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

by Richard Parker

  ǂ

  “Weldon is moving his armies south,” General Pachout announced in a worried voice. “If they’ve struck a deal with the Deutzani we’ll be hard pressed to hold them off; the navy will offer little protection if our enemies are able to reach us over land.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Queen Ramona Toranado asked. She was a middle-aged woman who was thrust into rule by the untimely death of her husband and King, three years prior. She was an improbable ruler, having grown up in the backwoods of Cassinni, a daughter of a minor nobleman of a minor Family. She’d met Prince George Toranado at a celebration dinner on Noble during one of the past Competitions. Of course she’d been beautiful then and the young Prince was instantly smitten, and though she still liked to think of herself as a handsome woman, she knew that her greatest charms now had little to do with her looks. The days of beauty were past for her, as were the days with her husband.

  Pachout was silent for a moment, knowing that their next decision was fraught with danger. The Toranado lands were vast and though they could field an army larger than most, a two front war would tax them severely.

  “Move the bulk of the army north,” Admiral Cantu interjected confidently. He was a large, fat man with closely cropped hair and a full bushy beard, which was once completely red but was now tinted with silver. “I’ll keep the Navy close to Eno to protect the Capital. Leave enough troops to hold the Gap in the Scar Mountains. The Deutzani will be overstretched trying to hold Massi, especially if the rumors of the young Prince’s return are true.”

  Ramona looked at the Commander of her navies and her best friend. “You think he may live?”

  Cantu shrugged. “The rumors are growing louder and there may be something to them, but it’s doubtful that he’ll be able to do anything to help our situation anytime soon.”

  “He could keep the Deutzani busy,” Pachout retorted. He was a tall, broad shouldered man just in his prime, and many thought he was the most handsome man in all of Toranado, a sentiment Pachout heartily endorsed. It was an opinion the General was happy to repeat to any that would listen. Despite his vanity however, he was an excellent commander, who was loved and respected by his men. He drove them hard but they were fine-tuned and proud of it. “But I think you are right Thomas, we should move three full divisions north to Sotto. The Balle River will not hold a determined army long.”

  “Three full divisions?” the Queen asked with worry. She did not fancy herself a military leader, but she knew that this constituted the bulk of her armies.

  Pachout nodded. “That will leave a full brigade to support Eno and another to guard the Gap, plus you will have the full protection of the navy and Cantu’s marines…another full brigade.”

  “You think a brigade can hold the Gap?” asked the Queen.

  Pachout shook his head. “No, but five thousand men should be able to hold an army up for many weeks, long enough to send reinforcements south if needed. If we leave the north weak, the Palmerrio could ravage the northern plains in a matter of days.”

  “I agree, my Queen,” Admiral Cantu said softly and Ramona looked from one commander to the other. She took a deep breath and nodded.

  “But what of the rumors of the Temple Knights assisting the Deutzani?” Ramona asked with trepidation. “What if they join the fight against us?”

  “Then we are lost,” Cantu said simply. “But they’ll have to get through me and my ships your highness.”

  ǂ

  They waited for four days on Helles Island for Jess na Gall to recuperate her strength, and during that time Weapons Master Afton Sath was able to spar with his former charge for the first time. Gwaynn took it easy on him, for Sath was a very old man but he tried to use enough subtle, intricate moves, full of tiny nuances so that his former master would now understand the depth of his skill. And he sparred with Krys, his current Weapons Master, to show off his strength, speed and stamina.

  Sath was completely taken with the heavy katas, which the two younger men used. It was such an obvious step he wondered how he had not thought of the technique himself. Gwaynn knew his old teacher was impressed but his demonstrations only went so far, of his ability to manipulate time, Gwaynn said nothing. The three worked out on the beach each morning after Gwaynn and Krys finished their run. Samantha and Olney insisted on sitting nearby to watch the sparring. At first this annoyed Gwaynn, but they both showed a surprising desire to learn. Later, when he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all they’d both lost loved ones just as he had, and nothing motivated a person like having a loved one taken brutally away.

  “I’d like to try,” Samantha said from where she sat in the sand, watching Gwaynn and Krys run through their forms.

  Gwaynn frowned; not sure he had the time to waste on such antics. “Keep to your bow,” he answered, “it suits your strength.”

  “A bow is not always good enough,” she answered standing up and brushing off the seat of her pants. Gwaynn watched her, fascinated by her movements.

  “I’d like to try also,” Olney piped up, also standing.

  Gwaynn glanced at Krys, who was smiling slightly. “I remember, not long ago you wanting to train, while others thought it a complete waste of time.”

  Gwaynn shot his friend a look. It was true. But even before coming to Noble, he’d trained to fight with katas his entire life under Master Sath, although he did so grudgingly at the time. He had latent ability and skill. He was relatively sure Samantha had never held a kata in her life.

  “You’re going to need to train a lot of men,” Sath reminded him, “if you want to succeed in driving the Deutzani from our lands. You can’t fight and win a war alone.”

  Gwaynn conceded the point, hoping that perhaps this rudimentary training would save their lives someday, however unlikely. But he left their training to Sath, who had far more patience and experience.

  “Let’s begin with the light katas,” Sath said to the eager beginners and then he spent the afternoon teaching them the fundamentals. While neither Sam nor Olney was going to defeat anyone with even the slightest experience anytime soon, Samantha showed surprising aptitude for sparring. Olney was taller, with a longer reach, but Samantha was more aggressive and creative almost to a fault. She would try new things as they struck her; some of them were quite intuitive, while others only gained her knots on her head. After several days of practice Sath felt the two youngsters had finally managed to get most of the basics down, so he let them spar on their own. For the most part however, Gwaynn ignored them and instead focused on his far more proficient student.

  He worked with Krys for hours every day and was surprised and gratified that Krys’ arm and wrist strength was growing rapidly. His blows were coming harder and faster now that he was getting use to the extra weight. On the afternoon of their fourth day on Helles the two were sparring down close to the water’s edge where the sand was flat and wet. They’d been at it for over an hour and though Krys only scored a single point on Gwaynn, he was determined get another before the day was out. After Gwaynn scored yet another touch, Krys backed away to reset. He now completely accepting the idea that his Prince was fighting on a level that was beyond his own, and was resigned to the fact that it might always be so. Krys truly felt that Gwaynn was on a par with the Tars, and perhaps even better than most of them.

  Gwaynn’s time with Tar Nev was well spent. Still Krys did have seven years of experience on Noble and that counted for something. Krys crouched, feigning fatigue but then made a quick move, attacking low, rushing in as quickly as he could. He was trying to get close, trying to get inside Gwaynn’s defensives; perhaps inside he could use his greater size against his smaller friend. Gwaynn leaped over the initial attack, but instead of backpedaling as Krys expected, he rushed forward striking Krys with a shoulder just below the rib cage. Gwaynn’s lower center of gravity, plus the speed of the impact, threw Krys up and back. He lost his footing and his breath, and landed hard in the sand.

 
He smiled up at Gwaynn and groaned, then looked over as applause erupted from up the bank.

  Jess na Gall was standing on the top of a small dune, watching. Her feet were bare and she was wearing white cotton slacks and a sky blue blouse. Her hair was free and blowing softly in the breeze coming off the sea. She was looking at Gwaynn with undisguised wonder, though her praise was for both of them.

  “Wonderful,” the Traveler said a little breathlessly. “Wonderful,” she repeated and moved gracefully down the hill toward them. Before she was within twenty feet, Samantha suddenly appeared at Gwaynn’s side. She was working with Olney only a short distance away. Her hair was pulled back for sparring and she was bent over, panting slightly. Gwaynn glanced down at her and saw that the soft downy hairs at the nape of her neck were slick with sweat, and hidden among them were tiny, almost elegant, beads of perspiration clinging to the tips of the softest hairs. They sparkled in the afternoon sun, like jewels.

  “You look…great!” Krys said to the Traveler and na Gall smiled brightly at him. Samantha immediately grew self-conscious of her own appearance, feeling like a hulking, sweating farm hand next to the elegant woman moving toward them. But through her jealously she had to agree with Krys. The Traveler had a healthy glow about her and it was obvious that her strength had returned.

  “You’ve been very well trained,” she answered, looking at Krys. His cheeks turned a dark shade of red and the older woman smiled at him again. She then turned to Gwaynn, keeping her eyes on him for a long moment in appraisal; wondering about him and what he was hiding.

  “Zebo contacted me,” she told him without preamble. “The Deutzani are still pursuing your men, but they’ve joined up with a large party of Massi soldiers somewhere south of Koshka. Zebo says that Captain Marcum is now maneuvering his group to attack.”

  “Attack?” Gwaynn questioned, brows furrowed in concentration. “Why would he attack?”

  Jess had no answer, but before Gwaynn could question her further, Dana Knote topped the dune and walked down the path toward them. Sath and Olney moved over to join the group and when Gwaynn informed Sath of Marcum’s intention the old Weapon’s Master looked grim.

  “I’d hoped for more time before we engaged in a major confrontation,” Sath said and then he turned back to Jess. “Did Zebo say why the Captain decided to go on the offensive?”

  Jess shrugged and shook her head. “No, he just said that they could no longer out run the Deutzani because of the size of their force.”

  “The size?” Both Gwaynn and Sath asked in unison.

  Jess nodded. “Zebo says there were nearly seven hundred men waiting for them.”

  Sath let out a laugh and clapped Gwaynn on the back. “Seven hundred! Word of your return must be getting out fast. Just a month ago there were barely three hundred men at Colchester.”

  “I think all of Massi is ready,” Samantha said, beaming up at Gwaynn. “We’ve had enough.”

  Gwaynn nodded and smiled. “Can you get us back there?” He asked Jess, whose smile faded. She shook her head.

  “No…perhaps tomorrow afternoon, but most likely the day after,” she answered apologetically.

  Frustration was plain on Gwaynn’s face, and Sath was afraid he would become angry and inflame the situation. “Can you get word to them?” he asked, attempting to give the young Prince time to get his emotions under control.

  “I can,” Jess acknowledged right away, “but it might delay my ability to travel for another half a day.”

  “Half a day?” Krys asked and blushed again as Jess looked his way.

  “Yes, Speaking, though not as taxing as Traveling, does require a good deal of energy to make the connection, especially from this distance,” she explained.

  “Maybe it would be worth it,” Sath pointed out.

  Almost immediately Gwaynn shook his head. “No, I need her to be strong. We’ll be doing some additional Traveling soon.”

  Both Sath and Jess wondered at the statement. Again the Traveler studied the young man for a long time, and all the while Samantha kept a close eye on her, seething. Her mind was in turmoil as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t want Gwaynn, and she even felt that it was true, there was something about him that made her uneasy at times. But for some reason she didn’t want anyone else to have him either, and the tall, beautiful Traveler was paying far too much attention to him for her tastes. That Gwaynn was half her age didn’t seem to matter to na Gall, at least in Samantha’s estimation.

  “How are the Hawsers?” she asked Dana, trying to change the subject.

  Dana smiled. “Rue is a horse. Nasty wound, but it’s healing right up,” she answered speaking to them all but looking directly at Olney, who couldn’t help but be encouraged.

  “Carmen,” she continued and her smile faltered. “Developed an infection…I think I have it under control but I won’t know for sure for several more days.”

  “An infection?” Olney asked worriedly.

  Dana nodded and patted the boy on the shoulder. “Your mother is a strong woman and there is an excellent chance she’ll survive…I’m just not sure I will be able to save the leg.”

  She couldn’t and it had to come off the following morning.

  ǂ

  “He was the best,” Tarina Cyn de Baard said as the trireme made its way slowly toward the coast of Massi. “And you say he had several chances to kill the boy?” she asked, her voice soft and light as a purr.

  King Arsinol nodded, his eyes never leaving her. She smiled inwardly at his obvious weakness. Beside him sat his advisor Ja Brude, a handsome man, but cautious. He eyed her as a rabbit eyes a fox, without so much as a twitch, and though he masked his fear, like an animal, she could sense it. She could almost smell it on him, the terror, but coupled with his fear was desire. She could see it in his face, by the set of his shoulders and by the bulge in his loins. de Baard smiled at him sweetly. Fear and wantonness followed her hand in hand, like a pair of brats trailing their mother.

  “He had two chances that we know of,” Ja answered struggling to keep the quiver out of his voice. The three of them were below deck in the King’s cabin; the cabin Arsinol had graciously given to the Executioner, for her privacy and their safety. She unnerved them both like Tar Navarra never did.

  de Baard’s eyes shifted from the King to his advisor. Ja stared back intently, nearly losing himself. Such beauty, such clarity; her eyes seemed to hold the promise of all his desires. He gave his head a little shake to clear his thoughts and continued. “Once in Solarii, and again on Noble.”

  “On Noble?” she asked, and her voice rose in volume despite her attempts to control it.

  The two men nodded like trained monkeys. “He went after the boy, killed a Tar by his story and fought the boy but failed to kill him,” Arsinol answered quickly, wanted the woman’s eyes and mind to focus on him once more. “Lawrence was there. He was one of the rowers on the skiff. Saw most of the fight he did.”

  de Baard laughed, a soft tinkling sound to the men’s ears, musical, like the supple ring of fine crystal. She stood and moved about the room leisurely, forcing them to turn their heads this way and that to follow her.

  ‘It’s like she’s on the prowl,’ Ja Brude thought, but his eyes followed her worshipfully, like a zealot on a prophet. Her long legs were hypnotic, mesmerizing him with their constant, rhythmic movements. ‘Or perhaps like a shark, she must move or die.’

  “Lawrence? He is here?” She asked, the purr back in her voice. She moved close to Ja and he caught a faint whiff of cherry blossoms. He wondered what her victims thought as they died; the smell of cherry blossoms in the air.

  “Yes, he is here,” Arsinol replied and Ja heard him inhale as she moved around behind them. It took all of Brude’s control not to turn and follow her still, but she soon appeared on the other side of the King and continued on in her loop around the room. The two men helplessly gazed at her backside as it slowly undulated from side to side.

  “I wo
uld like to speak with him,” she said finally and with an easy grace lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

  Arsinol clapped his hands and a steward instantly appeared at the door. Moments later Lawrence entered. He was a thin, elderly man with three days worth of stubble on his wrinkled cheeks and a shock of white hair on his head. He bowed low and humble to his King, nodded to Ja Brude and eyed the Tarina with undisguised suspicion. Her brow creased for just a moment as she motioned for him to sit in the chair she so rarely used. He lowered himself into the seat, not looking at her which almost caused her to frown.

  “You were with Navarra at Noble?” she asked in what she thought of as her softest, most seductive voice. She was confident that even the old could not resist her charms.

  “Yaw, I was there,” the man said in a loud, grating voice. But he offered nothing more and just sat stupidly looking at his King.

  de Baard sighed and began her slow, slinking movements around the room once more, and again two sets of eyes followed her like prisoners heading to the gallows, but Lawrence kept his eyes on his hands, which were folded in his lap. de Baard took a deep breath of consternation.

  “There was a fight between Navarra and the Massi Prince?” She asked her voice still soft as a breeze in spring. She passed by and Ja Brude caught another whiff of cherry blossoms, despite himself he found he was breathing in more deeply than needed.

  “Yaw ma’am,” Lawrence answered his voice again much too loud for the room. “It t’were a good’n it were…long an’ swift at’n the same time. The Prince was a fast one, kept pushing N’varra back and back. Never did gi’him time to breathe. Pushed and pushed, but N’varra, he was a wily cuss, got the better of the boy near the end, but’n the boy got away, then the others come and N’varra thought it best to be a’leavin.”