Cyndar allowed herself to be moved away, but then she pressed easily forward and placed a hard kiss directly on his mouth. The kiss held far longer than he wanted it to, but Gwaynn finally managed to push Cyndar’s mouth from his. His breath was coming in little gasps and his eyes helplessly went to her moistened lips and then quickly up to her eyes, which were bare inches from his.
“Cyndar,” he whispered, holding her in place as she tried to move forward to kiss him once more. “I know in many of the thousands of worlds which surround us we are together…many of them,” he said and shuddered once again with desire. But then his resolve strengthened once more, “but in this one…it is not to be.”
Gwaynn stared into her eyes the entire time he spoke, but it was still a long moment before the meaning of his words dawned on the woman so close to him. Anger flitted quickly through her eyes, but then disappeared as she tried to push forward once more, tried to bring her mouth to his. Gwaynn held her still and closed his eyes, trying to bring up Samantha’s face in his mind as once again, his strength was beginning to falter, and her face would not come to him. His hands and arms, however, remained stiff and kept Cyndar’s mouth from his.
Anger flickered across her face once more and she quickly stood. A wave of dismay coursed through Gwaynn as the heat of her body left him and he almost changed his mind.
“Cyndar,” he whispered again desperately. “It cannot be.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed and her right hand flew to her waist, where her kali would hang, but it found only bare skin. Gwaynn recognized the movement and a slight smile touched his face. “Don’t,” he said and was now positive that somewhere within the vast infinity of the multi-worlds they were lovers…ardent lovers. His eyes went from her face to her swaying breasts as she stepped back away from him.
“Together,” he said to her, “We are together…together in many of the ten thousand worlds,” he continued, as if the very thought of it would console her.
“But not in this one,” she spat back in a whisper.
Gwaynn shook his head.
“Not in this one,” he repeated.
For a moment Cyndar contemplated trying to kill him with her bare hands, but knew his strength was far greater than her own and in the end cast the thought aside like so much waste. She backed farther away from him, still graceful, and stooped to retrieve her cape. Suddenly cold, she wrapped herself up tightly, and Gwaynn’s heart slumped from the lost sight of her beauty. She turned quickly and stepping lightly on the balls of her feet, glided back to the flap of the tent. As she stepped outside she spun around, now only her head inside the tent.
“Not in this one…yet, Gwaynn Massi,” she whispered. “I don’t give up quite so easily,” she added, her eyes locking onto his, her determination obvious and then she pulled her head out and was gone. Gwaynn remained where he was for nearly a quarter of an hour before finally rising to his feet on very shaky legs. He walked slowly, carefully out of the tent, grateful for the cool, rain-saturated air of the night. A strong wind whipped at his hair and face causing his eyes to water slightly, but it felt delightfully clean and helped to wash all desire from his body and mind.
When he entered his own tent, Samantha was already sleeping. He could hear her soft, regular breathing in the darkness, and after his eyes adjusted he could see the outline of her body against the thin blanket covering her. After a few minutes more he could make out her hair and face, peaceful and innocent in sleep. He stood over her a while, watching her as she slept, knowing to his depths that he’d made the right decision. Cyndar was indeed beautiful and desirable, but his heart already belonged to another. He removed his clothes as quickly as he could and slipped carefully under the covers next to Samantha, as mindful of her injuries as his own. She was delightfully nude, and wiggled closer to his own naked body.
“You’re cold,” she mumbled softly, but pressed against him in any case.
“You’re warm,” he whispered back. She turned on her good side, facing him as he lay on his good side to face her. She kissed him gently and he closed his eyes and kissed her back and was surprised that he did not have to fight off images of Cyndar Huntley. They kissed and explored until at last, side by side, they made awkward but tender love for the first time since the battle of Eno.
ǂ
Cyndar stalked away from the tent, oblivious to the grime that now splashed onto her bare ankles. She was completely surprised and unhinged by Gwaynn’s rejection. In her mind, rejection was simply not possible, especially after flaunting her body so openly, so brazenly. The shock of rejection soon turned to anger, and then to hate, but not hate for Gwaynn because she knew, deep inside, he wanted her. She could tell by the look in his eyes and the feel of his hard young body as it responded to her own. Oh, he’d wanted her all right and she knew it had taken all his considerable self-discipline to cast her out.
Cyndar knew what and who was truly behind the rejection. And before she admitted defeat, she would kill the one who stood in her way.
With the red headed whore dead, Gwaynn could not possibly resist, could not possibly reject her again. She would be there to comfort him in his sorrow, to love him completely in all his glory, and then they would fight together and rid the land of his enemies. The sluts death would have to be done correctly she knew. The Prince must never suspect that she’d killed the bitch Samantha, but there was a battle coming…a large battle and when chaos loomed all around, anything could happen…anything.
The place between her legs hummed with unsatisfied want, and she could not be sure if the thought of loving Gwaynn or fighting with him caused the humming to intensify.
The camp was very quiet and the night sky had finally cleared. Above her the stars twinkled brightly, massive amounts of stars, an uncountable number, but Cyndar paid no attention, nor did she notice the lone sentry as she moved across the bridge to the Manse side of the Scar. The sentry watched her however, his eyes glued to her form as she moved surely across the slick surface of the wooden pathway.
On the far side, Cyndar thoughtlessly turned to the right and headed for the mill. She did not look up until the building was upon her. Lights shown from inside the mill as they always did these nights, but Cyndar did not care. It was doubtful she would be sleeping and the thought irked her.
But as she entered the mill the towering figure of Lee Brandt appeared near the stairs and Cyndar smiled. She walked directly to him.
“Come with me,” she ordered, throwing off her hood. Her hair, though in slight disarray, still hung loose and lovely, falling about her shoulders. She sauntered slowly past and he followed her without question, smiling at the back of her as she gracefully went up the stairs.
Once inside her room she dropped the cape and his mouth popped open in surprise. He had little time to say anything, however before she was in his arms. She pushed him steadily backwards until he dropped onto the bed. She quickly, forcefully, stripped his clothes from his body as his mind tried to grasp the good fortune that was now smiling down upon him. But, like many men, his mind went utter blank when she yanked off his pants, and he completely gave up trying when she threw one leg over and mounted him. From the very first, she rode him hard and fast and it ended quickly for both of them. Lee, overcome with joy, was panting so hard he thought he would never catch his breath.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he finally asked, between deep gulps of air.
“Not yet,” Cyndar replied without smiling. She rolled off of him and pulled the big man on top. “Now you ride me,” she commanded. “Do it hard.”
He did his best to oblige as she closed her eyes and fantasized about a much smaller, much younger man.
ǂ
The next morning Captain Tanner and a dozen horsemen rode into camp accompanied by the Speaker Zebo Sorbello. They’d met up with Zebo on his return from Lynndon while Tanner and his men scouted the Scar. Two cavalry soldiers were now riding in tandem because draped across another horse was the body of Afton Sath.<
br />
“We found him downstream, perhaps ten miles, washed up on the far shore,” Tanner explained. “We had to back track for miles to get down the Scar. We almost left him.”
Gwaynn stared at the dead gray face of his old mentor as he was laid out on a cot inside the medical tent. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said and gripped Tanner’s arm in a show of gratitude.
“He must have slipped and fallen into the river,” Prince Phillip said looking down at the battered, water logged body.
Gwaynn did not say anything, just continued to look down at his old friend. There were no obvious wounds, though it was hard to tell through all the scraps and abrasions caused by the trip down the river.
“I’m sending a dozen riders to watch the coast east of Cape,” Phillip said placing a hand on Gwaynn’s shoulder.
Gwaynn finally tore his eyes from Sath’s body. “Tell them to lead the marines to Claymont, and then onto Manse. They need to stay well east of the road from Cape.”
Phillip nodded, well aware of the plan. Claymont was a very small town only five miles northeast of Manse; the cavalry would be positioned there just before the battle. It was risky, dividing their forces, but if the Deutzani fell into the trap, the cavalry would close it with a snap.
“I’ll have some men prepare a pyre,” Krys said solemnly.
“Please have them take it out onto the Plateau, about a mile beyond the camp,” Gwaynn said. “I want to see him off alone.”
“I’ll have the men prepare the body,” Krys added with a nod. Gwaynn took one last look at Sath then moved out of the tent and into the warm morning air. It looked like rain once again as low gray clouds hung over the entire Plateau. The sun had gone into hiding now for more than a week.
Lonogan Bock rode up on his dapple mare but did not dismount. “I’ve checked the Scar all along its course, as long as we don’t get any more rain we should be able to hide the men along its banks, but the water cannot come up much more.”
Gwaynn nodded still finding it hard to wrap his mind around the idea that he now had nearly thirteen thousand Massi foot soldiers and archers under his command. It was mind numbing how quickly and steadily men and women were coming to join the cause. The mill was working night and day just make enough spears and pikes for the newcomers, for only about half came with any effective weapons. As large as their army was growing, however, they still expected to be outnumbered at least two to one.
Gwaynn would hide nearly four thousand troops along the “U” shaped banks of the Scar River. Another three thousand would be combined with the Toranado heavy infantry around the outskirts of Manse. Hopefully they would be joined by the seven thousand Toranado Marines and together make up the wall the Deutzani army would be crushed against. Another three thousand Massi, volunteers all, would man the flimsy breastwork currently being erected between the tips of the oxbow in which the city of Manse was nestled. The plan called for the breastwork to fail. The men guarding it would speedily retreat, tempting the Deutzani to follow, and if all went well, draw their entire army into the oxbow. Once inside the confines of the “U” shaped river, the troops hidden on the banks of the Scar would attack from all sides. Nearly three thousand archers would guard the flanks and the river crossings above the Scar, sealing up the nearby paths to the Plateau, but with all the rain the Scar River was high and any army would be hard pressed to ford it at the moment. But if the Deutzani were determined to cross and gain the Plateau, then they would pay dearly. Afton Sath was adamant that they not be flanked again, as they were in the first battle for Manse, that battle flirted a little too closely with disaster for anyone’s taste. If all went well and the Deutzani entered the oxbow, the cavalry would ride behind them and seal the trap. Gwaynn tried to keep his mind on the plan and off of his dead mentor.
He did not entirely succeed.
Several hours later, Gwaynn mounted Eve and rode out onto the Plateau. He found the pyre easily since it was the tallest structure for miles. Sath was laid out on a wooden platform at the top of a ten-foot scaffold. He was dressed in dry clothes and atop a thick pile of blankets, though why Gwaynn could not image. Looking up at him, Gwaynn could see that his silvery hair was combed and blowing slightly in the wind. The soldiers who’d prepared him had left his leather belts and scabbards with his kali propped up at the base of the pyre. More than a dozen lit torches surrounded the entire funeral area. Gwaynn sat silently on his horse for a moment, not sure what to say or do, when suddenly the sound of hooves rose from behind. He turned around, annoyed at the interruption, but was happy to see Samantha riding towards him.
When she was closer, he saw that she was frowning.
“Gwaynn Massi! You would do this without me?” She scolded him, and it took him a moment to realize the source of her anger. Sath was her uncle! He’d completely forgotten that fact. He bowed his head.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I forgot he was your uncle.”
Samantha’s anger passed slowly and when it did she started to cry. “My father has some family…an aunt I think, living in Solarii, but he was the last on my mother’s side. The last of any family I knew.”
Gwaynn dismounted gingerly, then limped over to her and patted her good leg. She swung over and he helped her gently to the ground.
They hobbled over to the pyre together.
Gwaynn put an arm around her. “Aside from me, he was the last person to truly know Gwynn. There may be those who still would know my Mother and Father, and perhaps my brothers, but he knew Gwynn…and he knew me. Now all that is left of her is what is in here,” he said tapping his head.
“Did you know he thought I was funny? At least when I was younger,” Samantha suddenly said. “I could make him laugh. Now that I think of it, Beth made him laugh…maybe it was me and maybe he just found silly young girls amusing.”
Gwaynn shook his head. “He didn’t find me amusing. He would get so…frustrated with me. I just wouldn’t practice like he wished, or try as hard…I would let Gwynn win at everything….she cared so much about winning. I just cared for her.”
“He loved peach cobbler,” Samantha said.
Gwaynn nodded. “And he always smelled of leather and his pipe.”
Samantha smiled.
“I learned a great deal from him,” Gwaynn continued, his voice growing momentarily sad. “He taught me more than he knew of fighting. When I was on Noble, I was not outmatched by the students, or at least not for long. Sath was the reason for that. He drilled the basic forms into me so hard they took, even if I was a poor, apathetic student.”
“He was good with my aunt,” Samantha said after a moment. “He truly loved her. He came down to the hot springs with her all the time. He loved her until the very end.”
Gwaynn smiled again, nodding.
“I could only hope you will love me so long,” she added and Gwaynn looked at her.
“I will if you will,” he answered. She smiled and began to cry softly again. Gwaynn moved to the pyre and picked up his mentor’s kali and other personal belongings.
“You should have these,” he said and handed them to Samantha, who took them without comment. Then he limped to the nearest torch and pulled it from the ground. Samantha moved close, placed a hand on the staff of the torch and together they placed it into the base of the pyre.
It took several moments to fire up, but soon it blazed so hot that they were forced move back several paces.
They stood quietly, arm in arm, and watched as their old friend left this earth.
XV
Admiral Cantu landed his troops twenty miles northeast of Cape just three hours before Arsinol and his army reached the town’s limits. It was well that the Queen insisted the Admiral take the bulk of the navy. During their brief journey they crossed paths with no less than thirteen Deutzani heavy triremes patrolling the waters around Cape and they were accompanied by nearly twenty smaller war galleys. The Admiral was surprised by the size of the force, but it posed no real danger to the troop sh
ips. The Toranado force was over twice as large, but with thirty-one heavy triremes. The Toranado were the master sailors of the Inland Sea.
The naval battle that took place, if you could call it that, was quick and decisive. The Deutzani ships, that did not immediately flee to the northeast were engulfed and destroyed. Seven enemy ships in all were sent to the bottom, three of them heavy warships. Cantu only lost two light galleys and one trireme was heavily damaged; though it was still seaworthy. He was well aware that if he’d won the argument with his Queen only ten or so heavy warships would have escorted the troops, and their trip would have ended in disaster. He admired Ramona’s mind as well as her other attributes, some of which only a lover would know about.
The marines were not yet fully on land when a rider approached at a gallop from the southwest, creating a frenzy of activity that was unwarranted because the rider was Toranado.
“Sergeant Maxwell,” the man announced and quickly dismounted in front of the Admiral. He approached smiling broadly, very happy to see so many of his countrymen.
“It is good to see you Sir. Good to see all of you,” Maxwell said, looking about for Captain Dolan, who was now the high-ranking soldier in the Toranado army.
“General Dolan is there,” Cantu said, pointing farther south along the beach. “He is making haste. He has no wish to be caught on the beach by the Deutzani.”
Maxwell nodded. “We have a long, fast march ahead of us. The Prince wants us in Manse by morning three days hence.”
“Then you had better get a move on,” Cantu answered and not for the first time thanked the heavens he was no foot soldier. He rubbed his belly absently as he pondered the three day march.
Assassin of the Heart: Book Two: The Temple Islands Series Page 32
