Rage was blinding him, causing him to rush and perspire, but by the time he reached Chaos he had restored some semblance of calm to his demeanor, not that his passion for the death of Samantha had waned, but his own cool reason was now beginning to assert itself once more. He was close, he told himself, thoughts like frost on a window pane, and when he had her he would take her, rape her in more ways than she could imagine, and then kill her very, very slowly. He leaped up into the saddle, turned and moved back through the briar as quickly as the horse could safely manage. It helped that the obstacles were still removed, but even so it took nearly three quarters of an hour to reach the road.
Once there he proceeded much more slowly. First, he knew he must ascertain whether or not the girl had the courage to re-climb the Scar and pass this way going south. He forced himself to slow down and climb from the back of the horse to study the tracks leading away from Lynndon. It took another quarter of an hour to determine that none were made within the last day, let alone the past hour. Satisfied, he stood and moved back down the Scar, passing the dead old woman, still on the porch. Of the boy he saw nothing.
By the time he rode into Lynndon he was again the calm Executioner, and the fact that he was minus two dogs was beginning to fade into the very recesses of his mind. The townspeople were going about their business, moving here and there on errands. He stopped nearly all of them and asked about the girl, but it was not until he cornered a young boy near the edge of town that he found someone who had witnessed her passing.
“She took a horse from Wake’s,” the boy said. He ran along side as the Executioner rode up to the smithy shop and dismounted. The boy, who had just turned seven, was too young to be afraid, and felt very special helping this tall, dark and obviously very important man to leave well enough alone. He watched as Navarra carefully moved from smithy to barn, studying the tracks in the ground and growing more excited as he spotted the small set he was looking for. She was missing her shoes, her toes clearly visible in one print. He knelt down to examine it more closely and then he reached out, feeling the same earth beneath his fingers. The print was no bigger than his hand. Then he moved to the horse’s prints. They were large, frightfully so. They would be very easy to follow.
Without a word he moved out of the dimly lit barn and back into the daylight. The boy still followed, just a step or two behind.
“Which way did she go?” Navarra asked, thinking of giving the boy a pence for his help.
“She rode west along the Scar,” the lad piped up. Navarra nodded.
“Mister, where are your dogs?” The boy asked. A second later his head was bouncing along in the dirt, the questioning look still on his face. Navarra watched it until it stopped moving, then let out a laugh, feeling better. The boy had died fast, probably without even knowing it was coming. It would have to do…in place of the pence.
XV
Samantha rode at a quick and steady pace. Bull would never be taken for a sprinter, but he was big and strong and carried her weight as if it were nothing at all. He was used to either Wake, or hauling heavy wagons, the girl on his back was hardly noticeable. She used his strength to get as far from Lynndon as possible, riding most of the day, stopping only twice so that they could both drink from the Scar River, which she was following to the northwest. Several times she left the river’s side when she spotted bargemen floating her way, carrying goods along the river to the host of small towns which dotted its banks. They moved slowly, so she had plenty of time to veer off and hide among the foliage until they past. After they were gone she continued to ride until it was well dark and the rocky ground was becoming a danger to the horse. She finally stopped when she spotted a small sandbar by the soft light of the quarter moon. She dismounted and moved down the bank. She was closer to the river than she would have liked. The rushing water created enough noise so that she would not be able to hear anyone coming up on her, but the bar was protected from the wind by the riverbank on one side and the Scar on the other. The sand was fine and soft and afforded a nice place in which to try to get some rest.
Bull was a worry, since she didn’t have a rope to hobble him. She removed his saddle, but had to leave his bridle in place so that she could tie the reins to a stubby bush not far from where she laid her one smelly blanket. She would not light a fire, she could not risk it, but it was relatively warm, and she could half cover herself in any case.
Surprisingly, she slept the sleep of the exhausted, and woke curled in a tight ball against the chill of the morning air, her clothes still somewhat damp. She sat up and Bull snorted at her, obviously displeased. She stood and led the horse over to the river to drink. While Bull was thus engaged, she quickly relieved herself and then moved across the sand bar and climbed the bank to carefully look about the surrounding area. Her heart was hammering in her chest in anticipation of seeing the Executioner riding her way, but thankfully the immediate area seemed empty. She ran back down the sandy bank, holding up her skirts so as not to trip over them, grabbed her blanket and saddle and placed them on Bull as he continued to drink. She hurried, suddenly very sure that the Executioner was close, and that he had not stopped for the night and was almost upon her. After what seemed an eternity to her, but in actuality was only a few minutes she finished and with difficulty raised her leg and placed it in the stirrup and hoisted herself up upon the very large horse. It took a bit of coaxing, but she eventually pulled Bull away from the river and rode him up the bank. She looked around frantically for her pursuer, but again, the immediate area seemed empty, then she turned and headed once more west along the river.
Bull displayed his strength again and they traveled at a quick pace for most of the morning. Samantha encouraged him with kind words and pats on the neck when she was not looking back over her shoulder. The Executioner was coming. She could feel it and her anxiety and fear drove her on, but it was not until around mid-day that a great wave of hunger finally struck her. She had not eaten since the evening before last and up until now had not truly missed food. She had just not given it any thought; her mind and body elsewhere, but time was beginning to take its toll as her stomach clenched several times in painful protest. It was not long before she was thinking of nothing but food. She rode along the river, thinking of fish, and knowing that she was in deep trouble. All she had was a knife; her bow was broken and discarded. She knew she could not take the time to hunt or fish, not with death chasing her. Sam had intended to by-pass Manse and cross over the Scar before she reached the town, but now she knew she would have to risk the danger and move among the people of the town in the hopes of getting food. The trouble was Manse was still at least two days away. She would not make it another two days without food, of that she was very sure. She would have to find something to eat, or she would die of starvation before the Executioner could kill her.