The Black Horseman

she asked leaning over to Gwaynn, holding her chin in her hand and giving him a good look down her low cut bodice.

“Solarii,” he heard himself murmur, using all his will to keep his eyes from the breasts of the woman at his side. There was a lot to see, and though he tried not to stare, he found it impossible and after a fleeting look at her breasts, he glanced back up at Dot, who was smiling at him.

“Like them?” she asked and placed a hand on his left leg. Gwaynn immediately stiffened, but didn’t move away; instead he began to eat his potatoes in earnest.

              Dot laughed. “You’re a long way from home,” she added and pecked at the food before her. Gwaynn was surprised that she ate like a lady, small bites and with her mouth closed. “I could keep you company,” she added and he felt her hand move farther up his leg.

              Gwaynn jerked uncomfortably, but still did not move away, though why he could not say. He did not find her all that attractive, nice looking perhaps and she smelled good, but there was something hard about her eyes that he found troubling. And he was not sure exactly how to deal with her.

              “I’m not looking for company,” he finally said and glanced over at Krys for support, but his friend was completely drowning in the charms of the younger woman of the night.

              Gwaynn once more moved away from Dot and closer to Krys. He took a sip of ale, trying not to make a face at the taste of the bitter, thick liquid.

              Dot did not seem offended by his rejection; in fact, she smiled all the more at him, and moved closer. “That’s fine, honey,” she said and touched his leg again. “Just buy me a few drinks and will have a fine conversation.”

              Gwaynn took another sip, completely aware of her hand moving up and down his thigh.

              So they ate and drank, though Gwaynn made sure only to have a few, since Krys had thrown all caution to the wind and was now on his fourth tankard, sipping heartily when he was not kissing Emm brazenly. Dot continued to make advances which Gwaynn continued to deflect until Emm suggested they retire up to their room. Krys and Dot immediately agreed. Gwaynn wanted to protest but he was pulled quickly to his feet. He felt suddenly woozy and just a bit tired and was surprised to find that he was unable to formulate his thoughts.

              The girls led them out of the tavern and up the stairs, Gwaynn growing dizzier despite his caution with the drink. He swayed and leaned heavily on Dot, whose hands were all over him.

              “Hang on there tiger,” she said holding him up while moving her hands across his chest and stomach.

              “Well aren’t you well built,” she said delightedly. “Be nice to have a young one. Most of my fair is a bit on the fat side.”

              Emm laughed and taking the key from Krys opened the door to their room. The women literally pulled the young men inside and moved them to their separate beds. Both Krys and Gwaynn sat with difficulty; both were dizzy and wavering in place.

              The fact that something was wrong dimly fluttered into Gwaynn’s mind, but was soon dispelled as Emm and Dot began to undress before them, and while Gwaynn was a bit more experienced with women than his friend, he was still completely captivated by a set of bare breasts. He glanced at Krys, who was sitting back arms spread behind him, his hands buried in the soft bed for balance. He was breathing fast and staring at Emm who posed in front of him, small pert breasts, with small dark nipples.

              Nice breasts, Gwaynn thought, and suddenly fell onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He was dimly aware of Krys doing likewise.

              “They’re nearly done in,” he heard Emm say with a giggle.

              Something’s wrong. Gwaynn’s brain screamed at him and he tried to rise, only to feel the soft hands of Dot holding him down.

              “Shame, I would’ve liked to have a go at this one,” she said and ran her hands down his belly and over his crotch. Gwaynn felt his pants being opened and then a warm hand cupped his penis and fondled his balls.

              ‘Something’s wrong,’ he thought again as the hand left his private area and moved to the coin purse at his belt. Alarm rose in him and without conscious thought his right hand moved to his back, drew his knife and had it at Dot’s throat before she even was aware that he was moving.

              Dot gasped as he half rose. Gwaynn shook his head, trying desperately to clear it. For a brief moment he stared into the eyes of the woman hovering over him and for an instant she saw death looking back at her through his eyes, but then they rolled back in his head and the boy slumped onto the bed unconscious.

                                                                    ?

Tar Navarra watched from the edge of the Scar as the girl swam slowly over and plunged a knife into Furia, and though outwardly he showed no sign of emotion, inside he was boiling. It didn’t help matters that after the dog had disappeared into the water she looked up and waved to him. He turned and moved away so that he would not scream out in frustration.

              Two dogs and a horse! He thought as he hurried back through camp even though he had made a point never to hurry. To hurry was to admit to a lack of control, and that was uncomely for one who dealt out death. Even so he hurried; what did it matter now that those around him were already dead? He hurried because more than anything, he wanted to catch the bitch and bring her into the waiting arms of the Black Horseman.

              Rage was blinding him, causing him to rush and perspire, but by the time he reached Chaos he had restored some semblance of calm to his demeanor, not that his passion for the death of Samantha had waned, but his own cool reason was now beginning to assert itself once more. He was close, he told himself, thoughts like frost on a window pane, and when he had her he would take her, rape her in more ways than she could imagine, and then kill her very, very slowly. He leaped up into the saddle, turned and moved back through the briar as quickly as the horse could safely manage. It helped that the obstacles were still removed, but even so it took nearly three quarters of an hour to reach the road.

              Once there he proceeded much more slowly. First, he knew he must ascertain whether or not the girl had the courage to re-climb the Scar and pass this way going south. He forced himself to slow down and climb from the back of the horse to study the tracks leading away from Lynndon. It took another quarter of an hour to determine that none were made within the last day, let alone the past hour. Satisfied, he stood and moved back down the Scar, passing the dead old woman, still on the porch. Of the boy he saw nothing.

              By the time he rode into Lynndon he was again the calm Executioner, and the fact that he was minus two dogs was beginning to fade into the very recesses of his mind. The townspeople were going about their business, moving here and there on errands. He stopped nearly all of them and asked about the girl, but it was not until he cornered a young boy near the edge of town that he found someone who had witnessed her passing.

              “She took a horse from Wake’s,” the boy said. He ran along side as the Executioner rode up to the smithy shop and dismounted. The boy, who had just turned seven, was too young to be afraid, and felt very special helping this tall, dark and obviously very important man to leave well enough alone. He watched as Navarra carefully moved from smithy to barn, studying the tracks in the ground and growing more excited as he spotted the small set he was looking for. She was missing her shoes, her toes clearly visible in one print. He knelt down to examine it more closely and then he reached out, feeling the same earth beneath his fingers. The print was no bigger than his hand. Then he moved to the horse’s prints. They were large, frightfully so. They would be very easy to follow.

              Without a word he moved out of the dimly lit barn and back into the daylight. The boy still followed, just a step or two behind.

              “Which way did she go?” Navarra asked, thinking of giving the boy a pence for his help.

              “She rode west along the Scar,” the lad piped up. Navarra nodded.

              “Mister, where are your dogs?” The boy asked. A second later his head was bouncing along in the dirt, the questioning look still on his face. Navarra watched it until it stopped moving, then let out a laugh, feeling better. The boy had died fast, probably without even knowing it was coming. It would have to do…in place of the pence.