The soldiers all came to a sudden stop, though one continued on for a few more paces. Sam could see him plainly. He was young with a square jaw and bright hazel eyes. He was wet and plainly tired, but even so she could tell he would be very pleasant to look at in other circumstances. She found it strange that she could find the enemy, any enemy attractive.
“Come,” the young one said turning in his saddle to look back at the other men, all of whom had come to a complete stop. The rain continued to fall, but its ferocity had lessened a bit. Thunder could be heard rolling about the countryside in the distance.
“No lad,” one of the elder soldiers said. “If lightning should strike it will leave us all dead. We must find shelter elsewhere.”
The young soldier turned back and looked at the cover of the trees and bushes as the other men moved off in the direction of the Scar River. Samantha watched without breathing, but the young soldier still did not turn and follow the others; he continued to stare at the very bush she hid behind. She was suddenly sure he was looking directly into her eyes. He took a sharp breath, and she thought he would yell out, but he released it without a sound. He stared for a few moments more, then turned and without looking back and hurried to catch up with the others. It was still a long time before Sam was able to breath, to be able to believe her luck, and when she stood she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She quickly squatted down again to relieve herself. Bull raised his head, slowly chewing and watched her.
Thunder could still be heard in the distance, but the rain was nearly passed. Sam stood, feeling better, her heart finally beginning to slow. She stood and moved quickly toward Bull. The horse watched her come calmly and allowed her to pat his neck gently before leading him to a nearby bush where she tied his reins securely. She then headed back in the direction the soldiers had taken. She was extremely careful to move within the cover of the copse of trees. She wanted to be very sure that the soldiers had moved on far enough that she could continue on her way without being spotted. She had to move nearly a quarter of a mile through the trees before she finally spotted the party, riding south in the distance. The rain continued to fall lightly but the majority of the severe weather appeared to have moved off to the east.
Samantha sighed, and hurried back to Bull, struggled up onto his back and trotted to the north, going a good distance before slowly edging her way back to the river. The berries and the fright had eased her hunger at first, though four hours later she was becoming desperate again. It became painfully apparent to her that not only was she going to have to stop in Manse, but she also realize that she would have to stop on the way and either try to trap a rabbit or other small animal, or perhaps fish. She did not want to stop…ever, not with the Executioner coming from behind. She could feel him gaining. He was coming, ever moving in her mind, and always faster than she was traveling. Suddenly the situation became too much for her and she began to cry in despair. She cried softly at first, but soon broke into huge, raking sobs. She cried about her situation, but mostly for her family and friends. Bull continued on his way unhindered by the emotional outburst taking place on his back, and when stream of tears finally ended nearly a half an hour later, Samantha felt much better. The tears seemed to clear her head so that she could think once more. Hunger was still with her and was still her primary concern. She leaned over and patted Bull softly.
“Good boy,” she said then sat up tall and looked around at her surroundings. The way behind her seemed clear of all pursuit, for which she was very grateful. The rain had stopped but there was another bank of dark clouds moving toward her from the southwest. She studied the oncoming storm for several miles before she finally became aware that the Scar was slowly disappearing into the earth. Her heart skipped a beat, as she realized that she was coming closer to Manse, and it soared as an idea finally came to her. She would indeed cross the Scar River, and climb to the plateau, but she would still ride to Manse and enter the town by the west. Perhaps doing so would throw off her pursuer, and any possible help the people of Manse could give him about a lone fleeing girl.
She rode on scrutinizing the river and the Scar as she traveled, hoping to discover an easy way to cross before the second storm hit the area. She’d already decided that she would cross during the height of the storm, confident that the downpour, if it was hard enough, would wash out any of her tracks. Without dogs it was possible she could lose the man hunting her, at least for a brief while. She didn’t have long to wait before the rain began to fall again but she did not find an easy crossing before the torrents of rain began to pelt her even harder than the first storm. Thankfully however, the thunder and lightning were missing. She was completely drenched again in seconds, her hair clinging to her neck and scalp. She had to cross now…she had little choice. She steered Bull carefully down the steep bank to the edge of the river, which was flowing steadily at this point. Beyond, through the rain, she could not see the Scar at all. She hesitated a moment, then with silent determination she forced Bull into the river. The current, though present, was not nearly as strong as she feared, nor was the river as deep, though Bull had to swim for a few paces through the middle channel. Sam climbed from his back and swam next to him, keeping a firm grip on the saddle as she did so. She squirmed back onto the saddle as he began to find footing once more. It was only moments before she found herself on the far side of the river, cold, shivering and soaked completely through, but happy, and for the first time hopeful as she began to hunt for a way up through the hills of the Scar.
She soon found a way as she reached a bend in the river. There was a path of sorts that led upward through the steep hills that were strewn with large boulders and jagged rocks, which jutted out of the earth as if the Scar, like a drowning man, was fighting to reach the surface one last time. The rain began to ease once more as she moved up the hillside. She pushed Bull, wanting to be off the slopes before the rain completely stopped.
“There are easier crossings up river,” a deep voice said from a nearby outcropping of boulders.
XVI
Gwaynn moved out of the inn and into the back alley with Krys following closely behind. As the old man said, the stairs that led to the loft above the feed and grain store were plainly visible, but as they moved out onto the back porch the door opened behind them.
“M’lord,” Taylor said in a whispered voice. Gwaynn turned and was surprised when he saw the old man holding out a very large sword to him. “It’s mine, from long ago. You must be careful. There are four of them. Fakir is the leader, nasty. He’s the one you must worry about.”
Gwaynn smiled and took the sword then he nodded to the old man. “My thanks Taylor,” he said and raised the sword. “We will return this momentarily.” As he turned he gave the sword to Krys.
“Here, you are better with one of these than I am.”
Krys took it and bowed his head in recognition. The sword felt good in his hand, and for the first time that morning he was feeling like his old self. He twirled the weapon skillfully a few times to get the feel for the balance of the weapon. Taylor, who was still watching and fretting in the doorway, caught this little display of skill and a few of his worries fled from his mind.