Secrets at the Keep (Kingdom of Denall Book 2) (23 page)

Kire slammed his fists down on the table. “I knew something was going on with Omer! I tried to tell the King’s Guard about the slave village over two years ago and they ignored me, so I told a friend who is an informant for them almost a year ago and still they haven’t done anything.” He shook his head. He looked about as angry as Dune had ever seen him as he spoke.

“Unfortunately, that’s not the most pressing issue right now,” Dune said. “I really need your help.”

“I knew this was not a social call,” Kire said, getting right to the point. “Do you have time to stay for some mint tea?”

“I don’t think so,” Dune replied as he remained standing by the door. “There are some very serious, pressing issues.”

“With you there are always serious, pressing issues,” Kire responded. “Please sit down for a minute while I enjoy some tea.” Dune poured two cups of tea and sat down pushing one across the table.

“How did you meet Kaz?” Kire asked as Dune reluctantly took a seat and placed his hands around the warm mug.

Dune sat for a moment trying to place the name. “The boy from the archery tournament?” he finally concluded after searching his memories. “How do you know him? How could you possibly know we’ve met?”

Kire stirred his tea with a spoon. “He’s my new student. He’s downstairs dusting books right now. The rings you gave him, they have your signature blue and red glow to them, like the set you gave me.”

Dune held the warm cup in his hands, letting the heat penetrate into his cold fingers. It was early spring, and although he tried to act like he wasn’t affected by the cold, it was always nice to get warmed up. “I see you’re not wearing the nose mark. Did he figure out that you’re not a hound?” Dune asked pointing at Kire’s nose.

“I told him,” Kire admitted with a shake of his head. “He’s not the most observant person,” he added. “But he is quite a remarkable youth.”

Dune did not like the look in Kire’s eyes. “What do you mean remarkable?”

“Well, for starters, in some ways he grows in leaps and bounds, much faster than any other apprentice I have ever had.” He grinned at Dune’s mock offended look. “But, he is altogether too impulsive.”

“Compared to you, everyone in Denall is impulsive,” Dune joked. He took a long drink of the tea that warmed his whole body. He couldn’t help but release an audible sigh.

“While that may be true, he can’t afford to be for much longer.” The older man stopped what he was saying and looked seriously at his friend before continuing. “Dune, he carries the Sight Stone.” Dune’s jaw dropped. “I think that’s why your paths have crossed. The stones are gathering.”

He looked south, back in the direction he had come from. “Trae and I just came from Omer’s Keep following a seeker; they claim to have a stone secured there.”

Kire nodded. “Sadly what they claim is true, they have the Hearing Stone.” He slowly sipped his tea, draining the cup. “Would you like some more?”

“Perhaps.” Dune was still tapping his finger on the table. “I’m just amazed. Within the keep we had the Strength Stone, the Magic Stone and the Hearing Stone and now you are telling me that there are two more Stones of Power in this cottage. That is five of the six stones practically on top of each other.”

“The prophecies are being fulfilled. It won’t be long before the Changing.” Dune did not like the look of fear he saw in his mentor’s eyes. He looked as if this meant the death of every citizen of Denall.

Dune looked Kire directly in the eyes for a long moment before speaking. “What do you know of the sixth stone?”

“I know that magicians invented the fake nose mark to protect themselves from being kidnapped and put into slavery. Before they used this false mark, none of their women could ever leave the desert. But you already know your people’s history. I know that they actively destroyed any records that told of the real sixth gift in order to allow them to live normal lives. I know as much about the real sixth stone as you do.” He took a sip from his cup. “It is connected to the sixth gift and it is the mark that Mordyar does not have. I was hoping that you would know more about it. You were raised in the Coffal Desert.”

“That knowledge is lost to our people,” Dune paused, “probably destroyed by our people for a good reason.” Then he turned to Kire. “We’ll add that to your list: figure out what the sixth gift is, find the final stone, and learn how it can be used to stop Mordyar.”

“That’s been on my list for several decades,” Kire replied. “But I think that gift is trying hard to stay a secret. I just hope it can stay a secret from the seekers.”

“Speaking of seekers, I have evidence that Omer is working with the seekers to help Mordyar invade Denall.” Dune held out the scroll he had taken from Melna.

Kire read it slowly, “Any true follower, is welcome to find shelter in my home.” He looked down at the piece of paper for a moment then threw it down on his table. “Omer was wise to be so vague, this scroll doesn’t tell us anything that we didn’t already know, and it isn’t enough to prove he’s fighting against Denall,” Kire said in frustration.

“What can we do?” Dune asked his mentor anxiously.

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if he’s ready, but Kaz and I need to get moving.”

“Get moving where? I haven’t even told you what I need your help with.”

“It is pretty obvious. You need me to go take care of Omer and stop the slave experimentation. Am I right?”

Dune shrugged, “Sort of. I need to go two different directions, maybe three.”

“Explain,” Kire said as he took another sip from his mug.

“Trae is posing as a magician working for Omer who is traveling with the supplies to meet Mordyar’s army. I need to intercept the real magician and make sure he doesn’t get to Omer’s Keep. So I need to keep my distance from the keep at all cost.”

“Going to Omer’s Keep has always been part of Kaz’s plans,” Kire said. “He wants to go back to Omer’s Keep and free some of his friends who are captive there. I’m going to go with him. Once we’ve overthrown Omer, I’ll see that a message is sent to the King’s Guard. Perhaps they’ll listen this time,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“You make overthrowing the most powerful baron in Denall sound like it’s not a problem at all.”

“Well he’s really not very clever,” Kire concluded, tapping his head. “And I have a plan that is almost certain to work, I will need some magical supplies if you have some handy.”

“I don’t have much with me right now,” he answered slowly. He handed Kire his magical sound-dampening rope, and a small black stone.

Kire sat for a moment looking up into the air as if doing calculations, then he looked back down at Dune. “These will do nicely. Thank you. Now what about the third direction you need to go?” Kire asked skeptically.

“The head seeker is not too far behind me.”

“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” Kire demanded. “We’re sitting here drinking tea!”

Kire darted across the room and looked out his window. Dune stood up and grabbed his staff. “We have at least an hour before she catches up to me,” he said in his defense. “That was the other thing I wanted you to take care of for me. I was hoping you could distract or divert Melna. But with another Stone of Power here, and Kaz…”

“Melna?” Kire said with a shocked look. “Melna is coming here? And she is the leader of the seekers?” He placed his head in his hands for a moment in concentration.

“Yes,” Dune answered in confusion. “Do you know her?”

“We’ve met,” he said with a hint of distain in his voice. “There’s no time for that now,” Kire answered as he grabbed his travel coat and looked to the door that led to the basement. “We’ll hide down there, but you need to leave and she cannot come here.” Dune was beginning to be frightened by Kire’s reaction. In all his interactions with the older man he always seemed to have some kind of controlled plan, and now he was panicked.

“Why don’t we just make a stand against them? With the three of us here in the cabin, we can definitely take out half a dozen seekers.”

Kire shook his head, “Have you ever tried to kill Melna?” he asked.

Dune nodded. “Yes actually, a couple of times.”

“It hasn’t worked yet, and it won’t work,” Kire concluded. “She has an enchantment on her that gives her strange protections. You can’t kill her if you know her name, if you recognize her as a seeker, or if she is looking you in the eye.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Dune said with dismay, “and I’m a magician! Are you sure?”

“Certain,” Kire said with a distant look. “I was there when it happened. Besides, she is also very clever. I’m going to hide in the basement. You get them away from here as quickly as possible. Don’t let her come anywhere near this cabin.”

Accompanied by her ‘bodyguard,’ Trinac, Pentra smiled and inclined her head slightly as she passed by some guards and nobles who were visiting the keep. Although she did give the customary signs of respect, she did not stop to speak with any of the guests as she had been summoned to speak with the master of the house, and Trinac had said it was urgent.

Entering Lord Omer's quarters, she was intercepted by a guard. “Trinac, you may enter. Lady Pentra, you will be seated.” he said in a thick accent. It was clear from his size that he was a strongarm, and his accent and long, red, braided beard, told her that he had come from the Eastern Mountains. She inclined her head and gracefully took her seat on a padded wooden bench to wait.

During her time in the castle, she had been almost constantly reminded of her inferior position. She was not used to being commanded by small-minded guards or being deliberately put off for hours before being afforded the
honor
of speaking with Lord Omer. While she waited, she had become intimately familiar with the entry room of his quarters. The small room had a bearskin rug on the floor and each wall depicted a brave warrior hunting some ferocious wild beast. The pictures were obviously trying to show some of the conquests that Omer boasted of, but she knew the truth -- he had rarely left the safety of this keep. Although he was a strongarm, he was more interested in political maneuvering than battle.

While looking at the picture of a man dressed in dark armor standing over a large sea squid Pentra couldn't help but let an audible exasperated sigh escape her lips. Omer must have felt that the visit was urgent as she was only forced to wait half an hour before his scribe came to the door and beckoned her to enter.

In the main chamber Omer was seated behind a large, oak table with Bendar sitting to his right. The large room was empty of furnishings except a large, framed picture of a knight in dark armor that hung on the wall behind the table. Omer was dressed in his armor, as usual, but without his helmet. He must have felt very confident with only his scribe, one guard, and his advisor present.

Pentra strode into the room confidently and curtsied. “You summoned me, my Lord,” she said the words with a respectful tone, but it galled her to speak in this manner. She would rather be jumping over that table, plunging a knife into his cocky, smiling face.

“Yes, my daughter. I am so glad that you are here.” With a motion toward his guard, the man by the side of the room went into the adjacent chamber and brought in a slave from Hess. Pentra had never met this man before, but it still pained her to see him cowering with terror etched on every feature of his dirty face. “This man says that he can identify you as the leader of the slave rebellion.”

“Father, leave him out of this,” she said.

“But I can't. Anyone who would accuse you of such treachery must be brought to justice.” Then Omer motioned for the guard. “Place him in the lowest level of the dungeon; that is his new home.”

“He's done nothing wrong. I was behind the rebellion!” Pentra moved forward one step and everyone in the room visibly tensed. It brought her satisfaction to know that they were still cautiously fearful of her, but she also knew that she was powerless.

“Are you making another attack on me?” Omer asked.

“Of course not. I would never do that,” Pentra said in as humble a tone as she could muster.

“It looked like you were attacking me again,” Omer said, this time raising the volume in his voice as he rose to his feet.

“No, not at all… I am sorry I approached you, sire. Please have mercy on this man. Punish me -- not him. He's done nothing wrong.” Pentra's pleading fell on deaf ears. Omer glared as he stood towering over her.

“I didn't realize he was so important to you. I've changed my mind. Execute the dirty devil.” He motioned dismissively to his guard to be away with his charge.

Pentra fought back tears of anger as she turned away from the innocent man. She glanced at Bendar and thought for a brief moment that she could see in his eyes the same pain and sorrow that she felt each time another innocent slave was murdered. During her time in the keep she had seen some glimpses of humanity from the intellect, but she had also seen many moments of stoic emotionlessness. Pentra looked at the floor and asked, “Why do you keep summoning me?” Her shoulders were slumped and she stood completely crestfallen and helpless.

“Don't you understand?” Omer began as he circled to the front of the table. “I'm doing this for your own good. This is to help you learn a valuable lesson.” Omer approached and stood nose to nose with Pentra, staring right into her eyes. “You are powerless to stop me. You belong to me.” Then Omer pulled a polished black stone from beneath a fold in his armor and held it up so Pentra could see. “I will stop bringing in those traitorous slaves, and I will return this to you if you will stop lying to me.” He stood up and slammed his hands down on the desk. “Where is the magician who attacked me?”

Pentra met Omer's eyes with a look of complete defeat. “I don't know about any magician”

“You are hiding something from me, and you’d better fess up about it! Nobody attacks my keep and gets away with it, especially if they think they can blast me with magic!” His face was getting red as he shouted at her.

“I'm not hiding anyone from you. I came here with a handful of slaves from Hess to get my personal revenge by killing you. They are all dead, and I am a prisoner here. Please, stop punishing the ones who are still alive.” Although she gave her best performance as a defeated and humble captive, in her heart she was still planning her next move to kill Omer, and, if possible, escape. The only thing keeping him alive right now was his diabolical decree that twenty slaves would die if she made any suspicious moves, including trying to escape. She was completely at his mercy.

“There is a magician who attacked this keep, and you will tell me who he is and where he is hiding. You know, I think that perhaps I don’t seem serious enough to you. I think I need to make this a more serious matter.” He looked up to Trinac, who was standing near the door. “Could you please bring me the little brat from the dungeons they call Smudge?”

“No!” Pentra screamed. She simply couldn’t bear to watch him harm her young friend. Her mind was racing. What could she tell Omer that would not endanger either Kaz or Smudge? “An arrow!” She declared.

“Excuse me?” Omer asked, holding up a hand to stop Trinac from leaving.

“It wasn’t a magician. It was a magical arrow. I – I had tried to recruit an assassin after the tournaments in Lexingar. I tried to pay someone to come with me to assassinate you. No one would take the job though, so I stole a magical iron ash bow and a magical, black feathered arrow from a boy who had placed in the archery tournament.”

Almost inaudibly, but still noticeable to Pentra’s highly sensitive ears, Bendar whispered Kaz’s name. He recovered quickly and stood stoically, as though only vaguely interested in the conversation.

“I tried to use the bow to kill you, but I couldn’t control its power, and I hit your advisors instead. Later that night I used the magical arrow. I was trying to hit the keep, but again I couldn’t control the bow. I threw it away.”

“That is a very interesting story. What do you think, Bendar?”

“I think it is plausible. I have heard of just such a weapon. I have even seen it. It was in the caravan that was heading to Lexingar for the tournament season.”

“What of the powerful magic the master magician spoke of?”

“I think we have some inquiries to make.”

Omer nodded, then scratched his chin for a moment as he looked at Pentra.

“We will look into this story you have spun for us, my dear. I think that in the meantime, what you need to be thinking about is your upcoming marriage.”

“Marriage?” she asked, confused. She felt that this would be coming from him, but didn’t anticipate it being prepared so quickly.

“Yes,” Omer confirmed. “I thought that the house of Tran was a good match, but my mind has been changed on that matter.” Pentra was happy for this pronouncement; she wasn’t fond of the pampered Mylot of Tran who paraded around at the tournaments like he ruled the event. “Baron Clifton from Lexingar is the next in line for the throne. He’s older than the king, so he’s likely not going to become the next ruler, but he does have pull with the king, and he oversees one of the largest baronies in the nation.”

Pentra was surprised and a little confused. “Does he have any children?” she asked.

“No,” Omer answered, “but his wife of thirty years just passed away, and during his last visit, he mentioned that he has been very lonely without a companion.” Pentra cringed at the thought of being married to such an old man, but the alternative was the death of the slaves, and perhaps if she was out of his household she could use her husband’s place of power to bring her father down.

Seeming to sense Pentra’s line of reasoning, Omer smiled wickedly. “And he is a good friend of mine. He trusts me completely, more than he would his eccentric flake of a wife.”

Omer dismissed his daughter with an offhanded wave and turned his attention back to Bendar. “Tonight we are having a ball, and you will be me…”

Pentra did not hear anything else that was said as she was escorted back out to the waiting room. While making her way back down the hall, she was rethinking all the escape plans that she had created. None of the escape plans would make it possible for her to kill Omer, and none of her plans to kill Omer left any chance of escaping. With the prospect of an engagement, she didn’t know how much time she had. The keep was designed to keep people out, but it was working equally well to barricade her inside. What gave her a glimmer of hope was the reaction of the advisor, Bendar. Why did he stay if he was so appalled by Omer's cruelty? Perhaps he could be an ally when she decided to make her move against her father.

Despite the need to sit down and think, Pentra did not have any time. When she returned to her quarters, she found an invitation to the ball. For the other guests of the keep it was an invitation; to her it was a summons. In her dressing room she found a dress laid out for her to wear. One of the most challenging parts of being a prisoner here was the constant lies that she had to live. She smiled, bowed, and spoke lovingly about her father at each banquet. This must have been the reason for their meeting today; he wanted her to remember that any false move meant the deaths of innocent men. He realized quickly that deprivation and threats did not motivate Pentra, but she had a soft spot for innocent people, and knowing this, Omer had exploited what he considered a weakness in her in order to beat her into submission.

Pentra moved to the back wall of her small room and tapped the wall six times. As she dressed, she waited for a response. Although she did stay away from Brooklyn as instructed, she was still able to get some messages to her friend, and it made her feel better just knowing that she had someone who was on her side inside this prison of a keep.

After a short time waiting, she tapped again. It was the middle of the day and Brooklyn was rarely in her room except at night, but she wanted to check with her friend before she did something rash. Still no response.

Pentra grit her teeth, and straightened her dress with more force than was needed, and she started to pace the room. She had formulated the beginning of a plan to get the slaves out of Hess and have them travel as a group to Norwell. In all her attempts to reach out for help she had been thwarted by her father, but if fifty or one hundred slaves showed up on the king’s doorstep, they couldn’t be ignored. Her plan was very complicated, and she needed help from inside and outside of the keep if it was going to work.

She took a deep breath and stepped up to the door of her room and knocked. Trinac opened the door and gestured for her to exit. As she moved down the hall, she wished she had heard from Brooklyn to confirm her hunch, but with or without that confirmation, her father’s cruelty had solidified her resolve. She needed to start being more forward in her efforts to recruit help, and she knew the first person she wanted to approach.

*****

In a nearby chamber Bendar prepared for the banquet. This was the largest dressing room in the keep and he had three servants who were on hand to help get ‘Omer’ prepared for any social engagement. The room was well furnished with comfortable couches along the walls of the room and a large mirror on each wall. The effect was that by looking at any wall, one could see how the outfit looked from all angles.

Since arriving at Omer’s Keep, Bendar had posed as Omer many times. He was beginning to enjoy more and more the freedom to walk around in public, despite the fact that he knew his freedom was temporary and that he was a decoy in case there was a threat. To dress as Omer, Bendar was required to wear a ridiculous layer of makeup that was designed to give him the appearance of someone older who was trying to look young. While Omer considered Bendar an invaluable part of his operations, he was willing to put his advisor in danger for occasions where 'Omer' was expected to talk with nobles and speak of the operations of the keep. There were only a handful of people whom he could send who could speak intelligently on these matters, and for most balls in the keep he knew that the risks were minor.

In a surprising turn of events, the arrow wound in Bendar's leg had left him with a limp that was strikingly similar to Omer's. With the makeup disguise and the limp, Bendar was a pretty good match for Omer, with a stocky build and height slightly shorter than most. The only tell-tale difference was the way that Bendar favored his left hand since his right hand had not fully recovered from the skirmish he had been in with a group of Omer’s bandits last summer. He and his friends had been attempting to journey to Norwell as part of their Troven when they had stumbled across a caravan that had come under attack. He rubbed the hand, feeling the places where the bones were, even today, still a little tender, and remembered how his friend, Garin, had been murdered in front of him, and how he had wanted so badly to keep anything like that from happening to someone he cared about ever again.