Secrets at the Keep (Kingdom of Denall Book 2) (25 page)

The small, mule-drawn cart made good progress now that it was on the open road. The two men sitting on the front drew the attention of all the other travelers on the road because of their unique attire. Both men looked like they were wrapped in blankets, but the blankets were in fact their clothing. In addition to wearing a blanket with a hole cut out for their head they both had a thin piece of material wrapped around their heads and the taller young man had an eye patch on this left eye. Both men had a single mark on the left side of their noses. Any bandit could have outrun and overpowered them, but they never bothered, as the two men looked completely pathetic and did not appear to have anything worth stealing.

Leaning over, the older man spoke softly. “Kaz, do you see the thief sitting in the bushes up ahead?” The older man sat upright against his seat, bouncing as the small cart meandered down the road.

Kaz was looking through the bushes and trees, but it still took him some time to find where the bandit was hidden. He was constantly amazed at how Kire was able to know things that Kaz, as a visor, had overlooked. Kaz casually gripped his bow that was hidden beneath his coat, but Kire made a motion with his hand to indicate that he would not need it. As they passed the bandit, they were again ignored. After they were out of hearing distance Kaz leaned over to Kire. “It really is wonderful how dressing like a buffoon can make traveling easier.”

“What do you mean? I like this outfit.” Kire looked to Kaz as though expecting an answer, without giving any hint that he was kidding. “Anyway,” Kire said, changing the subject. “We have two more hours of riding before we will arrive at Omer's Keep. We should be safe until we get there.” With this declaration Kire turned the cart down a side road.

“Why do you say we are safe?” Kaz asked, still keeping a sharp eye out for bandits.

“This road leads to Omer's Keep. It is the only way that leads right up to his front door. He keeps it well protected for the nobles and traders who come to get his wine, and he's expecting me.” Kire said this, as though it were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Why would he be expecting you?” Kaz asked.

Kire removed his outer blanket covering to reveal the outfit that he would wear when he met with Omer. “I trade with him every year,” Kire replied. “I trade with all the minor lords and villages in this area.”

“So that's how we're going to just get into the keep. I figured you would have some elaborate plan of scaling the walls or sneaking in through some hidden entrance.” Kaz was somewhat crestfallen, but still happy to know that they would definitely be able to get into the keep.

“I will just stick to walking in the front door if you don't mind. Besides he has some very fine honey that he collects and I need to stock up.” Kire looked happy, just thinking of the honey that would soon be his.

Kaz was a little concerned and very confused. He had imagined a grand attack on an evil lord's keep and now he was seeing the reality. “You're still planning on trading with him? I sure hope you know what you're doing. What do you give him for the honey?”

“I trade many different remedies, cures for burns, constipation, rashes, and various diseases. Then there is this one.” Kire reached back into the cart and pulled out a container with a dark green substance. He removed the lid and it emitted a strong odor. “This is a special remedy for Omer himself; it is a cure for stupidity. I guess you could say it is a work in progress.”

Kaz scratched his head and asked the obvious question. “What are you talking about?”

Kire put some cream on the tip of his finger. “Hold still, this won't hurt.” Then he rubbed the spot of cream under Kaz' nose. Kaz's eyes started to water as the foul odor was sitting right under his nose with nowhere for the terrible smell to go but directly up his nostril.

“That is awful!” Kaz blurted out. “How can I get rid of it?”

“It will go away in a couple of minutes. The more you put on the longer it lasts and the stronger the smell.”

“How does putting that on help cure anything?” Kaz asked as he rubbed the spot under his nose, trying to make the smell go away.

“Would you like some more?” Kire offered holding the container up.

Kaz pushed the cream away, and leaned back in his seat to get as far away from it as possible. “No. It's awful!”

“Well, it made you smarter. You won't ever want to put that on again!” said Kire, with a chuckle.

“That is terrible!” Kaz protested.

Kire shrugged his shoulders. “I sell it to people who think they're sick when they really aren't. I tell them it's the greatest cure and they buy tons of this stuff. It seems to help them get cured quickly from whatever is bothering them.” Kire let a smirk cross his face. “The smartest people don't try it, the average people will try it once, and the really stupid people order it every year and are willing to trade wonderful honey for it.” He smiled and winked at the younger man. Kaz couldn't help but laugh out loud, thinking of a group of hypochondriac nobles rubbing a foul smelling cream under their noses.

“So each year, you come here and help Omer. He’s evil!”

Kire nodded. “Yes he is, and I have been trying to take care of him for a while, but there is a delicate balance. Many people’s lives and livelihoods depend on him. He needs to be removed properly. By the correct authority without making a civil war. That has been more difficult than you might think, but the pieces are starting to come together.”

Kire reached in the back of the cart and handed Kaz a suit normally worn by servants. “What is that for?” Kaz asked.

“You will be my servant tonight, so you will dress the part. I can't have you walking around dressed in a poncho.” Kaz put on the suit and took the reins from Kire. “Now you will be unloading all of my remedies in the back. It will likely take you most of the evening. When you are done, you will retire to my room and wait for me. I suggest that you get some sleep. If there are other servants nearby, you can speak to them politely, but do not talk with them too long. I will be getting all the information we will need while I am inside the keep.” Kaz nodded, but he was again disappointed, as it seemed he would be playing a very small part in this rescue effort. “From now on we should be extra vigilant as there are going to be more guards the closer we get to the keep, and some of them will be listeners.”

Kaz and Kire sat in silence while riding up to the keep. It was twilight as they pulled into view of the keep and Kire got off the cart and walked directly to the main gate. Kaz led the mule to the back where he was directed by another servant. “Where do you want these?” Kaz asked when he pulled up next to the man.

The servant was dressed in a sharp, black suit, it had loose-fitting pants and a tight shirt that was very similar to the costume Kaz was wearing. “Are those from the great Kire?” the man asked eagerly.

Kaz was impressed by the title given to Kire. “They are from Kire. Where would you like me to unload it?”

“That man brings miracle cures every year!” the man said. “My wife's sister had a fever and was on her death bed when she was given Kire's medicine. Most had given up on her chance to survive, but after taking his medicine her fever broke.” The man was looking at the cart with such longing in his eyes. “My son is sick; we've been waiting all winter for this cart to arrive. Tell him thank you!”

Kaz looked to the man. “I will deliver the message.” Although he detested Omer and all that Omer did to the people in Hess, he was glad that Kire continued to trade with the man.

The servant pointed toward a small wooden door, and Kaz urged the mule onward.

A stout man wearing worn trousers and a white short sleeved shirt stepped up to the cart, holding a list of the inventory that had been ordered. The man was a level two intellect and Kaz presumed he needed that gift, with the colossal organizational needs of providing for all the people in the keep. “Uncover the supplies,” the man said in a gruff voice. Kaz moved the covering to the side and the man quickly surveyed the supplies in the cart. “Looks good, grab some of those and follow me. I'll show you where to put them.” Kaz was surprised at how quickly the man assessed the cart before making this declaration, but he assumed it was due to his years of experience counting supplies.

Kaz followed the man through a large, open warehouse that was filled with shelves. Each shelf was stocked full of different supplies. Dried fruit and vegetables covered the shelf to Kaz's left and to the right were piles of what looked like clothing for servants. They also walked past several shelves filled with large sacks of grain piled from floor to ceiling. Each wooden shelf had a piece of paper tacked to the end listing all the supplies and how many of each was on hand. Kaz had never provided for a castle of guests, but he estimated that these supplies could feed a small army for almost a year. Kaz struggled to keep up with the pace this man set, and after two left turns and one right he was concerned that he would not be able to find his way back. The steward stopped and pointed to an empty space in the shelves. “Your supplies will all fit nicely here. Place all similar jars together,” the man said, then, he turned and walked away, leaving Kaz alone to the task.

At first Kaz made trips carrying one or two containers of cream, but then seeing an empty wooden crate on the floor, he was able to load it up with a dozen jars at a time which made the unloading of the cart much quicker. Kaz worked for what he estimated was at least an hour unloading the entire cart of supplies. The last two trips he was certain that the space on the shelf would not be sufficient to hold all the jars, but as he unloaded the last container, he was pleased to see that it filled the space exactly. When he had finished, without even needing to summon him, the steward was standing by Kaz's cart waiting. “Follow me to the honey.” Kaz followed the man through the labyrinth of supply shelves until he came upon a shelf loaded with crocks of honey. “You can take fifty jars of honey.” Saying this, the man walked away.

The containers of honey were much larger and heavier than the medicinal cream, but there were only fifty jars to transport. It took Kaz another hour to load up the honey. After making sure it was secure in the cart, he replaced the cover and made his way to the stables, where the mule and cart would spend the night.

Kaz was true to his word and avoided speaking much with the other hired help. He said a polite greeting, but then found a quiet place to brush down the mule. Night had fallen by the time the mule and cart were safely stored, and Kaz was exhausted from the day's drive and loading the supplies. He was ready to fall down asleep by the time he was shown to his “master's” quarters, but he was also very anxious to hear what Kire had learned and to get started on the next step of their plan. After half an hour of waiting for Kire's return, Kaz took off his soft dark boots and lay back on a cushioned couch and quickly fell asleep.

Disguised as a magician, Trae sat on top of his large black horse, riding at the front of a small army of soldiers and slaves. Remembering back to his time acting as the pompous Sir Trevor, he kept his head held high and tried to treat everyone as if they were below him. It was easier than he thought to make people think he was a magician, as the others in the group generally tried to avoid crossing his path. Denallians were, as a rule, nervous and suspicious of magicians, and these men were no exception. Their nervousness around him continued unabated, especially since he was making regular use of the items Dune had given him.

Each night he sent out a burst of light over the campsite and told the soldiers that he was casting powerful wards to protect them. He also made it a point to never lift a piece of flatware to his lips. It was rather amusing to see the looks of astonishment that crossed the men’s faces as they furtively cast glances his way whenever he floated even a small piece of potato from his plate to his mouth.

“Master Magician,” Scar said from his place on the horse next to Trae. “We’re making good time, I’m so glad to be away from those fools back at the keep!”

Trae nodded his head, though he avoided making eye contact with Scar. “Which ones specifically did you hate the most?” he asked trying to learn some more about this man who travelled with him.

“Well, Omer for starters,” he answered without any hesitation. “He helped get me this gift of intellect, but beyond that he is completely useless. He couldn’t even track down his own daughter.”

Trae turned and looked at Scar, now very interested in the direction of the conversation. “Track her down?” he asked with a hope Scar would elaborate.

A cocky grin split his face and he almost laughed out loud as he explained. “She was hiding as a petty thief in Kinstock. I found her by accident when I went there to steal some gold to fund this army,” he said waving his hand over the men behind them. “I joined her crew of thieves, turned on her and took the gold. It was hilarious!”

“So you’re probably happy to be away from her too then?” Trae asked still trying to piece together Pentra’s story.

Scar shook his head, “She’s of no consequence,” he said dismissively. “Omer’s got her back and she’s still alive, so he’s keeping her for something, probably an advantageous marriage of some kind. His weak political maneuvering is so comical. When Mordyar invades, none of that will matter. The only thing that will make any difference is people who have soldiers. We’ll gain only what we can take.”

Trae continued to ride in silence, having a lot to process. He needed to get more information out of Scar about the invasion, the army, and now he knew Scar could help him learn more about Pentra.

“Is this a good place to stop for the night?”

Trae brought his horse to a stop and slowly turned to face the man. “I have told you before that I don’t care where you stop as long as we don’t make my master wait.”

Scar growled under his breath, clearly not happy to be treated as such an inferior. He stood up in his stirrups. “Set up camp here!” he yelled out, his agitation clearly showing as he pointed to an open space in a field next to the road.

Trae watched as the men set up their sleeping arrangements for the evening. First, everyone set up a large tent for him, and one that was equally large for Scar. Then the slaves set up small, canvas tents in tight rows, forming a circle around the center, and the final outside circle was made up of soldiers. Watching the slaves work made him want to get down and help them. He saw an older man struggling with the equipment he had been assigned, and noticed a thick scar along the right side of his face, and several more on his arms. He would have stood out because of his age and his scars either way, but the face was familiar now, as the man had been travelling right next to Trae ever since he had joined them.

Trae dismounted and walked among the men, though they gave him space and tried to avoid eye contact as he passed. “You there,” Trae called out, pointing at a soldier who had his tent set up and was pulling his sleeping roll from his horse.

“Yes sir,” he quickly answered.

“What is your name?”

The terrified soldier stood at attention and darted his eyes back and forth as if wondering what he had done wrong, or why he was being singled out. “My name is Wren,” he answered.

“Wren, I would like to speak with you in the command tent.” Trae turned around and walked back to the center of camp, giving no further explanation. He needed to keep up the façade of being the master magician, but he also wanted to know what kind of soldiers he was dealing with in this little army. Any information he could gather might help when Dune arrived and it came time to put a permanent stop to this supply caravan. He needed to know what kind of a fight they might have on their hands.

He stopped inside the tent at a small table and sat down while Wren stepped in and stood at attention. Trae watched him for a moment and saw that sweat was beading up on his forehead. “Why did you join Omer’s army?” Trae demanded.

Wren looked a little surprised by the question, but answered quickly, “I wanted to serve my country and keep my family safe, sir!”

“You have a family?” Trae asked, surprised. All the other men he had brought in were single.

“Yes sir,” Wren answered. “My father served as a guard in Pike Point. He now owns a small cottage in Hillside where he lives with my mother and younger sister.”

“How long have you been working for Omer?”

“Three months. Most of us started together when he did some heavy recruiting this last winter.” Trae nodded slowly as he continued his interrogation. The answers came quickly, reconfirming to him all the things he had already learned from the others he had spoken to in the days since he had joined this group as they set out from Omer’s Keep. This army was almost entirely made up of new recruits. They had been told they were security for the carts of supplies which were being delivered “for the support of those defending the true ruler of Denall.” About a dozen of the men he had met with seemed to have an inkling of what they were really doing, but for the most part, these men were eager to serve their country and naïve about the ways of the world. Perhaps Scar was planning to use them to transfer their gifts to the invaders.

After a short interview, Trae stood up and walked over to the young man. He tensed, not comfortable with the proximity, and Trae placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed the soldier, then sat down at his desk.

He opened a small notebook and wrote down the name ‘Wren’ on an ever increasing list of those he felt he could trust to help overthrow Omer’s plan when the time came to do it.

“Master Magician!” Scar called from outside his tent. Trae didn’t like how this man had become more comfortable shouting as if he had authority to command Trae around.

After waiting a short time to make sure Scar knew he would not jump when he called, Trae slowly parted the flap of the tent and moved outside. “What is it this time?” He asked in a tone that showed he was annoyed at being bothered.

“We had a scuffle among the men,” Scar answered. Trae yawned and moved to turn back to his tent, but Scar kept talking. “I think a demonstration of powerful magic will help make an example of these two.” He pointed at a pair of men, one of whom had a bloody nose. Trae noticed that one was a young man on his list who he felt he could trust, the other with a broken nose was a commander of a small patrol, and he had acted shady during their interview.

“What was this fight about?” Trae asked.

Scar stepped up quickly and held his hand up, indicating to the men that they were to remain silent. Scar leaned in close to speak so that only Trae would hear. “The patrol commander struck a slave, and this man struck his commander.”

Trae slowly turned his head to look at Scar. “Why do you need me to solve this?”

Scar nodded toward the tent and Trae pulled open the flap so they could enter. Inside the tent Scar looked at Trae in confusion. “I thought we agreed that you would help.”

Trae waved his hand dismissively and took a seat. He wanted to seem above this fight outside, but he also had no idea what agreements had been made with the magician Scar had been in contact with. “I’ll help when magic is needed. This is just a fist fight.”

Scar shook his head. “It’s not just a fist fight. The new recruits are starting to get their own ideas about the slaves. They don’t understand, that those slaves out there are dumb and weak and need to be beaten from time to time to keep them in line.” Trae clenched his jaw tight and resisted the urge to have a small fist fight of his own, but this conversation was helping him learn what he needed to know about these men. “We need the recruits to follow orders, and not question their commanders. We need to set an example they won’t forget.”

“Who do we need to set the example for?” Trae asked.

“For everyone!” Scar said in exasperation. “The slaves, the soldiers—all of them.”

Trae nodded. “But we’ll need to keep them alive until we need them,” he said, thinking of the best way to handle this situation. An idea suddenly came to him. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said abruptly, pointing to a chair for Scar to sit in.

Trae marched out of the tent and glared at the two soldiers who stood before him. “If you feel like you’re ready to fight, take a swing at me!” He stepped up in their faces and gave each man a shove. They both stood still with eyes wide in surprise. “I won’t even need to use magic to knock both of you down flat,” he taunted. “Come on, show me how tough you are!” He pushed them both again and stepped up to them. He looked around at the gathered people who had stopped everything they were doing to watch the interactions.

The commander stepped forward and raised his fists up to his chin. “Ahhh,” Trae said to the man, “is this courage or stupidity?”

The commander lunged forward with a quick left jab, and Trae quickly threw up his right hand, catching the soldier’s fist before it could reach him. He squeezed down on the man’s hand, bringing him to his knees. He grabbed at his trapped hand, trying to pull it from Trae’s grasp, but the blacksmith’s strength would not let him budge.

Trae knew it was a risk, but he needed to make a point. He squeezed harder, bringing the man to tears as he begged him to let go. Trae could feel the bones in the man’s hand and knew that if he tightened his grip anymore, he would start breaking them.

“Stop it!”

Trae was relieved that the other soldier stepped forward, but he couldn’t show that yet. “Why?” he demanded. “Didn’t you want to hurt him? Weren’t you the one who broke his nose?”

“Please don’t hurt him, Master Magician,” the soldier asked again. “He’s my commanding officer and we need him.”

Trae let go of the man’s hand and he dropped to the ground with a slight sob. He nursed his wounded hand and looked up to his savior appreciatively. Trae spoke so everyone could hear. “You need him,” he said pointing down at the injured man. “And this army needs you,” he pointed at the soldier who had stood up for his commander. “And we need the workers who are helping us cart the supplies. Don’t ever forget that!” he shouted. “If anyone, commander, worker or soldier strikes another man in this camp, you’ll need to answer to me! Do I make myself clear?” To emphasize his words, he closed his fist and shot a harmless ball of light into the air. He wished it did something dramatic like burst brightly before it vanished, or explode loudly, but it had the desired effect.

“Yes sir,” the soldiers nearest called out in unison.

Trae turned around and returned to the tent where Scar was standing in front of the door, brooding. “What have you done?” Scar demanded in a harsh whisper. “How are we supposed to keep the slaves in order now?”

“I guess you’ll need to have your commanders ask instead of beating them,” Trae answered as he stepped past and opened the tent door. “I’m sure they’re smart enough to catch on.”

Scar rolled his eyes, “I don’t know, those slaves can be very…”

“I wasn’t talking about the slaves,” Trae interrupted. He walked into the tent and closed the flap behind him, then he released a long breath. He hoped that he hadn’t pushed the man too hard, and he really hoped Dune would come soon, but despite his personal danger, and all that he needed to do, he also couldn’t help but feel satisfied knowing that he was doing the thing he felt Pentra had sent him to do. He was standing up for the slaves. As he lay down for the night his thoughts kept wandering back to Lady Pentra.
What else was going on there that made her unable to help the slaves herself? What had she meant by her cloaked statements during their dance? Was she really needing his help at all or was this some kind of nobility manipulation game? Why did he care so much about earning her approval when she was back at the keep?
She was a puzzle to him, a puzzle that he couldn’t seem to get out of his head.

*****

Dune sat silently in the woods along the road to Omer’s Keep. After two days of resting, he felt his magic replenished and he was ready to face the master magician who could arrive at any time. By waiting near the keep, he risked being seen by one of Omer’s patrols when he did engage with the other magician, but he knew it was the only way to be sure he didn’t slip by.