“What of the rest?” Krys asked.
“We take it,” Gwaynn answered, “for the war effort. Find something to put it in.”
He then turned back to Neece, who was quickly pulling a top over her head.
“You will live,” he said simply, “but you will leave town…today. I have friends here that will know if you do not do as I say. If you stay you die, just as Dot and Tod will die.”
Emm gasped, head still down, still looking at her own bare toes. Gwaynn looked down at her naked back but said nothing to her.
“And if I catch you thieving again, you will die very, very slowly,” he added.
Neece nodded and began to slip out of the room.
“Go out through the store,” Gwaynn said and she quickly changed direction and did as he commanded.
“What of me?” Emm asked, but Gwaynn just pulled her hair harder.
“Shut up,” he answered tersely, eating some of the fruit on the table, as Krys packed up the coins. When Krys was finished, Gwaynn pulled Emm behind him and outside to the top of the stairs. It was raining hard now and as the cold air hit her bare skin goose bumps rose prominently. Emm had her arms crossed over her breasts but had to spread them wider to keep her balance as they moved out into the rain and down the stairs.
Taylor was apparently still waiting for them, because he opened the door to the inn with his good hand as they approached and let them pass out of the rain. His other hand was now wrapped in the remnants of a blood soaked shirt. Gwaynn strode in quickly without stopping and Taylor followed behind Krys occasionally getting brief glimpses of the young woman’s naked backside which moved alluringly from side to side as she was pulled along by her hair. And though the little soldier between his legs no longer came to attention, he still found the sight of a young naked woman interesting enough. He wouldn’t let Maybel, his wife, catch him looking however.
Gwaynn stopped before the desk. “How long has she been with Fakir?” he asked Taylor as they came to a stop.
Taylor rubbed his chin, his eyes moving quickly over the girl’s naked body as if trying to memorize it, which for all accounts, he was.
“Couple of months maybe,” he answered and Gwaynn suddenly released Emm’s hair. She stayed bent over for several long moments before she realized she was free and straightened up. Her face was flushed with embarrassment to be naked before three men, and she quickly covered her breasts with one arm and her privates with the other hand. She glanced back at Krys, who was behind her. His eyes rose from her backside until he was looking into her eyes and he jumped like he was a kid caught with a stolen pie. She couldn’t help smiling at him despite her present predicament.
Taylor ogled her until Gwaynn reached out and boxed his right ear.
“Ow,” Taylor complained. “She’s from….”
“Odin,” she said. “Near Cape.”
“Yea, Odin,” Taylor agreed. “Her father came and sold her to Bunker, but he turned around and sold her to Fakir. Fakir took a fancy to her. Fakir’s a bad one,” he added and managed to pull his eyes from the naked girl to glance at the back door.
“Fakir’s dead,” Gwaynn said. “She’s yours,” he added shocking both the innkeeper and Emm.
Taylor licked his lips, eyes back on the girl, but then he thought of his wife. “Thank you Sir, but my tool don’t get sharp no more…” he answered a little wistfully, his eyes roaming over the soft but firm body displayed before him. “But maybe with her…” He added and completely missed the utter look of horror on the young woman’s face because of the simple fact that he never looked into it.
“She’s not for fucking,” Gwaynn snapped. “You’re to raise her as a daughter, a barmaid maybe, but not a whore.”
Taylor shrugged with a chuckle. “Just as well. The missus would’ve killed me quicker than you could manage.” He looked back at Emm. “You’re to explain all of this to her, are you not Sire?”
Gwaynn nodded, ignoring the sharp look he was now receiving from the girl. “Emm you may get dressed now,” he said. “Return promptly.” Then he turned to Taylor. “Go and get your formidable missus. We’ve wasted enough time.”
?
Following behind, Tar Navarra was surprised at the speed that the girl was able to maintain. He expected to catch up with her within a day, but the large horse she was riding appeared to never tire. Still, he was gaining on her steadily, and soon she had to falter. Her bow was broken and discarded, and from what he had gleaned from the boy in Lynndon, she had left in quite a hurry. He believed she probably left without preparing properly for the journey ahead. Panic did that to people. She was traveling along the river, so water would be no problem for her, but food….that could become very troublesome. He could almost hear her stomach growling in the late afternoon air.
The rainstorm, which had passed nearly an hour ago, was only an annoyance. It washed away many of her tracks, but he did not slow down even though there were sometimes long gaps between any sign of her passing. He continued quickly, however, because it was obvious she was heading to Manse in order to cross the Scar. He had stopped only a couple of times to eat, drink and of course, the previous night to sleep. He did not hail the few barges that passed by on the assumption that the girl would have kept out of sight; not exactly knowing who it was working the river.
It was towards the middle of the afternoon when he spotted a group of soldiers riding close along the riverbank. His sharp eyes marked them while they were still nearly a mile away, but the group did not veer course and move to intercept him until they were much closer. He could plainly see the look of disappointment and fear written on their faces as they drew nearer. He moved directly to them.
“I’m tracking a girl, long red hair. She’s riding a large horse,” he said without preamble, doubting that they had come across her. Samantha would either be dead or with them if she had encountered them. Somehow, she had slipped past.
A large balding man, with a simple ring of dark hair that was quickly going gray rode in front of the group.
“We saw no one,” he said simply in a deep baritone voice. He eyed the Executioner nervously as he spoke.
“No one,” Navarra repeated his face flat and emotionless.
“No M’lord,” the man answered fidgeting in his saddle.
“What is your name Sergeant?”
Navarra watched with satisfaction as the man swallowed hard. “Blear,” he finally answered though they all could see he was loath to, but then he straightened and added with as much courage and dignity as he could muster. “Sergeant Hans Blear.”
Tar Navarra regarded him for a long moment. Sergeant Blear felt like a mouse caught directly in the stare of the cold, flat eyes of a snake.
“And Sergeant Blear,” Navarra began in what he felt to be his most dangerously reasonable voice, “what is your duty along the Scar?”
Sergeant Blear remained straight in the saddle. “We are to patrol the Scar.”
“And just what are you patrolling for?”
Blear shrugged. “Any unusual movement, either east or west. Possible counter strikes from the Massi, or a possible invasion from the Toranado.”
“The Toranado,” Navarra repeated without a hint of emotion, though inside he was seething. He had little doubt that the order was true, but it made little sense. Mastoc was a fool as were his Generals. “And what of the locals. Are they to have free passage?”
Blear shook his head. “No sir. It’s the King’s orders that the Massi are not to travel cross the Scar without papers. Trade may continue along the Scar River, and loggers may come and go from Manse, but we are to watch the Scar for any Massi citizens who may be on the run to the west.”
“Ah,” Navarra said as if making a great discovery. “But you saw no one recently in your travels
