“Admiral!” Captain Denard yelled, his kali already drawn and ready. Cantu turned and saw a sight which chilled him. Enemy bearing the uniform of the Temple Knights were now crossing to the Deirdre Bay, and on the galley’s deck waiting to cross, stood a man dressed all in black, his cape and pants trimmed in red. The man stared briefly at Cantu, a wide smile on his face. He gave a slight nod before turning his full attention to the crossing.
‘Executioner!’ Cantu thought and pulled his own kali from his waist, though he knew he was no swordsman. He absently wished Tabernas was here. But despite his lack of skill, the admiral did not hesitate and waded into the battle for his ship, Denard at his side. The fighting was very heavy and going against the Toranado in an ugly way. Almost immediately Cantu caught a kali in the right bicep, he cried out and dropped one of his weapons. He did not try to retrieve it knowing his wounded arm was now useless. Instead he frantically tried to block the powerful swipe of a long sword. He managed but barely, and was only dimly aware of being spun about by the force of the blow. He gazed in horror out at his stricken fleet for just a second and before he could swing back around he felt a hammer blow in his lower back. The admiral fell to his knees as his pants grew heavy and wet. He thought for a moment his bladder had gone, but then saw the blood running smoothly from the bottom of his trousers. Cantu was breathing hard and fast, but felt no real pain. He saw Denard, already lying on the deck; his throat was slashed open, the only movement coming from the twitching of his eyes. Cantu somehow managed to gain his feet but his legs, which had never failed him at sea, would not work properly and he stumbled hard into the railing. With great effort Cantu turned back to face the fighting, wanting to defend his ship and his men, but just as he did an enemy soldier caught him in the chest with a pike and flipped him backward over the rail and into the water.
Cantu almost smiled. ‘Yes, let the sea have me,’ he thought and then he was under, the salt, briny taste of the water filling his mouth and nose. He held his breath and worked his way to the surface with his good arm. He fought to tread for a moment as his eyes searched back toward his homeland. He saw Eno and the keep on the distant shore, thought once of his love Ramona, and then quietly sank to his death.
ǂ
Cyn de Baard rode along at a good clip, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Manse as possible. She needed time to think and to plan, but most importantly to kill. She needed to kill someone, anyone…badly. She knew if she’d stayed around the headquarters of the Massi much longer, Lee Brandt was going to die. And while that might cure the itch and provide her with a great deal of satisfaction, it would also raise far too many questions, questions she did not want to deal with at the moment. So she asked Bock for a few days leave, ostensibly to finally get her head together after her brother’s death. Bock agreed readily enough and within the hour she was packed, saddled and riding away from the pressures of being proper.
She spent no ‘goodbyes’ on Brandt.
de Baard had no real destination in mind, just away. She needed to be alone to get her priorities in order. Events were not going as planned. She’d neither killed Gwaynn Massi as the High King ordered, nor seduced him as she desired, and now word was filtering down from the finger that the Fultan slut was pregnant. If true, it complicated things greatly. Even though she hated the very idea, de Baard had little doubt that the rumors were true. After all, pregnancy was the snare all peasant girls sought when they wished to raise their station. The red headed whore was no different. Who knew if the sniveling, slimy seed growing in her belly was even the Prince’s? No doubt the bitch had lured countless men to her honeyed crotch before Gwaynn, attracting them like flies no doubt. Hell, she’d probably even rutted with the dullard that always hung around…Cobb, yes that was his name. de Baard was surprised that Gwaynn could not see through such an old and worn out deception.
Unconsciously de Baard began to grind her pelvic region against the pommel of the saddle as she imagined what it would be like having the Prince’s seed inside her, impregnating her, his heir growing in her body. She felt the familiar warmth spread outward from deep in her belly. It was the feeling that almost always accompanied thoughts of Gwaynn Massi, and she was growing accustomed to them.
‘I cannot be tied to the slut’s death…not now,’ de Baard thought, almost in a panic. She rode along vaguely to the northeast though she was largely unaware of her surroundings. She was heading toward the sea, but angling away from Cape. She thought perhaps that the sight and smell of the familiar Inland Sea would help her concentrate, but she wanted to be as far away from any crowds as she could get.
She rode along in the fog of thoughts until suddenly she noticed that the day was growing to a close. Baal, her mount, was beginning to show serious signs of tiring, strong though he was. A thick film of sweat was casting a sheen on his glossy black hide. She pulled him to a walk and for the first time since leaving Manse looked about at the countryside. She was in a long, shallow valley with no town or farmhouse in sight. She had no idea where she was. She must have passed through a town, perhaps several at the speed she was riding, but she did not remember even one. She let Baal slowly walk to the top of a low hill just as the sun kissed the horizon. The vantage point was little better since it was a very low hill, but farther to the north and maybe a half a mile off the main road she spotted a lone farmhouse in the distance.
She climbed from Baal’s back and walked, letting him rest for a time, but she would mount once again as she got closer to her destination in order to make herself appear more imposing. Call it an Executioner’s instinct.
When she was within a quarter of a mile of the house she climbed back onto Baal’s back, but as she moved closer she realized it was a useless gesture. No one was in sight; no one was waiting. She rode up to the open front door just as it was getting dark and leaned over to look inside, but the hall and part of the one room that was visible was empty. She did not call out but instead coaxed Baal toward the barn behind the house. Its wide door was also open. She pulled to a stop in front of the open door and once again climbed from the horse. She pulled on Baal’s reins, leading him to the dim interior.
“Hallo there miss,” a voice came from above and de Baard glanced up to see an elderly man leaning out from the hayloft above.
“I’m a Captain in the King’s army and need a place to stay for the night,” de Baard announced in a commanding tone.
“King?” The old man asked. “King? What King?”
“King Gwaynn of course,” de Baard said simply and led Baal farther into the dark interior of the barn without asking. She heard the old man hobbling along above her head.
“Well why didn’t ya say so,” the man said, now all smiles as he moved to the ladder which descended from the loft. “Thought ya meant the other fellow. Never cared for him much.”
de Baard smiled and wondered what the old man would say if he knew he was standing in the presence of the person who’d killed ‘the other fellow.’ There were five open stalls all together and a mule in the sixth. She guided Baal into the farthest one on the right, away from the mule and began to unsaddle him.