Jake’s mind was now racing. These two did not have the look or demeanor of a Scholar or Physician, and since they arrived on horseback Travelers could be ruled out, and that left either Weapons Masters or Executioners. Jake’s mind fixated on Executioners since a group of men trimmed in Sinis red had passed through early the previous week.
“The Islands,” Jake answered back as his two friends at the next table turned around to face away from him. Anger at them shot through Jake. It was at their prodding that he’d come over here in the first place. Cowards.
Gwaynn’s smile grew larger. “Noble,” he answered softly.
Jake sighed. “Noble?” he asked, relieved, but still worried.
Gwaynn nodded. “Noble.”
Jake shook his head, then suddenly decided he couldn’t be any closer to death than he had just been, so he leaned in. “You’re not Deutzani?” he asked.
Both Krys and Gwaynn shook their heads, and Jake let out another sigh.
“Weapons Masters?” He asked, then in a flash he remembered someone from Lynndon had been accepted into the training. He remembered Wake bragging about it all those years ago. Krys…the boy’s name might have been Krys.
“Krys,” Rebecca said, coming from around the bar to get closer. “I do remember a Krys getting accepted into the training,” she said.
“At your service,” Krys answered with a slight bow, now fully amused by the man who had joined them.
Jake laughed. It was giddy and high pitched. His relief was so great that the men at the next table joined in. “Boy, when you said the Islands, I could not keep from thinking about the band of Executioners. They came through here last week, but didn’t stop.”
“Luck was with us,” Rebecca added with obvious gratitude.
“Executioners,” Gwaynn said, his voice raised, and eyes suddenly going cold. All talk stopped once again in the tavern, and Jake swallowed hard. The man in front of him never claimed to be a Weapons Master, but if Krys was taking his orders he must be someone deadly.
Rebecca nodded and bravely moved closer, then whispered. “They came through last Monday. They were heading toward Manse. Nasty men, killers all.”
“Anyone named Navarra with them?” Gwaynn asked, his manner still ice.
Rebecca shrugged, growing a bit wary once more. “They didn’t give names, didn’t even stop to water their horses…I’m sorry young master,” she added, and Gwaynn seeing her fear for the first time, eased back his intensity.
“I thank you,” he said standing, and picking up his bag. “Looks like we have another reason to go stop at Manse,” he added to Krys who also stood. “We’ll say goodnight. Tell the boy to have our horses ready at sunrise.”
Rebecca bowed her head in acknowledgement.
Jake and the others watched as the two walked up to the second floor. Relief poured through everyone at the tavern. Jake stood, his joints rubbery, and moved back to his table of friends.
“Way to pick on someone who hunts Executioners Jake,” whispered the fat man at the far table. Everyone turned a looked at Jake for a moment, but then suddenly they were all laughing with relief.
ǂ
Tar Navarra was across the bridge and up the Scar just as the sun rose ever faithful, over the eastern horizon. A cool wind whipped along the water, fluttering his cape as he rode, and the sky was decorated with a multitude of red, orange, and purple tinted clouds, but the Executioner did not notice. All his attention was on the tracks that led to the very top of the Scar. It was an easy trail to follow; the girl’s horse had a slightly raised nail on the left front shoe. It made a deeper indentation than any of the others, a perfect telltale sign of her passing. Luckily the rain had again been light the previous night and had not washed away all of the tracks. The Fultan girl rode past this way. Once on the very top of the Scar, Navarra looked about. He spotted a boy hiding among the wagon parts and high grass. Furia spotted the boy also and went rigid, growling deep and low until Navarra softly whistled, then the dog trotted to catch up. Navarra ignored the boy and moved on to the group of buildings up ahead. He stopped in front of the largest building, which claimed to be “Bert’s Feed and Grain.” No one emerged to meet him so he dismounted, not bother to tie off Chaos, for he was well trained. He climbed the stairs to the porch and was almost in the door.
“What can I do ya for?” a woman’s voice sounded from the corner of the building. Immediately Vesania and Furia were growling, hunching low; they began to slowly approach the old woman. Navarra spoke softly and they stopped walking, but continued to growl and watch her menacingly. Bert paused for only a split second then continued on, struggling with a sack of feed. She carried it up the steps and placed it next to the door, then stood and looked Navarra directly in the eye. There was no sign of fear in her despite his Executioner robes, which annoyed him.
“I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he said softly, and moved slightly closer to the old woman, wanting her to react to his presence by taking a step back. She didn’t move.
“A girl,” the old woman answered loudly. “I don’t sell girls here.” She grunted then tried to move by him and enter the store. Navarra stopped her easily by reaching out and grabbing a hold of her right arm. He squeezed hard and she gave a satisfying wince.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, scolding.
“Yes,” Navarra answered and for a moment squeezed harder. “I’m looking for a girl who past by this way,” he repeated even softer.
“A girl?” the old woman asked, fear suddenly in her eyes.
“Ye…” Navarra began but was surprised when suddenly there was a knife in the old woman’s left hand. She made the mistake of raising it high to drive it into his throat, if she had gone for his groin she might have succeeded. Navarra blocked the blow at the last moment then gripped her left wrist and twisted hard until the tendons and bones popped loudly in the still morning air. The knife fell on the hardwood of the porch and bounced away. The woman screamed, but it was cut off as he struck her in the throat with the edge of his hand. It was a killing blow, crushing her larynx. It was a blow he had not intended to make, but his surprise was so great from her near success that he lashed out instinctively. He released her, and she staggered away a few steps, face already contorted and turning blue. She pulled at her throat with her right hand, her left dangling uselessly at her side. The dogs were up and eager, staring at him for permission to continue with the killing, but he gave them an angry look that caused them to fall back, clearly disappointed. Navarra watched the woman as she stared back at him, her eyes wide, death fixed in her sight but then he turned away from her and entered the store, looking for anyone else who might confirm the girl’s passing. He soon came back out onto the porch. The woman was dead; a slight blue tint could be seen around her lips. He only gave her a cursory glance, then moved off the porch and looked in the direction where the boy had been earlier. There was no one in sight, and he briefly toyed with the idea of sending the dogs after him, but in the end he just mounted up and continued on, slowly following the tracks left by the Fultan horse.