Gareth
"As you command, my lord," Gareth said with another bow and a smile. Part of him was uncertain. Why was Sir Amik taking such an interest in him, a mere blacksmith? Sure, he had killed the barbarian, but that was toward the end of the fight, and he had stabbed the brute in the back to do so. Did he recognize him?
No. It was impossible. Sir Amik had never taken the time to converse with him back when he worked in the castle. He had, after all, been a blacksmith for the Kinshra, and was thus ostracized by all who wore white. There was no way Sir Amik could remember him, even if he hadn't changed his appearance. Unless... had the Temple Knights somehow figured him out?
The thought filled him with a pang of dread. While the King was a puppet to the White Knights, the White Knights were puppets to the Temple Knights. It was the Temple Knights who truly pulled the strings.
He could flee now - report the happenings to the Kinshra, resume his duties as their blacksmith. It would be the safest course, yet it would mean abandoning everything he had spent the past few years working toward.
Then he tried to banish his doubts. The Temple Knights couldn't have known. How could they? He had been careful. His letters had been coded, phrased to sound as casual as possible - an update on his business, the latest gossip, some questions on how his supposed 'family' was doing, and so on. If one knew where to look it contained vital information, of course, but there was no way the Temple Knights could have known, even if they did suspect him enough to intercept his letters.
He nodded his head to Aranel, not offended that she didn't choose his way. In truth he didn't care which route she took - it didn't matter, for she was of no importance to him.
Then he left the building, and sighed.
What would he do?
Beneath the gold, the Bitter Steel.
06-Apr-2019 15:27:14
- Last edited on
06-Apr-2019 15:57:27
by
NotFishing