The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series)

by Richard D. Parker

  “We began helping him when we saved him from death on that beach so many months ago.” Amon answered calmly.

  “I will stop training him immediately,” Kostek said realizing fully just what a danger the boy posed for the Noble Island.

  “You will continue to train him, but quietly. Select one student, I think you know who, to train with him also, but all involved must know of importance of secrecy.”

  Kostek shook his head. “It is far too dangerous. If this gets out…”

  “When,” Amon interrupted. “When this gets out, and it will, all of it. The High King will not be able to keep this quiet indefinitely, already there are whispers moving across the land of treachery. There is danger from the High King, and there is danger from the Families. The danger from the Families is far greater.”

  “How so?” Kostek asked, not truly understanding.

  “The High King is not likely to attack Noble if he finds out we know of his involvement in the Massi downfall. Any action he takes against us must be explained, but when the word finally gets out to the Families of the Kings treachery toward the Massi, their wrath will be great, and directed against any they feel aided in the injustice. We must not be seen as a puppet to the High King.”

  “You think he will fall then?”

  Amon shrugged. “He may survive, but we will do what is right…always.

  Kostek nodded, having long since realized that the current High Master of Noble Island was a much deeper thinker than he would ever be. Over the years, Kostek had come to know himself very well and had no illusions that he would out-think anyone. Kill them with many weapons, yes, out-think, no.

  “I want you to tell Gwaynn about the upcoming nuptials,” Amon added and stood signifying that the meeting was nearly over.

  Kostek also stood. “You think that is wise?”

  Amon shrugged. “I promised him,” was all the High Master said.

  Kostek bowed slightly and took his leave, suddenly feeling very uneasy about the future.

  ǂ

  Master Kostek worked with Gwaynn privately at night for the next three weeks, though the boy continued to run with his students in the mornings. His running continued to improve steadily and he was beginning to push William and Tam. If anything, the boy’s fighting style was becoming even more aggressive as he grew more and more familiar with his Master’s tendencies. At times it was all Kostek could do to keep from injuring Gwaynn so frantic was the pace his young opponent set. Frankly, Kostek was more than a little anxious about setting Gwaynn on one of his other students for fear that an injury would occur. Injuries were not uncommon, but they were to be avoided whenever possible. But after several weeks went by Kostek knew that he could delay no longer, so now he waited, working lightly with Vio until Gwaynn arrived home. He was later than usual having worked with Lane in the fields on the western side of the island.

  Kostek had chosen Vio to work with Gwaynn even though he was sure Master Amon had meant for him to work with Krys, another Massi youth. But Kostek had noticed a calmer, more relaxed Gwaynn when the young woman was near him. She should temper his violent style. Plus he believed Gwaynn’s aggressive manner may well help Vio to improve. At times she lacked aggressiveness and appeared reluctant to put her opponents away.

  “Beware,” Kostek warned as he worked through some intricate moves with his most natural pupil. He believed that Vio may one day become a Tarina herself; if that is the path she wished to follow. “Gwaynn is very, very aggressive, and fights with a certain amount of recklessness.”

  Vio frowned, concentrating on working through the move correctly. “Is he good?” she asked as they finished and stepped away from one another.

  “Very,” Kostek answered just as a knock came at the door. He motioned for Vio to open it, and when she did, the Tar noticed that the young man’s demeanor changed immediately. Kostek then knew his decision was the correct one.

  “Vio,” Gwaynn said softly, with a fair amount of surprise.

  “Gwaynn,” Vio answered with a smile and a toss of her head. “Master Kostek has chosen me to begin working with you,” she added, as if her presence demanded some sort of explanation.

  Gwaynn smiled openly. Ever since he had spotted Vio working with Tam on the beach those many days ago he had fantasized about sparring with her. Her moves were so smooth and clean. She moved like an artist.

  “Do you need time to prepare?” Kostek asked taking a seat on the floor well off of the mat, but in a position where he could see all of the action taking place. Gwaynn shook his head negatively as he removed his footwear, pulled his preferred katas from the wall and moved into position opposite Vio. They both gave a little bow, neither smiling but both excited about the coming competition, then Gwaynn waded in.

  Somehow Vio managed to survive the initial onslaught from Gwaynn even though the ferocity of the attack surprised her even after the warning from Master Kostek. She finally managed to drive Gwaynn off and nearly scored a point herself. But she had little time to relax and collect herself before Gwaynn was on her again with a skill she would not have thought possible from one so new to the island. He used very deceptive moves, which included kicks far in advance of anything Tam was using. He continued to attack and she continued to give ground until finally he made a slight mistake and she scored a hit on his left thigh.

  “Excellent,” she told Gwaynn as they moved back to the center of the mat, bowed and again Gwaynn attacked. This time Vio was ready for it, or at least thought she was until a well-placed kick hit her square in the chest and dropped her hard on the floor.

  “Oh,” Gwaynn said, just as surprised as Vio and he moved forward to see if she was all right, but she was already getting to her feet, rubbing her chest and smiling ruefully at Gwaynn. Kostek sat quietly watching, saying nothing.

  “Excellent,” she repeated moving back to the center of the mat. They bowed. Gwaynn again moved in, but this time a bit more slowly and Vio quickly made him pay with a similar kick to his chest, followed quickly by a snap kick to the chin. Gwaynn’s head was rocked back and he tasted a bit of blood from a small split in his lower lip. He wiped some blood away with the back of his hand.

  “Excellent,” he echoed as he moved back into the center, a return smile now on his face.

  They went after each other for nearly an hour, Gwaynn still aggressive but more tempered, Vio still smooth and relaxed, but necessarily more aggressive. Kostek smiled inwardly as he watched. These two were perfect for each other and he knew Vio would be a handful for whoever was matched against her at the year-end Competitions. She was a surprise last year, this year Kostek would be surprised if she did not make it to the finals. It was just a shame Gwaynn could not compete, for he would astound them all.

  Over the next week, Kostek continued to watch over their sparring bouts and it was very obvious that both benefited from working with the other. Gwaynn also continued to run with all of the students in the mornings and was improving rapidly on that front also. He was now pushing B’dall, and Kostek’s eighth year student was struggling with the fact that a relatively new student was about to best him at a contest. B’dall, though talented, had always had an inflated opinion of some of his abilities. He was a strong fighter with the katas and at hand to hand, but was less talented with the bow, and though his strong sense of competition kept him near the top in the morning run, he was never a gifted runner. Kostek knew that he was already performing at his peak and with age would do nothing but decline. At last year’s games, B’dall finished second with the katas, fourth with the staff, and third with the open hand, but was tenth in the bow and ninth in the all island run. Against four eighth years and four other seventh years the second place finish with the katas was truly impressive, as was his third place finish in hand to hand. He was a truly gifted fighter, but his strength was power and reflexes, not foot speed. Kostek, however, couldn’t seem to get it across to the youth that knowing what strengths you possess and what strengths you lack was a very impor
tant part of knowing yourself, which was the greatest strength of all. Kostek would be interested to see just how his oldest student handled getting taken by his newest.

  But Kostek was not destined to see the drama unfold, because the following day four Travelers suddenly appeared outside the Grand Hall, including Zarina Aleecia, the High Traveler, who had long been a friend and ally of Tar Amon.

  “This marriage is causing such a stir,” Aleecia said as she and Amon sat on the western veranda, drinking lemon ice and watching the sun slowly set over the waves of the Inland Sea.

  “How so?” Amon asked calmly, feigning ignorance.

  Aleecia smiled at him. “Coming so soon after the Deutzani defeat of the Massi, and all the shocking rumors that surrounded that episode, people are beginning to talk of conspiracy. Plus the girl is so young,” Aleecia answered with a nod of her head.

  Amon face remained passive and he made no comment. Zarina Aleecia, like many Travelers, was long of limb, tall and thin, and very delicate looking. She was past middle age, Amon knew, but she still had a full head of silvery blonde hair that she wore very long, the tips coming nearly to mid-thigh when down, and her face maintained a youthful appearance, helped by her large, bright eyes and small elfish features. She was very beautiful. Amon studied her long, graceful neck as she sucked on some ice, her attention on a boat making it’s way slowly by in the distance.

  “You’ve heard none of this I suppose,” she finally said, baiting her friend. She knew Tar Amon well and correctly guessed that he was just attempting to draw out what she knew.

  Amon shrugged. “We hear many things,” he replied. “Many disturbing things, but they are as yet unconfirmed and we are not willing to make any decisions based on rumors.”

  Aleecia smiled. “Yes, it always pays to be cautious. But one rumor has me very intrigued,” she added, pouring another tasty bit of ice into her mouth. She sat silent for a long moment letting the ice melt of its own accord before speaking again. Amon sat patiently, saying nothing.

  Aleecia glanced at her friend, her face emotionless. “The word is spreading that Gwaynn, the young prince of the Massi, escaped with his life during the last hours of the battle.”

  Amon nodded. “So I have heard.”

  “They say he escaped aboard a trireme, but was lost at sea,” Aleecia added. “Lost heading for the Temple Islands,” she added softly.

  “Indeed,” Amon said simply. “If true, the loss would be unfortunate. It would be interesting to find out just how the Deutzani defeated the Massi so easily, and against all odds. It should not have been so.”

  “Yes,” Aleecia agreed. “It is also being said that the boy reached the islands and is now in hiding.” She laughed lightly. “But he is not on The Isle of Light, nor do I gather he is on the Temple Island with the High King, and we both know if he landed on the Sinis Island there would be no rumors other than his quick death.

  Amon still said nothing.

  “And that leaves Helles, Lato or Noble Island, on any of the three I think the boy could have found refuge…if the rumors can be believed.”

  Amon took a drink from his cup, the ice melting quickly now. Aleecia watched him closely, but the old man gave no sign one way or another and she sighed. She knew she would get nothing from him now. She was sure the boy was on Noble Island, but she was hoping to get Tar Amon to admit it, so she could offer help.

  “If the boy was on Helles or Lato, could you find out?” he finally asked, feigning curiosity, but wondering just how much she knew. He had no illusions about the Traveler’s capabilities. Their ability to move soundlessly from distant places had long made them the very best spies in all of the land, though the Travelers themselves always scoffed at such talk, claiming that spying was beneath them. Still they always managed to have the right information at the right time.

  Aleecia shrugged and uncrossed then re-crossed her long legs, watching Amon with a smile, as he watched her with a frown, wondering if she was so curious that she would attempt to use sex as a way to get the knowledge she wanted.

  “Perhaps,” she finally said.

  “I’ve heard there was an Executioner involved with the killing of most of the Massi family,” he blurted just to watch her flinch.

  Aleecia nodded. “Yes, we have heard that also. We lost Dom in the fall, so we cannot be sure, but it does seem likely. Arsinol has employed that boastful man Navarra as Weapons Master. Plus he would not want to dirty his own hands with the death of an entire royal family.”

  Amon winched inwardly at the mention of an Executioner as Weapons Master, but at least she had the decency not to refer to him as a Tar.

  Aleecia sighed again. She liked a man who could hold his tongue, but Amon took it to extremes.

  “If the boy is indeed on Helles or Lato,” she finally said looking out across the now dark ocean, the breaking waves iridescent in the moonlight. “I believe we will offer them the use of a pair of additional Travelers, in case anything untoward arises.”

  Amon’s eyes jerked toward her and she smiled inwardly though very careful to show no emotion on her face.

  “You would risk involvement?” he asked.

  “What risk? We have Travelers in every land. We move from place to place when we want and why we want. We are on Helles, we are on Lato. I have long thought we should have an exchange, a pair of Travelers here for a pair of Tars on Light. I know I would sleep better should such a thing be arranged.”

  Amon sat back as if thinking about the idea for the first time, though he had long toyed with the notion, even despite the present situation. In the past the High Tar’s had forbidden the presence of Travelers on Noble Island, preferring to move the slow way over the sea in exchange for complete privacy. Aleecia was not the first High Traveler to offer such an exchange.

  “The idea does have merit,” he finally said, and Aleecia allowed herself to smile. She knew she finally had her answer. The Massi Prince was indeed on the island. That knowledge was good to have. She would protect the boy if she could, but if she had to, she would give him up. High King Mastoc was not a man she would want to cross. He was brazen enough to do just about anything, as his involvement in the Deutzani attack aptly showed.

  “Yes it does,” she answered.

  “I will think on it,” Amon said suddenly standing. He led her back through the Hall and to the upper floors, his mind racing. Tori, Aleecia’s private maid was waiting for her in her rooms.

  “I have a bath prepared Ma’am,” Tori said as she opened the door.

  “Very good,” Aleecia answered and turned back to Amon.

  “Think carefully my friend,” she said. “I think it could benefit us both.”

  ǂ

  By a strange coincidence, Afton Sath reached Koshka, within the hour of Navarra and his men riding into Millvale. The arrival was less noticed in Koshka, and less welcome in Millvale, where Navarra immediately paid a visit to the Magistrate while his men roamed the town asking questions of the locals. Millvale already had a small garrison of Deutzani troops stationed within it, but was still under Massi governmental control. It would take months to place reasonably competent men in posts to govern all the small towns within the land, meanwhile the locals were allowed to keep the daily trade flowing. Conquered lands were only good for the income they could generate. Money, however, was not what motivated an Executioner.

  The search came to not, as Navarra expected. Afton Sath would not be so foolish as to pass through a town unless it was absolutely necessary, to do so would jeopardize him and the safety of the towns people. But that did not concern the Executioner.

  “You seem convinced that the Sath has not passed this way,” Navarra stated softly to the Massi Magistrate, who cowered along with the other town leaders before him. As Navarra watched the man grovel he grew annoyed.

  “No M’lord, I would have heard of such a visitor,” the man said licking his lips. He was young for such a post but looked the part. He had a pinched, weasel like face and his
eyes darted about nervously, first to Navarra, then to Lindsay and finally the rest of the Zani soldiers.

  “Just where could he have gone then?” Navarra asked, keeping his voice even and soft, performing for the crowd. “He would need food. He would need water. Sath is an old man; surely you do not think he could cross the whole of Massi without food or water?”

  The man’s eyes darted about faster. Navarra made only the slightest motion to Lindsay, who signaled another, and that soldier moved over to Kronos, Navarra’s black stallion. He removed a pair of large, dark wooden blocks that were hung across the horse’s haunches like saddlebags. The soldier carried them, with effort, to a large oak that grew in the town’s center and quickly began to tie the blocks together with a pair of strong leather thongs.

  “Perhaps…” the man stammered, eyes now on the block waiting beneath the large branches which were whispering and swaying in the early morning breeze. “Perhaps he went to the Fultan’s.”

  “The Fultan’s?” Navarra asked, all but whispering.

  “Yes, yes,” the Magistrate answered clearly warming to the idea. “Thomas Fultan. His estate is about two miles southeast of town.”

  “Estate?”

  “Yes,” the man said, his head bobbing with enthusiasm. “Thomas has grown wealthy from his ale business…Fultan ale. He was very loyal to the King,” the Magistrate added hopefully.

  “Well, we will have to investigate,” Navarra said and motioned again to Lindsay, who with one quick motion drew his kali and struck the back of the Magistrate’s right knee. The man fell to the ground screaming as the other town folk bounced away with astonishing speed. Lindsay and two other soldiers quickly bound the man’s hands behind his back and grabbed him by the underarms and pulled him through the dust, still screaming from his wound, to the block.

  The Magistrate’s head was forcibly turned so it faced left and was placed in a shallow indentation. It was held in place by another leather thong, which was pulled tightly over the man’s head, just above the ears, finally the thong was tied off on hooks on each side of the block.