The Black Horseman

branches that whipped at him in passing. His horse veered back toward the middle of the lane, and this time pulled ahead. He reached out again in an attempt to grab Bulls reins. Sam was on the verge of panic when she caught sight of the knife in her own hand. She swiped out at the man bent on killing her. She missed and he quickly became aware of the danger, even still he reached out again, relentless. She swung the knife once more, but this time he pulled back quickly and struck, hitting her in the forearm hard enough that she dropped the knife. She looked back for it in dismay but it was gone in a flash. Her arm was tingling from his blow and when she tried to grip the reins again pain shot through her. She cried out, pounding down the lane now with one hand.

‘It’s coming to an end,’ she thought as the Executioner once more pulled slightly ahead and leaned over to grab Bull’s reins. If he succeeded she was done for, so she jerked Bull’s head away and he veered close to the nearby hedge. It was her turn to be whipped and lashed by stray branches. She yelped in pain as a particularly nasty branch caught in her hair pulling her head back so hard she was nearly unseated.  Somehow she held on with her left hand and in a split second, a good quantity of her hair gave way and was ripped from her scalp.

The move had opened a bit of space between the horses. The Executioner was still slightly ahead, when anger finally surged through Samantha. She reached down and grabbed the reins with her right hand, ignoring the pain, and steered Bull sharply into the other horse. Bull reacted quickly, almost as if he grasped what she intended to do. He turned and charged directly at the horse to his right. And before his rival could react, he struck the smaller, lighter horse, driving him and his rider to the right. They all hit the hedgerow hard and they all came to an abrupt halt. Sam was thrown over the top of Bull, who was falling. She flipped and hit flat on her back, hard, and everything went black.

Screams of a dying horse rang in her ears as she painfully sat up. She was facing the way they were running and she could see a break in the hedgerows up ahead and the corner of a bridge leading south. The screams continued as she tried to clear her head. She glanced back. Bull was up and moving, but he was not using his right front leg. She thought of her bow, but he was hobbling away from her. It was the Executioner’s horse that was screaming. The animal was lying deep in the hedges, a thick branch sticking through its belly. The horse kicked and screamed in obvious agony. There was no sign of the Executioner, but Sam didn’t wait for him to appear and slowly climbed to her feet. Surprisingly everything seemed to work, at least until she tried to make a fist with her right hand. Pain shot up her arm and she desisted, then holding the injured limb close to her body she began to move farther up the lane toward the bridge.

‘If I can get to the forest...if Uncle Sath is at the ranch,” she thought and began to run. Behind her came a great crash in the brush, and despite herself she stopped and turned.

              Near his dying horse the Executioner struggled out of the hedges. His face was torn and scratched in a half dozen places, and he had a wild look in his eyes as he peered down at his dying horse.

              “Killed another one bastard!” Sam yelled at the top of her lungs, her chest heaving from exertion. She hated the man before her like no other, and wanted to deliver as much pain as she could before he finally killed her.

              The Executioner looked up at her, clearly dazed and then he slowly drew his kali. She didn’t wait around, but turned and ran as quickly as she could away from him. He chased after, no longer thinking of his dignity, no longer thinking that an Executioner need never hurry. His only thought was that this girl must die!

              Sam reached the break in the hedges and saw a group of buildings to her right, and beyond them the Scar Forest. She veered toward the bridge and was half way across before she noticed a tall young man moving slowly toward her. Sam shook her head.

              “Run!” she gasped, not wanting anyone else to die on her account. The man before her, however, did not follow her request. He did stop walking and as she got closer she had the distinct impression that he was amused by her disheveled appearance.

              “Easy Miss,” Gwaynn said, shocked by the wild look of the girl running toward him.

              “Did your horse throw you?” he asked but she just ran up to him, fear and anger plain on her face. Then, to his surprised, she ran past him, staggering slightly before collapsing in a heap by the firewood. He turned to look at her, wondering just what she was about, but she said nothing. She was breathing hard, but with great effort she rose to her feet once more. She reached out and pulled the axe free from the log it was wedged in. She used her left hand, keeping her right cradled close to her body. When it was out and in her grasp, she turned to look past him.

              “Run,” she yelled again, standing tall, defiant, gripping the axe tightly. She looked fierce…and somehow free, no longer afraid, and despite her grubby appearance she was dazzling to his eyes. Her attention was clearly on something behind him so Gwaynn turned, and there on the bridge coming toward him was the Executioner Navarra. Here, before him now was the man who had killed Gwynn; the man who had killed his mother; the man who killed Mille.

              “Run you fool. He’s an Executioner,” Sam shouted to him from behind, wondering why the idiot just stood there.

              Gwaynn glanced back at her. “I’m in your debt,” he said and with practiced ease pulled his kali from his belt.

              “Don’t fight him you simpleton…run!”

              But the young man did not answer and instead of running away he actually moved toward the Executioner. Samantha cringed, but noticed that the Executioner’s eyes were also wide with surprise, and despite his previous anger and obsession with her death, now he no longer even looked her way. His eyes were only for the youth in front of him. It was then that she caught sight of something she never expected to see on that face; the face she knew so well; the face she hated, on his face she clearly saw…fear.

              Samantha knew she should run, but instead stood perfectly still, holding the axe.

              “Navarra,” the young man said, so softly that she could barely hear him. She glanced down at her bare feet, surprised that she was moving forward.

              “Prince Gwaynn,” the Executioner called back. “Do I finally get to end the rest of the Massi family line?”

              “I’m afraid not,” the young man answered and suddenly the fighting began.

              Sam jumped in spite of herself, watching fascinated, as the two dueled. A door slammed behind her and she glanced back to see an older woman in the doorway watching with horror.

              Gwaynn struck with all the normal speed he could muster. He would not use his skills with time against the Executioner. He’d come to that decision long ago; it would be far too dangerous. He would have to kill this man the old way, the slow way. So he attacked, and Navarra parried, dodging and spinning, always just out of range, just blocking the deathblow. They circled one another, Gwaynn always on the attack, Navarra always on defense. The two women present watched the deadly dance without a comment or sound.

              “I should have killed you first,” Navarra snarled, backing away from another close call. He tried to counter but it was rejected with such authority that he was quickly put on the defensive again.

              “Yes, you should have,” Gwaynn answered, breathing easily as if he was taking a stroll through a park.

              Navarra backed away; dimly aware of the women watching…the girl watching.

              “I will kill you both when I’m through with him,” he yelled and risked a quick glance at the Fultan girl. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of fear in her eyes, but was disappointed. Her gaze was filled with wonder as she watched the boy in front of her. Navarra grimaced and then caught sight of a kali heading directly at his face. He ducked to the side, but not before his right ear was sliced in two. He howled and staggered back, retreating quickly, ignoring the desire to put a hand to his wound; the blood would make his grip on his weapon slippery, and it was all he could do now to hold onto his kali during the constant ringing the boy was sending through his arms. The Prince had grown strong…very strong.

              Gwaynn said nothing, just continued to advance, and as on the beach back on Noble, Navarra realized that he must end this soon. The boy had stamina; the boy had strength and skill. Navarra knew that if he was to win he would need luck or use trickery and guile.

              He backed away, trying to give himself time to plan, to come up with an idea. He took another slicing blow along his side, right at his hipbone. He jumped away moving clear, then back pedaling he glanced down at the cut in his shirt. He caught a glimpse of open skin and of blood dripping into the top of his pants. He circled around the back of the house with Gwaynn following. Behind him came the old woman and the Fultan girl, still