XIV
The Carol-Anne landed in Heron after nearly three days and nights at sea, and despite Jon’s misgivings and the healthy presence of Deutzani soldiers, no one paid Gwaynn or Krys any special attention. The ship was unloaded quickly with the help of the Massi Prince and his new Weapons Master. Gwaynn thought it prudent to stay with the ship and its crew as they got a feel for the area around the dock, plus it might look odd if two crewmen disembarked just as the heavy work was about to begin. Once the unloading was finished, however, Jon released nearly all of his men for a few days of land living. He kept a skeleton crew to watch over the ship, himself included, though he insisted on coming with the two young men as they traveled to meet up with Paulo and Karla.
It felt strange to Gwaynn, walking the very streets he fled from over a year ago. In some ways it felt like a lifetime, but when they finally came across the house of Paulo, it seemed as if he had hardly been away.
“Yes,” Karla said as she answered the door, at first not recognizing the young man who filled the frame, but then she looked past him, and saw Krys who had visited only a few weeks prior. Her eyes flew back to Gwaynn and darted about his face like bee looking for nectar.
“Gwaynn?” She asked hesitantly, hardly believing that this was the same boy who had cried in her arms that awful night after Solarii’s fall. She started forward to take him into her arms once more but then hesitated. Gwaynn, reading her thoughts, stepped up and hugged her.
“I’m sorry about Karl,” he said softly in her ear. “I know what it is like to loose family.”
Karla hugged tighter as tears welled in her eyes. “Come in, come in,” she said breaking the embrace and discreetly wiping away the tears. “Paulo will be so happy to see how tall you’ve gotten…just like your father.” She led the way in and they all followed, but it was nearly an hour before Paulo got word and joined them. He arrived just as Jon was taking his leave to return to the Carol-Anne.
“Watch yourself. I land at Heron, normally twice a year,” Jon said gripping Gwaynn’s hand firmly. “If you need me, leave word with Paulo, and I’ll get it.”
Gwaynn returned the grip. “Thanks for everything.”
As soon as the door shut Gwaynn immediately turned to Paulo. “Anything from Afton Sath?”
Paulo shook his head. He was having a hard time with the fact that now he had to look up at Gwaynn. Paulo studied the young man for a time. Gwaynn was tall, but he was not just a skinny lad; his shoulders and arms had filled out during his time away. Except for the scruff of beard on his chin, he looked the part of a man, and a King. However, it was not the change of body that struck Paulo so acutely. When the boy had left his entire demeanor had been…soft, but now there was something hard in his eyes. There was also the way he carried himself, there was now an air of confidence about him that was lacking before. The boy had changed, of that there was little doubt.
Paulo sat down and took a cup of tea from his wife. “We sent word nearly three weeks ago, but haven’t heard anything.”
Gwaynn sipped his tea and frowned. “He’s at Koshka?”
Paulo nodded. “In the mountains thereabouts. It does take time to move across the country these days…you can’t be too careful.”
“What is the Deutzani presence like in the west?” Gwaynn asked, his tone no longer a boy’s.
Paulo stared into his Prince’s eyes. “Not strong, but growing. They have an army at Cape, but it hasn’t moved much in nearly six months. They supply it by sea, and every now and then the commander will send out raiding parties inland. They seem to be more worried about the Toranado than the Massi.”
“An army at Cape,” Krys said with a smile for Gwaynn’s foresight. “No doubt the longer ride was the way to go. And what is Afton Sath doing about the army?”
Gwaynn glanced at Krys, noting the steely look in his eyes. Krys reflected his own desire to strike back at the enemy, and for that he was very thankful. But Krys was young, younger in experience than Gwaynn, though chronologically he was nearly two years older. And though Gwaynn considered himself more experienced, he realized that he was also young, and as Nev had warned, the young were prone to recklessness. They would have to be cautious, and ever mindful of that fact.
“We’ll need horses,” Krys said, his tone growing more demanding until Gwaynn reached out and put a hand on his forearm.
“Horses?” Paulo asked, seeing the look that past between the two young men, and suddenly his heart soared. Gwaynn was the leader of the two. He was leading, without words, but he was leading. All at once it hit him that the King of Massi was in his home, and it flustered him.
“Yes,” Gwaynn said nodding. “We will stay here tonight, but leave at first light. Arrange it for me Paulo.”
Paulo blinked. “Of course M’lord, but what if Sath comes to find you?”
Gwaynn shrugged. “Then send him after. We head directly for Manse, then on to Koshka.”
Paulo nodded. “As you say,” he answered. “There’s a logger in Manse, name’s Lonogan Bock. He’s the contact in the area if you haven’t come across Master Sath by then,” he added and tried to bow though he was sitting at a table.
Gwaynn smiled at him and then quickly stood. “Karla, what can we do for our supper?”
ǂ
Samantha felt better in the morning. Otter had given her sole possession of one of the tents, where she could wash her face, brush off her clothes and sleep in privacy, and since she had admitted to being the daughter of Thomas Fultan, Wake had treated her like something precious. His looks and actions however, seemed more like fawning and less like leering to her, and for that she was grateful. She woke to find Scot, the youngest of the three soldiers, busily cooking up some eggs and flapjacks. She emerged from the tent dressed in the skirts she’d not worn since the day her family was killed. Her pants were filthy and she was hoping to at least rinse most of the dirt off of them, before she moved on.
Scot watched her as she walked to the fire. Her new confidence began to falter under his gaze. “You look better,” he said, giving her a shy smile. “I mean… yesterday…you…you looked tired,” he quickly added.
“Thank you,” she answered and sat opposite him, on one of the large logs ringing the fire pit.
“Don’t listen to him,” Otter said rounding the far side of the small cabin. He and Martin, the other old soldier, were carrying wood. “You were a vision yesterday, and an even lovelier one today,” he added, dropping his load next to the pit. Martin nodded, but Scot just blushed.
Samantha smiled, but it quickly fell away from her face, as she spotted Wake rounding the corner, over his shoulder he carried a very large axe. Suddenly her breath was coming in gasps, as painful memories abruptly hit her once more. Wake noticed the stark look of terror in her eyes, and at first was confused and just a little bit hurt. But understanding came quickly to him and he leaned the axe against a nearby tree then came slowly to her side, approaching as if she were a skittish animal.
“He used an axe,” the large man said softly in his husky voice, “didn’t he?”
Samantha did not answer at first; she was still trying to get a hold of herself. Never in her life, not even on the day of the executions, had she felt such overwhelming fear, and it took her several moments to realize that she had wet herself, just a little. Her face colored in embarrassment, but she did not move and said nothing.
Wake sat down next to her and very slowly and deliberately reached out and petted her hair. He worried she would shy from him, like a rabbit in a trap and she flinched at first, wanting nothing more than for him to stop, but she said nothing. Her voice had left her for the time being, and gradually she began to relax to his touch.
“They hung Murl and Wellman…our servants,” she said speaking so softly that all the men had to lean in to hear her voice over the crackling fire. “But when he…when he came…” she abruptly stopped speaking, and remained silent for so long that they thought she was finished, but suddenly she was talking again. “He broke Beth’s neck, but used the axe on my father and Arabelle. He tied me to the block…but not very well.” She abruptly stopped talking and stood up, looking in turn at the four men before her. She studied their faces, and all at once she knew they meant her no harm.
“He went into the house for a drink and just left me there tied by my dead family, but I got away and hit him. I hit him hard.” Her voice cracked, but before she could cry she turned and fled off away from them. She ran through the sparse woods until she reached the edge of the Scar, down below and to the left was the bridge and beyond that the town of Lynndon. She looked out again at the world, amazed at just how far she could see. She sat down, and was soon joined by Martin and Wake.
“It’s my watch,” Martin said carefully, afraid she might get upset once more, but Wake just sat by her. He handed her some food and water that she ate without comment, and the entire time Wake just sat, close but not too near, saying nothing. She shook her head, surprised that she found his presence such a comfort when yesterday he only filled her with fear.
When she finally went back to the camp it was near dark. Wake followed her; having stayed with her the entire day, though the rest of the soldiers had come and gone with their shifts. They ate a light supper, again in silence, but when it began to lightly rain she stood to go bed, suddenly exhausted. She turned to Wake and touched his hand. “Thank you Wake,” she said softly, but he only nodded, and watched her duck into the tent. They all went to sleep that night unaware that under the cover of darkness, the Executioner had arrived in Lynndon.
ǂ
Gwaynn and Krys left Paulo’s just after sunrise the following morning on two of the finest horses available in all of Heron. Krys protested, believing that the splendid animals would call too much attention to them, but Paulo would hear none of it.
“Bradley,” Paulo said, talking of Heron’s largest horse trader, “put up a hard bargain, but I’d not let my King ride about on a broken down swayback.”
“But…” Krys began to argue. He fell silent with a look from Gwaynn, who despite his friend’s sound judgment felt they needed the best mounts possible. Manse was a good six days ride away and Koshka another two and a half beyond. It would be better to traverse the distance just as quickly as they could, and besides, the black mare he was to get was absolutely beautiful. Paulo also pushed a generous bag of coins into Gwaynn’s hands, and when he tried to return it, the older man just shrugged.
“You can pay me back,” Paulo insisted, so Gwaynn took it gratefully.
Once out of town they rode at a quick pace, though one the horses could easily maintain for hours. Gwaynn’s heart soared. He was home, and felt suddenly free. The morning was cool and started out well enough but the sky soon clouded over and it began to rain just before mid-day. They were soon very wet.
“No sense stopping in the rain,” Gwaynn said, but they both dismounted to at least give the horses a break from their weight.
“It feels strange being back,” Krys said, pulling some salted beef from his pack. He handed a large slice to Gwaynn. “I grew up in Lynndon, but traveled a bit with my father when he drove our sheep to the harbor at Heron.”
“You drove sheep?” Gwaynn asked with a smile.
Krys nodded, ignoring the jab. “Just a few years, when I was nine and ten, before I was called to Noble.”
Gwaynn chuckled, thinking, ‘his Weapons Master, a sheep herder.’
“There’s good money in sheep,” Krys protested, “from the wool and the meat.”
“All right, all right,” Gwaynn said still laughing softly and holding his hands up in surrender.
They traveled down the finger of Massi through remote farmlands keeping clear of any towns or large clusters of population. For two days they stayed clear of anyone on horseback and kept to trails or back roads rather than the main routes. After leaving the finger and moving out into the sparsely populated plains, they set out cross country and only occasionally saw a distance house or barn. They slept out in the open and did not stop in any town or hamlet until they reached the small crossroads town of Bern just an hour before sundown on the fourth day. The rain continued on and off the entire way, and they both were looking forward to finally sleeping with a roof over their heads.
The town only consisted of five buildings, two of which were private homes. There was a barn with a small corral, a modest trading post and a tavern, which doubled as an inn. There were only three rooms total at the inn, and two of those were already occupied, but it was no great hardship for them to share. They were only stopping to get a bite to eat and to sleep. Once the horses were settled in, the two headed into the tavern to grab a bit of food.
Inside the main room there were five tables, a small bar and an enormous fireplace along one wall. At the moment, only a small fire was lit to drive the chill from the damp air. They took the table closest to the fire in an attempt to dry their clothes though they’d left their soggy riding cloaks in the barn with their mounts.
There were seven other people in the main room, a table of three men, apparently locals by the friendly banter they shared with Mel, the tavern owner and Rebecca, his wife. There was also a fat man and his wife, or possibly daughter at another table. The locals, who had grown quiet as the two entered, gradually relaxed, though the loud, friendly talk was for the moment reduced to whispers. At first, Gwaynn was surprised that there were no Deutzani soldiers present in the town, but then he decided that even they could not be everywhere.
“And just where are you two headed?” Rebecca asked as she placed a pot of stew on the table, which was followed by two bowls and a loaf of hard, crusted bread. She was a large middle-aged woman, though she was not particularly fat, instead she was thick, with thick ankles, thick wrists and a thick waist to go along.
Krys quickly grabbed up the spoon and began to dish out a portion of stew. He cast a sideways glance at Gwaynn but said nothing.
“Manse,” Gwaynn answered as Krys put the first bowl of stew before his friend. Rebecca raised one eyebrow and looked back at Krys, who was busy filling his own bowl. In her long life she had learned it was rare for one man to serve another, and the tall blonde young man did not have the air of a servant. In fact, both of the men, though young, had a hard look to them, and her first thought was that they were Deutzani spies, maybe soldiers, but more likely spies. She gave them a quick once over, but spotted no weapons. ‘Definitely spies and not soldiers,’ she thought, though they could have weapons hidden in the large canvas bags they kept close by. Hopefully they were just passing through; hopefully they were going to Manse. She nodded and moved away to get them some ale, casting a warning glance at the three men nearby as she went.
Gwaynn noticed her look and the changed demeanor of the three men, who now stared at them with undisguised suspicion. No one said anything however, as he and Krys began to eat as only ravenous young men can eat. They were just finishing up their second pot of stew when one of the locals walked over to them. He was a large man, much broader in the shoulders than Gwaynn, or Krys for that matter, who was still the larger of the two. The man sat down and placed his cup of ale on the table without waiting for an invitation.
“Where you from?” He asked, taking a gulp.
Gwaynn just looked at the man, but he could feel Krys bristling beside him.
“Not much business of yours,” Krys answered.
The man didn’t seem to be bothered by Krys’ terse answer. Gwaynn just continued to finish up the last of the stew in his bowl.
“Just curious,” the man retorted, a false smile planted on his face. “We like to find out as much as we can about the strangers who travel through these parts. It pays to get to know people.” He added still smiling, if you could call it that, his eyes drilling into Krys’.
Gwaynn reached out and put a hand on Krys’ wrist. The man slowly looked down at the movement and shifted his focus to Gwaynn.
“My name is Gwaynn. This is Krys,” he said with a small smile, but it was at least genuine.
The man said nothing, just continued to stare.
“And yours?” Gwaynn asked.
The man frowned, thinking. If these two were Deutzani soldiers it would not be good to give them his name, but hell they probably already had it anyway.
“Jake,” he finally answered, though he left his sir name out, just as the strangers had.
“Well Jake,” Gwaynn said, loud enough for everyone in the tavern to hear. “I’m from Solarii, and Krys here was just telling me recently that he was from Lynndon, something about herding sheep wasn’t it?” He asked in a teasing voice.
Krys grunted, and shook his head. “Nothing wrong with sheep,” he insisted.
Jake studied the two a moment, confused that neither showed even the slightest bit of discomfort by his aggressive behavior. They could be Deutzani, which would explain some of the confidence. They certainly did not have the look of sheepherders.
“Lynndon?” Jake asked. He knew something of Lynndon. His uncle lived in Lynndon. “How long you live in Lynndon?” he asked, shifting his attention back to Krys.
The man bothered Krys. He was arrogant and rude, but Krys knew Gwaynn wanted to avoid a confrontation. “Til I was about eleven,” he answered.
“Then you must know the name of the blacksmith there,” Jake challenged and the two local men at the far table tensed and moved to the edge of the seats. Much to Jake’s confusion, however, the two in front of him remained completely relaxed and impassive.
Krys’ mind was racing. True, he had grown up in Lynndon, but that was a long time ago, and he was just a child. The name of the blacksmith did not come immediately to his mind, though the man’s face instantly did.
“Large man,” Krys said, the man’s name on the tip of his tongue, “big shoulders,” he added.
“Humph, what blacksmith doesn’t have big shoulders?”
“Hang on,” Krys answered holding up a hand. “Haven’t thought about it for a while, but the name is coming to me.” He was relaxing a bit, and beginning to enjoy himself. Gwaynn just sat, waiting patiently, a slight smile still on his face. These were his people. He knew these men were only a slight danger to him and Krys, but he had no desire to tangle with anyone from Massi. He would eventually need as many men as he could get.
The two at the far table now stood in unison, and Jake was on edge, as if he was just about ready to act, his hand moving to the knife hidden at the small of his back. But again the two young men just sat there, sweet as pie, not a care in the world.
“Wake!” Krys suddenly said his voice louder because of his excitement. “His name was Wake…something.”
The two men who were standing sat slowly back down, and Jake was frowning again. “You knew Wake?”
Krys shrugged. “I was ten…I knew of him.”
Jake relaxed a little. These two could not be Deutzani, or if they were, they had a very good cover story.
“Where’d ya go after Lynndon?”
Krys glanced at Gwaynn, who shrugged his consent. “I went to the Islands,” Krys answered very amused to see Jake’s face go pale.
Jake’s mind was now racing. These two did not have the look or demeanor of a Scholar or Physician, and since they arrived on horseback Travelers could be ruled out, and that left either Weapons Masters or Executioners. Jake’s mind fixated on Executioners since a group of men trimmed in Sinis red had passed through early the previous week.
“The Islands,” Jake answered back as his two friends at the next table turned around to face away from him. Anger at them shot through Jake. It was at their prodding that he’d come over here in the first place. Cowards.
Gwaynn’s smile grew larger. “Noble,” he answered softly.
Jake sighed. “Noble?” he asked, relieved, but still worried.
Gwaynn nodded. “Noble.”
Jake shook his head, then suddenly decided he couldn’t be any closer to death than he had just been, so he leaned in. “You’re not Deutzani?” he asked.
Both Krys and Gwaynn shook their heads, and Jake let out another sigh.
“Weapons Masters?” He asked, then in a flash he remembered someone from Lynndon had been accepted into the training. He remembered Wake bragging about it all those years ago. Krys…the boy’s name might have been Krys.
“Krys,” Rebecca said, coming from around the bar to get closer. “I do remember a Krys getting accepted into the training,” she said.
“At your service,” Krys answered with a slight bow, now fully amused by the man who had joined them.
Jake laughed. It was giddy and high pitched. His relief was so great that the men at the next table joined in. “Boy, when you said the Islands, I could not keep from thinking about the band of Executioners. They came through here last week, but didn’t stop.”
“Luck was with us,” Rebecca added with obvious gratitude.
“Executioners,” Gwaynn said, his voice raised, and eyes suddenly going cold. All talk stopped once again in the tavern, and Jake swallowed hard. The man in front of him never claimed to be a Weapons Master, but if Krys was taking his orders he must be someone deadly.
Rebecca nodded and bravely moved closer, then whispered. “They came through last Monday. They were heading toward Manse. Nasty men, killers all.”
“Anyone named Navarra with them?” Gwaynn asked, his manner still ice.
Rebecca shrugged, growing a bit wary once more. “They didn’t give names, didn’t even stop to water their horses…I’m sorry young master,” she added, and Gwaynn seeing her fear for the first time, eased back his intensity.
“I thank you,” he said standing, and picking up his bag. “Looks like we have another reason to go stop at Manse,” he added to Krys who also stood. “We’ll say goodnight. Tell the boy to have our horses ready at sunrise.”
Rebecca bowed her head in acknowledgement.
Jake and the others watched as the two walked up to the second floor. Relief poured through everyone at the tavern. Jake stood, his joints rubbery, and moved back to his table of friends.
“Way to pick on someone who hunts Executioners Jake,” whispered the fat man at the far table. Everyone turned a looked at Jake for a moment, but then suddenly they were all laughing with relief.
ǂ
Tar Navarra was across the bridge and up the Scar just as the sun rose ever faithful, over the eastern horizon. A cool wind whipped along the water, fluttering his cape as he rode, and the sky was decorated with a multitude of red, orange, and purple tinted clouds, but the Executioner did not notice. All his attention was on the tracks that led to the very top of the Scar. It was an easy trail to follow; the girl’s horse had a slightly raised nail on the left front shoe. It made a deeper indentation than any of the others, a perfect telltale sign of her passing. Luckily the rain had again been light the previous night and had not washed away all of the tracks. The Fultan girl rode past this way. Once on the very top of the Scar, Navarra looked about. He spotted a boy hiding among the wagon parts and high grass. Furia spotted the boy also and went rigid, growling deep and low until Navarra softly whistled, then the dog trotted to catch up. Navarra ignored the boy and moved on to the group of buildings up ahead. He stopped in front of the largest building, which claimed to be “Bert’s Feed and Grain.” No one emerged to meet him so he dismounted, not bother to tie off Chaos, for he was well trained. He climbed the stairs to the porch and was almost in the door.
“What can I do ya for?” a woman’s voice sounded from the corner of the building. Immediately Vesania and Furia were growling, hunching low; they began to slowly approach the old woman. Navarra spoke softly and they stopped walking, but continued to growl and watch her menacingly. Bert paused for only a split second then continued on, struggling with a sack of feed. She carried it up the steps and placed it next to the door, then stood and looked Navarra directly in the eye. There was no sign of fear in her despite his Executioner robes, which annoyed him.
“I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he said softly, and moved slightly closer to the old woman, wanting her to react to his presence by taking a step back. She didn’t move.
“A girl,” the old woman answered loudly. “I don’t sell girls here.” She grunted then tried to move by him and enter the store. Navarra stopped her easily by reaching out and grabbing a hold of her right arm. He squeezed hard and she gave a satisfying wince.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, scolding.
“Yes,” Navarra answered and for a moment squeezed harder. “I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he repeated even softer.
“A girl?” the old woman asked, fear suddenly in her eyes.
“Ye…” Navarra began but was surprised when suddenly there was a knife in the old woman’s left hand. She made the mistake of raising it high to drive it into his throat, if she had gone for his groin she might have succeeded. Navarra blocked the blow at the last moment then gripped her left wrist and twisted hard until the tendons and bones popped loudly in the still morning air. The knife fell on the hardwood of the porch and bounced away. The woman screamed, but it was cut off as he struck her in the throat with the edge of his hand. It was a killing blow, crushing her larynx. It was a blow he had not intended to make, but his surprise was so great from her near success that he lashed out instinctively. He released her, and she staggered away a few steps, face already contorted and turning blue. She pulled at her throat with her right hand, her left dangling uselessly at her side. The dogs were up and eager, staring at him for permission to continue with the killing, but he gave them an angry look that caused them to fall back, clearly disappointed. Navarra watched the woman as she stared back at him, her eyes wide, death fixed in her sight but then he turned away from her and entered the store, looking for anyone else who might confirm the girl’s passing. He soon came back out onto the porch. The woman was dead; a slight blue tint could be seen around her lips. He only gave her a cursory glance, then moved off the porch and looked in the direction where the boy had been earlier. There was no one in sight, and he briefly toyed with the idea of sending the dogs after him, but in the end he just mounted up and continued on, slowly following the tracks left by the Fultan horse.
The tracks continued on for maybe a mile before they suddenly moved off of the road and into the grass leading toward the tangle of undergrowth. At first he couldn’t figure out exactly where the tracks went. They seemed to end at an impossible tangle of brambles. He began to ride to the south, but the dogs did not follow and began barking behind him. They were standing around the bushes and sniffing about the ground. Navarra rode back, dropped from his horse and began to study the surrounding bushes. It did not take him long to discover the false briar, and though thorns stuck him repeatedly, he moved them out of the way as quickly as he could, smiling. He had her now; she would have no easy way out of this area. The dogs paced back and forth excitedly as he removed the barrier. His hands were bleeding here and there, but otherwise he was uninjured as he climbed back up on Chaos. Vesania and Furia moved to his side, both looking up at him, their furry faces full of eagerness.
“Soon,” he said softly, catching a bit of their enthusiasm, “soon.”
ǂ
Samantha was up early the next morning and ate another breakfast with Wake, Martin and Scot. Otter was just leaving for his watch at the Scar, as she emerged from her tent, though he turned and waved to her through the stunted trees. Sam waved back and even graced him with a small sad smile. The wind was strong this morning and the sky overhead was a maze of fast moving clouds, with ever growing patches of blue appearing between. The ground was wet and slick from the previous night’s rain, but it had been light and Samantha was sure the dampness would burn off before the morning was done.
“When do you think the others will return, so I can move farther west?” She asked Martin, who sat on the log next to her sipping coffee. Wake and Scot sat on the other log on the far side of the fire, which crackled and popped in the early morning breeze.
Martin shrugged. “They are not due back before the end of the week, but most times there’s no set schedule. They leave when they have to and return when they can. We just wait for them, and watch the road.”
Samantha nodded, fighting the nagging feeling to get up and leave on her own. They all sat in silence for a time, Sam only vaguely aware of the furtive looks she was getting from Scot.
“I’ll be heading down today,” Wake suddenly said in the silence, and Samantha looked up surprised.
“Leaving,” she repeated, alarmed at her sudden, growing sense of doom.
Wake caught her eye only briefly, then looked back down at the fire and took a sip of his own coffee. “Need to be back. The Deutzani will grow suspicious if I’m gone too long. Can’t have them nosing about up here.”
Samantha just stared at him for a long time, and when he finally looked up he could see how she’d deflated.
“Perhaps I’ll come up for a visit at the end of the week,” he said almost shyly, “if you’re not gone by then.”
Samantha nodded, wondering how the large man had gained her confidence so quickly. “Wake….” She said but fell silent, and for a moment the others just waited for her to continue, but then Martin leaped to his feet, obviously alarmed. Wake turned and there, leisurely walking toward their camp was an Executioner and a dog. Wake quickly looked about then reached over and retrieved the axe he’d used the previous day. By the time he turned back both Scot and Martin had their knives out and ready. Samantha was still sitting on the log, staring in shock as the man in black approached ever closer.
“Run Mona!” Wake yelled, calling her by his dead wife’s name in his excitement. Sam did not react until Wake moved forward toward the Executioner. He held his axe high, ready for a fight. Sam suddenly came alive and bolted off the log and toward the tent that held her belongings.
Navarra saw her plainly, his heart suddenly beating faster. Perhaps one more time before she died…he thought, then turned his attention to the large man approaching with an axe. Navarra whistled softly and then motioned for Vesania to move off into the brush to the left. He did not want either dog facing this man. They would lose, he was sure. Furia was already somewhere to the right circling around behind the camp.
“You needn’t die,” Navarra said softly to the man who was now almost directly in front of him. “Just give me the girl. She is all I want.”
“My ass,” the man answered back, and though the axe he wielded was a large one, his massive arms and shoulders held it like a toy.
Navarra frowned at the crude language, but could not argue with the sentiments. Despite what he promised, everyone here would die, and he pulled his kali from his belt.
Behind the man before him, Navarra caught sight of Samantha once more, emerging from a tent, a bow in hand. She held it with her left and gathered her skirts about her in her right, and prepared to run.
“Samantha!” Navarra said loudly, and she actually paused and glanced his way. Their eyes caught for a moment and the Executioner felt a tingle in his groin, but then the man with the axe attacked, and she turned to run away from them both. Navarra jumped back from the first vicious blow, and had to skip back two more times as the axe continued back and forth with a great deal of speed and skill. Navarra quickly turned his full attention to the man he was now fighting. He must be careful, a blow from the axe could easily snap a blade or send one of his kali flying off, not to mention slice off an arm…or his head. The man before him was no stranger to fighting, probably a soldier in the past, and from the way he carried himself, a good one.
“Only the girl,” he said again, watching the axe move, and waiting for an opening. The other two men in camp were now moving forward as if suddenly released from their earlier fear and hesitation. Navarra was thankful for his dogs, without them he would have had his hands full with the axe man and these other two fellows.
Navarra whistled and Vesania suddenly bolted from the underbrush to attack the younger of the two trailing men. The young man cried out as the large dog clamped down on his right forearm with powerful jaws. His knife fell to the forest floor. The older of the two quickly turned to go to his young friend’s aid, and when he did Furia hit him from behind. In moments the air was filled with cries, growls and desperate fighting. The noise momentarily distracted the axe man, and Navarra had his opening. He struck quickly, piercing the man’s left shoulder, and slicing his right thigh at almost the same moment. The man groaned, but instead of falling back as the Executioner expected he stepped in, and swung with all his might. Navarra arched backward and spun at the last moment. He felt the wind of the axe ripple past the side of his face and along with it, a slight knick on his right ear. He retreated, as did his opponent, who was pulled off balance from the force of the blow.
“I will kill you Executioner,” the man said in a deep, rough voice.
“Not likely,” Navarra answered softly back, and though he scored a hit, he knew he had been fortunate to avoid the blow moments before.
“You bleed,” the man commented and gestured to the side of Navarra’s head. “Just like any other man.”
Navarra took a moment to run the back of his hand by his right ear, and was surprised to see a good deal of blood come with it. He shrugged.
“So do you,” he answered, looking at the shoulder wound then the wound on the man’s thigh, which was deep and bleeding freely. The man grunted and with a fair amount of grace plunged into an attack once more.
Navarra backpedaled, waiting; though his anger at being kept from the girl was beginning to mount. Behind them, the sounds of growls, bites and cries permeated the camp. Soon that fight would be over, but for now he had to deal with the axe man on his own. Navarra knew as long as he kept his focus and forced the man before him to either defend or attack, he would eventually win this fight. His opponent, though strong, would in time run out of the strength needed to swing the heavy axe so nimbly and when that happened, he would die. Navarra could see these thoughts moving through the eyes of the man before him as blow after blow either missed or were deflected from their mark, and as he began to panic Navarra began to nick and cut him whenever an opening presented itself.
Finally, after much longer than the Executioner would have thought possible, the man’s strength was beginning to truly ebb, but still the man fought on with courage and skill. Navarra cared for none of that however, and began to hate the man for keeping him from the Fultan girl. He had to force himself to relax. She would not escape this time, for there was nowhere for her to go.
The sounds of battle behind them were completely gone, though it took a moment for the two combatants to become aware of it. Navarra, now on the attack, kept the man from looking about, then with only the slightest signals, Vesania and Furia began to growl and bark from directly behind the axe man. The sudden threat caused him to begin to turn, but he never completed it. In a blink, his heart was skewered by Navarra’s left kali. The man sagged immediately with only the briefest moment to realize he was dead.
Navarra paused a moment to look down at the dead man. He was a mighty opponent, skilled and strong. Navarra spit on the dead man’s face, then raised his boot and with all his strength brought in down, crushing his nose. Only then did he look up, and with a slight nod he signaled his dogs to continue the chase, and they tore after the fleeing girl.
Samantha ran in pure panic, not thinking of where she was going until she met Otter running toward the camp. She did not stop, did not say anything, and just ran past him until suddenly without knowing how or why, she was at the very edge of the Scar. She skidded to a stop, her toes just inches from the edge. She glanced down, then quickly behind her, then down once more, thinking she may be able to climb. The Scar
was high and steep, and as she looked over the edge at the swirling water a hundred feet below she realized that even if she had the time, climbing was not an option.
The sounds of attacking dogs could be heard in the distance, but it was the sound of hurried footsteps close behind that caused her to turn from her inspection of the cliffs. But it was only Otter racing back to her side.
“How many?” He asked; her obvious fear made the question of whom irrelevant.
“One,” she answered and pushed by him moving down the Scar looking for a possible way to descend. The sound of dogs increased. “And some dogs,” she added, panic and fear causing her hands to shake violently, and tears to come to her eyes.
“The Ex…Executioner,” she stammered, moving past him the other way. Otter turned to the camp, but was caught up in her panic as she moved back past him again searching the other way. Suddenly the sounds of the dogs ceased, but not with any telltale yelp signaling an animal’s injury or death. Samantha stopped and turned to stare at Otter. The old man stared back at a complete loss as to what to do.
“Ah…ah,” Samantha croaked, but the sound did not adequately verbalize her terror, but for the first time moved away from the Scar. She pulled her bow off her shoulder, moved farther into the dense brush. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, while dropping several others, which came out with the one in her hand. They fell forgotten to the forest floor, as she knelt and with shaky hands tried to notch an arrow. It took her three attempts to seat the string in the notch, and by that time the faint sounds of running dogs could be clearly heard. She sighted down the arrow and back up the trail to camp, and luckily for her, after only a few seconds, two large black dogs tore into view, running full out toward her. Perhaps if she had more time to aim, more time to think, more time for her fear to work on her she would have missed, but as it was she only had an instant and despite her shaking hands the arrow flew true and struck the second dog full in the chest. It let out a brief yelp and skidded in the dead leaves and twigs, which littered the ground.
Sam felt no satisfaction only fear as she fumbled around for another arrow, her search hampered by the fact that she kept her eyes on the dog charging toward her. Finding no arrow at first, however, she risked a glance down. She spotted one a bit to her left and she leaned over and placed a hand on it. She straightened back up and looked to see the dog just beginning to leap; instinctively she ducked down so her nose was inches away from the dirt and felt one paw of the beast graze her back. The dog caught the bow as he flew overhead and her right hand was jerked around behind her so hard she rolled onto her back. She heard a snap, but didn’t realize it was her bow breaking until she staggered back to her knees. Otter screamed as the dog leaped at his throat and caught a hold. The dog’s momentum carried the old man to the ground. The animal’s jaws clamped tighter to the man’s throat before wrenching his powerful head back and forth, back and forth, throwing Otter about on the very edge of the Scar, as if he weighed nothing. The dog finally pulled back and ripped out the throat of the now silent man.
Samantha stared at Otter in horror before the dog’s growling brought her back to the reality of the situation. She knew she was about to die. Her bow was broken and the dog would be on her before she could even pull her knife from her waist. She waited, as the growling dog approached, its hackles raised menacingly.
A low whistle sounded behind her and the dog went still. Sam turned to see the Executioner walking toward her, a slight smile on his face, and real fear flooded back into her. She turned and without another thought, rose and ran full tilt toward the dog. The dog flinched at first, surprised. Prey ran, never attacked. But when Samantha was close, the dog had recovered somewhat and reared up to meet her, but at the last moment she ducked, still running and hit the dog in the mid-section. Her feet continued to churn until to the surprise of the dog they were over the edge of the Scar and out into space.
Furia yelped in fear and twisted free of the girl who was now falling feet first, her skirts bellowing up over her head, mercifully hiding her view of the plummet. She hit the cold water much sooner that she expected and plunged deep, deep into the muddy river and then finally, her feet struck the bottom. The force of her fall caused her knees to buckle slightly and it took an instant for her to realize that she was not dead or even injured, then she pushed upward with all her might and a moment later broke the surface. She sputtered for several seconds then wiped the water from her eyes. The dog also survived the fall and was swimming very slowly toward the far bank. Something in its movements told Sam that it had injured a leg, perhaps more than one, for it was having a hard time making head way against the slow current. Instinctively Samantha looked up, half expecting the Executioner to come falling down after her, but he was still up there, high on the edge of the Scar, gazing down at her. Her heart thumped harder just looking up at him, but after a moment she realized that he was not going to jump. Seeing the drop from below, she could hardly believe she’d done such a thing. She glanced over at the struggling dog, then back up at the Executioner who continued to glare down at her, and then with quiet determination she swam up behind the beast. She fumbled for her knife, which was somehow still in its sheath, drew it and with all her might tried to plunged it into the back of the dog. Swimming in the water made the task more difficult than she expected and the knife sliced through the dog’s hindquarters. The black beast gave a half yelp, swallowed some water and began to splash harder for the bank. Sam settled herself; this time swimming a bit closer and struck. The knife ran deep into the back of the dog’s neck. This time the dog did not yelp, just jerked spasmodically, went under, then rose again before finally disappearing all together beneath the water.
Sam, breathing hard now, looked back up. The Executioner still stood on the very edge of the Scar, watching. She smiled at him and waved, before slowly making her way to the far bank. She climbed from the river, holding her skirts tightly as they tried to fall away from her hips, heavy with water. She looked back up the Scar, but the Executioner was gone. She struggled up the steep dirt bank, but it was not until she got to the top that she realized her shoes were gone. She did not pause to ponder this; instead she began to walk quickly back to the town. However, she did not head directly into Lynndon where there were soldiers, instead she skirted around the east side, keeping low and all the while wishing her clothes were dry. Thankfully it was still very early in the morning; the back alleys were deserted as she circled all the way to the far side of town and into the barn, which stood next to Wake’s smithy shop. There was only one horse inside, in the very last stall. “Bull” a sign said on the crossbeam above and inside was a very large draft horse, whose back came level with Samantha’s eyes. The horse watched her and then skittered about nervously as she entered, and Samantha forced herself to slow down.
“Easy Bull…easy,” she said, and slowly approached one hand held out. Bull eyed her suspiciously, for she was obviously not Wake, but her kind words and soft scratches soon settled him down. The horse was immense, and Sam was not at all sure he was broken for riders until she spotted the saddle draped over one of the walls of the stall. “Wake” was carved into one side, and reading it she had to smile. Yes, this would be a horse Wake would own. She struggled with the saddle, it was large and heavy and it took all of her strength to lift it up over her head and onto Bull, but eventually she managed, and once in place the cinching was easy, she hardly had to bend over to do it. Bull waited patiently for her and then allowed the girl to lead him from the stall and out into the barn. He was excited, for Wake rarely saddled him anymore, only taking him out to pull the large heavy wagon that also sat in the back of the barn.
Sam led Bull over close to a ladder that went up to the loft. There she had to climb two steps before she could place her foot into the stirrup and pull herself up onto the horses back.
“Come on Bull,” she said softly and nudged the horse into a walk. Bull complied, as eager as she to be out of the barn. Once outside, Samantha was afraid she would see soldiers moving about but the streets were nearly empty. There was just one young boy on this side of town. He watched her as she turned her Bull to the west and together they left town at a fast pace. She would head northwest to Manse, the only other place to easily cross the Scar.
ǂ
Gwaynn and Krys entered Manse late the next afternoon. They made straight for the town even though they could have avoided it and crossed the Scar at any number of points within a thirty-mile span. Here, in and around Manse, the Scar appeared and disappeared into the earth, rising and falling much like a sea serpent arching in an out of the water. Even the river was wide and slow which made the crossing that much easier. But the two young men from Noble were not interested in crossing undetected, for they were hunting a party of Executioners.
Manse was a thriving town of nearly forty thousand, making it the third largest metropolis in Massi, and the largest in the interior countryside. Only Cape and the capital Solarii surpassed it. It owed much of its prosperity to the massive amounts of trade goods that moved off the Scar Plateau and down to the plains, lumber being the chief commodity. But several precious metals were mined in the mountains, and animal furs were also traded, plus a fair portion of the horses in Massi were raised on the Plateau.
Gwaynn and Krys rode into the town, surprised by the amount of activity going on at the relatively late hour. There were large numbers of wagons loaded with lumber, some were massive, with teams anywhere from six to ten horses and a few even had as many as twelve. Some of the shops were closed for the night, but many were still open. They passed several taverns on the way into town; all were doing a brisk business, filled with Deutzani soldiers and Massi citizens alike. Gwaynn paid close attention to the interaction of the two groups, and while there seemed to be very little mingling, there also did not seem to be any overt animosity. Gwaynn frowned a little at the apparent peaceful co-existence.
“They’ve been here well over a year,” Krys said reading his friend’s thoughts by his gaze and the look on his face.
Gwaynn nodded, but said nothing until they came across a particularly large wagon filled with trimmed logs. “We’re looking for Lonogan Bock,” he said to a man who was high up on the load, checking the ropes and adjusting them when necessary. The man was burly, with shagging hair and he wore a full dark beard that nearly covered his entire face so that only three holes appeared out of the coarse hair, two for his eyes and one for his nose. The hole at his mouth didn’t appear at first as he studied the two below.
“South side of town, at the very edge along the river. Lonogan Lumber Mill, largest in Manse,” the man answered, his eyes still evaluating the pair before him. He thought they looked a might suspicious, plain clothes, but top notch mounts. The two didn’t usually go together. Horse thieves’ maybe, but these two didn’t have the look of horse thieves either. “You can’t miss it,” he added.
Gwaynn and Krys nodded and moved off unaware that the bearded man continued to watch them curiously.
Gwaynn led them farther into the large town, but eventually stopped at a two-story inn at the corner of two of the major roads. ‘Blackberry Inn,’ the sign said on the balcony above, inside at ground level, was a particularly busy tavern.
“I was hoping we were going to stop soon,” Krys said with a rueful smile. “I’m not used to riding so much,” he added and massaged his backside. Gwaynn laughed and did likewise.
“Lonogan can wait ‘til morning,” Gwaynn answered, still rubbing.
“We can help with that,” a feminine voice said from above, followed by several giggles. They looked up; on the balcony to their right were a pair of middle-aged women, and a young girl. They were all dressed provocatively and if there were any questions about their occupation, their direct, lurid stares would have dispelled them. As it was, neither Gwaynn nor Krys had any questions.
“Thank you miss,” Gwaynn said trying hard not to look up the woman’s skirts while she positioned herself so it would be hard for him not to.
“Miss!” the woman repeated and nudged her friend. “They look a bit young for me.”
“Yeah, but Emm could handle them,” the other woman said then pulled the girl forward to the very edge of the balcony. “Whatcha think Emm?”
The girl was young; though at second glance she was probably older than Gwaynn’s first estimation, close to his age, if not a bit younger. She smiled down at them, a little shyly. Gwaynn guessed she was either very new at the trade, or very experienced, because her smile was full of innocence, either true or manufactured. They said nothing more, just smiled and walked into the tavern, but Krys turned to have another quick look at Emm and to his delight she was still looking down at him, smiling.
They entered the noisy, crowded tavern and made their way with difficulty up to the bar. Like the tavern in Bern this one seemed completely devoid of Deutzani soldiers, though they had passed several large groups of them on their way to the center of town. But unlike the tavern in Bern, this one was packed with people, men, women and even some boys, who appeared to be doing most of the cleaning and picking up after the wide variety of patrons. Gwaynn guessed that most of the crowd consisted of either loggers or trappers from up on the Plateau. But there were also a few men dressed more like local merchants or businessmen, though from the shadier side of town to be sure. Nearly all the men present were either drinking, eating or gambling, or some combination of the three; while most of the women were of the working class variety, and seemed to be spending much of their time either serving the men, or sitting with them in an attempt to part them from their money, either with drink, food or sexual attention.
When they reached the bar, they found it packed with a line of drinkers so serious about the endeavor that they didn’t want to be bothered with a table. The two young men paused to take in the wild atmosphere around them. Gwaynn looked over at Krys, who was smiling ear to ear, and Gwaynn had an idea that his face was a mirror image, and quickly sobered up. He nudged Krys, who turned to him still smiling.
“Ever been in a busy tavern before?” he asked, and Krys looked at him quizzically.
“That smile you’re wearing might attract a little attention. People will think we’re strangers to these parts,” he added then moved in to fill a hole at the bar as it unexpectedly opened up. Krys nodded and stopped smiling, but continued to gawk at all the activity around him.
It took several moments before a woman at the bar finally made her way down to Gwaynn.
“We need a room,” he informed her, having to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of the crowd.
The woman gave him a knowing smile. “How long ya need, sweetheart?”
Gwaynn smiled back. “For the night,” he answered and she made a shrugging motion, and then pointed to the door behind them and to the left.
“Through there,” she shouted. “Go to the desk.”
Gwaynn nodded, and they moved out of the tavern and into a relatively quiet back room. They crossed it and entered a hallway, which led to a quieter lounge area where only a few people were sitting about in large cushioned chairs. There was an elderly gentleman behind a large cherry wood desk, who helped them, took their money and even showed them to their room on the third floor, almost directly above the tavern.
“See to our horses,” Gwaynn said frankly. “They are directly in front of the tavern, a black and a large gray.”
“Of course, sir,” the old man nodded and kept his eyes averted, but they darted about taking in every detail of the two young men. Neither Gwaynn nor Krys noticed the covert looks of the old man as he kept a close eye on the coin purse tied at Gwaynn’s waist. The room was small, but with a solid door and even though there was a floor between the two, the noise of the tavern filtered clearly into the space above. Though the room was modest, it was clean, had two beds and a table with a pitcher of water, and between the beds was a single bedpan.
There was no thought of not heading back down to the tavern, after all they were both young, hungry, and the possibility of sleep at this point was non-existent. So they left their packs with their kali inside, locked their door and made their way back down stairs. They passed the rooms on the second floor, which were reserved for shorter stays, with just a touch of curiosity and envy. But neither voiced such thoughts.
Despite leaving their main weapon’s upstairs, each carried a pair of six-inch knives. Gwaynn placed one in a modest sheath at the small of his back and another in a specially made holder in his right boot. Unless he came across a particularly well-trained soldier he felt sure the knives along with his ability at hand-to-hand would suffice in protection.
When they reentered the tavern, the noise was still just as loud, and though Gwaynn did not notice her, the first person Krys saw was Emm, near one corner. She was standing next to an empty table talking earnestly with the old man who had showed them their rooms. Krys kept an eye on her as they entered and it wasn’t long before the man left, skirting around them just as Emm caught Gwaynn’s eye and called them over. Gwaynn shook his head at her, and began to move toward the bar, when Krys caught his arm.
“Come on,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. Gwaynn frowned at his friend, and then took another quick look at the girl. She was attractive in a mousy sort of way, very thin and petite, with light brown hair that was pulled back from her face and sprouting out of the back of her head in a pair of long braids. She also sported a small nose covered in light freckles and large brown eyes. She smiled at them and waved at them more emphatically.
“She has a table,” Krys added without even wondering how a small young girl like her could have commandeered a table on her own in such a crowded place.
“You know what she is?” Gwaynn asked.
Krys scowled for a moment but then smiled sheepishly. “She’s company, and besides not all of us can attract the attention of Vio Valencia.”
It was Gwaynn’s turn to scowl, but he did so as they moved over to the girl and the table.
“I did not have Vio,” he demanded.
“You could have,” Krys snapped back not even trying to hide the hint of jealousy and admiration in his voice.
His tone caused Gwaynn to pause and considered his relation to his young girl friend on Noble. “Perhaps,” he answered, smiling as he remembered Vio’s attraction to him.
“Perhaps,” Krys mimicked, but then fell quiet as they came up on the table and the girl.
“I’m glad you came,” she said and Gwaynn rolled his eyes.
They all sat, Emm moved in close to Krys, his attraction to her was obvious unlike his friend’s sullen demeanor.
“Is this your first time to Manse?” She asked.
“Does it show?” Krys asked in return and Gwaynn rolled his eyes again.
The girl giggled on cue, then held out her hand. “I’m Emm,” she said, and Gwaynn had to give her credit; she was soft, smelled wonderful and her eyes sparkled at each of them.
“Gwaynn,” he said, trying hard not to admit to himself that he enjoy the way her hand felt in his.
“Krys,” his friend added also taking her hand, and holding it far longer.
They sat silently for a while, Gwaynn glancing about at those nearest him, feeling a bit uncomfortable with so many people behind him.
“Here we are,” a woman said as she placed a pan of steaming meat and potatoes on the table, along with four plates. Gwaynn frowned at the number of plates, and was still frowning when the woman returned with four tankards containing a light brown, sour smelling, ale.
“Name’s Dot,” the woman said sitting without being asked. She scooted in so close to Gwaynn that their legs could not help but touch. He moved away, but she appeared not to have noticed.
“You boys look like you’ve traveled far,” she commented as she scooped out some meat and potatoes for the both of them.
Gwaynn shrugged. The woman was older but far from old; she had yet to reach middle age, though Gwaynn could see a few small wrinkles around the corners of her mouth, and a few more at her eyes. He guessed she was nearing thirty, but could not be sure. He always had trouble with the age of women, especially those older than he.
Dot moved closer to him so that their legs were touching again. “Where are you from stranger?” she asked leaning over to Gwaynn, holding her chin in her hand and giving him a good look down her low cut bodice.
“Solarii,” he heard himself murmur, using all his will to keep his eyes from the breasts of the woman at his side. There was a lot to see, and though he tried not to stare, he found it impossible and after a fleeting look at her breasts, he glanced back up at Dot, who was smiling at him.
“Like them?” she asked and placed a hand on his left leg. Gwaynn immediately stiffened, but didn’t move away; instead he began to eat his potatoes in earnest.
Dot laughed. “You’re a long way from home,” she added and pecked at the food before her. Gwaynn was surprised that she ate like a lady, small bites and with her mouth closed. “I could keep you company,” she added and he felt her hand move farther up his leg.
Gwaynn jerked uncomfortably, but still did not move away, though why he could not say. He did not find her all that attractive, nice looking perhaps and she smelled good, but there was something hard about her eyes that he found troubling. And he was not sure exactly how to deal with her.
“I’m not looking for company,” he finally said and glanced over at Krys for support, but his friend was completely drowning in the charms of the younger woman of the night.
Gwaynn once more moved away from Dot and closer to Krys. He took a sip of ale, trying not to make a face at the taste of the bitter, thick liquid.
Dot did not seem offended by his rejection; in fact, she smiled all the more at him, and moved closer. “That’s fine, honey,” she said and touched his leg again. “Just buy me a few drinks and will have a fine conversation.”
Gwaynn took another sip, completely aware of her hand moving up and down his thigh.
So they ate and drank, though Gwaynn made sure only to have a few, since Krys had thrown all caution to the wind and was now on his fourth tankard, sipping heartily when he was not kissing Emm brazenly. Dot continued to make advances which Gwaynn continued to deflect until Emm suggested they retire up to their room. Krys and Dot immediately agreed. Gwaynn wanted to protest but he was pulled quickly to his feet. He felt suddenly woozy and just a bit tired and was surprised to find that he was unable to formulate his thoughts.
The girls led them out of the tavern and up the stairs, Gwaynn growing dizzier despite his caution with the drink. He swayed and leaned heavily on Dot, whose hands were all over him.
“Hang on there tiger,” she said holding him up while moving her hands across his chest and stomach.
“Well aren’t you well built,” she said delightedly. “Be nice to have a young one. Most of my fair is a bit on the fat side.”
Emm laughed and taking the key from Krys opened the door to their room. The women literally pulled the young men inside and moved them to their separate beds. Both Krys and Gwaynn sat with difficulty; both were dizzy and wavering in place.
The fact that something was wrong dimly fluttered into Gwaynn’s mind, but was soon dispelled as Emm and Dot began to undress before them, and while Gwaynn was a bit more experienced with women than his friend, he was still completely captivated by a set of bare breasts. He glanced at Krys, who was sitting back arms spread behind him, his hands buried in the soft bed for balance. He was breathing fast and staring at Emm who posed in front of him, small pert breasts, with small dark nipples.
Nice breasts, Gwaynn thought, and suddenly fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He was dimly aware of Krys doing likewise.
“They’re nearly done in,” he heard Emm say with a giggle.
Something’s wrong. Gwaynn’s brain screamed at him and he tried to rise, only to feel the soft hands of Dot holding him down.
“Shame, I would’ve liked to have a go at this one,” she said and ran her hands down his belly and over his crotch. Gwaynn felt his pants being opened and then a warm hand cupped his penis and fondled his balls.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he thought again as the hand left his private area and moved to the coin purse at his belt. Alarm rose in him and without conscious thought his right hand moved to his back, drew his knife and had it at Dot’s throat before she even was aware that he was moving.
Dot gasped as he half rose. Gwaynn shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. For a brief moment he stared into the eyes of the woman hovering over him and for an instant she saw death looking back at her through his eyes, but then they rolled back in his head and the boy slumped onto the bed unconscious.
ǂ
Tar Navarra watched from the edge of the Scar as the girl swam slowly over and plunged a knife into Furia, and though outwardly he showed no sign of emotion, inside he was boiling. It didn’t help matters that after the dog had disappeared into the water she looked up and waved to him. He turned and moved away so that he would not scream out in frustration.
Two dogs and a horse! He thought as he hurried back through camp even though he had made a point never to hurry. To hurry was to admit to a lack of control, and that was uncomely for one who dealt out death. Even so he hurried; what did it matter now that those around him were already dead? He hurried because more than anything, he wanted to catch the bitch and bring her into the waiting arms of the Black Horseman.
Rage was blinding him, causing him to rush and perspire, but by the time he reached Chaos he had restored some semblance of calm to his demeanor, not that his passion for the death of Samantha had waned, but his own cool reason was now beginning to assert itself once more. He was close, he told himself, thoughts like frost on a window pane, and when he had her he would take her, rape her in more ways than she could imagine, and then kill her very, very slowly. He leaped up into the saddle, turned and moved back through the briar as quickly as the horse could safely manage. It helped that the obstacles were still removed, but even so it took nearly three quarters of an hour to reach the road.
Once there he proceeded much more slowly. First, he knew he must ascertain whether or not the girl had the courage to re-climb the Scar and pass this way going south. He forced himself to slow down and climb from the back of the horse to study the tracks leading away from Lynndon. It took another quarter of an hour to determine that none were made within the last day, let alone the past hour. Satisfied, he stood and moved back down the Scar, passing the dead old woman, still on the porch. Of the boy he saw nothing.
By the time he rode into Lynndon he was again the calm Executioner, and the fact that he was minus two dogs was beginning to fade into the very recesses of his mind. The townspeople were going about their business, moving here and there on errands. He stopped nearly all of them and asked about the girl, but it was not until he cornered a young boy near the edge of town that he found someone who had witnessed her passing.
“She took a horse from Wake’s,” the boy said. He ran alongside as the Executioner rode up to the smithy shop and dismounted. The boy, who had just turned seven, was too young to be afraid, and felt very special helping this tall, dark and obviously very important man to leave well enough alone. He watched as Navarra carefully moved from smithy to barn, studying the tracks in the ground and growing more excited as he spotted the small set he was looking for. She was missing her shoes, her toes clearly visible in one print. He knelt down to examine it more closely and then he reached out, feeling the same earth beneath his fingers. The print was no bigger than his hand. Then he moved to the horse’s prints. They were large, frightfully so. They would be very easy to follow.
Without a word he moved out of the dimly lit barn and back into the daylight. The boy still followed, just a step or two behind.
“Which way did she go?” Navarra asked, thinking of giving the boy a pence for his help.
“She rode west along the Scar,” the lad piped up. Navarra nodded.
“Mister, where are your dogs?” The boy asked. A second later his head was bouncing along in the dirt, the questioning look still on his face. Navarra watched it until it stopped moving, then let out a laugh, feeling better. The boy had died fast, probably without even knowing it was coming. It would have to do…in place of the pence.