Both Master Putal and Tar Amon stood speechless, while Endid gazed at Tar Nev with something close to awe. Putal bowed to Tar Nev and without a word slowly turned and moved back to his seat. He knew that if the Solitary Tar had finally made his choice for student, nothing and no one would stand in the way of that decision.
Tar Amon looked at Tar Nev then down to Gwaynn, who was looking from one to the other, just as shocked as the rest of the Hall by this development.
“He is yours to train,” Amon said.
Nev nodded and turned to Gwaynn, who looked up at the strange, infamous man in front of him.
“Come. We will talk a moment,” Nev said and they left the Hall together.
ǂ
Late that evening Gwaynn returned to Leek’s home to collect the few belongings and clothes he now owned. Supper was over, but Shari collected enough leftovers to fill up the growing boy.
“Tar Nev!” Leek said loudly to Gwaynn, his eyes shining with pride. “It was thought that perhaps his legacy would be lost by his refusal to choose an acolyte.”
Gwaynn nodded, but said nothing, his mouth full of bread.
“Tar Nev has come to the Competitions the last twelve years,” Shari added refilling Gwaynn’s cup of cider, “and chosen no one.”
“After last year it was thought that Vio might be chosen, but now…” Leek said and Gwaynn was truly surprised to see a small smile on his face.
“She is very good,” Gwaynn added in between bites, his mind flirting with the thought of his sparring partner and their last encounter, and as always when his mind turned to Vio it invariable slid toward Mille. He had yet to see her since his return.
“Where’s Mille?” he asked blushing, though he tried to sound nonchalant.
Shari smiled. “She’s down on the beach collecting night crabs with Mari.”
Gwaynn nodded and finished his meal as quickly as he could, which even for his age was remarkably fast. He took his leave; anxious to see Mille as soon as possible, wanting to be the one to tell her he would not be leaving the island, though they would no longer be living under the same roof.
He stepped outside, thinking to head directly to the beach, but Master Kostek stood just outside the door.
“Greetings,” Kostek said. “Walk with me a moment Gwaynn,” he added and began to move off toward his quarters.
Gwaynn was a bit impatient, after all he had just spent the day riding back with his old Master, and only a year ago he may have begged off, but now he just took a deep breath and followed. They entered the older man’s quarters and Gwaynn was hit with a wave of nostalgia, suddenly he wanted to see Vio just as badly as he wanted to see Mille.
“Vio is on her way but will be delayed,” Kostek said as if reading the young man’s mind even though his back was still turned.
“I rarely use this set anymore,” he said by way of explanation. “My favorites are a bit longer now, but these were my first,” he added, then turned and removed a set of short, beautiful tapered swords from a leather casing. He handed them to Gwaynn, who held them as if they were treasure. The swords, kali they were called, were about three and a half feet in length though a good foot of that was the grip and pommel. They were highly polished and Gwaynn would have taken them for new except for the few nicks in one of the blades and another on the hand guard.
“I carried these for a long time,” Master Kostek said. “My master presented them to me when I graduated. I would like you to have them now.”
Gwaynn looked up at the man, stunned.
Kostek smiled down at him, though he noticed for the first time that Gwaynn had grown since coming to Noble. “The grips are black sharkskin,” Kostek explained. “It is the best, keeps them from slipping even when your hands become sweaty. I’ve insisted on such grips ever since owning this pair,” he explained, trying to cover the awkward first moments for the young man.
Gwaynn, who had once owned a set far more expensive than these was very moved, and for a moment could not find the words.
“I thank you,” he finally managed, barely above a whisper.
Kostek was surprised to find that he was also becoming emotional. He clapped Gwaynn on the back. “You’ll get some use out of them…do not doubt it.”
Gwaynn agreed with a grim smile then held them out, spinning them about to get the feel of them. They were perfectly balanced and Gwaynn instantly knew that though his old pair may have been bejeweled and laced with intricate carvings, they were infinitely inferior to this pair.
“Thank you,” Gwaynn repeated and made his leave, using the excuse that he still had to gather his things for the return trip to the far side of the island, but he promised to return shortly to say his goodbyes to Vio. Once outside he tucked his new Kali into his belt and quickly moved down the path, which led to the beach.
The moon was up and nearly full, bathing the path in a silvery glow. Wild grasses grew tall on either side of the pathway and seemed to give off a pale yellow light of their own. They swayed softly in the light breeze, which was coming off the sea and nearly hid the small girl from Gwaynn’s sharp vision, but he caught the odd shape out of the corner of his eye and stopped. At first he thought Mari was simply trying to hide from him. But when he left the path, moving toward her, she did not jump up as he was expecting, instead she still lay completely motionless.
“Mari?” Gwaynn said softly, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He stopped above her, but before bending down he carefully took in his surroundings. He thought to call for Mille but remained quiet. Something was not right. Finally he bent. Mari, who was lying face down in the sand, still made no move and with much trepidation Gwaynn reached out and took hold of her shoulder. He turned her over and her arms flayed limply. There was a deep cut in her forehead, which had bled copiously from the look, but it was now just oozing a bit of blood. She was unconscious, but when Gwaynn put a hand to her chest he could feel her heart beating and he sighed with relief.
He rose to his full height and again thought to call for Mille, but something kept him from doing so. He made his way back to the path, this time moving cautiously. He still had yet to spot a soul when something flew out of the night at him. He jumped, and then instinctively crouched down as a heavy object landed with a thud not far from where he was squatting. At first he did not recognize what he was looking at and it took several moments for him to realize he was looking at a human head. But the moonlight was bright and eventually Mille’s hair and facial features came into focus. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her eyes were wide and clear and though they were still blue, they were now blank of all feeling.
“Were you looking for her?” A voice asked from out of the darkness.
Gwaynn froze in a crouch for a long moment, staring at the mouth he had so recently kissed. His heart pounded, his ears roared and he took little notice of three additional black shapes that rose out of darkness around him. All together they moved silently toward him, but only one was close enough to present an immediate threat.
Gwaynn slowly rose to his feet, pain and anger beginning to well up inside him.
“I’ve been looking for you Prince Gwaynn Massi,” the voice, smooth and deep, said just loud enough to be heard, then a shape stood and Gwaynn saw him not twenty paces away, the Executioner Tar Navarra.
Gwaynn stared at him, but said nothing; instead he pulled the set of kali from his belt and tested their balance once again in the moonlight.
“Ah,” Tar Navarra said, like a sigh.
Gwaynn took a step forward, suddenly aware of someone rushing at him from behind and just a bit from his left. He sensed the sword stroke rather than saw it. He ducked, spun around and dove into a roll on top of the sand. The sword passed harmlessly over him, but as he passed the legs of his assailant he swung out and sliced through the meat and tendons of his right calf. The man screamed as Gwaynn finished his roll and rose to his feet once more, facing away from Navarra, but he was now facing the other two men who were rushing
to attack him.
“Stop!” Navarra yelled. “I will deal with him, just keep him from escaping.”
The two men stopped in their tracks and took up positions to the left and right of the path. They kept their distance, stopping some thirty paces from Gwaynn, who had now turned to face Navarra. Gwaynn checked over his shoulder several times, but the men held their distance, so he started forward, passing the groaning man on the ground who gripped the back of his leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The man feebly swung his sword at Gwaynn, who deflected the blow effortlessly with one kali and sliced, through his neck with the other. As Gwaynn passed he heard the dying man behind him struggling for air, thrashing about to no avail. Gwaynn was unmoved.
“The cub has claws, I see,” Navarra said, but instead of his kali, he drew his long sword and then waited patiently for his quarry to come to him.
Gwaynn moved forward steadily then when he deemed himself close enough he rushed in to attack. Navarra parried the blows as Gwaynn streaked by. The Executioner was surprised at the boy’s courage and speed, but he was not fast enough, Navarra launched a powerful kick which struck the small of Gwaynn’s back and sent him sprawling in the sand. Navarra whirled and swung a deathblow, torn between toying with his victim and ending it quickly before any Weapons Masters were alerted. He opted for the safe path, aiming for the back of the boy’s head. The blow struck only sand, as Gwaynn vaulted out of the path of the oncoming steel with a dexterity that was truly amazing.
“Ah…youth,” Navarra said, though the boy’s speed was beginning to unnerve him a little.
Gwaynn rolled to his feet and attacked once more, but again the Executioner managed to block every blow before sending Gwaynn to the sand again with a vicious elbow to the side of the head. Though the blow stunned Gwaynn and he hit the sand flat on his back he still managed to roll up and over onto his feet again in one fluid motion just in time to parry another swipe of the sword.
“I see your time on the island has not been wasted,” Navarra said and began his own attack. Gwaynn, who was not as adept at fighting someone skilled with a long sword, had trouble doing anything but back peddling. It took all of his ability to keep the sword from hitting home, and though he was not aware of it, his skill was beginning to frustrate the man before him. Navarra, an Executioner, was accustomed to overpowering his opponents almost at will. The boy had indeed become a threat, both to him and his Lord.
They continued to battle, Gwaynn growing dismayed that he was utterly unable to penetrate the Executioner’s defenses. Not a single one of his attacks had managed to come close to drawing blood, though he himself was bleeding from several nicks, one on his arm and another on his left thigh. Only his speed had allowed him to avoid the deadlier thrusts.
Navarra, however, was oblivious to the boy’s dismay, in fact, he was growing tired and a bit concerned that Prince Gwaynn showed no signs at all of fatigue. It seemed to Navarra as if the boy could go on fighting all night. Navarra knew he had to end this, and soon.
“Gwaynn!” a voice yelled from above, distracting the boy. Navarra took advantage of the moment and struck. Instinct told Gwaynn that the blow was coming a fraction of a second before it was to land, and he jerked his face out of the way. Still, the very tip of the razor sharp weapon sliced through his upper cheek, less than an inch from his right eye. Gwaynn dove away, hitting the sand with his shoulders, rolling and coming to his feet, instinctively running from his opponent. Navarra took another swing at him but missed by a good margin. He risked a look over his shoulder and spotted two figures rushing down the path. Both carried weapons. He watched as his men turned to engage them. When he turned back, he had just enough time to skip back from another attack.
‘The boy’s relentless,’ Navarra thought, with a hint of admiration. He would make an excellent Executioner. He shrugged off the thought and sent a blow at the Prince, which would have cleanly parted his head from his shoulders, had it landed, but Gwaynn blocked it with relative ease. The cut on his face was bleeding freely now, but that did not keep him from coming on. Navarra blocked another attack and sent a kick that connected solidly with Gwaynn’s injured cheek. He sprawled backward in the sand, Gwaynn was back up quickly, but obviously stunned. Navarra was dimly aware that one of his men was down and screaming from a mortal wound, but he had the boy now and moved in for the finishing blow.
“You fought well,” Navarra purred, as the Prince staggered, shaking his head to clear it. But as Navarra began to move closer, he noticed three more figures top the rise at a run. Without hesitation they raced down the path toward him. Weapons Masters all. Navarra cursed, but did not hesitate. He turned and ran down the beach away from Gwaynn and away from his new enemies. Up ahead, not more than a quarter of a mile away, a half dozen Deutzani men, waiting by a long boat.
“Prepare!” Navarra yelled. Though winded, he managed to make himself heard. He was gratified to see three immediately begin to push the boat into the water, while the other three rushed forward a bit. All had bows and quickly notched arrows. They let a volley fly over Navarra’s head and into the direction of his pursuers. He heard a loud grunt which told him that one of the arrows had struck home. The pursuit broke off as he ran out into the water and pulled himself into the boat. Once aboard he finally glanced back, the Massi Prince was still attempting to come after him, fighting against the Tar who held him.
The men navigated the boat quickly out of the breakwater, far enough from shore that they all knew that they were now safe, at least for the moment. Navarra jerked a bow from the hand of a man nearest him and held out a hand for an arrow, which quickly appeared. He drew back the string as far as he was able, and though the boat was rocking and pitching in the waves, he let fly a near perfect shot and the instant it was gone he knew it would hit its mark. But the man holding Prince Gwaynn looked up into the impenetrable black sky and seemed to see the missile coming; with slow, deliberate movements he pulled Gwaynn to the left just before the arrow buried itself in the sand where the boy had stood a moment before. Navarra glared at them for a moment as another arrow was placed in his hand. He did not draw it, however, and turned from the receding shore.
“Let’s get to the ship quickly. They will launch against us as soon as they are able,” he said to those with him. “We must be well away when they do.” He received no argument on the matter, just stronger pulls on the oars.
It was Nev who held Gwaynn back; Nev, who kept him from exposing himself to more arrow fire; Nev, who kept him from racing out into the water to chase his enemy.
“You’ve done well lad,” Nev whispered in his ear, but did not relax his grip.
Krys and Vio ran up to the beach to join them and together they all watched as the long boat moved farther and farther from shore, until at last it was lost into the darkness.
“Who was it?” Krys asked confused and upset by the murder of the local girl. At first no one said anything, but then Gwaynn shrugged off the hold of his new mentor. He looked up the beach. Lane, Shari, and the rest of the family were coming, along with Tar Amon and Kostek.
“It was Tar Navarra,” he said evenly, much more calmly than he felt, “the Executioner who killed my mother and sister, the High Executioner for the Deutzani.”
Vio groaned but said nothing, and without a word they all turned and moved back up the beach toward the others.
That night Gwaynn was once again hanging from the awful scaffold in Solarii, the dogs fighting over his mother’s entrails, and Gwynn weeping at his side. But when she turned to him, she was suddenly transformed and it was Mille who gazed at him, a look of horror on her face.
“Keep the dogs away! Please, keep the dogs away.” She pleaded.
IX
It was a full week before Gwaynn and Tar Nev set off toward Mount Erato and the forests of Noble Island. They waited until after Mille’s burial, which was held on an absolutely gorgeous day; spring was coming fast to the islands. Gwaynn stood stone faced next to Leek during the cere
mony, while Lane and his family grieved around him. Mari sported a thick white bandage that covered most of the top of her head, but she was recovering nicely. She smiled shyly at Gwaynn several times during the day but he didn’t smile back.
‘No one should be buried on a beautiful day,’ Gwaynn thought, feeling guilty about Mille’s death though the family did not blame Gwaynn for the tragedy, and their goodbyes, though brief, were heartfelt and sincere.
Once on the road Gwaynn said little, which suited Nev just fine. Living alone as he did, he was accustomed to silence and believed most people talked far too much in any case.
Gwaynn rode on Prolly.
“A loan,” Leek had said, telling Gwaynn he could return the mare when he finally left the Island. Nev rode a large strawberry roan named Ardent, who tried to bite Gwaynn every time he got too close.
“Ardent’s not partial to company,” Nev said by way of explanation, so Gwaynn kept his distance. They stopped in Herra for a night and were treated as distinguished visitors. The next morning they left early and entered the forest, the home of the Solitaries. They followed a path barely wide enough to accommodate the horses, and Gwaynn had to constantly watch for low branches that hung over the trail. It was hard and slow riding but within a dozen miles the forest opened into a wide grassy meadow that was set at the foot of the Erato Mountain. On a hill, near a bubbling stream that would eventually become the Parm river, sat a cabin, white washed and brilliant in the late afternoon sun. There was a flower garden to the south and behind Gwaynn saw a corral and a small out building.
The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series) Page 14