The trip around took time. It was nearly two hours later when she approached the outskirts. The town was not overly large, and only had perhaps two dozen buildings; the largest stood in the center of town and looked to be three stories. The first building she came to was a granary. Sam stopped and tied Bull’s reins to a hitching post along the wooden walkway. She saw no sign of any soldiers and only a few people sat outside, down near the center of town. She was far enough away to feel relatively safe and those visible did not seem to be paying her any attention. She slowly moved around to the door leading into the granary, trying to appear normal; the smell of chaff was strong inside the dark interior.
“Hello,” she called, though not too loudly. No one answered so she moved farther inside. The darkness deepened.
“Hello,” she said again, this time a bit louder, but there was still no answer. She turned back around to the door, and there framed against the bright sun was a figure peering inside.
“What the hell do you want?” a harsh voice called. “Get the hell out of my grain. What are you doing walking all over it?”
“I…I’m sorry,” Samantha said flustered. She moved quickly to the doorway, blinking against the glare. Blocking her way was a very small, very wizened old man. She couldn’t even guess at his age. His face was a maze of wrinkles, covered in short white hairs, maybe two or three days of stubble. How he could shave at all and not cut himself with such wildly irregular skin was a wonder to her.
“Who are you?” the old man barked much too loudly for her peace of mind, and she held up her hands to try and quiet him.
“My name…is Sam…Samantha Fultan.”
“Don’t know you,” the old man protested. He pushed roughly past her and went inside. She wanted to follow, but remained where she was, and was rewarded by his quick return.
“You still here? What the hell do you want?” He barked at her once again.
Samantha’s anger flared and she stepped in front of the little man. She towered over him by nearly a head.
“I need to find someone,” she said as he tried to push her out of the way again. She gripped his arm.
“Please,” she said in a softer voice. “I’m looking for my Uncle, Afton Sath.”
The old man stopped in his tracks.
“Afton Sath,” he repeated loudly and she winched.
“Shhh,” she said.
“Shhh…shhhhh. Why shhhh?” He demanded.
“Are there any soldiers here?”
“Soldiers?” he asked loudly. “Hell, there aren’t no soldiers here,” he added. “And why didn’t you say you was kin to Master Sath.”
“You know of him?”
The old man looked at her as if she was someone to be pitied.
“Well of course I know him. Who doesn’t?” he barked, and moved around to the back of the building. She followed along behind.
“You need to head out to the Hawser place,” he said, grabbing a bucket and moved back the way he had just 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.