The Execution (45 page)

LanCoste squinted as he recognized
her.

The Innkeeper’s wife approached the
giant, reached up fearlessly, and took the parchment from
him.

She nodded her recognition of LanCoste
as she opened the note. Unfolding the crumpled paper, she passed
her fingers across the script, feeling the presence of the hand
which had written it. She closed her eyes and remembered the days
at the Inn, when the author would sit in the kitchen on a quiet
evening and scrawl his letters.

Looking at the three of them, each in
turn, she finally read. “It says, ‘LanCoste, I leave you to seek my
way. I wish to be free. I would wish the same for you. Always your
ally, but even more-so, and I believe you know this by now, I am
your friend. Ravan.’ “

Hesitating, drinking in the familiar
scrawling of the penmanship before folding it, she reached up to
hand it respectfully back to the giant. She looked up at his
terrible face, but for the most part, gleaned no expression from
it.

The giant nodded only slightly and
took the note, tucking it safely, almost gently, back into his
vest.

The Innkeeper’s wife continued,
“LanCoste, we have been digging, preparing a hiding place—a cellar,
just in case. Should we fear Duval’s wrath?”

“
There is no need.” The
giant pressed his spur into the Belgian, pivoting the mammoth
war-horse on its quarters. As the gelding stepped away, the
mercenary looked back in all his horrid compassion, deep sad eyes
on them. “If they come, you tell them LanCoste will find them—that
he will kill them.”

The Old One stood in stunned silence.
Avon sobbed once.

LanCoste sat still, with his back to
them, looking into the distance from which he had come. “Tell them,
should even one of you be harmed, in the name of Ravan…” The horse
shifted, as he paused, “I will drag them to hell.” He looked back
at the three of them. “Remember my name. Tell them this and you
will be safe; of this I swear.”

“
But, what of Ravan—will
he come?” the Old One pleaded.

“
He…” The giant cleared
his throat and stared down at his hands, as he moved the mammoth
horse off. “Ravan is gone.”

The Old One and daughter watched, as
the giant rode to the edge of the orphanage, unsheathed his ax, and
marked a massive black oak tree. The mark was unique, primitive and
deeply engraved.

Bark chips fell to the ground around
the tree while the Old One and his daughter looked at each other,
confused by the odd gesture.

Done with the task, the giant
hesitated and perused his work for a moment. As if he were finally
satisfied, he rode back over the knoll without looking
back.

* * *

Morning barely broke as Ravan swung up
onto the horse, Nicolette again behind him. Ravan sat quietly,
observing the last fade of starlight, enjoying the sweet wild scent
of the forest. He set his bearings and made for the East.
Satisfied, he breathed in deeply, a lung full of
freedom.

Ravan pushed the stallion hard. His
plan was to use what he knew, the familiarity of home. He knew they
would eventually catch up to him, but his intimacy with the forest
of his youth offered him a tremendous advantage. Only on open
ground could they overcome him in great numbers. However, from a
strategic vantage point, he could take many of them down.
Ultimately, he would have his chance to face Duval.

It occurred to Ravan there was little
chance he would survive, especially once Duval’s men joined the
chase, but they would sacrifice greatly this time. It warmed him as
he thought briefly of Pierre Steel, Renoir, Adorno and Duval. If
the wind was calm, his arrows would fly true and these men would
pay—dearly.

Nicolette would be spared, he knew
this. His heart was suddenly warm and sad as he turned to glance
into the eyes of the woman who sat so elegantly on his horse, so
pale and eloquent behind him. She only barely nodded, as their eyes
held each other and Ravan’s heart softened. It pleased him that she
was with him.

Now he thought of LanCoste and it
occurred to him the giant was, quite possibly, his only friend.
This saddened him for a fleeting second, not for himself, but for
the man he'd left behind. What of the giant? He wondered where he
was, if he’d made it back to Duval and the encampment yet. Almost
certainly, he had. His mood darkened as he considered the reception
awaiting LanCoste. Duval would not show mercy for what he would
consider negligent stupidity on behalf of the giant.

Next, he thought of the Old One and
smiled as the memory of the orphans danced across his mind. He
would go to the orphanage first; there were loose ends to take up
there. He must give them every opportunity to be safe.

Presently, the Innkeeper’s wife
entered his thoughts, and he wondered if she’d made it to the
orphanage. His heart was warm and full, as her cheery face flitted
in and out of his recollections. He was again relieved and grateful
that she had been spared. LanCoste, his friend, had seen to that.
He reached up to touch the ring and chain, still about his neck. It
rested quietly now, in peace. There was no ‘whirr-whirr’ this time
and never again would there be.

Finally, his mother, vaporous and
muted, stood silent upon the precipice of his memories, her face
turned from him. She was nebulous and vague but the feeling which
held his heart was as steadfast and concrete as though she had only
passed yesterday. The moment was good, pure and
kind—immortal.

“
Nicolette?”

“
Mmm?”

“
I’m glad you’re here—with
me.”

With finality, she asked softly,
“Ravan, where else would I be?”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX

†

The Dungeon: Five a.m.

The cell lightened ever so slightly as
dawn crept towards the sleeping town and across the windowpane high
above. D’ata leaned his head against Ravan’s shoulder. The two sat
quietly for a span, each considering the story of one
another.

It was a sweet and melancholy moment,
raw in its honesty. There was an uncomfortable recognition that
time was scarce. It would not be long before dawn counted the final
minutes in the life of the mercenary.

This was not what bothered Ravan now.
“How do you live?” he asked.

“
What do you mean?” D’ata
countered.

“
I mean, with the pain?
How do you live with that?”

There was hesitation when Ravan only
heard D’ata’s quiet breathing. A strange and cool breeze blew
across their laps as they sat next to each other in the
cell.

Both men peered down into the darkness
of the hallway.

Finally, the young priest looked back
at his hands laying his lap and answered in a whisper, “I
don’t…”

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN

†

Adorno was bent with fury. He knew the
barbarian had looked at her! He'd seen him force her into the
alcove that night. He knew Ravan coveted her and now—he'd stolen
her!

Adorno’s wrath was poured like candle
wax onto his men, his hatred for Ravan bitter and vile in his
throat. He seethed, knowing she was with him. No doubt, he had
taken her, unclothed her, forced her, poured his seed into her! He
was furious at these thoughts and oddly aroused as his mind
conjured up the lustful events he imagined must be happening at
that very moment.

There was not an ounce of him which
believed Nicolette wanted Ravan, wanted to escape with him. In his
mind, the fiend had abducted her, forced her into submission and
raped her. And there would be terror and vengeance to pay. He would
torture him! Yes, that’s what he would do. He would dissect him; he
would penetrate him to his very heart before he would allow him to
die! And, just in case...he would make her watch.

It was midmorning before Adorno
dispatched the hunting party. Twenty-eight men, his eighteen
knights included, riding their terrain horses with squires and
war-horses in tow, had been sent to catch Ravan, to bring him and
Nicolette back—alive.

Adorno knew Nicolette would have to
sleep; Ravan could not push her without respite. The knights, he
commanded, would not sleep or rest. They were to press their horses
until they or their mounts fell. There was to be no life spared
that might thwart the capture of the barbarian and the return of
Nicolette.

As the party rode away, Adorno wrung
his hands, not in despair but in glorious rapture of what he
intended to do with the mercenary upon his capture. He played the
scenario repeatedly in his mind. A special room would be prepared,
and then? He wrung his hands again in eager
anticipation.

He readied himself to pay Monsieur
Duval a visit. There were loose ends to settle. He would regain the
gold, retain a new bodyguard, have the infidel to torture and have
Nicolette back in his keep. All would be well. He was insanely
gleeful now, so sure his way was won.

* * *

It was several days before Ravan and
Nicolette rode into the orphanage.

The horse shook its head, pitching
against the reins when it noticed the buildings a short distance
away, anticipating feed and rest. Ravan had pressed the animal hard
and it had started to crave respite.

As Ravan approached, he suddenly
noticed the solitary oak tree and squinted at the familiarity of
the mark on it. He was thoroughly dismayed that his friend had been
there first! He knew for certain that it was LanCoste’s
mark.

He pressed the stallion to side pass
closer to the tree and ran his fingers over the rough, recently cut
grooves. Searching the ground, he noticed the wood chips scattered
about. The giant must have sat his horse just as he sat the
stallion now. And what a hard ride it must have been. LanCoste must
have ridden nearly nonstop.

The mark meant one thing, none would
harm any at the orphanage or the giant would have his vengeance.
All feared LanCoste, and Ravan knew no one would cross him. This
gesture was one of the rarest of a mercenary. It meant the maker of
the mark would toil endlessly, to the end of his days, to avenge
the transgression.

Ravan smiled outright. This meant
Duval would be the only threat to the orphanage, and he intended to
take care of that threat in short notice anyway. He was deeply
gratified by this turn of events.

It touched his heart deeply; Ravan was
moved by the gesture LanCoste had made. It must have been difficult
for him to come and speak to the Old One, so unlike the giant to do
such a thing. And once Duval knew of it, LanCoste could be killed
for being a traitor.

“
It is your friend, the
giant, is it not?” Nicolette gestured towards the tree with the toe
of her shoe.

It served to make him miss his friend
even more. “Yes, it is my—friend.”

In the distance, the orphans stopped
in their tracks, frozen by the second sudden appearance of a
terrifying stranger riding in amongst them.

At the outside commotion, the Old One
stepped from the cottage, squinting into the sunlight to focus on
the strange visitor. Quickly, his expression went from curiosity to
fear, recognition, and then joy. He hobbled hastily on unsteady
legs toward the pair.

The horse snorted, eyes rolling at the
teetering figure who advanced upon them, but stood its ground,
vetted warhorse that it was.

“
Ravan! Oh dear God, it is
you!” He practically jumped up and down in place with
excitement.

Throwing his leg over the neck of the
horse, Ravan slid to the ground, towering over his old friend. He
was taken aback at how slight the Old One appeared to him, and
overcome with joy at seeing him, but urgency took the best of the
moment from him. “We need to talk,”

Before he could continue, the Old One
threw his arms around Ravan’s chest and squeezed him in a long hug.
Ravan was surprised by the gesture and, looking down in dismay at
the Old One, he patted him lightly on the shoulders. Finally,
extending his arms slowly about the Old One, he encircled him
completely, returning the hug.

This had a strange effect. Like an
avalanche, memories of Ravan’s childhood at the orphanage crashed
down upon him, and he was overwhelmed with a sense of happiness and
gratitude. “It is so good to see you.” His voice was husky and he
cleared his throat. “Ah, it is so good...”

“
Ravan, the giant came—he
said we would be safe,” the Old One held Ravan at arm’s length, his
excitement overwhelming him. “He was so terrifying and we
thought...” he paused, as though ashamed that he'd seen Ravan’s
friend in such a poor light, “what I mean to say is—”

“
It’s all right,” Ravan
said. “He is an honorable man—and good as his word, but alarming to
most.” Ravan was still overcome by the gesture of LanCoste’s visit,
but focused on what he needed to say. “I’ve come to say goodbye.
I’m leaving and will likely not return. I just wanted to tell
you—”

The words were hard to speak, having
just now seen him after so many years, and after so much had
happened. How could the Old One know what he’d become?