Page 5 of Insurrection (Guard of Six #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

The Narth

I f annoyance could take human form, it would have taken the form of the knight riding to Kent’s left.

Orion Payton-Forrester.

In the week that it had taken for the royal contingent to travel from London to Wales, Kent had come to know the young knight that he’d heard so much about. The truth was that Orion wasn’t so young, but in fact, rather seasoned by the standard of society. He didn’t have a wife, but he considered himself quite a connoisseur of fine women.

Not that the guy didn’t have what it took.

In fact, he looked like a Viking god. With his blue eyes, handsome face, and flowing blond hair, it wasn’t the mere fact that he appreciated women, but the fact that they clearly appreciated him in return. Every night since leaving London, the army had stopped outside of various villages or cities because the knights wanted to sleep and eat inside a tavern, with a regular bed and a full fire. If they didn’t have to sleep in the open, they wouldn’t by choice. The army, however, set up an encampment and the soldiers slept beneath the stars and had no problem with doing so, but the knights and their higher stations dictated that if there was a bed to be had, they should sleep in it.

Orion had made that very clear.

Kent was not in command of this particular foray, but Torran was. He seemed to tolerate Orion more than he should have, and that included indulging the man every night when it came to food and drink and sleep. Kent simply did as he was told, and he had to admit that the first couple of nights on the road, he had seriously contemplated tying Orion to a tree and leaving him there for the birds. By the third and fourth nights, the irritation had worn off for the most part because Orion was actually a humorous and personable man. Some men could be quite pretentious when it came to meeting new people and making new friends, but Orion never came across like that. He was honest to a fault, and demanding, and perhaps that was where Kent’s sense of annoyance with the man stemmed.

Or perhaps it was the fact that the man was extraordinarily boisterous.

Whatever the case, by the fifth and sixth nights, Kent was getting used to Orion and his opinions and the fact that he believed he was the smartest man in the entire group, which clearly was not the case, but he didn’t seem to notice that. Kent had to admit that he admired a man who didn’t notice his flaws and who had enough self-confidence to fill an ocean. By the time they finally arrived at The Narth, Orion had no sense of tact when it came to spouting his opinions about Wales and the Welsh and what barbarians they were. Nothing he said was untrue, but that wasn’t the point.

They were in enemy territory and needed to be careful.

Less talk, more vigilance.

Torran finally told him as much, and, to his credit, Orion never said anything about the Welsh again after that. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused, and for the first time since being introduced to the Guard of Six, he seemed to settle down and try to blend in.

That settled down the Six, too.

No one had been particularly sure about Orion. Torran, Kent, and Jareth simply listened and observed as the knight prattled on or told jokes that sometimes had everyone grinning. The man was an entertainer. He liked attention. But there was another knight with them, a much older knight of scandalous reputation, that didn’t like attention at all.

Bennet de Bermingham.

The man hardly said a word the entire journey. He was diligent and dutiful, doing everything that was asked of him without hesitation, but he kept himself away from the knights for the most part. He wasn’t rude, and seemed eager to be part of a conversation if someone included him in it, but he never made any attempt to start dialogue himself or otherwise insert himself into a situation. He was, simply put, an obedient, strong knight who was excellent when it came to managing the army, so Torran put the man in charge of it. He had a booming voice that could be heard halfway to Scotland, something that served him well with troops who didn’t want to listen.

The last knight rounding out their crew, of course, was Stefan de Lohr. Son of the Earl of Canterbury, Stefan was an unofficial member of the Six, but soon to be an official member because that was what Henry wanted. The Six had more or less accepted him as one of their own. He was everything a de Lohr knight should be—big, blond, powerful, congenial, highly educated, and wildly talented.

But he was also a man going deaf.

It was something he’d been born with, evidently, something that had been most noticeable when he was in training. His teachers thought he was dimwitted and obstinate, when the truth was that he simply couldn’t hear commands very well. When they figured that out, they made a special effort to yell louder at Stefan, but his concerned parents had taken him to every physic they could find in the hopes that someone could help him. It was a physic from London who told them that Stefan was beyond help, that his hearing loss would only grow worse until he was completely deaf. Though he’d not reached that point yet, he was fully deaf in his left ear and had minimal hearing in his right.

That simply made the Six yell louder in his presence.

No one blamed him for his deficiency, nor did anyone judge him for it. He’d found a brotherhood of acceptance in Henry’s misfit bodyguards because, God only knew, they all had something they weren’t hugely proud of. Perhaps that was what made men like de Bermingham fit in, as well.

Not one of them were perfect.

And that included Kent.

His imperfections were too many to list, he felt, but he also knew he was in good company with his Guard of Six brotherhood. In fact, that very brotherhood was spread out on the front of the column of a thousand men, animals, and wagons, and after all of that travel on the road from London, they’d finally reached their destination.

“Kent, where is your home from here?” Jareth, riding to Kent’s right, turned to him and lifted the visor of his helm. “Are we near?”

Kent lifted his visor as well. “Aye,” he said, pointing off to the east. “Tyr Castle is on the other side of those hills, perched on a rise. The land is clear for miles around it, so any approaching army is seen for days before they actually arrive. Did I ever tell you that?”

Jareth shook his head. “You did not,” he said. “Will you send word to your father now that we’ve arrived?”

Kent shrugged. “My father is probably at Nether Castle,” he said. “It is our family seat and it is far to the north, in Powys. It is where I was born, but Tyr is where I lived in my childhood. I have fond memories of it. But, at some point, I should like to go north and visit personally. I’ve not seen my parents in quite some time.”

“Let us push de Russe out and get settled before you do that,” Torran said. Riding several feet in front of them, he’d heard the chatter. “At the moment, I need you with me in case the de Russe men decide they do not wish to leave.”

“Do you have the missive from Henry?” Kent asked.

Torran nodded. “I do, but if they are resolute, that will not make a difference,” he said. “They will accuse me of forgery.”

Kent turned, noting the army behind them bearing the scarlet and gold royal colors. “An entire army with Henry’s standard is a forgery?”

Torran shrugged. “You never know what men of greed will think,” he said. “We must be prepared.”

Kent glanced at Jareth, who seemed to have the same mindset as Torran. The closer they came to that imposing castle, the more uncertainty they felt, until Torran finally sent out two riders to announce their approach. The castle probably already saw them, but it was good manners to announce themselves. As the pair of soldiers rushed off, Orion reined his horse in next to Torran.

“Would you like me to go with them, my lord?” he asked. “It is possible that they will refuse the soldiers or otherwise create a problem. I would be pleased to avert any issues in that regard.”

Torran glanced at the man. He was being eager, perhaps even trying to prove his worth, but having not served with him, Torran didn’t really know or trust the man’s judgment. But he had a good point—those at the gatehouse could easily turn away two soldiers.

They might think twice before turning away two knights.

“Kent?” he called over his shoulder. “Take Orion and follow the soldiers. Announce our arrival and demand entry.”

Kent spurred his horse next to Torran. “And if they refuse?”

Torran sighed faintly. “Let us hope they do not,” he said. “But if they do, tell him de Lohr is approaching and he’ll not refuse the Earl of Hereford.”

“ Is de Lohr approaching?”

“Not yet,” Torran said. “Not until we remove de Russe completely, but I do believe Henry has sent word to de Lohr about the situation. At the very least, he knows he may be needed here. But let us hope it does not come to that.”

Kent didn’t ask any more questions. He dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and charged off with Orion right behind him. The road to The Narth flanked a rather large village, which was down the slope and nestled in a small, lush valley. As he was riding toward the castle, he glanced at the village below, noting the block-shaped church steeple and many other cottages and businesses. But that was the only look he was afforded, for his attention was focused ahead. Orion was beside him as they reached the gatehouse, where the two soldiers were in the midst of a shouting conversation with the gatehouse sentries above.

Reining his steed to a halt, Kent looked up at the second floor of the gatehouse, which was built into the wall that, as Kent could now see, encircled what looked like a small hill. The rest of the buildings were on the top of the mound inside and the hill itself seemed to be long and skinny. The walls encircled the base, ending at a drop-off at the rear of the castle when the hill became a cliff into the valley below. In all the time Kent had known Ivor, those many years ago, he’d never visited The Narth, so this was the first time to see his old friend’s childhood home.

It was quite impressive.

“I am a knight in the service of Henry, King of England,” he yelled to the men on the gatehouse. “Bring de Russe to the gatehouse immediately. We bear a royal summons.”

The men at the gatehouse were perhaps willing to argue with mere soldiers, but they were not willing to argue with a knight. Especially one bearing the king’s standard, with an army behind him as well. More than that, he was heavily armed, laden with sharp weapons, and he clearly meant business.

So much for dismissing the king’s lowly soldiers.

Someone headed off on the run.

“Do you think they’ll really summon him?” Orion muttered, inching his horse closer to Kent so he could speak quietly. “Surely it cannot be this easy gaining access to this place.”

Kent grunted softly. “We shall see.”

Orion had been looking at the gatehouse but now was looking at Kent. “I heard you tell Jareth that your home is nearby,” he said. “You must be pleased to be back home again.”

Kent’s focus was still on the gatehouse. “I will be when I can see my family again,” he said. “But we must first get through this tribulation.”

Orion had tried to engage Kent in conversation since leaving London, several times, but Kent didn’t seem too sociable. He was focused and dedicated, and not one to waste time on trivial things like conversation.

But Orion wouldn’t give up.

“I was raised near the Scots borders,” he said, returning his gaze to the gatehouse also. “I would like to see my mother and father again, soon. I envy you that you shall soon see yours.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

“Five years.”

“That is a long time.”

“It is,” Orion said. He paused because someone in the gatehouse yelled something, but he continued when he realized the shout wasn’t meant for them. “I remember my father saying something to me once. He said the days move slowly but the years move quickly. I never knew what he meant until I grew older and realized how time moves very swiftly. Yesterday, I was a new knight. Today, I was a seasoned one. It seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye.”

“I would agree with that.”

Orion was prevented from commenting further when the great wooden and iron gates behind the portcullis began to open. Men were pulling them back, securing them, and still more men were stepping forward to get a look at the royal knights on their doorstep. One man in particular seemed to be eyeing Kent and Orion closely.

“Who are you?” he finally demanded.

“Kent de Poyer,” Kent said without hesitation. “This is Orion Payton-Forrester. We bring a summons from Henry, so open the portcullis and admit us.”

This was the moment of truth. They’d stated their names and asked for admittance. Kent held his breath while the man who had spoken turned to confer with those behind him. After a few moments, he made a circular motion to the gate guards and the portcullis began to lift.

“Kent de Poyer,” the man said, ducking underneath the portcullis as it lifted. “I know you. Or, at least, I did. Your father is Caledon.”

Kent nodded. “He is,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Treyton de Russe.”

Kent’s lips twitched with a smile before he dismounted his horse. “I think the last time I saw you was at a feast,” he said, handing his reins off to Orion before approaching the very tall knight with shaggy, dark hair and a piercing gaze. “The feast was at Gloucester’s. We were five or six years of age, I think.”

Treyton’s brown eyes glimmered with some mirth. “We were very young,” he said. “I do remember we formed a gang with some of the other young guests and fought each other with sticks we’d broken off from the rushes in the hall.”

Kent laughed softly. “Someone got an eye poked and started screaming.”

“That would be me.”

Kent continued to chuckle. “Any lasting damage?”

“Thankfully not,” Treyton said. “I remember hearing that you went to serve Henry. You’ve been with him for many years, haven’t you?”

Kent nodded. “Several,” he said. “You returned to Clearwell after your training?”

Treyton shrugged. “My father wanted me home,” he said. “I have four brothers, all of whom serve different houses, except for my youngest brother, Hugh. He has become a prince of the church.”

“Priest?”

“Much to my father’s sorrow, he is.”

“But your parents are in good health?”

Treyton nodded. “Excellent, thank you for asking,” he said. “And yours?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“That is good to hear,” Treyton said. Then he eyed Kent. “What’s this about, Kent? What does Henry want?”

Kent didn’t hesitate. “The Narth.”

That wasn’t the answer that Treyton was expecting to hear. His features tightened, as if he were about to start shouting, but just as quickly, he controlled himself. It wouldn’t do to argue with a man who was only the messenger.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Then you’d better come in.”

The portcullis went up all the way.

*

“Do you know why we attacked The Narth? Does Henry even care to hear our reasons before he tries to take the castle from our control?”

The shouting had commenced.

Only in this case, Treyton was shouting at Torran, who was the senior knight. Kent might have been in command of the army overall, but Torran was in command of the knights. That meant he outranked Kent at the moment, so Treyton’s anger was focused on the head of Henry’s personal guard.

Situated in the enormous entry of The Narth’s round keep, the chamber served as a hall that could seat two hundred men easily. It ran the entire width and depth of the keep, with a tall ceiling that rose two stories. It also smelled of smoke and piss and rotten food, which was how the de Russe army had found it. Treyton hadn’t cleaned it up. Now he was glad he hadn’t.

If Henry wanted this place, then he was glad to leave them the stink.

But Torran wasn’t rising to his anger. In fact, the angrier Treyton became, the cooler Torran became. He watched the man pace around in front of him, throwing his arms wildly to emphasize his points.

“We were told that there was an incident between you and the Welsh from The Narth,” Torran said steadily. “We were told your father laid siege to the castle and sacked it because of your actions.”

“Aye, he did,” Treyton snapped. “But it wasn’t because of something I did. It was because of something the Welsh did.”

“What?”

Treyton’s body twitched menacingly to that very simple question, mostly because it wasn’t simple to him. It was a question with a devastating answer. “Because my sister was returning from Shrewsbury, where she was visiting my father’s sister,” he said. “She was attacked on her way home, robbed and beaten, and we tracked the robbers to The Narth.”

Torran’s brow rippled. “But how did you find them?” he said. “What proof did you have?”

That only seemed to make Treyton angrier. “Because there is a merchant in town who was selling my sister’s ring,” he said. “The ring the robbers took from her. They took anything of value into the village and sold them or used them to pay their debts at local taverns. That is why we attacked The Narth, de Serreaux. Because my sister is lying at home in a stupor and we made sure the bastards who did it paid with their own blood.”

Torran couldn’t argue with him. Given the shocking circumstances, they would have all done the same thing. But it made him question taking The Narth from the House of de Russe at all. From what he was hearing, it sounded as if they rightly deserved the castle as spoils of a war the Welsh started. He glanced at Kent, who seemed distressed by the tale, before continuing.

“My sympathies for your sister,” he said quietly. “Truly, I mean that. We were told it was because of something you did, but clearly, that was not the case. Given that this was a retaliatory attack for something the Welsh did to your family, it makes much more sense now. Did you share this circumstance with any of your allies?”

Treyton nodded. “The House of Wellesbourne was part of the attack,” he said, struggling to calm himself. “You know them?”

“I know of them,” Torran said. “They have a formidable reputation.”

Treyton nodded. “My sister is pledged to one of their sons,” he said. “Truly, de Serreaux, we did not wake up one day and decide to make war with the Welsh. They did that when they beat my young, delicate sister with a club and were so rough in tearing rings off her fingers that they broke two of them.”

“ Who did this?” Kent finally asked. He found he couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Do you have the names of the individuals?”

Treyton looked at him. “Nay,” he said. “I wish we did. It would have made it easier on the Welsh. Initially, all we asked for were the culprits to be turned over to us, but they would not do it. They chose to stand together. And they fell together. The last we saw, they were fleeing north. Someone said they went to a castle near Brecon called Pentwyn.”

Kent was silent a moment as he digested that. “Do you know much about the Welsh in this area, Treyton?”

“Not really,” Treyton said. “Our holdings are further south. We are well allied with the Welsh in our area, but up here… these are wild lands with wild people. Kent, I have to ask—since your father’s holding is not far from here, do you know these men? Have you had dealings with them?”

Kent couldn’t lie to him. “I’ve not lived on the marches since I was a child,” he said. “But—”

“It does not matter if he knows the men from The Narth or not,” Torran said, interrupting him. “What matters is that your actions to punish those responsible for harming your sister have now created a difficult situation on the section of the marches controlled by Caledon de Poyer and, further north, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. What about the village nearby, de Russe? Have the villagers given you any cause for concern? Because you have to know they would support the rebels turning back for The Narth and trying to regain it any way they could.”

Kent was still trying to figure out why Torran wouldn’t let him tell Treyton that he’d known the rebel leader as a child, but he kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he thought it would only cause problems. In any case, Torran was there to represent Henry’s interests. In fact, they all were. Henry wanted The Narth, but given the circumstances of why the House of de Russe had seized it, it was possible that Torran might have to consult with the king before removing Treyton and his men.

Possible… but not probable.

Even Treyton seemed to sense that.

“We’ve not had a terrible lot of trouble from the villagers,” Treyton said. “But when we found the merchant with my sister’s ring, we turned the place out looking for anything else that was stolen. I’m certain they are not fond of us at the moment.”

Torran thought that might have been the man’s answer. He scratched his forehead, deep in thought.

“I’m in a difficult position now,” he said. “I’ve come to take this place from you and send you back to Clearwell. Henry feels that having you here is like having a spark in the middle of a haystack. The Welsh attacked you, you attacked them, and now they will retaliate. It is only a matter of time. Therefore, he wants royal standards to fly over this place.”

Treyton snorted rudely. “As a deterrent?”

“As a threat.”

“And you think de Russe standards do not send enough of a threat?”

“I think the King of England has more power, aye,” Torran said steadily. “If you do not think so, then you and I will have a problem.”

Treyton was starting to get angry again but held himself in check. “Of course I do not think we have more power,” he said. “But we have a mighty army.”

“I know,” Torran said. “And because this circumstance is a delicate one, I’m not going to remove you right away. I am going to permit you to remain, but I want the de Russe standards taken off the battlements. We will fly Henry’s crimson and gold. Mayhap that will ease the villagers a bit and also give any rebel spies a moment of pause should they think to retake The Narth. Where is your father, de Russe?”

Treyton gestured in a general southerly direction. “Home,” he said. “He left a few days ago to return. Shall I send for him?”

Torran nodded. “I think you’d better,” he said. “Have him return immediately. We have a situation here that must be handled… carefully. You deserve vengeance. There is no doubt. But we do not want to start another large-scale war with Wales.”

Treyton really couldn’t disagree with that. “I only want to see those who injured my sister brought to justice,” he said with far less anger in his tone and far more concern. “Talia did not deserve what happened to her. She is a kind, sweet lass and has a Wellesbourne suitor who is quite in love with her. He is devastated by all of this.”

Torran wasn’t without sympathy. “Given that I have a wife I adore, I understand completely,” he said. “And if someone did such a thing to my wife, I would erase him from this earth. So I am in complete agreement with what you’ve done. But there is a bigger concern here, Treyton. May I call you that?”

Treyton nodded. “Of course,” he said. “And I do understand the bigger concern. But I am not leaving Wales without those who harmed my sister.”

“If we were to get those men to you, then you would relinquish the castle?”

Treyton shrugged. “I would go home,” he said. “But the question is if Henry would relinquish it. You are here to not only remove me, but to take it from me.”

There was a glimmer of mirth in his eyes as he said it, and Torran grinned. Even Kent smiled. All around them were knights who had been listening to the conversation in silence, and now that the tension was broken a little, they were relaxing as well.

“I cannot answer for Henry,” Torran said, glancing over at Jareth, the diplomat. “What do you think?”

Jareth had been sitting with a dog on his lap, a big black dog that had come over to him and laid his head on his thighs. Jareth was still petting that big head as he spoke.

“I think Henry would relinquish it to prevent another war,” he said. “But, then again, I am not the king.”

“True,” Torran said, returning his focus to Treyton. “In any case, I suspect the Welsh aren’t going to return tonight, so let us eat and rest and then resume this conversation on the morrow. We have been on the road for the better part of a week and could use some sustenance and sleep.”

Treyton nodded, but he seemed subdued now that the burst of fury had subsided. “If you have a better cook than we have, send him over to the kitchens,” he said. “All our cook makes is mutton and beans.”

Torran laughed softly. “Do you want me to take over the kitchens?”

“God love you if you do.”

Torran motioned to Orion, who had been standing back by the door with Bennet. The two knights headed out at Torran’s direction.

“Done,” Torran said. “Anything else?”

Treyton sighed wearily, glancing around that enormous chamber. “You should have your army set up camp inside the bailey,” he said. “I would not leave them outside of the walls. There are about thirty chambers in this keep, so you and your knights can select chambers to sleep in. I’ve only got one other knight with me, so it is just the two of us in the cavernous place.”

Torran nodded. “Very well,” he said. Then he looked at Kent. “Why not do some scouting in the village before the sun sets? Remove your armor, anything identifying. Blend in if you can. You speak Welsh, do you not?”

Kent nodded. “My grandmother was Welsh,” he said. “She insisted all of her children and grandchildren know the language.”

“Good,” Torran said. “At least get a look at the village and the villagers.”

“I will,” Kent said, but he turned his attention to Treyton. “Have your men done any reconnaissance while you’ve been here? Anything I should know?”

Treyton shook his head. “We’ve not left the castle except when we first arrived and rousted the village,” he said. “They will probably be suspicious of strangers, so be cautious.”

“Indeed.”

“And the man who seems to lead the town is the local apothecary,” Treyton said. “They call him The Bryn. Someone told me that he’s a witch, but who really knows.”

Kent frowned. “The Narth?” he said. “The Bryn? Can’t the Welsh come up with more original names?”

Treyton smiled weakly. Without another word, Kent headed out of the keep, out into the afternoon. Clouds were forming to the south and the smell of rain was on the air, but the weather was still good. He still had a couple of hours before the clouds would be upon them and he would need to seek shelter. As he headed in the direction of the stables where he’d left his horse, he caught sight of Stefan.

The big blond knight was bent over a horse, inspecting a hoof. Kent called to him a couple of times but Stefan didn’t hear him, so he came up behind the man and put his hand on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a loud speaking tone.

Stefan was a congenial man, well liked by everyone. He dropped the hoof and stood up, brushing his hands off. “This is one of the horses the Welsh left behind,” he said, slapping the flank of the dappled horse affectionately. “He seems in good health, but he also seems to have a bit of a limp.”

Kent looked the horse over. “Tendon?”

“Hoof,” Stefan said, pointing. “He has a crack.”

Kent had to take a look himself, seeing the crack in the lining of the hoof. “The smithy needs to fit him with a special shoe,” he said. “I’ve seen our smithy construct one to take the pressure off the crack.”

Stefan nodded. “I think I can make him one,” he said, eyeing the hoof again before focusing on Kent. “What went on in there? De Russe did not look pleased to see us.”

Kent shook his head. “He wasn’t,” he said. “Care to join me in some covert action?”

Stefan’s face lit up. “Always,” he said. “What are we doing?”

“Going into the village and taking a look around. Like a wraith.”

Stefan understood. “Good,” he said. “Let me get out of this armor and I’ll join you.”

As Stefan began to strip off, Kent found his horse and did the same. Protection came off, down to the linen breeches he wore beneath the mail. He ended up stripping those off, right in front of everyone, and donning the leather breeches he was much more fond of wearing.

However, he knew the shorter tunic would give him away, so he began hunting around for something longer, heading into the gatehouse and speaking to the soldiers who were there to see if anything had been left behind. Fortunately, some possessions had remained when the Welsh fled, so he found a couple of long, rough tunics as well as woolen cloaks used by the men on guard. Returning to Stefan, he gave the man one of the tunics, and the cloak that wasn’t so horribly dirty and worn. Between the two of them, they very much looked like native Welshmen.

It was time to go into the village.

Departing the gatehouse of The Narth, and making sure the gatehouse guards knew what they looked like so they would not be denied entry when they returned, the pair headed down the road. The village could be seen from the castle, so it wasn’t far in the least. But the pair of them hurried down the road and lost themselves in the bramble that separated the road from the village down in the vale, so by the time they emerged from the trees, they were covered with leaves and grass and their feet were muddy.

The perfect look for Welsh travelers.

The wind was starting to pick up as they entered the southern end of the village. It was actually quite a large settlement, with cottages and even farms tucked off toward the west into the valley. As Kent and Stefan discovered, there was a main road through the village, but several smaller roads and alleyways, like a spider’s web, completed the layout of the town. There were people and children and dogs roaming the streets at this hour, still conducting business, and Kent and Stefan were cautious as they headed into the main hub of the village.

Suddenly, Kent ducked into an alleyway and took Stefan with him.

“It would be best if we split up,” he muttered up against Stefan’s good ear so he would hear him. “I’ll head into the center of town and observe while you skirt the perimeter. Look for anything strange.”

Stefan nodded. “Like what? Armed men?”

“Exactly,” Kent said. “A group of armed men or even one armed man. Where there’s one, there is possibly more. Ap Yestin’s men are possibly watching the castle from the village, and if they are, we must know.”

“I’ll stay out of sight,” Stefan murmured. “Where will I meet you?”

Kent stuck his head out from around the corner of the building before returning his focus to Stefan. “I am not certain, so do not wait for me,” he said. “Return to the castle and I will see you there. If I am not back by sunset, come looking for me.”

“Agreed,” Stefan said. “Where are you going first?”

Kent gestured toward the village square. “That way,” he said. “I’m going to look around at those businesses and see if any of them have armed men, or men working in them. Armed men would indicate merchants, or even rebels who are keeping an eye on the castle under the guise of working for a merchant.”

“Be cautious, then.”

“I will.”

With that, they parted.

They were men on the move.