out front with the other men; the Fultan’s were all trussed up tight, all on their knees, facing his way. The servants were swinging gently from the large oak tree out front, their hands tied behind their backs. Navarra smile inwardly, as Sergeant Lindsay rode out to meet him.
“He’s gone to Koshka,” the Sergeant informed him. “He spent several nights here then moved on. The middle girl broke just before we hung Murl…the cook.”
“Koshka,” Navarra said slowly, letting the word roll off of his tongue. He rode to the opposite side of the oak and dismounted as if he didn’t have a care. He had never heard of the town, but as he moved slowly down the family’s line he knew he would soon have all the answers. He studied them closely. The little girl watched him with wonder, the middle girl kept her head down and from the look and smell of her; she’d urinated on herself sometime earlier. Navarra crinkled his nose. Thomas likewise had his head down. The only Fultan eyeing him with any life was the eldest daughter, her expression blazing. His heart skipped a beat when he looked into her eyes. She was just as alluring as he remembered, and the fact that she was facing death with courage made her even more so…at least in his eyes.
Navarra stopped before Thomas, who didn’t move. “Koshka?” he whispered to the man.
Thomas raised his head. “Yes, please. He went to Koshka to hide. He is an old man and has no heart for war.”
Navarra cocked his head and then turned to Sergeant Lindsay. “Where is Koshka?”
“Deep to the southwest, along the Scar Mountains, maybe fifty miles south of Manse,” he answered.
“You and the men get started now. Use all speed. If I do not catch up with you before you arrive, you may begin persuading the locals to reveal his whereabouts. I shouldn’t be more than a day behind you, however.” Navarra ordered…his blood suddenly hot in his veins.
“Now?” Lindsay asked, confused.
“Now,” Navarra confirmed, “at once.”
Sergeant Lindsay’s brows creased momentarily, but still he turned and ordered his men to prepare the mounts. Navarra walked over to Kronos and removed the block from the horse’s flanks and began to assemble it not far from the two swinging corpses. He moved slowly, wanting to draw this out. After a few moments Lindsay and the men assembled on horseback near the waiting family. Navarra looked up, nodded and they immediately moved out. The Executioner waited until they were well on their way and completely out of sight, then he turned. Only Samantha and the little girl were watching him. The middle girl…Arabelle he believed her name to be, was crying a bit harder now. Navarra smiled at the little one, and unbelievably, she smiled back at him. He walked slowly over and then behind her. He knelt down on one knee so that his face was directly behind her head. Her little arms were tied tightly behind her back and he watched for a moment as her small, red fingers wiggled about.
“Do you know who Uncle Afton Sath is today?” he whispered reaching out to cup her chin with one hand, and with his other he grabbed a handful of her pretty brown hair.
He felt her shiver. “Umhmm,” she mumbled an affirmative.
“And would you like a sugared biscuit?” he asked very softly.
She giggled.
“Good girl,” he said and with a quick jerk, pushed her chin one way, and pulled her hair in the opposite direction. Her neck snapped easier than he was expecting, and he twisted her face so far around that he was able to watch as her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only whites. Arabelle began to scream as he stood and pulled the little one by the hair. He dropped her at the base of the old oak. She landed with her head at an odd angle to the rest of her body, her white pupil-less eyes still twitching. He would rather have cut her head off, his preferred method of execution, but she was too small for the block. Arabelle, the screaming one however…
He moved in front of her and grabbed her by the hair. Her shrieks grew louder.
He turned, enjoying the wild look in Arabelle’s eyes. As he approached she whimpered softly and began breathing in and out very rapidly. He knelt by her and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “It will be over very quickly,” he cooed. She just looked at him, her eyes going blank from shock. He sighed and stood, disappointed. He knew he would get no more reaction from her; once their fear reached a certain point the doomed shut down completely. He raised his axe, took a quick look back at Samantha. He smiled at her, and with a smooth practiced motion brought the axe down. It thumped loudly in the quiet morning air, and Arabelle’s body jumped and immediately fell away from her head.
“Bastard!” Samantha yelled behind him. He turned, still smiling, and pointed to himself in surprise.
“Your turn is coming soon enough,” he replied, and pulled the headless body of Arabelle over and dropped her next to her younger sister, blood still flowing lightly from the severed neck. Next, he bent and began to arrange the body to his liking. He turned Arabelle on her back, then removed the thong at her ankles and spread her legs slightly. He then returned to the block and removed her head. He purposefully carried it by the hair letting the stump of the neck drag in the dirt just a bit and then he placed Arabelle’s head in the crotch of her legs so that her dead, blank face pointed past her feet and directly at the remaining two victims. He again brushed the hair out of the dead girl’s face, almost lovingly, then stood and turned.
Samantha said nothing, did not even look at him, rather her eyes remained fixed on the face of her dead sister, fascinated. Arabelle’s eyes seemed to stare right through her. She groaned and sucked up a bit of snot, only then realizing that she was crying.
The Executioner walked toward his two remaining victims and Samantha felt a wave of terror course through her body. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before and she felt as if she might faint. Instead, when the man was close enough she spat at him, hitting his pants. He ignored her, however, and with one hand grabbed her father by the hair and placed the other hand under his left shoulder and then pulled him to the block. Samantha watched stunned, as her father did nothing to try to stop the killer. He made no move to escape until his head was secured and then he strained at his bonds as if suddenly coming out of a dream, but by then it was too late. The Executioner tied his feet, and then moved to pick up the axe.
Tears flowed from Samantha’s eyes, blurring the scene. She blinked quickly, desperate to clear her vision, though why she could not have said.
“Please!” she shouted as loudly as she could when the Executioner picked up the huge, deadly looking axe. He turned, smiled at her again, and then with an effortless stroke, he cut her father’s head from his body. Samantha’s eyes were open, but she did not see the blood, did not see as the Executioner pulled her father’s body until it lay next to Arabelle’s, nor did she noticed as he placed the head so that her father too, was staring at her.
Samantha was no longer crying when she felt the Executioner grab her by the hair and begin to pull her to the block. He jerked her roughly from her knees and her body dropped violently down and she blinked from the pain in her scalp. Her face was just inches from the ground so that when she began screaming her breath blew up small puffs of dirt. She began to fight and squirm but no matter which way she turned the pain continued to grow. She felt certain her scalp would give away, but as suddenly as it had started the pain was gone. A strong hand gripped her by the neck and lifted her head and torso. When she saw the block beneath her she panicked again and kicked out, fighting now in earnest, but with her hands tied it was futile. As her head was forced down, Samantha screamed again, rage suddenly filling her. She could see and smell the blood left by her father and sister, but nothing she did seemed to matter and her head was soon in place. The dark wood of the block was cooler than she expected and actually felt good against the heat of her skin. She dimly felt the Executioner place a knee in the center of her back, holding her still as he tied the leather thong about her head, securing her in place. Once in position, Samantha felt truly helpless. Her head was held tightly, and she found herself focusing on the feel of the wet, warm blood of her family on her cheek. Her breathing was coming in rapid little gasps, which made her think of Arabelle. She could not
