The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series)

by Richard D. Parker

  “Please…please,” the Magistrate begged. “Master Sath has not visited here for nearly a year,” he pleaded, somehow trying to save his life that was quickly coming to an end.

  Navarra did not answer, but walked slowly to Kronos and removed an axe he used for just such an event. He could have done the job easier with his kali, or even a long sword, but the axe added a bit of drama, a bit of showmanship, that he liked. It was an axe the Black Horseman himself might have owned. The handle was long and the head was large, curved and very sharp. The blade gleamed in the morning sunshine like a child’s eyes lighting on a puppy.

  Navarra moved to the side of the Magistrate, who was murmuring softly and he held the axe out before him so the blade rested lightly on the taunt skin of the man’s neck.

  The Magistrate wet himself as the blade went up in a high arc.

  ‘I should have had breakfast, the doomed man thought crazily and then the blade came down and ended all such desires. The head came away cleanly and the body, free from the block, only seemed to realize it after a long moment and slowly fell off to one side.

  Navarra glanced around at the stunned crowd, relishing the fear he saw in their anguished faces. “Perhaps the next Magistrate will be more forthcoming with his aid,” he said still speaking softly then turned to Sergeant Lindsay.

  “Mount up. We will pay a visit to the Fultan’s directly.”

  ǂ

  Gwaynn and Vio were resting after another bout of sparring. For the last two hours they’d worked with each other, mostly with katas but they also worked at hand to hand and just for fun, the staff. Gwaynn was already her equal with katas, which was definitely an accomplishment because she was one of the most gifted students to come along in many years. Vio was also benefiting from their sessions, just as Tar Kostek had hoped. She was improving rapidly, a fact her fellow students from the Mele quarter were coming to notice. Tonight Gwaynn had defeated her with katas, but lost in hand to hand. He was still learning the many techniques needed to excel in such combat, and she completely dominated him with the staff, which he was finding to be a cumbersome weapon to learn.

  “While I am gone,” Kostek said as he warmed some soup, “there will be no nightly bouts between the two of you.”

  Gwaynn glanced at Vio, who was looking back at him, but neither spoke as Kostek brought two bowls of thin chicken soup to the table, placing one in front of each student. They both waited to eat as their Master turned back to fill his own bowl. They just continued to sit, glancing at one another to see what reaction the other might have to the news.

  “There will be no bouts,” Gwaynn finally promised. “How long will you be gone?” he asked, as Kostek sat and immediately began to eat.

  “A week only, possibly as long as ten days,” he answered and they all ate the rest of their late meal in silence.

  “He may still run?” Vio finally spoke as she finished her soup, which was very good, not too heavy after such a strenuous workout.

  “Uuum,” Kostek grunted as he ate. He swallowed. “Yes, yes he may run. We have made no secret to the fact that he works with us in that capacity. Tar Endid will be staying on Noble and working with all four quarters while the rest of us are away.”

  Kostek stood. “Vio, I will see you in the morning, now I need to speak with Gwaynn alone.”

  Vio nodded, wondering at the abrupt dismissal. “See you in the morning,” she said to Gwaynn and gathered her things. He made a conscious effort not to watch her every movement, the tension inside him finally easing as she stepped out the door. He leaned back, relaxing.

  “More?” Kostek asked as he rose to fill another bowl for himself.

  Gwaynn shook his head. Exercise always blunted his appetite and besides Shari fed him very well.

  Kostek returned with a full bowl, sat and ate a few bites before stopping. “I am sure you’ve heard the High King is to marry,” he said without looking up and took another spoonful into his mouth.

  “Yes,” Gwaynn answered, wondering just where this was going.

  Kostek nodded but continued to eat for another moment before stopping. “What you probably haven’t heard is to whom he will be wed.”

  Gwaynn remained quiet but instantly became very alert.

  “The Lady Audra Deutzani,” Kostek said and pushed the now empty bowl away and sat up to his full height. He glanced at the boy, who still said nothing.

  Gwaynn knew her. He had met Audra several years ago but she was just a young child then. Thinking on it, he decided she must still be considered a child. Finally Gwaynn nodded. “Thank…thank you for telling me.”

  “Wasn’t my idea, was Master Amon’s.”

  But Gwaynn was only now half listening and though he kept his face carefully neutral, inside his mind was racing. This would definitely explain why the High King had unleashed the Temple Knights on his homeland. It also made it clear that if Gwaynn ever moved against the Deutzani he would find another enemy in the High King, not that he had any notion of moving against the Deutzani, at least not in any future other than his fantasies.

  “You understand what this means for you?” Kostek finally said, feeling for the boy, who had already lost so much.

  Gwaynn looked over at him and nodded.

  “It would be better if you resigned yourself to be just Gwaynn,” Kostek added, wondering again just how long the boy would survive.

  Gwaynn just shook his head. “Better it may be, but that is something I will never do,” he answered, stood and without another word, left his master’s house.

  ǂ

  Thomas Fultan saw the Zani soldiers coming up the road nearly half a league before they arrived at the gate. The sight of so many of soldiers coming toward the house made his breath catch in his throat, but it was when he recognized the figure out front as an Executioner that his stomach truly lurched. Gale, who was busy creating a mash from the hops, which was the very beginning of the brewing process, noticed that Thomas was no longer working and followed his gaze.

  He gasped as Thomas turned to him. “Gale, please go into the house and warn every one of our pending guests.”

  Gale put down the large ladle he was using to stir the concoction and with obvious nervousness wiped his hands down with a towel.

  “Do not hurry,” Thomas added his voice was calm but his mind screaming at him for ideas. The Executioner’s presence could only mean one thing…Afton Sath. He could only hope that they were just here searching and not acting on any definite knowledge.

  After a moment Wellman hobbled out and joined his master and friend and they waited together silently as the party of horses and men rode up the lane and came to a stop before them.

  “You are Thomas Fultan?” One of the Sergeants asked abruptly and Thomas took it as a good sign that no one showed any sign of dismounting.

  “I am,” Thomas answered, surprised at how relaxed his voice sounded to him. His eyes traveled over the Sergeant, who was a great bear of a man, so tall that his legs hung down far beneath the horse, giving the illusion that he was astride a pony.

  “How may I help you?” Thomas asked, his eyes now wandering over the rest of the party, before finally landing on the Executioner, who was looking around the estate with interest. Thomas saw the man’s nose wrinkle at the smell of the mash and felt a sense of relief. Many people found the smell slightly offensive. It gave the Executioner a more human quality that he too should find it so.

  “I want everyone in the house, outside directly,” the Executioner stated without any emotion and turned his eyes on Thomas, whose relief at the human qualities of the man before him vanished in a blink.

  “Of…of course,” Thomas stammered, his voice no longer relaxed. “Wellman,” he added and the old man hobbled back inside.

  “I have heard of your ale,” the Executioner commented, and Thomas gave a forced smile.

  “I hope you liked it.”

  “I do not drink ale,” the man answered and fixed his unblinking blue eyes on Thomas and he
ld him in his stare. Thomas, unable to take his eyes away, stared back, only partially aware that he was beginning to sweat. The man before him was a killer, of that Thomas had no doubt, and for a moment he wondered just what it was about the man that signaled his deadly intent. He was not big, this Executioner, nor did he have a particularly malevolent look. His features were dark, but with clear blue eyes. He was clean cut and dressed as well as any nobleman. The door behind Thomas opened and the Executioner’s gaze shifted, releasing Thomas, and as the man watched Thomas’ friends and family emerge, it hit him just what was different about him. His face showed no emotion, nothing at all. Even the marble statues in the great halls of Solarii showed more emotion than the man in front of him. Thomas shivered despite the warmth of the day, and he suddenly found the Executioner smiling at him. The smile made him all the worse.

  “Is this everyone?” Navarra asked mildly, looking over the group standing before him, his eyes lingering on the oldest daughter, the striking one with brown, no red hair. She looked up at him defiantly, as only the very young could do. His gaze traveled up and down her body, though her long skirts effectively hid her figure. Nice chest, he thought before coming back to her face. She pulled the little one standing by her side closer, and Navarra had the distinct impression she wanted to cross her arms in front herself. He smiled again, the second time in as many minutes. It did not make anyone feel any better.

  “Yes,” Thomas answered.

  “And they are?”

  “Wellman, my houseman; Gale, who helps with the ale; Samantha, Beth and Arabelle, my daughters and Murl, my cook and housekeeper,” Thomas answered.

  “Ah,” Navarra began while dismounting. Sergeant Lindsay and the others immediately followed suit. Thomas’ heart sank. “We are looking for Afton Sath. He was here.”

  Thomas blanched, though struggled hard to control his face. Wellman and Murl could be counted on not to give information away easily, but his daughters were another thing all together. They had all spent hours coaching Beth, knowing that this day would come, but Thomas despaired that the little one would be able to keep the secret under any sort of pressed interrogation. “We have not seen Afton Sath. If he was here he did not announce his presence,” he answered, spelling out for everyone their position on the matter.

  The Executioner turned to stare at him for several long moments and then his gaze moved down the line to Wellman before finally settling on Samantha. He moved forward until he stood directly in front of her.

  Striking, he thought, looking directly into her eyes. Predictably, she stared back, still defiant. “When was Afton Sath here?” he whispered to her, his voice soft, as if they were two lovers in bed.

  Samantha continued to look into his eyes, afraid that if she looked away it would be construed as guilt. “Afton Sath has never been here,” she answered back a little too loudly. Navarra was close enough that he felt her breath on his face, but he moved closer still, his face stopping less than a foot from hers.

  “Never?” he whispered, captivated by the flush of her cheeks, her flawless skin. He moved even closer until Samantha began to fear he would attempt to kiss her, or perhaps do worse to make her talk. If he did, she was not at all sure her father would be able to hold his tongue and that could mean death for them all.

  “Never,” she answered firmly, finally dropping her eyes.

  Navarra stood there, very close and completely still, but said nothing.

  “Uncle,” Beth said from down below, breaking the spell which surrounded them.

  Navarra glanced down. The little girl was looking up at him expectantly, gently pulling on his riding cloak to get his attention.

  He knelt down. “Uncle?” he asked.

  “She calls every strange man uncle,” Arabelle explained, her voice fast and high pitched.

  “Uncle,” Beth said again, then curled one finger at Navarra, motioning him to come closer still, like she would share a secret with him.

  Navarra bent forward and she moved her mouth close to his ear.

  “Would you like a sugared biscuit?” she whispered, though everyone in line could hear her in the quiet of the morning.

  Navarra frowned, not expecting the question. “Yes,” he answered spontaneously, humoring her.

  Beth leaned back and held up both hands apologetically. “Sorry we don’t have any.”

  Navarra jerked in surprise, anger suddenly on him, wondering if the little girl was trying to play him for a fool.

  “Has Afton Sath been here?” he barked at her, showing his temper.

  The little girl went wide-eyed with fear. “Afnnsath,” she stammered, butchering the name. “Is he a dog?” she asked, clearly holding back tears.

  Navarra stood up without answering. He realized then that Afton Sath could not have come by here. He turned to Thomas. “If he turns up you will report it immediately or pay the consequences. It would be unfortunate to lose such a charming family,” he added briskly.

  Thomas nodded as he watched the Executioner turn away and mount his horse. No one in line dared to breathe or show any relief. Once he was on Kronos, Navarra paused to stare at Samantha for another few moments, he noticed that her breast were moving up and down quickly with her breathing, but otherwise she showed no emotion, then he turned his horse and they headed back the way they had come.

  VII

  The next evening Gwaynn waited on the extreme western side of the island. He sat on the very edge of a high, rocky bluff, listening to the waves crash onto the shore below. He was gazing out at the horizon, in the direction of the King’s Island. In fact, on extremely clear days, the Island of the High King could be glimpsed in the far distance; at least for those with very sharp eyes. Gwaynn sat quietly, enjoying the breeze coming off of the sea, and watching the stark, white birds drift overhead as they rode the winds.

  He waited for nearly an hour before he finally heard footsteps very close behind. He spun around, startled even though he was expecting a companion. He stood up and nodded to the newcomer, who bowed low.

  “I have come as you requested, my King.”

  “Am I?” Gwaynn asked standing and looking down at the prone young man before him.

  Krys took the opportunity to look up at his new liege. “Yes,” he answered, “now and unto death.”

  Gwaynn stood in silence for a long moment and then signaled for Krys to rise. “Very well; if you mean what you say I have a request of you.”

  “Anything, my King.”

  “After the year end Competition, during your leave, I wish you to go and visit the seaport of Heron. There you are to look up a man named Paulo and his wife Karla. You may tell them, and only them, that I am alive and with their help I would like you to start a search.”

  “A search for what?”

  “Not what, but who,” Gwaynn went on. “I would like you to search for Afton Sath.”

  Krys gasped. “The Massi Weapons Master! You believe he lives?”

  “My father’s Weapons Master,” Gwaynn corrected, holding up a hand. “You will be my Weapons Master, and yes I believe that Afton Sath may be alive. If anyone could have escaped the castle at Solarii it would be Master Sath.”

  Krys stood still, shocked at the idea of being the King’s Weapons Master, even if the Kingdom of the Massi was no more. It was a great honor, one that he would not take lightly.

  “Is there anything I should tell him if I find him?” Krys asked.

  Gwaynn shook his head. “You need not tell him anything, just inform him that I live and will be returning home in time.”

  “Do you wish me to stay on Massi?” Krys asked, dreading the answer.

  Gwaynn shook his head. “Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I would have you finish your training if at all possible.”

  Krys could not help but smile and Gwaynn smiled back, feeling much older than his new Weapons Master, though Krys was his senior by several years.

  “Speaking of training…” Gwaynn said and removed two sets
of katas from the satchel at his feet. “I promised Master Kostek that I would not train with Vio while he was gone, but I made no promises about sparring with you.”

  Krys frowned. “You have been training with Vio?”

  Gwaynn nodded. “Yes and Master Kostek. Beware, I have learned much,” he added with a bow.

  Krys caught the katas thrown to him and returned the bow, moments later he was on his back, completely shocked by his new lord’s skill. Gwaynn held out a hand, face passive.

  “Please use all your skill,” he said with a nod of his head and they continued.

  ǂ

  The next morning Gwaynn ran stronger and faster than ever before, beating B’dall by a full fifty paces, but he still was not even within sight of Vio’s finish, which was his goal. Krys finished just ahead of him and was now stripping to take a plunge in the water. Vio, hair still wet, was waited for him, standing in the wet sand at the edge of the surf.

  “Excellent,” she said with a large smile on her face. “You are getting closer and closer to me,” adding as she walked with him while he cooled down. They turned around in time to see B’dall finish. The scowl on his face foretold his mood, but he said nothing as he passed them.

  “Do not mind him,” she said just above a whisper. “It took him nearly a week to get over the fact of losing to me when I first bested him. He doesn’t take it very kindly. It makes him a good fighter but less of a Noble person. He cares little for Philosophy,” she added then shrugged. “His loss, his struggle.”

  “I’d give him a wide berth,” Krys said, clamoring out of the surf and aware that they were gazing in B’dall’s direction. “He was the same way when I first beat him. He lost the race but he took it out on me for weeks with the katas and the staff. He’s tough and likes to try to intimidate.”