The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series)

by Richard D. Parker

  Krys continued to vomit until his stomach was empty with Gwaynn struggling not to join in from the sound and the smell. When the retching seemed to be over Gwaynn handed him the pitcher of water, which Krys drank gratefully.

  “What happened?” Krys finally asked, placing the pitcher on the floor and bending over to hold his head in his hands.

  “They robbed us,” Gwaynn said feeling better by the minute, though his head was still throbbing painfully.

  “Robbed,” Krys repeated, dimly thinking of Emm. He was having a hard time believing she would rob him, or anyone.

  “Our money and our kali,” Gwaynn answered, his anger growing again.

  Krys jumped up, groaning and looked on both sides of his bed. His bag was missing, but Gwaynn was already aware of the fact. He watched, only slightly amused, as Krys’ hands immediately went for his knives, which were still safely in their sheaths.

  “How?” Krys asked.

  “Drugged, I would say.”

  “What now?”

  “When we are up to it, I would like to go and talk to the old gentleman at the desk,” Gwaynn said. “I find it hard to believe that the proprietor of this establishment would not be aware of such thievery.”

  Krys nodded and stood. “I’m getting more water,” he added and moved to the door. He stopped when Gwaynn put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Save the confrontation until we’re ready,” he advised. After Krys had left, closing the door softly behind him, Gwaynn went to the window and tugged it open. The morning was clear and bright but the sun hurt his eyes. Painfully he stuck his head out the window and took a few deep breaths. Manse was already busy with horse and wagon traffic moving about in the street below. He pulled back inside and moved the heavy curtains as far out of the way as he could to allow as much fresh air into the room as possible. The smell inside was atrocious, so he sat on the sill and even considered moving out on the roof, but in the end decided that it was too steeply pitched to be safe. He closed his eyes against the sun and enjoyed the cool breeze against his face. His headache remained but he was recovering quickly, and though his anger was still present, he’d forced it away from the boiling point.

  They would find the girls. He was confident of the fact, unless they fled town, but that was not very likely. He was of the mind that they had been targeted because of their youth, and thus a lesser danger than others might be. It smacked of a well-rehearsed crime, one that reoccurred regularly.

  Krys opened the door and stepped back inside carrying the pitcher of water, a loaf of bread and hand full of half ripe strawberries. Gwaynn looked at him with a slight smile.

  Krys smiled back and shrugged. “Found the kitchens,” he said by way of explanation.

  They ate and drank in silence, each feeling much better as they worked their way through the food, and when they were finished they stood as one.

  “Let’s go and find our kali,” Gwaynn said.

  “Yes, I feel naked without them,” Krys answered, as they headed down the stairs to the main level.

  When they hit the bottom of the steps the desk area was empty, but as they approached the old man came out of a back room. He paused, his hesitation obvious and was about to turn around and go back into the room he had just left, but Gwaynn quickly vaulted over the desk and grabbed him by the arm.

  “We would like to speak with you,” he said, wincing from the pain the fast movements caused him. Krys moved around and went through the low swinging doors to join them behind the desk.

  “What about?” The man said gruffly, but clearly nervous. Gwaynn nodded to Krys, who grabbed one of the man’s arms pinning it behind his back as Gwaynn forced the other up onto the desk.

  “What is this?” The old man protested, trying to struggle, but the two strong young men knew all about leverage and pressure points so that his attempts to escape were useless. He soon gave up.

  “We would like to find Emm and Dot,” Gwaynn said softly, not aware of the fact that he would have made a fine Executioner.

  “Who?”

  Gwaynn drew his knife with one hand and squeezed the old man’s wrist until his fingers parted and then slammed his palm flat on the desk. The old man stared at the knife, it was not overly large, but from his close proximity he could tell it was very, very sharp.

  “The women?” Gwaynn asked again.

  The old man shook his head, and without hesitation Gwaynn brought the knife down and severed the man’s index finger at the second knuckle. The fingertip jumped up and then rolled off the desk. The old man screamed and tried to pull his hand back, but Gwaynn held him easily. In his mind he thanked Tar Nev and his heavy katas and logs.

  “Four to go,” Gwaynn whispered in the man’s ear just as his screaming died down. The man was still breathing heavily and Gwaynn leaned in, even closer.

  “The women?”

  “I…I don’t know,” the old man said, and Gwaynn severed his middle finger. This finger did not roll completely off the desk. The old man screamed again, and redoubled his efforts to get away. He still did not succeed.

  “What’s your name?” Gwaynn asked.

  “Wha…What?” the old man asked, staring fixedly at the bloody stumps on his hand and then the piece of severed finger. The bone could be clearly seen through the slowly oozing blood.

  “Your name?”

  “Taylor,” he answered. “Please.”

  “Three more Taylor,” Gwaynn said in such a friendly voice that Tar Navarra would have been proud, “at least on this hand. Where are Emm and Dot?”

  Taylor gulped and glanced into his young tormentor’s eyes. He saw no mercy there. “They will kill me,” he pleaded.

  Gwaynn smiled. “And you think I will not?” Taylor saw the smile and believed him.

  “They’re in the loft above the feed and grain store. If you go out the back you will see the stairs,” Taylor said deflating, only wanting to cradle his throbbing hand and make the pain go away.

  But Gwaynn did not let him go and held him in place for such a long moment that Taylor was beginning to think the boy intended to kill him even though he had told him the truth.

  “If you are in on this little scheme you will stop it now,” Gwaynn said and something in his manner told Taylor not to argue. The boy had metal there was no denying that, and Taylor, old and hardened as he was, found the youngster truly frightening. “I will find out, and then you will lose more than a few fingers.”

  With that, Gwaynn released Taylor and moved back around the desk.

  “Who are you?” Taylor asked despite his wish for these two young men to be gone. Gwaynn stopped and turned back to look at the old man. He glanced at Krys, who shook his head negatively, but Gwaynn took a deep breath.

  “I am your King. I am Gwaynn Massi,” as he spoke he walked closer to the desk. The old man took a step back in spite of himself, his eyes wide, searching the face of the youth before him. It did not take long before recognition dawned.

  ‘Yes,’ Taylor thought, remembering his one trip to Solarii so many years ago, when he was newly married, and of a much younger age. Arnot was just a prince then and not yet the King or father to the boy before him, but after Gwaynn’s revelation, Taylor could see the resemblance. It was so great in fact, that he was surprised he failed to see it before.

  “My…M’lord,” Taylor gasped, now truly frightened, bowing his head and eyes before the royal person before him. But Gwaynn reached slowly across the desk and took hold of Taylor’s chin and gently raised his face.

  “You are the first, in all Massi to know the truth,” Gwaynn said softly, looking directly into the old man’s eyes. “The future of Massi now lies with you as well as me.”

  It took a moment for the import of what Gwaynn was saying to sink in, but then the old man shook his head in protest. “M’lord…I would never,” he stammered.

  “I know Taylor,” the King of Massi answered, and smiled. “I may call upon you again some day,” he added then turned. “But first we m
ust educate a few more of my countrymen.”

  And with that he and Krys left the room, heading for the back of the inn.

  Taylor stood there, transfixed as thoroughly as if he had gone through a powerful religious experience. The King has returned. He had spoken with him, stayed at his inn, shown faith in him. Taylor was moved. He was changed in more ways than a few lost fingers, and in his mind, losing a few digits was worth it.

  ǂ

  Samantha stood helpless, completely frozen by terror, as the Deutzani soldiers approached. Closer and closer they came until she was sure she would be found out. They would spot her, or if they came but a little closer they would clear the bushes and spot Bull, mindlessly grazing behind her. They were just fifty yards away, close enough that she could make out their individual faces as she peered through the branches of the bush she knelt behind. But then lighting flashed overhead and a great deep crash was heard soon after. Bull jumped, tugged the reigns loose from her grip, and moved a few more paces away as Sam held her breath and prayed that he would not bolt.

  “Not there,” she heard a voice say and her attention turned back to the approaching men. “Not in the trees. Are you all daft?”

  The soldiers all came to a sudden stop, though one continued on for a few more paces. Sam could see him plainly. He was young with a square jaw and bright hazel eyes. He was wet and plainly tired, but even so she could tell he would be very pleasant to look at in other circumstances. She found it strange that she could find the enemy, any enemy attractive.

  “Come,” the young one said turning in his saddle to look back at the other men, all of whom had come to a complete stop. The rain continued to fall, but its ferocity had lessened a bit. Thunder could be heard rolling about the countryside in the distance.

  “No lad,” one of the elder soldiers said. “If lightning should strike it will leave us all dead. We must find shelter elsewhere.”

  The young soldier turned back and looked at the cover of the trees and bushes as the other men moved off in the direction of the Scar River. Samantha watched without breathing, but the young soldier still did not turn and follow the others; he continued to stare at the very bush she hid behind. She was suddenly sure he was looking directly into her eyes. He took a sharp breath, and she thought he would yell out, but he released it without a sound. He stared for a few moments more, then turned and without looking back and hurried to catch up with the others. It was still a long time before Sam was able to breath, to be able to believe her luck, and when she stood she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She quickly squatted down again to relieve herself. Bull raised his head, slowly chewing and watched her.

  Thunder could still be heard in the distance, but the rain was nearly passed. Sam stood, feeling better, her heart finally beginning to slow. She stood and moved quickly toward Bull. The horse watched her come calmly and allowed her to pat his neck gently before leading him to a nearby bush where she tied his reins securely. She then headed back in the direction the soldiers had taken. She was extremely careful to move within the cover of the copse of trees. She wanted to be very sure that the soldiers had moved on far enough that she could continue on her way without being spotted. She had to move nearly a quarter of a mile through the trees before she finally spotted the party, riding south in the distance. The rain continued to fall lightly but the majority of the severe weather appeared to have moved off to the east.

  Samantha sighed, and hurried back to Bull, struggled up onto his back and trotted to the north, going a good distance before slowly edging her way back to the river. The berries and the fright had eased her hunger at first, though four hours later she was becoming desperate again. It became painfully apparent to her that not only was she going to have to stop in Manse, but she also realize that she would have to stop on the way and either try to trap a rabbit or other small animal, or perhaps fish. She did not want to stop…ever, not with the Executioner coming from behind. She could feel him gaining. He was coming, ever moving in her mind, and always faster than she was traveling. Suddenly the situation became too much for her and she began to cry in despair. She cried softly at first, but soon broke into huge, raking sobs. She cried about her situation, but mostly for her family and friends. Bull continued on his way unhindered by the emotional outburst taking place on his back, and when stream of tears finally ended nearly a half an hour later, Samantha felt much better. The tears seemed to clear her head so that she could think once more. Hunger was still with her and was still her primary concern. She leaned over and patted Bull softly.

  “Good boy,” she said then sat up tall and looked around at her surroundings. The way behind her seemed clear of all pursuit, for which she was very grateful. The rain had stopped but there was another bank of dark clouds moving toward her from the southwest. She studied the oncoming storm for several miles before she finally became aware that the Scar was slowly disappearing into the earth. Her heart skipped a beat, as she realized that she was coming closer to Manse, and it soared as an idea finally came to her. She would indeed cross the Scar River, and climb to the plateau, but she would still ride to Manse and enter the town by the west. Perhaps doing so would throw off her pursuer, and any possible help the people of Manse could give him about a lone fleeing girl.

  She rode on scrutinizing the river and the Scar as she traveled, hoping to discover an easy way to cross before the second storm hit the area. She’d already decided that she would cross during the height of the storm, confident that the downpour, if it was hard enough, would wash out any of her tracks. Without dogs it was possible she could lose the man hunting her, at least for a brief while. She didn’t have long to wait before the rain began to fall again but she did not find an easy crossing before the torrents of rain began to pelt her even harder than the first storm. Thankfully however, the thunder and lightning were missing. She was completely drenched again in seconds, her hair clinging to her neck and scalp. She had to cross now…she had little choice. She steered Bull carefully down the steep bank to the edge of the river, which was flowing steadily at this point. Beyond, through the rain, she could not see the Scar at all. She hesitated a moment, then with silent determination she forced Bull into the river. The current, though present, was not nearly as strong as she feared, nor was the river as deep, though Bull had to swim for a few paces through the middle channel. Sam climbed from his back and swam next to him, keeping a firm grip on the saddle as she did so. She squirmed back onto the saddle as he began to find footing once more. It was only moments before she found herself on the far side of the river, cold, shivering and soaked completely through, but happy, and for the first time hopeful as she began to hunt for a way up through the hills of the Scar.

  She soon found a way as she reached a bend in the river. There was a path of sorts that led upward through the steep hills that were strewn with large boulders and jagged rocks, which jutted out of the earth as if the Scar, like a drowning man, was fighting to reach the surface one last time. The rain began to ease once more as she moved up the hillside. She pushed Bull, wanting to be off the slopes before the rain completely stopped.

  “There are easier crossings up river,” a deep voice said from a nearby outcropping of boulders.

  XVI

  Gwaynn moved out of the inn and into the back alley with Krys following closely behind. As the old man said, the stairs that led to the loft above the feed and grain store were plainly visible, but as they moved out onto the back porch the door opened behind them.

  “M’lord,” Taylor said in a whispered voice. Gwaynn turned and was surprised when he saw the old man holding out a very large sword to him. “It’s mine, from long ago. You must be careful. There are four of them. Fakir is the leader, nasty. He’s the one you must worry about.”

  Gwaynn smiled and took the sword then he nodded to the old man. “My thanks Taylor,” he said and raised the sword. “We will return this momentarily.” As he turned he gave the sword to Krys.

  “Here, you are better with o
ne of these than I am.”

  Krys took it and bowed his head in recognition. The sword felt good in his hand, and for the first time that morning he was feeling like his old self. He twirled the weapon skillfully a few times to get the feel for the balance of the weapon. Taylor, who was still watching and fretting in the doorway, caught this little display of skill and a few of his worries fled from his mind.

  The two climbed the flight of steps as quietly as possible but the wooden staircase had been exposed to the elements for a long time and creaked and groaned with almost every step. Gwaynn half expected the door at the top to fly open at any moment, but it remained steadfastly closed, and both young men breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the top undiscovered. There was a window close to the door, but they found it shuttered against the night, and could see nothing of what was in the dwelling beyond.

  They paused for a moment, but then a flash of lightning came from above. They looked at one another and just had time enough to smile before the sound of thunder exploded in the air. At that exact moment both of them raised a leg and kicked the door with all of their might. The lock and jam splintered from the force and the door flew open to reveal a man standing not fifteen feet away holding a bow already fitted with an arrow, which was pointed directly at Gwaynn. He released the arrow almost immediately. Gwaynn saw it leave his hand and begin its flight toward his chest, but then everything slowed. Gwaynn saw the man’s eyes. They were wide with excitement behind the on-coming arrow, which despite the slowing down of all else, seemed to be rushing at him alarmingly fast. Gwaynn did not have time to take a step, so he swiveled his body and pulled back his left shoulder. It was not quite fast enough as the arrow cut through his coat and sliced through the top layer of his skin before moving by and burying itself into the wooden post directly behind him with a resounding thunk.

  Krys stared at Gwaynn for what seemed an eternity, and then time rushed ahead, normal again.