Krys and Gwaynn rushed in, a bare-breasted woman sat at a table, her fingers in a bowl of fruit that sat before her. She stared at them, eyes wide with terror. It was not Dot or Emm, but that was all the two had time to determine before a second door burst open and another man rushed in, this one armed with a set of kali. Gwaynn recognized them as Krys’ set.
“Ah, there they are,” Krys said, and moved in with a fast elegant attack that Gwaynn could only admire. The man was dead within moments, falling quietly as his heart was pierced clean through. Gwaynn glanced behind to make sure the woman still posed no threat, but she just held up both hands in submission, then he went over to the man on the bed, who was still struggling for air, though weakly now. He grasped the hilt of his knife and pulled it free, air and blood now gurgling from the wound.
“Here,” Krys said, and handed Gwaynn the set of kali. “You’re better with these than I am,” he stated with a smile.
Gwaynn smiled back and nodded at the recognition and then they both moved through the door and into a hallway that contained three doors, one on the right, one on the left and one straight ahead. The door on the left was hanging open, inside on the bed, clearly naked beneath the sheets, was Dot. She gasped, as Gwaynn moved in. Krys nodded to the door on the right and Gwaynn nodded back.
“Please don’t kill me,” she screamed.
“How many more?” Gwaynn asked moving close to her. She cowered as he swung a kali so hard and close to her that it cut a swath of hair from the side of her head.
She screamed again, but as he moved closer she held up her hands and let the sheet fall from her chest, but for once Gwaynn found the sight of breasts uninterested.
“How many?” he yelled at her with urgency.
“I don’t know…four,” she stammered but Gwaynn did not stay to listen as he heard Krys break down the door across the hall. He arrived in time to see his friend pull the sword from another dead man’s chest. This one had not made it from the bed, and the woman with him was less timid than the others. She drew a knife with surprising speed, threatening Krys, but Gwaynn calmly sliced off her head for her trouble.
They moved as one back out the door, careful of the floor, which was becoming slick with blood. Once in the hall they marched up to the lone remaining door and burst into the last room.
A girl screamed from the bed. She was naked as well, and again holding up a sheet to cover her body. It was Emm, but she was alone in the room. Another door, on the far side of the room was open and Gwaynn could see stairs beyond, They led down to what he supposed was the feed store. He moved to the window in time to see a man, still holding up his britches, running through the streets.
“Who was he?” Gwaynn asked the stunned girl on the bed. She remained quiet, staring at the two intruders with wide eyes.
“Who?” Gwaynn screamed at her and she jumped, her gaze quickly shifting to his face.
“His name is Tod,” she blurted immediately. “Tod Ogden,” she added. Gwaynn rushed to her, grabbed her hair and pulled her from the bed. She was completely naked and helpless before them. He dropped her on the wooden floor and raised a kali, his anger breaking over him in waves. Emm screamed from her prone position and held up her hands in capitulation.
“Please!” she shrieked and they all heard the sounds of running feet. Krys moved to the doorway in time to see Dot, wearing only her under things running toward the back room and supposedly the stairs beyond. Gwaynn stood frozen, his kali held high for the killing blow, but as he glanced back down at the naked girl at his feet, his anger had past.
“Please,” she said, beginning to cry.
“Fakir?” Gwaynn asked.
Emm’s mouth popped open for a second, as death began to back away. “He…he sleeps in the room by the back stairs,” she said through her tears. Gwaynn still stood above her with his hand and weapon raised, but she saw something in his eyes that told her he was not going to kill her, so she smiled her shy, sweet smile at him. Anger flared again, and he grabbed a large handful of thick soft hair, and pulled her to her feet and out the door of the bedroom. She screamed and had to walk bent over, but she managed to shuffle along quickly in order to keep her hair from being pulled out of her scalp. Gwaynn pulled Emm down the hallway and Krys followed them back to the far room. When they stopped Emm tried to straighten up, but Gwaynn jerked her hair hard, keeping his arm down so that she had to stay bent, staring at her bare feet.
The woman with the bare breasts still sat at the table with the bowl of fruit. Her eyes were still wide as Gwaynn motioned to the dead man on the bed.
“Fakir?” he asked, and she slowly nodded.
“Are you his woman?” He asked again with enough malice that she began to shake.
She ignored the question. “Please Sir,” she pleaded. “They make us do it…the thieving. They killed two that wouldn’t. Please Sir ever since the Deutz…”
“Silence!” Gwaynn yelled, his anger returning. Thunder boomed in the distance as if echoing his mood. “Are you his woman?” he asked again.
“Please Gwaynn,” Emm said, but yelped as he tugged at her hair once more.
“Yes, I was,” the woman said bravely, for she saw death in the young man’s eyes before her. She was very afraid, and the strong smell of blood in the room did not help to allay her fears. “But she’s done nothing wrong,” she added, nodding at Emm. “Fakir just bought her from her step father not two months ago.”
Gwaynn said nothing but his hold on Emm’s hair loosened slightly.
“Your name?”
“Neece Munger,” the woman whispered.
“Well Neece,” Gwaynn asked, calmly holding up one of his blades, “do you happen to know where we might find another set of these?”
Neece nodded and moving very carefully stood and went to a chest which sat at the foot of the bed. She opened it, inside were Gwaynn’s kali, along with his coin bag, plus a few hundred other coins.
Krys whistled as he moved forward to collect Gwaynn’s weapons for him. Truth was he feared for the woman before him, his friends temper flared quickly but he killed even faster. He removed the kali and the coin bag.
“What of the rest?” Krys asked.
“We take it,” Gwaynn answered, “for the war effort. Find something to put it in.”
He then turned back to Neece, who was quickly pulling a top over her head.
“You will live,” he said simply, “but you will leave town…today. I have friends here that will know if you do not do as I say. If you stay you die, just as Dot and Tod will die.”
Emm gasped, head still down, still looking at her own bare toes. Gwaynn looked down at her naked back but said nothing to her.
“And if I catch you thieving again, you will die very, very slowly,” he added.
Neece nodded and began to slip out of the room.
“Go out through the store,” Gwaynn said and she quickly changed direction and did as he commanded.
“What of me?” Emm asked, but Gwaynn just pulled her hair harder.
“Shut up,” he answered tersely, eating some of the fruit on the table, as Krys packed up the coins. When Krys was finished, Gwaynn pulled Emm behind him and outside to the top of the stairs. It was raining hard now and as the cold air hit her bare skin goose bumps rose prominently. Emm had her arms crossed over her breasts but had to spread them wider to keep her balance as they moved out into the rain and down the stairs.
Taylor was apparently still waiting for them, because he opened the door to the inn with his good hand as they approached and let them pass out of the rain. His other hand was now wrapped in the remnants of a blood soaked shirt. Gwaynn strode in quickly without stopping and Taylor followed behind Krys occasionally getting brief glimpses of the young woman’s naked backside which moved alluringly from side to side as she was pulled along by her hair. And though the little soldier between his legs no longer came to attention, he still found the sight of a young naked woman interesting enough. He wouldn’t let Maybe
l, his wife, catch him looking however.
Gwaynn stopped before the desk. “How long has she been with Fakir?” he asked Taylor as they came to a stop.
Taylor rubbed his chin, his eyes moving quickly over the girl’s naked body as if trying to memorize it, which for all accounts, he was.
“Couple of months maybe,” he answered and Gwaynn suddenly released Emm’s hair. She stayed bent over for several long moments before she realized she was free and straightened up. Her face was flushed with embarrassment to be naked before three men, and she quickly covered her breasts with one arm and her privates with the other hand. She glanced back at Krys, who was behind her. His eyes rose from her backside until he was looking into her eyes and he jumped like he was a kid caught with a stolen pie. She couldn’t help smiling at him despite her present predicament.
Taylor ogled her until Gwaynn reached out and boxed his right ear.
“Ow,” Taylor complained. “She’s from….”
“Odin,” she said. “Near Cape.”
“Yea, Odin,” Taylor agreed. “Her father came and sold her to Bunker, but he turned around and sold her to Fakir. Fakir took a fancy to her. Fakir’s a bad one,” he added and managed to pull his eyes from the naked girl to glance at the back door.
“Fakir’s dead,” Gwaynn said. “She’s yours,” he added shocking both the innkeeper and Emm.
Taylor licked his lips, eyes back on the girl, but then he thought of his wife. “Thank you Sir, but my tool don’t get sharp no more…” he answered a little wistfully, his eyes roaming over the soft but firm body displayed before him. “But maybe with her…” He added and completely missed the utter look of horror on the young woman’s face because of the simple fact that he never looked into it.
“She’s not for fucking,” Gwaynn snapped. “You’re to raise her as a daughter, a barmaid maybe, but not a whore.”
Taylor shrugged with a chuckle. “Just as well. The missus would’ve killed me quicker than you could manage.” He looked back at Emm. “You’re to explain all of this to her, are you not Sire?”
Gwaynn nodded, ignoring the sharp look he was now receiving from the girl. “Emm you may get dressed now,” he said. “Return promptly.” Then he turned to Taylor. “Go and get your formidable missus. We’ve wasted enough time.”
ǂ
Following behind, Tar Navarra was surprised at the speed that the girl was able to maintain. He expected to catch up with her within a day, but the large horse she was riding appeared to never tire. Still, he was gaining on her steadily, and soon she had to falter. Her bow was broken and discarded, and from what he had gleaned from the boy in Lynndon, she had left in quite a hurry. He believed she probably left without preparing properly for the journey ahead. Panic did that to people. She was traveling along the river, so water would be no problem for her, but food….that could become very troublesome. He could almost hear her stomach growling in the late afternoon air.
The rainstorm, which had passed nearly an hour ago, was only an annoyance. It washed away many of her tracks, but he did not slow down even though there were sometimes long gaps between any sign of her passing. He continued quickly, however, because it was obvious she was heading to Manse in order to cross the Scar. He had stopped only a couple of times to eat, drink and of course, the previous night to sleep. He did not hail the few barges that passed by on the assumption that the girl would have kept out of sight; not exactly knowing who it was working the river.
It was towards the middle of the afternoon when he spotted a group of soldiers riding close along the riverbank. His sharp eyes marked them while they were still nearly a mile away, but the group did not veer course and move to intercept him until they were much closer. He could plainly see the look of disappointment and fear written on their faces as they drew nearer. He moved directly to them.
“I’m tracking a girl, long red hair. She’s riding a large horse,” he said without preamble, doubting that they had come across her. Samantha would either be dead or with them if she had encountered them. Somehow, she had slipped past.
A large balding man, with a simple ring of dark hair that was quickly going gray rode in front of the group.
“We saw no one,” he said simply in a deep baritone voice. He eyed the Executioner nervously as he spoke.
“No one,” Navarra repeated his face flat and emotionless.
“No M’lord,” the man answered fidgeting in his saddle.
“What is your name Sergeant?”
Navarra watched with satisfaction as the man swallowed hard. “Blear,” he finally answered though they all could see he was loath to, but then he straightened and added with as much courage and dignity as he could muster. “Sergeant Hans Blear.”
Tar Navarra regarded him for a long moment. Sergeant Blear felt like a mouse caught directly in the stare of the cold, flat eyes of a snake.
“And Sergeant Blear,” Navarra began in what he felt to be his most dangerously reasonable voice, “what is your duty along the Scar?”
Sergeant Blear remained straight in the saddle. “We are to patrol the Scar.”
“And just what are you patrolling for?”
Blear shrugged. “Any unusual movement, either east or west. Possible counter strikes from the Massi, or a possible invasion from the Toranado.”
“The Toranado,” Navarra repeated without a hint of emotion, though inside he was seething. He had little doubt that the order was true, but it made little sense. Mastoc was a fool as were his Generals. “And what of the locals. Are they to have free passage?”
Blear shook his head. “No sir. It’s the King’s orders that the Massi are not to travel cross the Scar without papers. Trade may continue along the Scar River, and loggers may come and go from Manse, but we are to watch the Scar for any Massi citizens who may be on the run to the west.”
“Ah,” Navarra said as if making a great discovery. “But you saw no one recently in your travels along the Scar.”
“No Sir,” Blear answered his nervousness returning.
“Well, I am following a young girl,” Navarra said stressing the word ‘young’ for the Sergeant and his men. “The tracks of her horse are plain in the sand and mud along the Scar. She passed this way, and is perhaps a half-day ahead of me, perhaps not. She fled from Lynndon and is heading for Manse. How is it that you, whose job it is to watch the Scar for fleeing locals, did not spot her?”
Now more of the soldiers were fidgeting along with their Sergeant. “We…we saw no one,” he repeated. “Mayhap she passed us in the storm,” he added and Navarra too thought that this was likely, but he didn’t say as much.
“Perhaps,” he replied then decided he had wasted enough time terrorizing these soldiers.
“Will you ride all the way to Lynndon?”
“Yes, Sir,” Blear answered. “We stay for three days then travel back to Manse,” he added though the information was not sought after. Navarra waved him away.
“I killed four men on top of the Scar about half a league down from the bridge, Massi spies most likely,” he said not even bothering to try to impress them. “There is a way to them about a league past the supply store up top. Find them, and look for any sign of exactly who they were and then report it to your Captain. Tell him Tar Navarra wishes it brought to the General’s attention.”
“Yes…yes M’lord,” Blear said relief flowing over him as he realized he was not to be killed or even disciplined. Navarra began to move off, but called out behind him.
“And Sergeant, keep a keen eye on the Scar. If you pass another I am hunting I will have your head…and all those responsible.” He glared at all the soldiers in turn before finally swinging around in his saddle and continuing on with his pursuit of the Fultan girl.
ǂ
Samantha swung around, and there behind her, camped beyond a large boulder and beneath a solid slab of granite was a large man, dressed in a pair of long underwear. He was round in the middle, completely bald on top and he sported an enor
mous bushy mustache, which was just beginning to go gray. He was looking at her, his right eyebrow twitching as his gaze moved up and down her body, which was outlined nicely by her wet clothes. Behind him was a fire built in a small depression well back beneath an overhand, and placed on the surrounding rocks, as close to the fire as possible, lay his outer clothes. On the fire sat a pan of what looked to be black beans, mixed with, by the smell filling the air, bacon. Samantha’s stomach rumbled angrily and clenched so hard she nearly doubled over. Her eyes lingered on the food for a long time before moving to the bow leaning against the back wall of the shelter.
“I’m Cobb,” the man said, his eyes still moving about her body. He had not moved any closer. Sam was sure she would have fled if he had done so. Instead he smiled at her.
“You look hungry,” he added.
Samantha glanced back at his face for a brief moment before returning to the pan of beans. All of her thoughts were now completely on food as her stomach rumbled again.
“I am,” she finally answered, forcing herself to pull her eyes from the pan, and look back at the man confronting her.
“My name’s Cobb. I’m a trader,” he said with obvious pride, and he pointed past her down to the river. Sam turned and looked. There on the bank, she saw a large wooden boat, probably big enough that two men should be working it, but she saw only Cobb.
“I’m Sam,” she answered back, and he smiled at her again. She tried to smile back, but hunger was cruelly gripping her mid-section.
The Black Horseman Page 32