“I will send Hothgaard to deal with the boy; Nev can wait,” Mastoc eventually said, when he felt he could master his voice.”
“You begin to prepare for the invasion of Toranado if we fail,” the High King added.
Arsinol’s head flew up. “Invasion…of Toranado?”
The High King nodded and gave a slow smile. “Use the money you are stealing from the Massi.”
Arsinol blanched and then answered. “It cannot be done,”
The King studied him a moment. “It may well have to be, if either of us is to survive this.”
?
Tar Navarra gazed through the small window of his cabin as the ports of Solarii slowly approached. A week had past since the end of the Competitions. A storm had hit the day after the final ceremonies and travel by trireme had been delayed. But even when the worst of the storm had past, the sky did not clear. Even now it was raining light and steady, the clouds low, gray and uniform, covering the earth like an old wool blanket. The weather matched Navarra’s mood. He was still stewing about Arsinol’s summons to the King’s Island and his own dismissal. He didn’t like be excluded, but he had little choice, only those invited dared to step foot on the High King’s Island. Executioners were not immune to death. So he sat in his cabin and waited, thinking about the Prince of Massi. Navarra was not surprised the boy had somehow managed to defeat B’dall, even though the later was this year’s best with katas. Navarra had faced Gwaynn personally and knew his skill was growing rapidly. He did, however, think that the odds were still with B’dall; after all, he had been training on Noble almost constantly for the last eight years. Noble, apparently, wasn’t everything.
Navarra blinked, the ship was fast approaching land. Standing on the dock was Sergeant Lindsay, patiently waiting for him. The Executioner’s curiosity peaked and he stood and went out onto the deck and into the rain.
Lindsay raised a hand in greeting that Navarra did not return. He merely waited impatiently until the ship was tied off and the gangplank was finally lowered. The Executioner was the first person off.
“I have news,” Sergeant Lindsay said by way of greeting. Navarra said nothing, just waited.
“It seems that Afton Sath’s late wife had some relatives near the town of Millvale,” the Sergeant hurried already aware of his superior’s foul mood.
Navarra raised an eyebrow.
“And the two made frequent visits to the hot springs nearby during the final years of her life.”
Navarra waved his hand, signaling Lindsay to get to the point.
“Thomas Fultan was her brother,” he finally said, and Navarra felt the air run out of his lungs.
“The Fultan’s,” he whispered and his first thought was of the eldest daughter, the one with the hair like fire and earth. What was her name? Ah, Samantha, yes. Then his thoughts strayed to the little one and his face darkened. He had been deceived by a child, and a very, very young one at that.
“Take the men. Pay a visit to the Fultan’s. Kill the servants but secure the family and wait for my arrival. I have matters to attend to, but I won’t be more than a half day behind you. If all goes well I should arrive tomorrow about mid-day.”
Lindsay nodded smiling, very glad that he was not a Fultan.
?
On Lato, Gwaynn was surprised that he was completely at ease with his surroundings and the longer he stayed on the island the more he was being seduced by its people and their philosophy of learning. He was sure if his father would have sent him here as a child he would have grown up very happy, but now, that was not to be. He’d spent the past week with Elise, Kent and a host of other students and teachers. He followed them about learning bits and pieces of a dozen different subjects. He learned more about the history of the planet than he believed was possible. Through the telescope at the Observatory, he viewed the mountains and valleys of the moon, plus the planet Jupiter, its largest moons and the rings of Saturn. An entire new world of peace and learning was opening for him, yet everywhere he went he carried his kali. No one thus far tried to take them from him.
It was not until his eighteenth day on the island that he began to spar again with Nev, and even then he did so gingerly, favoring his left leg. They practiced in a closed gym sanctioned by Master Putal himself, who approved the place upon his return from the Competitions. On the days they manipulated time, Nev would bring large sacks of fruits, cheese and bread.
Gwaynn quickly improved his control, but he was still having difficulty succeeding while under the extreme duress of one of Nev’s attacks. Nev on the other hand could move from one point to another with seeming lightning speed even under the most determined attack.
“You seem to be adjusting well to life of Lato,” Nev said as they stood a few feet apart, circling slowly and panting from the effort. Nev studied the young man’s movements carefully; Gwaynn was beginning to push him, something he had thought impossible just a year ago.
Gwaynn nodded. “I like it here. I like the pe…” he stopped talking as he attacked furiously, striking high, then low, left and right in a seemingly random pattern. It took nearly all of Nev’s skill to parry the blows.
“You should not stop talking before you attack,” Nev said and in the middle of the admonishment slowed time and jumped from before Gwaynn to behind. Nev knew the move was too fast for the eye to follow, at least in normal time. But somehow, Gwaynn managed to drop and block the blow intended for the back of his right shoulder and then he struck out so quickly at Nev’s shins that the older man had to skip back awkwardly.
Gwaynn stood, still coming, but Nev held up a hand, laughing. “I need to eat.”
“You told me never to use time unless it was to end a fight or run from one,” Gwaynn scolded.
Nev laughed all the more, though he had to bend at the waist as the hunger cramps hit him. “I used it to end the fight; you just blocked the killing blow. No one else could have done such a thing.”
Gwaynn shrugged.
“It’s not natural,” Nev added.
This time Gwaynn laughed. “What is natural?” he asked becoming serious. “Master Jann says that with each decision we make we create a New World. She says life is like the branches of a tree, and we decide where the branches grow. She even suspects that in every decision we face we also create other realities. Each reality is anchored in our decisions. Each different decision means a different reality. She claims that there are an infinite number of realities all marching along next to ours, some are almost indistinguishable from the one we live in, while others may be radically different, depending on the scale of the decisions.”
Nev nodded. “Yes, so Galen has said. Sounds intriguing, does it not.”
“I think I like the idea of a reality where Gwynn is still alive, a reality where I’m still whole,” Gwaynn said, and took a bite from a date.
Nev sat quietly for a moment considering. Yes, it was a very comforting thought. “I think I may have to meet this Master Jann,” he finally said.
Gwaynn smiled again. “You’d like her. Her hair may be bushier than yours.”
Nev nodded again, but uncharacteristically remained somber.
“Don’t become too attached to this place,” he finally said and Gwaynn’s smile dropped from his face. Nev regretted driving it away. Gwaynn smiled so little.
“It may not be good for the people of Lato if we stayed over long,” he added.
Gwaynn sighed, but said nothing, and after a moment ate another date.
?
Tar Navarra rode up the lane to the house. Kronos, his mount, kept to a slow walk and Navarra did nothing to speed him up. Today he was Death, the Black Horseman himself. And death should never hurry. He knew the family would be watching, dreading his arrival and his slow approach would be excruciating. Sergeant Lindsay was waiting
