Richard Parker: Elsewhere

“You mean King Gwaynn,” Essain said finally speaking, wondering if the man before him was a gifted warrior or just another fool in the search of glory.

Lacombe smiled for a brief instant. “King Gwaynn…I’d not heard.”

Essain shrugged. “It’s what the rabble call him. Are you good with those?” He asked nodding toward the swords that hung at the waist of the Executioner.

Lacombe smiled once more. “Adequate,” he answered.

“I’m always looking for good men,” Essain said then frowned as Lacombe immediately shook his head.

“Sorry,” he answered, though he was not.

“Well then,” Essain answered suddenly angry and Lacombe felt the men at his back tense, though he remained quietly relaxed. “Paulo is the man you need to see. Paulo Carnnetti, merchant in the Garden district. Personal friend of the King, so I’m told.”

Lacombe nodded ever so slightly and turned to go.

“Your purse,” Essain said lightly. “If you’re going to war you’ll not be needin’ it.”

Without turning back Lacombe drew his kali so swiftly that the two men at the door barely had time to lay a hand on their own weapons and they lost their heads in unison, their blood spraying about the lavishly furnished room. Lacombe spun again and was once more facing Essain before the two bodyguards even realized they were dead. The dead men fell into one another, did a slow pirouette like a pair of drunken dancers, and then dropped to the floor with a single thud.

The gambler’s eyes were wide with fear and surprise, but he was quick and managed to throw the knife he kept hidden in his waistcoat and though Essain was very good with his knives, he rushed his throw a bit in his panic. The man before him did not move or even flinch as the knife flew past his left ear and buried itself in the doorframe beyond.

Lacombe smiled. “Chance is a dangerous, fickle partner,” he whispered drawing closer, watching intently for any overt move the man before him might try.

“You, being what you are, should know that better than anyone. For years good fortune may walk hand in hand beside you, docile and submissive, like a sweet young lover, but then one day, without word or warning, you‘re abandoned and all alone, naked and without a friend…such is chance.”

“He…here,” Essain said trying to sink further back into his chair while holding out the two gold coins and wondering if his luck had truly run out.

Lacombe smiled and shook his head. “Keep them,” he answered, “but I will take your right hand in exchange.”

“Wha…what?”

“Your right hand or your life,” Lacombe said and slashed a kali through the air close enough that Essain felt it’s passing on his cheek.

The gambler thought about crying out, but knew the shout would be lost in the noise of the tavern. He doubted anyone could reach him in time at any rate. “I have money.”

Lacombe shook his head and stared directly into the gambler’s eyes. “Your hand or your neck. You decide now. Hold out your hand or die.”

Essain stared back, caught. The eyes of the man before him showed no feeling at all, and certainly no pity. Essain whimpered as Lacombe pulled back his kali for the killing stroke but at the last minute the gambler thrust out his right hand and closed his eyes. Lacombe smiled, sheathed his left kali and clasped the hand in his. Essain opened his eyes, relieved, at least until the right kali sliced neatly through his wrist. He screamed and was still screaming as Lacombe opened the door and strode through the kitchen and the tavern beyond. He moved slowly through the bar, Essain’s hand still clutched in his own; the severed wrist dripping a bloody trail behind him.

The Executioner stepped outside the tavern and took a deep breath of fresh salty air. It was late and the afternoon sunshine had given way to clouds and the promise of a late summer rain. He stepped out into the muddy street and up to Sunwind, who snorted at the smell of blood. Lacombe smiled and dropped Essain’s right hand and then kicked it under the porch of the Suckling Pig.

“Let us find more suitable lodgings shall we,” he said to his horse and they headed off in the direction of the Garden district.

ǂ

Traveler Jess na Gall came awake not to the clanging of alarm bells, but to the sounds of shouting, running feet and the banging of doors. At first she thought little of it; after all during a siege in wartime, such noises were common. But gradually she became aware that her bed and the floor beneath it were shaking, and then the roar began. The sound was soft at first, like a newborn’s sigh, but then it grew in volume until na Gall was sure her section of the keep would collapse at any moment. She lay utterly still; terrified as the floor began to shake harder, the roar growing so loud it was as if the Black Horseman himself was thundering her way, excited and anxious to finish a job long overdue. The Traveler could almost feel the pounding of horse hooves shaking the soft downy mattress beneath her and she bolted upright in the dark of her room, eyes wide with dawning horror.

‘The Palmerrio tunnel,’ she thought, finally coming fully awake. She jumped from her bed and dressed in rapid fashion, then sprinted into the hallway. Chaos surrounded her. The hallway was filled with dust, smoke and soldiers running in every direction. na Gall picked her way carefully down the hallway, stepping over debris and holding her hand over her nose in an attempt to filter out some of the dust. She struggled against the press of bodies, trying to reach the Queen’s private quarters. Luckily she didn’t have far to go.

“What’s happened?” She asked the pair of sentries standing outside and guarding the way to the Queen. Both shook their heads in unison and shrugged.

“Not sure yet Ma’am,” one of them answered, clearly excited and a little afraid. na Gall moved past them and they made no move to stop her. She entered to find the Queen already awake and dressed.

Captain Trammel, head of the castle guard, was at the window. They both looked up as the Traveler entered.

“You must take her now!” Trammel shouted loudly.

na Gall glanced at Ramona as Sanja, her old valet, came from the back rooms dragging several large trunks behind him.

“What’s happened?” na Gall asked.

“They fired the tunnel beneath the keep,” the Queen explained. “When it collapsed it took the entire southwest corner. We’re exposed.”

“You must Travel now!” Trammel insisted, but Ramona just shook her head. “I will wait for my guard,” she answered calmly.

“Sanja, go and collect Jory and the others. Meet us on the upper veranda,” the Queen added. Sanja bowed low and with only a slightly quickened pace, left the room.

“Come Captain let us go and see for ourselves,” Ramona added and moved out of the main room, passed her bedroom and along a hall which eventually led to a narrow stone staircase. They ascended quickly and came out at the very top of the northern most tower. Without prompting they all headed directly toward the southwest corner of the balcony.

The scene was one of utter destruction; a full three-quarters of the south wall had collapsed taking a quarter of the western wall with it. Though they could not see anything because of the darkness and dust, they could hear the roar of enemy troops as they finally entered the last stronghold of Toranado resistance.

“It’s over M’lady,” Trammel whispered softly. “We must get you out.” He glanced at na Gall, who nodded, then glided to the center of the veranda and began to weave a bridge to Manse. She knew it would have to be large and strong in order to save as many brave Toranadians as possible. She shook her head slightly thinking that this was all she was able to do anymore, create bridges for innocents to escape certain death. It was becoming a sad pattern; it was becoming a way of life. But before the bridge was even complete, she felt the presence of the young Prince Gwaynn Massi. She smiled to herself, comforted. He was ready; he would assist. The bridge rapidly coalesced into existence.