The Black Horseman ti-1

by Richard D. Parker

  Bock walked toward them. “Hold!" he commanded and the two remaining men stood completely still, all their attention remained on their dead friend. Bock knew he would have to bluff, having only one knife now at his disposal, so he moved confidently forward and bent to retrieve his embarrassingly short first throw when he reached the knife. He immediately felt better for the two, and without pausing he continued on.

  “On your knees,” he barked. The two glanced at him then looked over his shoulder, but something there must have deflated them, because they dropped down in the sand together. Bock continued ahead and ripped the bow from the dead man’s grip then picked up a bundle of arrows.

  “Move and you die,” he told the pair and turned back to see if he could help his young friends. Gwaynn was still locked up with his able opponent, while everyone else was down, including Krys. At first Bock could not locate the young Weapons Master among the dead and dying. He ran half the distance, then stopped, notched an arrow and guided it along the path of the enemy Executioner. He watched for less than a minute before realizing that Gwaynn was in no real danger, at least considering the fact that he was facing a skilled opponent with two razor sharp swords.

  “Navarra?” Gwaynn asked, hardly out of breath. “Where is he?”

  The Executioner remained silent, gasping from his exertions, trying desperately to hold off the next blows that rained his direction and only now realizing that he was being toyed with.

  Gwaynn stepped back several steps. The man in front of him used the respite to lean over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Gwaynn looked quickly around and spotted Lonogan at his back, bow at the ready.

  “See to Krys,” he said, nodding to his right.

  “I’m fine,” Krys answered back. “Just a bit indisposed.” Nevertheless, Bock moved over to him, passing several dying men as he did so. Krys had taken a kali through the back of his right thigh from a downed man he’d ignored while engaged with another. The blow surprised the young man from Noble who’d cried out but he refused to go down himself. Luckily the man he was fighting moved forward to take advantage of the injury. Had the man remained patient, the injury and lack of mobility could have been Krys’ undoing, but the fool rushed to attack and Krys was able to kill him with relative ease. Krys did not mourn him and with great effort limped back to the man on the ground, and despite his pleading, Krys ended his life with a quick slash from his kali. He then stumbled and dropped to the sand.

  “It’s bad,” Krys said softly to Bock as he knelt beside him, “but I believe it missed the artery.”

  Bock studied the wound a moment then nodded. There was bleeding, but he also believed it too close to the inner part of the thigh to threaten the femoral artery, which when severed, always meant death.

  “Lie still,” Bock answered and turned his attention back to Gwaynn who was still standing a distance from his panting opponent.

  “Your name Sir?” Gwaynn asked, starting to circle once more. The man did not answer at first and just circled with the youth.

  “Lindsay,” he finally managed. “Sergeant Lindsay.”

  “I commend your skill Sergeant,” Gwaynn added, then launched the fiercest attack Bock had ever witnessed. He was shocked to see first one kali, then another fly from the Sergeant’s hands. Gwaynn retreated again, and for a moment just twirled his kali in a menacing way while the Sergeant stared at his empty hands…stunned.

  “Where is Tar Navarra?” Gwaynn asked again, this time moving forward and resting his blade on the neck of the man who was now utterly defeated.

  The Sergeant shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He is behind us, should have caught up by now.”

  Gwaynn was silent for a moment considering. “Where were you heading?”

  The Sergeant shrugged. “Looking for Afton Sath, but we’ve been doing that for over a year.”

  “Will Navarra head for the Plateau?”

  Sergeant Lindsay nodded, at least until his head flew from his shoulders, mid nod.

  Gwaynn did not bother to watch the man die instead he turned and immediately spotted a naked runner, fleeing back to the north along the shoreline.

  “Watch him!” he yelled, pointing to the man still kneeling by the lake. Bock waved, watching Gwaynn run to his horse as if he had not been involved in anything strenuous recently. Bock then set about slaying all those suffering from mortal wounds. In between killings he watched the race unfold. The running man was looking back every so often, moving farther and farther away, but once Gwaynn was on horseback he caught up easily. The naked man died quickly, and by the time Gwaynn rode back to kneel by his friend, Bock had finished his grisly duty.

  “I’m sorry,” Gwaynn said to Krys, clearly panicked. “I should not have toyed with the Sergeant.”

  Krys shook him off. “He needed to be questioned. It was my own fault for idly passing someone not yet dead.”

  Gwaynn looked down at the wound and grew pale. The kali was still imbedded in his thigh.

  “Should we remove it?” he asked, looking to Bock for the answer. He was skilled at killing, but knew his knowledge of saving a life was lacking.

  Bock shook his head. “Not until we can get him some place he may truly rest. We need to get to the Hawser ranch, just southeast of Koshka. I’ll ride and fetch one of the wagons,” he added, already standing and moving back to his horse. He stopped after a few paces. “Keep him still and well watered. I should be back before morning.” He started to move once more then stopped again. “What of him?” he asked, pointing to the young man still kneeling on the ground.

  “I’ll see to him,” Gwaynn answered coldly, and stood. “Rest easy,” he said to Krys, and began to move toward the beach as Bock hurried off after a wagon.

  The naked man was shaking, cold and obviously very afraid. He looked young, possibly younger than Gwaynn himself. Gwaynn’s intention was to kill the man quickly but his youth surprised him.

  “Executioner?” he asked. The Deutzani looked up at him with dark hair and dark frightened eyes and shook his head.

  “I’m…I’m a soldier.”

  “A soldier in my country,” Gwaynn answered his anger rising again, but something in the boy’s expression stayed his hand.

  “Your name please?”

  The young man looked hopefully up at Gwaynn and again something was familiar about his expressions. “Van,” the soldier said. “Van Valencia.”

  Gwaynn jerked slightly and then laughed. It was something Van did not expect.

  “Do you know Vio, Vio Valencia of Noble?”

  Van’s face brightened in surprise. “She’s my cousin, her mother and mine are sisters,” the soldier answered and for the first time since meeting this wickedly skilled fighter felt as though he might survive.

  “Seems it is your lucky day,” Gwaynn added, realizing he could not knowingly kill one of Vio’s relations, at least not a close relation. “You will leave my country, and never return,” he said.

  Van nodded, but would have agreed to anything at that moment.

  “But first I would like you to meet one of Vio’s good friends.”

  ǂ

  True to his word, Bock rode up in a wagon at perhaps two in the morning. Krys was in a bad way by then, in shock, though the blood loss was minimized by leaving the weapon in place.

  They loaded him carefully on the wagon with the help of Van, who was now dressed. Bock was surprised the young Deutzani soldier was still alive, and cast a questioning look at Gwaynn, who shrugged.

  “He’s a cousin to a close friend,” he explained.

  “A Deutzani…a close friend?”

  Gwaynn just shrugged again. “Let’s get moving,” he said and climbed up next to Bock, who would be driving the wagon. Gwaynn glanced back at Van, who was sitting next to Krys, and eyeing him with more worry than Gwaynn would have thought possible a few hours ago. The two had hit it off splendidly and exchanged a number of stories about Vio.

  “Watch him close,” Gway
nn ordered, “and make sure his wound does not begin to bleed again.”

  The ride to the Hawser Ranch was long, dark and at times bumpy since they went by direct route to avoid Koshka and any questions a man wounded with a kali was likely to garner. They were forced to travel overland, since the only road to the Hawser’s was through Koshka, but they made very good time and arrived just before midmorning the following day. Krys was completely out when the lifted him from the wagon and carried him into the main house. Rue Hawser and his wife Carmen worked the ranch with their two sons Olney and Brace, all of them fiercely loyal to Afton Sath and therefore the Massi. Rue and Carmen immediately took charge of Krys, carefully removing the weapon, cleaning the wound and then bandaging their young patient, who took it all with the stoicism of the unconscious. They finally emerged from the sick room nearly an hour later to find Gwaynn up and pacing. Bock was dozing in a chair and Van was snoring softly on a small sofa.

  Gwaynn turned to them with obvious concern. Rue smiled, but it was Carmen who held up a hand.

  “He will be fine,” she said. “As you suspected the artery was missed. The kali has been removed, and the wound cleaned, as long as he doesn’t contract an infection he should make a full recovery…I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name,” she added. In the rush to help the wounded man introductions had been missed.

  “Gwaynn Massi,” he answered. “I am in your debt.”

  Carmen blinked and Rue just stood open mouthed, suddenly alert, though a moment before he was weary from the exacting work of stitching up Krys’ wound.

  “Gwaynn…Massi?” Carmen asked growing pale. “M’lord?”

  “Yes,” Gwaynn answered. “I am in your debt.”

  Later that night, Gwaynn endured one last dream of his mother and Gwynn hanging by the scaffold, stomachs ripped open, innards writhing on the ground, two dogs feasting. The surrounding Deutzani soldiers laughed as they watched the canines eat and then Gwynn suddenly seemed to notice Gwaynn and looked up.

  “Food for dogs,” she whispered, and dissipated as Gwaynn bolted upright, breath coming in gasps. It was a long time later before he was able to relax enough to fall back to sleep.

  ǂ

  Samantha found a road and turned to the southwest away from Manse and came across the bodies just before nightfall, a full day after Gwaynn and his party had departed the area. Carrion birds had already arrived at the scene. Finding so much death and so close to dark, completely unnerved her. She was tired and wanted to make camp but was very afraid that the dead men would draw unwanted attention to the area. She moved on and picked up her pace. She patted Bull with sympathy, knowing that he was also getting very tired despite his prodigious strength. She made maybe five more miles before night closed in, very dark, clouds covering the moon, but instead of stopping where she was she moved off the road to the west nearly a half a mile before finally dismounting. She was very sleepy and moved clumsily in the dark, but she took the time to unsaddle Bull and rub him down despite her own exhaustion. Only after he was hobbled and happily grazing did she lay out her blanket and drop down on the hard packed ground. She lit no fire, and fell into a deep sleep without even eating.

  She didn’t wake until Bull blew horse spittle and snot all over her face. She sat up quickly, sputtering and disoriented.

  “Good morning to you,” she said, wiping the mucus from her face. The sun was up high, nearly an hour above the horizon, and she cursed. She rose and from her pack took an apple which she fed to Bull, who ate it quickly and happily. She saddled him and then struggled up onto his back and started off. As she rode she rummaged through the bag of food from Cobb and found two hard biscuits. Sam ate them dry and made her way cautiously back to the road. There was still no one in sight and as she looked back toward the lake she could see only a few birds circling high overhead in the distance.

  Near noon she topped a rise; though she hadn’t been aware that she was even traveling uphill, so gradual was the incline. Below, maybe two miles away, she saw the town of Koshka, and beyond the town, a thick line of trees which extended in either direction as far as the eye could see; the great Scar Forest. She looked back to the town with a frown, trying to decide whether or not just to bypass it. In the end the look of the forest troubled her enough that she decided to risk at least the edge of the town and maybe find someone to give her some information about the way ahead. Even so she still left the road and skirted well around to the west. She would approach Koshka from the south in case she met any soldiers bent on chasing her, that way with luck she could flee away from the Executioner and possibly loose any pursuers in the deep forest.

  The trip around took time. It was nearly two hours later when she approached the outskirts. The town was not overly large, and only had perhaps two dozen buildings; the largest stood in the center of town and looked to be three stories. The first building she came to was a granary. Sam stopped and tied Bull’s reins to a hitching post along the wooden walkway. She saw no sign of any soldiers and only a few people sat outside, down near the center of town. She was far enough away to feel relatively safe and those visible did not seem to be paying her any attention. She slowly moved around to the door leading into the granary, trying to appear normal; the smell of chaff was strong inside the dark interior.

  “Hello,” she called, though not too loudly. No one answered so she moved farther inside. The darkness deepened.

  “Hello,” she said again, this time a bit louder, but there was still no answer. She turned back around to the door, and there framed against the bright sun was a figure peering inside.

  “What the hell do you want?” a harsh voice called. “Get the hell out of my grain. What are you doing walking all over it?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Samantha said flustered. She moved quickly to the doorway, blinking against the glare. Blocking her way was a very small, very wizened old man. She couldn’t even guess at his age. His face was a maze of wrinkles, covered in short white hairs, maybe two or three days of stubble. How he could shave at all and not cut himself with such wildly irregular skin was a wonder to her.

  “Who are you?” the old man barked much too loudly for her peace of mind, and she held up her hands to try and quiet him.

  “My name…is Sam…Samantha Fultan.”

  “Don’t know you,” the old man protested. He pushed roughly past her and went inside. She wanted to follow, but remained where she was, and was rewarded by his quick return.

  “You still here? What the hell do you want?” He barked at her once again.

  Samantha’s anger flared and she stepped in front of the little man. She towered over him by nearly a head.

  “I need to find someone,” she said as he tried to push her out of the way again. She gripped his arm.

  “Please,” she said in a softer voice. “I’m looking for my Uncle, Afton Sath.”

  The old man stopped in his tracks.

  “Afton Sath,” he repeated loudly and she winched.

  “Shhh,” she said.

  “Shhh…shhhhh. Why shhhh?” He demanded.

  “Are there any soldiers here?”

  “Soldiers?” he asked loudly. “Hell, there aren’t no soldiers here,” he added. “And why didn’t you say you was kin to Master Sath.”

  “You know of him?”

  The old man looked at her as if she was someone to be pitied.

  “Well of course I know him. Who doesn’t?” he barked, and moved around to the back of the building. She followed along behind.

  “You need to head out to the Hawser place,” he said, grabbing a bucket and moved back the way he had just come, passing her and heading out into the street.

  “Where’s the Hawser place?”

  He stopped to look at her again. “You simple?” he asked, and when she shook her head he just sighed.

  “You take the Hawser road…” He noticed her blank stare. “You go to the middle of town and take the road going east. Even you can’t miss it. It’s the only road in town ‘
cept for the one yo’r standing on. Master Sath is always visitn’ the Hawsers. They can put you in touch.”

  “Thank you,” she said grabbing his hands, suddenly bursting with excitement. “Thank you,” she repeated and without thinking she kissed him on the forehead. The old man looked at her, and at first she thought he was going to scream at her. But he smiled and though his face was old, his eyes were young again. He nodded.

  “Take care…what’d you say your name was again?”

  “Sam,” she replied moving back to Bull.

  “Sam,” he repeated and even waved to her as she rode by.

  The town had suddenly taken on a wonderful new glow, and for the first time in nearly two weeks she began to think that she might truly be safe. She felt elated and hopeful, at least until she reached the Hawser road, for there on the far side of town was a rider, dressed all in black. She cried out involuntarily at the shock of seeing the Executioner once again, and though he was too far away to make out any of his features, she clearly heard his triumphant laugh as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Samantha didn’t wait, and turning up the Hawser road, she thundered away on Bull. Hope and elation had fled; fear and resignation had come to roost, for she knew Bull had no hope of outrunning the sleek mount belonging to the man pursuing her.

  XVIII