The Black Horseman (The Temple Islands Series)

by Richard D. Parker

  “How’s the Carol-Anne?” Nev asked, as a pint of dark ale was set before him. Gwaynn was not truly surprised when a similar pint was placed before him.

  “Ooooh, she’s fine, just fine. Strong and fast as ever, moored her in Euter three days back and then hauled the supplies overland,” Jon answered and winked at Gwaynn. “So it is true then, ye finally took on a lad for training.”

  Nev smiled. “Yes, it’s true enough. Jon, I’d like you to meet Gwaynn. Gwaynn this is Jon, my brother, my only family, though he is large enough and eats enough for any two families.”

  Jon threw his head back and laughed, causing most of the customers at other tables to look about, wondering at the disturbance. Many smiled when they saw it was Jon before going back to their own drinks and conversation. Jon was a well-known, well-liked trader of the Inland Sea, and most considered his ale second to none, except perhaps Fultan ale.

  “So help your older brother out a bit,” Jon said, still smiling at Gwaynn. “I’m always in need of a little extra coin for food and drink. Who do you favor to win the Competitions?”

  Nev shrugged. “Tar Kostek has a very strong team this year,” he answered glancing at Gwaynn, who smiled back. “Who would you pick among his team to win with katas?”

  Gwaynn paused for a moment, wanting to pick Vio or Krys, but B’dall was definitely stronger and more experienced than the other two.

  “Possibly Vio,” he finally said. “But if your food is on the line I would go with B’dall with katas, the staff, and hand to hand.”

  Jon nodded his demeanor completely serious now. “Vio…Vio, isn’t she Kostek’s third year?”

  Gwaynn smiled. “Yes.”

  Jon whistled. “You seriously think a third year could compete for the championship?”

  Gwaynn shrugged. “She is quite skilled,” he answered.

  Jon grunted and then smiled. “Well, then she could be the one to earn me some coin.”

  “And this Krys?”

  “Excellent with the bow, fast with the katas, but still I think B’dall is the strongest from the group in everything but running and the bow.”

  “Yes, he seems to be the favorite,” Jon answered, rambling about his favorite subject, “at least with the staff. But Tar Endid has an eighth year student, Seth I believe is his name, he is said to be quite fast and strong, and deadly with the katas. He finished higher than B’dall last year, though they did not face each other directly.”

  Gwaynn shrugged. “It’s your stomach,” he answered.

  Jon laughed and clapped him hard on the back. “So it is. So it is.”

  X

  All day long, Gwaynn kept an eye out for Master Kostek and his students, and even though he spent a good deal of the afternoon wandering the makeshift market alone, he did not spot any of his former companions, nor did he see Leek or his family. As he searched, he found himself at times trying to catch sight of Mille in the crowd, and a sharp pain in his heart always followed.

  They stayed the night in Jon’s wagon, despite the fact that they had several offers for much more luxurious arrangements. The wagon suited Gwaynn just fine and he slept well in one of the hammocks placed near the ceiling despite the fact that Jon, located just below him, snored louder than most people could yell.

  Gwaynn woke early, and with great difficulty, slipped out of the hammock without falling on Jon, then stepped outside in the crisp morning air. It was overcast and gray, and the damp smell of rain was in the air. Gwaynn frowned, the Competition was due to start around noon and he wondered if it would be called off or delayed, due to the weather. Very few people were up and even fewer were moving around as Gwaynn once again began to stroll about the market. He was used to walking or running first thing in the morning, so without a thought he walked clear through the town and across the river to the western side, where a great many tents were erected. He just crossed the main bridge over the Parm when he saw Leek, holding hands and walking with Mari. His heart lurched and for one brief moment he felt a strange inclination to turn away and hide among the tents before they spotted him, but instead he took a deep breath and made his way in their direction.

  “Gwaynn!” Mari yelled when she finally set eyes on him. She pulled her hand free from Leek and ran to Gwaynn, jumping into his arms, hugging him fiercely. She looked and smelled like a little Mille, and he was instantly relieved that he had not turned away from them.

  “Have you come to watch the students of Mele compete?” She asked but did not wait for an answer. “We are going to explore the Tent City while Mama cooks breakfast,” she said with a delighted smile, then leaned in close and whispered. “We’re having bacon,” she added and moved her eyebrows up and down several times. “You can come, couldn’t he Grandpa,” Mari implored as Gwaynn put her back on the ground, groaning loudly as he did.

  “You must be bigger. You are getting too heavy for me,” Gwaynn told her.

  “Gwaynn is always welcome at our table,” Leek said with an actual smile for the boy, and they all continued on with their explorations together. They strolled for a quarter of an hour before a light rain drove them back to the cover of the family tent.

  Everyone was thrilled to see him again, though there was an underlying sadness to the meeting. Even Deirdre was subdued and did not attempt to charm him as usual, but the breakfast was nice, and Gwaynn was glad he went.

  “Where is Tar Kostek and the students?” he asked Lane, as he prepared to take his leave. They stepped out of the tent, and though Lane was answering him, his words went unnoticed because not a hundred paces away, walking regally through the tent city was King Arsinol Deutzani and trailing just behind him was the Executioner Tar Navarra. Without thinking, Gwaynn made to follow them and was surprised to find that Lane was holding him back. Something of his murderous thoughts must have shown on his face because Lane, though angry and upset himself, only shook his head sadly at Gwaynn.

  “It’s him, is it not?” Lane whispered, still holding Gwaynn by the arm.

  Gwaynn nodded.

  “Not here,” Lane added.

  Gwaynn tried to shrug the man off, but Lane, who was strong from years of work, held fast.

  “Oh, I would love for you to kill him now, so I can see,” Lane explained, still trying to control the struggling young man. “But for him to die now, you would have to die also…I would not see that.”

  Gwaynn finally succeeded in throwing off Lane’s grip and the older man made no move to reestablish his hold. Gwaynn turned.

  “Mille would not want you to die,” Lane said fiercely to Gwaynn’s back. Gwaynn stopped, but did not turn. Lane could hear him breathing rapidly, but slowly the boy relaxed bit by bit.

  “Come,” Lane added. “I will take you to the Mele camp.”

  Gwaynn nodded and the two of them set off. Gwaynn was surprised that they followed along in the path of King Arsinol. Anger threatened to engulf him several times as the pair ahead of them occasionally passed into view among the bustle of people and tents. The temporary city was now awake and there was a definite air of excitement as the day’s events drew closer.

  The tents eventually grew sparse until Lane led them to a boundary of sorts. There was a large open area, beyond which, were the colorful tents of the various quarters. The tents of the competing students were separated neatly from each other as well as the general population. The two followed the beaten path, which led over to the segregated camps of the students. The way was loosely guarded by a pair of Tars, already up and alert, though it was highly unusually for anyone to encroach on the privacy of those set to compete.

  King Arsinol and Navarra had just passed the sentries and were moving farther into the camp when Lane and Gwaynn began to cross the field. They did not speak, though both were sharing very similar destructive thoughts, and they both moved almost hypnotically after the man that had altered each of their lives so catastrophically.

  They were stopped by the pair of the Tar sentries. Gwaynn did not know either, though
he dimly recognized one. Lane, however, knew them both.

  “Tar Awl…Tarina Grace,” he said by way of greeting, giving each a curt nod as he spoke.

  “Lane Noble…Master Gwaynn,” answered the Tarina. She was an older, handsome woman of perhaps forty, lean and wiry as female Tars tended to be. She had long jet-black hair and intense eyes which seemed to see directly into Gwaynn and read all of his intentions clearly. She reminded him a bit of Tar Amon. “Your business please. Lane, you know the students should not be distracted before the coming events.”

  Lane nodded. “We will be brief. Gwaynn would like to wish the students of Mele quarter luck. He’s been running with them in the mornings.”

  Her face remained passive as she passed her eyes over Gwaynn, but she finally agreed. “Very well, but do not tarry. King Arsinol also requested to visit that quarter, and together you are likely to cause…” The rest of her words were lost to Gwaynn as his face flushed and his ears were filled with a silent roaring. He began to move mechanically into the camp, ignoring Lane as he took his leave from the Tars. Gwaynn moved quickly and surely, and as if by instinct his steps were true. He rounded a tent and there not twenty paces away stood the King of the Deutzani and a pair of students from the Mele quarter. He did not feel it as Lane caught up and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gwaynn just stared, pain filling his chest, as his enemy King gave words of encouragement to B’dall and Vio.

  “We have students from all the Families,” Lane said, but Gwaynn made no sign he’d heard. He was about to depart, his desire to see anyone now completely driven from him, when Vio turned away and began to leave the group. Gwaynn paused as Arsinol reached out and took hold of her arm. She turned back and for some unknown reason looked past her King and caught sight of Gwaynn, watching. Their eyes locked, neither able to look away, until Gwaynn finally turned, bumped into Lane and fled. He did not see the anguish on Vio’s face as she jerked her arm from Arsinol’s grip and fled herself.

  ǂ

  Gwaynn ran into Nev just outside the student area.

  “I thought I might find you here,” his Master said simply, nodding to Lane who was following behind. “Come, the archery contest starts this morning. The kata competition doesn’t start until later. Nev then looked over at Lane, who was eyeing him with barely concealed awe. “You may join us if you like.”

  “Thank you, no.” Lane stammered, truly honored. “I must go and join my family. Perhaps we will see you there,” he added, as much to Gwaynn as the infamous Tar.

  Gwaynn nodded and followed where his teacher led.

  “T…the Executioner Navarra is here,” he said quietly as they walked, his mind still numb from the fact that Vio was Deutzani. He was not sure how much more he could take. Everyone he cared about either died or turned out to be his enemy.

  “Yes, I saw him,” Nev answered, his voice even. “He was with the Deutzani King.”

  “I am going to kill him,” Gwaynn said just as evenly.

  Nev chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure you are.”

  “What’s funny?” Gwaynn turned suddenly angry.

  Nev stopped also. “How could I not find it all so humorous?” He waved his hands to the sky in an all-encompassing way. “Life would be monstrous if it were not so.”

  Gwaynn scowled, tired of the man’s philosophy, so many words that did so little.

  “Words,” he answered.

  “Yes,” Nev nodded gravely. “And what are words, ideas, thoughts. Do they, can they, make a difference in what is real? Perhaps not. Perhaps they are just pretties, bandied about to relieve the suffering of the weak. Perhaps our words are just as powerless as any bark, chirp, or bray from an animal. Just so much noise, then again perhaps not. Perhaps that is all Man is. Perhaps Man, though he appears to be flesh and bone, is truly only words and thoughts. So when you say “I will kill him.” I laugh, because of the words and the thoughts and the result that will inevitably follow. I know you will kill him. You know you will kill him, but our poor Executioner does not. Only he remains ignorant of both word and action.”

  Gwaynn shook his head. Not sure if he would ever entirely understand the man before him.

  “Riddles,” he grunted.

  Nev smiled. “Yes, a riddle,” he answered and they moved off to the archery fields.

  The competition with bows was hampered a bit by the light drizzle that fell all morning, but the crowds were large, though not as large as they would be at some of the more popular events. Plus the initial rounds were between those of the younger and less skilled students. The upper classmen would not begin to compete until the following morning against the victors of today. Vio, an underclassman, was of course competing. Gwaynn resolved not to watch her, but his eyes kept coming back to her no matter how hard he tried to keep them away. She was not faring well, though the bow was never her strongest skill. She was clearly out of sorts, missing shots that were only moderately difficult even for her, and in the end she lost to a second year in her second round.

  Gwaynn was surprised to find that he felt badly for her, though why he should feel so was a mystery to him. His thoughts, feelings, his whole being were in utter turmoil. He eyes were still on Vio as she unstrung her bow and stuffed it forcefully into her bag.

  “Perhaps you should go to her,” Nev commented, attentive to his pupil as always.

  “She’s Deutzani,” Gwaynn stated as if this settled the matter.

  Nev raised an eyebrow. “She also was Deutzani yesterday when you spoke of her so highly.”

  Gwaynn shrugged, still watching the girl.

  “Ah well, if she has changed so much from the person you knew…” Nev answered standing. “I believe I will take in some lunch before the staff competitions. Will you come?”

  Gwaynn paused. Nev smiled inwardly.

  “I will meet you at the tent,” Gwaynn said and moved down the rows of seats to the ground and headed off toward Vio, who was still packing her things away.

  Nev watched him go, scratched his head and marveled at the foresight and wisdom of Tar Amon.

  Gwaynn had no such thoughts as he approached Vio. She was facing away from him so was unaware of his approach. Gwaynn noticed that her long sleeved, white shirt was damp from the constant mist and was clinging to her, exposing the shape of her back and shoulders. She stood and turned as he drew near. Her eyes grew wide as she saw him. She paused a moment then turned back to her bag without saying anything.

  “You’ve done better,” Gwaynn said softly, moving around her.

  Vio paused, a scowl on her face. “Why are you here? Only to mock my performance I suppose?”

  Gwaynn took a step back, surprised at her anger. “No,” he said suddenly feeling awkward.

  “You shouldn’t be talking to me,” Vio said her anger suddenly turning to sadness. “I’m Deutzani. You should hate me.”

  Gwaynn was silent long enough for Vio to glance up, having expected him to answer.

  “But I don’t,” he said softly, as eye contact was made. Her face flushed and she quickly looked away.

  “I will cheer for you,” he added and she looked into his face once more and gave him a small smile. “I expect you to do better,” he chided and then headed off to find Tar Nev.

  “Gwaynn,” she said after he had gone ten paces and he turned back to her. “I will never return to the Deutzani.”

  The vision of his mother, cut open, innards rolling out into the dust flashed in Gwaynn’s mind, and his eyes watered momentarily transforming the world into his own personal watercolor painting. He blinked rapidly, embarrassed, not trusting his voice; finally he nodded to Vio, turned and carefully headed off across a muddy field.

  ǂ

  The next few days flew by, and all with an air of celebration. Food and drink stands sprung up everywhere flooding the air with delicious smells. There were also gaming tables for those who could not lose enough betting on their favorite student, and many temporary shops selling everything from blankets and cookware, to clothes
and weapons of all kinds. Crowds that were not otherwise engaged with the ongoing Competitions milled about the shops and food tents. The Competitions drew all types of people, from all across the kingdom. Royalty, soldiers, entire peasant families, and of course thieves, all made their way to Herra. Lesser trainees, those not granted Tar status, were in charge of keeping order, and for the most part order was maintained even in the face of the occasional pickpocket. There were of course fights, which broke out in the drinking and gambling tents with annoying regularity, but that was to be expected.

  But Gwaynn was unaware of such troubles, for he had no money; nor did gambling and drink interest him. He and Nev ate, mostly as honored guests, at many a tent. Lambs meat, spiced with pepper sauce and sold on a skewer quickly became Gwaynn’s favorite and he enjoyed a taste whenever possible. Otherwise he was immersed in the Competitions. Watching all that he could, and at times bemoaning the fact that he could not compete himself. Both he and Nev were spectators at nearly all the kata matches, as well as a majority of the hand to hand bouts, and as many with the staff as they could catch. It was hard to go to them all since many events took place at the same time. Jon often sat with them, especially during the kata matches, and Gwaynn was always glad when he did. Jon was loud and enthusiastic and not afraid to let everyone know who he was pulling for, which in most cases was Vio, as he had taken Gwaynn’s recommendation to heart. Gwaynn was gratified at the noise the large man made, which occasionally drew the attention of Vio, at least when she was not fighting and she smiled up at Gwaynn on several occasions.

  “That little minx is making me a rich man all by herself,” he laughed as Vio defeated a sixth year student under Tar Bnall and advanced once more. Gwaynn was not aware of the fact that Jon’s boisterous cheering also attracted the attention of several others pulling for Vio, namely King Arsinol and the Executioner Navarra.