Elsewhere ti-3

by Richard D. Parker

  His Weapons Master jumped from his horse, eager for a bit of exercise. Another set of katas appeared and they were now surrounded by a group of excited young men; most were newcomers and had yet to see their new King fight…but they’d all heard stories.

  The two did not spar long, just a few quick bursts of speed and energy to demonstrate the wisdom behind the teaching. But they moved with such swiftness and exhibited such skill that even Lonogan was left a little breathless. Yes, he was very happy the King and his army had returned home. The soldiers, who’d gathered around to watch the sparring gasped at some of the more impressive moves and then applauded heartily, Jake of Bern the loudest of them all.

  Gwaynn worked a while longer with them all, adjusting certain inadequacies but generally just encouraged the men.

  “It’s good to have you with us,” he finally said to Jake, patting him on the shoulder before mounting up once more. “We’ll begin your true training tomorrow,” he added and glanced out in Samantha’s direction. She was busy working with Hahn and he knew there would be no luring her away, so he turned with Lonogan and headed back to most famous lumber mill in all of Massi.

  Over a dozen men gathered around Jake as the King’s party road back off the Plateau. They jostled him playfully, though they all showed him a new respect.

  “In tight with the King…” one older soldier ribbed Jake as if he were teasing the younger man about a girl.

  Jake smiled. “They tried to pick a fight with me a while back, but they backed down. Lucky for them I guess...”

  Laughter erupted loud enough for Gwaynn to hear but he did not turn back to look, instead he just rode on smiling.

  II

  The Executioner Ira Lacombe landed in Heron without any feeling of homecoming at all. He was Massi, but this land was never really his home. This was only the second time he’d returned since leaving more than two decades ago at the age of twelve. His last visit to Massi was nearly five years previous, when he was hired to kill a wealthy merchant who’d been greedy and foolish enough to steal from the wrong people. Lacombe returned to the land of his birth to execute the man and his family.

  Standing on the bustling dock, the memory of the kill brought a smile to Lacombe’s face, for though the merchant was old, his wife was much younger. Young and firm she was, and though she was not a true beauty, she made up for it with robust enthusiasm in bed. Of course it was feigned enthusiasm brought on by the threat of death…but it was enjoyable enthusiasm nonetheless. Lacombe could not recall the woman’s name but he clearly remembered how eager she was to please, eager in many, many ways, and even though she showed great promise and a genuine talent in the carnal pleasures, Lacombe still took her life in the end. She squirmed with true enthusiasm as he strangled her slowly. He remembered how her eyes bulged and pleaded for mercy right up until the moment she died. She received none of course and when it was over he hung her naked body in front of her manor home as a warning to others. Yes, he remembered the woman well, even if he could not remember her name.

  And now he was “home” once more, ironically to kill another woman, but this target was far deadlier than his last Massi victim. Lacombe was absent when the Tarina de Baard challenged and killed Tar Wazzner, but his spies spoke of her uncanny speed and skill. They also mentioned her beauty, but Lacombe doubted he would be able to coerce any sexual satisfaction from the Tarina before her death. No, he could not let his attention wander. He would have to be satisfied with the kill. He did not deceive himself. de Baard must be good, very good for it was not often that the High Tar of the Sinis warned of being mindful after issuing the kill order. Lacombe knew he would have to be careful, cunning and quick. There was little doubt that de Baard would recognize him for what and who he was, so the kill must come very fast and at the very first opportunity.

  Lacombe looked about the dock in the early morning light as he waited for Sunwind, his large brown mare to be off-loaded. She was not his favorite, but she would draw no unwanted attention. He was playing the part of a warrior now; at least until de Baard was in his sights. He was dimly aware of the crowd moving about him. Those nearest the man from Sinis unconsciously gave him a wide berth without fully knowing why. Instinctively, in the deepest recesses of their minds, they labeled Lacombe as dangerous and skipped past as quickly as possible and when they were by, nearly all felt an odd form of relief. For his part Lacombe ignored the people around him…just so much clutter.

  “I’m heading for Manse to join with Prince Gwaynn,” Lacombe said to the man leading Sunwind from the belly of the trireme. “Is there a contact in Heron?”

  The man shrugged and turned away. Lacombe fought down the urge to kill him for such insolence.

  “Essain…he’s a dock rat and a gambler,” the man spoke without turning around. “You’ll find him at the Suckling Pig. He should know.”

  Lacombe frowned. “The Suckling Pig?”

  The man stopped at the very top of the gangway, half turned and pointed to the south. “Tavern, just up the dock a ways.”

  The man did not wait but continued up onto the boat, but it was just as well, Lacombe would not have thanked him in any case.

  The Executioner climbed up on Sunwind and made his way quickly in the direction indicated. He found the Suckling Pig with little difficulty, and from the smell, the tavern was aptly named.

  As a stranger and a lone traveler, Lacombe garnered a few lengthy stares as he entered and made his way up to the bar. Surprisingly, the place was noisy and crowded. The Executioner cringed at the mixture of offensive smells, the strongest of which were currently battling for supremacy. When Lacombe found an opening at the bar he was still debating if the victor was the fetid smell of unwashed bodies or the pungent odor of frying fish. An enormous barmaid with a pair of tits each the size of her head leaned over and smiled a welcome at him. Lacombe decided then and there that the smell of unwashed bodies was champion.

  “What kin’ I do ya for?” the woman asked, her breasts nearly falling from the top of her bodice and her sour breath added to the aroma of unpleasantness.

  “I’m looking for Essain,” Lacombe said, very careful not to touch her or the bar with his bare hands.

  The woman’s eyes darted over his left shoulder and then back. “Care for a room?” She asked still smiling, “and maybe a bit of exercise?”

  Lacombe’s right hand twitched toward his kali, but he fought off the desire. “Just Essain for now, but if my luck holds…who knows.”

  The woman smiled wider, showing a mouthful of yellowing teeth. “He’s in the far corner…games already started.”

  Lacombe nodded and began to move away but stopped as the woman reached out and grabbed his left forearm. The Executioner turned back quickly and the smiling woman saw something lethal in his eyes. She jerked her hand back as if scalded. Lacombe fixed his gaze on her for another moment, holding her captive with fear, before turning away again. He moved through the crowded bar without hurry, though he wanted nothing more than to be done with his time here.

  The game was loud and crowded with shouting men and squealing whores.

  ‘The Suckling Pig indeed,’ Lacombe thought as he forced his way to the front.

  “Essain,” he said loudly and a slim man with long dark hair and a sharp dark beard looked up and met his eyes.

  The crowd was involved in some kind of dice game and seemed annoyed at the interruption.

  “A word,” Lacombe requested then held up a few gold pieces between his thumb and forefinger. At the sight of real coin, the frown fell from Essain’s face. He motioned to a few of his comrades, one of which slid neatly into his place as the gambler rose.

  “Come,” Essain, said smiling. “We will talk in the back…it’s more private,” he added and led the way passed the bar; missing the wary look the barmaid was sporting. Lacombe followed, as did two of Essain’s larger associates. The group moved through the kitchen which was also full of offensive smells and into a large private room which w
as furnished well and surprisingly spotless. Essain moved quickly behind a large oak desk and sat in an expensive looking plush chair. He motioned for Lacombe to be seated but the Executioner merely stood and tossed the gold pieces to the gambler, who snatched both pieces deftly out of the air with one hand and then seemed very pleased with the accomplishment.

  “I’m heading to Manse to join with Prince Gwaynn. I thought perhaps you might know of others traveling in the direction,” Lacombe said. He was aware of the two large men who stood at his back, directly inside the door to the room, but he felt no real apprehension.

  Essain eyed the stranger before him quietly for a moment. The man was armed with kali and had the look of a fighting soldier, but that was of little concern to Essain. He’d prospered under Deutzani rule and his strength and power were continuing to build under the lawless rule of…Prince Gwaynn.

  “You mean King Gwaynn,” Essain said finally speaking, wondering if the man before him was a gifted warrior or just another fool in the search of glory.

  Lacombe smiled for a brief instant. “King Gwaynn…I’d not heard.”

  Essain shrugged. “It’s what the rabble call him. Are you good with those?” He asked nodding toward the swords that hung at the waist of the Executioner.

  Lacombe smiled once more. “Adequate,” he answered.

  “I’m always looking for good men,” Essain said then frowned as Lacombe immediately shook his head.

  “Sorry,” he answered, though he was not.

  “Well then,” Essain answered suddenly angry and Lacombe felt the men at his back tense, though he remained quietly relaxed. “Paulo is the man you need to see. Paulo Carnnetti, merchant in the Garden district. Personal friend of the King, so I’m told.”

  Lacombe nodded ever so slightly and turned to go.

  “Your purse,” Essain said lightly. “If you’re going to war you’ll not be needin’ it.”

  Without turning back Lacombe drew his kali so swiftly that the two men at the door barely had time to lay a hand on their own weapons and they lost their heads in unison, their blood spraying about the lavishly furnished room. Lacombe spun again and was once more facing Essain before the two bodyguards even realized they were dead. The dead men fell into one another, did a slow pirouette like a pair of drunken dancers, and then dropped to the floor with a single thud.

  The gambler’s eyes were wide with fear and surprise, but he was quick and managed to throw the knife he kept hidden in his waistcoat and though Essain was very good with his knives, he rushed his throw a bit in his panic. The man before him did not move or even flinch as the knife flew past his left ear and buried itself in the doorframe beyond.

  Lacombe smiled. “Chance is a dangerous, fickle partner,” he whispered drawing closer, watching intently for any overt move the man before him might try.

  “You, being what you are, should know that better than anyone. For years good fortune may walk hand in hand beside you, docile and submissive, like a sweet young lover, but then one day, without word or warning, you‘re abandoned and all alone, naked and without a friend…such is chance.”

  “He…here,” Essain said trying to sink further back into his chair while holding out the two gold coins and wondering if his luck had truly run out.

  Lacombe smiled and shook his head. “Keep them,” he answered, “but I will take your right hand in exchange.”

  “Wha…what?”

  “Your right hand or your life,” Lacombe said and slashed a kali through the air close enough that Essain felt it’s passing on his cheek.

  The gambler thought about crying out, but knew the shout would be lost in the noise of the tavern. He doubted anyone could reach him in time at any rate. “I have money.”

  Lacombe shook his head and stared directly into the gambler’s eyes. “Your hand or your neck. You decide now. Hold out your hand or die.”

  Essain stared back, caught. The eyes of the man before him showed no feeling at all, and certainly no pity. Essain whimpered as Lacombe pulled back his kali for the killing stroke but at the last minute the gambler thrust out his right hand and closed his eyes. Lacombe smiled, sheathed his left kali and clasped the hand in his. Essain opened his eyes, relieved, at least until the right kali sliced neatly through his wrist. He screamed and was still screaming as Lacombe opened the door and strode through the kitchen and the tavern beyond. He moved slowly through the bar, Essain’s hand still clutched in his own; the severed wrist dripping a bloody trail behind him.

  The Executioner stepped outside the tavern and took a deep breath of fresh salty air. It was late and the afternoon sunshine had given way to clouds and the promise of a late summer rain. He stepped out into the muddy street and up to Sunwind, who snorted at the smell of blood. Lacombe smiled and dropped Essain’s right hand and then kicked it under the porch of the Suckling Pig.

  “Let us find more suitable lodgings shall we,” he said to his horse and they headed off in the direction of the Garden district.

  ǂ

  Traveler Jess na Gall came awake not to the clanging of alarm bells, but to the sounds of shouting, running feet and the banging of doors. At first she thought little of it; after all during a siege in wartime, such noises were common. But gradually she became aware that her bed and the floor beneath it were shaking, and then the roar began. The sound was soft at first, like a newborn’s sigh, but then it grew in volume until na Gall was sure her section of the keep would collapse at any moment. She lay utterly still; terrified as the floor began to shake harder, the roar growing so loud it was as if the Black Horseman himself was thundering her way, excited and anxious to finish a job long overdue. The Traveler could almost feel the pounding of horse hooves shaking the soft downy mattress beneath her and she bolted upright in the dark of her room, eyes wide with dawning horror.

  ‘The Palmerrio tunnel,’ she thought, finally coming fully awake. She jumped from her bed and dressed in rapid fashion, then sprinted into the hallway. Chaos surrounded her. The hallway was filled with dust, smoke and soldiers running in every direction. na Gall picked her way carefully down the hallway, stepping over debris and holding her hand over her nose in an attempt to filter out some of the dust. She struggled against the press of bodies, trying to reach the Queen’s private quarters. Luckily she didn’t have far to go.

  “What’s happened?” She asked the pair of sentries standing outside and guarding the way to the Queen. Both shook their heads in unison and shrugged.

  “Not sure yet Ma’am,” one of them answered, clearly excited and a little afraid. na Gall moved past them and they made no move to stop her. She entered to find the Queen already awake and dressed.

  Captain Trammel, head of the castle guard, was at the window. They both looked up as the Traveler entered.

  “You must take her now!” Trammel shouted loudly.

  na Gall glanced at Ramona as Sanja, her old valet, came from the back rooms dragging several large trunks behind him.

  “What’s happened?” na Gall asked.

  “They fired the tunnel beneath the keep,” the Queen explained. “When it collapsed it took the entire southwest corner. We’re exposed.”

  “You must Travel now!” Trammel insisted, but Ramona just shook her head. “I will wait for my guard,” she answered calmly.

  “Sanja, go and collect Jory and the others. Meet us on the upper veranda,” the Queen added. Sanja bowed low and with only a slightly quickened pace, left the room.

  “Come Captain let us go and see for ourselves,” Ramona added and moved out of the main room, passed her bedroom and along a hall which eventually led to a narrow stone staircase. They ascended quickly and came out at the very top of the northern most tower. Without prompting they all headed directly toward the southwest corner of the balcony.

  The scene was one of utter destruction; a full three-quarters of the south wall had collapsed taking a quarter of the western wall with it. Though they could not see anything because of the darkness and dust, they could h
ear the roar of enemy troops as they finally entered the last stronghold of Toranado resistance.

  “It’s over M’lady,” Trammel whispered softly. “We must get you out.” He glanced at na Gall, who nodded, then glided to the center of the veranda and began to weave a bridge to Manse. She knew it would have to be large and strong in order to save as many brave Toranadians as possible. She shook her head slightly thinking that this was all she was able to do anymore, create bridges for innocents to escape certain death. It was becoming a sad pattern; it was becoming a way of life. But before the bridge was even complete, she felt the presence of the young Prince Gwaynn Massi. She smiled to herself, comforted. He was ready; he would assist. The bridge rapidly coalesced into existence.

  “No M’lady. We will hold them at the base of the tower for as long as we are able,” na Gall heard the Captain say as she once again became aware of her surroundings. The veranda was now crowded with people, with more emerging from the stairwell every second. na Gall glanced at the Queen, who had tears running down her face.

  “Travel,” she told them all. “Prince Gwaynn is waiting.”

  ǂ

  Tarina Cyn de Baard returned to Manse three hours after Gwaynn and the army arrived. She felt refreshed, renewed, more herself. She was in control again. Gwaynn’s long absence allowed her enough time to come to her senses regarding her present situation. Despite her lapse, her weakness, she now knew she was in a near perfect position to complete her assignment and kill the young Massi Prince. And kill him she would, no matter the growing army that surrounded him, no matter his breathtaking fighting skill, no matter her love. He had to die; she knew that now. It was the only way to be free of the yoke he’d hatefully placed around her heart. She was an Executioner, a Tarina, and no one; not even the Prince of Massi was going to enslave her like some mindless beast of burden. Oh, she was going to kill Gwaynn Massi all right, and if things went to plan she might even be able to plant a kiss on his lips as his life ran away from him. If she couldn’t share his life, well then she would be happy to share death with him, after all it was the most intimate of human moments. She felt the familiar warmth spread up from her crotch as she thought of the Massi Prince. Thinking of his death, the heady feeling became even more intense and de Baard smiled to herself. She would almost be happy to see Brandt once again. She needed him on top of her.