Richard Parker: The Black Horseman

The woman returned with two bowls of warm stew and placed it before them. Gwaynn’s stomach growled loudly and he immediately started on it. “Thanks Karla…I’m starving,” Karl said and nodded as Gwaynn looked up.

“Me sister,” he said sheepishly, “and her husband Paulo.” The thin man nodded but said nothing. Gwaynn paused in mid bite, remembering his own sister, now dead…for how long? He could not say for sure, and then he thought of his mother and her bowels, and gagged. He slowly put down his spoon, sat still for a moment then pushed the bowl toward the middle of the table.

“The stew is not to your taste?” Karla asked. Gwaynn just shook his head.

“What is it?” Karl asked, but Karla moved behind the boy and softly gripped his shoulders.

‘He looks so like the King,’ she thought.

“He’s had a day,” she said for Gwaynn. “Come…Gwaynn, I’ll take you up to your room.”

Gwaynn, afraid if he had to explain he might start to cry, agreed. He rose and followed her from the kitchen without a word.

“Try and sleep,” Karl said after him. “If everything is set we will leave just before sunrise.”

Gwaynn heard him, but did not respond; instead he followed Karla up a flight of stairs and down a narrow hall, and into one of the far rooms. The room was small, dominated by a large bed. There was a table with a pitcher of water, a chair that sat before a window, and a fireplace, which was presently cold. Karla led him to the bed, and gently removed his cape.

“I’ll fetch you a nightshirt,” she said, but Gwaynn grabbed her hand before she could leave.

“My…my father’s shirt will be fine,” he whispered. “Don’t go.”

Karla hesitated for a moment and then they both sat down. He went willingly and then without a word leaned into Karla until she put her arms around his shoulders.

He sat quietly for a moment, and then started to cry, gently at first, but then harder as his grief overwhelmed him. He wept but made no noise. He cried for nearly a quarter of an hour, and all the while his mind taunted him with one word. ‘Coward.’

ǂ

While Gwaynn was crying, many miles away to the east and south, Afton Sath, moved carefully through the small dark tunnel that led from the kitchens of the keep, deep underground and then to the south. It ran underground for just over five miles. He was not sure how far he had come through the dark, damp tunnel, but the cold was beginning to seep into his bones, and he knew if he was to survive he needed to find the exit before his strength gave out. He was sure his old body would betray him if he had to spend the entire night underground. But his torch had sputtered and gone out over an hour ago, and he was forced to go very slowly through the pitch black, feeling his way carefully through the loose rocks that littered the tunnel floor. A fall at this point could very well prove fatal, and he, in his sorrow and hatred, would not allow himself to die before he had one more opportunity to strike a blow against the treacherous Deutzani. Unfortunately his thoughts continued to dwell on the day just past. It had been a disaster beyond anything imaginable, not only had a trusted ally attacked, but the defenses of the country had crumbled far too easily. Also there was strong evidence that the High King’s Temple Knights had aided the enemy. Why, Sath did not know, but he wanted to live to find out.

He stumbled slightly and put his face and hand through a thick web, which bracketed the tunnel. He didn’t flinch and even felt a small wave of hope, thinking perhaps he was nearing the end of the tunnel. Earlier in the journey he had heard the sounds of many small scurrying feet, but those had diminished the farther he made his way from the castle. His right shoulder was aching from having to hold his hand up and out in front of him in an attempt to keep from slamming his head against a rocky outcropping. His left hand glided along the wall of the tunnel.

He actually moved out of the tunnel and entered the large cavernous area without realizing it until he kicked a rock and the sound echoed in the chamber. He felt a wave of relief, but did not increase his speed as he continued to feel his way carefully forward, one hand still out in front and one hand on the rock wall. It was not long before he felt a puff of fresh air. In it he could smell the forest and the ocean beyond, and within moments he was at the cave mouth; He stepped out to see the stars and the quarter moon above as tears welled in his eyes.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but he was not yet safe. He was still only five miles from Solarii, the capital of the country, with enemy troops all around and he suspected a good portion of them were dedicated to finding him or his body. He moved out of the cave and headed down a steep wooded hill. He still moved carefully, but just as fast as his seventy-year-old body could safely carry him.

When he made it to the bottom of the hill it took him nearly a quarter of an hour to find the thin game path he knew was there, but in the dark it was not easy to locate. Once he had found it, he immediately began to march away from the northern town which had been his home for nearly fifty years. He would make his way south, avoiding the many small hamlets along the way, which would be obvious targets for the Zani invaders, instead he would go cross country and head for the southern outskirts of a the large town of Millvale. Yes, he would head to the Fultan’s, a mid-range noble family, which specialized in brewing ale. But they were also relatives, cousins of his late wife. The two of them had visited the estates of Thomas Fultan several times in the last few years before his wife died. She enjoyed the heated springs situated not far from the main house and Sath enjoyed the ale. If the Fultan’s managed to survive the invasion, which Sath thought likely given the remote location of the estate and their obvious lack of influence, it would be a perfect launching point to wherever he finally decided on heading permanently. Now the only problem was getting to Millvale undetected.

II

Karl woke Gwaynn very early the next morning. The boy was confused for a moment, and then the memories of the day before struck him like a hammer blow.

‘Gwynn is dead , ’ he thought listlessly. Not that he had ever truly forgotten the fact. All through the night, dreams haunted and reminded him of the previous day’s horror. Through most of the night visions Gwynn was being raped. She implored and begged Gwaynn to save her, but he did not. He just watched, remaining quiet to save himself. He made no move to help her even when she turned to him, her intestines hanging from her naked midsection, and pleaded.

‘Keep the dogs away. Please, keep the dogs away.”

But in his dreams he had done nothing, nothing at all.

“Karl,” Gwaynn said, softly rubbing his forehead, trying his best to dispel the horrible visions running through his mind.

“Come lad,” the big man said laying a hand on Gwaynn’s shoulder. “The mornings will be the worst for a while now,” he added and set clothes on the foot of the bed.

Gwaynn sat up and looked about the room, but thankfully Karla was gone. He was surprised he had slept at all.

“Last night was no picnic,” the boy answered sitting up and dressing, wincing from his sunburn as he pulled on a shirt.

Karl chuckled despite the emotional pain. “No, no picnic,” he replied as Karla moved into the room. Gwaynn made a move to cover up, but then shrugged and stood, pulling his pants on. Karla appeared not to notice his nudity.

“I’ve packed you two some food, a lot of food ‘cause I know how much Karl eats,” she said as Gwaynn added a leather vest. He was pulling on some old worn boots when she knelt before him. He stopped and looked at her, smiling ruefully.