Shadow of the Gods tgc-3

by Brian D. Anderson

Randson brought a wash basin and hot water a few minutes later. After he had cleaned and changed, he strode back to the main hall. Dina was already awaiting him, clothed in a blue cotton dress and seated in a chair, thumbing through a small leather-bound book.

  “Lee certainly liked books,” said Dina. “There must be fifty in my room alone.”

  Millet smiled and took a seat across from her. “He did indeed.” He leaned back and rubbed his neck. “There is much about Lee Starfinder that lives in this house.” He pointed out the tapestries and other various decorations and began telling Dina where they came from and how Lee had acquired them. Dina smiled and listened patiently.

  After a time, Lydia entered the room. Dressed in a dark brown skirt that reached all the way to the floor and a white cotton shirt, she was tall, lean, and despite her advancing years, looked as if she could labor alongside any man. Her once-black hair was now streaked with gray and wrapped in a tight bun.

  Lydia looked disapprovingly at Millet. “What business do you have in Lord Starfinder's chambers?”

  “Fetch Barty, Randson, and Trevor,” ordered Millet. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Trevor's cooking supper,” said Lydia.

  Millet's faced hardened. “Then tell him to stop.”

  Lydia glared at Millet for a moment, then stormed off toward the kitchen. A few minutes later she returned. A thinly built old man wearing a tan shirt and trousers trailed behind, covered from head to toe in flour. The old man beamed when he saw Millet.

  “Good to see you, old friend,” said Trevor. He looked at Dina. “I see your taste in company has improved.”

  Dina stood and introduced herself. Trevor bowed and started to take a seat on the couch.

  “I'll not have you getting flour all over the furniture,” shouted Lydia.

  “Calm down woman,” said Trevor. “I'll clean it.”

  “You sit, too,” Millet said to Lydia.

  The front door opened and Barty and his son entered. Millet motioned for them to sit as well.

  Millet retrieved the parchment Lee had given him when they were all seated, and handed it to Lydia. She and the others read it for several minutes then handed it back to Millet.

  “I don't know who Lee Nal' Thain is,” said Lydia. “But if you think for one minute that-”

  “You know full well who Lee Nal' Thain is,” Millet countered. “As do the rest of you.” He stood. “Lee has given me rights to his lands and titles. That includes this estate.”

  Lydia huffed. “And what do you intend to do with these ‘rights,’ might I ask?”

  Millet thought he heard a slight quiver in the woman's voice.

  “Before I reveal my intentions, tell me about the faithful.”

  Lydia took a deep breath. “About a week after you and Lord Starfinder left Sharpstone, three oddly dressed men came to the door inquiring as to your whereabouts, and the whereabouts of master Stedding. They sounded like those folks from Baltria to me, but they wore black cloaks and kept their faces hidden with their hoods. I've never trusted people who won't show their faces. Anyway, I told them you had all left and didn't know where you had gone, or when you'd return. At the time I didn't think much on it. Lord Starfinder has had odd people call on him before, and he's always taken an interest in young Gewey, but when I went to market a few days later, I noticed they were still around, asking questions.

  “Still, what could I do? They weren't causing trouble and no one seemed to mind them. All the same I told the staff to keep an eye on them.” She looked at Barty.

  “Ah, yes,” said Barty. “When Lydia told me about these characters I made sure I knew what they were up to. I even had my boy follow them a few times. Like Lydia said, at first they didn't do anything other than ask questions. And other than causing rumors to fly, they didn't make trouble. In fact, the way they let their coins pass freely, people actually started to take a liking to them. Especially Mayor Freidly. He had them over at his house almost every night.

  “It wasn't long before they started comin' 'round here again.” Barty's lip curled in anger. “This time they were more forceful. They insisted that someone here knew where Lord Starfinder was, and demanded to know.” He puffed out his chest. “Well, my friend, no one bullies me. I snatched up my shovel and ran them off.”

  “And you were a fool for it,” snapped Lydia. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  Barty ignored her comment. “After that, they didn't come back. I'd see them watching people coming in and out, but that was as close as they came. I guess I scared 'em good enough.”

  “And it's the reason we don't know anything,” scolded Lydia. She turned to Millet. “If you work for Lord Starfinder, you had just as well be an elf. No one says a word to us anymore.”

  “They still talk to me,” said Trevor. “One of the advantages to being an old man.”

  Millet smiled. “What do they say?”

  “First, you should know what went on after Barty ran those fellows off.” Trevor leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. “From what I heard, they didn't like it too much and went to the mayor. Not much the fat lout could do about it though. Barty didn't hit them, and they were on Lord Starfinder's property at the time. I guess they decided to find a better way to watch us. It was only a few days later and they bought the land just next to here. They must have spent a fortune, 'cause they had a house built in just over a week. That was about the time their friends started showing up.”

  “We ran into Martha Tredall on our way here,” said Millet. “She told us a little about what's going on, and said that there's about ten of them.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Trevor. “They said they were here to set up a trading business, but no one really believed it. Especially with all their talk about the Reborn King.”

  This caused Millet and Dina to shift in their seats.

  Trevor cocked his head. “I see you've heard about him. Well, that's no surprise, if half of what they say is true.”

  “And what is that?” asked Millet.

  “Mostly that he's coming to free us from the Gods,” said Trevor. “Bring back the old days like before the Great War. Things like that. I thought they were just some new cult. But whatever they are, and whoever this Reborn King is, they sure do have a lot of gold. Not long after the rest of these faithful got here, they paid to have the market rebuilt, and started buying out anyone who'd sell. Even the folks who didn't sell took their gold on loan. Almost everyone in Sharpstone owes them something.”

  “We can barely keep our cupboards stocked,” said Lydia. “No one wants to do business with us. They're either working for the faithful, or just too scared to cross them.”

  “That's why most of the staff stays out at the Stedding farm,” said Barty. “They leave them alone out there, and they can get supplies. Master Stedding still produces more hay than anyone else in these parts, even if he's not around. People don't have much choice but to sell them what they need.” He leaned forward. “But you can bet they're watching everything at that farm, too. They ask as much about Master Stedding as they do Lord Starfinder.”

  Millet bowed his head in thought. “Trevor, I want you to go into town after our meal. Say that I have returned to settle some business for Lord Starfinder.” He looked up and met Trevor's eyes. “Do not say anything else. Only that.” He turned to Barty. “I want you to secure the front door and windows, but leave the back open. Then take Trevor, Lydia, and your son to the Stedding farm. Stay there until I send for you.”

  “I'll not be spirited away,” said Lydia, sternly. “If you're fool enough to do what I think you're going to do, then I'll¬”

  “You will do as I say,” snapped Millet. “I cannot do what must be done, if I have to worry about your safety.”

  “And what is it that must be done?” asked Dina.

  “I intend to send the faithful a message,” Millet replied, darkly.

  “If that's the case,” said Barty, “then you'll need me and my
boy.” He stood up straight and squared his broad shoulders. “Lydia and Trevor may not be much good in a fight, but I can still swing a sword if need be. I've shown my boy how to take care of himself, too. You may be Lord of the Manor, but you ain't no Lee Starfinder. You're gonna need more than just you and a young woman if the faithful come callin'.”

  Millet looked at the gardener and his son. Their jaws were tight and their eyes blazed with determination. He sighed. “Very well. But you must do exactly as I say.”

  “The faithful may not even come here,” offered Dina.

  “They'll come,” said Millet.

  “But how can you be sure?” asked Dina.

  “If these are the same lot we ran into in Baltria, then they're likely nobles or maybe merchants,” said Millet. “I know how they think. They'll want to dispose of us quickly and quietly, before we can get ready for them or flee. By now they will know who I am, and without Lee here as protection, they will not fear me. They'll either try and take me prisoner, and torture me for information, or just simply kill me.” He shrugged. “Whatever they do, it will not be in the open. They'll come at night.”

  After the meal Trevor and Lydia cleaned the dishes, then made their way into town. Millet went over his plan with Dina, then helped Barty and Randson secure the front door and windows, as well as the stables. Dina busied herself with other preparations. Before long, the sun was sinking low in the sky and the chill air made the crackling fire a welcome sight.

  “All is ready,” said Barty, as he, Dina and Randson entered.

  Millet was sitting in a leather chair by the fire, staring intently at the dancing flames. He glanced up and smiled. “Good.” He stood up from his chair and looked at each of them for a moment. “If you want to go to the Stedding farm, now is the time.” No one replied. “Then I suppose it's time for bed.”

  Chapter 4

  The lanterns burned brightly in the front of Starfinder manor that night, as they did every night. The sound of restless horses in the nearby stables carried on the chill night air, masking the rustle of the approaching footfalls of two cloaked figures. One was tall and thin, the other shorter and portly. They made their way around the edge of the yard, then to the back of the house.

  “Are you certain he's inside?” whispered the short man.

  The other brought his finger to the side of his nose and scanned the area. He pointed to the second window from the corner of the house. The short man nodded, then slowly pushed it open. The soft sound of the well-crafted window sliding upward caused both men to wince. They paused and waited to see if they had been heard, but to their relief, no one inside stirred.

  The tall man peered inside. Blackness stared back at him. After a minute his eyes began to adjust and he could see that the window led to a small pantry. Shelves filled with cans and jars lined the walls; herbs and dried meats hung from small hooks on the ceiling. He looked back to his companion and nodded sharply. Carefully, he pulled himself inside and gently placed his moccasin-covered feet on the floor. The slight squeak of wood against wood was like a thunderclap, but he ignored it and went on.

  He crept to the door at the far end and cracked it open. He could see no one. He glanced behind him to make sure his companion was following, but to his dismay, he was still alone. The tall man hissed, but there was no response.

  “Devon,” he whispered, angrily. “Get in here.” But Devon was silent. His lip curled with anger. He drew his knife and crept to the window. Devon was nowhere to be seen. Coward, he thought. I'll have his hide for this. Devon had been far from his first choice to go with him on this mission. He was fat, clumsy, and not very bright. But his father was rich, and had largely funded the efforts of the faithful in Sharpstone. However, rich or not, the faithful would not tolerate a coward.

  He tip-toed back to the door. Going on alone was a risk, even if Starfinder wasn't in the house, but there was 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.”

&n
bsp; 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.”