come, passing her and heading out into the street.
“Where’s the Hawser place?”
He stopped to look at her again. “You simple?” he asked, and when she shook her head he just sighed.
“You take the Hawser road…” He noticed her blank stare. “You go to the middle of town and take the road going east. Even you can’t miss it. It’s the only road in town ‘cept for the one yo’r standing on. Master Sath is always visitn’ the Hawsers. They can put you in touch.”
“Thank you,” she said grabbing his hands, suddenly bursting with excitement. “Thank you,” she repeated and without thinking she kissed him on the forehead. The old man looked at her, and at first she thought he was going to scream at her. But he smiled and though his face was old, his eyes were young again. He nodded.
“Take care…what’d you say your name was again?”
“Sam,” she replied moving back to Bull.
“Sam,” he repeated and even waved to her as she rode by.
The town had suddenly taken on a wonderful new glow, and for the first time in nearly two weeks she began to think that she might truly be safe. She felt elated and hopeful, at least until she reached the Hawser road, for there on the far side of town was a rider, dressed all in black. She cried out involuntarily at the shock of seeing the Executioner once again, and though he was too far away to make out any of his features, she clearly heard his triumphant laugh as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Samantha didn’t wait, and turning up the Hawser road, she thundered away on Bull. Hope and elation had fled; fear and resignation had come to roost, for she knew Bull had no hope of outrunning the sleek mount belonging to the man pursuing her.
XVIII
The Hawser boys took to Van right away. Though he was Deutzani, he clearly did not have the temperament of a soldier, and everyone believed him when he admitted to being conscripted.
“Not so much by the army and King, as my father,” Van explained. “He never did approved of me, or believe I would ever become a man, at least not one who would amount to anything. So when my older brother Viktor joined the cavalry, father thought it would be a good idea if I joined up with him…I’m not much good on a horse though.”
Restless, Gwaynn was out cutting wood as he remembered the boy’s tale…the boy. As it turned out, Van was not quite a year older than he, but somehow Gwaynn felt much, much older. He sympathized with Van, and under different circumstances thought he would have turned out much the same. His early years were strewn with ripe disappointments for his father, but luckily for Gwaynn, he had two older brothers, both rough and tumble, for his father to dote on. At the thought of his father, Gwaynn shook his head with a rueful smile. He wondered what King Arnot would think of his youngest son now. He would be surprised, no doubt, and yes, he believed his father would be proud, but Gwynn… He didn’t like to think of Gwynn. What would she make of all his killing? In his youth it was Gwynn’s affection, Gwynn’s thoughts and esteem that he hung on. His life revolved around her, and he wondered if he would ever care for anyone, or anything as much. When she lived, Gwaynn was Gwynn and Gwynn was Gwaynn. She was a part of him, the better part.
Gwaynn drove away these thoughts and put down the axe. There was enough wood to last a good while in any case. He was alone. All of the others had left early in the morn on a hunt. They were all gone, all excited and Bock had even taken Van with them. The ranch was deserted except for Mrs. Hawser and Krys, who were both inside. Gwaynn had begged out of the hunt, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. The dreams of his sister the night before had him on edge, and he needed time to settle his thoughts, to meditate on what he was to do now that he was home. Cutting firewood was only a means to get his thoughts moving. He looked around at his surroundings.
The Hawser Ranch was placed in very beautiful spot. The morning fog was burning off, offering a much better view of the surrounding countryside. The ranch backed up to the thick line of trees where the Scar Forest began. He had failed to notice the forest in the dark of the previous night, but the trees hung over the place, not fifty yards from the rear of the main house, and much closer to some of the out buildings. To the south nothing but trees, to the north was the lane they had crossed upon arriving. There were thick hedgerows that ran down either side of the road and hid most of it from view. Also running beside the road, to the south, was a mid-sized creek. It ambled past, directly in front of the house, and on the far side of the road, visible through a manmade break in the hedges, was the vast expanse of the empty Plateau. In that direction Gwaynn could see for miles, all the way to the far horizon.
He sat on the stump of a log, adjusting his kali so that he could sit comfortably. He had decided it was time to wear the weapons proudly, after all he was not subject to Deutzani law, and nor would his people be for long, if he got his way. He needed to find Afton Sath. He knew this. Gwaynn, while he may be very good at fighting, knew that there was a vast difference between single combat and leading an army. He needed someone who knew the tactics of large scale fighting, and the only person left from the old days was Master Sath. Gwaynn had read up on military tactics as much as possible while on Lato, but reading and doing were very different endeavors. Gwaynn decided he would wait for his old teacher here. It was as good a place as any, and better than most. He only hoped that his father’s old Weapons Master had been busy gathering as many men to him as possible. Gwaynn was impatient to get started. He glanced up alarmed when he heard the pounding of approaching horses. He could see a faint dust trail but little else behind the thick hedges. He stood, and began to move slowly toward the bridge that spanned the creek. He moved warily, not wanting to be caught in open by a large patrol of Deutzani cavalry.
?
Bull pounded away from Koshka with all the speed and power he could muster. He sensed the fear in his rider and it opened within him new pockets of energy. But Bull was built more for power than speed, and could feel in his hooves that the horse behind was closing steadily. Bull pressed harder. He hated to lose.
Samantha couldn’t help but glance back regularly as they fled. She thought about trying to use the bow, but knew it was not very likely that she would hit anything, and much more likely she would fall from Bull. If that happened she knew she was dead, so she hung on, crouched down low, and shouted encouraging words into Bull’s ear. She did draw her knife, holding it tightly in her right hand, mindful not to cut into the neck of the horse charging beneath her.
She glanced back and was alarmed to see that the Executioner was only a dozen lengths behind. His black cape was billowing out from the back of his galloping horse, whose eyes were wide with excitement; their prey finally so close.
Sam turned back and ducked her head low.
“Come on Bull,” she yelled and kicked him, though not nearly hard enough for the horse to notice at this point. She spotted a row of hedges which lined the road up ahead and briefly considered veering off into another direction, but there was a creek to the south and crossing it at a gallop would be very dangerous and to the north was nothing but open country. She hesitated, undecided until it was too late and she was between the thick rows of tall bushes. Some part of her mind told her the way was pretty, and she had to bite down a laugh at the thought, not wanting to become hysterical.
She risked a glance back and nearly screamed when she saw the gray face of the horse chasing her even with Bull’s rump. They had gained so fast. Fear now gripped her so hard that tears formed in her eyes blurring her view ahead. She blinked rapidly and that, plus the rush of the wind, allowed them to clear. She was suddenly aware that the Executioner was now pounding down the lane next to her. They were close, necessarily so, for the lane was not overly wide, only little more than a large wagon’s width and on either side the thick hedges hemmed them in.
The Executioner reached out, attempting to grab her. She screamed and kicked at him but only caught air then the horses moved closer and she felt the fingers of the killer brush against her sleeve. She leaned away and kicked out hard again, this time connecting solidly with the gray horse under him. It shied away, nearly going into the hedgerows. She heard the man racing next to her grunt as he held up an arm to ward off the stray
