headed toward the kitchen. “Get some rest,” she called back. “I will attend to this and leave for Helenia in the morning.”
Millet didn't protest. He went to his chambers and dressed for bed. As he lay in the dark, he could still see the knife sliding across Sherone's throat. He could see his victim's eyes open in terror, then close forever. The vision filled him with anger and sorrow. Millet Gristall was no more. That man died the moment Sherone gasped his final breath. Lord Millet Nal'Thain had been left in his stead. And that man was at war. And with a troubled mind, he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning there was a loud banging at the manor’s front door. Millet donned a robe and went to answer it, but could hear that Dina had gotten there first. Angry voices echoed through the house from outside. When he finally arrived at the door, Dina was in the center of the doorway, her hands firmly planted on her hips.
“Who is it?” asked Millet.
“Mayor Freidly,” came a voice from just outside. “I'm here with members of the faithful. We need to speak with you.”
“Show them in, Dina,” said Millet. “I need to dress, then I will join you.” He turned and headed back to the bedroom. His heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Barty and Randson had returned. He dressed in a casual pair of white cotton trousers and shirt and slipped on a fine pair of soft leather shoes. He knew he didn't exactly look like the richest man in Sharpstone, but it would have to do.
When he arrived in the main hall, Mayor Freidly was standing at the far end of the room. His bald head, short, round features and wide-set blue eyes, were just as Millet remembered. However, he was wearing a red silk waistcoat, and fine linen pants and shirt, which was unusual for the mayor, being a man of modest means. Three black-cloaked men stood beside him. Their hoods were pushed back, revealing their dark hair, pale skin, and angry expressions. Millet thought they had the look of Baltrian nobles.
“Mayor Freidly,” said Millet, bowing his head ever so slightly. “It's good to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The mayor looked flushed and nervous. “It's good to see you too, Millet. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I don't understand,” said Millet, feigning ignorance. “What is the trouble?”
“You know what the trouble is!” roared the faithful farthest from the mayor.
The mayor held up his hand. “Please, Master Troungo. Let me handle this.” He turned back to Millet. “These men claim that two of their brethren disappeared last night.”
“I'm sorry to hear it,” said Millet. “Still, I fail to see why you have come to me. I only just arrived back in Sharpstone, and have had little time to get to know the newcomers.” He looked at each of the faithful in turn. “Though, I must admit, their reputation has preceded them. Why would you think to find them here?”
“They claim that two of their order came here last night to welcome you home, and never returned.”
“I'm afraid I can't help you,” said Millet. “I swear by the Gods, no one other than myself, Dina and those that live here passed through the door last night.”
“Enough of this,” said the faithful nearest the mayor. “You know they came here. And you know where they are.”
Millet smiled. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
The man glared daggers, but didn't answer.
The mayor cleared his throat. “This is Toliver Hall, and the men with him are Henris Longshadow, and Alex Troungo.”
“Baltrian nobles, from the sound of them,” remarked Millet. “You are very far from home, and dressed...oddly...for a noble.”
“We are the faithful of the Reborn King,” said Toliver. “And I'll ask you again. Where are our people?”
“Yes, I know all about the faithful,” said Millet. His tone hardened. “And I already know what you've been up to here in Sharpstone. And as I said, no one called on me last night.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they longed for home, and returned to Baltria rather than come here. It would seem a sensible course. I hear that there are plenty of the faithful in Baltria. At least for now.”
Toliver's hand began to slip beneath his robe.
“Gentlemen,” said the mayor, stepping in front of Toliver. “Clearly, your companions are not here. We should leave.”
The front door opened. Barty and Randson entered.