since the day her family was killed. Her pants were filthy and she was hoping to at least rinse most of the dirt off of them, before she moved on.
Scot watched her as she walked to the fire. Her new confidence began to falter under his gaze. “You look better,” he said, giving her a shy smile. “I mean… yesterday…you…you looked tired,” he quickly added.
“Thank you,” she answered and sat opposite him, on one of the large logs ringing the fire pit.
“Don’t listen to him,” Otter said rounding the far side of the small cabin. He and Martin, the other old soldier, were carrying wood. “You were a vision yesterday, and an even lovelier one today,” he added, dropping his load next to the pit. Martin nodded, but Scot just blushed.
Samantha smiled, but it quickly fell away from her face, as she spotted Wake rounding the corner, over his shoulder he carried a very large axe. Suddenly her breath was coming in gasps, as painful memories abruptly hit her once more. Wake noticed the stark look of terror in her eyes, and at first was confused and just a little bit hurt. But understanding came quickly to him and he leaned the axe against a nearby tree then came slowly to her side, approaching as if she were a skittish animal.
“He used an axe,” the large man said softly in his husky voice, “didn’t he?”
Samantha did not answer at first; she was still trying to get a hold of herself. Never in her life, not even on the day of the executions, had she felt such overwhelming fear, and it took her several moments to realize that she had wet herself, just a little. Her face colored in embarrassment, but she did not move and said nothing.
Wake sat down next to her and very slowly and deliberately reached out and petted her hair. He worried she would shy from him, like a rabbit in a trap and she flinched at first, wanting nothing more than for him to stop, but she said nothing. Her voice had left her for the time being, and gradually she began to relax to his touch.
“They hung Murl and Wellman…our servants,” she said speaking so softly that all the men had to lean in to hear her voice over the crackling fire. “But when he…when he came…” she abruptly stopped speaking, and remained silent for so long that they thought she was finished, but suddenly she was talking again. “He broke Beth’s neck, but used the axe on my father and Arabelle. He tied me to the block…but not very well.” She abruptly stopped talking and stood up, looking in turn at the four men before her. She studied their faces, and all at once she knew they meant her no harm.
“He went into the house for a drink and just left me there tied by my dead family, but I got away and hit him. I hit him hard.” Her voice cracked, but before she could cry she turned and fled off away from them. She ran through the sparse woods until she reached the edge of the Scar, down below and to the left was the bridge and beyond that the town of Lynndon. She looked out again at the world, amazed at just how far she could see. She sat down, and was soon joined by Martin and Wake.
“It’s my watch,” Martin said carefully, afraid she might get upset once more, but Wake just sat by her. He handed her some food and water that she ate without comment, and the entire time Wake just sat, close but not too near, saying nothing. She shook her head, surprised that she found his presence such a comfort when yesterday he only filled her with fear.
When she finally went back to the camp it was near dark. Wake followed her; having stayed with her the entire day, though the rest of the soldiers had come and gone with their shifts. They ate a light supper, again in silence, but when it began to lightly rain she stood to go bed, suddenly exhausted. She turned to Wake and touched his hand. “Thank you Wake,” she said softly, but he only nodded, and watched her duck into the tent. They all went to sleep that night unaware that under the cover of darkness, the Executioner had arrived in Lynndon.
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Gwaynn and Krys left Paulo’s just after sunrise the following morning on two of the finest horses available in all of Heron. Krys protested, believing that the splendid animals would call too much attention to them, but Paulo would hear none of it.
“Bradley,” Paulo said, talking of Heron’s largest horse trader, “put up a hard bargain, but I’d not let my King ride about on a broken down swayback.”
“But…” Krys began to argue. He fell silent with a look from Gwaynn, who despite his friend’s sound judgment felt they needed the best mounts possible. Manse was a good six days ride away and Koshka another two and a half beyond. It would be better to traverse the distance just as quickly as they could, and besides, the black mare he was to get was absolutely beautiful. Paulo also pushed a generous bag of coins into Gwaynn’s hands, and when he tried to return it, the older man just shrugged.
“You can pay me back,” Paulo insisted, so Gwaynn took it gratefully.
Once out of town they rode at a quick pace, though one the horses could easily maintain for hours. Gwaynn’s heart soared. He was home, and felt suddenly free. The morning was cool and started out well enough but the sky soon clouded over and it began to rain just before mid-day. They were soon very wet.
“No sense stopping in the rain,” Gwaynn said, but they both dismounted to at least give the horses a break from their weight.
“It feels strange being back,” Krys said, pulling some salted beef from his pack. He handed a large slice to Gwaynn. “I grew up in Lynndon, but traveled a bit with my father when he drove our sheep to the harbor at Heron.”
“You drove sheep?” Gwaynn asked with a smile.
Krys nodded, ignoring the jab. “Just a few years, when I was nine and ten, before I was called to Noble.”
Gwaynn chuckled, thinking,
“There’s good money in sheep,” Krys protested, “from the wool and the meat.”
“All right, all right,” Gwaynn said still laughing softly and holding his hands up in surrender.
They traveled down the finger of Massi through remote farmlands keeping clear of any towns or large clusters of population. For two days they stayed clear of anyone on horseback and kept to trails or back roads rather than the main routes. After leaving the finger and moving out into the sparsely populated plains, they set out cross country and only occasionally saw a distance house or barn. They slept out in the open and did not stop in any town or hamlet until they reached the small crossroads town of Bern just an hour before sundown on the fourth day. The rain continued on and off the entire way, and they both were looking forward to finally sleeping with a roof over their heads.
The town only consisted of five buildings, two of which were private homes. There was a barn with a small corral, a modest trading post and a tavern, which doubled as an inn. There were only three rooms total at the inn, and two of those were already occupied, but it was no great hardship for them to share. They were only stopping to get a bite to eat and to sleep. Once the horses were settled in, the two headed into the tavern to grab a bit of food.
Inside the main room there were five tables, a small bar and an enormous fireplace along one wall. At the moment, only a small fire was lit to drive the chill from the damp air. They took the table closest to the fire in an attempt to dry their clothes though they’d left their soggy riding cloaks in the barn with their mounts.
There were seven other people in the main room, a table of three men, apparently locals by the friendly banter they shared with Mel, the tavern owner and Rebecca, his wife. There was also a fat man and his wife, or possibly daughter at another table. The locals, who had grown quiet as the two entered, gradually relaxed, though the loud, friendly talk was for the moment reduced to whispers. At first, Gwaynn was surprised that there were no Deutzani soldiers present in the town, but then he decided that even they could not be everywhere.
“And just where are you two headed?” Rebecca asked as she placed a pot of stew on the table, which was followed by two bowls and a loaf of hard, crusted bread. She was a large middle-aged woman, though she was not particularly fat, instead she was thick, with thick ankles, thick wrists and a thick waist to go along.
Krys quickly grabbed up the spoon and began to dish out a portion of stew. He cast a sideways glance at Gwaynn but said nothing.
“Manse,” Gwaynn answered as Krys put the first bowl of stew before his friend. Rebecca raised one eyebrow and looked back at Krys, who was busy filling his own bowl. In her long life she had learned it was rare for one man to serve another, and the tall blonde young man did not have the air of a servant. In fact, both of the men,
