Oh no, dear. Go ahead.” Peyton began in a kind tone, then he glared at Mylot, “Most likely this one can’t read it himself anyway.”

Bethany could not contain her smile as she began to read the message. “Destroy bloodline. Create chaos…” Bethany looked at Peyton. “What does it mean?” She asked, handing it to Mylot.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Peyton responded. “It’s from Mordyar. He is asking someone to kill the king, and the heirs to the throne. That will create chaos, and then Denall will be defenseless against Mordyar’s attack. I have heard rumors of problems in Oakdale, Vinsiad, and Eaton. All corners of Denall have been unusually in an upset. The army is being spread thin. I knew that couldn’t be a coincidence, so I sent the message to have you come here, then I intercepted this message that confirmed my hunch.”

Mylot looked at Bethany and shrugged. The message could have the meaning Peyton had assigned it, but it could also mean many other things. He was hesitant to believe that his uncle, the king, and the second in line to the throne, Baron Clifton, were in danger of some kind of assassination attempt, but as members of the King’s Guard, he knew they had to be cautious with this information. The note also said nothing about Mordyar attacking.

“Where did you get this message?” Bethany asked.

“Come with me.” Peyton stood up and walked to one of the back rooms in his cottage. He pushed the door open, and sitting in the middle of the room, tied up, was a large man. “He had the note.” Peyton walked to the man and pointed at his left arm. “Have you ever seen marks like this before?” In place of dots on his left arm, he had three rings that went around his arm.

Bethany calmly replied. “Those are tattoos. His marks are just like our strongarm marks, dots on his shoulder, but in the Scorched Lands the warriors often get tattoos to make their marks look more intimidating.” Mylot’s eyes opened wide in surprise. The Scorched Lands were far to the south, and he had never heard of anyone traveling there. They were renamed after Mordyar overran them. The lands had died. It was said that Mordyar was so evil, nothing good could be near him. Why would anyone travel to such a cursed place? Why had this man come from there? How did Peyton apprehend him?

“We need to take him with us.” Bethany stood to leave, but she was pushed to the ground by Mylot just as a bolt flew through the front window of the cottage. Several more arrows, stones, and crossbow bolts sailed into the cottage from all sides. Bethany and Mylot turned over the table in the room and sat on the floor behind their temporary shield. In the commotion, the unprotected prisoner in the middle of the room had been struck several times, and Peyton, unable to dodge quickly enough, had fallen to the ground.

Bethany looked around the room, taking in the scene, and she reached out to Peyton’s body and pulled his eyelids closed. Another wave of crossbow bolts shattered through the house, some thudding into the table they were sheltering behind.

“Now what?” Mylot asked.

“Well, at least there are some traps around the house. That will buy us some time.” She surveyed the room, then said under her breath, “Peyton, where is your way out?”

“What was that?” Mylot asked.

“Peyton was always paranoid. He probably has some kind of secret escape from here.”

The arrows stopped for a time and Mylot peered over the table, and then ducked back quickly. “They have ten men advancing, all with long range weapons.”

“What about our horses?”

“I didn’t see them.”

Bethany pushed Mylot aside and quickly peeked past the table. “We don’t have much time. I’m going to distract them. I need you to get out the back window and get this message to the Sir Theodore.” She placed Peyton’s note in Mylot’s hand. “Tell him about the man from the scorched lands.”

“You can’t distract ten bowmen; that’s suicide. We need to work together.”

Bethany placed one hand gently over Mylot’s mouth. “Little mouse, this is not a request or a debate. I am your superior officer and I am ordering you to leave. The king might be in danger.” She placed the scroll in his hands.

Mylot reached up and took her hand from his mouth. “On foot, getting back to Lexingar will take months. Stopping for supplies might take longer.”

“Go north to Omer’s Keep. Omer is loyal to the king and will give you the help you need.” She gripped his hand tightly.

“What about…”

Bethany cut him off, “There isn’t much time. You need to go now.” She turned the table on end and began moving forward through the main room. Arrows peppered the tabletop and bolts broke through.

Mylot wanted to stay and fight with her, but he knew she was right. If they both died, it wouldn’t help anyone. Their best chance for one to get out alive was to split up and run. He was not used to retreating, but he needed to move. While the attackers’ focus was on the moving table, Mylot took two steps and lunged through the back window, landing in the middle of a small rose bush. The parts of his body that were not covered by his armor were cut from the window and scratched and poked by the thorny bush. Despite the pain, Mylot stood up and began to run.

He knew that Bethany could only hold off that group for so long, and he needed to make her sacrifice worthwhile. She was letting herself be killed so he could get away. He hated running away and hiding behind her made him feel like a coward. This was nothing like what he had pictured when he wanted to be part of the King’s Guard. He thought he’d be wearing polished armor, nobly standing by the king to defend him no matter what happened. Now he was running away. An arrow hit the house next to Mylot’s head. He ducked to the ground. Another arrow skimmed off his armor.

He pulled energy, strength, and speed from his strongarm gift, jumped to his feet and ran faster than he thought possible until he reached the relative safety of the woods. Once in the cover of trees, he hid behind a rock and waited. His head began to swim as his body adjusted to using his strength this way. He crouched, completely silent and still, and watched to see if he had been followed.

Two archers approached the tree line, arrows ready. They entered the woods cautiously. “He went into the woods here.” His thick foreign accent made the words almost undecipherable.

“Did you see how fast he was moving?” The second responded. “He could be anywhere by now.” Their footsteps came closer.

“We’d have heard him if he went crashing through the woods,” the man reasoned as they continued making their way farther into the woods.

“If he didn’t run off, then where is he?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find him. He’s seen Tybalt.”

The two men kept pressing forward, getting close to Mylot’s hiding place. Although only armed with a hunting knife, Mylot was poised, ready to attack. They circled left in the woods and Mylot could hear the leaves crunching and branches breaking as they moved clumsily through the underbrush. Then they turned to circle back.

*****

Maggie ducked her head as she passed below a low-hanging branch so her long, matted hair didn’t catch. She stepped lightly on some wet leaves, then put more of her weight on a large rock, making sure to be silent. Since winning the Lexingar archery tournament, she had been traveling almost straight west out of the city and into the relatively open and wild country of the Woller Plains, just south of Omer’s realm. As she traveled, she made small detours to gather food, or to rest, but otherwise she kept moving. She wished she had been able to stay still for a while, spend her tournament winnings and have some down time, but she couldn’t. She was compelled to move on. As she continued through the woods, she leaned down and picked up two fist-sized rocks with jagged, sharp edges. She wasn’t really sure what she’d do with the rocks, but she knew they would be useful to her.