Secrets at the Keep (Kingdom of Denall Book 2) (15 page)

“When you have that answer, I have another question I want you to take some time to seriously think about. You have great potential, and I want to help you, but you really need to learn how to think.”

Kire pointed down into a small valley. “What do you see down there?”

Kaz looked around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. There was a patch of grass in the middle of the valley, some trees, and some birds flying around. It looked like any other valley he had seen. “I see a valley.”

Kire whipped the animal and his cart moved on. He guided it down into the valley on an almost imperceptible path. When Kaz was down in the valley, a house appeared as though it hadn’t been there before. It was built using roughhewn logs stacked to make the walls, and a sod roof which made it blend in when looking down on it.

When they had come up to the small dwelling, Kire unhitched his mule and walked the steady beast to a small, open field. Then he turned his attention to helping Kaz make his way inside. The doorway was made for a man of Kire's height, so Kaz had to duck several inches to fit through.

Kaz examined the tidy little house. It was divided into three rooms: a kitchen, a living room and a door at the back of the living room that probably led to a bedroom. The living room was a small gathering space with some chairs and a fireplace. The kitchen had a small wooden table and one chair. On the far side of the kitchen there was a small, thin door that looked like it led to a closet. Kaz noticed that Kire was watching him.

“Kaz, do you notice anything?” Kire asked while Kaz looked around the house.

“It's a very nice place you've got here.” was all Kaz said.

Kire shook his head. “We've got a lot of work to do.”

“Mamma, he’s awake.”

“Trini, get some water.”

Mylot moaned as he turned to his side. He could hear the door open and close, then the footsteps of another person walking around a small room, but his head was fuzzy and his eyes were still adjusting to the light. He tried to sit up, but was firmly pushed back down. “You have to rest. Here drink this.” Mylot obediently reached his hands out and a set of frail hands guided him to a clay cup. He moved it to his mouth, but spit the liquid back into the cup the moment it touched his lips.

“What is that?”

“It will heal you, you must drink it.” As he heard the words, he began to remember. He should have been dead. He was attacked in the woods, shot with an arrow. After it began turning red and swelling, he had realized it was poisoned and had used his strength gift for speed to run as far north as he could. Where was he? He struggled to ask the question, but his throat was dry. Reluctantly Mylot nodded and choked down the liquid. After the first gulp his eyes began to adjust and he looked down at the dull, gray liquid. He took another drink.

Within moments he began to feel better. His head cleared somewhat and he sat up and looked up to the woman who was helping him drink. She was wearing a sturdy dress that looked like it had been handmade, and an apron that was a light brown, but might have at one time been white. Her body was worn down, as if burdened severely by a tough life, but her eyes were kind.

“Where am I?” Mylot asked.

“You are in our home.” The woman motioned around a small, one room cabin. Mylot was lying on a thick, wool blanket on the floor. Other blankets were neatly rolled up and placed next to the wall.

As he was looking around the room the front door opened and let in a bright beam of sunlight. A young girl entered, carrying a bucket of water in both hands, she hefted the half-full bucket with all her might to get it over the threshold of the house, then she dragged it on the floor.

“I got the water Mamma,” she said with a proud smile, then she whipped her blond hair to the side, leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek. She put the bucket down in front of Mylot, then dipped a ladle and handed it to him. He looked at her for a moment, not sure what to do. “You need to drink if you want to get your strength back,” she explained. The girl looked to her mother, then back at Mylot. “Go on,” she urged. As she moved the ladle forward some of the water spilled on his lap.

Mylot took it from her and drank deeply of the cold water. The girl took the ladle back and filled it again. “You’ve got to fill up that tummy.” Her bright blue eyes shone as she smiled down at Mylot. He drank the water.

Offering a lopsided smile with a raised eyebrow he asked, “Do you think I need more?”

She made a stern face and scrunched her nose. “Don’t be greedy.” Her dress twirled as she spun around and walked away from him.

He shook his head, knowing that he would never understand anyone of the opposite sex. Mylot moved to stand, but his legs would not support his weight. “What happened to me?”

“We were going to ask you the same thing,” the mother began. “Six nights back, Walter found you on the road. He thought you were dead, but then he saw you breathe. He brought you back here.”

Mylot interrupted, “Six days? Have I been asleep for that long?”

“Yes, you have had a terrible fever. We didn’t know what happened to you at first, but then the shaking started and we knew it must be poison. I stayed here with you, using some herbs and keeping that arrow wound cleaned ‘til Walter could get back. You see, Walter headed up the road two days to trade with Omer for some healing ointment.” She paused a moment before continuing. “It is very expensive, so we traded your armor.”

Mylot absently waved his hand, “You did the right thing. The armor doesn’t matter.” Hearing the name Omer immediately made him remember his mission, the message, and Bethany. “I need to get to Omer’s Keep.”

“Well, young man, you are not going anywhere until you can walk.” She said, rubbing her hands on her apron. She picked up the bucket from the ground and put it up on their table, one of the few furnishings in the cabin.

Knowing he couldn’t stay there a moment longer, he began pushing himself up with his arms. “I’ll just borrow a spare horse, or wagon, I need to get there.”

“Begging your pardon, but we don’t have but one mule, and Walter uses that for work every day. He already lost four days’ work getting that ointment for you; we can’t spare anymore.”

“You don’t own a single horse?” Mylot asked in complete surprise.

The woman looked down at her feet in embarrassment. “We’re simple folk, just doin’ our best to get by.”

For the first time, Mylot began to really see the woman, her house, and her family. This small room was their entire home. Their beds were thin mattresses that they rolled up every morning so they could have a living space. They didn’t have enough money to even buy a horse, yet they had put their lives on hold for him. They could have let him die and traded his armor for gold. He estimated they could have doubled their house size twice with the gold they could get for that armor, but instead they had saved his life.

“I am so sorry. I meant no offense.”

“It’s not important,” she answered, still wringing her hands on her apron and refusing to make eye contact.

“Yes it is,” he corrected. “You saved my life, you gave me a place to heal, you have done everything for me, and I have insulted you. What I said was completely out of line. What can I do for you?”

She looked up at him and smiled, then in a motherly tone she scolded, “You can lie down and get better.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied as he lowered his body back to the straw mattress. Before he put his head down, he looked back up to her. “What is your name?”

“My name is Angmar, and this is Trini,” she said, pointing to her daughter.

The girl beamed with a large smile. She moved close and sat right next to Mylot’s mattress. “Who are you?”

Mylot placed a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, “My name is Mylot.”

Angmar let go of her apron, and pulled some flour up onto the table. “Come on, Trini, we have to start mixing the dough or we’ll not have bread for supper.”

That night Mylot sat up on his mattress as the family gathered around him to eat their meager meal. A small loaf of bread was ripped into four pieces, the largest was given to Mylot and the next biggest piece to Trini. There was also a small bowl of nuts Trini had gathered from the woods, a large bowl of wild greens, and some root vegetables that were boiled over the small cook fire. Mylot slowly chewed on his bread and he looked around the small family. How would they survive the winter? What kind of work could Walter be doing that paid so little? He felt a terrible guilt thinking of his estate. How often had he turned away the poor who came to beg for a meal? How often did he mistreat those who worked for him?

After one day of rest Mylot was able to stand on wobbly legs, and after the second day he felt he could walk, but Walter, Angmar, and especially Trini would not let him rise from bed. The third day he insisted that he needed to move on. He thanked them for all they had done and began walking up the road to Omer’s Keep. Although it wasn’t much, he hoped that the gold ring he left on the bedroll would help to repay the family for the generosity he had been shown.

When the small home was out of sight, Mylot’s strongarm marks flared dark red as he sped north. After an hour of running he slowed to a walk and continued walking until it was dark. He did not care if he was worn to exhaustion, he needed to get to the keep as soon as possible. Mylot spent the night shivering in a pile of dried leaves and pine needles. In the morning he began to wonder if it had been a mistake to leave Walter and Angmar’s home so soon.

The second day it began to rain. Walking north, Mylot hugged himself against the bite of the late fall air. The rain soaked his clothing and he fought desperately to keep his shaking under control. Whenever he stopped walking, the cold wind cut through his clothing and chilled him to the core. He never ran that day, but maintained a brisk walk from the rising of the sun to twilight. At night, he wedged himself under the bottom branches of a large evergreen. Despite the day of rain it was dry near the trunk of the tree and he was able to cover himself with fallen needles.

After two nights spent in the cold, he was happy to arrive the third evening at the fortress. It was hard to believe that less than three months ago he had been preparing for the Lexingar tournaments; riding into Lexingar in shining armor waving to his admirers, his servants carrying his supplies and setting up his sleeping quarters. Now he approached Omer’s Keep in much more humble circumstances. Walking in by himself, wearing soaked and muddy clothing that were torn to rags, he approached the gate.

“No beggars after dark.” The guard pronounced when he approached.

“I am no beggar,” Mylot responded. Despite his haggard appearance he spoke with confidence, and the guard turned back. “I am Mylot of Tran, one of King Robert’s personal guards, and I’m on his errand with a message for Lord Omer.”

“King Robert has never sent a messenger in such attire.”

“I have risked my life to bring Lord Omer news that is of vital importance to the kingdom. He will be well rewarded for helping me.” The guard looked incredulously at Mylot, who was struggling to stand upright and had stray pine needles in his hair.

“I will escort you personally to Lord Omer.” The guard placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as a warning that he would not tolerate any games, and then moved into the large fortress. When they had ascended to the upper level of the keep, the guard motioned for Mylot to sit on a wooden bench. “Wait here.”

Mylot could barely keep his eyes open as he waited. He tried to focus on the tapestries, or the doors, or the floor, anything to keep himself awake. Just when he felt he could not stay awake any longer, the doors opened. A large guard standing at the doors pointed.

“Lord Omer will see you now.” Mylot stood and walked into the room.

“Welcome.” Omer was seated behind a large desk with guards on either side of him. Although he could not place them, these guards looked out of place, yet familiar. “I’m told that you have an important message. How can I be of assistance?”

“Greetings, your Excellency.” Mylot bowed deeply. “I am a member of the King’s Royal Guard, here with a time sensitive matter.”

“You don’t look like you are part of the royal guard,” Omer interrupted.

“I apologize for my appearance. We were ambushed; everything was stolen. I’m Mylot of the house of Tran. My father has had many dealings with your barony. I visited this keep when I was a child.”

Omer looked over Mylot carefully. “It certainly has been a long time,” he said after a pause. “I’m sorry I did not recognize you sooner. How may I help you?”

“I have learned of an attack that is coming. I need a strong horse, some clothing, and supplies so I can report what I have found.” Mylot held up his hand showing the small pigeon scroll.

Omer waved his hand and one of his guards retrieved the scroll. As he read the message his expression darkened. He looked to one of his guards and the man nodded. “Have you shared this with anyone else?”

“No.”

“Does anyone else on the King’s Guard suspect an attack?”

Mylot shook his head, “That’s why I need to get to Lexingar with all haste. Nobody knows anything.”

“Good.” Omer made a motion and the two guards at the door grabbed Mylot. “Let’s keep it that way.”

*****

In the dark, moldy dungeon of Omer’s Keep, Pentra sat on a hard stone floor with her back to the wall. A sharp stone protrusion from the wall dug into her back, but she didn’t mind the discomfort; it helped her stay awake. The dungeon’s stench and the groans of other inmates were nothing compared to the personal agony of her dreams. Her mind was filled with questions that nearly drove her crazy in the waking hours, and turned into terrible nightmares when she closed her eyes. The last time she slept she saw, in her mind, Kaz being tortured while Hess was being burned to the ground. Meanwhile, Omer stood above her floating in the air, like some kind of deity, telling her it was all her fault.

What made that one of the worst nightmares yet was the fact that she knew it was true. She had failed Hess, abandoned Kaz, and had not even gotten close to her father before being captured. She didn’t even know whether Dirt and Smudge had been put to death, or whether they were somewhere here in this dungeon. She slowly bowed her head, then slammed it back into the wall sending pain through her head and neck. What a failure she had become.

Pentra shifted against the wall, digging in the sharp point of stone as she fought against the pull of sleepiness. It was hard to tell time in the darkness of the dungeon except when she heard the creaking of the key in the door announcing that the guard was coming with some broth and a crusty roll.

“Hello, Lady Pentra,”

She looked up at the jail guard and realized that it was someone new. This young man was dressed in Omer’s armor, had a similar build to her father, and even looked a little bit like a younger version of Omer. As she looked him over she noticed that he had a bucket in his hand. Before she could ask about the purpose of the bucket, the cold water splashed over her. She involuntarily screamed out, jumped to her feet and found herself at the bars of the cell, teeth clenched as she glared at this young man.