that?”
“Yes!” Devon blurted out. “I swear to it!”
“I've asked no oath from you,” said Millet. “Nor would I believe any that you could give. So I will swear an oath to you.” He leaned in. “You tell me everything you know, and flee Sharpstone this very night, without a word to the rest of the faithful, and I swear that you will not die this night. Should I find out that you have lied, that you have spoken to your friends, or should the sun find you still in this town in the morning, regardless of what happens to me you will die. Do not think you can find safety in Baltria. Or that your father can protect you. And should I die, your death will come more swiftly than you can imagine.” He stood and turned to Dina. “Please explain to Lord Devon Drevaldon II, who you are, so that he knows what I say is true.”
Dina flashed a shocked glance at Millet, then nodded. “I am a member of the Order of Amon Dahl. Does that name hold any meaning for you?”
“I have heard of it,” said Devon. “The faithful speak of it often.”
“Then you should know that we have people in cities in every kingdom,” Her face was stone. “If you do not do as Lord Millet says, then I will send word to every member of my order, that your death is of the greatest importance. There will be nowhere to hide. Do you understand?”
Devon nodded slowly.
“Then tell me everything you know about the plans of the faithful,” said Millet. “And if anyone in town has joined your cause. And I don't mean people who owe you money. I mean those who are really with you.”
For the next hour Devon told them what he knew. But as it turned out, it wasn't much they didn't already know. Angraaldidn't seem to hold the faithful in high regard; relegating them to petty espionage and assassinations. They received most of their orders from agents traveling up and down the Goodbranch River, and sent reports of their progress the same way. Their orders were to take control of Sharpstone, and find any information on Lee Starfinder and Gewey Stedding. The king had been resisting their effort to place an ambassador in his court, but had been more than willing to accept their gold. Devon said that if the king didn't relent soon, it was likely he would be killed. When exactly this would happen, he didn't know. But he knew they had people in place in Helenia.
Once Millet was satisfied, he called for Barty and Randson. They paused at the sight of the bloody corpse of Sherone. Randson smiled and nodded, approvingly.
“I see you let the fat one live,” said Barty.
Millet looked down at Devon. “Load his friend's body in the wagon.” He reach in his pocket, and handed Barty a small bag of gold. “Take this, and Lord Devon, away from Sharpstone. Make certain he has a shovel to dig a grave, and give him the gold when he's done. It should be enough to take him wherever he wants to go.”
“And where is that?” asked Barty.
Millet leaned down and cut Devon's bonds. “That's up to him. But I daresay, he should reconsider a return to Baltria.” A sinister grin crept on his face. “Though his father may welcome him, I doubt the rest of the faithful will be as…understanding of his failure.” He shrugged. “The choice is his. I care not.”
Barty and Randson lifted the body and carried it away. Devon followed close behind. When they had gone, Millet sat in a chair near the fireplace and bowed his head in thought.
Dina sat across from him and leaned forward. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Millet looked up and smiled weakly. “I will be.” He looked over at where Sherone's blood still stained the floor. “During my travels with Lee, I've been forced to kill. But never like this. I've never murdered a helpless man.”
Dina reached out and placed her hand on Millet's knee. “You did what had to be done.”
Millet nodded. “I know. But I didn't want this.” He looked around the room; the walls were decorated with a lifetime of adventures. “Any of it. I was never meant to be a lord.”
“I don't know,” said Dina. “It seems to me that you are a very good lord. To do things against your own character in order to protect those you love is a very noble thing. It's what a lord should be.”
Millet rose to his feet and looked at Dina. His face was filled with contempt. Not for her, but for himself. “And I may never forgive myself for it.” Then he whispered, “Or Lee, either.” He took out the blade that had ended the life of Sherone and stared at it. “Once I poisoned a man who was conspiring to kill a sword-master Lee was studying under in Dantory. I watched him writhe and twist on the floor, until the life left his body. This was a thousand times worse.”
“Do you regret your actions?” asked Dina.
“My heart does. But my mind tells me that it was foolish to even let Devon live.” He put the knife away. “I'm an old man, Dina. I've traveled far, and seen many things. But until now, I've always had the luxury of viewing from the outside.” He knelt in front of the blood stain on the floor. “Now, I'm in the midst of it. Now, it is me who needs to hear the voice of reason. I was that voice for Lee Starfinder. Who will be that voice for me?”
Dina stood beside him. “Let me be that voice.” She gently lifted him to his feet. “Though I doubt I am as wise as you.”
“Before I was made Lord of the Nal'Thain family, that was possibly true.” He turned to her and shook his head. “Now I am as Lee once was. The responsibility rests with me, and that responsibility can drive away the person you are, in favor of the person you need to be.” He took a long, deep breath. “And I know this is only the beginning. More blood is to come.”
“True,” said Dina. “But for now we need to wash this blood away.” She headed toward the kitchen. “Get some rest,” she called back. “I will attend to this and leave for Helenia in the morning.”
Millet didn't protest. He went to his chambers and dressed for bed. As he lay in the dark, he could still see the knife sliding across Sherone's throat. He could see his victim's eyes open in terror, then close forever. The vision filled him with anger and sorrow. Millet Gristall was no more. That man died the moment Sherone gasped his final breath. Lord Millet Nal'Thain had been left in his stead. And that man was at war. And with a troubled mind, he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning there was a loud banging at the manor’s front door. Millet donned a robe and went to answer it, but could hear that Dina had gotten there first. Angry voices echoed through the house from outside. When he finally arrived at the door, Dina was in the center of the doorway, her hands firmly planted on her hips.
“Who is it?” asked Millet.
“Mayor Freidly,” came a voice from just outside. “I'm here with members of the faithful. We need to speak with you.”
“Show them in, Dina,” said Millet. “I need to dress, then I will join you.” He turned and headed back to the bedroom. His heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Barty and Randson had returned. He dressed in a casual pair of white cotton trousers and shirt and slipped on a fine pair of soft leather shoes. He knew he didn't exactly look like the richest man in Sharpstone, but it would have to do.
When he arrived in the main hall, Mayor Freidly was standing at the far end of the room. His bald head, short, round features and wide-set blue eyes, were just as Millet remembered. However, he was wearing a red silk waistcoat, and fine linen pants and shirt, which was unusual for the mayor, being a man of modest means. Three black-cloaked men stood beside him. Their hoods were pushed back, revealing their dark hair, pale skin, and angry expressions. Millet thought they had the look of Baltrian nobles.
“Mayor Freidly,” said Millet, bowing his head ever so slightly. “It's good to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The mayor looked flushed and nervous. “It's good to see you too, Millet. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I don't understand,” said Millet, feigning ignorance. “What is the trouble?”
“You know what the trouble is!” roared the faithful farthest from the mayor.
The mayor held up his hand. “Please, Master Troungo. Let me handle this.” He turned back to Millet. “These men claim that two of their brethren disappeared last night.”
“I'm sorry to hear it,” said Millet. “Still, I fail to see why you have come to me. I only just arrived back in Sharpstone, and have had little time to get to know the newcomers.” He looked at each of the faithful in turn. “Though, I must admit, their reputation has preceded them. Why would you think to find them here?”
“They claim that two of their order came here last night to welcome you home, and never returned.”
“I'm afraid I can't help you,” said Millet. “I swear by the Gods, no one other than myself, Dina and those that live here passed through the door last night.”
