Elsewhere

Cyn de Baard rode along at a good clip, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Manse as possible. She needed time to think and to plan, but most importantly to kill. She needed to kill someone, anyone… badly. She knew if she’d stayed around the headquarters of the Massi much longer, Lee Brandt was going to die. And while that might cure the itch and provide her with a great deal of satisfaction, it would also raise far too many questions, questions she did not want to deal with at the moment. So she asked Bock for a few days leave, ostensibly to finally get her head together after her brother’s death. Bock agreed readily enough and within the hour she was packed, saddled and riding away from the pressures of being proper.

              She spent no ‘goodbyes’ on Brandt.

              de Baard had no real destination in mind, just away. She needed to be alone to get her priorities in order. Events were not going as planned. She’d neither killed Gwaynn Massi as the High King ordered, nor seduced him as she desired, and now word was filtering down from the finger that the Fultan slut was pregnant. If true, it complicated things greatly. Even though she hated the very idea, de Baard had little doubt that the rumors were true. After all, pregnancy was the snare all peasant girls sought when they wished to raise their station. The red headed whore was no different. Who knew if the sniveling, slimy seed growing in her belly was even the Prince’s? No doubt the bitch had lured countless men to her honeyed crotch before Gwaynn, attracting them like flies no doubt. Hell, she’d probably even rutted with the dullard that always hung around…Cobb, yes that was his name. de Baard was surprised that Gwaynn could not see through such an old and worn out deception.

              Unconsciously de Baard began to grind her pelvic region against the pommel of the saddle as she imagined what it would be like having the Prince’s seed inside her, impregnating her, his heir growing in her body. She felt the familiar warmth spread outward from deep in her belly. It was the feeling that almost always accompanied thoughts of Gwaynn Massi, and she was growing accustomed to them.

              ‘I cannot be tied to the slut’s death…not now,’ de Baard thought, almost in a panic. She rode along vaguely to the northeast though she was largely unaware of her surroundings. She was heading toward the sea, but angling away from Cape. She thought perhaps that the sight and smell of the familiar Inland Sea would help her concentrate, but she wanted to be as far away from any crowds as she could get.

              She rode along in the fog of thoughts until suddenly she noticed that the day was growing to a close. Baal, her mount, was beginning to show serious signs of tiring, strong though he was. A thick film of sweat was casting a sheen on his glossy black hide. She pulled him to a walk and for the first time since leaving Manse looked about at the countryside. She was in a long, shallow valley with no town or farmhouse in sight. She had no idea where she was. She must have passed through a town, perhaps several at the speed she was riding, but she did not remember even one. She let Baal slowly walk to the top of a low hill just as the sun kissed the horizon. The vantage point was little better since it was a very low hill, but farther to the north and maybe a half a mile off the main road she spotted a lone farmhouse in the distance.

              She climbed from Baal’s back and walked, letting him rest for a time, but she would mount once again as she got closer to her destination in order to make herself appear more imposing. Call it an Executioner’s instinct.

              When she was within a quarter of a mile of the house she climbed back onto Baal’s back, but as she moved closer she realized it was a useless gesture. No one was in sight; no one was waiting. She rode up to the open front door just as it was getting dark and leaned over to look inside, but the hall and part of the one room that was visible was empty. She did not call out but instead coaxed Baal toward the barn behind the house. Its wide door was also open. She pulled to a stop in front of the open door and once again climbed from the horse. She pulled on Baal’s reins, leading him to the dim interior.

              “Hallo there miss,” a voice came from above and de Baard glanced up to see an elderly man leaning out from the hayloft above.

              “I’m a Captain in the King’s army and need a place to stay for the night,” de Baard announced in a commanding tone.

              “King?” The old man asked. “King? What King?”

              “King Gwaynn of course,” de Baard said simply and led Baal farther into the dark interior of the barn without asking. She heard the old man hobbling along above her head.

              “Well why didn’t ya say so,” the man said, now all smiles as he moved to the ladder which descended from the loft. “Thought ya meant the other fellow. Never cared for him much.”

              de Baard smiled and wondered what the old man would say if he knew he was standing in the presence of the person who’d killed ‘the other fellow.’ There were five open stalls all together and a mule in the sixth. She guided Baal into the farthest one on the right, away from the mule and began to unsaddle him.

              “Allow me miss,” the old man said and hung the lantern he was carrying on a nearby hook. “Name’s Jasper, Jasper Fenn.” He introduced himself and held out a hand. de Baard looked at it but did not take his hand, so Fenn eventually dropped it.

              “A Captain ya say,” he said, talking over the slight and pulling the heavy saddle from the horse’s back. “Master Gwaynn sure put a hurtin’ on the Deutzani I’d say.”

              “King…King Gwaynn,” de Baard corrected.

              “Yes miss,” Fenn answered bobbing his head. “You’ve been riding hard,” he said noticing the slick coat of Baal.

              “Yes,” de Baard answered. “Is there a place where I can clean up as well?”

              “Of course miss,” Fenn said and led her back to the door of the barn,

              “Cyndee!” he yelled and for a brief moment de Baard thought he was yelling her name. When she turned rapidly toward him, he smiled and shied from her a bit. “My Missus,” he explained as he walked closer to the house.

              “Cyndee!” he yelled once more and an extremely large, harsh looking woman appeared in the light at the back door. She eyed de Baard suspiciously.

              “I heard ya the first time ya old fool,” the woman spat loudly and Fenn stopped walking toward the house.

              “This is…this is…” the old man started, looking to de Baard for help.

              “Captain de Baard,” she said softly, in sharp contrast to the hulking woman at the door. For some reason she did not want them to know she shared a name with the beast of the house.

              “Captain?” Cyndee asked, eyeing de Baard with open hostility.

              “Captain,” Fenn said quickly, taking a few steps forward. “In Lord Gwaynn’s army,” he explained.

              Cyndee eyed de Baard a moment longer.

              “She needs a room,” Fenn said in her defense.

              “Well of course she does fool, it’s already dark out,” Cyndee yelled then shook her head. “Idgit,” she repeated with no attempt to even lower her voice. “Follow me.”

              de Baard followed the large woman into a spacious kitchen that was full of delicious smells.  de Baard’s stomach growled as she realized she had not eaten since very early that morning. Food would be good and from the look of her Cyndee was undoubtedly a very good cook. The woman led her through the kitchen and up a set of stairs. Cyndee was so large in her lower half that her hips nearly brushed both walls of the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor. When Cyndee reached the top she was breathing heavily from the strain. She opened the first door and de Baard squeezed past her, not expecting much. Her instincts were as sharp as ever. The room was small and contained a narrow bed and a large chamber pot in the far corner. There was no fireplace and no chest of drawers. de Baard stared at the chamber pot, wondering why on earth it was so large. The old woman, who was following de Baard’s gaze, sniffed.

              “You’ll be emptying that yorself,” she said gruffly and lit the lone candle in the room. “I’m not runnin’ an inn here.”

              de Baard smiled slightly and her eyes actually twinkled. “Of course,” she replied in her silkiest voice and then set her small bag on the foot of the bed.

              “There’s water in the trough out back,” the woman added already descending the stairs, “and if ya be wantin’ to eat, you’ll be helpin’ with the cookin’.”

              Anger flared in de Baard’s chest and she was near the point of drawing her kali and sprinting down after the fat woman when she realized just how hungry she was, perhaps she would let the woman cook before she died. The aroma wafting up from the kitchen below was near paradise and her stomach growled loudly. de Baard