Seething inwardly, she made her way back to the kitchen where several drudges in long tunics were hard at work scrubbing pots and stirring huge vats. Orlla looked around until she spotted Madora wagging a finger at a red-faced wench who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. She waited until the woman had finished her tirade and then pasted a smile on her face and approached her. “The steward sent me to help you with kitchen prep.”
Madora let out a beleaguered sigh and wiped a hand across her glistening brow. “Have you any experience with knives other than wielding a sword?”
“Not much,” Orlla admitted. “Enough to feed myself.”
Madora smirked. “That’s a start. I’m used to making the best of what I’m given around here.” She guided Orlla over to a roughhewn bench and tipped a basket of wrinkled carrots onto the surface. “You can start by topping these.” After fetching another basket filled with parsnips, she handed Orlla a knife, and then took her place at her side. “I saw you come through the gate earlier. What’s a woman like you signing up as a mercenary for anyway?”
Orlla threw her a sidelong glance. “What’s a woman like you doing cooking for a bunch of mercenaries?”
Madora snorted with laughter. “You’re a brazen one, I’ll give you that.” She met Orlla’s gaze and held it. “Skinner is my husband.”
Orlla raised her brows as she scrambled for a response. “He’s a good-looking man.”
Madora reached for another parsnip. “As is your … brother. Those blue eyes of eyes would send shivers through any woman with a pulse.”
Caught off guard by the barely concealed mirth in Madora’s tone, Orlla felt her cheeks flush slightly.
Madora nudged her playfully. “It’s all right. I’m not going to tell Skinner we’re harboring lovesick fugitives. Like he cares. So, I take it you eloped together to evade conscription?”
Orlla cleared her throat, staring at the misshapen carrot in her hand. Did it even matter if she admitted they weren’t brother and sister? After all, Akolom had advised her to stick as close to the truth as possible. She lowered her voice to sound more piteous. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him in the war. We heard that mercenaries in the Strylieht mountains were looking for new recruits.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover.” Madora tucked a wisp of flaming red hair behind one ear and resumed chopping at a faster pace. “Although your brother has not thought this through. A woman with your attributes will be recruited to steal information for the rulers of the lost kingdoms by charming her way into their enemies’ bedchambers—to seduce, not wield a sword.”
Orlla threw her a reproachful look. “I am well-trained in the fighting techniques of all the known kingdoms.”
Madora sighed and rested a hand on one hip. “Any fool here can slit throats. You can be so much more dangerous as a mistress. Skinner will put you to use as he sees fit, so you won’t have any say in the matter.” She glanced over her shoulder and then leaned in close. “Take my advice and get out of here tonight while you can. No one breaks a contract with Skinner and evades his retribution.”
Orlla chewed on her lip. “Is that what happened to the goat herder they brought in earlier? I heard some folk in the tavern talking about him.”
Madora paled, her expression instantly freezing over in an icy mask. “Finish up here,” she snapped, tossing her knife on the counter. “And if you’ve any sense you’ll pay no heed to idle gossip and mind what I told you instead.”
Orlla got back to work, her thoughts whirling. Her question had hit a nerve. She had a hunch Madora was privy to most of what went on around the fort, but as Skinner’s wife, she knew better than to open her mouth about anything he wanted kept secret from his own men.
The rest of the afternoon dragged on as Orlla worked her way through several more piles of vegetables. When she was done chopping, Madora instructed her to carry the scraps to the pigs in a pen on the far side of the fort.
Orlla slung a bucket over each arm and set off. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Erdhan conversing and laughing with several men as she passed the forge. No doubt he had impressed them with his blacksmithing skills—maybe a few knife-juggling tricks to boot.
When she returned to the tavern after filling the pigs’ trough, Madora assigned her to serve and clear the tables at supper. “You may eat with the other wenches afterward,” she said before disappearing into the depths of the kitchen.
As dusk fell, the tables quickly began to fill up. Orlla followed the other serving wenches’ lead and busied herself carrying around trays of ale to the mercenaries while the cooks finished dishing out the pottage. Erdhan was seated with the same group of men he had been conversing with at the forge earlier. Now that their day’s work was done, they proved to be an even more loquacious bunch than before. Erdhan was lapping up the attention, and the harder they laughed, the more animated he became.
“Ale going to your head?” Orlla jibed, when Erdhan signaled for another round for the table.
“That’s my much older sister,” Erdhan explained to his companions with a wolfish wink.
Roaring with laughter, the men slapped the table so hard they knocked over a half-full pitcher of ale.
Orlla grabbed it before it rolled off the table and managed to inflict a quick scowl on Erdhan as she bent over to mop up the mess. “You are attracting too much attention to yourself,” she hissed.
“I’m trying to get information out of them,” he muttered. “Bring us some more ale and their tongues will really start to wag.”
One of the men leered at Orlla. “You don’t look a day older than this scoundrel,” he drawled. “Are you really his sister, or are you his mistress?”
The table rocked once more with hard guffaws.
Orlla fixed a scathing stare on the men before moving on through the other tables gathering up empties and taking orders. Khor was seated nearby with several other men of comparable stature, all of whom seemed a sight more interested in devouring the pottage that had arrived at the table than engaging in conversation with one another.
“Meet me in the alley opposite the tavern as soon as you can break away for a few minutes,” Khor whispered to Orlla in passing.
She gave a slight nod and continued walking. Back in the kitchen she loaded up another tray with steaming plates of pottage and fresh pitchers of ale and began wending her way back through the jostling patrons to Erdhan’s table. As she refilled the men’s mugs, Erdhan asked, “Any word on that goat herder the patrols brought in earlier?”
The glassy-eyed man next to him beckoned him closer. “They say he called up a dark dragon.”
“If that’s the case, the dark dragon stone is astir,” another mercenary said, slurring his words.
The first man took a long swig of ale. “Then we’re doomed. Nothing can withstand its power.”
“Naught but the Opal of Light,” Erdhan pronounced, plunking down his mug. “It can blind a man.”
Everyone froze. All heads turned to Erdhan. In that instant, Orlla caught the shrewd stare of the bald-headed steward seated at the next table. He turned away, eyes glinting, and a moment later, rose and limped from the room.
Chapter 11
Orlla slammed down her tray and snatched the mug from Erdhan’s hand. Grabbing him by the earlobe, she yanked him to his feet. “Claptrap and drivel! You don’t know what you’re talking about, brother. You’ve had far too much to drink. Clear out of this establishment or I’ll have Skinner’s guards escort you out.”
The men at the table dissolved into more hearty laughter at the sight of Erdhan being hectored and hauled out of the tavern by his sister. Once they were safely out of view in the shadowy street, Orlla gripped Erdhan tightly by the elbow and marched him over to the dark alleyway opposite the tavern.
Khor stepped silently out of the shadows just as Orlla shoved Erdhan away from her in exasperation. “What were you thinking, mouthing off in front of those drunken oafs? The stew
ard at the next table overheard you and left the room abruptly afterward—no doubt to report what he heard to Skinner.”
Khor reached for Erdhan by the collar, glaring at him. “What did you let slip?”
Erdhan adopted a chagrined expression. “They were talking about the dragon stones. I didn’t think anything of it. I merely mentioned that the Opal of Light could blind a man.”
Khor gritted his teeth. “You fool! That’s not common knowledge in the legends. No wonder you caught the steward’s attention.” He turned to Orlla, his eyes hard and unyielding. “The men I worked with today warned me about him. He spies on everyone around here and reports back to Skinner—especially anything suspicious concerning new recruits. Skinner trusts no one. Once he gets wind of what Erdhan said, he will have misgivings about our true purpose in coming to Boar’s Fort. We have to get the Onyx of Darkness out of here tonight.”
Orlla gave a tight nod. “I can retrieve the stone. I’ll wield temporary veiling runes strong enough to hide myself and the Onyx, but I won’t be able to sneak Varon past the two guards outside the bailiff’s station. We promised Yaarlin we would do everything in our power not to leave his brother behind, but veiling a second person requires more power than a lone Keeper can wield.”
“Erdhan and I will handle the guards,” Khor said. “We’ll don their attire and take up their positions. It will be dark by then, so no one will know who we are if anyone should happen by.”
“I don’t like the idea of Orlla going into the bailiff’s station alone. It’s too risky,” Erdhan protested. “There are likely more guards on duty inside.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you started flapping your tongue at supper,” Orlla retorted.
Erdhan averted his eyes from her look of censure. “It was a lapse of judgement on my part. I was trying too hard to gain their trust.”
Despite her frustration, Orlla conjured up a tone of civility. “What’s done is done. I know it wasn’t intentional. All we can do now is move quickly. As for any guards inside the station—they will likely be sleeping. With a veiling rune in place, I will be undetectable should they wake.”
“We’ll be stationed at the door,” Khor reassured her. “If we hear any commotion we’ll go directly to your aid.”
“I have to get back to the kitchen,” Orlla said, glancing across at the tavern. “Madora is bound to have missed me by now.”
“Meet us back here in the alley once everyone is asleep,” Khor replied as she sped back across the square to the tavern.
Upon her return, Madora showered Orlla with a thunderous look and immediately shoved a large wooden tray into her hands. “Half the tables need clearing. Where have you been?”
The other serving wenches made a show of applying themselves to their various tasks while taking the opportunity to shoot reproving looks her way.
Orlla hung her head. “I’m sorry. I needed the privy.”
Madora pursed her lips. “You had plenty of time to take care of business before the rush. You can scrape and wash all the platters when you’re done clearing the tables as punishment for shirking your duties.”
Orlla gave a meek nod and bustled off with the tray to clear away the empty platters and mugs and wipe down the abandoned tables. When she was done, she reported back to Madora for further instructions. The other wenches had already finished up their duties and departed the tavern. Madora pointed to a large slop bucket on the floor in one corner of the kitchen. “Put the scraps in there and then wash the dishes and utensils in the basin.”
Orlla meekly rolled up her sleeves and set about the distasteful task of transferring the food scraps into the bucket. No doubt she would be sent off to fill the pig trough again once she was done—another unpleasant duty she didn’t relish performing. Madora was justifiably angry at her unauthorized disappearance in the midst of a busy shift on her very first night in the tavern. But it didn’t matter how late she made her work. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, not with the thought of what lay ahead looming over her.
When Orlla had finished scraping and washing all the platters, Madora unhooked a large ladle from an iron rack hanging from the rafters and plunged it into the mush in the bucket.
“I’ll hardly need a ladle,” Orlla said. “I can just dump the bucket into the trough like I did before.”
Madora let out a snort of amusement as she wiped her hands on the rag slung over her shoulder. “This isn’t for the pigs. It’s the prisoners’ fare. Now, look busy and no more slacking off.”
Orlla stood rooted to the spot, blinking in confusion.
Madora narrowed her eyes at her. “You do know where the bailiff’s station is, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” Heart pounding with anticipation, Orlla reached for the bucket and hung the handle over the crook of her arm, scarcely daring to believe her stroke of good fortune.
“And when you’ve finished, report back to me. I’m not done with you yet. Skinner said another recruit arrived late and needed feeding.”
Orlla nodded absently and hurried out the door, her legs shaking with every step. If the guards let her take the food inside the bailiff’s station, she would be able to see the layout in advance—perhaps even gauge how many guards to expect tonight. More importantly, she might have the opportunity to speak to Varon and apprise him of their plan in advance.
As she walked down the shadowy street toward the bailiff’s station, she swore she felt eyes on her, but when she turned around, the handful of people still out and about weren’t paying her any mind. She continued on but couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been staring intently at her, and not in a friendly manner. The steward was the most likely culprit. Skinner might have instructed him to pay careful attention to them after Erdhan’s careless words in the tavern—a complication which could end up foiling their plans.
When she reached the bailiff’s station, she tilted her head in greeting to the two guards. “Madora sent me to feed the prisoners.”
Without a word, one of the guards turned and hammered on the wooden door with his fist. A slot slid open and then slammed shut again before the door swung wide. A rotund, heavy-jowled guard with protruding ears and a thick mustache beckoned her inside. He looked her unabashedly up and down, before slumping down in a wobbly chair. “You’re late.” He gestured indifferently over his shoulder to two cells at the back of the room. “One ladleful in each bowl, no seconds. They scrabble and spill, they’re out of luck.”
Orlla gave a curt nod and walked past the guard to the cells. Six or seven filthy, disheveled men were crowded in the tiny cell to the left, all straining to reach their bowls through the bars to her. Her gaze wandered over them, but at first glance she couldn’t say for sure if any of them looked particularly like Yaarlin. She peeked into the neighboring cell and her heart skipped a beat. Curled up on a straw pallet at the back was a swarthy man with deep-set eyes clutching a roughly-woven sack. He stared off into the distance at nothing in particular and didn’t as much as flinch when she banged the ladle on the bars of his cell. “Supper! Pass me your bowl!”
She struck the bars with the ladle a second time but elicited no response. The man remained oblivious to her presence, lost in some far-off vision. Meanwhile, the men in the other cell were growing increasingly restless, hitting their bowls against the bars of their cell and clamoring for food.
“Oy!” the mustached guard called back to Orlla. “Forget him! He won’t eat. Get those other curs fed. I’m sick of their growling.”
Orlla cast one last look at Varon before reluctantly turning her attention to the task of filling the bowls being shoved through the bars at her. It was an exasperating exercise, men jostling and punching each other as they vied for position while she ladled out slop, all the while trying to discreetly study her surroundings. More than once, a bowl went flying, the lukewarm contents splattering over Orlla. She grimaced and tried to speed up doling out the remaining portions so she could make her
exit.
On the way back out, the mustached guard fixed a mocking smile on his lips. “You got a good dunking. You’ll sidestep that slop quicker next time.”
Orlla said nothing, only giving him a nod as her eyes settled on a large ring with a key hanging on a nail on the wall behind him. There wouldn’t be a next time doling out slop if all went according to plan tonight. This oaf of a guard wouldn’t be a problem. He was too lazy to stand on his feet for longer than it took to open the door, and judging by the number of pitchers lying around, somebody kept him well-supplied with ale. Between that and his considerable girth, she could count on him snoring too loudly to hear anyone sneaking into the station. She had more to fear from wakening the other prisoners. If that happened, she would have no choice but to free them.
Once outside, she swilled out the bucket and hurried back to the tavern. She couldn’t risk Madora’s ire a second time in the space of a few short hours.
“Skinner’s sending that new recruit over for a late supper,” Madora said, sounding flustered. “Fetch a clean bowl and fill a pitcher with ale at once.”
Orlla gathered up the items and went to set them down on the nearest table, but Madora snatched them out of her hands and took them over to Skinner’s private table in the back corner of the tavern instead. “Skinner plans to raise a mug with the man. Must be a worthwhile recruit.” She shot Orlla a reproachful look. “For a change. Now, get back inside the kitchen and see that the floor is thoroughly swept. After that you can start the gruel for the morning before you leave.”
Gritting her teeth, Orlla snatched up a broom and started jabbing at the crusty floor. Her arms were aching from carrying laden trays of food and ale around all evening, but she didn’t dare rest for even a minute. The sooner she finished her chores, the better. She needed time to think and plan her strategy, and go over the veiling runes she would need to wield tonight.
Onyx of Darkness: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 9
