The Black Horseman

Chapter 17

                                                                    XVII

Lonogan Bock, on horseback, followed along apprehensively as three of his largest wagons rolled slowly across the bridge leading to the Plateau above. Each empty wagon had six horses pulling it, and though the horses had an easy time of it going this direction, on the way back, loaded with freshly cut logs, they would need all of their strength. Two horses were tied to the rear of the middle wagon and followed along amiably. They were the only clue that the two young men who actually drove the wagon were not exactly who they appeared to be. If the Deutzani guarding the bridgehead became suspicious Bock would just claim to be trading out horses for his scouts and trappers. If that failed he had enough coin to turn their heads. Bribery and black marketers thrived under the new system of rule, and any man who wished to be successful in a business soon learned who could be persuaded to look the other way for a few pence.

But the guards at the bridge just waved the party on without at a second glance, after all, the Deutzani needed the trade; as conquerors the tax income was theirs by right. They would only be undermining themselves to stand in the way of commerce. The local governor knew such things, but it did not keep him from growing rich on extortion…just not rich enough to attract the attention of King Arsinol.

Bock watched the two new young men handle the team as they reached the foot of the long hill which would eventually lead to the flat Plateau above. He studied Gwaynn very closely. The boy had determination, strength and resolve, and these were not attributes he’d been told to expect. Afton Sath, his commander now for nearly twelve years, described the young prince as talented, but soft, with feelings as sensitive as any girl’s. In fact, Sath had mentioned several times that he had wished it had been Gwynn who had survived, truly believing that she was the stronger of the two.

But after Gwaynn’s encounter with Lee Brandt, Bock was forced to reevaluate his preconceptions. It was something he continued to do the entire day yesterday as he tried to talk his prince out of moving up on the Plateau and chasing foolishly after a party of Executioners. Bock was surprised when Gwaynn had asked about them, but he told what he knew, that they had entered Manse nearly a week prior, but had since left, though when, he could not be sure. Word had it that they were on their way to Koshka. He never would have believed that these two young men were actually chasing after Executioners or he would not have been so free with his information. He wanted the two to hold up and wait for Sath to return from Cape, but Gwaynn would hear none of it.

“He can find us just as well at Koshka,” Gwaynn had said and even intended on crossing the Scar River on his own. It was all Bock could do to convince him into staying the night and leaving with a party at first light. The young prince was impatient, and apparently reckless, not desirable qualities in a leader, but certainly not the simpering, soft, coward he had come to expect. But it was when Gwaynn asked about Tod Ogden and a whore named Dot that Bock began to realize with just whom he was dealing.

“You know them?” Gwaynn had asked.

Bock nodded. “Tough bunch. Led by Fakir, not someone you want to get tangled with,” he advised.

“Fakir’s dead, along with several of his men, and a few of his women,” Gwaynn said without emotion. “Tod and Dot though seemed to lose heart as we were dealing with the others and fled. I want them dead.”

Bock stared at Gwaynn his mouth slightly open. “Dead?”

“Dead,” Gwaynn repeated. “Can you get it done for me?”

Bock nodded. “Fakir’s dead?”

Gwaynn shook his question away with obvious impatience. “There are two others, a whore named Neece…she is to leave Manse and not return. The other is Emm. She is now under the care of the innkeeper Taylor. She is not to be harmed. If she returns to her whoring ways, however, she dies.”