“You and Bull have food now…in the bags,” he said quickly, then as if not knowing what else to say he began to move back down the hill to his boat.
“Remember what I said,” Sam called after him. “Don’t stop for anyone. He may be close behind. Cobb raised his hand in acknowledgement, but did not stop or turn around. Sam smiled to herself, then struggled up onto Bull and moved up higher and onto the Scar Plateau.
XVII
Lonogan Bock, on horseback, followed along apprehensively as three of his largest wagons rolled slowly across the bridge leading to the Plateau above. Each empty wagon had six horses pulling it, and though the horses had an easy time of it going this direction, on the way back, loaded with freshly cut logs, they would need all of their strength. Two horses were tied to the rear of the middle wagon and followed along amiably. They were the only clue that the two young men who actually drove the wagon were not exactly who they appeared to be. If the Deutzani guarding the bridgehead became suspicious Bock would just claim to be trading out horses for his scouts and trappers. If that failed he had enough coin to turn their heads. Bribery and black marketers thrived under the new system of rule, and any man who wished to be successful in a business soon learned who could be persuaded to look the other way for a few pence.
But the guards at the bridge just waved the party on without at a second glance, after all, the Deutzani needed the trade; as conquerors the tax income was theirs by right. They would only be undermining themselves to stand in the way of commerce. The local governor knew such things, but it did not keep him from growing rich on extortion…just not rich enough to attract the attention of King Arsinol.
Bock watched the two new young men handle the team as they reached the foot of the long hill which would eventually lead to the flat Plateau above. He studied Gwaynn very closely. The boy had determination, strength and resolve, and these were not attributes he’d been told to expect. Afton Sath, his commander now for nearly twelve years, described the young prince as talented, but soft, with feelings as sensitive as any girl’s. In fact, Sath had mentioned several times that he had wished it had been Gwynn who had survived, truly believing that she was the stronger of the two.
But after Gwaynn’s encounter with Lee Brandt, Bock was forced to reevaluate his preconceptions. It was something he continued to do the entire day yesterday as he tried to talk his prince out of moving up on the Plateau and chasing foolishly after a party of Executioners. Bock was surprised when Gwaynn had asked about them, but he told what he knew, that they had entered Manse nearly a week prior, but had since left, though when, he could not be sure. Word had it that they were on their way to Koshka. He never would have believed that these two young men were actually chasing after Executioners or he would not have been so free with his information. He wanted the two to hold up and wait for Sath to return from Cape, but Gwaynn would hear none of it.
“He can find us just as well at Koshka,” Gwaynn had said and even intended on crossing the Scar River on his own. It was all Bock could do to convince him into staying the night and leaving with a party at first light. The young prince was impatient, and apparently reckless, not desirable qualities in a leader, but certainly not the simpering, soft, coward he had come to expect. But it was when Gwaynn asked about Tod Ogden and a whore named Dot that Bock began to realize with just whom he was dealing.
“You know them?” Gwaynn had asked.
Bock nodded. “Tough bunch. Led by Fakir, not someone you want to get tangled with,” he advised.
“Fakir’s dead, along with several of his men, and a few of his women,” Gwaynn said without emotion. “Tod and Dot though seemed to lose heart as we were dealing with the others and fled. I want them dead.”
Bock stared at Gwaynn his mouth slightly open. “Dead?”
“Dead,” Gwaynn repeated. “Can you get it done for me?”
Bock nodded. “Fakir’s dead?”
Gwaynn shook his question away with obvious impatience. “There are two others, a whore named Neece…she is to leave Manse and not return. The other is Emm. She is now under the care of the innkeeper Taylor. She is not to be harmed. If she returns to her whoring ways, however, she dies.”
Bock studied Gwaynn and Krys in silence. “I will see to it,” he finally answered, thinking to himself, that whatever Gwaynn used to be; he was no longer soft, far from it.
Once they reached the top of the Plateau and were a little more than a mile away from Manse, the wagons pulled to a stop, and Gwaynn and Krys climbed down. They mounted their fine horses without a word. Bock rode up to Lee Brandt, who was driver of the first wagon.
“Head for the Astoria forest lands,” he ordered and then glanced back at the two young men preparing to leave. “When you return, remain in Manse until Master Sath arrives. Send him on to the Hawser Ranch. I will try to keep these two there.”
Lee smiled at his boss, who he respected above all other men. “Good luck with that job,” he answered then snapped the reins and turned the team until they were heading nearly due west. The other wagons fell into place, one rider from the last wagon hopping up into the middle wagon to take over for Krys and Gwaynn as Bock rode over to join the two young men.
“If we head southwest we should reach Koshka before nightfall tomorrow. There’s a ranch about three miles southeast we use when hauling lumber from Mayfield,” he said swiftly so as not to be interrupted.
“We?” Gwaynn asked without smiling, though inside he was grateful for the guide, and the possibility of sleeping once again with a roof over his head. Despite the fact that he was a prince of this land, he did not know it as he should. He had never been on the Plateau until today and he marveled at its stark flatness. He had a hard time believing that most of the lumber was taken from such a barren landscape; of course he knew that the great forests grew in the shadows of the Scar Mountains which were now visible in the distance.
Bock nodded at him, very serious. “I thought I would accompany you.”
“You mean keep us in sight until Afton Sath arrives.”
Bock shrugged. “As you like, but I know the country. The Deutzani have a garrison both at Colchester and Mayfield, maybe three to four hundred cavalry each. For the most part this is their only presence on the western Plateau. I know their patrol patterns, what roads they use and which they tend to avoid. The Massi plains have been conquered, but the Plateau is as wild as ever, even your father never fully tamed the locals who live here.”
Krys frowned at the man. “The Plateau Massi have always been loyal to the King,” he protested. His years living at the very edge of the Scar had taught him as much, and though the people from above were an independent and sometimes unruly lot, they were never considered to be disloyal to either King or country.
“Fair enough,” Bock answered, “but only after hundreds of years of just rule.”
“Come then,” Gwaynn said. “Show us the way…and if you are to ride along,” he added with a hint of a smile. “You must keep an eye out for Executioners…but remember one thing, Navarra is mine.”