The Black Horseman

Chapter 11

 

 

                                                                                XI

 

 

 

 

The following morning Gwaynn found himself bandaged up and on board the Carol-Anne, on his way to Lato Island. As he suspected, he had a serious stab wound in his right thigh, but Alynn cleaned it and carefully placed a poultice of moss and other herbs directly on the wound to pull out any possible infection and to aid the healing process, then she wrapped his thigh tightly.

“You clean this every other day, and pack it in tightly,” Alynn instructed giving him a small bag filled with bandages and the wet moss.

“We’ll see he’s taken care of,” Nev said and Gwaynn noticed the shy look of respect Alynn gave the Tar.

Gwaynn thought he might have some deep reservations about boarding another trireme after his last experience, but now as he lay comfortably in a hammock on the bustling deck he felt no such apprehension. He was not surprised to find that he had complete confidence in Jon, for it was obvious that the man knew his way around his ship. Gwaynn watched as the crew loaded the last of the goods and supplies that they would be taking with them. The pace was a bit frantic because the launch was a few days early, but Jon, at Nev’s urging, quickly made arrangements for their departure. They could have made the trip by Traveler, but Jon would not hear of it, and insisted that he be allowed to ferry them the thirty miles east to the island of the Scholars.

Gwaynn sat quietly out of the way, enjoying the blue skies, the soft breezes and the pleasant smells of the sea. He watched quietly as the crew loaded and stored their goods and ware. Nev was off attending some business of his own, but assured Gwaynn he would be back well before they were scheduled to pull anchor. Gwaynn didn’t mind he needed some time alone to think. He went through the battle with B’dall over and over again in his mind, sifting through what he could remember, concentrating on the points where he’d made the mistakes that had led to his injures. He had no illusions that he was indestructible, and knew that with only a few minor changes, he would be the one now lying dead in the tent. He had been lucky…good yes, but also lucky.

“Nev also likes time with his thoughts after he has killed,” Jon said taking a seat on the deck next to Gwaynn without asking, but Gwaynn hardly felt that the man had to ask; after all, it was his ship. Jon sat, flipping a knife over and over again, catching it by the handle deftly in his palm each time.

“I keep going over the fight in my mind,” Gwaynn said, watching the twirling knife.

Jon nodded, and took a moment to direct a sailor storing rope near the main hold. “Yes, I thought from the look on your face you just might be.”

Jon cocked his head. “Tell me Gwaynn, how old are you now?”

Gwaynn frowned; surprised that he had to think about it before answering. He and Gwynn were about month and a half from their sixteenth birthday when Solarii fell and Gwynn had died. He had turned sixteen shortly after arriving on Noble Island. “What day is it?” He finally asked.

“You don’t know what day it is?” Jon asked with a smile. This lad was going to go far. Jon could tell he was all business, but then Jon had never known his brother to make a rash decision.

Gwaynn shook his head with a rueful smile of his own, and then his face lit up. The Competitions were always held mid March, culminating on the fifteenth, the ids. “March sixteenth?” he asked tentatively.