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.”
The Black Horseman ti-1 Page 27
