Amon winched inwardly at the mention of an Executioner as Weapons Master, but at least she had the decency not to refer to him as a Tar.
Aleecia sighed again. She liked a man who could hold his tongue, but Amon took it to extremes.
“If the boy is indeed on Helles or Lato,” she finally said looking out across the now dark ocean, the breaking waves iridescent in the moonlight. “I believe we will offer them the use of a pair of additional Travelers, in case anything untoward arises.”
Amon’s eyes jerked toward her and she smiled inwardly though very careful to show no emotion on her face.
“You would risk involvement?” he asked.
“What risk? We have Travelers in every land. We move from place to place when we want and why we want. We are on Helles, we are on Lato. I have long thought we should have an exchange, a pair of Travelers here for a pair of Tars on Light. I know I would sleep better should such a thing be arranged.”
Amon sat back as if thinking about the idea for the first time, though he had long toyed with the notion, even despite the present situation. In the past the High Tar’s had forbidden the presence of Travelers on Noble Island, preferring to move the slow way over the sea in exchange for complete privacy. Aleecia was not the first High Traveler to offer such an exchange.
“The idea does have merit,” he finally said, and Aleecia allowed herself to smile. She knew she finally had her answer. The Massi Prince was indeed on the island. That knowledge was good to have. She would protect the boy if she could, but if she had to, she would give him up. High King Mastoc was not a man she would want to cross. He was brazen enough to do just about anything, as his involvement in the Deutzani attack aptly showed.
“Yes it does,” she answered.
“I will think on it,” Amon said suddenly standing. He led her back through the Hall and to the upper floors, his mind racing. Tori, Aleecia’s private maid was waiting for her in her rooms.
“I have a bath prepared Ma’am,” Tori said as she opened the door.
“Very good,” Aleecia answered and turned back to Amon.
“Think carefully my friend,” she said. “I think it could benefit us both.”
ǂ
By a strange coincidence, Afton Sath reached Koshka, within the hour of Navarra and his men riding into Millvale. The arrival was less noticed in Koshka, and less welcome in Millvale, where Navarra immediately paid a visit to the Magistrate while his men roamed the town asking questions of the locals. Millvale already had a small garrison of Deutzani troops stationed within it, but was still under Massi governmental control. It would take months to place reasonably competent men in posts to govern all the small towns within the land, meanwhile the locals were allowed to keep the daily trade flowing. Conquered lands were only good for the income they could generate. Money, however, was not what motivated an Executioner.
The search came to not, as Navarra expected. Afton Sath would not be so foolish as to pass through a town unless it was absolutely necessary, to do so would jeopardize him and the safety of the towns people. But that did not concern the Executioner.
“You seem convinced that the Sath has not passed this way,” Navarra stated softly to the Massi Magistrate, who cowered along with the other town leaders before him. As Navarra watched the man grovel he grew annoyed.
“No M’lord, I would have heard of such a visitor,” the man said licking his lips. He was young for such a post but looked the part. He had a pinched, weasel like face and his eyes darted about nervously, first to Navarra, then to Lindsay and finally the rest of the Zani soldiers.
“Just where could he have gone then?” Navarra asked, keeping his voice even and soft, performing for the crowd. “He would need food. He would need water. Sath is an old man; surely you do not think he could cross the whole of Massi without food or water?”
The man’s eyes darted about faster. Navarra made only the slightest motion to Lindsay, who signaled another, and that soldier moved over to Kronos, Navarra’s black stallion. He removed a pair of large, dark wooden blocks that were hung across the horse’s haunches like saddlebags. The soldier carried them, with effort, to a large oak that grew in the town’s center and quickly began to tie the blocks together with a pair of strong leather thongs.
“Perhaps…” the man stammered, eyes now on the block waiting beneath the large branches which were whispering and swaying in the early morning breeze. “Perhaps he went to the Fultan’s.”
“The Fultan’s?” Navarra asked, all but whispering.
“Yes, yes,” the Magistrate answered clearly warming to the idea. “Thomas Fultan. His estate is about two miles southeast of town.”
“Estate?”
“Yes,” the man said, his head bobbing with enthusiasm. “Thomas has grown wealthy from his ale business…Fultan ale. He was very loyal to the King,” the Magistrate added hopefully.
“Well, we will have to investigate,” Navarra said and motioned again to Lindsay, who with one quick motion drew his kali and struck the back of the Magistrate’s right knee. The man fell to the ground screaming as the other town folk bounced away with astonishing speed. Lindsay and two other soldiers quickly bound the man’s hands behind his back and grabbed him by the underarms and pulled him through the dust, still screaming from his wound, to the block.
The Magistrate’s head was forcibly turned so it faced left and was placed in a shallow indentation. It was held in place by another leather thong, which was pulled tightly over the man’s head, just above the ears, finally the thong was tied off on hooks on each side of the block.
“Please…please,” the Magistrate begged. “Master Sath has not visited here for nearly a year,” he pleaded, somehow trying to save his life that was quickly coming to an end.
Navarra did not answer, but walked slowly to Kronos and removed an axe he used for just such an event. He could have done the job easier with his kali, or even a long sword, but the axe added a bit of drama, a bit of showmanship, that he liked. It was an axe the Black Horseman himself might have owned. The handle was long and the head was large, curved and very sharp. The blade gleamed in the morning sunshine like a child’s eyes lighting on a puppy.
Navarra moved to the side of the Magistrate, who was murmuring softly and he held the axe out before him so the blade rested lightly on the taunt skin of the man’s neck.
The Magistrate wet himself as the blade went up in a high arc.
‘I should have had breakfast, the doomed man thought crazily and then the blade came down and ended all such desires. The head came away cleanly and the body, free from the block, only seemed to realize it after a long moment and slowly fell off to one side.
Navarra glanced around at the stunned crowd, relishing the fear he saw in their anguished faces. “Perhaps the next Magistrate will be more forthcoming with his aid,” he said still speaking softly then turned to Sergeant Lindsay.