Brian Anderson - Shadow of the Gods

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.”

Barty hesitated, then nodded sharply. “Of course.”

After Barty and Randson had left, Millet knelt down in front of Devon, who had only just opened his eyes. In his right hand he held a small dagger. Dina stood just behind him, expressionless.

Devon turned his head and saw that Sherone was still unconscious. “What do you want with me?”

“First, I want you to see something,” said Millet. “Then I'll let you decide what I want with you.”

Before Devon could respond, Millet reach out and slit Sherone's throat. Blood spewed forth then poured down the man's cloak. Sherone's eyes opened for a moment as he gasped for breath, then slowly closed.

“Gods protect me!” cried Devon. Tears streamed down his plump cheeks as he struggled against his bonds.

Millet laughed mockingly. “Gods? The faithful invoking the Gods?” He wiped the bloody dagger on Sherone's cloak. “What would your master say if he heard that, I wonder?”

“I renounce the faithful,” said Devon, through his sobs. “Please, spare me.”

Millet stood and turned his back to Devon. “Did you come here to spare me?”

“My father is rich,” cried Devon. “If you let me live, he’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“And who is your father?” asked Millet.

“Lord Devon Drevaldon II, of Baltria.”

“I know your father,” said Millet. “At least I know of him through Lee Starfinder. It doesn't surprise me that he has fallen in with Angraal. But you should know that I am lord of this manor now. And as a Baltrian noble, you know well what it means to attack a lord in his own home.”

Devon began to shake uncontrollably. ”I swear I didn't know. I only came to…to…”

Millet spun around and held up his hand, silencing him. “You came to prove to the rest that you're good for more than just your father’s gold.” He knelt down. “Now you can prove your worth to me. Would you like 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.”