Assassin of the Heart: Book Two: The Temple Islands Series

by Richard Parker

  Assassin of the Heart: Book Two: The Temple Islands Series

  Temple Islands [2]

  Richard Parker

  CreateSpace (2012)

  * * *

  Rating: ★★★★★

  The Executioner Navarra is dead. Prince Gwaynn Massi has returned to his homeland and must begin to unite his people and win back his country. But the odds are against him; his land is filled with the armies of the Deutzani. Backed by the High King and his Temple Knights, it will be a daunting task. To achieve victory Gwaynn must be subtle, cunning and above all ruthless. United with Samantha Fultan and with the help of his two Weapons Masters, Krys Logan and Afton Sath, Gwaynn will need to avoid capture and build an army of his own. However, eluding the Deutzani enemy is not the only danger Gwaynn and his companions must face, because the High King has ordered another Executioner to find and kill the Prince. The Tarina Cyn de Baard is beautiful, seductive and above all deadly. She is the Assassin of the Heart and she has her sights set on Gwaynn Massi.

  The Temple Islands Series

  Book One: The Black Horseman

  Book Two: Assassin of the Heart

  Book Three: Elsewhere

  Book Four: The Best of all Possible Worlds

  For Kathy,

  The Assassin of my Heart

  Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Parker

  All right reserved

  The Assassin of the Heart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  I

  She walked gracefully across the rolling deck of the ship, adjusted the swords at her waist, and then leaned calmly against the rail. She was on the tall side for a woman, with long black hair that hung to the middle of her back in graceful ringlets. She was not truly thin, rather she was hard, toned, with whipcord muscles beneath the long, elegant lines of her limbs, but her height gave the illusion of slenderness, of softness. It was an illusion she’d come to appreciate over the years.

  She looked out over the sea, scanning the horizon for the first sight of the beloved island that was her home. She was aware of the men behind her, and knew that as she leaned away from them the tight fit of her silk pants was undoubtedly giving them something to view. ‘Let them look,’ she thought. It did not bother her, their lust. She could almost feel their eyes feasting on her, and a wisp of a smile crossed her face. She was beautiful. She knew it, and she was well acquainted with the desires of men…and women. She did not share such lustful needs, but even so, it was something she used…many times.

  She had no fear of the men at her back, though there were many of them and she was the lone woman on the trireme. She knew they would not approach her. She’d been aboard the Ribald for two days now and few could even muster the courage to talk in her presence. She would have thought they all loathed her, but for the bulges of frustration they carried in the front of their pants…like a promise knot. She basked in their fear, in their lust, the combination of both making each a bit more tantalizing on her tongue. She loved their confusion. Their male bodies wanting her, needing her, but inside, their minds screamed for them to stay away. She could almost hear the shouts of warning, mingled with the desperate pleas of carnal possibilities.

  Yes, even while they wanted her, they feared her, and for very good reason. The most obvious was her black silk garb, trimmed in red; the garb of an Executioner. This alone would give them pause, but it was the large canvas bag containing three human heads, which truly made them keep their distance. She was sure that none of the sailors knew precisely what was inside, but the canvas was stretched tight by its contents and the round outlines of the skulls were vaguely visible. The guessing started the very first day, and the guesses were very, very accurate. Three heads in a canvas bag. What else would an Executioner be carrying? Plus…the bag was beginning to smell.

  During the first few days, she kept it about her shoulder almost continuously, but over time it had grown heavy. Those unfortunates who’d never lifted a human head would be surprised just how heavy they truly were…three could be a downright burden.

  She kept the bag close; because at this moment in time, one of the heads was her most prize possession. It was the head of her former lover; her first lover; her only true lover; the lover to whom she’d given her virginity. He was young but tall, with bright, intelligent blue eyes so big she could swim in them for days without finding her way out. He was gentle with her, tender. His touch set her skin tingling and his mouth moved across hers like a soft breeze on a cool spring night. She’d loved him, wanted him, and she gave herself to him by the banks of a salt lake. Now, she had his rotting head in a large canvas bag, tucked away near her feet. Sharing the bag with his was the head of his young wife and their child, a little boy with the same large blue eyes…but they were just frosting.

  His was the head that mattered. His was the head that would turn her from plain, nondescript Cyn de Baard, to Tarina Cyn de Baard. Her lover’s head; her first lover’s head would complete the transformation. She looked out over the blue waters of the Inland Sea, searching, searching for the dark outline on the horizon, which would eventually grow to be Sinis Island…home.

  ǂ

  Once the Navarra’s head was off, the girl glared crazily at Gwaynn, her eyes blazing with mixture of hate and triumph, and then without a word she dropped the ax and staggered off toward the forest. Gwaynn watched her curiously as she weaved her way out into the woods and was lost from sight, then with only a quick glance down at the now decapitated Executioner, he broke into a trot and followed her. She was moving slowly, erratically, as if she was completely lost in thought. Gwaynn caught up with her easily and placed a hand on her shoulder. She spun around alarmed, as if she’d not heard him coming, though he made no effort to hide his approach.

  “Don’t touch me!” She screamed and knocked his hand off of her shoulder. She backed away from him, eyes wide with terror.

  “Who are you?” Gwaynn asked holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. He stepped forward slowly as if he was approaching a skittish horse.

  She screamed something unintelligible and leaped at him, trying to hit and scratch him. Gwaynn blinked and backpedaled, blocking most of her blows, but she did manage to scratch his right cheek with her dirty nails before he roughly pushed her away. She fell to the ground and let out a sob.

  “Stop that!” he yelled at her and she began to cry uncontrollably. He was about to move forward again when he felt a hand on his forearm.

  “Let me,” Carmen said gently and moved past Gwaynn. “I’ll meet you back at the house,” she added, clearly dismissing him. Gwaynn paused and glanced at the girl, who was now squatting low by a tree. She was still sobbing, head down and covered by her filthy arms. He wondered who she was for a moment but then shrugged, probably just some unfortunate who happened to catch Navarra’s eye. Krys stood at the back door, his leg still heavily bandaged.

  Gwaynn walked toward him.

  “You shouldn’t be up,” he said simply.

  Krys shrugged and
nodded to the dead body of the Executioner. “One was all?”

  Gwaynn nodded.

  “Noise woke me up,” Krys explained.

  “Sorry,” Gwaynn answered and managed a small smile. “Go back to bed.”

  Krys nodded, turned away and moved back into the house. “Keep it down,” he added though it was barely audible now that the door was closed. Gwaynn shook his head, still smiling until his eyes once more found the body of the Executioner, then it slid from his face like sand through a tightening fist. He stared at the body for a long time and then his eyes moved to the head, his gaze lingered on the face of the man who’d gutted his mother and killed his sister. He tried to feel triumph or perhaps some little satisfaction, but all he felt was sadness and anger. He started for the barn, but as he passed he kicked the disembodied head in the right temple and sent if skittering a few feet closer to the house. He left it behind and moved into the barn. He quickly saddled Eve, his black mare, then hoisted himself into the saddle and rode out into the bright sunshine. He spotted Carmen and the girl emerging from the woods but did not stop; he had no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. He pulled the reins and headed across the bridge, then across the road and out the break in the hedgerows until finally, he was free on the Plateau.

  He rode without thought, letting his mount open up and run; it was only later, as he pulled the mare back into a trot, that he realized he was retracing his steps from the night before.

  “Good girl,” he said, leaning low over Eve’s long, graceful neck. He immediately spotted the tracks of the wagon in the soft earth; they were plainly visible now that it was daylight, as were the tracks left by the train of horses they’d taken from the dead Executioners. Gwaynn frowned and looked up into the sky, hoping for a rainstorm to blot out the evidence, but the sky remained belligerently free of clouds.

  He considered turning around and returning to the ranch, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Bock and the others would still be out hunting and most likely would not reappear until sometime late in the day. So Gwaynn continued to follow the tracks they had so foolishly created the night before. One thing was certain, the evidence of their passing must somehow be hidden or they’d lead a party of Deutzani right to the Hawsers.

  Ultimately Gwaynn decided to ride on and look for any approaching threat before returning and telling Bock and the others of his concerns. It wasn’t long before his fears were confirmed and he spotted a group of riders. They were well in the distance, but even so it was plain they were heading his way. The group was following their trail, riding practically between the pair of ruts made by the wagon. He pulled Eve up short for a moment and let the strangers come a bit closer. It was a small party, no more than five or six, and they were moving slow. He reached down and patted Eve on the right shoulder, and then without a moment’s hesitation spurred her into a trot, heading directly toward the oncoming party.

  ǂ

  As he drew closer it was obvious to Gwaynn that the approaching party was not Deutzani Calvary. The six riders were spread out in a line, riding loosely rather than in any formation. They were moving relatively slowly but exactly on the path of the wagon. They were also creating an unusually large amount of dust with their passing, but it was not until he was quite close that Gwaynn could discern that they were all pulling sleds made of interwoven branches behind them, neatly covering the tracks made the previous night.

  ‘Friends obviously,’ Gwaynn thought and spurred Eve into a canter. It wasn’t long before he recognized the lead rider as his old Master, Afton Sath, and he broke out into a wide grin, coaxing Eve into a slow gallop. His approach caused a bit of nervousness among the riders and a few dropped the leads to their sleds, their hands sliding to the hilts of their kali.

  Gwaynn was gratified that Sath himself did not make a move for his swords, but pulled his mount to a stop and just stared at Gwaynn quizzically.

  “Kali are outlawed for all but the Deutzani,” Gwaynn stated in a loud, confident voice, his own weapons clearly visible at his side. He watched as a frown past over the face of his father’s former Weapons Master, and it took Gwaynn a moment to realize that Afton Sath did not entirely recognize him. Gwaynn found such a notion nearly impossible to believe, after all the man trained him nearly his entire life. He flipped a leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. He walked around to the front of Eve. Master Sath stared at him, his face pale and his eyes wide.

  “Don’t you recognize me Master?” Gwaynn asked. Afton Sath climbed from his horse without saying a word. Once on the ground he stood very still, not approaching Gwaynn just looking.

  “Gwaynn?” Sath asked softly, moving forward now very slowly.

  Gwaynn smiled at him.

  “Gwaynn,” his old Master repeated, suddenly rushing forward. “It is you,” he proclaimed and embraced the boy he knew with surprising vigor. “I thought…I thought you were Arnot…I thought you were your father. You look so much like him…when he was younger I mean.” Sath released the young man, looked up briefly at him and then pulled him back into another hug, pounding him strongly on the back.

  “You’ve grown,” Sath finally added as he released him once more. “Filled out. The Islands were good for you.”

  “Yes,” Gwaynn answered, transported briefly back to Noble Island by his Master’s words.

  “I heard you were here…in Massi from Paulo and Karla. You should have waited for me,” Sath chastised. “They’re very worried about you,” he added and when Gwaynn made no reply, Afton Sath turned and introduced the others to their Prince. They were tough men, soldiers all.

  When the introductions were finished Gwaynn and Sath climbed back on their respective mounts.

  “Lonogan Bock is with you?” the old man asked riding alongside his prince. Gwaynn nodded.

  “We looked him up as we passed through Manse,” Gwaynn explained. “He’s a good man.”

  “Hmmmph,” Sath grunted. “Good yes, but he’s growing reckless. He should have kept you in Manse.”

  Gwaynn smiled to himself, but said nothing.

  “We saw your tracks as they approached Wren Lake,” Sath added, his face growing very serious. “There were three of you…”

  Gwaynn looked at the loyal old man riding next to him, not wishing to hurt him, but knew that delay would not spare him in the end.

  “Yes, I found a Weapons Master on Noble,” he answered, forcing himself to look into his old Master’s eyes as he spoke.

  Sath stared back for a long moment, face blank and eyes unreadable. He’d been expecting it. He actually believed Gwaynn’s father would replace him as Weapons Master. Over the past decade his skills had diminished drastically, but Arnot always was too loyal for his own good.

  Sath forced himself to smile. If the Prince could make the decision to replace him, it could only reinforce the fact that the boy was growing up. He never would have done such a thing only a few months back.

  “By the looks of it, you’ve picked a good one,” he answered, and meant it. He and his men studied the confrontation at Wren Lake carefully when they happened across the carnage. Three against eleven were long odds, and by the tracks there seemed to be no hesitation, nor the slightest attempt to skirt the danger. There were two sets of tracks, plainly visible, that marched straight into the fray, and even though the third clearly lagged behind and skirted the greatest danger. The courage it took to move forward against such odds was considerable. Certainly not a coward’s path and Sath was proud of his Prince. He’d come a long way in a short period of time. He was sure that just a year ago the boy would have never gotten off of his horse.

  “It would take great skill to attack and defeat such a group of men. Executioners are not to be taken lightly,” Sath continued. “But why your Weapons Master and Bock would lead you into such an encounter is beyond me. The risk was far too great.”

  Gwaynn remained silent, though at first he could not have said why. He realized that Master Sath was completely misreading the situation, tha
t to him, Gwaynn was still the weak young Prince, the coward. Gwaynn could tell him, set him to rights, but deep in his heart he wanted to show him, and by showing Master Sath, somehow show his father.

  “I hope you still plan to keep me on as advisor…I still know a few things,” Sath said quietly, drawing Gwaynn out of his thoughts.

  Gwaynn smiled then. “Of course. You’ve always been wise and patient…and a far, far better teacher than you knew.”

  Sath nodded, but did not answer, and they rode nearly a mile without speaking, until Gwaynn suddenly turned to him.

  “Paulo tells me you’ve been working hard attempting to gather an army,” he said casually, as if talking of the latest fashions. “I must confess I am a bit curious as to how many men you have? I’m going to have need of them soon.”

  ǂ

  The Traveler appeared silently on the large outer balcony of the darkened bedroom. The spherical passageway that connected the two points in space slowly shrunk behind the shadowy figure until it disappeared without so much as a whisper. To move through space in such a way took skill; to move through space so precisely took uncommon skill. The Traveler however, was not impressed, for he’d missed his intended target by nearly twenty feet. Still, it was close enough.

  The figure remained motionless, crouching silently for a long moment, listening to the night. There were soft voices, barely discernable, coming from the courtyard far below, and off in the distance a dog barked insistently. The Traveler carefully, silently, moved across the balcony to the closed wooden doors and gently tried the handle. The doors were unlocked; if in fact they had a lock on them at all. The bedroom beyond the doors was eight stories up at the very top of the tower. There was nothing above the balcony but a steeply pitched roof two stories higher, and nothing below except the inner courtyard of the palace. The stone walls of the tower were set smooth, without mortar, making any ascent from the outside nearly impossible. No place was out of a Traveler’s reach however.