“Luck was with us,” Rebecca added with obvious gratitude.
“Executioners,” Gwaynn said, his voice raised, and eyes suddenly going cold. All talk stopped once again in the tavern, and Jake swallowed hard. The man in front of him never claimed to be a Weapons Master, but if Krys was taking his orders he must be someone deadly.
Rebecca nodded and bravely moved closer, then whispered. “They came through last Monday. They were heading toward Manse. Nasty men, killers all.”
“Anyone named Navarra with them?” Gwaynn asked, his manner still ice.
Rebecca shrugged, growing a bit wary once more. “They didn’t give names, didn’t even stop to water their horses…I’m sorry young master,” she added, and Gwaynn seeing her fear for the first time, eased back his intensity.
“I thank you,” he said standing, and picking up his bag. “Looks like we have another reason to go stop at Manse,” he added to Krys who also stood. “We’ll say goodnight. Tell the boy to have our horses ready at sunrise.”
Rebecca bowed her head in acknowledgement.
Jake and the others watched as the two walked up to the second floor. Relief poured through everyone at the tavern. Jake stood, his joints rubbery, and moved back to his table of friends.
“Way to pick on someone who hunts Executioners Jake,” whispered the fat man at the far table. Everyone turned a looked at Jake for a moment, but then suddenly they were all laughing with relief.
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Tar Navarra was across the bridge and up the Scar just as the sun rose ever faithful, over the eastern horizon. A cool wind whipped along the water, fluttering his cape as he rode, and the sky was decorated with a multitude of red, orange, and purple tinted clouds, but the Executioner did not notice. All his attention was on the tracks that led to the very top of the Scar. It was an easy trail to follow; the girl’s horse had a slightly raised nail on the left front shoe. It made a deeper indentation than any of the others, a perfect telltale sign of her passing. Luckily the rain had again been light the previous night and had not washed away all of the tracks. The Fultan girl rode past this way. Once on the very top of the Scar, Navarra looked about. He spotted a boy hiding among the wagon parts and high grass. Furia spotted the boy also and went rigid, growling deep and low until Navarra softly whistled, then the dog trotted to catch up. Navarra ignored the boy and moved on to the group of buildings up ahead. He stopped in front of the largest building, which claimed to be “Bert’s Feed and Grain.” No one emerged to meet him so he dismounted, not bother to tie off Chaos, for he was well trained. He climbed the stairs to the porch and was almost in the door.
“What can I do ya for?” a woman’s voice sounded from the corner of the building. Immediately Vesania and Furia were growling, hunching low; they began to slowly approach the old woman. Navarra spoke softly and they stopped walking, but continued to growl and watch her menacingly. Bert paused for only a split second then continued on, struggling with a sack of feed. She carried it up the steps and placed it next to the door, then stood and looked Navarra directly in the eye. There was no sign of fear in her despite his Executioner robes, which annoyed him.
“I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he said softly, and moved slightly closer to the old woman, wanting her to react to his presence by taking a step back. She didn’t move.
“A girl,” the old woman answered loudly. “I don’t sell girls here.” She grunted then tried to move by him and enter the store. Navarra stopped her easily by reaching out and grabbing a hold of her right arm. He squeezed hard and she gave a satisfying wince.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, scolding.
“Yes,” Navarra answered and for a moment squeezed harder. “I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he repeated even softer.
“A girl?” the old woman asked, fear suddenly in her eyes.
“Ye…” Navarra began but was surprised when suddenly there was a knife in the old woman’s left hand. She made the mistake of raising it high to drive it into his throat, if she had gone for his groin she might have succeeded. Navarra blocked the blow at the last moment then gripped her left wrist and twisted hard until the tendons and bones popped loudly in the still morning air. The knife fell on the hardwood of the porch and bounced away. The woman screamed, but it was cut off as he struck her in the throat with the edge of his hand. It was a killing blow, crushing her larynx. It was a blow he had not intended to make, but his surprise was so great from her near success that he lashed out instinctively. He released her, and she staggered away a few steps, face already contorted and turning blue. She pulled at her throat with her right hand, her left dangling uselessly at her side. The dogs were up and eager, staring at him for permission to continue with the killing, but he gave them an angry look that caused them to fall back, clearly disappointed. Navarra watched the woman as she stared back at him, her eyes wide, death fixed in her sight but then he turned away from her and entered the store, looking for anyone else who might confirm the girl’s passing. He soon came back out onto the porch. The woman was dead; a slight blue tint could be seen around her lips. He only gave her a cursory glance, then moved off the porch and looked in the direction where the boy had been earlier. There was no one in sight, and he briefly toyed with the idea of sending the dogs after him, but in the end he just mounted up and continued on, slowly following the tracks left by the Fultan horse.
The tracks continued on for maybe a mile before they suddenly moved off of the road and into the grass leading toward the tangle of undergrowth. At first he couldn’t figure out exactly where the tracks went. They seemed to end at an impossible tangle of brambles. He began to ride to the south, but the dogs did not follow and began barking behind him. They were standing around the bushes and sniffing about the ground. Navarra rode back, dropped from his horse and began to study the surrounding bushes. It did not take him long to discover the false briar, and though thorns stuck him repeatedly, he moved them out of the way as quickly as he could, smiling. He had her now; she would have no easy way out of this area. The dogs paced back and forth excitedly as he removed the barrier. His hands were bleeding here and there, but otherwise he was uninjured as he climbed back up on Chaos. Vesania and Furia moved to his side, both looking up at him, their furry faces full of eagerness.
“Soon,” he said softly, catching a bit of their enthusiasm, “soon.”
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Samantha was up early the next morning and ate another breakfast with Wake, Martin and Scot. Otter was just leaving for his watch at the Scar, as she emerged from her tent, though he turned and waved to her through the stunted trees. Sam waved back and even graced him with a small sad smile. The wind was strong this morning and the sky overhead was a maze of fast moving clouds, with ever growing patches of blue appearing between. The ground was wet and slick from the previous night’s rain, but it had been light and Samantha was sure the dampness would burn off before the morning was done.
“When do you think the others will return, so I can move farther west?” She asked Martin, who sat on the log next to her sipping coffee. Wake and Scot sat on the other log on the far side of the fire, which crackled and popped in the early morning breeze.
Martin shrugged. “They are not due back before the end of the week, but most times there’s no set schedule. They leave when they have to and return when they can. We just wait for them, and watch the road.”
Samantha nodded, fighting the nagging feeling to get up and leave on her own. They all sat in silence for a time, Sam only vaguely aware of the furtive looks she was getting from Scot.
“I’ll be heading down today,” Wake suddenly said in the silence, and Samantha looked up surprised.
“Leaving,” she repeated, alarmed at her sudden, growing sense of doom.
Wake caught her eye only briefly, then looked back down at the fire and took a sip of his own coffee. “Need to be back. The Deutzani will grow suspicious if I’m gone too long. Can’t have them nosing about up here.”<
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Samantha just stared at him for a long time, and when he finally looked up he could see how she’d deflated.
“Perhaps I’ll come up for a visit at the end of the week,” he said almost shyly, “if you’re not gone by then.”
Samantha nodded, wondering how the large man had gained her confidence so quickly. “Wake….” She said but fell silent, and for a moment the others just waited for her to continue, but then Martin leaped to his feet, obviously alarmed. Wake turned and there, leisurely walking toward their camp was an Executioner and a dog. Wake quickly looked about then reached over and retrieved the axe he’d used the previous day. By the time he turned back both Scot and Martin had their knives out and ready. Samantha was still sitting on the log, staring in shock as the man in black approached ever closer.
“Run Mona!” Wake yelled, calling her by his dead wife’s name in his excitement. Sam did not react until Wake moved forward toward the Executioner. He held his axe high, ready for a fight. Sam suddenly came alive and bolted off the log and toward the tent that held her belongings.
Navarra saw her plainly, his heart suddenly beating faster. Perhaps one more time before she died…he thought, then turned his attention to the large man approaching with an axe. Navarra whistled softly and then motioned for Vesania to move off into the brush to the left. He did not want either dog facing this man. They would lose, he was sure. Furia was already somewhere to the right circling around behind the camp.
“You needn’t die,” Navarra said softly to the man who was now almost directly in front of him. “Just give me the girl. She is all I want.”
“My ass,” the man answered back, and though the axe he wielded was a large one, his massive arms and shoulders held it like a toy.
Navarra frowned at the crude language, but could not argue with the sentiments. Despite what he promised, everyone here would die, and he pulled his kali from his belt.
Behind the man before him, Navarra caught sight of Samantha once more, emerging from a tent, a bow in hand. She held it with her left and gathered her skirts about her in her right, and prepared to run.
“Samantha!” Navarra said loudly, and she actually paused and glanced his way. Their eyes caught for a moment and the Executioner felt a tingle in his groin, but then the man with the axe attacked, and she turned to run away from them both. Navarra jumped back from the first vicious blow, and had to skip back two more times as the axe continued back and forth with a great deal of speed and skill. Navarra quickly turned his full attention to the man he was now fighting. He must be careful, a blow from the axe could easily snap a blade or send one of his kali flying off, not to mention slice off an arm…or his head. The man before him was no stranger to fighting, probably a soldier in the past, and from the way he carried himself, a good one.
“Only the girl,” he said again, watching the axe move, and waiting for an opening. The other two men in camp were now moving forward as if suddenly released from their earlier fear and hesitation. Navarra was thankful for his dogs, without them he would have had his hands full with the axe man and these other two fellows.
Navarra whistled and Vesania suddenly bolted from the underbrush to attack the younger of the two trailing men. The young man cried out as the large dog clamped down on his right forearm with powerful jaws. His knife fell to the forest floor. The older of the two quickly turned to go to his young friend’s aid, and when he did Furia hit him from behind. In moments the air was filled with cries, growls and desperate fighting. The noise momentarily distracted the axe man, and Navarra had his opening. He struck quickly, piercing the man’s left shoulder, and slicing his right thigh at almost the same moment. The man groaned, but instead of falling back as the Executioner expected he stepped in, and swung with all his might. Navarra arched backward and spun at the last moment. He felt the wind of the axe ripple past the side of his face and along with it, a slight knick on his right ear. He retreated, as did his opponent, who was pulled off balance from the force of the blow.
“I will kill you Executioner,” the man said in a deep, rough voice.
“Not likely,” Navarra answered softly back, and though he scored a hit, he knew he had been fortunate to avoid the blow moments before.
“You bleed,” the man commented and gestured to the side of Navarra’s head. “Just like any other man.”
Navarra took a moment to run the back of his hand by his right ear, and was surprised to see a good deal of blood come with it. He shrugged.
“So do you,” he answered, looking at the shoulder wound then the wound on the man’s thigh, which was deep and bleeding freely. The man grunted and with a fair amount of grace plunged into an attack once more.
Navarra backpedaled, waiting; though his anger at being kept from the girl was beginning to mount. Behind them, the sounds of growls, bites and cries permeated the camp. Soon that fight would be over, but for now he had to deal with the axe man on his own. Navarra knew as long as he kept his focus and forced the man before him to either defend or attack, he would eventually win this fight. His opponent, though strong, would in time run out of the strength needed to swing the heavy axe so nimbly and when that happened, he would die. Navarra could see these thoughts moving through the eyes of the man before him as blow after blow either missed or were deflected from their mark, and as he began to panic Navarra began to nick and cut him whenever an opening presented itself.
Finally, after much longer than the Executioner would have thought possible, the man’s strength was beginning to truly ebb, but still the man fought on with courage and skill. Navarra cared for none of that however, and began to hate the man for keeping him from the Fultan girl. He had to force himself to relax. She would not escape this time, for there was nowhere for her to go.
The sounds of battle behind them were completely gone, though it took a moment for the two combatants to become aware of it. Navarra, now on the attack, kept the man from looking about, then with only the slightest signals, Vesania and Furia began to growl and bark from directly behind the axe man. The sudden threat caused him to begin to turn, but he never completed it. In a blink, his heart was skewered by Navarra’s left kali. The man sagged immediately with only the briefest moment to realize he was dead.
Navarra paused a moment to look down at the dead man. He was a mighty opponent, skilled and strong. Navarra spit on the dead man’s face, then raised his boot and with all his strength brought in down, crushing his nose. Only then did he look up, and with a slight nod he signaled his dogs to continue the chase, and they tore after the fleeing girl.
Samantha ran in pure panic, not thinking of where she was going until she met Otter running toward the camp. She did not stop, did not say anything, and just ran past him until suddenly without knowing how or why, she was at the very edge of the Scar. She skidded to a stop, her toes just inches from the edge. She glanced down, then quickly behind her, then down once more, thinking she may be able to climb. The Scar
was high and steep, and as she looked over the edge at the swirling water a hundred feet below she realized that even if she had the time, climbing was not an option.
The sounds of attacking dogs could be heard in the distance, but it was the sound of hurried footsteps close behind that caused her to turn from her inspection of the cliffs. But it was only Otter racing back to her side.
“How many?” He asked; her obvious fear made the question of whom irrelevant.
“One,” she answered and pushed by him moving down the Scar looking for a possible way to descend. The sound of dogs increased. “And some dogs,” she added, panic and fear causing her hands to shake violently, and tears to come to her eyes.
“The Ex…Executioner,” she stammered, moving past him the other way. Otter turned to the camp, but was caught up in her panic as she moved back past him again searching the other way. Suddenly the sounds of the dogs ceased, but not with any telltale yelp signaling an animal’s injury or death. Samantha stopped and turned to stare at Otter. The old man s
tared back at a complete loss as to what to do.
“Ah…ah,” Samantha croaked, but the sound did not adequately verbalize her terror, but for the first time moved away from the Scar. She pulled her bow off her shoulder, moved farther into the dense brush. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, while dropping several others, which came out with the one in her hand. They fell forgotten to the forest floor, as she knelt and with shaky hands tried to notch an arrow. It took her three attempts to seat the string in the notch, and by that time the faint sounds of running dogs could be clearly heard. She sighted down the arrow and back up the trail to camp, and luckily for her, after only a few seconds, two large black dogs tore into view, running full out toward her. Perhaps if she had more time to aim, more time to think, more time for her fear to work on her she would have missed, but as it was she only had an instant and despite her shaking hands the arrow flew true and struck the second dog full in the chest. It let out a brief yelp and skidded in the dead leaves and twigs, which littered the ground.
Sam felt no satisfaction only fear as she fumbled around for another arrow, her search hampered by the fact that she kept her eyes on the dog charging toward her. Finding no arrow at first, however, she risked a glance down. She spotted one a bit to her left and she leaned over and placed a hand on it. She straightened back up and looked to see the dog just beginning to leap; instinctively she ducked down so her nose was inches away from the dirt and felt one paw of the beast graze her back. The dog caught the bow as he flew overhead and her right hand was jerked around behind her so hard she rolled onto her back. She heard a snap, but didn’t realize it was her bow breaking until she staggered back to her knees. Otter screamed as the dog leaped at his throat and caught a hold. The dog’s momentum carried the old man to the ground. The animal’s jaws clamped tighter to the man’s throat before wrenching his powerful head back and forth, back and forth, throwing Otter about on the very edge of the Scar, as if he weighed nothing. The dog finally pulled back and ripped out the throat of the now silent man.
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