XV
Samantha rode at a quick and steady pace. Bull would never be taken for a sprinter, but he was big and strong and carried her weight as if it were nothing at all. He was used to either Wake, or hauling heavy wagons, the girl on his back was hardly noticeable. She used his strength to get as far from Lynndon as possible, riding most of the day, stopping only twice so that they could both drink from the Scar River, which she was following to the northwest. Several times she left the river’s side when she spotted bargemen floating her way, carrying goods along the river to the host of small towns which dotted its banks. They moved slowly, so she had plenty of time to veer off and hide among the foliage until they past. After they were gone she continued to ride until it was well dark and the rocky ground was becoming a danger to the horse. She finally stopped when she spotted a small sandbar by the soft light of the quarter moon. She dismounted and moved down the bank. She was closer to the river than she would have liked. The rushing water created enough noise so that she would not be able to hear anyone coming up on her, but the bar was protected from the wind by the riverbank on one side and the Scar on the other. The sand was fine and soft and afforded a nice place in which to try to get some rest.
Bull was a worry, since she didn’t have a rope to hobble him. She removed his saddle, but had to leave his bridle in place so that she could tie the reins to a stubby bush not far from where she laid her one smelly blanket. She would not light a fire, she could not risk it, but it was relatively warm, and she could half cover herself in any case.
Surprisingly, she slept the sleep of the exhausted, and woke curled in a tight ball against the chill of the morning air, her clothes still somewhat damp. She sat up and Bull snorted at her, obviously displeased. She stood and led the horse over to the river to drink. While Bull was thus engaged, she quickly relieved herself and then moved across the sand bar and climbed the bank to carefully look about the surrounding area. Her heart was hammering in her chest in anticipation of seeing the Executioner riding her way, but thankfully the immediate area seemed empty. She ran back down the sandy bank, holding up her skirts so as not to trip over them, grabbed her blanket and saddle and placed them on Bull as he continued to drink. She hurried, suddenly very sure that the Executioner was close, and that he had not stopped for the night and was almost upon her. After what seemed an eternity to her, but in actuality was only a few minutes she finished and with difficulty raised her leg and placed it in the stirrup and hoisted herself up upon the very large horse. It took a bit of coaxing, but she eventually pulled Bull away from the river and rode him up the bank. She looked around frantically for her pursuer, but again, the immediate area seemed empty, then she turned and headed once more west along the river.
Bull displayed his strength again and they traveled at a quick pace for most of the morning. Samantha encouraged him with kind words and pats on the neck when she was not looking back over her shoulder. The Executioner was coming. She could feel it and her anxiety and fear drove her on, but it was not until around mid-day that a great wave of hunger finally struck her. She had not eaten since the evening before last and up until now had not truly missed food. She had just not given it any thought; her mind and body elsewhere, but time was beginning to take its toll as her stomach clenched several times in painful protest. It was not long before she was thinking of nothing but food. She rode along the river, thinking of fish, and knowing that she was in deep trouble. All she had was a knife; her bow was broken and discarded. She knew she could not take the time to hunt or fish, not with death chasing her. Sam had intended to by-pass Manse and cross over the Scar before she reached the town, but now she knew she would have to risk the danger and move among the people of the town in the hopes of getting food. The trouble was Manse was still at least two days away. She would not make it another two days without food, of that she was very sure. She would have to find something to eat, or she would die of starvation before the Executioner could kill her.
It was still early in the afternoon, when her stomach forced her to leave the river and move nearly a quarter of a mile to the north where there were sparse groups of trees, and high bushes. She hoped to flush a rabbit, a bird or even a squirrel, though how she would catch them she did not know. She knew that if she had to she could live on mice, or even insects, but hungry as she was she was not that far gone yet. Her journey inland paid off far sooner than she expected, though not with any sort of meat, instead she came across a patch of large blackberry bushes. Her mouth watered when she recognized them, though they were still young, reddish and hard, even so she nearly twisted her ankle jumping from Bull’s back, and walking quickly, bare footed to the bushes.
Her fingers, mouth and lips were soon purple from the juice of the bitter berries but Sam was sure she had never tasted anything quite so sweet. Surprisingly it only took about ten minutes of constant eating before her stomach began to settle. Bull snorted, and she remembered that he had not eaten either.
“Sorry Bull,” she said and walked to him and removed his bit. The horse did not go for the berries, but instead moved to a patch of nearby grass and clover. The two of them ate contentedly for another quarter of an hour before Sam moved to Bull and removed the saddle and then the blanket underneath. She put the saddle back on and then began to load the blanket with as many berries as she could pick. She was so involved with the picking that she hardly noticed the weather until it began to rain, sporadically at first, with large wet drops, but then it opened up and drenched her where she stood. She cursed softly; her clothes had almost completely dried from her plunge. But there was nothing to be done for it, so she wrapped the berries up in the blanket and then carefully walked up to Bull. She hated the storm. She hated to be wet, and she was afraid a nearby lightning strike would startle the horse and he would bolt. She knew she was dead without Bull. The horse allowed her to lead him away from the clover and back into a copse of trees in order to find what shelter they could. There were more blackberry bushes here, thick along the tree line. She stopped and let Bull graze once more but she kept one hand on his reins at all times. They were hardly in the midst of the foliage when she heard voices, male voices, carrying through the storm. She froze and looked out beyond the trees in the direction of the approaching men, and her heart nearly sprang from her chest when she caught sight of a group of Deutzani soldiers. There were seven of them in all and they were moving quickly in her direction, likewise trying to find some shelter.
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Gwaynn woke the next morning confused and in pain. His head pounded as if his heart now lived between his ears. He struggled to a sitting position, the pain so bad he had to fight the urge to throw up. He lost that battle, puking on the floor. The pain increased as he retched and he saw blinding white flashes even though his eyes were closed. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed for several long minutes listening to Krys groan before he finally had the courage to try to stand. Waves of dizziness and nausea hit him almost immediately but slowly subsided as he stood there, very still.
Slowly and carefully he made his way over to the bureau and the pitcher of water. His tongue felt thick, heavy and scratchy as if someone had placed a sand-filled, waterlogged sock in his mouth. With great effort he lifted the pitcher and drank directly from it. The first sip was small, but wonderful, the best water he’d ever tasted. The next drink was larger, and after a moment he began to drink in large gulps. He wanted more, but forced himself to stop, knowing that Krys would be in a similar state when he finally came around.
Gwaynn placed the pitcher back on the bureau, feeling much better, his thirst and much of his dizziness gone. His head was still pounding, keeping time to some sadistic song. He suddenly remembered the women, nude. His hand went instinctively to his belt and found the bag of coins Paulo had given him was missing. He was not surprised, but angry, both with himself and the two who did this to him. His anger exploded into rage when he noticed that their bags were missing. The bags held all their personal belongings, but most importantly, their kali.
“Krys!” Gwaynn shouted loudly, then groaned and held his head in his hands. Gwaynn shuffled back over between the beds and in his effort not to step in his own vomit, kicked his knife, which lay on the floor. He slowly bent down and picked it up with a great deal of satisfaction, then leaned over and punched his friend as hard as he dared in the upper thigh.
“Aaah,” Krys moaned and sat up very fast. His face went from red to pale in a blink. He squinted and grabbed his head, moaned once and then vomited.
“Welcome to the party,” Gwaynn said softly.
Krys continued to vomit until his stomach was empty with Gwaynn struggling not to join in from the sound and the smell. When the retching seemed to be over Gwaynn handed him the pitcher of water, which Krys
