Some of these plants, I mused, had no business being here.  Several were tropical, I was sure, and this was far from the tropics.  As he went on rambling about what’s in the news and how his son, Albert who lived on the hill, won’t come to see him anymore, I found myself evaluating each plant and touching them, flushing them with new life.  He had finished the watering when he turned and looked at his plants.

The old man then gave me the saddest expression I think I have ever seen and became very serious.  He said with an abandoned smile, “Thank you … my good sir.”  He fumbled for a few moments as if straining to remember something, “You have shown kindness to an old, forgotten man.”  His hand quivered badly, but he put it on my arm as he looked me up and down.  He asked, “Don’t I know you?”

Tilting my head I said, “No sir.  I don’t think we have ever met.”

He fumbled some more and seemed to be intent in his thoughts.  Then he asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

‘What could he do for me,’ I mused … It was then I saw the chessboard; a beautiful piece of clear and blue crystal with matching pieces.  “Sir,” I asked, “would you play a game of chess with me?”

His face beamed, and we sat and played the longest game I had ever played.  He said nothing, but as we played he would grin and smile so big.  I thought I was good, but he pulled some kind of strategy and beat me when I thought I had him licked.  And then he said in a pleased voice, “You are very good.  I actually had to work to defeat you.”

The old man looked kind of down cast, but then he looked up and said, “I guess it is time for you to go.  Thank you for spending a day with me.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, but when he escorted me to his door I said, “Thank you sir for your hospitality, and I don’t even know your name.”  It was strange to me I had not thought to ask him before.

Again he smiled a large, warm, ancient smile, “My name is Howell, but you can call me Edgar.  I am Edgar.”

We grasped forearms and I said, “And I am called Timber Wolf, it is my distinct pleasure, sir.”

With that he tilted his head and I thought he believed I was someone else.  He wasn’t disappointed, but it was clear he thought he knew who I was. 

Gathering my rucksack and gear, I walked away in wonder of my afternoon.  As if my mind had been in a dim fog, it suddenly dawned upon me to go back and see if I could assist with any chores.  But when I turned back, the house and garden was gone.

I don’t mean they just vanished or became invisible, I mean the landscape itself was different.  And my meadow of flowers … I couldn’t find it anywhere.  If not for successfully cross-triangulating myself by land marks, I would have thought I had walked into a totally different place.  But I hadn’t.  In fact, I found the place where I had made camp the night before, but no meadow and no house … creepy.

___________________________

 

A few months later I walked out of the southeastern side of the Kohntia Mountains and looked upon the country of Karlay.  It was a land of hills, broken rock, swamps, hot springs, healing herbs and lavender roses.  There was also some really good farming country scattered about and the ocean port-town of Swatlo.  Taking my time, I finally found my way to the village of Elsa where I camped outside of for a few days.  Aside from Edgar, it had been a while since I had been around people, and I was uneasy.

Wanting to eat a meal I didn’t have to kill first, I finally went in and had a drink at the one tavern and listened to see what languages were spoken.  I picked up on some Vedoic, but the common tongue was different from anything I had yet heard, so I did some signing without being too obvious and listened and *Learned* in the Bardic Way.  These people weren’t very educated, but I didn’t hold that against them.  My money was good and I was clean and neat, so I didn’t come across to the locals as a vagrant.

After a few trips into town I had a thorough working control of the language, when I walked out of the eating house and caught sight of a man bullying a young boy and almost teenage girl on a wagon.  I had seen the youngsters before and they seemed good enough, courteous, and not unruly as so many in Dahruban seemed to be.  They came to the village, purchased supplies, and left.

This fellow had some rather indecent things to say to the young lady, and I didn’t like it.

“If’n your pap can’t pay, I want my comings in other ways …” And then he grabbed her arm

“What is the problem?” I asked as I walked over with a straw of hay in my mouth.

Looking to me offhand he ordered me, “To your own way with you, rascal.  I’ve no talk for a pilgrim.”

“I work for the family, old dad, and you’ll direct no indecencies at the young miss.  And if you don’t take your hand off of her, you will indeed lose it.” 

The fellow turned to the girl, let go of her arm, and attempted to snap an angry sucker-pass of the fist at me. I just sidestepped him and let him fall.  A couple of folk had taken time to stop and look, and this was a village where most folk must know everyone. 

Mr. Clumsy got up with anger and I said, “You shouldn’t drink this early in the day, what with so much work to do and all.”

He swung at me again, a most clumsy pass to be sure.  As I ducked under and stepped aside, he fell over again.  It was then he pulled a long, curved blade which had long since seen its best days.  With a gasp from the young miss on the wagon and a squeal from a lady on the walk, the man of the tavern stepped out with a club and someone yelled at me, “That’s Courtney Zayne, mister.  You better to watch out.”

The man lunged at me and I sidestepped, whipped my own long-blade and beat his aside, breaking it with a second engagement.  Then I swept him off of his feet and pointed my sword-tip in between his teeth.  “Like I said,” I remarked most casually, “I won’t have any indecencies directed at the young miss.  Am I clear in my declaration, or do I need to press the point forward more clearly?”

Nobody knew me, except to come in and buy a meal or a mug, and this fellow had only my razor sharp sword point in between his teeth to consider.  His eyes were wild and I suspected he had never been on that end of the dirk before.  He nodded and I stepped back to let him up.  Touching his tongue for damage, Courtney Zayne jumped up and looked at me with hatred.

“How much?” I asked in their local tongue, down to the distinctly southern, Karlay accent.

“What?”

“I said, how much.  Are you as daft as you are clumsy?” 

Suddenly I heard the twitter of a giggle in the background.  Apparently this buffoon had had this coming for a long time.  ‘Please,’ I thought, ‘don’t tell me this is the tough of the town.  He wouldn’t last the day on the streets of Stafford.’

“How much, what?”

“How much are you owed?  Speak quick, we are all to hear.”

He thought and then looked from side to side down the street, at least a dozen people were listening.  “Twen - twenty shads.”

I asked aloud, “How much is that in Crowns, does anybody know?”

The man of the tavern asked with his club still in hand, “Would that be Dahruban-pressed Crowns?”

“It would be.”

“That would be two hundred Dahruban Crowns, and just a mite of silver on the exchange.”

I opened my belt-pouch and counted out a few gold coins, and then I tossed them onto the dirt in front of Courtney Zayne.  I said calmly and without emotion, “You bother that girl or boy again and I’ll kill you on sight.  Now gather your tender and get.”  Part of me wanted to turn my back on him, but that would be inviting and I wanted to kill no more.  It would happen, I was sure, but I didn’t want it.  But I didn’t want him bothering these kids even more.

He left sputtering and muttering indignities and I turned to the kids on the wagon, “Are you okay?”

The girl looked at me and nervously nodded her head.  She had spirit, that one did.  But the boy looked at me and said, “But sir, you don’t work for my pap.  He’s out to fishin’ an’ we don’t got no money.”

“Can I have one of those jelly beans?”

He had four jellybeans in his hand, and some would say I was cruel to ask for one.  But I can’t think of a time too early to learn to pay one’s way.  Besides, I had never had a jellybean.  That boy nodded and handed me one, and that’s how I went to work for a fisherman and his family.

I rode home on the back of the wagon with Hannah on the bench and Haskle beside me, and they told me something about their family and place.  Hannah was twelve and Haskle was a solid eight and a half years old.  A four year old brother was at home, as well as a one year old sister.  Their pap’s name was Wilfred and their mam was Mohndi, and mam made the best griddlecakes in the whole world, especially when you poured honey and butter all over them.  It reminded me of my own momma, whose griddlecakes I was sure were better, but why argue the point with my new employer?

The village of Elsa was mostly a farming village.  On down the coastline to the east were a couple of fishing villages, but Wilfred had found his own small location and built his own dock.  Long before he took Mohndi to wife he had started his fishing business and had done well.

Used to be, Wilfred had a full crew and his hauls were very good.  But with the changing of tides, the seasonal differences and what not, the fishing had changed and he was having a hard time finding his livelihood.  Trouble was, lots of the fishing boats were having trouble and the state of things around and about was in a downhill spiral.

As a result Wilfred had gone into debt and could no longer handle more than two crewmen, and that was a nephew and an older fellow who was slow in the mind.  The string of credit was long in the village, and he had been forced to borrow money from Courtney Zayne, who wanted the home place badly.

No one liked Courtney Zayne or his family, who had moved into the territory only a couple of years prior, and they were starting to hassle several of the landholders.  To this I gave some quiet thoughts.  I decided that I would make this family my mission, at least for the time, and do what I could to help them and see about this troublesome clan of Courtney Zayne’s.

Mohndi came to meet us, and right off I saw she made Wilfred a lucky man.  The children right away told of the events at the village as I helped unload the wagon.  Her voice was pleasant but her character strong as she said, “My sir, I don’t know how to repay you.  Might I at least ask of you your name.”

“You may call me Wolf, ma’am, I am called Timber Wolf.”

An eyebrow raised, as men calling themselves by animal names was most uncommon in those parts.

“I would be obliged to stay in the stable ma’am.  And the boy and I have an understanding.”

“Yes ma’am,” Haskle said jubilantly, “I paid him a jelly bean for a week’s work with lodging and meal.”

Looking about I could quickly see several chores that needed to be done, and I said as much, pointing out some fencing, a few repairs to the barn roof, several rows of vegetables which could use some help, and a busted wheelbarrow.  She was careful, and I don’t blame her, and her eyes lingered on my sword and bow. 

Chewing her jaw, I thought of Hoscoe, but after weighing things carefully in her mind, with the help of the children, she conceded to my use of the barn loft and doing chores … at least until her husband came home.  Payment would have to be determined by he, who should return any day now.  I was welcome, however, to take meals in the house.  She indicated the meat was running low so I took my bow and went hunting

I came back in with two Red Pheasants, common to southern Karlay, each weighing around ten pounds dressed out and mighty good eating.

When we had supper that night, we fixed our plates and then I took a big bite out of a fried Pheasant drumstick.  The children all looked at me strangely, and then the three of them joined hands.  I sat there with a mouth full of drumstick and wondered what to do.  They bowed their heads, something I had never seen done before at a table, and Mohndi said a prayer of thanks to someone called Ehl’Rohlahn.  Talk about awkward, but I remembered after that.

I was tending to the garden the next noon, just before midday’s meal, when I felt the vibration of several riders coming around the rise.  My *Awareness* warned me, and I dropped down and *Blended* quickly.  I saw Mohndi step outside and call Haskle in as several riders came into the yard, among them was Courtney Zayne.  Much angry talk started, but I didn’t need to hear.

Moving fast and quiet I was almost up to the house when some of them had dismounted.  One acted as if to go into the house, another began to aim a crossbow at Hannah’s pet chicken as a man beside Zayne was harshly demanding my whereabouts. 

I seemingly rose up from nowhere and hurled the butt of my hoe into the head of the man walking to the doorway, my hatchet shattered the one man’s crossbow making the shaft kick back into his face, and springing to and from a water barrel I drop-kicked the speaker from his horse, who in turn fell into Zayne, who fell off of his horse into yet another man who fell off of his horse.  Before anyone else could move I snatched three nails from the roofing pail and tossed them into the shoulders of three of the riders, and then reached into a horse’s mind and asked him to start bucking.

As the speaker got to his feet, I was in front of him as he stood up.  In my hand was one of my two foot batons which I held like a sword, and with a welcoming grin I directed my energy into it, making it slowly grow into a barbed thorn pointing at his belly.  “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care.  I used to whomp the like you and yours for practice.  If I even think you are going to be a problem, I’ll hunt the lot of you and leave you as an example.”

Oh, that one didn’t like it, nor me.  I didn’t come to this country to get involved in battles or politics.  We were far from the seat of the kingdom and this region didn’t even have a sheriff.  With complete insolence and a manner that made it seem I was amused by them all, I said, “The name is Timber Wolf.  Go back to whatever place you were run out of,” his face jerked, as if that remark struck home, “because I won’t ask about the legalities, and if you’re the worst this place has, you won’t even raise my sweat.”

“You, you will be seeing us again.”  The speaker said.

Looking at him levelly and with concentrated boredom I said, “I better not.”  And I returned the baton to its natural state.

They got themselves together and left, muttering and swearing what they would have done to me if ... in the manner of cowards and other such living refuse. 

After they had ridden from our sight, I turned to Mohndi and asked, “Are you alright?”

Mohndi had a lot of courage, and her lip didn’t quiver, but she let a sigh of relief and I knew she had been really concerned.  Haskle was in the doorway all big-eyed, and Hannah was behind him, shaking, but with a butcher knife in hand.  I couldn’t help but smile. 

Mohndi began to answer, “Yes.  I, I don’t know …”

Holding my hand up I said, “It’s okay.”  Smiling gently I said, “It’ll be alright.”

“You don’t understand.  They think my husband is dead, most of the folk do.  They’ll be back.”

“No,” I said, “They won’t.  Now go ahead and finish lunch, I’m starving out here …” picking up the hoe I looked up at her with an attempt at a humorous flourish, “… ple-e-ease.”

That evening I slung my sword, bow, crossbow and borrowed a horse.  I was back the next morning in time for breakfast, playing my flute as I rode in. 

“Where did you go, where have you been?”  Haskle ran up to me and asked as I dismounted and led the horse into the barn.

Rubbing the top of his head and ruffling his hair I answered, “Just had to tend to some business.  Now, did you get the milking done and chickens fed?”

Mohndi appeared at the door.  I just glanced at her and passed a quick wink, and I knew that she knew.  She never said if she approved or nay.  Some women folks don’t tend to like bloodshed, and I understand perfectly.  That’s why I didn’t get dirty in front of the children.  But Courtney Zayne’s clan would threaten no one else again.  With Haskle in tow, we went to groom the horse and get ready for breakfast.

Chapter   58

________________________

 

 

I REALLY LIKED Wilfred.  When he arrived a few days later the family was really excited to see him.  His mate was an older fellow named Cal, just a bit slow on the uptake, but who really knew his fishing and was an uncle of some sort.  Ravus was Mohndi’s brother’s boy who was fourteen and could only help occasionally.  He was a stout lad, though, and had a jovial way about him.

The vessel was a well built two-master named Lady Mohndi, and you could tell she was proudly kept.  They had been out a long time hunting for a haul and returned with only an empty vessel.  But at least they had come home safe.  Stories were swapped, a keg was opened, and we got to know each other a bit. 

Wilfred could tell a spinner, but me, I had decided to keep quiet for the most part.  I think he could tell there was a not so pleasant past behind me, but I had stood for his household and that made me solid in his book.  After the first night home, I thought it would be nice to let the children stay with me in the barn, where I told stories and played the flute until they were fast asleep.

Never before had I realized there were so many different kinds of fishing seasons, and while my intent had been to help out with the keep’s chores, I’ll be jiggered if Wilfred didn’t get me on that vessel.  He taught me how to work the ropes, tie this down, where to stand when this happened and where not to stand for that, how to use nets, all kinds of sailing skills.

Manning the wheel fascinated me, I don’t know why, but once I learned the use of the rudder I found a natural talent for working through submerged obstacles.  Wilfred watched me carefully and one day he put me to some sand bars for a test.  Searching down into the water I was able to find the various heights and depths of what was below.  Guiding the Lady wasn’t even a challenge. 

My knowledge of fish habits and such was quite limited, but as we sat at his kitchen table one evening around an ale, I leaned forward and asked, “What if I were to find the fish for you?”

Wilfred was a jester, and could fan a wide one on the story board, but he took on an I know you don’t know the way of it and your tryin’ to help and all but kind of face when he politely said, “You don’t quite understand, Wulf, it doesn’t exactly work just like that.  It takes time to learn …”

“No … really.  What if I could find you a whole bunch of fish?”

Mohndi came to the table with a hot mug of her own and sat with us men folk.  She took a sip as we all sat around silent, Wilfred mentally chewing over whether to take me serious and Cal just enjoying the ale.  Wilfred was rolling a toothpick in his teeth, I’m sure trying to decide how to tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about, and gently drumming his fingers on the table top.

In a very sensual way, Mohndi leaned over and whispered in her husband’s ear.  He looked over at her sideways as if what she had said was absurd.  Then she took a femininely firm tone and softly said, “As-s-sk him, husband.”

Wilfred let an obligatory sigh and said, “How, Wulf, do you expect to find the fish?”

Savoring the moment, I sat back and said, “I can talk with animals.”

He winced his face, “Aye, mate, I can talk to them too …”

“No, husband.  He says he can talk with them.”

Wilfred had heard about me making the baton grow into a thorn-club, and he had seen me do a couple of other small things.  I was smiling as he mulled ideas in his head.  And then he got an intelligent look on his face, followed by a spark of amusement and asked, “Aye?!”  Then he leaned forward on the table and laughed, “Can you swim laddy?”

Right then my smile faded away, “Swim?  Why?”

Eighteen days, it took, me sputtering and splashing all over the place, but it was Haskle who finally came out and did the job of teaching me the basics of swimming.  When the time was right, Wilfred set us out for the deep blue and the hope of a major catch of what they call Green Tail. 

I want to say the sailing was no problem, ahem, uh, the first two, alright, maybe three days, I spent quite a bit of time hanging onto the ships rail and feeding the ocean.  The sailing time I had experienced before was smooth and nothing like the heave and roll of the deep blue sea.  Finally, I got what Wilfred called my sea legs, but it wasn’t quick in coming.  Thankfully Wilfred was an understanding man and didn’t rib me too awfully hard.

We didn’t find the Green Tail, but we found a school of dolphins on the fourth morning out.

“Alright, Wulf.  Can you talk to them?”

Looking back at the smiling Wilfred, my thoughts were on that big catfish, and this water was so-o-o much deeper.  I also hadn’t eaten much more than some hard-tack bread in days.  Having my boots off didn’t make me happy and I was trying to remember if I had left anything undone at the keep.  Okay … I went into the water … not very gracefully … and began to *Summon* one of the dolphins.

I was feeling really vulnerable and was fighting off the onset of panic when one came over and started swimming around me.  I began to *S’Fahn Muir* with it and quickly thought, ‘How fascinating’ … these dolphins were smarter than a lot of humans I had known.  They had a sophisticated language, culture patterns, and even dialects.  I forgot about being in the water where giant people eating monsters lived and became enthralled.  Once linking with their minds I had a great time, and they gave me breathing tips as well.

We began talking about the fish we on the boat were seeking, and I understood those fish had migrated with the new flow of warm water to an entirely new location.  But, there was something else, a bigger and more tasty fish, if I were interested, that is.  [Absolutely], I let them know.  So with me hanging on tight to their fins, they took me below to show me the way.

Have you ever seen the ocean depths and the mountain ranges below?  I was astounded.  Anyway, I returned to Wilfred who was starting to get concerned, with a big smile on my face.  He had hoped for one good catch … before it was done we had caught six big loads of what he called the Black-Wall Ocean Bass.

I stayed with Wilfred and his family and fished for three of those seasons.  He brought prosperity to his family, paid all of his debts, and started a new fishing industry.  But the damage was done, I had been touched by the sea.  One evening after coming in from a great haul, I told him with resignation, “Wilfred … I gotta go.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Now don’t be apologizing, mate, I seen it in your eye for a long time.  You’ve got the yearning in ya, and it won’t be satisfied ‘till you’ve gone.  Remember, you’ve got a home here with us and you’re ne’er to be a stranger at our table.”

The family and I made our goodbyes, and with a letter of recommendation from Wilfred I hoisted my duffle and made my way east to Swatlo.  We had made a bit of gift trading, and Haskle had gifted me with a hefty sack of jellybeans.  To this day, jellybeans are my favorite treat. 

Wilfred’s letter bore a good bit of weight, and it was only little more than a week that I found myself shipping out on the Faulta Whimn as an able-bodied seaman.  The Whimn was a solid, three masted, one hundred and ten feet merchant ship which apparently had some notoriety.  Captain Fieunas was a hardnosed man but a good sailor and fair with his crew.  He had come up on this ship and knew her like the back of his hand.  Now he owned the vessel and had established his own route.

Several times he had fended off pirates, and he had laid over in Swatlo to make repairs after a pirate’s attack.  Alas, there was one less pirate captain out there now, and several of that black flag crew were now dangling the ropes at the edge of the bay. As the Whimn was being repaired, the crew compliment was also being refilled from losses in that same battle.  It was by happen chance that I was in the Har Lip Tavern tasting rum, when a fight broke out all around me. 

This salt-whipped, grizzled, white haired man was sitting next to me taking his own time with his drink when he turned to me and asked, “Ayr ya not a’gynta shak lous yourn fist?”

Someone landed face down against the bar between us, staggered back and looked to the old man, started to swing back a wide haymaker at the man and I just caught the arm.  He looked to me in a drunken stupor and I calmly said, “If you don’t mind sir, the gentleman and I are making conversation.”  So then he offs and tries to punch me with his other hand.  You could see the poor lout’s hand coming a mile away, so I just ducked under, then reached up with my right hand and grabbed a handful of hair and pulled him back and away from us.

With my mug still in my left hand I looked to the old man and answered his question, “That’s not what I came here for, good sir.”

Someone literally went flying over his head against the wall behind the bar while the man was taking a sip, he looked at the fellow and said, “If ye’re bones be broken ye can-net sail, ye scodger.”  Then back at me he asked, “Then wha’ be ye’re bus’ness then?”

A hand grabbed my left shoulder from behind and made as to spin me around, right into a fist I was sure.  Focusing within, I found my *Stone Bones* effect, and as I was still holding my rum in the left, I spun around and caught the fellow’s right fist in my own right palm, held it until his force of momentum ceased, then yanked him forward to me.  Catching him off balance I let go my right hand and placed it against his chest, stepped in deep with my left foot and shoved him way out into the floor.

Turning back to the old man I was in time to see a big fellow taking aim at my noggin with a ham of a fist, so I ducked, caught him in the crotch with a stiffened open hand, then squatting low to get his weight on me I stood up hard and threw him over the shoulder.  All in all I never spilled a drop of my rum.  I thought, ‘Hoscoe would be proud.’

Leaning back against the bar I said in a calm voice, “I’m looking for the chance to starve, get yelled at by a course tyrant, drink salt in my morning milk, and be forced to do more than my fair share of work … preferably on a vessel that leaks the whole journey.”

I downed the last of the mug, set it down and asked for another round, then offered to buy the old man a round as well.  I felt something big coming my way and I looked to see my first sparring buddy throwing a chair at me.  Ducking, I said, “That isn’t polite.”  Frustrated he swung again so I let loose with three right jabs to the chin followed by a left cross that knocked him out.  I was grabbed from behind so I reached my left down low and grabbed his groin and twisted my fist, consider the *Stone Bones* was still in effect as well. 

The fellow behind me let go real quick and I elbowed him in the stomach, then reached up and grabbed some hair and flipped him with a hard yank.  A stick came my way and I pulled my dagger into a parry with the same movement, followed by four quick slices.  There was the sound of a bell inside the tavern and everyone stood back, several looking at me.  I guess wood was acceptable, but not blades.  No matter.  The fellow I sliced was just checking himself in a panic, but all I had done was slit the straps on his pants and vest.  Clearly, if I had wanted to hurt him I could have.

The old man asked if I had any papers as we all stood around.  I showed him mine and his eyebrows went up as he said, “Cap’n Wi’fred … good lad.”  He looked up and said, “Aw’rite you scodgers, if ye belong ta me, ye got till mornin’.  So be off to the brothels with ye.” 

To me he said, “Gain ye’re duffle ‘n follow me, I be Sailin’ Mas’r Crayge.”  As I hoisted my rucksack, bow and quiver he looked out of the corner of his eye and said, “Ye won’t be takin’ meilk with ye’re salt, neither.”

___________________________

 

We set sail the day I turned fifty-six years old on a circuit voyage that included travel and trading all around the Gulf of Gahrbrondi, in and about the Kadmus Island Chain, around the continent of Lh’Gohria, up the eastern coast of Aeshea to Cape Jasmine and as far south as the Scaptul Islands. 

I endured my first real storm at sea aboard the Whimn.  The sky went dark, waves thrashed so far above I wondered if we were all dead, and more than once the ship was rolled onto her side.  Captain Fieunas, Crayge, and Bosun Yazer kept the orders clear and loud, however, and everything was fine.  Me, I learned to *Adhere to the Wood* of the vessel and keep my footing … even when I thought the bow was straight up in the air, then suddenly my stomach was left up there as we pitched down into what I thought was the heart of the ocean floor.

My feet held on as I *Adhered to the Wood* and I did my job, it’s amazing what you can do that you didn’t know you could do when properly motivated, but there were a few days I didn’t want anything to eat for fear I couldn’t keep it where it belonged. 

There was no healing the sickness, but Crayge came up beside me and said, “Ye’re takin’ a spin around the green of ye’re gills.  Here, take a chew off’en this.”  He handed me something hard packed and rolled with a dried seaweed wrapper and then slapped me on the shoulder.  A human that age who looks so worn out has no right being able to hit that hard, but that stuff he gave me worked.

Being the new man on the deck, nobody knew me or anything about me, so I had to endure substantial ribbing from several of the crew.  That was hard for me, because for most of my life I had been ridiculed and made fun of in some way or another.  I had to keep reminding myself that these guys lived a rough life and the ribbing was just one way to initiate me in, it was also one way for them to see how mentally tough I was.  Rather than let my temper flare, I just kept to myself, did my job and let it ride.

There was nothing in my intention of making a name for myself on the sea, nor of seeking a career.  All I wanted was to experience the ocean and see some of the world.  Perhaps I could find some kind of peace within myself and some personal insight on my purpose in life.  These sailors I was working beside were strong men, but their humor was course and while I saw them as acquaintances, they were not my chums and when the time came I would walk my way without looking back.

Deliberately, I chose to focus away from the ribbing of the sail folk and let it roll off of my shoulders.  Crayge was pleased with my work, and so I was content.  Every chance I got I looked to the far off horizons and wondered what may lie beyond.  When the others were making talk with each other, I listened to the sounds of the waves.  Would they talk with me as So’Yeth and So’Yahr did? 

The first night that I pulled out my flute and stood on the bow, several of the duty crew walked about to hear me play.  I tried to capture the sound of the wind as it danced across the surf … smooth, steady, wispy yet full of sleeping life and power.  The men below could talk their crude jokes and swap tales of bawdy women … I had found my new friend with who I would commune.

The near moon was like unto the lady of the ocean, the white of the ocean froth was like the tossing of her hair.  As far as I was concerned I was tasting serenity.  More than once I saw the captain sanding offside listening and nodding his head. 

One night below, the carpenter’s mate casually glanced to my sword and asked, “Are ye any good with that blade?”

Just as casually I responded, “I hold my own.”

The berth isn’t a large place, and sailors share the hammocks depending on shifts.  Something was amiss, but I wasn’t sure what.

Another fellow was sitting sideways in his hammock and asked, “Does the name Courtney Zayne mean anythin’ to ye?”

I tried to keep it relaxed, but there was an undercurrent here I didn’t like, “I’ve heard the name.”

The fellow in the hammock got a deadpan look about his features, “Word is, a man named Wulf kilt him, kilt him in his sleep at his dwellin’ …” his voice became icy, “… he has friends, ya know?”

My voice stayed level and without emotion, “Any pig who would threaten to force the skirts of a twelve year old girl, deserves just what Zayne and his pappy got.”  Muttering started within the birth and I added, “But,” the muttering stopped to hear my words, “I assure you Zayne was not asleep, nor the three men beside him, when he was cut down … they were all armed and had the same chance.”

“Now wait-to-hoy,” the mate asked, “I hadn’t heard that part before.”  Then the berth became a source of arguments and talk.  Bored, I picked my flute out of my rucksack and started to get up.

“Hey!  Hey!”  The mate raised his voice, “Quiet lads, I want to hear Wulf’s story.”

The room quieted down, because sailors like their stories, so I took the time and told this one.  When I was finished, the fellow on the hammock said, “So ye’re saying ye took the four to once in the fight?  I don’t believe you.”

Standing up, I walked past a small pail bolted to a bracing and pulled out a pair of throwing daggers.  Everyone was quiet once more to see what I was about.  Eying a throwing board at the end of the berth I snapped the first dagger at the cord which was holding it up and severed it.  As it began to fall, I threw the second with enough force to run through the board and pin it to the wall only two inches from where it had been. 

Nobody saw me draw the knife from my belt, but it was there in my hand as in a bored tone I told the fellow, “I really could care less what you believe.”  With that I twirled the steel around my fingers, put it back into its sheath, and went above to play for the winds.  As I walked out, I saw the fellow whose clothes I had cut at the Har Lip.  His eyes did a lingering glance from that dagger in the board on the wall and back to me.

___________________________

 

My fellow crewmen started warming up to me a bit then, and the carpenter’s mate, whose name was Jude, happen by me and said, “Ye’re a’right, Wulf.  Take no thot, Courtney Zayne used to be aboard the Whimn, but he was put off by the capt’n fer stealin’.  Come along, ye do a good job.  Ye’re jess the new man over the keel.  Crikin’, they put an eel in my blankets of the once.”

I glanced at him, and you could tell he was reveling in the memory.  I asked, “No fooling?  An eel?”

“Aye,” he said, “When I found it, I was shocked.”  Jude started laughing heartily and walked off to do a job.  I stood there thinking about it a moment … and then I got it.  I couldn’t help but grin, not so much at his joke, but at him.  He wasn’t Izner with those hilarious strings of one-liners, but he was trying.

The rest of the crew, for the most part, lightened up on the ribbing to a degree.  I should say they didn’t rib me any more than they did most of each other.  Needing something to keep life and spirits up on the ocean, you had to watch yourself, because they would rib anyone about anything.  But these fellows could get serious in a moment’s notice … like one morning just nigh to twilight off of the coast of the Yat’mir Islands.

Sound asleep in your hammock isn’t the best place to be when a loud pitched whistle and the sound of drums wakes you up to prepare for battle.  We had taken a heavy load of spices and tea, for which the main island was famous, and put out the afternoon before.  In addition we had bolts of silk cloth, tight packed bales of exotic cotton, some expensive animals for breeding, and more.  Some of it was under oiled tarpaulin stacked center of the main deck.

There were several of these small islands, most of which were just rock, and they stretched out over several hundred shark infested miles, but we had no warning the legendary pirate, Commodore Hastings, was in the area.  He came after us from two different sides of a large rock cluster with his schooners, the Gussi-Oht and the Gretchen; both vessels fast and sleek and armed with some of the most dangerous weapons on the sea.

At the time, most vessels had to rely on crossbows and an occasional small catapult or ballistae mounted on the bow or stern.  The Gussi-Oht and Gretchen each were built with missile deck designs directly under the main deck.  But what was even more unusual about these ships was the sail rigging.  Almost all ships of the time used square sails.  The Gussi-Oht and Gretchen were fitted with square main sails, but the front sails were triangular, considered an experimental idea and the subject of much argument.  Hastings was a masterful sailor, however, and appeared to make good use of the rigging.

These ships were sisters, and at one time Hastings had been a Privateer for Queen Wydorra of the northern Island Kingdom of Siaco.  He had been commissioned with three of these vessels, built with sole intent of Privateering against Vedoan merchant ships.  One ship, the Esmeralda, had reportedly been sunk at high sea in a storm, but this was never substantiated.

Siaco was finally conquered by Vedoa, but Hastings escaped with the Gussi-Oht and Gretchen to raid all throughout the southern waters.  These ships were considered among the most technologically advanced vessels built, and perhaps the fastest on the seas.  There were a lot of people wanting to get their hands on either of these craft for study, but so far it hadn’t happened, and both the plans and ship designer were gone; the builders apparently slain in the final battles of Siaco’s conquest.

On each side of the missile deck were six specially designed ballistae, but instead of long arrow shafts, they fired a metal ball.  This wasn’t rare on land, but only a few craft on the seas had such weapons.  The big mystery, however, was at how fast these weapons were able to reload.  The range was limited, but if either of these vessels came within firing line of you, they could pretty much sink a craft and claim whatever they deemed a prize.

On the main deck, there were five ballistae per side, each of which could fire a twin-shaft projectile which would either slash sails or men on deck, depending on intent and angle of fire.

Our drums were beating to quarters as we made the deck as fast as possible and prepared for engagement.  I was the only one with a curve-style bow, let alone a straight sword.  A couple of crewmen glanced at the hatchet on my side, but no comment was made as I took my post on top of the tarpaulins where I could make use of my bow.

A positive in open sea battle, is you can see the enemy long before they get close to you and you actually have time to contemplate a course of action.  We were sailing heavy and the Faulta Whimn, being a large caravel, wasn’t built for outright speed to begin with.  With two ships on us, maneuvering from our position would be tenuous at best. On the larboard side, sailor-speak for the left side, was the rocky outcropping of the northeastern most tip of the islands.  To our point one enemy vessel approached, and aft we were being pressed by the other.

Off to the starboard side, the right side, for you who don’t know, ran the Primrose Gauntlet, some of the most treacherous water you could find and which was a main reason these islands weren’t frequented by merchants in general.  The water became very deep and it was almost impossible to know when you might run into the tops of a vast underwater mountain range.  The isles were believed to be the highest points of this range and it was suspected there was an active volcano in that churning water.

Anyway, going into the Gauntlet wasn’t an option. 

We had one catapult on the stern castle and a ballistae on each corner of the main deck, but that was the extent of our long range defenses.  I was no naval warrior, just an able-bodied seaman who scrubbed the deck, tied a few ropes, hoisted sail, whatever was needed of common nature.  But still, I contemplated quickly and heard the captain in heated discussion with his officers. 

Hastings must know our cargo, and apparently he had a personal grudge against Fieunas, but Fieunas couldn’t decide if Hastings would prefer to take the ship as an ultimate insult or sink the vessel for spite.  All the while we were fairly caught and the two vessels were closing in on us fast. 

If we turned full starboard and ran with the wind, it would take us into the Primrose Gauntlet.  Maintaining our course would be to intercept the Gussi-Oht.  At best she would steal our wind and leave us dead in the water.  At worst, while we were dead in the water we could be fired upon and or boarded. 

We could try to put into their wind shadow by steering larboard, stealing their wind, but there would be no way to evade those weapons … and we still would have the Gretchen coming up on our stern.

By the Hounds of Hades, I thought, stuck in the middle of the ocean, in a no-win scenario, positioned on top of bales of cotton with my bow in the center of the ship … bales of cotton …

I jumped off of my bale and ran to Fieunas and said, “Captain, you have to listen to me … I know how to save the ship!”

Chapter   59

________________________

 

 

THERE IS A right and wrong way to do anything.  What I did was the wrong way to address a captain, any captain, land military or naval, but we were running short of time and my idea would take some time.  Providing, of course, Captain Fieunas used it.

The officers all turned to me with ire, they weren’t exactly discussing an intrusion to a tea party, but I held up my hand and insisted, “Captain I know I’m no naval officer but I was a major in the Keoghnariu Army and I have an idea to save this ship.”

Captain Fieunas’s mouth stopped in mid-movement and Quarter-Master Xiscoe suddenly creased his brow and asked, “Are you that Wulf, Major Timber Wulf who breached that pyramid?”  Xiscoe glanced at the others and said, “I read about it in a book last year.”

I was caught off guard, a book?  Having no time to think of it, however, quickly I said, “Yes, the same, but I have an idea …”

“Then quick with ye, Major, time is ‘a wastin’.”  The captain instructed. 

I explained my thoughts and got raised eyebrows for them, but we were in a dire straight and it was the best idea yet.  The ship masters went to work straightway and I talked intently with the ship’s carpenter, asking questions and making clear what I had in mind.  He corrected my line of thinking and gave me a better plan, but still based on my original thought.

We were under full sail and the captain pointed the bow straight at what was now clearly the Gussi-Oht before us.  This would be a team effort for sure, and I was putting myself in the front of it all … literally.  Both sides of the ship rails were lined with the cotton bales and the crew positioned behind with missile weapons.  I instructed the quartermaster in my idea of staged fire and ran to the front of the vessel, climbed the bowsprit and settled around the figure head.  I had never imagined myself with my legs wrapped around a lady in such fashion, but, well … and then I *Blended* with my bow ready.

So much counted on my firing each arrow true, there was no room for error. 

Using what I now thought of as my *Long Sight* vision I could see an older gentleman looking through a telescope with an amazed expression on his face.  In the Vedoic tongue I could lip-read his words, “What in Poseidon’s name is he doing?  Is he daft?  The idiot is going to ram us head on.”  I saw him glance back sideways and I could barely make him out to say, “Prepare to make an emergency turn.  Ready all weapons.”

The only chance I saw was to play the most ancient game of Chicken with our forward adversary, and at the last moment turn larboard.  By running so close, those metal balls would not have room to hit the Faulta Whimn close to water line, and even in the case of damage we would still be sea worthy.  I didn’t explain, but I knew I could help the carpenter repair any wood damage, at least well enough to get us to port.

The enemy main deck ballistae would not be able to fire at a high enough angle to slash our sails, either.  Thus pushing those cotton bales to the rail; it would give at least one round of cover to the crew.  And with both ships pushing by each other, and should I succeed in my own plan, we would be able to out distance the Gussi-Oht long before she recovered herself, nor would the Gussi-Oht have enough range to fire a second volley.  But I had to be precise.

Crawling as far out on the figurehead as I could, I watched the enemy vessel get dangerously close.  I figure we were moving at three to four knots, and the Gussi-Oht at least twice that.  I was going to have to fire quick and couldn’t afford to miss.

I can’t stay *Blended* unless I’m concentrating, and while I can walk, run or crawl … I can’t fight that way.  The fellow I thought was the captain was not in position for me to make a shot, and I had to focus on my real target.  I wasn’t trying to win a war or take a prize, I was trying to set us up for a get-a-way.  The captain was aft on the poop deck where he could see from safety, and I dropped my effect as the ships came nigh together.

Captain Fieunas was manning the wheel himself and had aimed true to just a hair of the larboard side, so as to force the Gussi-Oht to swerve to our starboard.  The problem was that I am right handed, and I was going to have to shoot my bow at right sided targets while hanging off of a naked woman statue with my legs, a statue which I saw left nothing to the imagination and carved to exquisite detail.  I thought, ‘If Dudley could see me now …’

Absorbing power from all directions of essence, I tried to *Slow* the world around me and pushed for as much personal speed as I could.  Taking aim as the vessels made their near collision I fired into the first opening of the missile deck and took the ballistae operator full in the chest … and then the next … and then the next … all the way to the end of the vessel.  I heard a thick whang sound and a crunch against our hull and knew someone had replaced at least one weapon … no … make that two … but I wasn’t done and couldn’t worry about the two hits to our hull.

There was only a moment … and I *Channeled* from the ocean itself into one of my non-tipped wooden arrows and let fly at the rudder … HIT!  With the strike I saw an effect, something like a swirling ball of solid water, explode as the arrow hit and splintered the rudder with a loud crash.  I wanted to savor the moment but there was still too much to do.

With a gymnastic flip around the bowsprit I ran at top speed across the forecastle while carefully dropping my bow and quiver.  I saw our crew doing well amidst some of the pirates trying to jump onto our vessel.  You have to give that pirate captain some credit, he was persistent and wanted this ship.  I grabbed a rope and swung below, ran more, dodged here, a cartwheel there, and practically vaulted up the one level of the aft castle, then to the poop deck where I was able to *Leap* and grab the yardarm of the main sail of the Gussi-Oht.

Swinging up and *Enhancing* my balance I took to dagger and hatchet and made my way across, cutting every lashing to the main sail in process.  Crossbow fire was raining around me and I got cut several times, but not a solid hit. 

What I never considered was that while under power of the wind, both of our vessels were heeling, or leaning, in our starboard direction pretty strongly.  Once we passed between the Gussi-Oht and the wind, Gussi lost her power, which means nothing is there to keep her heeled.  And now I was slashing that which was keeping her main sail up, killing what power she did have.

Where I had planned to jump wide to the larboard of the pirate ship, far from my own vessel … instead the Gussi-Oht rolled back to center and I found myself thrown back to the mast while trying to catch myself.  As she came center, the whiplash effect unsettled me considerably, so using my momentum I *Leaped* upward and out toward the water.  The result was my flying high into the air, over my own ship, and landing far to the larboard side of the Faulta Whimn’s poop deck, and solidly in the water.

As I flew the many rods up, and then proceeded to fall the long way to the water, I had time to rethink my whole life and wonder what in Zaeghun’s Lair was I doing up there.  I also remembered that I was terrified of heights, and during the moment I quit going up and started coming down I suddenly remembered that these were shark-infested waters … and I was bleeding.

The splash hurt, and for the second time I went down deep and I tried hard not to panic.  I also immediately tried to *Summon* a creature companion, fast.  Do you remember the catfish?  I do.  Now let’s say shark … like, uhm, nineteen to twenty feet long tiger shark.  I was hoping dearly the shark wouldn’t want a special reward for its help.  Did you know a shark’s skin is like sandpaper?

Alright … the shark was my friend … for the moment … now I just had to hold my breath until it got me to the other vessel.  Using the dolphin’s teaching, I had practiced and learned to hold my breath for a quarter of an hour.  At first I had been worried I wouldn’t be able to hold my breath long enough to get to the Gretchen, I shouldn’t have worried.  That shark moved so fast it pulled right out of my grip.  Then it came back and had to let me grab hold again.  Even knowing this thing was my helper-of-the-moment didn’t help seeing a twenty foot long eating machine swim so fast straight for me.

We got to the vessel in quick order and I got my hands on the underside.  There was little time and I would need air, and I was still bleeding.  ‘Focus, Wolf, focus,’ I told myself.  Adhering to the wood was no problem, although I had to work to hang on, even magically.  Tracing the keel, and the up the underside of the ship, I looked for that best place the carpenter told me to go to, which was right at water line … then I locked on and directed my energy into the wood to make it *Rot* in as big an area as I could.

There would be one chance for this, because I had to breathe to make most of my effects work; and it’s a little hard to breathe underwater if you are a mammal.  I was beginning to get concerned as all of my breath started leaving in bubbles, and then my *Awareness* felt something big coming through the water my way, and it wasn’t my tiger shark buddy … it was bigger.

On the verge of panic, as the last of my air left my lungs and I strained for breath which wasn’t there, the hull of the Gretchen began to collapse inward … and the rush of the water took me with it.  As I was carried in with a rush, a shark’s head followed me in, just narrowly missing my torso.  Fighting for a breath, and to get my legs away from the thrashing shark, I scrambled in as the water started pouring in and filling the hold.

Finding the door to the upper deck, I pulled my sword and was about to push through when it was opened by startled crewmembers.  Grabbing the first one, I yanked him back into the flooding hold and began my fight to the top. 

I’d like to recount the whole thing to you, but it wasn’t pretty, and to be honest I was swinging at anything I could to get to the main deck rail.  The crew was wondering what had just happened, and I wanted off ship as fast as possible, hoping my own mates would actually swing around to get me.  The thought of being in the ocean with sharks all around didn’t have me excited with anticipation.  And seeing me on the top deck wasn’t likely to invoke the pirates to let me stand around and heal myself.  To top it off, I was now covered in blood from the crew I had been fighting, not good.

The damage I had done wouldn’t likely sink the ship, although it could.  What we were hoping for, and seemed to be what was happening, was for the crew to become so preoccupied at saving their ship they would momentarily forget about me.  Several had taken a spare sail and, if my ship’s carpenter was right, these laddies were going to try stuffing that sail in the hole I had made.  Long story, there was a way to do it and get a ship back to a dock for refit.  The point is, it kept a bunch of them off of my back and would give the Whimn sailing time to get away.

Some of the pirates had a small boat they were packing into, and I didn’t think they were going to invite me aboard.  I saw a flat piece of wood floating in the water, so as I was fighting my way around the deck I sliced me a sailor, cut one of the ropes lowering the boat, grabbed a paddle, and sheathing my sword I leapt overboard.  While in the water I tried my best to *Blend* as I swam for that big piece of door. 

The wood turned out to be a piece of a stall in the hold; apparently where a cow may have once been kept for milk.  I think my blending worked fairly well, but my *Awareness* was screaming and I got my legs onto the tiny raft as a shark rose up and nearly capsized me.  So much for my blending, the pirates saw me, but apparently wrote me off as shark food.  And the sharks weren’t fooled by my magic.  I was bleeding, remember?

Moments later he came up from beneath and knocked me and my raft both out of the water.  I got my knife in hand as the shark came back around I managed to face it off and applied *Stone Bones* and smacked it in the nose.  The smack was more to spin me out of its way rather than a means to pummel it.  As I smacked the giant fish I laid my Mythril Blade into the side of its body and slashed a seven foot gash all down its gills and the side of its body.

Trying to spin into a kick, I pushed myself off the shark’s side fast.  *Detecting* my slab, I made for it as fast as I could and managed to get aboard and just laid there.  Looking below and seeking out the heat of the fish, I watched a shark feeding frenzy I wanted no part of … and they said we were brutal in the coliseums and pits.  It gave me a whole new perspective to having a friend for dinner.

My encounter with the shark actually pushed me farther away from the Gretchen, and luck was with me as my paddle floated almost within reach.  I had to use my sword several times to finally get the paddle to me, but then I worked hard to put more distance between us.

In the other direction I could see the Whimn coming my way, so I lay there for a few moments and *Self Healed* before going back to my chore of rowing.  When they picked me up, all I wanted was to go back to bed and call it a night … well, it was morning now.  I couldn’t help but wonder if they would want me to stay up and take my turn peeling spuds.

___________________________

 

I sailed the Whimn for several months after that and I learned the old man on the Gussi-Oht was indeed Captain Hastings himself.  We didn’t see him after that, and Captain Fieunas had no intention of pressing his luck.  As it was, the word went out that we were the first in years to win a battle against Hastings, and the pirate was livid, vowing to lay claim to Fieunas’s head and mount it on the end of the Gussi-Oht’s bowsprit.

Our captain was no coward, but he wasn’t stupid, either. The time came to put in and have some major refitting done, and it was the Port of Miranda where he chose to do it.  Miranda was one of the main ports among the Georgian Islands somewhat south of the equator.  It was a beautiful place, tropical, and grew the sweetest pineapple I had ever eaten.  The girls were something else, too.  But the layover was going to take quite some time, as Fieunas wanted to rebuild the entire poop deck, and I really wasn’t interested in a vacation.  He was also contemplating an alteration of the ships sail rigging to include triangle sails on the front of the Whimn.  It would be a radical move, but he had been thinking in favor of it ever since the encounter with Hastings.  To increase the harnessing of the wind, he thought, if this really worked, even five or so more degrees, it could make a revolutionary difference in merchant sailing.

Jude tried to talk me into staying around, saying Crayge was thinking me up for advancement to a Mate’s position.  He wouldn’t bring it up until close to time to cast off, Jude said, but … And to be honest, I thought about it, but somehow it just didn’t appeal to me.  Not that it was in any way something to sneeze at, but, well, I was still in a bit of a funk. 

You don’t spend years of your life brutally killing people, on rare occasions even someone you recently ate a meal with, and then suddenly wake up and say, “What?  Oh, I don’t have to do this anymore?  Great …” and then just get on with your life.  And there were those other things … things I still had no answers for.  Maybe … maybe just over that next horizon …

The problem was I didn’t know what I was looking for.  At least, I told myself, I was hunting.

After a few days in Port Miranda, I cast off for a short run aboard the Grinning Walter III as a Sea Marshal, which meant I was protecting an article from possible thieves aboard ship, not pirates.  In this case I had to protect a sealed wooden box measuring one foot wide by one half foot thick by three feet long; a box of which I wasn’t told what was inside, but I had to protect it until it got to destination.  No problem, I thought.

Talk about an adventure … me and that box went through three ships, getting stranded on a desert island, four attacks while at sea, a high-speed chase with my stolen box in a wagon and me running across rooftops to recover it, my being arrested as a jewel thief, breaking out of jail, exposing a guild of black market child merchants, crawling through a sewer, swallowing a lizard, being swallowed by a whale, almost falling into a volcano, floating for miles in the air from a cliff-top ruin while hanging onto the four corners of a tapestry, almost getting married to an island tribal woman with a bone in her nose, and more … and not exactly in that order.

Finally I showed up at my destination with the box in good repair, on a wagon, at the Big Island of Kadmus, in the port-town of Lydia.  I was met by a grumpy, hardnosed man who didn’t say thank you or job well done.  He got me to sign off on a document, handed me a receipt, and gave me a sack of gold coins before having someone take the wagon and drive off with me just standing there.  To this day I still don’t know what was in that box.

The time had come, I decided, for me to stay on land for a bit.  Having yet to trek an island, I thought I would take me a walk across the hill and take a look at what the locals called mountains.  It was interesting to say the least and I had a few more small adventures, but when I walked out on the other side I was pleased to eventually find the Port of Foljur.  I had been here once before when aboard the Faulta Whimn. 

Foljur was a good sized town trying to grow into a city and had anything a sailor might need or want.  It was built on the side of a large hill and many of its streets were stair-cased, resembling a long saddleback maze.  There was a large native population there as well, and you could buy anything from juju medicine to feathers for your hair.

To be honest, I wasn’t in the best of moods when I walked from the palm forests and into Foljur.  Perhaps I crawled out of my blankets the wrong way, or maybe it was just the bad dreams I sometimes had, and it could have been just simple contrariness.  Hiking the island was nice, but it wasn’t the same as the big mountains I was used to.

I didn’t really want to talk with anyone but missed the company of people, and coconut milk was no longer a novelty with a small fortune in my magic handkerchief. I wanted a meal I didn’t have to cook for myself, I wanted a bath with hot water and real soap, my sleep was restless, and I kept fighting people who wouldn’t stay down in my dreams … Like I said, I wasn’t in the best of moods.

The tavern I wanted to go to had burned down and a diner I had eaten at and liked had closed.  The Whiskin Boot was a famous tavern all across the Gulf of Gahrbrondi, and I had put down a couple of tankards there before.  So it was off to the Whiskin Boot for me. 

First I checked into the Har’Nona Princess, arguably one of, if not the finest, hotel in all of the Kadmus Isles.  For one, I just wanted to enjoy a nice place to stay.  For two, hot bathes were available in the room.  For three, I had always wanted to pull down on one of those ropes I had heard about and have a suited up fellow knock at my door and say, “May I help you, sir?”

Walking in past a couple of stiff looking, suited gentlemen, I went to the clerk and said I wanted a room.  Sailors didn’t stay at the Princess, captains and dignitaries did, and I looked like neither.  But when I put down some serious gold coin and explained I wanted to pay in advance, you should have seen how happy that clerk was to see me.  I went up and settled in, locked my door with a real door lock key as I left, and hiked to the Whiskin Boot for a mug and food.

Upon returning I met some new door guards who frowned at my buckskin garb, but the clerk remembered me, and I realized I would need to change up my appearance.  Walking to the clerk, who met me with a friendly smile, I asked if I could get a bath drawn.  Just like that, the clerk said, “Certainly.  Would you like fragrances, an attendant, perhaps a bottle of wine to enjoy?”

I don’t know, the thought of someone watching me take a bath didn’t excite me, but the wine and … what was that … fragrances … sounded nice, so I said as much.  As I started to go up the staircase I had a thought, “Could I get some cigars as well?”

“Certainly.  Is there something you have in mind?”

‘You know, I might could learn to like this,’ I thought.  Answering I said, “I like a rich, yet mellow flavor, and a slow burn.  Surprise me.”  And then I walked up the stairs.  I did that every day for about a week. 

One day I finally pulled that rope and had a tailor come up, measure me for some new clothes, and ordered something more city-ish to wear.  I also ordered a formal suit.  As to eating, the Princess had fantastic dining and I luxuriated myself with it.

Calculating my finances with the town, I figured I could live like I was for maybe four months, or as a common sailor for four years in Foljur.  Neither choice appealed to me.  What, I wondered, did I want to do?  As towns go, Foljur was a nice place, but I found myself already feeling closed in. 

One night I had a severe nightmare and woke up drenched in sweat and breathing really hard … but couldn’t remember my dream.  The third night afterward, it happened again.  By the end of the week I had made no friends, began feeling paranoid for no reason at all, and finally started having my dinner served in my room. 

Eating a fine swordfish steak, sautéed in garlic and butter sauce, served with perfect vegetables, a baked potato swimming in butter, and a chilled bottle of aged Vambrolini wine on the table is one of those experiences you must try at least once.  If you have never heard of Vambrolini, it is one of the finest wines you can find and comes only from Lh’Gohria, and expensive.  The taste is smooth, crisp with just enough fruity sweetness to make it stand out.  But be careful, it has a really high alcohol content.  It is great with fish and poultry that has been broiled or baked, but not with fried anything.  You can sip on it, too, just for the flavor, as I found I liked doing.

In any case, by day ten I was going crazy.

It was my third dinner in my room, alone, that I just couldn’t take it.  Halfway through my meal I summoned the bellhop to clear away my things, and after he left so did I.  Dressed in a brand new black silk shirt with ruffles up the front and on cuff, as was the gentleman’s fashion of the time, and black breeches topped with a sky blue sash, I made my way to the Blushing Sonja.  I was loath to get rid of my fringed top moccasins and knee high boots were in style, so I wore my moccasins.  I also carried my dagger in my sash, which was not at all unusual, therefore I basically looked the well dressed young businessman and not out of place.

The Sonja was an establishment for gentlemen, and ladies too, for that matter.  No ruckus, brawling or what have you.  As often as not it was a meeting house to discuss shipments, business deals, politics, local news, all sorts of things.  People traveling by ship from all over would meet there.  You had to pay a nominal fee to get in the door, but it kept the riff-raff out for the most part.

No sooner than I paid my cover fee, walk in and locate a place to sit down, than I came face-to-face with the rascal who contracted me for that Sea Marshal job.  When he saw me his face went from disappointed to all smiles, “Hey-ya mate.  Am I glad to see ye.  I have another -”

“No,” I said.  Turning around I headed back through the door.  The man followed me outside and grabbed my arm with the intent of saying something.  Whirling around I put the dull edge of my blade to his neck and with fire in my eyes said, “Back off.  Do it – NOW!”

His eyes got real wide and his hands came up.  Slowly backing up he said, “Saimea … Saimea … I understand.  Ye don’t want the job.  No worries …” Stumbling on something on the road, he turned and recovered himself.  As he walked away the door guards watched me, I guess to see if I were going to press the issue as dueling was common, but I simply returned my blade and walked off.  I would go to the Whiskin Boot.

Disgruntled and with an ill disposition, I went in and found the place to be packed.  The bar was long and I found a place on the far end where it took an L-shaped turn in design.  I ordered a Condroy Tea, which was a large, fruity drink with a rum base served in a pint and a half tankard.  Typically it was known for being strong in alcohol content, but I liked the coconut, mango and other fruits and how they mixed with the rum flavor.  And since I couldn’t get drunk I would sometimes drink two or three or more.  I guess you could say it had become my favorite drink, of spirits, that is.

With the cold drink in front of me, I closed my eyes and relaxed a moment.  Taking the handle in my hand I reached it up for a good sip and this huge seaman bumped into me, knocking the drink all over my new shirt, in my face, and all over the bar.  This fellow turned, stared for a moment, pointed his finger and looked at me laughing said, “Ah me, look at the dapper dandy.  Are ye wet Mr. Dapper, sir?” 

Setting my empty tankard down, I just looked up.  The clod was nigh to seven feet tall.  Why didn’t anyone smaller than me ever try to cause a problem?  Under careful appraisal I noticed he was definitely not an iron ball trainer; his belly was round, chest sagged a bit, and although his arms were huge they lacked any real shape.

Mr. Clod was to my left, so I hooked an angry right upper-cut to the soft point just under his navel and into the curve of his belly.  When he buckled forward, his face registered total shock that I had hit him.  I levied a left cross to his chin, followed by stepping in with a right-left combination to his solar plexus. As he again bent over low I kicked him under the chin with my right foot and follow the momentum of my kick into a full back-flip, landing on my feet into a ready posture.

Big boy staggered backward, but still didn’t go down … so as he turned around to get his bearings I charged into him, lifting what was well over three hundred pounds and carried him crashing into a table.  I did a roll over him, and as he thrashed about the broken wood to get up I tore my ruined shirt off and waited for him to get up with my hands ready ... it was my first time starting a bar fight, and I was mad.

Chapter   60

________________________

 

 

ANY OTHER TIME and at any other place, I might have just brushed off the fellow bumping into me.  The big ox didn’t do it intentionally and he was just short of drunk and having a good time.  But the rudeness of it, him laughing at me and calling me Mr. Dapper just didn’t sit well, what with my dark mood and all.  And that pointing of his finger at me, well, it simply caused something inside to snap.

The moment I slugged him I knew he was more than a tall, overweight human.  He would have never been mistaken for T-bone and his perfect proportions, but this one fellow was definitely laden with muscle.  Although unwieldy from the alcohol, I could also tell from the way he was getting up he was probably good on his feet.  No matter, as emotionally left of center as I had been, I needed this.

What I hadn’t counted on, and should have known better, was that this was a tavern … and the moment I took big boy into the table a bar fight began. 

The Whiskin Boot was a tavern run by a former sailor, just for sailors.  And sailors need to let off steam.  The place was well built and built big.  There was lots of floor space for dancing, cavorting, and fighting.  The ceiling was high enough so it was hard to reach beams to swing from and the lights not put out so easily.  There were also ceiling fans, carefully rigged from special wind mills above the roof to circulate the air well, and those fans weren’t intended to be broken frequently.

An often overlooked fact is that; just because you can fight well one-on-one, doesn’t mean you can handle two or more opponents easily.  They are totally different fighting styles.  When fighting only one-on-one, you can roll around on the floor or ground until one person is knocked out or submits to a locking-hold.  Try that in a two-or-more-on-one fight and you can get killed, I’ve seen it happen.

In my case, I had been well trained in heavy multi-man combat, so the reflexes were there.  Still … I was way out of practice.  For years I only had to worry about the one opponent, and although there had been a few occasions where I had to go it against several, I still needed a lot of work.  All that being said, my *Awareness* started screaming, but my reaction time was off enough to get clouted by a huge fist just as I ducked from another.

I wasn’t standing by the bar on the outside of the fray, I was in the middle, and it took only a moment for it to get really wild.  My *Awareness* was warning me all around, and if we were to arms I could have started slicing right and left.  But we weren’t, as rough as it was, these men, and some women too, were actually having fun.  In fact there was a beautifully painted sign when you came in of a big, black, house cat with white feet, long whiskers and the caption Keep your Claws in your Paws.

My attention was still on my chosen mark, but I had to smack a jaw here, duck a chair there, roll under this man and leap roll over another just to reach my quarry.  His back was turned to me when I got to him, and he picked up a man and what I think was a woman and threw them over backward before turning around.  I was set to wallop him a good one when someone grabbed my arm, spun me around and cracked me on the chin.  The blow was solid and I was about to return the favor when a bottle smashed against my head.  This wasn’t turning out so well.

Hands strong enough to crack coconuts then grabbed me, and next thing I knew I was flying across the room, over the bar, and into a stack of bottles that shattered all over me drenching me in liquor.  Big boy was quick, I’m going to give him that, and before I could get my bearings and the alcohol out of my eyes, I felt myself being lifted up and hard wood slammed into my chest.  Next thing I knew I was sliding down the length of the bar faster than I could have imagined, and a row of fellows leaned back out of the way with their mugs and tankards and watched me go by.

Sliding right off of the bar and face first onto the floor, I managed to get up in time to see big boy lumbering around the corner.  He was wasting no time reaching for me, so I grabbed one of his hands, scooped down and threw him over my shoulder.  He went down hard, but he was prepared this time.  I was setting up to do a step-in corkscrew lock around his arm, and I’ll be jiggered if he didn’t get both of those giant legs up, feet under my ribs and pushed me up into the air.  I reached for a rafter and just missed it, coming down astraddle of someone’s head, who in turn pushed me off, landing me onto a table which held just long enough to think it would hold, and then collapsed under me.

I could have done a healing, but somehow I wanted no magic involved in this.  I was venting some steam of my own and no bones were broken.  I was starting to change my mind when he scooped me up like a baby and prepared to power slam me into another table, but I used the momentum of his lift to throw myself over his shoulder and land behind him on my feet. 

Wrapping my right arm around his waist, my left hand cupping the under part of his left thigh and getting my head under his left shoulder, I lifted him up off of his feet.  Holding him lateral to the floor I picked my moment and dropped back and down to my right … putting all of our combined weight on his shoulders in what is called a Back Suplex.  You could hear the wood of the floor crunch and for a moment he was stunned.

Any ordinary human would have stayed down after that, as I had done it perfectly and it was one of my specialty moves.  I rolled quickly to my feet, only to see this jiuk slowly getting to his knees and shaking his head.  ‘What was he made of?’  I thought.

The wind was washing out of me and I knew it was time to quit living so soft.  It was time to start getting back into serious physical condition.  And then I heard them all yelling at him, “Get up Tiny!  Don’t let the dapper cut ye’re lashings.” 

Tiny?  They called this fellow Tiny?

From halfway down the bar I saw a face, a face I was sure I had seen before, long ago, but where?  He slid a mug my way down the bar and I caught it.  Taking it up I saw it was cold, full, and frothy.  I had never really liked the taste of ale until then.  Catching one good swallow and another mouthful, my *Awareness* started singing again as I saw my opponent setting down a tankard of his own, wiping his mouth and after a moment’s hesitation start coming at me.

I got mad all over again, swallowed my mouthful, and as I sat the mug on the bar I went ahead and *Self Healed*.  Slinging the sweat from my hair I said, “Alright bugger, you want to fight?  Let me show you how it’s done.”

Turning on the speed I rammed him with combinations into the midriff and kidney.  Spinning him around I hooked into the face and jaw and the midriff again.  He had no hand-to-hand training, but he was game.  A well scored shot to the solar plexus made him bend over and I placed a hard hooking cross-kick into his jowls.  It spun him around as I followed the movement with a spinning side-kick into the ribs that knocked him backward.

Staggering into a post, my opponent regained his bearings and turned to me with battle lust across his face.  As he got set to charge me, I leaped against the bar into a coiled perch, and then catapulted myself onto him cross-body style … taking him over backward as I targeted the momentum onto yet another table.

Tiny, who would name someone this big Tiny, wouldn’t stay down and as I came up on my feet he surprised me by catching me low, lifting me up in a bear-hug and carrying us both through the window, sill and all, and out into the hard packed dirt street.  We came down hard on my back, but I used the force to continue into a full backward roll.  I came out on top into an immediate triple flurry of downward cross punches.  The Whiskin Boot clientele poured into the street and were all yelling as they moved around us forming a big circle.

Tiny managed to brush me off and tried to roll on top of me, but I wasn’t having it.  We both managed to come to foot at he same time and he led off with a wide, lumbering swing.  He was done but didn’t know it.  I wanted it over with now, fast, finished, but I honestly didn’t want to kill him.  I felt like a mongoose fighting a sluggish constrictor snake many times my size, but what was it going to take? 

He was walking like he was out on his feet, with every strike I landed he wobbled back and into another … and then from nowhere a hand touched my arm … I spun around and saw another man in a fighting posture.

I swung hard at the new man, but he brushed my blow like it wasn’t there.  Again I struck, at any moment expecting Tiny to come at me again, but this new adversary countered my movement again with an almost effortless motion.  I began to throw all manner of combinations at him and he kept moving away.  He countered with techniques I hadn’t seen in years and I found myself getting tossed about.

He wasn’t manhandling me, mind you, but he was meeting my aggression with redirection … where had I seen that?  I threw an assault and this time as he redirected, I countered his counter and he went into the dirt, but with a beautiful roll of his own he was on his feet.  We began countering each other’s counters and as we fought we learned each other.  A couple of times I made solid contact, but he then moved as to absorb the blow.  He made contact with me as well, but not a punch and the blow came from nowhere.

We seemed to be embroiled in some kind of pugilistic dance, rather than a slugfest.  I was remembering nine animal combat, fire against water … No … fire AND water … Yin and Yang … Tai’Jhi, this sailor was using Tai’Jhi. 

Forming my hands into tiger claw fashion I managed to land a hard blow to his torso with my finger tips, and then a follow up to the kidney that I knew hurt.  But he absorbed the strike and whirled to strike me a wicked elbow to the side of the head, followed by a punch into the floating ribs, and then something I remember called a Palm Press-Strike which lifted me off my feet and into the side of a building. 

Have you ever bounced off of the side of a wall?  I did, before my feet even hit the ground, and it hurt.  He was actually waiting for me as I landed on my feet and kicked me, I can’t remember how, twice, and then spun about and kicked me with an outside crescent kick.  Yup, I went down.  But I was up straightway and *Slowed* everything down, saw an opening through those weaving hands, and went in for a shooting takedown.  Only, he countered it ... how did he do that?  He caught my motion and hooked me into his own throwing movement.

We both went down and rolled free of each other, but his back was to me for an instant.  So I vaulted high with intent to catch him as he turned in a flying clothesline movement I often used on big opponents.  Instead, he turned at the last moment and ducked down and low … he knew I was coming.

I went over him and hit the ground with my hands and into a roll; at the same time he rolled under me and came up on his feet, pivoting we faced each other from twenty feet apart.  I was getting really tired and just wanted to walk away, he gracefully waved his hands into a perfect Single Whip and Cat Stance posture.  We looked at each other for a long moment, each of us poised in our own ready fighting stance.  And then he took a deep breath and asked with a highly cultured accent, “Good Sir,” he gave a slight shake of his head, “if you wish, we can do this for as long as you desire.  But if you don’t mind, I really need to go take a pee.”

Taking a breath of my own, I suddenly let down my weary arms and said in return, “Mister, all I wanted was a drink or two and something to eat.”

Letting his own arms down, I thought a heard a faint chuckle from the man.  He seemed to tongue the inside of his teeth, presumably to make sure nothing was broken, and then he gave a somewhat stern glance at the big fellow and asked, “Ti-i-n-N-N-Y?!”

Tiny was sitting on a water trough and looked at the man meekly, “I’m sorry Capt’n, I was only meanin’ a jolly.”  He motioned to me, “But he took it a bit personal.”

Captain?  I looked at this man; he was maybe thirty to forty, my height or better, lean but hard and very neat.  He had on common sailor’s clothes and knee high boots with a cloth twisted into a headband; he wasn’t dressed in the way of most ship captains.  Glancing at me he asked, “If I tender the cost of your refreshment, may we call this a square?”  He held his hands out in query.

Suddenly I wasn’t mad anymore, if anything I felt somewhat sheepish.  I nodded, words having for the moment escaped me.

The man, captain, saw someone in the crowd and said, “Bannock, take care of this gentleman, will you?”  He then turned back to me and tilting his head, said, “My apologies, Good Sir.”  And then he walked over to talk to Tiny.

Bannock milled his way through the crowd, which was already heading back into the Boot.  He was the same fellow who had slid me the ale; a tassel-haired human of average height, moving with a cat-like fluid motion and a casual, curious smile that hinted of mischievousness and intelligence.  Right away I could tell he was the type who liked to know that you knew that he knew things, but wouldn’t tell you what they were.

Bannock got near me and cordially asked, “You okay?”  His accent was definitely not from the open seas, Shudoic I was thinking.

“Yeah, yeah …” I said.  Looking at Tiny I said, “… he called him Captain …”

Bannock sort of stared at me, amused but not offending, “Yes, he did.”  Bannock glanced from me to the captain, and then back to me, “Captain Jha’Ley …” he paused to see if the name rang a bell in my mind, I was startled as he added, “Captain Jann Raul Jha’Ley …”

I was mortified, “… of the Lohra Lai?”  Sailors and mainland merchants alike spoke of this man in tones of awe and respect, and I had just swung on him like a common ruffian.

Bannock smiled cordially as he put a cloak around my shoulders, “The one and only.”  I closed my eyes and shook my head.  This day was not getting any better.

___________________________

 

On the third morning after the incident, I was in my room packing my things when I heard a knock on the door.  Nobody had ever knocked unless in response to my bell rope, so I was curious. The recent fight in the Whiskin Boot had led me to believe it was time to move on.  City life didn’t agree with me, anyhow, but where was I going to go?  Maybe I should charter a vessel and return to Aeshea, I was still thinking.  What was important, though, was that my reflexes were way off and I was becoming, had become, as surely as a Bourneshire Bull on the prod.

Walking to the door I focused, and could make out the scent of Bannock.  Now, how did he know where to find me?  Opening the door he wasted no time in saying, “Good afternoon.  You got a minute?”

Well, I had all the time in the world.  So I said, “I might have a couple of minutes to spare, why?”  Have you ever known anyone who already knows the answers, but they act like they don’t really know, but it dawns on you they really know?  It gets on your nerves, doesn’t it?  I was starting to feel that way about Bannock, and I didn’t even know him.

“An old friend has extended you an invitation for lunch, today, in two hours, at room six of the Orange Buster.”

The Orange Buster?  What friend, I thought?  Here in Foljur?  I had no one that I would actually call a friend anywhere close to here, let alone who could afford one of the private eating rooms of the Orange Buster.  With me living high in the honey jar, I still hadn’t gone there … and Bannock was telling me … “Who,” I asked, “what friend?”

He flashed a slight, mischievous, knowing, yet benign smile and said, “Shall I convey your intent to join?”

Honestly speaking, my curiosity was up … and I had yet to visit the Orange Buster.  If I could charter my way back to anywhere in Aeshea I would probably never be this way again, so-o-o … I said, “Yes.  I will be there.”

Bannock gave me a courteous nod and I returned it.  Then he turned and seemed to whisk his way down the hall.  Watching him walk reminded me of a big cat effortlessly moving without being heard.

An old friend, eh?  My first thought was that Wilfred had come to visit, but it made no sense.  This was the peak of one of the fishing seasons and he would be busy at that.  Could it be Jude, maybe?  We had been sort of friendly, but not really chums.  For a brief moment I thought of the old man in the meadow, Edgar.  Now, he had been a strange one, but I liked him.

Alright, I was wasting time.  My eye caught the last of my new clothing I had yet to wear.  Why not?

When I arrived at the Orange Buster it was beautiful outside.  The sun was perfect, wind just right, and the smells coming from within whetted the appetite.  I wore a black satin shirt, light blue breeches, and a black sash.  Instead of my dagger, I carried a brand new bone handled rapier in my sash.  The dagger was inside my right boot.  And for the first time in many years, instead of my moccasins I was wearing custom made polished black boots which came up to the knee and folded down.  As I said, they were custom made with a little surprise or two, and it had taken the master several days to make them.  I had only received them the day before.

There was no point in having such fine boots made if I wasn’t going to wear them at least once.  Much of the previous evening had been spent with me trying to infuse them with all the energy I had.  I didn’t know what good it would do, but it was worth a shot.  They already felt as if they were broken in.

I wasn’t in the woods, I told myself over and over, and they did feel good.  They were made of Rhino Shark hide and guaranteed to last a lifetime … I had smiled at that one.  They would at least make nice dress up boots for a long while.  Overall, I looked pretty snappy and enjoyed more than one fair lass taking notice.  A couple of those ladies I took notice of myself.

At the front desk stood an elegantly dressed lady who I presumed was in charge.  The twinkle of ear jewelry earned my attention, and by the design of it I thought to take the chance.  I said, “Etro fahl niumvwe.  Pirl tau hoit unso ses, ãnye?”

For a moment I had caught her off guard, and I was pleased to have guessed correctly.  Vedoic was not exactly uncommon in these parts, but not frequent.  Yet only someone from the town of Merceil would appreciate the Merceil dialect of Vedoa.  It was considered the purest form of Vedoic, and a romantic language.  I simply had complimented the lady on her ear-rings, which bore the Seal of Merceil, and asked if she could direct me to room six.  Sometimes the little touches are the most powerful.

With a most pleasant smile she replied, “Moh stãcia.”  She turned and in the local tongue asked a fellow to please escort me to the room.  As he started to lead the way I saw her seek my eye, and she passed me a subtle wink … and being a gentleman, I of course returned the gesture.

The decorum was exquisite, just enough to accent the architecture, and the architecture itself was an art.  From the main floor, the next level was open seating next to a balcony with semi-closed in booths around the wall.  The next floor up had all enclosed rooms of various sizes with names, not numbers.  Up above was a series of rooftop seating arrangements.  My mysterious friend had opted for privacy, I presumed, and so had reserved one of the third level rooms.

Standing in front of room six, I tipped the attendant and opened the door.  The room was medium sized and could have handled a party of eight or ten easily.  A mahogany table set for two was off to one side of the room, a fireplace was casting light without heat, and leather lounge chairs and a sofa were arranged on the other side of the room.  Between the chairs was a thick, woven rug with a glass-topped table at center, a bowl of fruit on the table.

Before walking in I could sense there was only one person in the room, and I could vaguely recall the scent.  The memory reached way back in my mind and as I walked in I saw the back of a stately man surveying a painting on the wall.  He was of medium height and build, dark hair pulled back into the long ponytail often worn by sailors, and his dark suit was well fitted. 

Hesitating as I closed the door, a slow smile crossed my face as the figure turned and I saw Wesney standing before me.  His smooth face and relaxed smile took in my own visage as if he wanted to make sure it was really I.  The quiet of the moment held long and full with only the sound of the crackling fire, and then his smile beamed as nodding and shaking his head he said, “By the Winds of Torsham, it really is you, Major!”

The awkwardness was evident as we walked across the floor and grasping forearms he said, “It is you …” He became exuberant as he dropped all formality and gave me a strong embrace.  Not sure what to say, I embraced him in return.  Wesney was yet another I had thought was dead … but he wasn’t, he was here, how …?

Pulling back he grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me up and down, “By Zaeghun’s Lair, man.  Look at you.”  Inquisitively and with animation he said, “We thought you were dead.  Commanders Lahrcus and Ander had patrols looking all over for you.”  He breathed a nervous breath, “All that was found was a, was a burned skeleton and your side-pouch by the ruin south and east of Brosman Iron Mine.” 

Wesney had always been one to talk in animation and to use his hands.  He paced a moment, agitated, as if exasperated with himself and then said, “When I heard of the Wolf of Timbers fighting in Dahruban, and that he, you, were supposed to fight that monster Karthanook, I tried to get there as fast as I could from Shudoquar.  But then the word was you had escaped a sinking boat and attacked a merchant caravan, murdering five men gruesomely.” 

He looked at me with concern, “Did you know there is, or at least was, a huge reward out for you.”  He paced again and turned to me, “They even sent Ahjokus after you.  I spent months trying every place I could imagine in an attempt to find you.”

Wesney stood in thought with one hand over his mouth and the other behind his back, and then he gave me a glance of irony and said, “Your name is on the lips of every countryman around the Alburin Sea and into the north as the only person to escape Ahjokus.  They say the Wolf of Timbers is the same as Killer Koyle, and, and before that Gojai Dianbo.”  He started to wipe his forehead back over his head and paused at the top, then finished rubbing down the back of his neck … a mannerism I had forgotten, but was somehow pleased to see.

With a fully perplexed expression he asked, “What happened?”

I had been walking a bit around the room, looking at paintings and decorations as he talked, and then turned to face my old friend and associate.  My mouth open to begin, he suddenly jumped and crouched with his hands splayed open toward me and exclaimed, “Oh my kosh!”  Looking anxiously to the table and a silver wine bucket and back at me, he said while springing to the table, “I’m so sorry … I forgot …”

Wesley took a bottle out of the ice, the top already open to get air, and poured two glasses of aged Vambrolini.  With a glass in each hand and a genuine smile of sincerity, he approached me and said, “Please, forgive.  I forgot myself.”

Alternating from sitting, walking about the room, enjoying the finest cuisine I had ever eaten, and back to the sitting area to take cigars and coffee … I told Wesney my tale in its entirety, and he told me his.

Inside the Pyramid, Ander had led the force deeper into the place and found all sorts of adversaries.  Hoscoe had gotten inside with him and Wesney had been right there all the way.  When the structure had trembled, Hoscoe had sounded the call to retreat.  They just made it off of the base when a huge explosion sent sheets of flame out of all sorts of places about the Pyramid. 

The main door, an opening from under that fin-like ridge in the back, and up at the top, shot gouts of fire and debris that made everyone think of a volcano.  Wesney said the water was still flowing, the last he heard, but the Pyramid was listed as a place to leave alone.  The huge diamonds had been removed from the statue that fell over, however, and taken. 

Y’nesia, the Shaman Lady, had pointed my men to two different doorways based on their position.  Dudley and Patriohr had ducked into one, but T-bone had to grab and throw Izner into the other as he was trying to get to me.  Dud and Patriohr came out of a southeastern ruin eight weeks later and ran into Lahrcus at the South Mine. 

T-bone took the brunt of the explosion to the back as he pushed Izner into the doorway.  He and Izner came through a pit inside of where Meidra’s Temple complex had been only days after Aldivert had claimed the throne.  The place was sealed up, but the explosion went through there and reopened a tunnel leading outside the city walls.  T-bone was dead, but Izner was able to get out before guards could come and check the incident.  Izner said it had rocked the ground pretty hard so that the official word was that there had been a land-quake.

It had been Izner who had found Riana, learned what was going on, and got her and her family, Lafia, and Tancine out of the city and away.  That had been an adventure in itself and Wesney assured me it had been well documented.  When Phostein’s body had been found, it was assumed it was mine.  Riana, however, wouldn’t accept it for a long time.

I grew quiet for a while at the mention of Riana’s name.  Swishing the bottom of his glass, downing it, and then filling it once more, Wesney breathed a heavy sigh and said gently, “She stayed loyal to you, you know.  Well, I guess you don’t know, but she did.  She … wore the clothes of mourning for two years … kept looking at the stars and talked about The Archer, looking across the horizon and watching for you to come back.

“You need to know the relationship between her and King Patriohr began very innocently.  At least I would want to know that.”

I said nothing, just looked across my glass and remembered.  But, yes, I did want to know.

Wesney adjusted his seat and said, “She was the one to suggest his taking back the throne.  She said, ‘Timber Wolf would have done it.  Are you going to waste his sacrifice and success?’  And you know, that’s when the movement really started; the movement to reclaim the throne, I mean.  Because before that, we were living in exile trying to determine just what the best course of action would be. 

“The core of us; Lahrcus, Ander, Dudley, Izner, Merle, Riana, and even Tancine stood by him and organized the campaign which had to be fast acting.  Patriohr, he, he came alive when he realized everyone was behind him.  He accepted the role and you would have been proud to be there, Major.  It took us a little over a year, but when we went in it was clean and smooth.  Nobody liked Aldivert as king and he was vengeful against anyone still supporting Chitivias’s legacy.

“Patriohr personally challenged Aldivert as the rightful heir apparent, and soundly beat him at swords in a fight that continued into the very streets.  As Aldivert lay there dying, Patriohr gave the credit of his skill at arms to you, sir.

“Patriohr made Lahrcus his personal advisor, Ander became Commander of the Army, Maedhith was promoted to Commander of the Cavalry, Dudley was placed in charge of weapon developments with Merle as his second, and Tancine married Izner who became Chief of Kiubejhan Security.”

Wesney drank his cup and turning to a decanter of brandy poured a glass.  He started to take it to taste, but thought better of it and lowered the glass and took it in both hands.  It seemed he was uneasy to tell me everything, but he had nerve and was going to give me all of it.  Only a true friend and person of honor would be as honest and upfront.

“Riana went in under arms …” I looked sharply at him, he hesitated and then continued, “… she said she had learned from you, and she had as much right to fight as anyone.  She took out sixteen men, all by her own blade.  I was, I was beside her the whole time and she …” he chuckled in astounded memory, “… she was really inspiring, I have to say.” 

Wesney saw my steady gaze and quickly collected himself and became serious.  “Anyway …” he fidgeted and I could tell it was hard for him.  I finished my own coffee and poured myself some brandy, it was a drink I had yet to try. 

Wesney continued, “… after the coronation, they, King Patriohr and Riana, they started spending time together.  Mostly it was formal dinners and such … She decided to move on in support of the kingdom.  The notion of a proper queen, a legitimate heir … the people were all very favorable of it … and it only seemed right, you know … after all …”

I got up and walked around a bit, remembering.  What were her words on that last night, so long ago it seemed?  “… I want you to keep this, for all time.”  She knew, deep down inside, it might be out last time together.  She had been so brave.  Riana did not deserve my anger, but my admiration, and Patriohr as well.  It had been almost four years since she had last seen me when … when she committed herself to him.  And I had liked Patriohr.

Tasting the brandy and holding it against the taste buds for flavor, I found it to be very good.  Turning to look into Wesney’s worried face, I asked, “Do they … do they have a child?”

Wesney stood and with another deep breath said, “Yes sir, they do.  A boy …” he said fondly, “… with red hair.”  When he saw I was keeping calm he cautiously added, “He should be eight years old, I think. Yes, eight years old in a couple of months.”  There was another hesitation, “And I understand there is a little girl, although I haven’t seen her, who should be close to three years old by now.”

‘The child, children,’ I thought, ‘they could have been mine … maybe.’  I asked, “Then, as far as you know, she is safe, well cared for, and her needs are well met?”

Wesney shuffled his feet a moment, shrugged his shoulders a bit, and then in a knowing manner said, “Yes, yes sir.  I think that would be a good way of putting it.”

I took it all in, rolled it over in my mind, it was all so surreal.  I hadn’t let my friends down at all, and they were doing well.  In many respects, I had succeeded in what I started to do that day we all rode out for the Pyramid.  Most guys would probably be reeling in anger and self pity.  In fact, I had spent more than a decade doing just that.  Wasn’t it time to let it go?  What could I have expected her to do, live in despair and loneliness; to waste her youth waiting for me to return, not knowing if I ever would?

Chewing the side of my jaw I walked around the room.  I could still remember her smell, the dancing and how she felt in my arms, her laughter … yes, her laughter.  More than anything else, I wanted her to be happy.  She was a queen, now, and I could easily see her as such.  And she had held to the fire.  Now she had a son and a daughter, something I didn’t know if I could ever give any woman. 

With Wesney in my peripheral vision, I knew his main concern right now was in how I would take to the information.  But he was giving it to me in honesty.  I could take my anger out on him, and many would have done so … but wasn’t the time for anger past?  Many men had died to my angry fists.  Yes, we had been put there in the pits to kill each other, but there was a lingering in my mind that had I really wanted to … I might just could have gotten away.  It was something I would never know.  I had never tried, not until it was too late … not until after Debohra.  Yes, Debohra. 

I, too, had moved forward.  It wasn’t the same as what Riana and I had had, but …

“Do they know about my fighting?”

“No Major.  I write history, but only when I know things for absolute certainty.  I wasn’t certain about you, for absolutely sure certain, until today.”

Walking closer, I solemnly raised my glass to him and gave a faint smile, “To King Patriohr and Queen Riana?”

He passed a relieved smile back at me and said, “To King Patriohr and Queen Riana.”  We ticked our rims and downed our drinks. 

Looking at my glass with favor, I then said, “Wesney, would you do me a favor?  Please, call me Wolf.  I’m not a major anymore.”

“It would be my pleasure … Wolf.”  With that he poured us another glass and together we reminisced and paid memorial to the heroes of Keoghnariu.

Chapter   61

________________________

 

 

“… SO THERE I am,” Wesney was spinning a tale through the brandy, “thirty feet up on this lattice work that I’m way to heavy to be on, holding on with one hand and trying to pull this kitten out of the vines with the other.  The kitten is scared and is clawing me at the same time, so I have to get it by the scruff.  The piece of wood my right foot is standing on breaks and the little girl down below screams.  That scared the kitten even more …” Wesney pulled his sleeve up and showed me some scars, “… and it decides to dig into my arm with its hind legs.”

As Wesney and I were sitting on that leather couch, he was weaving one hand around dramatizing his story, while the other was holding his glass.  It was amazing, he could hold his liquor better than any human I had ever met.  I watched and listened intently as he continued his story.

His free hand imitated a threshing movement as he continued, “While the kitten is doing this bunny-like kick thing all over my arm, the lattice suddenly breaks loose from the wall.  I fell, fall, across the way onto the roof of the Tandy Down Café next door, slid around to the back side, and into the water catch-tank on top of the roof.  It collapses and a couple of hundred gallons of water and me, I, I come off the roof like a waterfall on top of the outside table where Captain Jha’Ley is eating with a town official.”

Wesney was in a half-drunken laugh as he remembered the incident.  “Anyway …” he chuckled, “… I still have this, this drenched kitten, hanging by its scruff in my hand and a piece of lattice work in the other, broken wood is wrapped around my leg and I’m covered with vines.  I’m sitting on top of the broken table, looking up at these men trying to decide what to say, when the little girl comes running around the corner saying she found her kitten underneath the porch.”

He paused as he relived the moment, “So I just hold this kitten up and I say, I ask the soaked captain, I asked, ‘Good sir, can I interest you in a kitty?’”  Wesney closed his eyes in the absurdness of it all.  “Can you believe … I can’t believe that I asked him that?”

Together we laughed and I shook my head, what stories he had to tell.  His life was so full of good things, and history, Wesney was full of historical knowledge and more.  He knew all kinds of stuff.

I asked, “So, did you get into any kind of trouble?”

He sobered a little, and then said, “No, I didn’t.  Remember that emergency caesarian section I did to save those twins, in the middle of a storm, no less?  It was the official’s daughter, the Lady Car-o-le-e-en.  The next day I got a note from Captain Jha’Ley wanting to meet.  He asked me for dinner aboard the Lohra Lai and asked me if I would like to sail around the world …” Wesney pointed a slightly wavering finger at me and added, “… sail around the world and write about it all … no less … and …” he burped with a whimsical expression on his face, “… and keep his crew healthy.”

Waving his hand in front of his face Wesney burped again, “Whew!  Excuse me-e-e …”

Wesney sat his glass on his leg and leaned back for a moment, and then he looked at me with a hint of humor in his expression and said, “And now here I am, for the last few months I have acted as ship’s physician.”  Downing the last of his drink, he visibly contemplated pouring another, started to reach for the brandy, and then decided against it.  And then he asked, “What’s next for you?  Where do you go from here?”

That was a good question.  For a few moments I looked into my own glass and mused.  With gradual contemplation I said, “I’ve been thinking pretty much of returning to my birth land …” I looked at Wesney, “There’s an old score I wish to settle, something I need to make right.”

“In the Ahnagohrs, you mean?  You’ve been gone eighteen, nineteen, maybe twenty years?  Would they still be there?  It’s some pretty rough country.  Are there any elves up there?”

“Not the Ahnagohrs …”

Wesney became sharp and took notice, “Then where?”

“Gevard.”

“Gev-, you were born in Gevard?”  He squinted his eyes and tried hard to focus on the idea through the alcohol.  It was as if he had trouble accepting I could come from the place.  “Gevard is becoming the center of attention west of the Sahrjiuns.  Their king keeps speaking of being the master race and all sorts of nonsense.   There’s talk that some of the common people are trying to stand up against him, the government.  I wasn’t aware there were any elves out there.”

“There weren’t many, and my momma is the only one I ever saw.”  I downed the remains of my drink, and then added, “My momma was a slave, a slave to House Fel’Caden.”

The shock on his face showed he had completely sobered, at least for the moment.  “Lord Herrol’s House of Fel’Caden?  You’re kidding me?”

I shook my head and for the second time in my life I told someone the story of my birth, the first being Hoscoe.  I told of growing up within the walls of the main keep, keeping the gardens and apple trees with my momma, her music and they way she taught me.  I talked some of Herrol, my momma’s death, working the fields, Stagus, all the way to Kiubejhan.  I didn’t cover every detail, but enough of the highlights so he might understand.

As Wesney listened he chose that next drink, and I took another as well.  We were quiet for a while as we nursed our brandy, but I could see he was caught up in solemn thought. Finally, he asked with concern on his face, “So, in your going back … is it to help those people who are being victimized by a tyrant, or to collect revenge?”

My eyes must have become hard, because his eyes became wide, but I said, “I want satisfaction for my momma.  I want the whole plantation to go down, and Herrol with it.  I want Herrol dead.  I could care less about the rest of them.  Everyone stood by, no compassion, no concern.”  I shrugged my shoulders and said, “To Cherron’s Road with them.”

Wesney became somewhat agitated with my words, and after composing his own thoughts he turned in his seat and said, “But, after more killing, what then?  The last I heard, you were considered an outlaw around Dahruban … with a huge reward on your head.  They say you overcame a freight team, castrated and murdered four men, and then nailed a man to a tree and literally skinned him alive, and then covered him with honey and left him there.  If you show up in Gevard rampaging, killing, and laying waste, it’s only going to heighten that image and you’ll be branded an outlaw across the whole continent. 

“Sure, I know you want revenge.  And I can’t tell you how that would feel because I can’t relate to that …” he rubbed his head, “… to your background, I mean.  I had a good mom and pop, I went to the best schools and honestly don’t know anything about going hungry for days at a time.  But I know you were personally trained by the greatest general of our time, maybe in the history of the whole world, and I know the kinds of things you can do.  I talked to all of the men on our side who served in that campaign.  I talked to all of the men who served in your command.

“General Val’Ihrus talked with me about his view of a possible worldwide escalation, and how he believed you would have a part to play in it.”  Wesney ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, trying to touch on some words he thought would reach me.

He said, “I’ve been given liberty to bring aboard my own assistant, a Physician’s Mate … and …” Wesney smiled a kind of nervous smile, “… and Captain Jha’Ley, when I talked with him about you, he’s interested in you as well, if you are indeed the Wulf who was aboard the Faulta Whimn a few months ago.  And I know you are; I talked with Carpenter’s Mate Jude myself.  I knew in my heart it was you before you came up here.  The Wulf that Jude talked about sounded exactly like the Wolf I knew.

“My point … my point is you probably have the right to go and kill all those bastards.  But if you do you’re probably going to be branded an outlaw for life.”  Wesney creased his brow, “I already said that, didn’t I?”  He thought about it and said, “What I mean is you’ll, um, you’ll be branded an outlaw for a really long time, anyway; for three or four human generations, at least. 

“But if you go with us … Captain Jha’Ley wants to sail around the wor-r-rld …” he exaggerated holding his hands really wide apart, “… that’s making history … and you’ve been all about making history.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well … the Pyramid for one … then there’s that record in the Dahruban Coliseum; your string of wins as Gojai Dianbo is more than that of the second, third and fourth place records combined … and, and you and the other fellow on the road crew, uh, uhm …”

“Jared.”  I said.

“… yes, Jared, the two of you were the first to break through that gap.  This voyage is going to be huge.  It could open new routes, expand exploration …”

“Wesney …” I said, emphatically, “… there’s no wa-a-ay to sail around the world.  It can’t be done.”

He became excited and argued, “But that’s what they said about the Pyramid … it couldn’t be penetrated.  But guess what?  You did it; we did it.  Wolf, the captain has maps, maps passed down from Captain Greybeard, maps from his ship the Kelshinua, they’re the most …”

“What … what did you say?  The name of the ship?”

“The Kelshinua, Captain Greybeard’s ship was the Kelshinua; one of the finest ships of her time.  An experimental ship, really.  When she went down, these maps were among the few things saved.  Captain Greybeard passed them to Captain Jha’Ley’s grandfather, who passed them to Jha’Ley’s uncle, who in turn passed them to him.  They are indeed beautiful maps.  I’ve never seen anything with as much detail and references to places no ship has ever been, at least, no ship we know of.

“We think they might have even been drawn by elvin hand.  Maybe the first, the ones who history says first came …”

All I was hearing was the name, Kelshinua.  How had a ship come to be named for her?  It was an explicitly elvin name, and yet a ship had born the name as well.

Wesney was still trying to induce me into joining this Circumnavigation Voyage, and he picked up on my interest in the name without knowing why, “Captain Jha’Ley can tell you everything about her, as much as anyone knows and more.”  He drummed his fingers on the sofa a moment or two, he was politely tenacious.  But he was like that as a surgeon, as well.  When he was cutting that sword out of me, he hadn’t wanted to do it, but once he started there was no turning back and he went into this zone of mentality you would have to see to understand.  He could have been hit with a dozen knives and I don’t think he would have felt it.  He had been the same way when we entered the Pyramid.

As scattered and overly animated as he seemed to be at times, he was a craiken good physician … maybe the best.  And he knew the law, inside and out, of at least a half dozen countries.  Listening to him and Hoscoe debate legal issues had been a source of entertainment for the troops, and they could really go at it.  Wesney could come up with all kinds of case histories and issues of precedence and he knew how to press his points.

He was pressing his points now.  Wesney went into an oratory piece of artwork which would have impressed any judicial gathering … the problem was, I didn’t hear any of it.  I could only think of the name.  It was like I had once more been brought back to see her face, hear her voice … I wanted to reach out and touch her.  Was a ship bearing her name a coincidence?  It couldn’t be, could it?  Suddenly I needed to know.  Hoscoe had indicated once that there was more to my momma than I knew, that she may have even been a warrior.

Had my momma ever been to sea?  Was a ship named for her?  But when?  How much did I even know about my momma, other than her Tell Singing abilities?  She had been over three hundred years old when she had been captured.  My mind began to spin with possibilities of her earlier years.

“Wolf.  Wolf?  Have you been listening to what I have been saying?”  He was leaning forward and looked to have been doing so for some time.  Wesney took an exaggerated breath and apparently repeated in slow, punctuated earnest, “If you go with us on this voyage, and if your mind is still bent upon the issue, then I will go with you to Gevard upon our return and help you do whatever it is you decide to do.”  He then leveled his gaze at me with full intent of waiting for me to make a decision.

“Can I meet Captain Jha’Ley first?”

His mouth opened as if to say something, and then I think my friend almost became aggravated, almost, but not quite.  He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head, and then managed the quirk of a smile.  I got the distinct feeling he had already suggested exactly that, maybe, probably, most likely more than once.  “Yes, Wolf …” he said in a near deadpan tone, “You can meet the Captain, first.”

Leaning forward to sit on the edge of my seat I asked, “When?”

Wesney gave the slightest chuckle and brushed his chin and said, “How about in the morning, anytime?”

There was still three quarters of a glass of brandy in my hand.  I tossed it off in one throw and winced at the alcohol, immediately *Self Healing* myself of the effects of the rush into my system.  Wesney must have a steel constitution.  If he was really drunk, more than just a bit tipsy, he didn’t show it.  But there are a few humans like that.  I said, “Then let’s do it.”

Up to that time I had never seen him happier.  On the edge of his seat, Wesney leaned back and killed his drink as well.  Then his eyes crossed and he shook his head.  I couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Are you okay?” I asked.

Smacking his lips together and licking his inner cheeks, breathed out and said, “Ye-a-a-h, never better.”

___________________________

 

Back in my room I couldn’t get the name of that ship out of my mind.  I didn’t even undress for bed; I just took the sword out of my sash and laid down.  My dreams hadn’t been pleasant of late, and I expected to have nightmares at the least.  But as I fell asleep it was to the memory of my momma’s songs.  My little hands once more reached up to hold hers as we walked among the flowers and apple trees, she would brush the hair out of my eyes and the birds would come perch on her fingers.

For the first time in months I slept soundly, and when I woke up, at first I didn’t know where I was.  After washing my face and brushing out my clothing, I took my camping pot and put some water into it.  Focusing intently, I finally made the water come to just this side of boiling and put a handful of coffee into it.  I just didn’t want to go through calling the bell-hop, waiting for him to come upstairs, then waiting for him to go down, heat the water … you understand what I mean.

Contemplating the day, I knew this would be an adventure, of sorts, all by itself.  Today I would set foot on the Lohra Lai, a ship of ships, converse with the famous Captain Jha’Ley, and just maybe learn something I didn’t know about my momma. 

Looking at my two swords, I tried to decide which to wear.  The dress blade was nice, but I was going down to the docks.  Of course, I had gone to the Whiskin Boot with neither, but I think deep down I was really wanting trouble.  That was not the case this morning, and if something did go down bad … I took the war blade, better have it and not need it then the other way around.  Besides, I just liked the feel of it and how the grip fit so well within my hand.

As I turned a corner to walk out upon the dock, I almost stopped still.  Before me was the most stunningly beautiful vessel I have ever seen.  Simply looking at her made me suddenly wonder if a voyage around the world might not be possible, after all.  She just instilled the sensation of awe and wonderment within my soul.

The Lohra Lai would be considered an Elvin Man of War.  She was long, longer than anything I had yet seen, and I figured her to be at least two hundred feet from bow to stern.  Her main deck finished into a full castle at stern with yet another cabin a’top.  At her bow was a castle, as well, but different from anything I had seen or heard of. 

I counted four ballistae along the gunwales, and a full missile deck below the main.  There I counted twelve ballistae flaps to the deck, with two flaps a’stern, one on each side of the rudder, which I figured had to be ballistae aimed against possible pursuit.