no backing out now. He knew what would happen to him if he failed. He pushed the door open wider and ever so slowly stepped silently into the kitchen. The room was still warm from an earlier meal, and the air bore the scent of roast meat and bread. Beads of sweat quickly formed on his brow.
At the far end of the room was a door that he assumed led to the dining hall. From there he needed to make his way to the other end of the house to the sleeping chambers. One of Starfinder's less-than-loyal servants had given them a good description of the layout, and he had been over it several times. Still, there was always the chance that it was inaccurate. He shifted his knife into his left hand, dried his palm on his trousers, and took a slow, deep breath.
He heard movement behind him coming from the pantry. The coward regained his nerve. He was almost at the kitchen door when it burst open. A dark figure stood in the doorway, the glint of steel shining through the darkness. He instinctively raised his knife. Then there was a thud and sharp pain to the back of his head. He fell to his knees, his knife falling from his grasp.
“I surrender!” he cried.
The figure in the doorway stepped forward, his face still obscure by darkness. “Again.”
Another blow came from behind; this one sent him into unconsciousness.
Chapter 5
Millet paced the floor in the main hall while Dina was seated in a chair by the fire reading calmly. Her honey- blond hair was pushed back, revealing her delicate features. Her lips were twisted into a tiny smile, as she fingered through the pages of a Baltrian comedy. He stopped to look at the two bound, unconscious men in the corner. Their hoods had been thrown back from their black cloaks. The tall one was dark-haired and tan, with long features and narrow-set eyes. The short plump one, had the look of a true aristocrat. Soft pale skin and well-oiled black hair. Millet wondered why they would send someone like this to kill him. Clearly they didn't think the task would be difficult. Barty was kneeling next to them, a short sword in hand; his son on the other side holding a thick herding club.
“Do you know them?” asked Millet.
Barty nodded. “The fat one is called Devon. The other fellow goes by Sherone. Both are from Baltria, I think. At least that’s what they sound like when they talk, and Devon does most of that. He's a bit of a braggart.” He cupped Devon's chin in his hand. “Goes 'round telling tales of his adventures. Not that anyone believes a word of it, but he's free with his gold, so no one seems to mind.”
“Do you recognize them?” Dina asked Millet, without looking up from her book.
“No,” he replied. “But it has been many years since I associated with the nobles of Baltria. These two don't look to be old enough for me to have known them, when Lee and I lived there.”
“What do you intend to do with them?” asked Barty.
Millet's eyes shot to Dina, who gave him a knowing look.
“I cannot ask you or your son to participate in what is about to happen,” said Millet.
Barty rose to his feet. His face flushed. “I see.” He turned to his son. “Go to the Stedding farm.”
Randson glared at his father defiantly, and squared his shoulders.
Barty heaved a sigh. “Not this time, boy.” He placed his hand on Randson's arm.
“I will not leave you,” said Randson. His voice was deep and powerful.
Dina looked up with raised eyebrows, realizing this was the first time she had heard Randson speak.
Barty looked at Millet then back to his son. “If Lord Millet is going to do what I think he's going to do, then I will not have you a part of this.”
“And if you think I am blind to what these people are up to, then you think me stupid,” said Randson. “They have practically enslaved Sharpstone. People are afraid to speak against the faithful out of fear they'll lose all they own. They curse the Gods openly, and mock those who refuse to do the same.” His knuckles turned white wrapped around the club. “And now they come here to do murder. If Lord Millet decides they should die, then it's no less than they deserve. You taught me right from wrong, father. And we are in the right.”
Barty nodded slowly, pride glimmering in his eyes.
“Actually, I need him to do something for me,” said Millet. “And he would need to leave soon.”
“If you think to send me away?” began Randson.
“I do indeed,” said Millet, cutting him off. “I need you to protect Dina.”
“Protect me from what?” asked Dina.
“I intend to start fighting Angraalhere,” explained Millet. “If am to do that, I'll need more than just the four of us.” He turned to Barty. “I assume that there are still people in town that want to stand up to the faithful?”
“A few,” said Barty. “But they're afraid of losing what they have. Practically the whole town is in debt to them. It's all legal, too. Signed by the mayor, then sent to Helenia. If anyone gets out of line, they threaten to go to the king.”
“Smart,” Millet muttered, rubbing his chin. “In the morning, go to those who you think you can still trust. Tell them that all their debts will be paid tomorrow. Then have them join me here.” He looked decisively at Dina. “I need you to go to Helenia, to hire men at arms. By the morning the faithful will likely send for more people. And unless I miss my guess, the next group that arrives in Sharpstone won't be nobles and merchants. We'll need muscle and steel to rid us of this lot.”
“I can do better than sell-swords and thugs,” said Dina. “If I am to go to Helenia, then I can bring back Knights of Amon Dahl.”
Millet's eyes widened. “Really? How many?”
“I can send word for them to come from the temples,” said Dina. “How many I don't know, but if only but a few are able, Angraalwould have to send an army to match them. And I wager they can be here faster than the faithful will be able to reinforce.”
“Then it will be up to us to keep them busy until these fellows get here,” said Barty. “You can count on me, and a few others at the Stedding farm, too.”
Just then, Devon stirred, groaning.
Millet looked at Barty grimly “For now I need you and Randson to go out back and get a wagon ready. Don't come back inside until I call for you.”
Barty hesitated, then nodded sharply. “Of course.”
After Barty and Randson had left, Millet knelt down in front of Devon, who had only just opened his eyes. In his right hand he held a small dagger. Dina stood just behind him, expressionless.
Devon turned his head and saw that Sherone was still unconscious. “What do you want with me?”
“First, I want you to see something,” said Millet. “Then I'll let you decide what I want with you.”
Before Devon could respond, Millet reach out and slit Sherone's throat. Blood spewed forth then poured down the man's cloak. Sherone's eyes opened for a moment as he gasped for breath, then slowly closed.
“Gods protect me!” cried Devon. Tears streamed down his plump cheeks as he struggled against his bonds.
Millet laughed mockingly. “Gods? The faithful invoking the Gods?” He wiped the bloody dagger on Sherone's cloak. “What would your master say if he heard that, I wonder?”
“I renounce the faithful,” said Devon, through his sobs. “Please, spare me.”
Millet stood and turned his back to Devon. “Did you come here to spare me?”
“My father is rich,” cried Devon. “If you let me live, he’ll pay you whatever you want.”
“And who is your father?” asked Millet.
“Lord Devon Drevaldon II, of Baltria.”
“I know your father,” said Millet. “At least I know of him through Lee Starfinder. It doesn't surprise me that he has fallen in with Angraal. But you should know that I am lord of this manor now. And as a Baltrian noble, you know well what it means to attack a lord in his own home.”
Devon began to shake uncontrollably. ”I swear I didn't know. I only came to…to…”
Millet spun around and held up his hand, silencing him. “You came to prove to the rest that you're good for more than just your father’s gold.” He knelt down. “Now you can prove your worth to me. Would you like
