“Stop!” Navarra yelled. “I will deal with him, just keep him from escaping.”
The two men stopped in their tracks and took up positions to the left and right of the path. They kept their distance, stopping some thirty paces from Gwaynn, who had now turned to face Navarra. Gwaynn checked over his shoulder several times, but the men held their distance, so he started forward, passing the groaning man on the ground who gripped the back of his leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The man feebly swung his sword at Gwaynn, who deflected the blow effortlessly with one kali and sliced, through his neck with the other. As Gwaynn passed he heard the dying man behind him struggling for air, thrashing about to no avail. Gwaynn was unmoved.
“The cub has claws, I see,” Navarra said, but instead of his kali, he drew his long sword and then waited patiently for his quarry to come to him.
Gwaynn moved forward steadily then when he deemed himself close enough he rushed in to attack. Navarra parried the blows as Gwaynn streaked by. The Executioner was surprised at the boy’s courage and speed, but he was not fast enough, Navarra launched a powerful kick which struck the small of Gwaynn’s back and sent him sprawling in the sand. Navarra whirled and swung a deathblow, torn between toying with his victim and ending it quickly before any Weapons Masters were alerted. He opted for the safe path, aiming for the back of the boy’s head. The blow struck only sand, as Gwaynn vaulted out of the path of the oncoming steel with a dexterity that was truly amazing.
“Ah…youth,” Navarra said, though the boy’s speed was beginning to unnerve him a little.
Gwaynn rolled to his feet and attacked once more, but again the Executioner managed to block every blow before sending Gwaynn to the sand again with a vicious elbow to the side of the head. Though the blow stunned Gwaynn and he hit the sand flat on his back he still managed to roll up and over onto his feet again in one fluid motion just in time to parry another swipe of the sword.
“I see your time on the island has not been wasted,” Navarra said and began his own attack. Gwaynn, who was not as adept at fighting someone skilled with a long sword, had trouble doing anything but back peddling. It took all of his ability to keep the sword from hitting home, and though he was not aware of it, his skill was beginning to frustrate the man before him. Navarra, an Executioner, was accustomed to overpowering his opponents almost at will. The boy had indeed become a threat, both to him and his Lord.
They continued to battle, Gwaynn growing dismayed that he was utterly unable to penetrate the Executioner’s defenses. Not a single one of his attacks had managed to come close to drawing blood, though he himself was bleeding from several nicks, one on his arm and another on his left thigh. Only his speed had allowed him to avoid the deadlier thrusts.
Navarra, however, was oblivious to the boy’s dismay, in fact, he was growing tired and a bit concerned that Prince Gwaynn showed no signs at all of fatigue. It seemed to Navarra as if the boy could go on fighting all night. Navarra knew he had to end this, and soon.
“Gwaynn!” a voice yelled from above, distracting the boy. Navarra took advantage of the moment and struck. Instinct told Gwaynn that the blow was coming a fraction of a second before it was to land, and he jerked his face out of the way. Still, the very tip of the razor sharp weapon sliced through his upper cheek, less than an inch from his right eye. Gwaynn dove away, hitting the sand with his shoulders, rolling and coming to his feet, instinctively running from his opponent. Navarra took another swing at him but missed by a good margin. He risked a look over his shoulder and spotted two figures rushing down the path. Both carried weapons. He watched as his men turned to engage them. When he turned back, he had just enough time to skip back from another attack.
‘The boy’s relentless,’ Navarra thought, with a hint of admiration. He would make an excellent Executioner. He shrugged off the thought and sent a blow at the Prince, which would have cleanly parted his head from his shoulders, had it landed, but Gwaynn blocked it with relative ease. The cut on his face was bleeding freely now, but that did not keep him from coming on. Navarra blocked another attack and sent a kick that connected solidly with Gwaynn’s injured cheek. He sprawled backward in the sand, Gwaynn was back up quickly, but obviously stunned. Navarra was dimly aware that one of his men was down and screaming from a mortal wound, but he had the boy now and moved in for the finishing blow.
“You fought well,” Navarra purred, as the Prince staggered, shaking his head to clear it. But as Navarra began to move closer, he noticed three more figures top the rise at a run. Without hesitation they raced down the path toward him. Weapons Masters all. Navarra cursed, but did not hesitate. He turned and ran down the beach away from Gwaynn and away from his new enemies. Up ahead, not more than a quarter of a mile away, a half dozen Deutzani men, waiting by a long boat.
“Prepare!” Navarra yelled. Though winded, he managed to make himself heard. He was gratified to see three immediately begin to push the boat into the water, while the other three rushed forward a bit. All had bows and quickly notched arrows. They let a volley fly over Navarra’s head and into the direction of his pursuers. He heard a loud grunt which told him that one of the arrows had struck home. The pursuit broke off as he ran out into the water and pulled himself into the boat. Once aboard he finally glanced back, the Massi Prince was still attempting to come after him, fighting against the Tar who held him.
The men navigated the boat quickly out of the breakwater, far enough from shore that they all knew that they were now safe, at least for the moment. Navarra jerked a bow from the hand of a man nearest him and held out a hand for an arrow, which quickly appeared. He drew back the string as far as he was able, and though the boat was rocking and pitching in the waves, he let fly a near perfect shot and the instant it was gone he knew it would hit its mark. But the man holding Prince Gwaynn looked up into the impenetrable black sky and seemed to see the missile coming; with slow, deliberate movements he pulled Gwaynn to the left just before the arrow buried itself in the sand where the boy had stood a moment before. Navarra glared at them for a moment as another arrow was placed in his hand. He did not draw it, however, and turned from the receding shore.
“Let’s get to the ship quickly. They will launch against us as soon as they are able,” he said to those with him. “We must be well away when they do.” He received no argument on the matter, just stronger pulls on the oars.
It was Nev who held Gwaynn back; Nev, who kept him from exposing himself to more arrow fire; Nev, who kept him from racing out into the water to chase his enemy.
“You’ve done well lad,” Nev whispered in his ear, but did not relax his grip.
Krys and Vio ran up to the beach to join them and together they all watched as the long boat moved farther and farther from shore, until at last it was lost into the darkness.
“Who was it?” Krys asked confused and upset by the murder of the local girl. At first no one said anything, but then Gwaynn shrugged off the hold of his new mentor. He looked up the beach. Lane, Shari, and the rest of the family were coming, along with Tar Amon and Kostek.