In the stables of House Thrane, two servants split a bail of green hay with big wooden forks and distributed it amongst several of the stalls. There was a wind that day, and the barn creaked during a particularly strong gust. Sawdust and bugs fell from the beams over the young men’s heads, as did a few scattered drops of water. One of them hummed a quiet tune as he worked, and patted the sides of a big black steed. The beast looked like a Yurnese purebred, brought across the Stormy Sea from the continent at great expense.
“So you said you worked in the kitchens?” said the stable boy who wasn’t humming.
The other nodded, and shrugged. “But I do have experience in stables from before I got hired by Lord Thrane.” He didn’t start humming again; the only sounds between their words were the whispers of horses and the groans of the structure.
“You ever talked to Lord Thrane?” was the next question. The inquisitive servant took a break from his work and leaned on his pitchfork.
“Nope,” lied the other. He shoved a clump of grass into a trough. He scratched his forehead; he’d just trimmed his hair for this very disguise and tiny whiskers of it revealed their hiding places when sweat swelled forth.
A few minutes passed before the humming returned, and the better part of an hour passed before they finished their work. The veteran employee of Thrane’s estate leaned his fork in the corner of the storage closet and said, “I’m going to the bar, a little one just outside the grounds. Want to join?”
“No,” said Farek Gallendris, as he withdrew from the cluttered closet. “I’m exhausted. I need a good night’s sleep. See you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” the stable boy said, and went his own way.
Alone at last, Farek began to explore Lord Thrane’s estate. He didn’t pay much attention to the lavish garden in front of the mansion, or the well-lit courtyard that approached the front door by a few deep stairs. Farek climbed the steps but he did not enter there. There were guards posted there, and he was dressed as a sweaty stable hand. He navigated around the side of the manor.
There was a shed, an outhouse, and at least two other storehouses, but most importantly, there was a cellar. Farek walked around to the other corner of the back of the house before considering his entry—there were two guards patrolling that way, but they were walking in the other direction. Everything on Thrane’s estate seemed to run by the ordinary standard of Soros. Farek retraced his steps to the cellar door and swung it open as quietly as he could. A cool air wafted up to his face, carrying upon it the scent of ale and beer.
Farek stepped down an old wooden ladder and closed the doors overhead. He saw barrels all around him, enormous kegs that blocked him into a tiny, cold alleyway. He heard the sounds of voices, muffled by layers of wood and wine.
Quiet footsteps and wary eyes brought him closer. He scratched his moustache—he’d trimmed it shorter too, for the sake of this disguise. No servant would be as well kept as Lord Gallendris. He’d only brought a knife, too. His family sword remained at home, this time. He was only here to listen to Lord Thrane, to observe. If Lord Thrane had killed Lord Ollu, he would deal with that.
The voices weren’t just speaking, they were laughing. And… was that the sound of kissing? Farek found the hallway leading out of the cellar—a guard and a middle-aged servant stood near a door a way’s down. The sounds he had first heard were not coming from that way. They were down here, so Farek stepped past the hallway and continued navigating the densely packed cellar.
There was no more talking in the basement, just the panting of people clearly making love. Farek found them in the corner—a man with his back to Farek and a woman with her back to the wall. He quickly ducked back out of sight, without being spotted. Even after he stepped away, he could clearly recall the woman’s jet black hair and southern white skin. He didn’t bother trying to spy on them further. An empty keg nearby provided an excellent hiding spot as he awkwardly waited for them to finish their business.
A while later, the sounds of lovemaking subsided and the two exited the ale cellar. Farek glimpsed the man and his breath caught—it was none other than Lord Thrane himself.
Farek had met Lord Thrane years ago, as well as Lady Thrane, an olive skinned Raderan with brown hair, descended from the Old Empire of course. The woman he had been with in his wine cellar was certainly not his wife. Farek curled his lips in disgust. He wasn’t idealistic; he knew most of the wealthy lords had a mistress on the side. But Thrane didn’t even have the decency to rent a roof outside of his own. He wasn’t just lacking in morals like all the rest, he was lacking in tact as well.
Farek waited a few moments in the cellar, still intent on learning what secrets this estate might hold. He gave the lord some time and distance before peering down the hallway he had passed earlier. The corridor was empty. Farek paused on the stairs to listen for sounds. He had a plan for escape of course, but he heard nothing and crept down the first hall of the main house. There was a side door nearby, with access to the yard, and an empty office adjacent to it. Next, Farek encountered an empty dining room. He passed a servant who gave him a strange look, but no one stopped him…
Until he reached an intersection of corridors and came face-to-face with two arm guards. One stepped back, while the other stammered senseless words at the sweaty, stinky stable boy that had appeared before them.
“Lord Thrane’s mare!” Farek exclaimed turning away back down the hallway. “Come quick, it’s been stolen!”
He heard them stride, without remark, after him, and quickened his pace to a dash. With two guards either chasing him or helping him, he burst through the side door and into the yard. He reached the stables a few steps before them, but ducked out a window no later than he had charged through the stall doors.
Before creeping away, he listened to the sounds of the confused wardens searching for any sign of the stable boy. And cursing when they realized that Lord Thrane’s mare was, in fact, still there.
Farek exited by the main gate, just as he had arrived, as one of the estate’s servants. He had not found any evidence of Thrane’s involvement with the death of Lord Ollu, but he had found irrefutable proof that the lord was a base man, lacking in any code of good behavior. As he scratched the trimmed hairs that itched his neck, he scowled. That damned wizard had told him to save this man?