The Troven (Kingdom of Denall Book 1) (16 page)

Two miles outside of town, Dunkan brought the cart to a halt and looked back.

“Did you hear something?” Com asked, scanning the surroundings with his enhanced vision. While Com was focusing a distance down the empty road, Dunkan's blade flashed. This time it did not find its mark so easily. Com dodged the blade and stabbed back with a dagger of his own. The two men lunged and dodged in a savage duel to the death. In a moment that was as much luck as it was skill, Com found an opening in Dunkan's defense and plunged his dagger home. Com had suffered a few surface wounds and one deep gash in his right arm, but that was a small price to pay for this much gold.

Com kicked Dunkan's corpse off the cart. P emerged from the woods and clapped her hands. “Nicely done!” She joined Com seated on the front of the wagon and he urged the horses to start moving. Although she was surprised that Com had won the duel, it made no difference to her who she split the money with, and she had made deals with both men.

Com and P rode for several miles before either spoke.

“Any plans to finish me off?” Com asked now that he had finished bandaging his wounds.

“Our team has shrunk enough,” P said, then she smiled at Com as she returned the reins to him. “For one day.” She realized that this joke was not well accepted as Com looked concerned and suspiciously fingered his weapon. “It was a joke.”

With a cold look Com sternly replied. “Keep those jokes to yourself.” He kept his hand on the hilt as the pair continued. He remained tense and alert for almost two hours while he moved off the main road and traversed down some smaller side roads and dirt trails, then he unexpectedly slumped over in his seat with an arrow in his heart.

On the road in front of the now driverless horse-drawn cart stood Flick and Scar.

“We thought it would be you and Dunkan,” Scar said. At first P was confused. She had never heard Scar say anything without his thick accent. “We want to thank you for making it so much easier to get rid of the crew. Couldn't have done it without you.”

She thought she had planned for every variable, considered all obstacles, but she had overlooked the fool right in front of her.

Flick looked to Scar, and for a brief moment P thought he was looking for approval to speak.

“To thank you, we're going to leave you alive. You'll probably be caught. The evidence we've left behind will certainly lead to a conviction and life in prison, but that's more of a life than you wanted to leave us. Maybe your dad will come find you and take you back home.”

“What do you know about my father?” she demanded with a death glare.

Flick laughed out loud at her question. “He’s the man we work for. He needs some extra money for a supply caravan, we needed some favors, and here we are.” He accentuated his words by pointing to himself and Scar. “It didn’t take us very long to figure out who you are, Pentra. But lucky for you, we’re not being paid to bring you in. You are free to go.” He hesitated and grinned wickedly. “You can thank us at any time.”

P began to speak, but there was no hint of thanks in her voice, “How did you do it?”

Scar stepped closer to the cart to answer her question. His proximity to P made Flick clearly nervous and he half drew his bow. Scar continued to move close to P, and in response to her question he removed his bandana. This faded piece of cloth had concealed three dots on his forehead. P gaped in obvious confusion.

“I love that look,” Scar said, half to P and half to Flick “When people realize for the first time that it is possible to be a powerful intellect and strongarm.”

P had heard of people who had been born with multiple gifts, but in all the cases she had ever heard of, the person was a level one for both gifts, making them rather weak. The double markings were considered a curse that nobody wanted, but also a curse so uncommon that people rarely, if ever, gave it any consideration. Part of her was enraged that her plan was foiled, and her mind raced as she realized that her plan to rescue the people of Hess was going to require an entirely new tactic now that she would be without the means to hire mercenaries or other professionals. Another part of her was somewhat appeased however, knowing that it had taken a person with this kind of gift to pull off such an elaborate scheme. Then she came to herself and realized that if she didn't do something quickly she would be left to whatever fate they had in mind.

She stood and hopped down from the cart, making a motion for the two men to take their place leading the horses.

“Well done,” She said, and then she simply walked off the road and into the woods.

“Aren't we going to do something?” Flick asked as P continued to walk unconcernedly farther into the woods.

Scar silently contemplated for a moment before answering. “Just let her go.” Then, despite the distance she had put between them, he continued to speak in a normal tone as though P were standing close to him. “If I ever see you again, Pentra, I will turn you over to your father.”

She heard him loud and clear. She knew what she would have to do next. She needed to find an assassin.

Chapter 15

The sharply dressed servant rushed outside to the training arena, “Sir Mylot, your father requests your presence.”

“One moment,” Mylot said as he pulled hard on Gapol’s reins and his horse made a pinwheel turn. He squeezed his heels and charged down the field with his lance leveled at a target the size of his hand. He waited until he was in range, then drove his lance forward, smashing the exact center of the target, obliterating it with the force of the blow. He slowed Gapol to a walk and leapt off his tall war horse as he approached Sir Rodnik for a critique.

“Sir Mylot,” the servant insisted, “you must come quickly.” Mylot was not used to servants telling him what to do. He turned around angrily, but in the servant’s eyes he could see urgency. “There’s not much time.” Mylot dropped his lance and began throwing down his armor as he ran past the servant and into the house. His father had been bedridden for many months, but within the past two weeks he had lost his sight, and his health was failing quickly.

Since he had gone blind, Mylot spent time each day by his father’s side learning about all he would need to do to take over their estate. It was the most time he could remember spending with his father on a regular basis in his entire life. His father’s career in the king’s army had taken him away a lot. When Mylot was young, his mother died and he was always watched by nurses and housekeepers. Then, when his father retired from the military, he had been awarded the Barony of Tran, and was gone long hours each day with affairs of the local villages. Before his illness, Mylot would sometimes go months without talking with his father. Now he found himself running down a hall to see a man he had just spoken with an hour before.

As he approached his father’s chambers, Mylot slowed slightly in order to catch his breath. When he arrived, a servant pushed the large doors open, admitting Mylot to the room. The massive room was filled with lavish paintings, tapestries, and statues. The natural light in the room came through a large, stained glass window depicting his father in full armor. Mylot went straight to the man lying in his oversized mahogany bed.

“Son, come close.” Mylot’s father whispered so softly he could barely hear him.

As Mylot approached, his step-mother and two step-sisters, who had been kneeling by the bedside, parted to make space for him.

“I’m here, Father.”

His father blindly reached out his hand in the wrong direction and Mylot grabbed it, pulling it to himself as he knelt down.

“I need a moment alone with the new master of the house.” The servants opened the doors, and quickly evacuated the space. Mylot came to his feet and helped his step-mother get up. She dabbed her tears and gripped tightly to her two daughters as she slowly left the room. When they were out in the hall, a servant closed the door with a solid thudding sound.

“Son, are we alone?”

“Yes Father,” Mylot replied, not knowing what secret he was about to learn. He had never ordered the room cleared for his instruction before.

“I don’t have much time, so I’m going to get to the point,” his father began. Then he paused with a fit of coughing.

“I’ll get the healer.” Mylot stood to leave.

Shaking his head, his father regained control of his breathing. In a low voice he spoke, “No. I need to tell you something. Each year I have sent support to a family from town, a single mother and her daughter.” He stopped talking and closed his eyes for a moment before taking a shallow breath and continuing. “Two years ago the mother died, and the girl has refused any help from me.”

“Well, if she refuses help, what else can be done?” Mylot asked.

“Son, I have tried my entire life to think of others before myself. I served my country, I served my estate, I served the northern region, and I feel I have failed in one area. I have not been a good father. You have much to learn about compassion, and that is my fault,” his father responded with a shallow smile. He coughed again before continuing. “I have something that belongs to her… it’s hers… I don’t have the strength…” Each word he spoke seemed an overwhelming effort. Mylot placed his strong hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Whatever it is, I’ll get it to her.” Mylot said.

“In my library… My Maggie. Find that book. Go to the tournament.” The last few words were barely a whisper.

“The tournament. Of course father, I will go to the tournament and ride with our family banners. I will proudly win for the house of Tran.”

His father was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. “My Maggie,” he repeated.

“The girl with the birthmark who used to play here when she was a child?” Mylot asked.

He spoke softly and Mylot leaned his ear next to his father’s mouth so he could make out what he was saying. When he heard his father’s secret, his eyes open wide in surprise.

“I promise I will find that book and deliver it, and I will win the tournament for you,” Mylot vowed.

His father smiled and a single tear rolled down his cheek, the only tear Mylot had ever seen his father shed. After this final exertion, his body sagged, and instantly Mylot knew that life had left his father.

Mylot stood up from the polished hardwood floor and took a step away from the bed. He looked down at his father’s body and softly spoke, “You were a good father.”

The next two weeks were filled with a flurry of activity around the estate. The town officials from Kinstock, and people from each of the small, northern villages located within the barony came to pay their respects, and the manor house was filled with guests who had traveled longer distances to visit. Although it frustrated him to no end that he could not properly train, Mylot spent his days entertaining and reading condolence notes that came to the estate. He even received a note from his late mother’s brother, Uncle King Robert, wishing him the best in this difficult time.

While Mylot was reading the note from the king, his step-mother entered his study with a bow. On her heels his step-sisters followed.

“My Lord Mylot,” she began.

He cut her off, “Come in, please.” He rose to his feet and waved for them to enter.

She bowed her head and approached him, “Mylot, what will you have us do?” she asked humbly. Although he hadn’t put much thought into it, as the master of the house, he did now have control over their lives and future.

“You will stay as long as you like,” he replied quickly. “You will keep your servants and your title.” He paused for a moment and looked down at his step-family, the only family he had left. “You have been my mother for as long as I can remember. This is your home.” He turned to his step-sisters and added, “All of you.” He stepped forward and embraced his step-mother. “You are family.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she answered. “You will be a great leader, like your father was before you.”

“I don’t know if I will ever make the impact that he did,” Mylot replied, pointing at the pile of notices on his desk, “but I will try to make him proud.”

“He always was proud of you,” she said with a smile. “Would you like some help replying to these notes?”

Mylot gestured for them to join him closer to the table, “That would be wonderful.”

He was pleased to see what a great impact his father had had on the lives of so many people, but he was also happy when the funeral was finished, the notes stopped coming, and the house cleared so he could resume his training and also fulfill his promise to his father. Each day after practice, he searched his father’s library for the mysterious book titled
My Maggie
. Although this process was merely to retrieve each book off the shelf and open it to the front page to seek for a title, it took considerable time to go shelf by shelf through the extensive library.

One afternoon, after a particularly challenging jousting practice, Mylot found the book. Although it had no title, he knew it was the right book immediately. When he opened the book and saw the first page he stared in complete surprise. It was a hand drawn picture of Maggie, the strange girl with the dark birthmark covering half of her face.

When she was very young, she and her mother had lived on the estate. When Mylot was old enough to begin training with the combat instructors as well as the tutors, Maggie and her mother had moved into Lexingar, and he had not seen her again until the first year she had won the archery tournament. Mylot remembered how her appearance had changed each of the last few times he had seen her briefly at the tournament; the obvious signs of a life of poverty and neglect showing in her tattered clothes and dirty appearance.

When he turned the first page of the book, he realized that the book had no other pages. It was not a book at all, but a hollowed out box, concealing a miniature jewelry chest. The small golden chest had a keyhole on the front, and when Mylot shook the chest he could hear a small, hard object rattling inside.
How am I to find this girl? I’ve never heard where she lives, and from the way she has appeared at the last several tournaments, she seems not to even have a home.
He considered his options for a moment, and then realized,
The tournament! Of course. This will be easier than I thought. I’ll just bring the chest along and give it to her at the tournament before my first sword match, then I’ll be done with this business…