“I’m tracking a girl, long red hair. She’s riding a large horse,” he said without preamble, doubting that they had come across her. Samantha would either be dead or with them if she had encountered them. Somehow, she had slipped past.
A large balding man, with a simple ring of dark hair that was quickly going gray rode in front of the group.
“We saw no one,” he said simply in a deep baritone voice. He eyed the Executioner nervously as he spoke.
“No one,” Navarra repeated his face flat and emotionless.
“No M’lord,” the man answered fidgeting in his saddle.
“What is your name Sergeant?”
Navarra watched with satisfaction as the man swallowed hard. “Blear,” he finally answered though they all could see he was loath to, but then he straightened and added with as much courage and dignity as he could muster. “Sergeant Hans Blear.”
Tar Navarra regarded him for a long moment. Sergeant Blear felt like a mouse caught directly in the stare of the cold, flat eyes of a snake.
“And Sergeant Blear,” Navarra began in what he felt to be his most dangerously reasonable voice, “what is your duty along the Scar?”
Sergeant Blear remained straight in the saddle. “We are to patrol the Scar.”
“And just what are you patrolling for?”
Blear shrugged. “Any unusual movement, either east or west. Possible counter strikes from the Massi, or a possible invasion from the Toranado.”
“The Toranado,” Navarra repeated without a hint of emotion, though inside he was seething. He had little doubt that the order was true, but it made little sense. Mastoc was a fool as were his Generals. “And what of the locals. Are they to have free passage?”
Blear shook his head. “No sir. It’s the King’s orders that the Massi are not to travel cross the Scar without papers. Trade may continue along the Scar River, and loggers may come and go from Manse, but we are to watch the Scar for any Massi citizens who may be on the run to the west.”
“Ah,” Navarra said as if making a great discovery. “But you saw no one recently in your travels along the Scar.”
“No Sir,” Blear answered his nervousness returning.
“Well, I am following a young girl,” Navarra said stressing the word ‘young’ for the Sergeant and his men. “The tracks of her horse are plain in the sand and mud along the Scar. She passed this way, and is perhaps a half-day ahead of me, perhaps not. She fled from Lynndon and is heading for Manse. How is it that you, whose job it is to watch the Scar for fleeing locals, did not spot her?”
Now more of the soldiers were fidgeting along with their Sergeant. “We…we saw no one,” he repeated. “Mayhap she passed us in the storm,” he added and Navarra too thought that this was likely, but he didn’t say as much.
“Perhaps,” he replied then decided he had wasted enough time terrorizing these soldiers.
“Will you ride all the way to Lynndon?”
“Yes, Sir,” Blear answered. “We stay for three days then travel back to Manse,” he added though the information was not sought after. Navarra waved him away.
“I killed four men on top of the Scar about half a league down from the bridge, Massi spies most likely,” he said not even bothering to try to impress them. “There is a way to them about a league past the supply store up top. Find them, and look for any sign of exactly who they were and then report it to your Captain. Tell him Tar Navarra wishes it brought to the General’s attention.”
“Yes…yes M’lord,” Blear said relief flowing over him as he realized he was not to be killed or even disciplined. Navarra began to move off, but called out behind him.
“And Sergeant, keep a keen eye on the Scar. If you pass another I am hunting I will have your head…and all those responsible.” He glared at all the soldiers in turn before finally swinging around in his saddle and continuing on with his pursuit of the Fultan girl.
ǂ
Samantha swung around, and there behind her, camped beyond a large boulder and beneath a solid slab of granite was a large man, dressed in a pair of long underwear. He was round in the middle, completely bald on top and he sported an enormous bushy mustache, which was just beginning to go gray. He was looking at her, his right eyebrow twitching as his gaze moved up and down her body, which was outlined nicely by her wet clothes. Behind him was a fire built in a small depression well back beneath an overhand, and placed on the surrounding rocks, as close to the fire as possible, lay his outer clothes. On the fire sat a pan of what looked to be black beans, mixed with, by the smell filling the air, bacon. Samantha’s stomach rumbled angrily and clenched so hard she nearly doubled over. Her eyes lingered on the food for a long time before moving to the bow leaning against the back wall of the shelter.
“I’m Cobb,” the man said, his eyes still moving about her body. He had not moved any closer. Sam was sure she would have fled if he had done so. Instead he smiled at her.
“You look hungry,” he added.
Samantha glanced back at his face for a brief moment before returning to the pan of beans. All of her thoughts were now completely on food as her stomach rumbled again.
“I am,” she finally answered, forcing herself to pull her eyes from the pan, and look back at the man confronting her.
“My name’s Cobb. I’m a trader,” he said with obvious pride, and he pointed past her down to the river. Sam turned and looked. There on the bank, she saw a large wooden boat, probably big enough that two men should be working it, but she saw only Cobb.
“I’m Sam,” she answered back, and he smiled at her again. She tried to smile back, but hunger was cruelly gripping her mid-section.
“You’re pretty,” Cobb said, “even a might more than Emm.”
Samantha frowned, and the sudden realization that Cobb was a bit simple finally came to her.
“You look hungry,” he stated once more.
“I am,” Samantha repeated, wishing he would just invite her to have some, but he just stood there looking at her. Finally he looked down at his feet.
“I’d like to have a go at you,” he said in a low voice.
“Wha…what?” Sam asked, though she was sure she had heard him correctly.
Cobb looked up and beamed at her. “I’m a trader. I want to have a go at you. You can have my food. We trade,” he added motioning back and forth between them, obviously very proud of himself for thinking of such a thing.