The Execution (37 page)

LanCoste rode his enormous draft, each
step shaking the ground beneath them.

Ravan sat astride a French destrier
stallion, strikingly black and athletic. The horse was wild and
vicious and was untamed when Ravan had first taken it from a field
during a raid. That had been a harrowing trip home, Ravan
struggling upon his saddle horse, the black stallion fighting at
the other end of the makeshift rope halter for nearly the entire
distance. From then on, it had allowed no one other than Ravan to
touch it.

Today, the magnificent animal
cakewalked early on, fresh as the morning air. Its hooves didn’t
even appear to touch the ground. It floated with neck arched,
blowing with each step, chomping and frothing at the bit in
excitement of the new day. The stallion was an extension of the man
who sat it, and it was a remarkable sight as they rode
north.

The pair traveled in silence, stopping
only to water the horses. Eating as they rode, they camped on open,
high ground where they could see the horizons, and then only long
enough to allow the beasts to rest and feed.

Thirteen days later, they had covered
the four hundred miles to Adorno’s estate and approached the
fortressed walls of the impossibly massive manor. Rising impressive
from a hilltop, it was exquisitely well built. The Bourbon estate
was a revered dynasty, for it had thwarted armies, would-be rivals,
despots, and kings.

It was surrounded by a moat and
portcullis, and was protected by guard towers. Beyond the
twenty-foot-thick walls of the castle lay lavish grounds. The
grandeur was complete with stables, servants quarters and a small
church. The main estate consisted of donjon spirals, elaborate
rooms and staircases, hidden passages and banquet halls.

Apart from the castle was the
township, safe behind the defense of the mammoth structure, or so
it should have been had it not been for the tyrant ruler who
commanded it.

Homage to this Lord should have been
from an oath of the townspeople. Vassal to Lord should have bound
the social structure of this estate, and so the lord should have,
likewise, defended the vassal in return. There was a recognized
feudal structure which should have begged a noble code of ethics.
However, this was sadly not the case of this very corrupt dynasty.
Insurgence was evidenced by the need for the two who stood before
the massive gate of the would-be king.

Ravan sat quietly, impassive on the
outside but quite skeptical about his current, unusual assignment.
He allowed LanCoste to negotiate their entrance.

“
We have come from Duval.
We are here at Monsieur Adorno’s request and purchase.” LanCoste’s
deep voice carried incongruent and far on the spring
breeze.

There were stirrings and whisperings
amongst the tower guards concerning the mercenaries mounted below.
Ravan’s reputation had preceded him when Adorno returned from
Duval’s. No embellishment had been necessary.

It was only moments before their entry
was approved and they were shown where to stable their animals. A
groom reached to receive the reins of the extraordinary black
stallion. He shrieked in pain and surprise when the beast laced out
with a fore leg in the manor of a mule, striking the man’s hip
sharply with its hoof. It was an exceedingly unusual behavior for a
horse.

The animal,
lean, sleek, and incredibly fit from the hard ride, pinned its ears
in a fearsome gesture of savagery.
The
groom cowered from the animal, dropping the reins to the
ground.

“
He does not tolerate
another’s hand. I should have warned you—my apologies.” Ravan
reached for the horses reins and checked the stallion
firmly.

The stable hand nodded at him, bent
over and rubbing his hip. He looked surprised at the civility he'd
received from this most fearsome barbarian.

The stallion dropped its head and
followed Ravan obediently to a stall.

Ravan and LanCoste were shown to their
quarters so that they might organize their belongings and freshen
themselves before reporting to their new master.

Their quarters were comfortable,
refined, and very clean. They were located on the ground floor with
a welcome southern exposure. The mercenaries shared a room, each
with a bed on opposite sides, an open fireplace between them. The
sun languished late in the day and as the weak evening sunlight
glanced along the stone and marble walls, a fire already blazing on
the hearth.

There was a washstand with mirror and
a latrine outside the door. It was fine lodging, even adequate
enough for traveling nobility. LanCoste seldom, and Ravan never,
had been so finely accommodated in the past.

After stripping from his tunic, Ravan
stepped towards the washstand. As he splashed water on his face and
righted himself to dry off, he froze when he caught his image in
the mirror.

Ravan, nor any of Duval’s other
mercenaries for that matter, did not keep a looking glass in his
own quarters, back at Duval’s camp. Only rarely did he catch a
vague and passing image of himself on the surface of a stream or
the edge of a blade. Now, the face that stared back at him was
unfamiliar, ruthless, and void. He searched the eyes for the child
who long ago played at the orphanage and chopped wood at the
Inn.

The man looking back at him was hard
and cold, a stranger to him. A wicked scar jagged across one brow
while a war hardened jaw gave a grim set to it all. 'No wonder
she’d been so shocked when she had discovered him fishing through
the barley barrel!' He stared at the face, into the eyes, black as
a starless night, sifting their depth to see where the little boy
was, where the child might have gone. When had he lost him? At what
point had his childhood ended?

He was abruptly reminded of a terrible
night past, choking face down in snow and held to the ground. He
shook his head hard, pulling back from his memory, back into the
reflection of his own eyes. The abyss offered nothing in return and
for all the warmth of the room, he turned away from the reflection
with a feeling of cold.

Across the room, LanCoste also shed
his outer clothes. Quietly, the giant watched his friend, sideways,
from the depths of his deep-set eyes.

Ravan just caught his glimpse in the
mirror as he turned away. His shoulders sagged and he sighed, more
to himself than to his companion. “What am I, LanCoste?” He reached
for the towel. “What have I become?”

LanCoste shrugged his massive
shoulders. “You are what you are. It is as it should
be.”

Ravan chuckled dryly, surprised that
the giant had even answered. “I was supposed to help at an
orphanage—I was supposed to be an Innkeeper.”

He watched as LanCoste turned his head
to one side, deaf in one ear. The ear was fat and fleshy, deformed
and overgrown. Ravan never asked him about it, had assumed it had
always been that way, and politely disregarded his friend’s only
perceptible weakness. He'd become accustomed to speaking up a bit
if the giant’s good ear was away from him.

“
You are what you are
destined to be,” LanCoste replied, his deep voice rumbled forth
like an earth tremor. It was unusual, and the sound appealed to his
younger friend. It suddenly occurred to Ravan how seldom he heard
it.

Unsatisfied, Ravan pressed on, “And
you, LanCoste? How did you become a mercenary for
Duval?”

LanCoste pealed neatly out of his
tunic, chiseled and immense, like an avalanche come to rest. He
folded the garment gently and laid it on the dresser. It was an
oddly delicate gesture, and the giant paused before he stepped over
to share the basin with Ravan.

As always, Ravan, not a small man
himself, was amazed at the personal space that the giant
occupied.

“
I have always been
Duval’s mercenary. I remember nothing else.” The giant never once
glanced into the mirror as he wrung a towel in the water as if it
were a washcloth and swiped it across the expanse of his
face.

“
But...you must have come
from somewhere? A family, a caregiver, a home—somebody?” Ravan
leaned back against the dressing table, arms across his bare chest
and searched the face of his friend.

LanCoste wrung the towel, folded it
once and laid it on the edge of the basin before turning away. “I
remember no other.” He retreated to his designated side of the room
and effectively closed the conversation.

Ravan withdrew into his own thoughts,
comforted by the steadfast presence of his companion, but without
the answers he wanted.

Over the long side of five years,
Duval had kept LanCoste paired with Ravan. It was effective.
Initially, this kept Ravan in check—it honed and guided the young
man’s natural skills while keeping Ravan obedient to a fault. Ravan
had numbly obeyed, certain of the Innkeeper’s wife’s death, fearing
Duval’s wrath towards those who remained. He’d quickly abandoned
even the slightest gesture of insubordination in the presence of
the giant, and so his destiny had been formed.

As time went by, the pair developed an
unlikely bond, unspoken. They fought side by side and back to back,
and both owed each other their lives several times over. LanCoste
watched as Ravan evolved into Duval’s most lethal killer and this
is what he reported, that few matched him with the sword, and none
matched him with the bow. Even more uncanny was the raw instinct in
battle which Ravan possessed, incredibly uncommon and—exceedingly
deadly.

Likewise, Ravan held serious respect
for his friend. He was dumbfounded by the sheer strength of the
giant and by his devotion to the other mercenaries. He could not,
however, comprehend LanCoste’s allegiance to Duval. And, as of yet,
LanCoste had no reason to doubt Ravan’s allegiance
either.

A short time later, there was a knock
on their door. LanCoste and Ravan looked at each other for a
moment, from across the room, almost comically, as if to say, ‘You
answer it’, ‘No, YOU answer it.’

Finally, LanCoste rose and answered
the door, and the guard stopped in his tracks as though unprepared
for the vision of the one who greeted him. Certainly he may have
heard of the giant, but until one stood directly in front of the
man, it was hard to believe his size.

Behind LanCoste, Ravan was sitting on
a chest, one knee bent and up, his arms crossed lazily. He had been
looking out a small window, across the interior castle grounds.
Pulling himself up from the chest, he only nodded as he walked past
LanCoste into the hall.

“
His excellence will see
you now,” the guard stammered, gesturing back down the hall,
stumbling backwards as the two passed.

They left the wing where their
quarters were located and walked across the elaborate grounds,
making their way through the heart of the castle. Eventually
approaching the front, they entered the massive and elegant
reception hall.

* * *

Adorno sat in the great hall,
expecting Ravan. He was ready to flaunt his newest acquisition, his
bodyguard. He wished to cast fear amongst those who might harm him.
He also intended to establish, straight up, his domination of his
hire.

LanCoste stepped back a bit, allowing
Ravan to lead as they entered. Despite the size of the giant, it
was the other mercenary whose presence was undeniably front and
center. All eyes were on the pair as they approached.

Ravan spoke first, “I have come, as
you wished. Duval requests that I—”

“
Who’s the giant?” Adorno
interrupted and hastily added, “I didn’t ask for two bodyguards.
I’m not paying for two!” The little man shrieked and pounded on the
arm of his throne. After a moment of stunned silence by all in the
room, Adorno sneered and stood, then walked slowly around LanCoste
as though he was a carnival attraction. He snorted and poked with
derision at the giant, apparently unable to overcome his own
fascination with the sheer size of the man.

LanCoste swallowed, as though he tried
to close his misaligned and distorted jaw, but it only came across
as a snarl. Adorno leapt back.

Ravan had an immediate and intense
dislike for Adorno and his body tensed, dark eyes burned. “I do not
work alone, monsieur. You will not be charged for two.”

“
What? You are incapable
of satisfying my needs without him?” Adorno hissed, and before
Ravan could answer, he exclaimed, “I said I don’t want him! He
displeases me, he’s...” he gestured with his hand, “he’s
hideous!”

Gritting his teeth, Ravan willed his
hand not to slip to his sword. Matters of diplomacy were not his
forte, and he proceeded cautiously, picking his words
carefully.

“
I assure you, I am quite capable of disposing of any—” he
paused, forced himself to relax,“I will kill any who would be so
foolish as to—oppose you. However, I have need of sleep and you,
sir, would be at your most vulnerable then.”
Ravan allowed his hand to fall back casually to
his side,

Adorno seemed to notice the gesture,
subtle though it was, and likely recognized the intent. He
hesitated, thoughtful, as though he recalled the last time he'd
laid eyes on Ravan. Adorno was impetuous, but far from stupid. He
circled Ravan, appraising him from head to toe, evidently approving
of what he saw. “You are mine! Do you hear me? Mine!” He curled his
lip, snarling, “You are my commodity, you are my possession,
and—you will do as I say.” He stomped his foot. “Do you understand
me?” Foolishly, he appeared to feel no fear.