One night he asked me, “Sed?  Do you ever wonder about the little things you can do?  I mean, I know you don’t like talking about it.  But I think there is something special about you.”

“I have elf-blood.  I know little tricks.  But they never do any good when it counts.  I wish I didn’t have them.”

He was quiet for a long while.  “Sed … my pap knew elves, and most are no different than anyone else.  They just have pointed ears and live a long time.  Besides, it counted when my leg was busted.”

“Your pap knew tame elves,” I said, “elves who forsook their natural ways to blend into human society.  And I don’t want to talk about it.”  It’s one of the few times I ever got angry with him, but it wasn’t his fault, he was only trying to be helpful.  With an afterthought I added, “Your leg was an accident and I still don’t know how I did it.”

Jared usually was jovial.  He believed one day he would regain his freedom and he lived with hope.  I had no hope.  But I wondered if being chained to me would hold him back one day.  To help him get his freedom would I try to escape with him?  I didn’t say a word and like always kept my emotions pent up inside. 

Getting up, I made for the shack to turn in.

“You can’t hide from what you are, bro.  You can run, but you can’t hide.”

Jared got up, brushed his pants off with a touch of anger and said, “Forget it.  Just run from who you are, who you could be.”  He poked his fingers at his own chest and said, “Me?  I want to do something, anything, not just waste away here.” 

His face was intense as he cut into me sharp and pointedly, “So WHAT, you had some bad times as a child?  You won’t talk about it, but I know there were dark years.  I KNOW you lost your momma, and I never heard you mention your papa, but that is past.”

He shoved me with his fingers as he said, “But what about YOU?  YOU’RE alive!  Do you LIKE being a slave?”  Jared just stood and looked at me with a challenge.  What could I say?  I had no idea.  In all our years together as partners I had never seen him like that, nor had never talked to me in such a way.  Again, I had no idea what to say.  For a second, there, I thought he was going to whap me one.

The next morning before breakfast he came to me and said, “Bro, about last night …” there was a hesitation as he looked around for the right words, then said, “… I was out a’line.  I shouldn’t have thrown a shovel down your groove.  It’s just, it’s just …”  Jared looked out of place and it was so awkward.  He looked down, then back at me and added, “I’m sorry.”

I grabbed his forearm and in as awkward a voice said, “I’m sorry too, I understand.”  Only, truth to tell, I didn’t, not really.

The subject never came up again.

___________________________

 

When most of the others would relax, I began to spend time with Sym.  Jared really got into wrestling, and he had learned it from his father, who had been a master grappler, but I wanted to learn Sym’s meditation ways and all I could of his touching and healing art; they reminded me of my momma’s own healing ability.

“I will teach you, young Sed.  But you must learn to be patient and to breathe.  This will be your greatest challenge.  You have the gift of healing within your being.  But fire courses your veins.  It must be tempered with water.  You must learn the essence of the nine elements … and you must give yourself time to learn.”

Time was all I had.  So I made a commitment to learn.  I thought a lot about the fire and water thing.  It didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time, but I wanted to understand.  What I really wanted to know was how this Family Secret thing worked.

Sym taught me seated meditation, stretching, breathing, all that kind of stuff.  After a couple of years he started teaching me this thing called Tai’Jhi.  We were able to practice it even in front of the guards because it was slow and looked more like a dance.

“They do not understand,” he would say, “they do not understand that this is an ancient form of combat.  The applications are hidden within the movements.  Remember … the Form is not the Art.  The Art is within the Form.”

Well, the combat was hidden from me as well.  But it gave me something to do besides waste time on games during down time.

One day Sym told me “You fight within yourself, young Sed.  You carry anger that you should not bear.  When you release the anger you will find your way.  Then you shall find peace.”

That pissed me off.  I didn’t retort back, but my momma had been murdered and everything she believed in dashed into the cistern.  Sym was telling me I shouldn’t be angry?  I had a right to be angry.  I wanted to do something about it.

I didn’t want peace, I wanted a piece of … a piece of some human hide.  I wanted …

“The day will come, young Sed.  The day will come when you shall understand.  Then you must make a choice.  This choice will determine what path you shall always follow.  I have taught you all that you are ready to learn.  You have the blood of elves, but you think like a human.”

Now that messed with my mind.  He was human too.  Okay, a different kind of human.  But he talked like something else.  I never got to discuss it with him anymore because the next morning he was taken away.  Stagus had a need for him in another camp, as he occasionally did.

Two weeks later we learned that camp number four had been attacked by goblinoids hunting food.  Their favored food was human meat, then horse.  Sym was there and had been one of four slaves and two guards captured.

By the time reinforcements arrived and a search made they were long gone.

___________________________

 

In the decade we worked the point, our camp endured sixty-seven attacks from either brigands or goblinoid denizens of the surrounding regions.  Being at the front we were considered at greatest risk.  As a rule our guards fared well.  But sometimes there were heavy casualties.  And of course with casualties there must be replacements.

When Jared and I had been working for just over eight years we received an unexpected addition.  Hamges was brought in with thirteen other slaves as replacements. 

The bully who had thought to take an easy way out was now just another gelding to be put on line.  No one felt sorry for him.  He hadn’t been raped and forced, as was Stagus’s preferred method.  Hamges had volunteered for his duty.  Now that he had passed from his master’s fetish age he had been cast aside.

Stagus had made an appearance and took the time to look me over.  Clearly he was looking to see if I were ready for his pleasure. 

All the rage and hostility came back up inside my being as I saw his eyes glance at my body. 

There was a cruel amusement about Stagus “Damn, boy.  You know what it is all about don’t ‘cha?”

He looked directly into my eyes and I know he saw the fire.  But he wasn’t afraid.  He was pleased.  With a satisfied nod he said “You will be sweet meat to my plate, Sedrick, but not yet.  Never pick an apple until it is ripe enough to eat.  Sour apples give you a stomach ache.

“Another four or five years, I think.”  He said rubbing his jaw in thought.  “Then … then … why, you might even like it.  Your mammy did.”

I bolted at him in retaliation, and played right into his game.  His hands moved faster than they had any right to move and his left fist hit me in the face like a sledgehammer.  Stopped dead in my tracks and stunned he followed up with a left jab to the face, again, and then a right cross to the jaw.  It was totally unexpected and dropped me to the ground.

He stepped back warily and circled me.  Stunned, I got up to meet him.

I had no real training, no defined skills.  There was only the fire within.  Blood was in my mouth and my breathing came hard.  My nose was broken and pouring blood, it was already hard to see out of my eyes.  He knew just how to fight and was good.

My anger was controlling my actions as I only wanted to destroy this piece of filth.  Knowing nothing of how to feint or counter and with a raging roar I charged him again.  I could see the welcome grin on his face as this was what he wanted.  Desperately I wanted to crush the insolence from his life.

As I closed to tackle him his right knee came up hard into my chest and then he clubbed me solidly in the kidney.  Grabbing my hair he pulled back and down, yanking me hard onto my back and I felt the wind leave me with a violent rush.  He followed up with a stomp into my solar plexus and as my knees came up in reflex he rolled me over and kicked me in the kidneys twice. 

I was beaten but didn’t know it.  Only my rage existed and I staggered to my feet.

From the guards I heard all manner of exclamations.  In my blurred vision I noticed that Stagus had turned to walk off.  I tried to get to him but my feet wouldn’t respond.  He turned and I saw a look of amazement on his face.  With an astonished shake of his head he looked around at the guards and said, “What is this?  Doesn’t he know he’s beat?”

Then Stagus walked toward me and I swung at him.  He easily side stepped and I swung again.  He then began to slap me over and over.  I could feel him using all his strength to try to slap me down.  But with each blow I refused to lose my footing.

He was yelling at me then, with each slap he yelled for me to accept him as master and go down.  The whole world was quiet when finally the sledgehammer fists came again.  He clubbed me hard in the head three of four times and the world went black.

When I awakened I was still on the ground.  Stagus had left orders for me to stay there as a testament to everyone else.  No one was to touch me.  I remember fumbling to find my way to the water barrel.  I kept trying to stand but my legs wouldn’t cooperate, so I stumbled, fell and crawled. 

Splashing my head with the cool water was relieving.  Then I slid down the barrel and rested with my back up against it.  Both of my eyes were swollen almost shut and my body was one constant source of dull pain.

Nothing but my nose seemed to be broken, which was yet another sign of Stagus’s skill.  Apparently he was expert in battery, which lent an indication of how he liked to work his play boys.

As I sat beside the barrel I tried to focus on breathing like Sym had taught me.  Slowly I found my center.  Then I reached down, down deep into So’Yeth like a young tree extending its roots.  As I relaxed I imagined inhaling from So’Yeth into my body. It took a few minutes, but I felt something gentle and warm wash up into me.  The warmth flowed into my abdomen, and then it reached throughout my body and reminded me of my momma’s gentle fingers. 

I had to breathe through my mouth because of my busted nose, but my breathing became easier and the pressure inside my head began to ease.  Unlike before, when I had done the thing with Jared’s leg, this time I didn’t stop.  I kept trying to reach deeper and find more of this warmth. Suddenly I felt a strong pressure behind my nose, and then it crackled and popped back into place.  Whoa!  I sneezed four times and blood mingled with sinus mess emptied from my head.  Gross, but strangely my headache was gone and I could breathe perfectly.

Now that was interesting!

As I became more intense the flow of heat seemed to stop.  Great, it was just enough to curb the edges; okay, maybe more than just the edges, but how to make it heal everything?  As I opened my eyes I noticed that my lids weren’t swollen shut.  And my lips, they weren’t busted open any more.  Nor were my teeth jiggling.  This was something I would have to learn to control and develop.  And I couldn’t tell anyone about it, ever.  Well … maybe Jared.

It was dark when I finally made it into the shack.  I knew everyone was watching me and you could tell most didn’t expect me to get up like I did.  A couple of the guards looked at me like I was crazy, others were simply in awe.

In the shack, Jared was clearly worried.  As soon as I stumbled in, he and another fellow called Bug helped me to a woven, cloth-backed chair.

“Cherron’s Beard, Sed … I thought he killed you,” Jared exclaimed.

“Next time, stay down,” another fellow offered.  That was Geoff, an obnoxious human who had been around a couple of years.

A new voice, someone I didn’t know and had just been brought in said, “You fight like shit.”

To that I heard Jared’s ire get raised, “Back off, Dharl.  Back off and shut up.”  Jared didn’t anger very easily and never panicked.  But this fellow seemed to already be under his skin.  Not a good idea, whatever Jared grabbed a’hold of usually moved.  And in this camp the slaves needed to trust each other, or else they didn’t last.  What’s more, with Sym’s departure, Jared had become the Lead Bull of the camp, and he did it without any bloodshed. 

A man named Coak had declared himself the new Bull, to which Jared immediately said, “I don’t think so.”  To which Coak threw a sucker punch, to which Jared caught the fist in his hand and squeezed.  Coak dropped to the ground with a scream of pain.

In a congenially polite way, Jared asked him, “Do you concede?”

Guards instantly were there, after all, if Coak’s wrist was broken it would cause for a liability. 

“Yes-yes-yes!”  Coak wailed.  Jared let him go and stepped back and looking around asking with hands outstretched, “Any others?”

The whole situation caught everyone by surprise, me in particular, and it was breakfast time.

Another chaingo took a run on Jared’s back, and Jared just turned and dipping low, caught the want-to-be-bull by the torso and crotch, then lifted him up and over and into a water trough which shattered on impact.  A third contender grabbed at Jared who quickly reversed positions and wrapped the man in a full-nelson, and then stepped his foot around the locked-up man and in front of his feet.  Jared bore down hard as the man yelled mercy, all the while watching around the circle of slaves and guards.  Finally Jared just let go and the man crumpled.

No one had been injured, let alone killed.  Jared looked around with his hands out again and asked, “Can we go eat now?”

As simple as that, Jared became Lead Bull.  I just shook my head, and then he realized what he had done.  It wasn’t that he wanted the position; he just wasn’t going to let a rapist and murderer become number one, as in the case with Coak.  Personally, I thought it suited him well. 

In a deferred tone, Dharl responded to Jared, “I was just sayin’ that if he’s goin’ to fight he needs to learn how, damn.”

Jared cleaned off the blood and good ol’ Ghyd brought a cup over and handed it to me, “Heh you doh.  Drink dis.  It be dood foh you.”

I took the cup and it was a tonic filled with herbs and such that he collected.  Ghyd knew a lot about herbs and I sometimes would talk with him about farming and plants.  It seemed he had an herbal solution for everything.  The mix was bitter, but I drank it because I knew it could only help.

They got me in bed and I just slept.

The next morning Jared was paired with Dharl and I was put to peeling potatoes.  I wondered if I had been relegated to menial chores when the cook said, “You need to keep them hands up.  And don’t fight with your rage.  You’re letting it control you.”

I just looked at him with my glare.

“Hey …” he put his hands up into the air, “just makin’ a comment.”  He nodded at the basket of spuds.  “But if you ain’t a’goin’ to stay down, you need to learn yourself what to do.”  There was something of a grin on his face as he started slicing onions with fast, gliding movements of his knife.

Ames had been cook for as long as I had been there.  No one seemed to know if he was a slave or hired help.  But he cooked some good table fixings.  He was always clean, medium build, and around fifty or fifty-five.  When we were attacked one time, I saw him throw a meat cleaver forty-five feet into a brigand’s forehead then turn and throw a butcher knife into another one’s chest.

I had the reputation as being standoffish with little to say to anyone.  There were only a few I would talk with and for the most part minded my own business.  More than occasionally I heard the reference to ‘that slink’ or ‘the slink.’  Jared, of course, Ghyd, Bug, and a couple of others I would speak with.  But I really needed to keep my hatred of humans intact.  It was all I had to live for.

You would probably call me a racist.  I hated humans, but if any elves had been around I would have hated them too. 

Ames, however, had always been friendly to everyone, guard and slave alike.  His was the first important voice we heard in the morning and he made it a good one.  As friendly as he was, though, he never talked personally-like about himself.  That was fair, a lot of us didn’t, especially me.

The words that started to come out of my mouth I held back.  Looking at Ames I could tell he wasn’t being obnoxious.  So I held my anger in check and tried to politely ask, “What’s it to you?  Why do you care?  I mean, really?”

By his face it was clear the questions amused him, “Because, Sed, regardless of who is what … I like to see it fair and even.  And because I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Stagus before.”

“Oh?”  I watched the way he flipped his blade to make short work of the vegetables.

He saw my glance and slowed his movements down real slow.  Then without saying a word to indicate it, he showed me how to do what he was doing.  I studied his motions carefully.  He was an artist with his blade and every motion was done with his wrist.  I was amazed at how much wrist work was actually involved.  Up until then I thought cutting vegetables was a matter of hacking and slicing.  Momma and I weren’t allowed to have a real knife, we used pieces of wood she hardened with fire.

“If you beat a man’s mind, you beat the man.  It’s the first rule of combat.  The second is that you don’t let your emotions control you, you control your emotions.

“I heard what he said about your momma.  I don’t know your story and it ain’t none of my business.  But he knew what to say and he said it for a reason.  You fell for it and he tore your house down.”

I kept peeling those potatoes, but I was trying to imitate his motions.  As he spoke I kept stone faced, but attentive.

“He whipped you, but you don’t have to like it.  And it don’t mean he has to do it again, although he might.  He might whip you a couple of times.  Just you take time to learn from your mistakes.  He won’t show it, but you done got into his head.”

“But …” I started to ask him a question.

“You can’t learn to fight talkin’ to me in one day.”  He casually looked from side to side, “But if you carefully go over what he did to you and how he did it …” Ames let the words linger in the air.

“You’re strong, Sed, real strong.  I hear the boys talk.  You ain’t an ox, but pound for pound you’re as strong as they get.  I’ve seen grown men not able to swing a pick like you can.  You’re how old, fifteen or sixteen?”  I said nothing, not wanting to get into the different aging rates of humans and elves.  He continued, “And you’re the first I ever seen get up after Stagus nails you with that left hook of his.”

He smiled as he drew and quartered a green squash and then started to rapid slice it into small pieces.  “They were betting on you, you know; about how long you would last.”

I just looked at him unbelieving.

“Got twenty to one odds.  Made me some change.”  He suddenly flipped an onion at me and I snatched it without thinking.

“Don’t worry about your strength.  Strength don’t matter if you can’t hit ‘em.  Use your speed and hand to eye coordination.  Get the strike in there with control and precision, then learn to use your strength to follow through.  It’s all about timing, Sed.”

“You know fighting?” I asked.

“I’ve been in a fight or two.”

The whole day we worked and I asked him questions.  Mostly he just talked to me.  I learned something about cooking too, and a little about spices.

As the day came to a close and I was relieved to return to my quarters, a guard spoke to me.  “If you’re going do any bare knuckle fighting, that’s the one to learn from.”  He nodded to the cook’s tent, “He was a coliseum fighter in Dahruban.”

I just looked at the guard.  He was an older human, who looked perhaps sixty or seventy years of age, named Hoscoe, who we saw from time to time.  I asked, “Was he any good?”

The guard looked back at me, and a slow grin came over his face, “If you fight in the coliseum, you either win or die.”

I looked back at Ames’s tent with a new respect.

That night, and every moment from then on, I began to study what Ames had told me.  I thought about how Stagus had known just what to say to rile me.  In that way he had controlled me from the beginning.  I realized that I was very much an impulsive individual.  Everything in my life was based on my hatred of humans and my circumstances.

The site boss had been told to keep me in the kitchen until I was healed up.  Figuring what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, I made out to still be pretty banged up.  If it weren’t for Jared having to work with that punk-mouthed Dharl, I’d have milked it longer than just two weeks.

Every day Ames taught me a new principle and discussed scientific fighting.  He taught me the right way to punch and how not to wind up with your shoulders.  “Most folks like to roll that elbow up and use that shoulder.  It ain’t the right way to do it.  Looky here,” he said.  And he put both fists under his chin, like he was going to do a chin up, and then he rolled the fist outward as if he was hammering a nail sideways. 

He said, “You gotta train those triceps muscles.  That’s what you use to hit with, your shoulder muscles follow up for power.  It’s kind’a like in battle, the arrows and crossbow bolts are first, and then the ground troop muscle.  Ya gotta learn to snap that punch in …” and he whipped a flurry of punches and jabs.  His hand speed was amazing, and you could hear his sleeves pop in the air.

I tried to put what he had said with what I had learned from Sym.  Don’t let your emotions control you, control your emotions.  The Form is not the Art, the Art is in the Form.  It went together.  Fighting was in itself an art, but how to practice or learn?  So I lost myself in my thoughts.  When meditating I would replay every movement, every angle I had seen.  It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.

When I went to relieve myself I practiced jab and cross punch moves.  Every chance I got I would punch my pillow or other substance which would give, if only a little.  One night I would do hand stand push-ups against the wall or push off the floor, and the next I would pull myself upward with my feet resting on a chair.  I became obsessed with such things and most of the others thought I had finally broken my shovel handle. 

Hoscoe became the chief guard at the point and I learned he held a grudging respect for me.  Every now and then he would try to make a little conversation and it turned out he spoke Elvish fluently.  He showed me no favoritism, mind you, but he began to give me little encouragements as well as pointers when no one was around.  It turned out he was a master swordsman.

Strength was not power, Ames had said.  Power was strength multiplied by speed.  Speed was the core element, speed and footwork.  Ames said if your feet weren’t right then nothing else mattered.

“Size has only a little to do with it in real combat.  Ever see a hornet chase a grown man?” he said with a chuckle.  I remembered seeing that very thing many times on the estate.

When we would take meals he would sometimes exaggerate some motion of his spoon or fork to me as he put food on my plate.  I figured what he was doing and caught on quick.  The way he would spoon potatoes into my plate taught me how to slap and parry a punch or block a low strike.  The way he thrust a fork into my serving of beef or venison taught me the right way to under-hook a punch or thrust a sword.  It took a few times, but I got the idea how he retracted the meat knife was the way to retrieve a blade from a torso so it wouldn’t get hung up.  He was a genius and I learned.

My backdoor training went on for almost two years.  Then while we were out at point a band of orgs attacked the camp.  Seven guards and five slaves had been killed.  Twenty-six org corpses were left and evidence of several more wounded and carried off.  Ames had accounted for seventeen orgs himself before he was transfixed by four spears.  One of the surviving guards told how Ames had jumped over the serving tables with a butcher knife and cleaver. “He got right into the middle of it, and quick,” the guard said.

___________________________

 

After my first day with Ames in the cooking tent, I learned that Jared was not happy.  Dharl was a complainer and a troublemaker.  That wasn’t unusual for newbies, but Jared and I had worked together from the beginning.  We had our own way of doing things and Dharl tended to slack. 

When we were back at the point Jared told me, “You know?  I got really worried there.  But everyone in the camp was rooting for you.  You should have seen the look in the Stag’s eyes when you got back up.  Sed, if you ever look at me that way I’ll just lay down and die.”

I looked at him and he was just shaking his head and grinning.

“I know why you got up.  And I don’t hold it against you one bit.  But damn, Sed, you’ve got more nerve than anyone I’ve ever seen.  It scared the piss out of me when you got up that last time.”

“Nerve?” I asked.  I gave a dry chuckle.  “More like stupid,” I said, “I should have stayed down.  He beat the crap out of me.”

I was re-teamed with Jared after two weeks, but that didn’t make it good for Geoff who was due for a new partner.  Jared just looked at me and said, “They deserve each other.”

That team lasted for only one week.  They were on top one day and Dharl started a scuffle.  The best we could figure was that he wouldn’t keep rhythm with Geoff in swinging the picks.

A shoving match began and the guards began yelling.  One of them lost their balance and Dharl fell off the ledge.  The chain connecting their ankles pulled Geoff down but he fought to hold on.  Jared and I were closest and tried to make a grab for Geoff’s hand, but he lost grip and the two of them fell thirty feet.  Geoff landed with his head under his back and Dharl was impaled on a pick. 

I’ll not forget the brief look in Geoff’s eyes just before he fell.  It made me shutter.  He was afraid of heights, and so was I.

Chapter   13

________________________

 

 

THERE WAS NO time to mourn for Geoff; we had been falling behind schedule and he wasn’t popular to begin with.  He was always complaining.  But what a waste, I thought.  I had looked into his eyes.  The eyes of someone completely defeated in life.  Shouldn’t a person leave something behind?  Then I thought about myself.  What would I leave behind, my hatred of humans?  There should be something more, but what?

Jared and I had been working the point just over nine years, when they brought a tall fellow with black hair worn in a single braid down to his waist.  As he was processed in, we noticed he had points on his ears; elvin blood, but not pure.  He was almost six feet tall, rare for an elf and taller than most humans, and had the dark hair common among the Abaishulek Elves.  His name was Uven and he sure enough heralded from Dahruban.

“Someone for you to talk to, Sed,” Hoscoe told me with a wry smile.  “Careful though, he was caught trying to steal from the Temple of Eayah over in Xenias.  Bad choice,” he said while slowly shaking his head.

The word was that anyone going up against anything protected by the western regions High Priest of Eayah, a human called Logan, was begging for trouble.  Supposedly he could command undead.

“They say he is pretty handy with a blade, though,” Hoscoe continued, “and he has a pretty high opinion of himself.”

I looked at Hoscoe, “He doesn’t look much older than me.”

“Yes, he is young,” Hoscoe replied, “but he has been around.  They say he is something of an accomplished rogue and he is known in Stafford.”

“Stafford?”  I had heard there had once been a big bridge spanning the Phabeon River, just south of its origin from the Alburin Sea.  The bridge was wide and was the single best way to cross, unless you wanted to travel south for 60-70 miles. 

People began setting up shops on each end, then along the sides, finally an actual city had grown up around and over the bridge.  It was considered a depraved and wicked place.

“You have never seen it, have you?” Hoscoe asked.

“Nuh-uh,” I responded, “Gevard, around the Jutte Horn and here.”

He looked at me for a minute and said, “Did you hear the Chancellor was assassinated?”

“Really?” It was the first I had heard anything about my birthplace.  I wasn’t sure I cared, but I had to admit I was curious.  “What happened?” I asked.

Hoscoe thought a minute and replied, “Seems there is trouble among the dukes.  One of them wants to declare himself king.  A fellow named Chazon.  I hear several of the dukes are in support of him, too.  It is a mess.”

Someone called for Hoscoe and I had to join my fellows on the wagon to head for the point and a day's work.  So, there was turmoil in Gevard’s government.  I couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Herrol’s involvement would be, if any.  Well, the goings on in Gevard no longer affected me … or did it?

___________________________

 

Uven’s manner was insolent and even in chains he acted like he was totally in control of everything, like it was all some kind of a joke.  But he never seemed to cause any trouble and did as he was supposed to.  Sometimes he would look in my direction in an almost amused way, but we never communicated other than a nod of acknowledgement at evening chow.  We were never in the same work areas, and it wasn’t long before he was moved to a different camp.

After three weeks, Uven was moved into the same shack as the one occupied by Hamges.  It seemed Hamges had made Uven an offer the night he moved in.  The next morning Hamges was found dead in his bunk.  No blood, so signs of struggle.  No one saw anything.  It was as if he had just stopped breathing.  The word went around that Hamges’s face was contorted as if he had died of fright. 

Two days later someone at Uven’s work site suddenly screamed in fear of something nobody else saw.  The chaingo jumped from a twenty-six feet height in a panic, taking his chain buddy with him.  Both died from the fall.  Not much was said, but Uven was moved to a different camp where he was shackled to a debris cart.

The next year we finished breaking through the final ridge to allow us access to the Sahnuck River country.  For months we looked at it as we worked our way through the ridge.

I’ll never forget the expression on Jared’s face when we first looked down into the river itself.

Where breaking through the ridge would make way to a flat which would make for a road, the river itself came from up the mountain and then cut around a bend to flow parallel to the upcoming road.  From where we first stood on the ridge you could look straight down.  And I mean straight down.  From the flat it was fifty feet down to the rapids that made my stomach roll.

“C’mon, Sed, look at it.  It’s beautiful,” Jared said in awe.

“Yeah …” That was all I could say at the moment.  It was beautiful.  But it was way down there.  If you fell … I was thinking of our conversations about escape.  Would he want to jump into that?  With our chains on we would drown for sure.  They only came off when we rejoined camp and were under mass guard.

He looked at me again and then back at the white water.  I should have been more joyful with my friend.  This was something he had been looking forward to.

I looked at him for a long moment, then into the churning froth of angry water splashing into this rock and that.  I couldn’t see how a fish could survive, let alone a person.  I asked point blank, “Would you actually jump into that?”  It was probably a dumb question.

He took his time in answering.  Then he looked at me with a strange look in his eyes.  “Yes, Sed, I would.”

We only had a moment to observe the grandeur, and then we had to set up for work.  I saw hope shine brightly in my friend’s eyes.  Unbidden, I felt a fear rise up within my soul.  A fear of what, I couldn’t explain.  But it was there.  Was Jared really going to go for it?  What would I do?

A bit more than ten years from the day Jared and I were paired as a work team, a bitter wind cut into the home camp.  It was late summer but it could snow at nearly any given time of the year where we were working.  Our task of ridge cutting was almost completed and the point team was smoothing the floor so to speak. 

Stagus had come to camp with a new bunch of slaves to start the next stage of development.  He had with him the boy he had been housing since discarding Hamges.  He said nothing to me directly but when he walked by I heard that puppy dog whistle.  An icy cold wave ran up my spine.

I was now thirty-four years old and could be compared to most fifteen or sixteen year old human males.  I was already taller than most elves at around eight inches over five feet tall, something I must have gotten from my human blood.  Most Fel’Caden males ran close to six feet, if not more.  My shoulders were broad, packed with muscle, and I could put almost twice my one hundred and thirty-five pounds over my head with an extreme effort.

Jared was twenty-four and an easy five feet and ten inches tall.  He was one of only a couple of fellows who were stronger than me, but he was a lot stronger and could out wrestle any of the fellows at the point.  Me, I never wrestled with anyone, including Jared.  That was his thing, that and his constant dream of escape.  He was always planning, always thinking about a farm somewhere.

Glancing at Jared I thought about the river, his belief in his dream, and I felt fear.  Jared caught my attention and we made eye contact for a long moment.  He knew my thoughts and gave me the slightest nod.

It had been a long while since the last time I noticed an animal paying me close attention, and I was trying hard to not notice, if that makes any sense.  As we were riding the wagons early in the morning transit to our work site, a large golden bird flew low to our wagon and circled it a couple of times.  Jared just looked at me and I returned the look.  What could that possibly mean, and why just our wagon?

The bird was a Saukeir, the largest bird of prey in the entire Sahrjiun Mountain range.  Said to be capable of flying off with a small sheep, stories of them were used as a scare tactic to keep children in the house at night.  Solitary creatures, unless they had a mate, they were powerful raptures built to soar and had claws said to be able to crush a human skull.

Saukeirs never came anywhere near humans, let alone circle a wagon full of them surrounded by mounted guards.  The wagons behind us noticed the action as well and started yelling at the bird.  Its presence scared the mules, so big and flying so low.  It was beautiful, all copper and golden colored by traces of green in its wing feathers, and what must have been an eighteen or twenty foot wingspan.

Was I mistaken, or did it look directly at me as it made a sharp arc upward.

Something else was wrong, though.  The mules were really acting up and becoming hard to manage and it wasn’t just the Saukeir.

We now had a working trail through the Sahnuck Pass.  The trail was somewhat curvy as it made more sense to open a bigger route through the one which existed, rather than cut a new one from scratch.  But even though it was at least sixteen to seventeen feet wide, often the sides went way up and for nearly five hundred rods of the trail it was downright claustrophobic.

Five wagons of four teams each were to focus on breaking rocks on the riverside of the pass.  As it was right then, we had to drive through an opening eight feet wide between the final outcroppings of rock, just barely wide enough to get on wagon through.  We had taken to calling this The Gateway, for once this opening had been widened and cleared we could say we had finished cutting our way through the mountains.  It was truly an historic time.

One wagon was ahead of Jared’s and my wagon, and just as it started through the pass that Saukeir dived down over the front wagon and toward our driver, its mouth open wide as it let out a shrill call that echoed eerily all about the rock formations.  Our driver ducked but as I looked up I saw the bird flexing its claws into my way.  The driver wasn’t the target, I was.

What was going on?

A guard tried a shot at the bird, but missed, and our driver, seeing the way clear in front, whipped the team through the windy pass in a panic.  As our driver took us through the far side of the opening we almost ran into the back of the first wagon, which was stopped as their driver was trying to handle his team of terrified mules.  In an attempt to keep from collision, our driver tried to skirt past the first wagon when a blood curdling, high-pitched scream came from above.  All of the mules bolted and a huge gout of flame hit the wagon in front of us.  Our driver leaped up and fell into the wagon bed on top of Jared and me. 

Something came from the sky and a large reptilian set of jaws seized the driver between Jared and me and lifted up hard, smashing down on the wagon with its fore claws.  The man was in the drake’s mouth, but so was the connecting chain around our feet.  Jared and I hung from the sides of its mouth.  The drake swung its head violently as the man in its mouth screamed.

The drake’s jaws had severed the chain and I went flying through the air, landing thirty feet away from the riverside cliff.  Beside me was an arm that had to have belonged to the driver.

I could hear Jared’s voice yelling for me and with a white face I realized his yell was coming from over the cliff.  The mules and our wagon careened over the side and I saw Ghyd scrambling to keep a hold on the wagon sides as someone else fell out of the back.

Fear and shock held me frozen to where I had landed and I couldn’t seem to move.

The drake had turned its attention to the goings on in the pass and it let loose with another gout of flame, the stench of burning flesh reeked in my nostrils.  Human screams and the death cries of animals were loud in my ears.  The whistling thwip of a crossbow quarrel flew past, missing me by only a few feet.  Please don’t tell me someone was shooting at me with a drake attacking us.  It had to have been a miss aimed at the big, hairy lizard.  For only an instant it registered on me, a hairy lizard?  I though all dragons had scales.  No time to think of that.

Adrenaline took charge of my actions and I made my way quickly to the cliff side, down below about twenty feet was Jared.  He was clinging to a root protruding from the side but he was slipping.  I saw him look down, then back at me.  The drake screamed as Jared tried to say something to me.  I thought he was yelling at me to jump. 

‘Jump?!’ I thought?  ‘Oh shit!’

He then planted his feet on the side of the bank, looked at me once more and this time for sure I heard him yell, “Let’s go Sed, now, do it …” and he pushed off and out into the rapids.

Fear ran through me as I looked below and hesitated for an instant.  The best friend I ever had, my partner of the chain, sweat and blood was making his bid for freedom.  Looking at my leg I saw the iron around my ankle and the loose piece of chain, the chain that had bound Jared to me was now broken …

He hit the foaming water with an uncontrolled splash and I just knew my friend was dead.  How could he … I saw him surface from the rapids maybe eighty or ninety feet away and grab a piece of the broken wagon and get caught in the current.  He was waving at me frantically and I stood there, half crouched on the edge of the cliff.  Terrified, I tried to muster the nerve to make the jump when something hit me hard in the back of the head and everything went black.

When I awakened my hands were bound behind me with ropes.  I was in the back of a wagon with thirteen others including one of my bunkmates, a burly human named Thad.  What surprised me was that seven of our guardsmen were also in the pile.  Someone I had never seen before was driving us back to our main camp.

Our captures spoke Quandellish, which is one of the languages I had learned from Jared.  It turned out this incident with the drake had been planned by dragon hunters, and we had been used as bait.  The hunter in charge was tracking down the drake, and he had someone with him armed with a special drake-slaying weapon and a wizard. 

A band of brigands, lead by a known outlaw named Mahrq, had been hired as warriors and apparently were on another side mission even as we were being driven back to the point camp. 

I thought of Stagus and his men.  And I thought of my friend Jared.  The last thing I saw was him escaping to freedom.  My hope, my prayer … if anyone existed out there or was listening … was that he made it.  That would be my belief until I learned different.  I had to believe that.  I needed to believe that.

If I hadn’t hesitated, I thought, I would be there with him, maybe, if I survived the jump, let alone those deadly rapids.  But what would I do?  He at least had skills.  He had something to look forward to.  He wanted a family and a home, maybe a farm somewhere; I had only my hate.  If nothing else, I hoped Jared had his five minutes of freedom … and then a whole lifetime more.

When we got back to the camp everything was destroyed.  The shacks were burning and the tents torn down.  A group of people were tied to a fence poles and my heart skipped a beat.  In that row was Stagus.  Stagus himself had been captured.  We were all collected together as Mahrq came and looked us over.  There were a total of twenty-eight of us in all.  That included slaves, guards, and Stagus.  What was going on, I did not yet know.  But now Stagus and I were on common ground.

My hands still bound, I found myself standing right in front of Stagus.  I caught his eye and a cold fury began to build up within me.  Don’t let your emotions control you … I reminded myself. 

I stared incredulously at this vermin, this filth who only this morning had whistled at me like a dog.  And here he stood, himself tied with the bonds of a prisoner.  I saw the scorn within my manner register deep within this human pig.

In a deep, hissing tone I said to him with a snarl, “I would piss inside your throat.”  Where the words came from I don’t know, but they were there and came treated with acid.

Stagus’s face twisted and he lurched toward me but his bonds jerked him to, as he was tied to a fence rail.  His own pride had been hit hard, as he had been out thought, defeated and captured.  Now the puppy he meant to conquer had hurled him defiance.  I returned the lunge and felt the rage in me rise to the top.

“Don’t let your emotions control you.  You control your emotions,” Ames had said.  I focused on the heat within me and let it burn.

Hands grabbed me from behind and kept me from getting to my former owner.  Mahrq was yelling at his men to bring both of us to him.

“By Hades, boys, we have us a fight in the making here.  What is it, lad?  You wish to settle a score?  Did he ram you to hard?”  I heard them all laughing and I challenged Stagus in Quandellish so they could all hear, and know that I could understand them as well. 

“You wanted a piece of this …” I sneered my words, “… prove to everyone who can see that you are less than a man.  Come take me now and make me your whore you human …” I hissed the word human as if it were the lowest curse imaginable.

The catcalls and laughter among our captors made it clear my words were understood.  And Stagus’s face revealed that he realized his very manhood had been challenged in the open.  Before these bandits he was going to have to deal me my place, or be forever branded and scorned wherever stories were told.  Even worse, he may be forced to become a ‘boy pet’ in the manner he had imposed on teens for so many years.

Among those captive I saw Hoscoe, Carrot and Bug.  I thought a moment of Carrot and what he must have gone through.  Stagus had been clearly caught off guard by this elvin boy he had manhandled two years before.  “If you beat a man’s mind, you beat the man,” Ames told me.  I didn’t know if I had beaten his mind, but I had definitely shaken it up.

Everyone in the camp was in an uproar and our captures were making a circle.  Mahrq was working the group up and Stagus and I were each taken to opposite sides of the ‘ring’.  These bandits were reveling in the spectacle and laying bets.

Our bonds were cut and my chain irons removed.  Gingerly I massaged my wrists where they had been bound and flexed my fingers.  Yet I stared at my adversary with hawk-like intent.

For the first time I was given the chance to meet my oppressor on even terms.  The fire of my anger was strong and I reveled in it, welcomed it into every fiber of my being.  There was no fear, no hesitation, and this time I was ready. 

But I felt something else, too.  I felt So’Yeth.  Beneath my feet there was a pulsing energy, as if it were asking to enter my body.  I opened myself and embraced the sensation and felt a rush of what seemed to be raw, primal essence wash through me. 

A command was given and we made way to the center.  The open space was about forty-five feet in diameter.  All around us were brigands with crossbows at the ready, but I had no intention of trying to escape.  Stagus now needed to beat me.  In fact he needed to humiliate me, and I had invited him to prove dominance by raping me here in the open.

As we circled I saw that this time he was uncertain.  He had been caught by surprise, first by the raid in which he lost, and now by my own actions. 

I had been training daily for the possibility of this moment, but was under no delusions.  Stagus was deadly.  And in this state of mind he would not play.  At the first mistake I made he would have me.

My physical maturity could be compared to a human of around sixteen years old.  But I was more than half again as strong, with twice the endurance and three times the speed and coordination of a human boy my size and apparent conditioning.  The human body grew too fast, as a result, most males spent their teen years fighting with lack of coordination and irregular growth spurts; not so with elves.  We grew smooth and ever steady like a Blue Tip Willow Tree.  I had an edge this time; an edge he wouldn’t, hopefully, wouldn’t be expecting.

On the other hand, Stagus had the years of experience, superior strength and size, and the psychological knowledge that he had whipped me only two years before.

My stance was like a cat and I moved with snakelike fluidity, searching for the right moment and the right strike.  I wouldn’t have too many chances at this, and most likely only one.  So it had to be right.

He, on the other hand, was circling careful, trying to figure me out.  He started to get that evil smirk and he was recovering from his shock.  The seasoned fighter was there and making his presence known.

Stagus began to move in a rhythm, working his feet like someone who had been schooled in the art of fisticuffs.  I knew rhythm.  I grew up with my momma’s music.  I thought to myself, ‘Stagus … you step with a perfect four-four timing.’

Then it hit me, I knew how to win.  I knew how to beat Stagus.  It was cruel and I begged my momma’s memory for forgiveness, but this was war, and war began with the mind.

I felt the fire blaze from my soul and through my eyes as I asked in a taunting voice, “Did my momma like it?”

For an instant I saw his face register surprise and he stopped cold in his tracks.  Then I darted in fast and low to my right side and hit him with a solid left cross into the wind.  I followed with two hard rights to the kidney and spinning him around I landed an overhand left that shattered his nose and sprayed blood all over.  The crowd went wild with yells. 

I was doing something Ames said was extremely rare; I was fighting South-Paw style, which employed a right leading stance.  This was something left-handed fighters did and left-handed fighters were very few and far between.

My onslaught staggered Stagus back as I came in hard with a thrusting left toe-kick into his groin.  As his hands dropped to his lower region and he buckled over, I followed through with a snapping right kick up into his chin.  He reeled from my blitz and I whipped a right-left punch combination to the cheeks, followed with another hard right upper-cut to the solar plexus.  It doubled Stagus over and the wind came right out of him.  Then I grabbed his hair and yanked hard back and down, as he had thrown me two years before.  He hit the ground hard on his back and I followed up by leaping up into the air and coming down solid into his rib cage with my folded knee.

His hands and arms immediately covered his ribs for protection and I saw him buckle onto his right side.  I mounted him then and grabbing his hair I measured several blows into his eyebrow ridges, opening the flesh in a long gash clear to the bone.

Now holding him by the collar, I began to methodically slap him across the face while screaming at him, “Do-you-like-it … you-filth … you-son-of-a-human-pig …” punctuating my words with alternating open and back-handed blows.  Somewhere in the background I could hear the fascinated shouts of our spectators, but it mattered not to me.

Stagus managed to catch my timing and slammed me into the stomach and kneed me off of him.  I rolled, but he had no authority in his blow.  I had taken it to him early and so fast he had been caught completely off guard.  Worse, he had severely underestimated me.  He had taken it for granted I would be easy to beat again.  It’s not something I would forget.  Never underestimate anyone, ever.

He made his way to his feet and hunched over his right side.  From under his brow he looked at me, and through a mouth frothing with blood he said in Quandellish, “You little slink … You really are crazy, crazier ‘en a rabid wolf.  Cordis was right.”  Then he started to laugh, an evil and sadistic laugh.

It was all I could take.  Inside me something snapped.  I yelled and growled like some wild beast and lunged into him.  He tried to ward me off like he had two years ago, but it was no good.  I caught his leg and carried him down.  Falling into his groin and between his legs I pulled back and rammed my fist into his crotch, then again, and again a third time.

I did a dive roll over him to get free of his legs and came up facing him, my fists bloody but up and ready.  He tried to get to his knees and I grabbed him by his matted hair and rammed my knee into his face, shattering bones.  Then I cocked my right way back and struck wildly into his jaw.  I felt bones break in my wrist and hand as pain shot through my arm into my shoulder.  It was a badly delivered blow but I hesitated only a moment.

It seemed So’Yeth was humming beneath me and a quickening of renewed strength rushed through me.  My hand and arm suddenly popped as I felt the bones come back together.  I felt harder, stronger, tougher than ever before.

Turning Stagus by the shoulder I rammed my left fist deep and up into his solar plexus again, seemingly lifting him up off of his feet.  Holding him in place I hit him thrice more with the same effect.  He buckled to his knees and I stood behind him, holding the collar of his mantle I reached high into the air and brought my elbow down into his neck and shoulder, all the while screaming like a banshee.

I don’t remember how many times I hit Stagus that way, but his bones broke every time and he was dead long before I quit.  They had been trying to pull me off, but I wouldn’t be contained.  My back and sides received all manner of blows, then something hard slammed into my head twice as I felt something break and splinter.  Everything started to go in and out of focus and I staggered back like a drunkard to get my bearings.  Then I was hit in the back of the head again. 

Why was I always getting slammed in the back of the head? 

The whole world was spinning and spots were everywhere in front of my eyes.  My feet didn’t seem to want to go where they were supposed to go.  Over on the side I thought I saw a stunned, but nodding Hoscoe.  Then he seemed to wince and from the side of my vision I thought I saw a club moving my way, this time to the side of my head.  My hands wouldn’t move and flapped uselessly by my side.  An explosion of lights went off inside my skull, and then the ground reached up and slapped me hard in the face.

Chapter   14

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THE DARKNESS SEEMED to last forever.  Then from somewhere, I thought I could hear someone singing softly.  How long had it been since I had heard that sound?  But it was there.  Not loud, but oh so subtle.  As if it were far away, but still so near.

I felt wetness on my face and head, and the taste of mountain soil.  Where was I?  The throbbing in my head hurt worse than anything I had ever felt. 

My momma, I had found my momma on the refuse pile and someone hit me in the head.  I was going to be beaten by Cordis.  I wanted to face Cordis one on one.  I wanted to …

No … no, that was long ago.  But how long?  I struggled to move and heard an elvin voice way up above me.  Wait, not elvin, a voice speaking in Elvish, right down to the perfect accent.  But who?

“Sed?”  There it was, I heard it again, just a bit more clear this time.

“Sed?  You are hurt.  Can you hear me?  Your head is in pretty bad shape.”

Gentle but firm hands sponged warm water over the back of my head and naked shoulders.  The back of my head?  I could taste dirt.  I was laying on my stomach, then.  Somehow I knew it was nighttime and in the far distance I thought I heard the howling call of a wolf.

Softly the voice came again, “Sed?  Can you hear me?  It is Hoscoe.”

I heard another voice, husky and deep but quietly speaking the Lohngish tongue, “Will he make it, sir?”  I knew that voice too, but who?  I couldn’t think.

A long moment passed, and then Hoscoe replied in Lohngish, “Mon’Gouchett, I do not know.  See here?  His head took an awful beating.  I think his skull has been fractured.  When I tried to clean it … here … I felt what seemed like a couple of pieces move.”

I heard the second person breathe in deeply through clenched teeth, and then exhale slowly, “Wheeewww!”

I managed to make the fingers of my left hand move a little.  And I think I groaned a bit.  My head, broken?  A panic rose up within me.  So hard to think and I could hardly make myself move, let alone speak.  I was scared.  I mean, really scared.

I heard footsteps softly padding away, but a presence was still near.

There was that music again.  But where was it coming from?  It was almost like a soft humming, mingled with the soothing notes of a baritone flute and the whisper of wind through the evergreen trees.

Again I tried to move the fingers of my hand … barely.  My toes wiggled a little, but that was about all I could do.  I couldn’t make the rest of my body respond and I wondered if this was what it was like to die.

I heard the first voice speak again in Elvish, “Sed?  Can you understand what I am saying?”

What was his name again?  Asho, Hosho, Hosso, something like that?

The world was spinning and everything turned upside down.  Everything began to get gray, then black, then I felt the water on my head again.

I couldn’t see.  Why?  Where was my momma, I thought.  I needed my momma and felt like crying, but I was too tired.  I was tired and hot, so flaming hot. 

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Gentle hands touched the cool cloth on my forehead.  My little bed was drenched in sweat.  My bed … where was I?

From somewhere a voice, an older voice with a strong but easy sound was talking to me in Gevardic, “Easy there, my boy.  Your momma will return soon.  She is singin’ for the Dukes.  When she returns she will make it go away, she will make the fever stop.”

The hands were gentle but uncommonly strong.  Why did I know these hands?  The old man changed the cold cloth on my head and tried to feed me some kind of broth.  “You must eat.  Come on, now … open.  Komain Joh …” the voice said, nicely but firm, “listen to me … you must open and take this.  It will help you fight the sickness.  It will give you strength.  Ah … there you go.  Good boy.  E-e-easy as she goes and steady in the wind.  We must beat to quarters and make to fight this wanton scourge.  There you go.”  I could hear but my vision was blurred.  And the broth was good.

The old man, Roveir, his name was Roveir, stayed with me all night and day.  I could hear him play the strings of an old guitar and he would sing ancient ballads of a land long past, the tunes steady and in a smooth rhythm, his voice a smooth and rich baritone.  Who was John Henry in the song he was singing?  It dawned upon me the old man was singing an old form of Lohngish.  And then my momma came home and used the Family Secret on my burning head.

The Family Secret … could I do it?  Hadn’t I done it already?  I couldn’t remember.  Through the unnatural darkness of my mind I felt the wind, or was it the sound?  Again I heard the far off music.  The Family Secret … I had to try … I couldn’t remember why, but I needed to try.  Something was wrong with my head.

___________________________

 

I felt something wet on the back of my head and shoulders again.  And there was the voice with the Elvish words, but I couldn’t understand.  It was as if the voice was speaking from far away, as if I were deep in a well, and it was slipping farther away.

“You must try” … I thought I heard a voice say … my momma’s voice?  “Momma?”  I barely mouthed the words but could not utter the sound.  I needed to find my momma, she needed me, I had to …

My fingers moved ever so slightly but I could feel So’Yeth beneath me.  I had to try … I had to try to use the Family Secret … my momma needed me …

I *Reached* into So’Yeth with my mind and fought hard to focus.  I had to focus as I never had before.  Deep, way deep I sought to embrace the warmth … the warmth which seemed to ever so slowly reach up to me.  There, I had it.  I held it, rolled myself in it.  I let it wash through me and into the very core of my being. 

Suddenly I felt sharp pain pulse through my body as things began twisting and popping inside.  I convulsed and felt my head seem to burst from within and the back of my skull seemed to snap and pop, sending what felt like sheets of acid fire through my brain.  I felt myself buck hard as I contorted in a spasm that rolled me over and into a near sitting position on my left side. 

Hoscoe jumped back from his position of kneeling beside me, a cloth in one hand and spilling a pail of hot water from the other, “Mon’Gouchett” he exclaimed.  “You nigh cost me ten years of life, ten years I can not afford to give up,” he said as he drew a deep breath, stared at me in near disbelief and regained his composure.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, slowly shook his head in that way of his, and studiously looking me over he said, “I thought we had lost you, Sed.”

Looking about me, I tried to get my bearings.  My momma, I thought … she wasn’t there.  I gazed all around as if I had just awakened from a very bad dream.  Again I felt my momma’s loss and depression set in.  My momma, family I had never met, my one true friend Jared … I really wanted to cry.  Why couldn’t I have just laid there and died? 

“Easy as she goes and steady in the wind.”  Just what was that supposed to mean, and why was I just now remembering?

I was tired, absolutely exhausted and just wanted to rest.

For a long moment I looked at Hoscoe who was still holding the cloth and pail, a look of genuine concern on his face.  Did the old man actually care; a human?  I hated humans, all of them.  Well, almost all of them; most of them then.  Hoscoe was just an old guard who talked to me to pass the time and practice his Elvish words, his Elvish words with the perfect accent.  Where had he learned?  Why had I never asked?  I had been busy keeping closed up and to myself, talking mostly with Jared and occasionally with a handful of others.  Life was easier that way and I could cultivate my hate.

The look on Hoscoe’s face was one of amazement and he was studying me as if seeing me for the first time.  It was his voice I had heard, his hands which had been cleaning my wounds.  Why?

Touching my face, then around to the back of my head, I ran my still trembling fingers slowly through my hair and felt of my skull; hard as a rock and even more dense through the middle. 

Still looking at Hoscoe I said, “You …?”

“May I?” Hoscoe asked, and he put down the pail and moved toward me.

I nodded slowly and moved my hand as he began to expertly examine my head, back and shoulders.  “By Cherron’s Beard,” he said in a low tone, “I have never seen anything like it.  I have heard of it, but never seen it.  There are clerics out and about who can do a healing, but they are few and far between.  And they have their religious training to boot.”

Heavy footsteps came near and a voice spoke out in Quandellish, “What’s about; he dead?”  The guard saw me sitting up and said, “Damn me, boy.  That was an oak club I broke over your noggin.”

Hoscoe looked to him and shaking his head exclaimed with a tone of sarcasm, “Either your clubs are not hard enough, or his head is thicker than the mountain.” Throwing a glance at me, then back to the guard he said with a hint of a chuckle, “Maybe both.”

The guard gave a grunt and said, “No matter.  We leave in the morning.  Pull any shit and we’ll fill you with bolts and leave you for the bugs and buzzards.”  With that he turned away and left.

After the guard had left I turned to Hoscoe and asked, “How long?  How long have I been …?”

“For the whole day.  The guards drug you over here and left you to die.  I could not get to you until after dark settled.  We have all been packing supplies from the camp for a journey, I am not sure where, yet.  We reloaded all the goods Stagus just brought in, the tools, everything left of any kind of value.  It is a good load of loot, actually.”

I started to ask another question, and I had many, but he held up a hand and said, “We have time to talk later.  It is nigh to midnight and you need some proper rest.  You think you can stand up?  I would like to get you over where we are.  There are blankets and some food, if you can eat a little.  You are going to need it, trust me.”

For the first time it began to register on me where I was.  Whoever it was, they drug me off to the side next to one of the now burned down shacks.  All around me was debris, ash and charred wood.  I tried to stand and everything started to spin, my stomach felt queasy. 

My weakness I am sure was obvious.  Hoscoe hooked my left arm over his neck and gave me support to the other side of the compound, where the rest of us captives were.  As he took a’hold of me I realized just how big he really was.  Hoscoe had muscles under his muscles, but his ease of movement belied his size.  A couple of our captures watched us under cocked crossbow, but offered no comment.

A tarp had been slung in a make-shift shelter.  Apparently these brigands hadn’t expected to be here this long.  I couldn’t help wonder what was in store for any of us.  By the time Hoscoe had helped me over I felt more tired than I believed possible.  It wasn’t just the fight and busted head, the healing thing took something out as well. 

It was almost a contrast in principles.  I can be injured, but healing myself will fix the injury while costing me something else.  Too much to think about at the moment.

Most everyone was asleep, but Thad was awake and getting me a bed ready.  Another pair of eyes was looking, but I couldn’t recognize who they were.  Hoscoe did.  In a quiet, but authoritative voice he instructed the eyes, “Bernard, rustle some of that stew, will you?  Make it heavy on the meats and carrots, but only about half a bowl.  He is not going to be able to eat a lot, but he is going to need something in his system.”

Okay, I thought, Bernard.  He was one of the guards, uh, one of our former guards that is.

“Thank you Thad.  Would you mind getting my canteen from my duffle and bring it here?”  Hoscoe eased me to my bedding.  Had he just thanked Thad, and then ask him to do more?  Hadn’t Hoscoe been chief guard just hours before?  Thinking back on the years, I realized Hoscoe had never raised a harsh word to anyone.  Nor had he been rough with any of us slaves.  I needed to be more observant with people. 

The guard, former guard, Bernard, came over with a bowl of stew and Thad brought the canteen of water.  Hoscoe knelt down and looked me level in the eye, “Now, take your time and eat as much as you can.  Do not force it down, but make sure you eat something.  The meat will give you protein and the carrots will give you some energy.  In the morning eat heavy as you can on the potatoes.”

He paused for a moment, “You have been through a lot, but it could get worse.  These fellows are not pleasant and they know what they are about.  If you wake up and are thirsty, drink slow, but drink as much as you can.”

He slowly got up and turned to go.

“Hoscoe …” I said in a weak voice.  He turned around and looked at me.  “Thank you.”

I saw slow warmth grow in his face and he smiled at me.  It was a nice, relaxed smile and I could tell my words meant something to him.  What had momma told me, “Never forget to say thank you; you have no idea what it can mean, even to the desolate soul.”

With a forefinger he gave a friendly gesture toward me and said, “In the morning …” Then he nodded at me and turned away.

I ate as much as I could, but my stomach wasn’t in the mood for much.  It seemed I was more thirsty than anything, but I couldn’t guzzle it down.  Besides, Hoscoe had advised against it, anyway.  Putting the cap on the canteen I eased back into and under my blankets.  Looking at our group, at what was left of the point camp and over to where Stagus’s wagon was parked, all manner of questions ran through my mind.  Looking into the night sky I noticed snowflakes begin to flurry, and then I fell asleep.

Chapter   15

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THE NEXT MORNING everything was covered in a light blanket of whiteness, almost as if nature wanted to cover up the fact our camp had even been there.  It reminded me of what my momma used to say, “No matter what anyone tries to do, Nature can and will ultimately prevail in the end.” 

Because the camp occasionally moved, all construction was temporary.  Tents were used often, and the shack walls could be dismantled and carried to new locations.  It was one reason for their less than sturdy construction.  Now, however, almost nothing remained but blackened pieces of wood.  Absolutely nothing was left standing save for the poles of the corral and some hitch rails.

Hoscoe had unofficially taken charge of the group and he had everything in ship shape line.  At first it appeared to make life easier for the brigands, but he explained that the less Mahrq had to worry about us, the more we would be left alone.  It seemed we were waiting on another group to join us from the other camps.

Sure enough, the brigands only paid us enough attention to assure we weren’t trying to escape.  We had a meal and Hoscoe came over to make sure I was okay and give me a bundle of clothing.  In it was a fresh body shirt, hip length tunic and a heavy mantle with a hood.

“You going to make it, Sed?” he asked with a wry smile.

I looked at him and with a hint of humor and a raised eyebrow I replied, “Maybe.  But I have a wicked headache.”  Nobody but he and I knew about my self-healing.  Thad had been close enough to see me lying there, but had not touched me.  As far as he knew, Hoscoe had overestimated my injuries, which was fine with me.  I still wasn’t sure how it worked and I didn’t want to be farmed out as a miracle healer.

Once he made sure everyone had had breakfast and we were in order, Hoscoe sat with me and we talked in Elvish, “You were not supposed to kill Stagus, you know?”

I kept feeling the back of my head.  Not meaning to be funny and in a serious tone I said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Hoscoe looked over at me and suddenly started laughing, the sound was infectious and after a moment, I realized how dryly sarcastic my answer sounded and I chuckled in spite of myself.

“I think you will do, my young sir,” Hoscoe said. 

There were many thoughts and questions in my mind, but I had no idea where to start. 

Hoscoe began to explain, “After your wagons left for the point, Stagus had me and a couple of others sit with him for a big breakfast.  He was proud of himself.”  In an exaggerated attempt to imitate Stagus, Hoscoe went on, “‘I’m a goin’ to be rich, boys,’ he said, ‘ain’t nothin’ goin’ to stop me now.’  He was really full of himself about finishing the road.  I think he had been drinking for days, you could smell it in his sweat.

“We ate, and we ate well.  Finally he got up to go to the latrine.  ‘I got business to attend to,’ he said.  Stagus was always course, often gross, and he explained in detail what and how much he was going to do and how many wipes he figured it would take him.  The others left to go about their duties and I sat for a few minutes to enjoy my coffee.  There is nothing like a good morning cup of coffee, and when it is available I take advantage of it.

“I was just putting my cup down when all Hades broke loose. 

“Most of the guardsmen took it in one shower of bolts.  I drew my blade and stepped up to the door and saw Stagus being led from the latrine, his britches literally around his knees.”

Hoscoe passed me an amusing look, then gazed out to where the main shack had been and shook his head.  I listened attentively and waited for him to go on.

“It was the funniest sight I had ever seen.”  He looked at me and pointed his finger in punctuation, “The bastard deserved it.”  He almost mumbled under his breath in Nahjiuese, “No way to run a camp, or to treat people of any kind.” 

Nahjiuese was one of those languages my momma had taught me.  It was one of the oldest tongues and came from the lands far to the north, the lands of Nahjiua, which once had been a great kingdom.  Nahjiuese, it was the common tongue of humans where my momma had lived before her captivity.  I was more interested in Hoscoe than his recounting, but I kept listening.

I wondered if he realized he had slipped languages, then seemingly without notice he continued in Elvish, “I decided there was no use risking my neck for someone who had already surrendered ...” he looked at me and grinned with a wolfish grin, “… so I just raised my hands and said ‘No more.’  Stagus was furious and was yelling all kinds of filth.”

I asked, “They didn’t push it with you?  Nobody tried to fight you?”

Hoscoe shrugged his shoulders, “No.  I knew of these boys.  They kill when they need to, but Mahrq does not like to waste ammunition.  Besides, even among brigands he is known for using only as much violence as is necessary.  He prefers loot, but will use captives to carry merchandise if there are not enough domestic animals or wagons.  Then he may or may not sell the captives.  He may just turn them loose if a market is not nearby.  And if you are enslaved, there is always a chance of escape.  They took my sword and led me to the poles.  That was it.”

Hoscoe looked at me with a wry look, “It is not as if he’s worried about someone recognizing him one day.  He lives in the wild country and knows it like the back of his hand.  And it is not likely anyone is going to finance the sending of troops way out here to hunt him down, at least not yet.  He’s not going to like this trade route opening up, not one bit.”

He scratched his nose, “Slavery gets a lot of work done and keeps some bad people off the streets.  Selling certain criminals off instead of housing them with taxpayers money, like a lot of the so-called civilized cities do, is considerably more successful in deterring the criminal mind than free food and housing.  I do not approve of slavery due to taxes or bad debts, but I do not make the laws.  Of course, that is just my opinion.”

He noticed my being quiet.

“Most people are born into slavery of one kind or another, Sed.  They are slaves to their work, to working for someone else’s dreams or goals, whatever.  You will find a lot of people, especially the farther into civilization you go, frown upon breeding people for slavery or selling children.  You will find that practice mostly here in the deep south and southwest, it is a means of controlling those who have been conquered.  And that happens a lot.

“I know at least one country up north where, if someone is murdered, they put the culprit in jail because execution is considered barbaric.  But the same country loves to watch fighters get bloodied up and slain in coliseum fighting.  Go to the east coast and pinch a woman in Vedoa, they will flog you in public.  Get caught in the wrong bedroom and you will hang.”

It was as if Hoscoe was trying to teach me something, but why? Or was he just talking because of a need for communication?  I had noticed for years, humans talk for the sake of talking, whether they say anything or not.  Momma and I could say nothing to each other for hours, but say much in the process.

Hoscoe had even more to say, “Not all of us humans are alike, nor are all elves.  I have known good and bad d’warvec, gon’yia and chonatts as well.  We are all people, each with our own story, hopes, goals and failures.  Some of us have pointed ears, some do not.  And what this group of people holds as values may mean nothing to another.”

Hoscoe wasn’t hammering philosophy or anything, he was just talking casually.  But there was a meaning in his tone.  He sounded a lot like my momma.  The thought came to me the two would have gotten along well.  I just looked around at Hoscoe wondering and thinking.  How much did he know about me?  What had Stagus told him, if anything?

Hoscoe gave his knees a pat and said, “Just some things for you to think about.”  I watched him get up and start making rounds of the other prisoners, former guards and slaves alike.  Watching him for a while I thought about what all he had said.  It was a lot to chew on, and completely against my vengeance mentality.

How did I feel about Hoscoe?  He actually took the time to care for me, and that still had me confused.  Wasn’t he part of Stagus’s operation, a guard for hire who did his job well?  Was he a coward, not to fight?  I let that one go real quick. 

Hoscoe did not seem cowardly, not in the least.  He was always in control of himself, never seemed to get mad and come to think of it I had never seen him drunk.  More than once I had seen him step between slaves in a scuffle.  Any other guard would just let slaves bang their heads in.  And there was something in his manner which commanded respect.  He didn’t come right out and demand it, but something about how he handled himself made you want to pay attention to what he did and said.

___________________________

 

Mahrq spent much of the morning pacing and I could hear him commenting about the weather, how slow subordinates were and where in Hades was Bulder?  It became clear Mahrq had never intended to wait around this camp for any lengthy time period.

Once, the guard who whacked me came over to stare.  He walked away shaking his head. 

We prisoners had it easy, for the most part.  The ones who had been guards were now singing a different tune and a couple of them were actually talking about how much they hated Stagus.  One, a young human with no hair named Frahn, came up and told me he loved every second of the fight and hoped I held no hard feelings toward him.  It’s amazing how a person’s attitude can change when the tables turn.

Hoscoe simply hung around our group and rested, encouraging us all to do the same.  “Rest and eat when you can, fight when you have to,” he told me.

At one point I asked, “Where do you come from, Hoscoe?”

He looked at the ground for several moments until I wondered if he even heard me.  Then he replied with the shadow of a smile, “I come from all over Sed.”  After a few moments of thinking, he scratched at the ground with a stick he had been fidgeting with and said, “I was born up north, wa-a-ay up north.”  He glanced at me with a somewhat sad smile and I knew he really didn’t want to talk about it.  So I let is slide.

While we had time to breathe, I spent some time by myself.  I made as if to meditate and attempted another *Self Heal.*  The same warmth rushed through my body, from the ground up, and when I was done there were no marks left at all from the fight.  No scars, no nothing.  Flexing my fingers and arm muscles I just marveled.  If anything, I felt good.  I began wondering what else I may be able to do if I took the time to experiment.  How to go about doing it was another matter.  A slave doesn’t exactly have a lot of private time.

___________________________

 

It was almost noon when a cavalcade of five loaded wagons and a procession of twenty-two prisoners were marched to our camp by about a dozen mounted guards.  Mahrq was livid and it was easy for me to hear and understand all their conversation.  As I said before, they spoke Quandellish, a tongue heard rarely in these parts.  And when I want to, I can hear much farther than humans … elvin ears and all.

Mahrq went straight to the man in the lead.  Swearing profusely with almost every other word he demanded, “What took you so long, Deyan?  Where’s Bulder?”

The man identified as Deyan answered, “We hit the other two camps clean, but on the way in we were hit by a good sized band of orgs.  We didn’t do bad and lit out o’ there and made steady time.  But when once we settled into camp, Corley went to make sure the prisoners were all secured.  Then he suddenly started screamin’ like he’d seen a devil or somethin’.  Bulder tried to yell him out of it when Corley couldn’t talk. 

“You know Corley, he wasn’t scared of nothin’.  Bulder grabbed him to shake sense into him and this slink slave jumped up, grabbed Bulder’s dagger and skewered Corley.  Then he turned right around and grabbed Corley’s sword and slit Bulder’s gullet and swiped his neck faster than you could shit …”

Mahrq cut him off and yelled emphatically, “Bulder’s dead?  Did you get the spike-eared bastard?  Get down from that horse!”

The wagons were rolling into the compound as everyone was listening to Mahrq and Deyan.  Of our group, only I and maybe Hoscoe could understand what was being said.

Mahrq was livid as he started to walk to the wagons, apparently to inspect the merchandise, then whirled back to Deyan, “Did … you … get … that … slink … trash … slave?!”

“No.”

It looked for a minute like Mahrq was going to hit Deyan as he brought both hands up, and then violently clenched them hard in the air.  He exploded almost into Deyan’s face, “Why NOT?!”

I wondered why Deyan didn’t just clout Mahrq.  Now off of his horse and standing face to face, Deyan was at least eight or nine inches taller.

Deyan replied, “Two of the boys got off shots, but the slink ducked down and one took Corley, another one took one of the slaves.  He had hit ground rollin’ and was into the hill faster ‘en we could get to him.  He’s good Cap’n, real good.  Tandy tried to track ‘im but there weren’t any tracks anywhere.”

Mahrq yelled for a small, greasy looking human to come over.  Firm, but not yelling, Mahrq asked, “You tried to track this spike and you found nothing?”

“Nope, I didn’t find nary a thing.  I hunted up the ridge-line, like where he had gone, then I backtracked up their cooking creek, and scouted as much as a half mile in ever’ direction he might ‘uv gone.  But there weren’t no tracks nowhere.  The new snow had some rabbit tracks and I saw wolf sign, but nowhere did I see where a two-legged critter had been.  It was like he just outright disappeared.”

A brigand who had been in camp with us had walked up to listen.  Tandy turned to him and said, “You shoulda seen the prints from that wolf, Behn,” Tandy held his hands out in a big circle, “that big, no exaggeratin’.  Had to ‘uv weighed four hundred, maybe four hundred and fifty pounds.  I never seen one that big, never heard of one that big either.”

Tandy was looking from Behn, to Mahrq, to Deyan and back to Behn.  Mahrq was listening carefully to what Tandy was saying.  Apparently what Tandy said, at least about tracking, carried a lot of weight.

My thoughts were simple, Uven had gotten away.  I didn’t care about rabbits and giant wolves.

Behn said, “Devil’s Damnation, Tandy.  I didn’t think there had been any wolves in these parts for years; lots of jackals, some big ‘ens, too, but not wolves.”

For a moment there was quiet. 

Tandy spoke up again, “Now Mahrq, that Black Aggie was from not far around here.  No one ever seen her body.”  He looked again from person to person, “I’m thinkin’ maybe a haunt, or werewolf even.”

Mahrq had enough.  He shook his head and walked away saying, “That’s it.  Drop it.  This werewolf stuff is dung droppings.  Deyan, see your men get something to eat.” He yelled for one of the brigands already in camp, I noticed the same one who said he clumped me with the club, “Massey?!”

Massey came running over, “Did you hear about the werewolf?” he asked with a touch of urgency.

“There is no damned werewolf.  It was just a big track.  Now let’s get this bunch together.  I want us on the move.  We’ve been here too long as it is.”

The new prisoners were brought to our area and I saw utter defeat in some of their faces.  Those of us in camp helped the newcomers to food and drink, and I did my part.  As they ate, Frahn gave a vivid recount of my fight with Stagus.  Everyone gave me all these kinds of looks.  It made me uncomfortable.  A couple tried to get me to tell my version of the story, but I wanted no part of it.  Over on the side I noticed Hoscoe watching me.  I got the feeling he was pleased.

There was no hold over for the new comers.  They got a couple hours of rest, food, drink and a chance to relieve themselves.  Then as soon as the rest of us got everything together, we were off. 

Fortunately I still had my working boots on, which were very well made for traction and durability and just broken in.  I also now had a couple of blankets and a piece of tarp for bedding, a water skin, pockets full of jerky and dried corn, a six feet long cut branch for a staff and what I had on.  Everything else had been burned in the shack, not that I had much to begin with.  As I stood at the moment, I had much more than when I first came here.

Sure enough, two hours after the second group pulled in, we hit the road.  Into the snow covered road cut by me and my mates we headed back in the direction of Sahnuck Pass.  There were thirteen wagons of loot and supplies, forty-three prisoners on foot and thirty-seven mounted brigands, each brigand with crossbows armed and ready.  Beside me walked Hoscoe and I noticed they had put Stagus’s wrapped body in his own wagon, drawn by his own prized Clydesdales. 

It was going to be a long day.

Chapter   16

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FORTUNATELY FOR US the snow wasn’t heavy and didn’t impede our travel.  Nonetheless, Mahrq kept us at a brisk pace.  We had traveled only about three miles, about half the distance to the pass, when we cut off to the north, heading into the heavily forested Ahnagohr country.  The evergreens were lightly covered in snow and the smell was almost intoxicating.  There were very few places that could be called flat, but what must have been an old game trail was leading the way to a rendezvous site where we were to wait for the hunter.  Apparently this was new country for Mahrq and had recently been scouted by Tandy.

Often the wagons could just squeeze through and we prisoners walked the whole way.  I had been used to being hauled around by Stagus’s crew via wagon.  But then, we had been the tools of the trade.  Now we were just so much extra cargo, to be used who knew how.

Chains from the road work camps were used to connect us together.  Nine wagons had four prisoners each tied to the back.  One wagon had seven of us.  We were hooked in two lines of two, so that all but one of us had a person to walk beside, but to whom we were not connected.

The brigands didn’t seem to care as to who was tied where, so Hoscoe and me managed to get braced side by side directly behind one wagon.  Behind me was a former guard from camp three and behind Hoscoe was Thad.  My chain mate was a well set up human with big, bulging arms, a small waist, a shock of brown hair and a neatly trimmed mustache who was called Pug. 

Turns out Pug was a childhood nickname resulting from an embarrassing childhood incident with a farm animal.  He didn’t talk about it, but the nickname stuck.  He was in his mid-twenties, loved doing arm exercises and had been an arm wrestling champion in many a tavern.  I got all of that from listening to others who knew him.  Pug, himself, wasn’t much of a talker

We had been on the move for only an hour or so when Hoscoe commented, “Almost like a forced march.  Mahrq knows what he is about.  Staying too long at a known spot is not a good idea, especially with the amount of loot he’s got.”

I wanted to spend time talking with Hoscoe.  There was a lot I wanted to ask him, if he would answer.  But walking at a constantly brisk pace with guards all around isn’t a good time for conversation.  My mind was full of other things to ponder, however.

Only the most callused of people can spend time in the mountains, like I had, and not feel the powerful presence of those peaks.  The valleys and ravines wrap themselves around you, and the sounds of the rivers and streams move through the very fiber of your being.  Even a slave can appreciate beauty, and it was here, everywhere.  All you had to do was open your eyes and it was all around you.

My thoughts began dwelling on the singing I had heard so many times.  Where was it coming from?  Was I the only one hearing it?  Nobody else ever mentioned such things.  I was already set apart from everyone else, despite the fact I was something of a celebrity for killing Stagus.  The idea of being treated like an insane person for hearing voices and singing did not appeal to me. 

The mystery music always sounded sort of magical.  Was it possible the music wasn’t a person’s voice at all, but So’Yeth itself singing?  There was no particular kind of pitch I could attribute the tone with, and there were never any actual words.  I could feel the sound, more so than really hearing it.  It was kind of like a smooth and soothing vibration mingled with … I couldn’t quite place it.  Was it the wind, maybe?

Momma used to tell me of the elves singing as a choir.  They would mix ah, oh and ooo sounds together in various pitches to make the most beautiful of music.  Momma would sing like that sometimes, not really making words, but it would make me tingle inside.  Harmonics, she called it.  Blending sounds which complimented each other.

“It’s nature’s music,” she would say.  “All you need to do is listen, not with your ears, but with your heart.”

I remember once, momma was humming a tune she called The Rose, when she stopped in mid-note, looked me in the eye and with a mischievous expression said, “The dead can dance, did you know that?”

Being a small child, the first thought which came to my mind was a bunch of dead people dancing around, “No momma.” 

With wonderment in my voice I asked, “Can they really?”

She laughed a little and explained, “Sometimes the Old Ones would make instruments from the remains of creatures who have passed on.  They would play the most beautiful, soul stirring music.  This honored our forest friends and kept their spirits alive and about us.  The Old Ones called this Gael Music, and its practice is very, very old.”  She would stop what she was doing for a second, lean down to my ear and whisper, “It’s even older than all of elvin-kind.”

She would chuckle and return to what she was doing, leaving me in wide-eyed awe, “Older than the elves, wow-w-w!”

___________________________

 

Thinking of the giant wolf track had me wondering, could this be a spirit wolf?  If so, what was it doing here?  The idea was fascinating and scary at the same time.  Some of these brigands were worried about it though.  Their fear alone made me like its presence.  Somehow the presence of even a normal wolf seemed to bring fear into the hearts of humans. 

We marched well into the day, stopping only briefly for a quick ration of food and water.  The place Mahrq chose was a somewhat open place littered with rocks and surrounded by evergreens.  Everything was covered by two to three inches of snow, which was still falling sparsely.  Us prisoners were unhooked from our wagons and allowed to find places to sit and eat.  Under guard we were each allowed to go, with our chain mate, to the edge of the trees and relieve ourselves.

The brigands kept a vigilant watch and I could tell they were looking into every shadow.  I wanted to try to howl, you know, just to see their reactions.  But I held it back, smiling silently at the thought. 

Then from nowhere came the long, mournful cry of a wolf.  The whole company stopped for an instant and froze in place.  Beside me Thad was chewing a big mouthful of food and his jaws quit chewing, looking for a minute like a cow paused in chewing its cud.  I might have thought it funny if a chill hadn’t run up and down my own spine. 

One moment we were trying to eat, the next we were all hurrying to start back on the trail.  Those mountain boys were really superstitious and the werewolf idea had dominated brigand conversation.  Tandy stepped around the far side of the clearing and tried to locate where the howl might have come from.  Another brigand grabbed an amulet from around his neck and started saying prayers.  Two different guards, each with a tandem of chain buddies at the tree edge, began ordering their charges to hurry their business.

The howl could have come from anywhere and the place of origin could not be determined, but it sounded close.  The brigands already had crossbows loaded and at the ready.  Behn suddenly pointed up on a ridge to the south and yelled, “I thought I saw something up there!”

I could never have told you why, but something within me felt things were not right.  Something … something unnatural was about us.  I had never been in the presence of a magical creature before, not that I knew of, unless you count the dragon.  But many tales counted the dragons as not truly magical at all, but great lizards.  Some of whom can manipulate magic, like elves or some humans can, but not beings created by mystical forces as described in children’s fairy tales.

Tandy turned to look in the direction Behn had pointed, and then someone screamed as a hairy, snarling beast of about eight feet tall seemed to emerge from the snow behind a rock, snatching Tandy like a sack of clothing.  Before anyone could respond another beast seemed to come from within a tree and hit one of the prisoners at the forest edge. 

Tandy had been swiped across the face with a clawed hand and his head flew through the air.  From the trees one prisoner had been tossed aside, dead, with his chain partner yelling in fright.  The tandem’s guard had just shot the beast at point blank range and was trying to step back to draw his sword.  He never got it clear and his screams were terrible.

Two more of these dirty, white haired creatures appeared, as if from beneath the snow among the rocks, and began tearing through the party.  Everything was in chaos.  Tandy’s assailant threw his body aside and easily leaped up to the top of Stagus’s wagon.  A brigand had climbed to the top after the wolf’s howl to look around and had just shot the creature. 

I didn’t get to see what was going on elsewhere because one of these hideous beings was charging toward me and Pug.  Pug was panicking, and well, I wasn’t doing so well either.  I was trying to yell at him to run with me, but he slipped and fell.  The beast gathered itself and leaped with a snarling growl.  It looked to be a horrendous mixture of human and hyena with cruel fangs and three-inch long claws.  It was covered in dirty white hair with blackish spots, not fur, and stank like two day old carrion. 

The creature landed on Pug, grabbed one of those well muscled arms and tore it off easier than I can pull apart roasted chicken.  Its shoulders were enormously large and when it slapped Pug’s chest, the bones crushed as if they were nothing.  The bloodshot eyes focused on me and I could smell its rancid breath.  Yup, I was panicking.  It grabbed the chain connecting Pug and me together and started to yank me closer, when from nowhere this giant, white and silver wolf came hurtling through the air, caught the beast from broad-side and knocked the creature sprawling. 

Fast and furious the two fought, but the beast never got a good blow on the wolf.  Getting in behind, the wolf seized a hamstring in its jaws and laid the leg bare to the bone.  Literally dancing in and around, evading the beasts own assaults, the wolf found its throat and suddenly the creature exploded into so much smoke.

The wolf paused only a moment, crouching as if ready to attack again when it made eye contact with me.  This had to be the four hundred pound wolf described by Tandy.  It did not seem to try to communicate, as many animals had tried before, it just looked my way and paused for a fraction of a second, then leaped into the forest as two brigands with crossbows attempted to shoot it.  Deftly the wolf seemed to evade the bolts with an ease you would have to see to appreciate.

Was I imagining things, or had there been a golden tag or medallion hanging from below its neck?  Everything had happened so fast, I couldn’t tell.  And who would, or even could, tag so huge of a wild creature?

In the span of three or four minutes it was all over.  A total of two of the beasts had been killed.  One took a hail of crossbow bolts, the other had apparently been skewered through the heart by Mahrq himself.  Each had exploded in foul smelling smoke.  The remaining two took off through the trees in different directions.  One person swore he saw a creature disappear into the side of a tree.

Our own losses were heavy.  Thirty-one prisoners and twenty-six brigands survived the attack.  Four mules were killed, which meant two of the wagons were re-harnessed to a team of two mules each.  Behn and Massey were dead, as was Frahn.  I was relieved to see Hoscoe and Thad were fine.  They had been on the edge of the woods finishing their business when the attack began.  Hoscoe had grabbed Thad, rolled him into the snow and ordered him to lay still.  Fortunately Thad had done just that.

Situations like that, I guess, aren’t good times to be sentimental and Mahrq wasted no time.  It seemed cold to me at first, but later I would understand, as he gathered the weapons of his fallen comrades without making any effort to bury the dead.  He regrouped the prisoners and we made haste out of there.  My new chain mate was Bernard and he talked much less than Pug.

Again, Hoscoe and I got positioned beside each other.  As we were being hooked up he looked over at me, “You okay, boy?”

“Yeah, that was close.  You have any idea what those things were?  Demons maybe?”