Aleecia held up her hands. “M’lord, I swear I do not know.”
The King shrugged. “The list is short. Name someone…or perhaps it was you who sent him to me.”
“It was not,” the Zarina declared, very aware of the men approaching. Her mind was racing for an answer, but she would not accuse anyone of her peers without cause.
“I can find out...given time,” she added.
The King shook his with mocking sadness. “You have no time. I want answers. I want to know how Tar Nev was able to Travel to my private rooms.” He looked down at her, his gaze level and hard. “I want answers now!”
The Zarina, who up to this point was anxious and afraid, suddenly calmed. She knew where the King now stood. She knew what was to happen; the unknown was gone.
“You may want answers now,” she answered, her voice smooth and even. “But I have none to give you. You may kill me; you may torture me, but that will not change the fact that I know nothing of these events.”
The King remained perfectly still for a brief moment, his face gradually turning red, then he nodded to the Knights. All at once six Knights began to move in. Aleecia took a quick step back, standing very close to Amon and in a fraction of a second a bridge opened behind the two Knights directly in front of her. Inside the connection appeared the clear darkened sky with only the rolling waves of the sea beneath. Tar Amon wasted no time, before the Knights could be warned he darted forward, jumped and struck with his feet, hitting each Knight squarely in the chest. The blow drove each back and into the bubble. They sank quickly into the sea. Both bobbed to the surface, horror and surprise evident on their faces before the bridge disappeared with a pop leaving them to swim or die.
Amon hit the hard floor of the main hall twisted and stood as quickly as his old body could muster. He knew if the Zarina and he were to survive this night, he had to get to the King before the Knights overpowered him. He pulled the knives from their hidden sheaths and began to move up the dais, but was surprised that Caiman was already on the move, already nearly beyond his circle of Knights. Amon’s heart fell, but he did not have time to dwell on his disappointment as a Knight with long sword came directly at him. It only took one hard, sweeping stroke from the soldier for Amon to determine that a death sentence had been cast upon them all. The blow was well aimed and strong enough to have taken his head neatly from his shoulders had it landed. But Tar Amon avoided it deftly and the Knight received the point of a knife in his right eye for his trouble. He screamed, dropping his sword, which Amon quickly retrieved and then stood to face a group of eight Knights who were now moving forward more cautiously.
Across the room another three raced toward Aleecia, attempting to close on her before she could conjure another bridge, but as they ran forward a connection appeared directly in front of them and all three went swimming. As the bubble disappeared Mair stepped in front of her Zarina and took a sharp slash to her right arm from another Knight. She cried out and went down as more threatened the Zarina. Amon shifted the sword to his left hand and quickly threw his knife. Two of the Knights in the circle ducked away, but the knife was not meant for them; it flew between them and buried itself in the neck of the man who was closest to Aleecia. He dropped to the floor without a sound.
The Knights around Amon came to a halt as one, stunned by the accuracy of the throw.
“Kill them,” the High King bellowed, and they all rushed in together as if pulled by a single string.
Two more died quickly, but Amon took a slash to his right calf just above the heel. The cut did not hurt, but the Tar could feel the blood flowing into his footwear and knew the wound was significant. The Knights surrounding him waded in, and it took all his skill to parry the half dozen strokes launched his way. He was only dimly aware that Aleecia’s head was now rolling about on the ground, no more than three feet away. He did not look at it directly, having no time, but in his sadness he marveled at her instincts. She was correct, the King did plan on killing her, and Amon knew that his life would also soon be over. The late Zarina was his only possibility of escape. Though many Knights were down, there were still over fifty in the great hall, far too many for even the greatest Tar to overcome. Even in his prime, the odds would have been too great, now as old age was approaching he knew he had little chance to live out the next minute. But he fought on, parrying and dodging blows, his hood fell as he ducked from a particularly vicious attack but he was so focused on the challenge before him that he did not hear the collective gasp that went through the Knights who were not immediately threatened.
“Amon!” the High King yelled, surprised and enraged. Amon glanced toward the voice, and briefly glimpsed the King smiling wickedly through the crowd of fighting men and felt his own anger grow. Aleecia needn’t have died. Her death was pointless and gained the High King nothing. His judgment was truly slipping and would be the ruin of them all.
“Amon you die!” The High King screamed with all his might. Amon smiled and all at once the sword in his hand seemed to explode with energy and he quickly dropped three more Knights, creating just enough space to draw and hurl his last knife at the High King. The throw was a good one, a near perfect one, and as Amon let it go he knew it would strike home, but at the last moment some witless Knight moved in front of the King and took the knife directly through the mouth. Amon groaned as he took a sword tip through the right shoulder. He killed one more assailant before his own head took flight and landed at the feet of a group of nearby Knights. They paused for only a moment and then began to kick it about the Great Hall.
II
It took several hours for Samantha to calm herself. The nagging thought that she must move, must run, must try to elude the Executioner had a strong grip on her mind and was shaking her sensibilities like a terrier on a rat. When the realization that her enemy was gone, was dead, finally began to take hold she burst into a new set of tears, this time of relief. But unlike her tears of sadness and fear, the new batch soon dried up. Once she was under control she allowed Carmen to lead her into the back of the house and to bed. The clean, cool sheets and soft pillows were an Eden in themselves. She slept long and well, and it never crossed her mind that her kind, gentle host was left with the task of burying the man who’d chased her across all of Massi.
When she finally woke in the early evening she felt wonderful, light and airy. She could not stop smiling as Carmen filled a tub of hot water. The tub was small and she could only sit with her knees bent so that they poked out of the water, but nothing ever felt quite so good to her. The soap was a little harsh, but the rose oil and sprigs of sassafras Carmen added to the water emitted a delightful aroma, and to be clean once more was far more blissful than she would have ever imagined…at least in her old life. She knelt on the outside of the tub to wash her hair, which was so dirty she washed it three times and brushed it for nearly ten minutes, then she slipped into an old white cotton summer dress Carmen had laid out for her. She left the bath water a disturbing shade of brown but resolved to help Carmen clean the tub. She made her way from the back of the house to the main room. She stopped short as she spotted a gorgeous young man with a heavily bandaged leg sitting calmly in a chair near the front windows. There was a book in his hand, but his eyes were on her.
“Wow,” he said softly and Samantha stopped moving abruptly.
“You feel better?” he asked and gave her a delightful smile.
Samantha nodded, suddenly feeling shy, though why she could not have said.
“I’m Krys,” he added and waited for her to answer. She stood mute.
“You’re safe now,” he added trying to reassure her. He was beginning to strongly suspect that though the Executioner failed to take her life, he’d managed to rob her of her wits.
“I’m safe now,” she repeated quietly, as if she were trying to convince herself.
Krys studied her as she stood there silently looking about the room. The transformation was somewhat miraculous. Her hair was clean, combed a
nd free of debris. There were still several red scratches on her face and a bruise on her left cheek, but she looked much better. Her nose was a bit on the wide side and he’d never been partial to red hair, still her eyes were large and an almost luminous green and the dress she wore accentuated her femininity.
“I’m Krys,” he repeated, and the blank, faraway look in her eyes disappeared.
She blushed, her face tinting a bright pink; an affliction shared by all those with very fair skin.
“My..my name is Samantha,” she answered, her voice a bit louder.
“Carmen is out seeing to your horse,” Krys said with a nod at the front window.
“My horse?”
Krys frowned and worried about her wits once more. He nodded. “Yes, he wandered into the yard about two hours ago. He was limping badly, but Carmen seems to think he’ll be fine.”
“Bull,” she said and ran to the door, suddenly all energy. She threw it open and ran bare footed across the grassy yard. Krys straightened up in his chair so he could see out the window better and watched as she sprinted all the way to the barn doors. He shook his head, wondering about her story then moved his leg off the footrest, bending it gingerly, happy that there was very little pain.
“Bull,” Samantha said louder than she wanted. She moved forward slowly into the dark interior as her eyes adjusted.
“He’s here,” Carmen answered and though Samantha tracked her voice it was still several seconds before the woman’s light blue shirt became visible in the dim interior. Once she could see, Sam walked quickly to the stall and climbed up on the bottom slat of the gate so she could peer inside. Bull was standing completely still, regarding her. His left front leg was heavily bandaged, but he seemed to be standing on it without too much pain. He even blew a greeting at her and stepped forward so she could scratch his neck and behind his ears.
“Think he was kicked,” Carmen said coming around from behind the large animal. She opened the stall door; giving Samantha a short ride then closed it again and watched as the girl resumed scratching the horse. “My guess is by the dead horse out on the lane. Have to get the boys to clean that one up,” she added then paused, “it will be a job.”
“Bull rammed him, pushed him into the hedges...killing him,” Samantha explained without looking at Carmen. “I’d be dead without Bull…and he knows it.” She added as the horse finally dipped his head and began drinking from the trough.
“He’s big and strong, and should be right as rain in a week or so,” Carmen said holding out an empty feed bucket to Sam. She jumped down from the gate and took it.
“Wouldn’t go riding him until then,” Carmen advised.
Samantha nodded. She hadn’t planned on riding anywhere; after all she had nowhere to go. She followed Carmen back out the barn door and into the dimming light of the evening. They both stopped short as a group of riders approached from the flat Plateau which opened up just across the road. Samantha saw Gwaynn, the young man who’d killed the Executioner and her heart jumped in her chest. He was glowering, obviously in a very bad mood. Sam wondered what could possibly be wrong with him, and then to her utter astonishment her Uncle Afton Sath cleared the hedges and came into view.
“Uncle!” she cried, causing Carmen to jump. Samantha dropped the bucket and ran forward, meeting the party at the very edge of the small bridge. Gwaynn was staring in shock at her, his glower completely gone.
“Samantha?” Sath asked, completely surprised. He jumped from his horse in the middle of the bridge and landed with a loud thump and then they moved into each other’s arms. Gwaynn could see the mingled look of happiness and worry on his old master’s face and wondered at it briefly.
‘Samantha. Her name is Samantha,’ he thought as he watched the reunion and was amazed at just how small her arms and shoulders were. He stood for a moment more before turning and leading Eve to the barn.
“I’ll see to your horse,” Carmen said, reaching for the reins.
Gwaynn dismounted and handed the leads to the older woman. The other men in the group also dismounted and one by one led their horses across the bridge. The girl, Samantha, turned away from Sath and surprisingly moved to face Gwaynn. She stepped lightly forward and fell to her knees. She grabbed a hold of his right hand and held it to her lips for several moments, the soft touch of her mouth caused Gwaynn’s hair to rise on his arm and goose bumps to appear to his elbow.
“M’lord, forgive me,” Samantha whispered, her mouth still so close to the skin of his hand that Gwaynn could feel her breath. “I thank you for saving my life,” she added.
Embarrassed, Gwaynn looked from the girl to Master Sath and back.
“Nothing to forgive,” he finally said and tried to pull his hand free. She clutched it so tightly that he actually pulled her to a standing position before he finally was able to free it from her grip.
Gwaynn looked back at his old Master, who was now frowning.
“Samantha?” Sath asked quietly.
“Dead,” she answered before he could ask; her voice cold and unfeeling. “All dead. My father, Arabelle, little Beth, even Wellman…all dead.”
Shocked, Sath remained silent for a time. His men, who were leading their mounts to the barn, all stopped, knowing their leader was in pain.
“How?” he asked finally.
“An Executioner came…looking for you. He killed them and chased me here. He killed your men at Lynndon too,” she said, her voice revealing no accusation, but also giving no comfort.
Sath hung his head. Gwaynn had never seen his old Master look so frail, so weak and he could almost forgive him for not gathering an army about him. The girl, who a moment before looked beautiful, now just looked hard and without mercy but he could not blame her completely, he too had lost his family to the Executioner. It had changed him as well…perhaps not for the better.
“Come,” Carmen finally said as she came back out of the barn, breaking the spell of grief. “Let’s all go inside. Rue should be back any time with the others. I’ve got stew simmering, enough for all.” She led the way back to the house. Sath, Samantha and Gwaynn followed with most of the other men. A few would stay and see to the horses, then to stand the first watch of the evening.
ǂ
“He was here, in Solarii seven days ago,” Ja Brude said as King Arsinol pulled a large chunk of meat from the ham bone he was working on.
“Here?” Arsinol mumbled his words barely understandable because of a mouthful of food.
Ja nodded, trying not to look away. “He came in the middle of the night on an old swayback and left early the next morning…took his dogs with him.”
Arsinol continued to eat. He ate when he was nervous or agitated, and at the present moment he was very agitated. Earlier the High King summoned him to yet another meeting, this one three days hence and Arsinol was worried it meant Caiman was preparing to invade the Toranado, or more to the point, have the Deutzani invade the Toranado. Arsinol shook his head at the thought and took another large bite of bread before following it up with several gulps of wine.
“We need to find him…quickly,” the King said which Ja Brude immediately translated as “You will have to find him…quickly.”
“I’ve already sent out riders,” he said, looking just over the King’s head. “I’ve also notified the Speaker Winton to contact Light and inform them that we will need their services.”
The King grunted as he continued to eat.
Ja remained silent for several minutes, cringing at the sound of his King chewing. For some unknown reason he’d begun to find such noises disturbing and even more so when they were coming from Arsinol. ‘The King is growing fat,’ he thought to himself. That fact also annoyed him, as if it were a sign of weakness. In the twenty-five odd years Ja had served his lord, Arsinol had always been strong, aggressive and confident. But lately he’d begun to second-guess himself; his decision making was slow, and like his mind, his body was also slowing down. Ja looked away as Arsinol took anothe
r bite of bread coated in butter and then he wiped his hands on the front of his leather jerkin.
“There are rumors that the Massi Prince has returned home,” Ja finally said after gathering his courage.
Arsinol immediately stopped eating. His right hand, which still held the buttered bread, was suddenly frozen before him, but the King was no longer aware of food. His eyes fixed on his chief advisor and friend.
“Rumors!” the King bellowed. He threw down the hunk of bread and quickly stood up despite his bulk. “I don’t need rumors! I need to know!”
Ja nodded. “Yes Sire,” he said.
“Is it not your position to see that the King is well informed in all matters pertaining to his kingdom?”
Ja nodded again. “Yes Sire.”
Arsinol pointed his knife at Ja. “You find out if the brat is in Massi. I want to know…I want to know before I leave to see the High King.”
“Yes Sire,” Ja answered, wondering how he would accomplish such a feat in three days. “Should we not move the army under Arden to Manse?” He asked keeping his eyes glued on his King and more importantly on the knife in his hand.
Arsinol frowned.
“No...no, we must keep Arden’s army just where it is. “I’ll not abandon Solarii for rumors.”
‘And what of the Massi threat you old fool,’ Ja Brude’s mind screamed; though he was very careful to keep his face passive. The people of Massi were a very direct threat. The past two years of relative peace and stability were not a true measure of the danger. They tolerated Deutzani rule for the most part because they believed their own royal family line had ended. Afton Sath could cause problems no doubt, but if the Massi Prince was indeed back on home soil, Ja was sure the people of this land would not remain so docile.
Assassin of the Heart: Book Two: The Temple Islands Series Page 3
