He shook his head, “No idea.  I have never heard of such creatures before, not to go up in smoke like that.”

“How about Yeti?  I’ve heard of them having white hair and hiding in the snow.”

“No, Yeti would have attempted taking their kills for food.  They do not have claws that long, either, and if you can wound one, they bleed.  No, these are something else, more sinister.”

The wagon lurched forward, “So you’ve seen Yeti?” I asked.

He looked at me, and with a grin he added, “Oh yes.  Stab them low.  Do not take time to slice at them.  Their long hair is almost like wire and makes them look large and bulky.  A Yeti skinned out is a thin creature.  Their most vulnerable point in combat is a thinly covered soft spot below their belly.  Run them through and get out of the way quickly.”

As we made way I watched Hoscoe carefully.  Tough and hardy, yes, but he was somewhere in his seventies and the steady, quick pace was taking its toll.

We traveled quickly and pushed as long as there was light.  Nobody felt much like talking and we all wondered if we would be attacked by these things again.  Overnight fires were kept burning bright and before the sun was up we had we hit the trail.  It quit snowing late on our second day of travel and we made good time.

By early evening of the third day we made the rendezvous site. 

The place was the ruin of an old stone fort.  It looked to have been abandoned for a long time, but three of the walls were still up and seemed solid.  Most of the front was still standing, but you could tell something had knocked down the entire gate section.  Inside was a two hundred by two hundred and fifty feet courtyard with one building somewhat intact, the remains of two other buildings, and a few trees which must have gown wild bearing some kind of berry.

A big fire was the first thing established in hopes of keeping haunts at bay, then the buildings were checked out and tents set up.  The walls were about twelve feet high with a rampart all around.  A single stone stair was usable and watches were set.  Trouble was there were very few brigands to defend this place.  Mahrq must have been sweating.

Vegetable plants had taken over much of the grounds and squash, onions, potatoes, beans and corn plants were all over.  We prisoners were put to work getting the place in order and harvesting what vegetables we could. 

Hoscoe again took unofficial charge of us prisoners and kept us in order.  He had managed the trip, but I was worried about him.  He looked pretty ragged.  In the evening of our first night in fort, I put a hand on his shoulder, “How are you?  You look tired?”

There was some hesitation, “I will be alright …” he was lying through a strained smile and leaning against the tent’s main pole.

How much good it would do I didn’t know, but I had to try.  I *Reached* down inside my being and sought the essence of So’Yeth.  Like a warm blanket, it filled me and I pushed it into Hoscoe’s body.  His eyes flickered for a moment and looked at me with silent amazement.  He seemed to strengthen and I thought I heard his back pop four or five times.  There were no words.  He just nodded and we both understood.

That little bit left me feeling pretty tired, but it was worth it.  I lay down and slept a dreamless sleep.

The main building was about 30’ x 60’, had an upper level, and was well built of rock.  There had been a heavy wooden door in front, but it had been knocked down and on the inside there were several long tables and benches.  Obviously this had been a great hall.  Two big fireplaces, one on each end of the building, were cleaned and put to immediate use in getting the place warm.  Kettles and what not had been left on one end of the hall, so that’s where we set up for chow.

We all ate in there, brigands and prisoners, where it was comfortable.  Whoever built this place knew what they were doing.  Wood planks had been used to line the walls to help keep in the heat, and the eight feet ceiling was made of well fitted wooden beams.  When I first stood next to the walls I could feel something strange about them.  They looked and felt like wood, but I couldn’t determine what was different.

One of the prisoners, a slave worker from camp two spoke up, “I know where we are,” he said with enlightened wonderment.  He was a fellow in his mid-thirties, of average height and build with brown and gray hair.  He was called Yank, but no one had ever asked why.  He walked up to one wall and touched the wood, “It’s been magicked,” he said.

“Huh?” asked someone else.

“Yeah.  See?” Yank pointed all around, “It hasn’t aged, any of it.  My pap told me about this place.” He looked around excitedly, “We’re standing in old Fort Barlow.”

Others were starting to gather around him in hopes of hearing a story.  I would learn than humans will sometimes travel miles just to hear a good story.  Even Deyan, who was now Mahrq’s second in charge, had walked over, listening curiously.  Deyan asked, “What’s this about Fort Barlow?”

For the first time the center of attention, Yank seemed to come alive as he began talking with animated gestures, “Fort Barlow is the name of the fort in the Lost Garrison legend.  It was way back, before the Org Uprising some three hundred years ago and more, when this trapper name Barlow found some ore he thought might be silver.  Turned out it was Zahgitite, you know, the stuff they say the elves used to mix with silver to make Mythril.”

Several eyes turned to me then, and I just shrugged my shoulders, “Hey, I have no clue.  I was born into slavery, remember?”

Yank continued, “Anyway, the king of Charlamae put this expedition together and even sent a pretty high class wizard …”

“Yeah …” someone interjected, “… Aggatha Ro’Yahl.”

Yank paused for a second and looked toward the interrupter with an impatient expression, “… to build this fort and mine the ore.  The fort came first while Barlow led the way to find the deposits.  Sure enough, tons of it was found, or so the story goes.  A smelter was supposedly built where the mine was and some of the stuff put into bars.”

“Supposed to be a thousand bars, ain’t it?” the same voice asked.

From someone else, “Will you shut up and let him tell the story, Haden?”

“Thank you,” Yank said, “no one knows how many bars were made, but most think maybe ten or twelve.  The stuff is supposed to be hard to work, takes a lot of heat to separate the metal out of the rock.  More heat than any other ore.

“Like I said, Aggatha was a high class wizard and she had a lot to do with forming the walls.  The story goes she pretty much made the rock shape up out of the ground.  That’s why there aren’t any seams in the wall.”

I hadn’t even noticed and wondered if anyone else had.  Yank was sharp and apparently noticed a lot.

“Well, while they were digging they woke something up, something vile and evil.  Aggatha fought it, whatever it was, but she was beaten … or rather she couldn’t beat it.  She tried to warn the fort commander but he wouldn’t listen.  She managed to get one bar to a soldier who killed his horse to get out of there, but Aggatha stayed behind.”

“How did Aggatha get back to the fort so quick?” someone asked.

“Magic,” Yank answered, “legend says she could go as much as five or six miles with a snap of her fingers.  Anyhow, this soldier’s name was Wallace, and he said he got fourteen or fifteen miles out when he glanced behind him and saw the trees bending in a wave coming his way.  His horse died from running so hard and Wallace said smoke came out of the forest and wrapped around him.  When he woke up the bar was gone, the horse was still warm, but his hands were all shriveled with age. 

“He finally made it out of the country, but he looked to be eighty or ninety years old.  He was only twenty-two when he was recruited for the garrison.  He had married a farm girl and when he made it home she had done had their only youngun.  He said it made it hard to be a pap to a baby when he was so old.  But he always told for nobody to come up this-a-ways. 

“When no one heard hide nor hair from the troops a few folks came looking.  They had just vanished.  Their gear was gone, supplies, everything.  No bones were left and there was no sign of battle, excepting the wall being knocked down.

“The story goes Aggatha got away but stayed in the mountains to warn folks off and became known as Black Aggie.”

There were lots of murmurings after that.  Then I heard Hoscoe’s voice, “I have never heard about the fellow’s name.  How did you know that part of the story?”

Yank smiled, a little embarrassed but pleased, “He was my ancestor on my pap’s side.”

Hoscoe walked closer to Yank, “How did you get to be a slave?”

Yank scratched his head a bit, looked at the floor, and then replied, “Got caught.”

Hoscoe’s humor was aroused, “Got caught?”

“Yeah … got drunk and bedded the constable’s wife.”

Laughter rang out and Yank added quickly, “Hey, she was in the tavern dressed like a wench.  I didn’t know no different.”  He grinned a sheepish grin, “But she took my money and knew what she was about … best time I ever had.”

Mahrq came down from inspecting the upstairs and demanded, “What’s going on here?  There’s work to be done.”

I saw Deyan walk over to Mahrq and start talking as the two went up the stairs, “Did you hear Yank?  He was saying …

Hoscoe addressed Yank again, “What was your occupation?”

Yank took a deep breath and answered, “I used to pull the ribbons.  That’s why they call me Yank.”

‘Pull the ribbons,’ I thought?  What was that?

Someone else piped up laughing at Yank, “I thought they called you Yank because of something else.”

Yank’s face became sour, “I’ll give you something else to think about, ya damned bonehead.  Come here and I’ll …”

“Did you drive the team that made the Yardley Run a few years ago?” Hoscoe interjected and had a curious expression on his face.

“Yup, that was me.”

As Yank walked away to pick up debris I saw Hoscoe watch him with consideration, then he shook his head with a look of respect on his face.

Settling in for work, I still didn’t know what it meant to pull the ribbons.

Chapter   17

________________________

 

 

BY THE END of the second day we had gotten the place into fair condition.  There were no signs of the dragon hunter and his party, and it was clear Mahrq was not in the best of moods. 

We had settled into our quarters for the night, and most of us were asleep, when a group on horseback entered the camp.  By the scurried sounds of movement in the palisade, this must be the dragon hunting party.  I heard conversations going on, but the tent walls and distance kept me from making anything out. 

Then, not to far away from our tent I suddenly heard a stern and angry voice, “What do you mean, Stagus is dead?” At first I thought it was a woman yelling, the voice pitch was so high, or perhaps a young human teen in the middle of puberty.

Mahrq’s voice answered clearly and was somewhat on the defensive, “I mean, Stagus is dead.  He …”

“The deal was for you to bring me STAGUS!” The first voice was rising in unbridled anger.

“I know that …”

“Alive!  I wanted Stagus a-LIVE!” That voice was beginning to sound like an irritating whine.

“I understand …”

There was the sound of muffled thumping, as if the first person was slapping Mahrq, which was not likely, or was smacking the back of a gloved hand into the palm of another, which was most probably, “Alive and in chains!  Not dead!”  The words were being driven home with drops of acid in his speech.

“If you would …”

“We laid it out perfectly.  I gave you specifics of his arrival and accompaniment; you have this so-called superior mountain team.  You assured me nothing would go wrong.  What went wrong Mahrq?” It dawned upon me the hunter’s voice was pitched just a little too high and with a nasal sound.  He sounded almost comical.

There was a pause, “I want it clear with no frills, no embellished mountain man tale spinning.  Tell me how you screwed up this perfect plan.”

There was another pause, as if Mahrq were waiting to make sure he wasn’t going to be interrupted again.  I was remembering Mahrq’s own yelling conversation with Deyan.  Then Mahrq began, “The operation went perfectly in camps one and three.  The camp two operation hit a couple of snags, but they were taken care of.  Stagus was caught, literally with his pants down, just as planned and put into irons …”

There was a long hesitation.  Then Mahrq continued, “… but on the wagons returning from the point was this slink kid.  He got up into Stagus’s face and challenged him in front of the gods and everybody.”

They were speaking in Quandellish and I very much wanted to get closer to see and hear better, but Hoscoe was awake and motioned me to stay still. 

Mahrq was still talking where I could hear, “We thought it could be fun to watch …”

“You what?” the first voice was incredulous.

“We let them fight.”  Hurriedly Mahrq added, “Stagus was known everywhere for his fighting.  Last month he beat two sailors to death over in …”

“I don’t care what he can do.”  Swearing all manner of profanity the first voice added, “I don’t care what he could do.  You had him in chains and you let him out.  Where is his body?”  In jibing sarcasm he asked, “Did you think to keep it, like maybe for a souvenir?” 

“Over this way …” and the voices faded as they walked away, apparently in the direction of Stagus’s wagon.

I just lay there for a while, not sure what to think.  After a few minutes footsteps came toward into our tent.  Inside stepped Mahrq followed by a blonde human who was just under average height, pot bellied and with a short-cropped hair cut.  He looked in no way impressive, but his demeanor was clear in that he thought very much of himself. 

Mahrq pointed at me and said, “There he is.”

The man stood there for a minute looking at me, and I was laying there on one arm looking right back at him.  He looked like someone who enjoyed giving orders and being obeyed.  There was something of an arrogant swagger to him and he was painfully neat.  Hadn’t he just come in from a hunt?  This fellow was serious about his looks, but not so much about his physical condition.  And either he had just shaved or he couldn’t grow facial hair.  Just by watching his body language you could tell he had a serious short person’s complex. 

I thought to myself, ‘So, this is the dragon hunter?’  Somehow, there was nothing impressive about this human.

He asked Mahrq with a sideways nod, “What language does he speak?”

“We hear him talk Lohngish and he knows Quandellish,” Mahrq replied.

Nodding his head at me he asked, “So you’re the elf who killed Stagus bare-handed.  Stand up and let’s have a look at you.”

Slowly brushing my covers aside, I stood up in my winter long handle underwear and gave him his look.  He gave me a good study, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes.  He wasn’t like Stagus, there was something different in his manner I couldn’t place.  I knew instantly I didn’t like him.  Okay, I didn’t like humans in general, but this was something different.  Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Did you know Stagus has killed more than thirty men in stand up, bare knuckle fights?  They were big, hearty men, too.  And you pluck him down, a half-grown elf.”  He moved closer and kept studying me, “Or should I say half-elf?”

All I did was slowly shake my head no.  I had no idea of anything Stagus had done outside of the camps.  The hunter’s face was becoming red as his blood pressure seemed to be rising, and he looked to be trying to act tall and intimidating.  I quelled a sudden impulse to laugh.

“How do you know Quandellish?  There have been no elves in Quandell for hundreds of years.”

From behind me came a voice, “He was born and raised a slave.  You can learn a lot among other slaves.”

The hunter looked beyond me and asked, “Excuse me?  Who are you?  I gave you no permission to … Sophoria nod Sha’Deim!”  The words I recognized by sound, but the dialect?  It wasn’t a tongue my momma spoke, and I didn’t learn it from Jared.  The phrase, it struck a chord in my memory.  Why?

Hoscoe stepped around from behind me and looked the hunter level in the eye, “Hello Sormiske.  It has been a while.”  Hoscoe did not have his hand out in greeting.

The hunter, Sormiske, was completely taken aback and for a moment speechless.

Mahrq stepped up, “Wait a minute,” looking at Sormiske he asked, “you know this man?”

Sormiske got his composure together and, ignoring Mahrq, gave his full attention to Hoscoe, “Hello, sir.  I heard you were dead.”

“Hardly ...” Hoscoe answered wryly.

Sormiske seemed to hesitate another moment, “I am sorry about your family, sir.  Jonathan, Captain Jonathan, was well liked, and a good officer.”

“Ahem,” Mahrq cleared his throat and addressed Sormiske, “mind if I ask who this is?”

Sormiske did not take his eyes off of Hoscoe, “I served two years under this man.  Mahrq, you are looking at General Tyorrin Hoscoe Val’Ihrus.”

Mahrq turned to look at Hoscoe and his face almost paled.  Now I was looking at him differently.  Hoscoe had been a general?  Of where, and when? 

As if he were reading my mind Sormiske added, only he was talking sideways to Mahrq, “General Val’Ihrus is as you know, without a doubt, the most effective general in Dahruban history.  I was with him at the Battle of Wilcher and through the Jernigan War.  He could quite possibly take what’s left of your band and kill you single handed.”  To Hoscoe he offered a partial bow and salute, “Sir, would you please to come outside with me?”  Hoscoe gave me a glance, and then followed Sormiske outside.  Mahrq hesitated a moment and gave me a long, studious look, then followed the two men outside and let the tent flaps fall shut.

Standing there by myself I was feeling pretty awkward. I sat back down on my bedding and just looked around.  All this time, Hoscoe had been a famous general.  Not that it really affected me, but I wondered what direction things would now take.  I thought we were becoming friends.  With this former acquaintance showing up, he would surely want to separate himself from us prisoners.

Between fifteen, maybe twenty feet away from the tent’s side walls I heard the sounds of men walking.  In the Shudoic tongue I heard Sormiske and Hoscoe speaking.  How many languages did Hoscoe know, anyway?  I knew several, myself, and a lot of humans knew two and sometimes three, the ones who traveled a lot, anyway.  But this made five languages he knew, for sure.  I was impressed.  Of course it made sense he would know Shudoic.  The Plains of Shudoquar, the largest realm in Aeshea, was the first established country west of Dahruban.

It seemed Mahrq wasn’t with them.  Perhaps they had moved between the tents for some private talk, getting away from brigands lurking around trying to hear?  Not that I, myself, would try to eavesdrop or anything.  Being awake and able to hear so well, um, sometimes it’s hard to tune things out, you know?

Sormiske was asking, “May I inquire how you became involved with the likes of Stagus?”

A pause, “I have my reasons.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you do.  It’s just … did you know he raped a young girl from Malone?  She was the daughter of an important man.”

Another pause, “I’m sorry to hear that.  I have not been privy to such information.”

“There is a large sum being offered as a reward for his return.  He was to have been publicly stripped, skinned and crucified for slow death.”

“I see.”  I could almost envision Hoscoe, or should I call him general, mulling the information over and nodding in his knowing way.  “The reward would be most important.  What happened to the young lady?”

It was Sormiske’s turn to pause, a long pause, “I’m not sure.”  I thought I could hear a shuffle of feet on the ground.  “I believe she expired, sir.”

“Expired?  Of course, I am sure Stagus would have been most rough.  She must have suffered a great deal.”

“I suppose so.”  Again a pause, “The point is I now have a dead Stagus, but I still need to take him to Malone, or at least present proof of his death.  A bit further along the trail I have another client to satisfy.”

“The point, of course,” Hoscoe’s tone had subtly altered and was now almost mildly condescending.  I honestly don’t think Sormiske was picking up on it.  To me, Hoscoe’s voice fluctuation was obvious.  I was beginning to wonder how bright this Sormiske fellow really was.  “Well then, your course must be clear.  Since you are in charge of this operation, and unless you have taken up the marketing of human merchandise, it shouldn’t be a problem to have some or most of us released.”  I could hear a smile in his voice.

A long awkward silence followed, “Well, you see, sir.  Therein lays the problem.  I am in charge, and I haven’t taken up marketing of human merchandise, as you put it, but I have a dilemma.  I’m not going to get the sum I expected for Stagus, and the dragon didn’t produce what was fully expected.  My client made a reference that if I were to happen along an elvin male, she would be very generous.  There is an elvin male in that tent, there, and he will make up for what I will lose regarding Stagus.”

“I see.  What if I choose to take him of my own accord?”  I was stunned.  Hoscoe asked what?

“What if you choose …?” Sormiske seemed to fluster, “Sir, may I ask, did you actually surrender, as in accordance to the Associated Kingdoms Code of Combatual Conduct? Or did you just casually allow yourself to be taken?”

Once more, I heard a smile in Hoscoe’s reply, “What, Sormiske, do you think?”

“I would think you would have the honor to comply with terms of surrender.”

“We are far removed from the nearest member of the Associated Kingdoms, and you have no foundation to speak of honor.”

Sormiske’s fluster was getting worse and he was having difficulty keeping control, “Are you, are you blaming me for Jonathan’s death?”

Hoscoe’s words were deliberate and clear, “Were you not there?  Mysteriously unscathed and your sword clean beyond reproach … only five hours after the engagement when relief arrived, I believe the report described?”

Sormiske’s breath was short.  I could envision his sweating in the cold, night air and facing Hoscoe with his complete composure.  “Yes, I was there.  But I was not in a position …” Sormiske inhaled deeply and took his time in saying, “Sir, you may have been able to take out huge numbers at one time.  But you have become old.  And I have a prominent wizard with me.  A Meidran Wizard, no less …” Sormiske seemed to be puffing out his chest, trying to find some courage in his own words “… and he is under my command.  You might get a few of us, but you would never make it away with him. 

“Don’t look at me like that.  Even if you did, this is dangerous country for an old man and a half-breed elf who was raised a slave.

“What is he to you, anyway?”

It was Hoscoe’s turn not to answer a question.  He did ask a question of his own, however, “Sormiske?  Did you slay the dragon?  Or will you simply take credit for doing so?”

Whoa!  Okay, this was getting deeper and more pointed.  Sormiske seemed to be incapable of answering and Hoscoe had apparently hit home on several counts.  Sormiske must have been turning to walk away when Hoscoe asked, “What are your intentions for me, then.”

Sormiske was mad and on the defensive, “You can go, go free.  But I keep the elf.”  With an afterthought he added, “I will make sure you are outfitted and provided with a suitable mount, then you can go your own way.”

I could hear footsteps as Sormiske was walking away.  Then Hoscoe asked “You won’t mind if I ride along with you, do you, for sake of safety in numbers and all?”

From a short distance away, Sormiske stopped and turned, thought about it for a moment and replied, “If you wish to ride with us, that’s your choice.  But don’t try to take the elf from me.  I’ll warn the wizard and my men.”

In a bored and casual voice Hoscoe said, “You belong behind a desk, not in the field, Sormiske.  I wager the wizard was sent to ensure you completed your mission.”

Sormiske whirled and strutted away into the night huffing and puffing.

Hoscoe pulled the flaps of the tent and came to his bed, passing me a glance.  He looked at me again, and as he crawled back into his covers he saw me staring at him and said, “You should get some sleep.”

We looked at each other without speaking, then in Shudoic I said, “Good night, Hoscoe.”

He lay down and burrowed under his blankets as I watched.  Looking at me with an impish smile he said, “I heard you and Jared speak the tongue a time or two.  Good night Sed.”

Well now, that figures.  He intended me to hear the conversation all along.  I dug into my own blankets and fell asleep thinking, ‘I really do have a friend.’

The next morning we were having morning chow with a few new faces when Mahrq, Deyan, Sormiske and two more humans walked down the stairs.  The one human wore some type of dark colored robes and an unruly tuft of dark hair.  The other, however, made my breath catch; it was Lexin.  He was fully grown and sporting a beard, but it was Lexin and he was wearing a tabard embossed with the Fel’Caden family crest.  Sormiske was said to have someone with a dragon-slaying weapon, was it him? 

Did Lexin recognize me?  It isn’t like elves were common.  I was sure he had already heard of the elf in the company who had killed Stagus.  Then again, to humans, most elves look alike.

Sizing him up I began thinking just where the best point of attack would be.  I could feel the heat rise up into my body and someone must have opened the door, because a small breeze suddenly went across the room.  ‘Momma,’ I thought, and felt a rage begin to build.  Without thinking I slowly began to walk around the mess line and toward Lexin.  I could lunge quickly to one side and take him in the throat …

Mahrq yelled, “Take him!” and brigands grabbed at me, the wizard suddenly waved a hand in my direction and something coiled around my arms, forcing them against my body.  A cord seemed to wrap around my neck and I couldn’t breathe.  Quickly I was apprehended and taken to the floor, and then slowly everything went black.  It seemed I was making a career at getting knocked out.

___________________________

 

When I came around I was again chained, this time to a post inside one of the other buildings.  A brigand was watching me and as I started to move he called for Mahrq. 

Mahrq, Sormiske, the wizard and Lexin came in the doorway.  Mahrq was the first to talk, “Boy, you are a problem, but no more.  These men …” he gestured to Sormiske and the wizard, “are going to take you out of here and feed you to a witch.”  With a swish of his cloak he turned and said to Sormiske, “He’s yours.”  Then he stormed out of the building.

Lexin just looked me over.  Then with snort and a demeaning grin he said in Gevardic, “Herrol would be pleased to see you.”  Nodding his head at me he commented, “Yes, still impudent and untamable.”  He turned to Sormiske, “If that will be all, I need to return.  There is another war brewing and I need to be there.”

“Yes, thank you major.  I hope the compensation is satisfactory.”  Sormiske looked down at Lexin’s sword hilt.  I could see lust in his eyes, “That is a nice blade.”

“Yes, it is,” replied Lexin, “it’s been in the family for over a hundred years.”  He casually gazed in my direction, “We acquired many good things in that year.”  He measured the length of my chains and spoke directly at me, “Your younger brother behaves nicely.”  Glancing to Sormiske but keeping me in his sight he added, “I learned on his momma …”

I bolted to get at him and the pole gave a splintering crunch sound.  Lexin jumped back and drew his blade with one graceful motion, ready to strike me down.  But the pole held and my chains stopped me short.  Through clenched teeth I growled my rage, “You gutless son of a pig.  Let me loose and I will kill your whole family … arrgggh!”  Like a beast I yelled my fury, and in the distance I heard a mournful howl of a wolf.  Was it the same wolf?

From his brave posture, Lexin was about to laugh, how courageous to face a chained and unarmed foe with a drawn blade, but the howl struck a nerve in his and Sormiske’s fiber together.  The brigand guard in the room suddenly turned white, “Boys, the last time we heard the howl we were attacked by those demons.”

I saw the sword and beheld the beauty of it.  It was of superb craftsmanship, without a nick on the edge.  A gentle, grayish glow began to emanate around it and I could almost read the ancient runes etched on the blade.  They were engraved in Draconic.  This wasn’t a dragon slaying blade, it was a blade of dragons, or some specific dragon.  I didn’t understand why they thought … of course … they couldn’t read the runes.  It was assumed this was a dragon slayer.  So who was the rightful owner? 

Momma had made no mention of such a sword in our family’s possession.  Momma had mentioned what she referred to as the superiority of elvin swordplay and construction, but never a specific weapon.  Could this be one of those things she couldn’t tell me, or was it acquired about the same time but from a different source?

Didn’t Lexin insinuate the sword had been taken along with my momma, or was I reading things wrong again?  Was I just letting someone raise my ire with carefully planted words?  I seemed to be good at that.

I hissed at Lexin, “One day, one day I will take that blade from your filthy hands and I will run you through.”

Now mad, Lexin snarled his upper lip and drew back as if to strike me down on the spot.

“No!” Sormiske yelled while grabbing Lexin by the arm.  Quickly tempering his voice he added, “I need him.  He’s worth a lot of money where I’m going.”

Lexin held off, visibly thought about it, and then looked at Sormiske’s hand on his arm.  What was that I saw?  Was the sword emanating some kind of thin glow all around Lexin?  Was this some kind of Guardian Sword?  I tried to get a better look at the runes.  I could read them if only … Oahkns’Fahl … I got one, but only one.  It would interpret into Lohngish as protection.  Not enough, I needed more to get the context of the etching.

Sormiske let go as Lexin shrugged his clothing back into place and said, “I am leaving.”  I got one more word before he sheathed the sword, Ish’Thecahl.  The sword had a name, Ish’Thecahl, but I couldn’t place the name’s meaning.

As Lexin’s hand left the hilt I saw the thin glow dissipate.  Mahrq hadn’t even noticed.  I wondered if Lexin even knew, more importantly, I was wondering why I saw it myself if no one else did.  Was this part of the Family Secret, to see magical aura’s and effects? 

Again I thought, just what all could I possibly do?  Was there enough there to really do me some good?  Was a little healing ability and maybe seeing some aura’s all there was?  Or was there something more worth exploring?  U’Lahna, did she have any of these abilities? And what about my twin?  Some how, some way I had to find my family.  But how, I was still a slave?

As Lexin turned to leave the building Hoscoe came in.  He was once more dressed in his old garb of studded leather armor, long sword and other personal effects.  “Mahrq and company are striking to leave within the hour, Sormiske.  What about my proposal of a few minutes ago?”

Sormiske was studying me as one would a dangerous animal they have to transport.  He did not like me at all and the feeling was mutual.  He answered Hoscoe, “I will tell Mahrq.  Meet me by the main building.”  Then he turned to leave, followed by the wizard.  What was the wizard’s name, anyway?

Hoscoe gave me a sardonic look with a shake of his head, “You need to learn to control that temper.  Are you alright?” 

“Yeah …” I almost mumbled, “My throat’s a little sore, but I’m okay.”

He glanced outside, “Can you behave yourself?  This is not the time, you know?  It will come, but not yet.”

Rubbing my neck a bit I answered, “I’ll work on it.” Then I asked, “When will that time be, Hoscoe?”

He pondered the thought a moment, “I don’t honestly know.”  He held my view and made me look into his eyes.  He breathed a deep sigh and asked, “Will you trust me?  I would be your friend, if you would tolerate a lowly human.”  There was a hint of humor in his eyes, but a twinge of truth as well.  It was a choice I would have to make, and I needed to make it now.  He had some kind of interest in me.  What, I didn’t know.  But he could have walked away.  Instead he chose to stand with me, not us as prisoners, but me as a person.

Hoscoe offered his hand and held it for me to accept or refuse.  I gave it serious consideration, and then taking his hand firmly I said in a solemn tone, “I will trust you Mehio.”  Mehio being the Elvish word for Trusted Friend.

He smiled and returned the grasp, “Mehio.”

As he walked out to send a guard to unlock my chains, what he just said suddenly came to my mind, “This is not the time?”  What was he referring to exactly, how much about me did he know, and what did he know that I perhaps didn’t?  Trust, I thought?  Nodding to myself I resolved, ‘Okay, trust it is …’

Chapter   18

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THE RECENT WOLF howl had really shaken up the party, brigands and prisoners alike.  So far no one had seen or heard any sign of the creature.  Most were still talking it up as a werewolf or some other kind of spirit being, but I wasn’t so sure.  I was sure the big, white wolf had intentionally saved my life, and there was the tag I believed I saw.  Wolves weren’t intelligent, in a problem evaluation sort of way. Yet if someone had ordered it to attack the creature which was attacking me, then that someone was watching me.  Why hadn’t they made their presence known?

After all these years, had someone from the Itahro Mountains come to rescue?  I thought, ‘Okay, Sed, Komain, Sed … who was I, anyhow … now you’re being ridiculous.’  I knew my imagination often ran wild as the thought skipped through my mind.  Besides, no one up there would even have a clue I existed. 

I quickly shook my mind back to reality, but the wolf was still a mystery.  Who could it belong to? Who could make such a huge creature a pet, or trained animal of some specific purpose?  A giant, maybe? Momma said there used to be giants in these mountains …

As I was led outside I saw everyone scurrying to get ready to move out.  Lexin was just mounting a beautiful gray horse.  Taking the lead rope of a packhorse he passed me a malevolent glance, and then rode out from the fort at a trot.  I was watching him go when Hoscoe called me to get my gear together and come back out to meet him. 

It took all of ten minutes to pack my duffle.  Walking out to meet Hoscoe, I could see there was an argument going on between Mahrq and Sormiske.

“… it wasn’t part of the deal,” Mahrq was almost yelling.

“Your getting Stagus killed wasn’t part of the deal either.  I want that wagon.”  Sormiske’s contorted face reminded me of a spoiled little boy arguing with another child over a toy.

Deyan and a couple of other brigands were behind Mahrq.  Somehow the wizard and a couple of Sormiske’s people were beside him.  With humor, I couldn’t help but notice Sormiske’s feet were positioned so that he could quickly duck behind either of his so-called henchmen.  Hoscoe wasn’t aligned with either.

Mahrq was making his case, “The merchandise within that wagon is the primary target of our interest, and we will not relinquish our rights to spoils we gathered without your presence!”

Sormiske was actually shifting his feet, as if to side step back and behind the wizard, and putting both hands on his hips yelled back in his whining voice, “I don’t care what you think you rights are, I …”

“Gentlemen …” Hoscoe’s voice was smooth, firm, but not loud and with no seeming effort took control of the conversation. “Mahrq, I concur you have rightfully earned your spoils, I was there.” He looked at Sormiske, “All we need is the wagon and team.  It would be a matter of short form to engage a detail to exchange the articles in Sormiske’s wagon …” he then looked at Mahrq, “… with those in Stagus’s.”

Hoscoe casually walked between the two with his hands partially raised and had the attention of everyone.  Still looking at Mahrq, “You will not need so clumsy a vehicle traversing these trails.  And the choice remains of the dragon will be better stored in Stagus’s land cruiser.”

Sormiske started to open his mouth, but Hoscoe looked in his direction and continued, “We will find it difficult enough defending just the one wagon with so few numbers of guards.”  These two group leaders were just looking at him, and had Hoscoe hesitated one of them might have founds words to argue.  But he didn’t, “And the sooner the better or else we may have werewolves and demons to contend with again.”

Without breaking stride in speech or movement, Hoscoe moved away from between the two and immediately began calling orders, “Bernard, get a quick-time detail to unload Stagus’s wagon.  You there, yes you, get up on the deck of this wagon …” he indicated Sormiske’s open box wagon, “… and back it around here like this.” He had walked to a specific point and was lining his hands in front to show exactly what he wanted.

Hoscoe whistled sharply, so that everyone in the compound could hear.  He didn’t seem to yell, but his voice carried to the other side so there were no problems in clarity, “Yank, pick two men and get those Clydesdales in order, you’re in charge of the cruiser’s lines, double-stat.” 

Mahrq was nearly dumfounded, looked at Deyan for an instant and shrugging his shoulders said, “Let’s get it.” They straightway jumped in to get Stagus’s wagon unloaded.  What’s more, they asked Bernard to tell them what to do.  You know what?  He gave it only a second’s thought, and instead of being a smart-head, he directed them as to what to do and the transfer of wagon contents went fast and military smooth.

In the space of five minutes everything was moving smartly.  When Hoscoe saw Sormiske’s people standing and staring at their dragon-hunting leader, Hoscoe put them to work.  Even the wizard got involved to make sure his personal belongings were situated within the cruiser.  Everyone was busy except Sormiske, who was standing there looking lost and out of place.

Once the two wagons had been transferred, Hoscoe walked up to Mahrq and said, “With all due respect, I need the release of four men.  It is not as if there is going to be a market anywhere close, and it would relieve you of their accountability.  It may even increase your speed by a margin.”

Mahrq looked to say something, thought better of it, and then asked, “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember me, at all?”

“Absolutely … graduated at the top of your class in the Dahruban Military Academy, could hit the apple at one hundred rods with the heavy cross ten for ten times, commissioned as Lieutenant in the 4th Brigade, then served with distinction during the Amber-Croaz Campaign.  I was the one who signed your appointment to Captain.”

Mahrq was stunned.  Me?  I couldn’t help hearing, but I was stunned, too.  “Why sir, why didn’t you say something?”  His manner was somewhat confused as he added in apologetic undertones, “You look … your appearance is so different out of uniform … and you have a goatee …” With an almost astonished hint of a smile Mahrq said, “And your hair is much longer than the regulations you were known to be so, so firm about, sir …”

Hoscoe paused, then smiled and shook his head, “We live in trying times, Mahrq.  I did not approve of the court-martial, but you had been transferred out of my jurisdiction and your commander was an idiot.  He was a desk soldier who advanced due to political connection.  You were a good soldier then, and you still are now.”  Hoscoe raised his eyebrows in subtle humor, “Besides, I am a civilian these days, after all ...” He stroked his goatee, “… and I have come to like this.”

Mahrq gave Hoscoe a meaningful look, then braced his feet and affected a perfect salute.  Hoscoe seemed taken aback a moment, then returned the gesture.  It was a beautiful exchange.

Mahrq turned to walk away and said, “Take who you need, I guess we better do it quickly.”

“I concur.”

Hoscoe saw me standing in the shadow with a bundle of gear.  I asked, “Court-martial?”

“He struck a fellow officer.  Beat him quite thoroughly, actually.”

“Why?”

“The officer was attempting to force his way on a tavern girl.”

I winced.  So Mahrq had honor, at least at one time.  “Does Sormiske know about that, and that Mahrq had served under you?”

Hoscoe winked at me, and then smiled, “Sormiske was the officer.”

___________________________

 

The word got out quickly that Hoscoe was going to pick four of the prisoners for freedom.  Everyone, former slave and guard alike, knew Hoscoe had in his power to keep four men from an uncertain fate.  His picks may not live the rest of the day, but they would be free men.  Freedom, it has a magic ring to it.  Over the course of many millennia men, women, elves, d’warvec, all manner of people had died to preserve or prevent it. 

What had Jared said?  “I would rather live five minutes free than five hundred years as a slave.”

Bernard was pure military and knew his stuff.  He had very little personality, but was one squared away soldier.  He talked occasionally, seemed to have one speed until he opened up with his sword arm, and had been Hoscoe’s Segundo at our camp.  There is something to be said about working with someone you are used to.

Thad I knew from working the point.  He was tall, big shouldered, strong as a mule and steady as a rock.  He had a slow sense of humor but was friendly to everyone.  He had been a blacksmith who amassed a big gamboling debt and was sold as specialized labor.  He wasn’t very fast, but I had never seen him quit until a job was done and he had performed the metal work for all three camps.  When he chose his outfit, he picked out a hammer for a weapon.  Hoscoe picked him particularly in case we had a breakdown.  That cruiser had a lot of metal on it.

René had been the hunter for camp two, and was the main reason the overthrow had been a problem.  Most humans used the crossbow because it was easier to learn.  René used a composite long bow, and he was fast, fast and accurate.  He was twenty-one, mountain raised, able to ride a running horse bareback while hanging off the side of its neck shooting a bow, and a superb tracker.  He was what he called a wilderman.

During road camp chow talk, they said he could track a bird across the river.  One fellow claimed to have seen him throw a piece of wood up in the air, pull an arrow and fire it into the wood before it hit the ground.  I never saw it, but that’s what was said. 

The fellow added that when René pulled the bowstring, the back of his hand faced his body, an almost unheard of technique, at least in the human world, but it made perfect sense.  The movement was much easier on the shoulder, included use of the back muscles; something called a compound movement and allowed for use of a bow with stronger pull.

Come to think of it, when momma imitated use of the bow, her hand drew back in the same way.  It also made notching and rapid fire of arrows much easier.  It’s much easier to show than explain.

The day the brigands struck the camps René had been out hunting.  When the attack started he climbed a rock and took out six brigands with as many arrows.  Unfortunately those were his last six.  Drawing his sword he was caught with a bola from his blind side, just as he finished brigand number seven.  Had the strike not been well planned from the beginning and most of the guards taken out, there wouldn’t have been enough brigands to collect the surviving slaves.  Camp two had been more of a farming camp where much of our food was grown and preserved.

Yank was something of a surprise, at first.  Sure, he was a nice fellow who could tell a good story, was an above average worker, but except for his experience at driving a team of horses I couldn’t see why him.  Anyone could drive a team of horses, couldn’t they?  Someone else had the same thought.

Among the prisoners one fellow called out, “Hey!  Why Yank?  Most of us are bigger and anyone can drive a wagon.”

Though we were in a hurry, Hoscoe took the time and courtesy to answer an honest question, and he seemed to enjoy giving it, “Ten years ago a terrible battle took place outside of the Germaine country, up in the northern Kohntia Mountains.  A hoard of almost six hundred barbarians massed to attempt wiping out an exploratory patrol from Dahruban.  It took little time to almost obliterate the unsuspecting troops.  In short order there were only eleven men left alive.

“The second in command was a young man named Lieutenant Frederick, who decided to attempt making a run for it.  The plan was to empty all supplies of a box wagon, fill it with the remaining soldiers and all the crossbow bolts they had left.  One man had to drive the team and one man would set up top with him shooting a crossbow.  A certain corporal volunteered for the duty, and the lieutenant rode the box beside him.

“That corporal took that wagon through several miles of country he had never seen, driving at breakneck speeds to reach Fort Yardley, while these barbarians blew their horns and tried to stop the wagon by every means imaginable.  The lieutenant died and the corporal took five arrows and one spear, but he got the wagon through.  Only one man inside the wagon died and five more were wounded.  I personally took the reports of three of the survivors.”  Hoscoe gave an affirmative nod toward Yank, “He drives this wagon.”

This wagon of Stagus’s, what Hoscoe had called a land cruiser, was an incredibly well built vehicle.  Up to now I had never studied the thing, but it favored a floating barge at first glance, a barge with wheels.  Hoscoe said this vehicle was designed and built in the Phabeon port city of Malone.  Its purpose was to float like a boat, and roll like a wagon.  They were expensive and used almost exclusively by the military.  Stagus must have paid many a mark for this one. 

The underside was plated in black painted aluminum, and this one must have been treated magically because there were no seams.  The entire thing set on a frame, which in turn was connected to wheels by metal leaf springs in back and coils in the front.  Two partial side doors, one on each side, had to be accessed by a stepladder, and a tailgate in the back made for bulk loading.  On top was a rim where you could put cargo and in the front was a short deck for the driver.

This wagon was rigged inside with a narrow bed in the front, had a small hatch in the bottom for use as a waste dump, and a trap door led to the top.  What seemed to be a pole in the center of the cabin was actually a tube, so a small mast could be slid into it from the top to mount a sail.  The entire back area could be, and was now, used for cargo. 

The wizard claimed the bed as a private area for his, effects, as he called them.  Since he might well be our ace in the hole for this dangerous journey, Hoscoe had no problem with it.  A huge amount of dragon skin, teeth, claws and two eggs were now the cargo.  Oh, and me.  Another small sack was thrown in, as well.  Stagus’s head had been preserved by the wizard. 

Trying to make a casual comment and learn at the same time I said, “All this skin, I thought dragons had scales.”

The wizard passed me an undignified glance and said nothing.  I felt like an idiot, so kept my mouth shut and started to go for a sack of supplies.

The wizard then spoke, the first time I had heard him actually speak.  His voice had a strange, guttural accent and when he opened his mouth his breath was revolting.  Offhanded he offered, “A Shakeil Drake isn’t a true dragon.  They look like one, breath fire like one, but otherwise their physiology is different.”

I looked at him, interested, as well as becoming nauseous.

“They don’t lay eggs.  They keep them in their body and the drakelets hatch, so to speak, in the mother’s body.  And they aren’t intelligent like proper dragons.  They are beasts.”  He walked away before I could even thank him for answering my question.

Our food and water supply was also put in the wagon.  In actuality the load was now much lighter, as most of the previous load had been metal tools and the like.  A nugget of fortune was that, in during the unloading and reloading process, we found a large supply of arrows, René’s personal quiver and his composite bow. 

I was the one who found it and handed it back to him.  He smiled with deep appreciation, “I made her myself.  It’s like a piece of me inside her.” 

It was really a beautiful piece of work.  I had never seen an actual bow up close before, and running my hands over the perfectly shaped wood sent a tingle through my spine.  It was made of several kinds of wood, in what he called a laminating process, and included Black Cedar, Sweet Wood and Silver Oak. 

René added as he caressed the bow’s texture, “It cost me a lot, but I had it magically treated by a master wizard.  It won’t burn or warp, and water don’t bother it none,” he winked at me, “and it automatically adjusts to the shooter’s strength.”  He slyly added, “I hear you’re pretty stout.” With a humorous raise of his forehead he said, “I bet you could sink one pretty deep into a feller, with the right draw.”

Then he showed me his hand tooled quiver.  Carefully pulling one particular arrow out, he showed me a Mythril arrowhead.  “I got four of these I keep for luck.  These beauts will sink through anything.  I had five and I’ve used them all, but there was this run-in with what I think was a vampire.”  He gave a sheepish grin, “Nothin’ else was workin’ and I didn’t hanker to go back and dig it out.”

He was watching my facial expression as I admired his weapon, “You ever shoot a bow?” René asked.  I slowly shook my head.  He added, “You wanna give it a try?  I’ll show you …”

“No,” interjected Sormiske, as he walked up and heard the invitation, “he’s not going to need to know how.  He’s a slave.”

Also walking up, Hoscoe suggested, “It could be useful, Sormiske, for him to get some training.  We are heading into dangerous territory and the org tribes are on the move.  It is one reason Stagus was in such a hurry to get the building done and move on to the Citadel.”

Sormiske grumbled a bit.  Then he said, “Show him how to use the crossbow.  He can use one of those.  It might come in handy from on top of the wagon.”

When he walked away and I had a moment with Hoscoe, I asked, “If Mahrq whipped Sormiske and doesn’t like him, why is he tolerating him now?”

“Now, that is a good question,” Hoscoe answered.  Raising his eyebrows he looked from me, to Sormiske, to the wizard, to Mahrq, and back to me, “I am not entirely sure he is.  From listening to the men speak, my wager is that it was the wizard who negotiated the association before Sormiske was contracted for the job, therefore a name was not yet available for mention, or I am sure Mahrq would have voiced his opinion.”

I saw a slow grin cross his face as he continued, “Knowing of Mahrq, I would guess he is simply honoring a contract and trying to get past it.”  Passing me a quick, meaningful wink, he added, “There are those who live by a code of honor, even when branded as outlaws.”

Sormiske was not happy.  It would be Hoscoe and his chosen four, the wizard, Sormiske’s former driver, five more of Sormiske’s hunting party, and three of the brigands were contracted to go.  That made sixteen people total to get dragon parts, Stagus’s remains, and me through one of the most dangerous stretches of mountain country anywhere, and we weren’t going to have access to the new road for days, if we made it that far.  Everyone had a mount but the wizard, Yank and me.  I had never ridden before so that was okay as far as I was concerned.

The wagon was set with Stagus’s prized Clydesdales; six beautiful mahogany bay animals, each with a blaze down the center of the face. The skirts of their feet danced as they stomped in anticipation of moving.  These animals could sense excitement was in the air.  As I looked at them closely one looked at me, and once again I felt as if an animal was trying to talk with me. 

Yank suddenly came up with an idea, “Hoscoe, Mahrq has a pair of blacks he took from our camps.  Those horses were caught by Fonder out of these mountain ranges and he broke ‘em in right in our camp.  They ain’t as big as the drafters, but they know this kind of country and can run.”

Hoscoe tilted his head and listened as Yank continued, “Up north, those sled dog teams use one dog in front what might not be the strongest, but it can go and it’s full of pepper.  The rest of ‘em just up and follow.  It wouldn’t take much to add some extra riggin’ if we do it quick, and it might make a difference.”

Hoscoe thought about it for only an instant.  Sormiske walked up and was opening his mouth when Hoscoe said, “I like it, make it happen.” 

Hoscoe looked to the north and west.  He was worried about something and wanted out of there.  Sormiske just stood back and left Hoscoe alone. 

___________________________

 

Hoscoe spent the rest of the time before our departure talking with the wizard.  I didn’t know what was said, but the wizard’s face turned to curiosity, then approval.  Sormiske had been idling around, then walked over to try to listen, apparently feeling left out.  After all, wasn’t he supposed to be in charge?  Just as he got within listening range, the wizard walked to the wagon without even acknowledging Sormiske’s presence.  In fact he had to turn his shoulder to keep from running into Sormiske.

In no time the entire wagon team was hitched and we were loaded, ready to go.  Looking at the eight horse team, even though the lead horses were some shorter, I thought it looked almost dashing.  With Yank sitting up on the box, reins in hand, I could imagine how this team would look running through the snow and mountain trails. 

We headed out through the remains of the gate and Mahrq’s crew was leaving out at the same time.  As we parted, Mahrq and Hoscoe saluted with a friendly gesture. 

Tandy was to have led Sormiske out of the mountains and as far as Kynear, but at least we had his directions.  Brigand he may have been, but he knew trails.  On his own he probably would have still been alive.  Hoscoe had talked with René and sent him on ahead.  René carried one quiver on his back and one on each side of his horse.  As we made out round and about of the fort, we stopped the wagon and the wizard stood up and started weaving his hands and making some sort of incantation.  For several minutes he did that and Hoscoe kept looking north and west.

I suddenly heard sounds of people coming from within the fort, and I saw fresh smoke rising up from where the chimney was.  This much was for sure, we had us a kick butt wizard.  He had formed some kind of large scale illusion, complete with smells, sounds and everything.  The wizard did and said something else and I watched in amazement as all of our tracks covered up behind us.  Hoscoe got us going at a good clip and for almost four miles I watched our tracks cover back up where we passed.  I kept watch until the tracks quit filling in and I just turned to look at the wizard.

Now that, I thought, was tough.

Chapter   19

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TORVEN QUANDELL WAS a master rogue who established a hideout north and east of the Ahnagohr Range.  He had lived his whole life in the wilderness and knew mountain country like no other human.  Eventually he had a whole band of rogues who he brought to his hide out, there a small colony grew.  In time the place became known as Quandell’s Cove.  No one could find the place, it was so well hidden among the mountains.

Over the years Quandell’s Cove became known as a safe haven for rogues, thieves, and anyone on the dodge.  Quandell laid down a set of rules to live by, and as long as you caused no trouble within the Cove, there would be no trouble with you.  If you were found to be representing the law or a military interest, you would be hung, no questions asked. 

The language of Quandell began as a code, used by the residents as a safety feature.  Grandfather Quandell, as he came to be known, trained up his own policing force which developed into a type of army as the years rolled on.  Families were started, children were born and villages were built, but all lived under the same code.

When Grandfather Quandell passed on he was an old man who had lived out his later years as a feudal lord.  A man of foresight, he had established a means of government leadership which was still working, four hundred and sixty-two years after he first established his hide out.

From Quandell’s Cove, the place became known simply as Quandell.  There were those who called it Thieves Valley, because supposedly thieves are still welcome there, but not everyone in Quandell is a thief.  There isn’t an actual city, but there are several villages and one fairly sizable town. 

Mahrq wasn’t from Quandell, but he apparently moved there after his military experience and became a Captain of their militia.  Then he started his own raiding operation.  It was home to Quandell that he was headed.

There is a very good reason Torven Quandell chose to settle north and east of the Ahnagohr Range; because this happens to be one of the most deadly regions of the whole Sahrjiun Mountains. The people of Quandell had fought many battles and waged two wars with a race of beings known as the Ahnagites, for whom the Ahnagohr Range is named.  At one point, the Ahnagites came close to wiping out the settlement in its infancy.

Mahrq himself had led the win in two battles against these beings, and it seems they had a personal vendetta with him.  Hoscoe and Mahrq knew of smoke signals which had been seen by a scout.  The Ahnagites were preparing for battle.  Hoscoe wanted no part of it and we were traveling quick-time to leave the region.  Not that it would get much easier.  Between us and the new road were at least two tribes of orgs who apparently were fighting among themselves regarding territorial issues.

We were not in a good position.

‘This was well planned, Sormiske,’ I thought with sarcasm.  It was no wonder he was stepping back and letting a seasoned warrior take charge.

The Ahnagites have been described as demons or evil wood spirits.  They are neither, but just as evil.  At first glance you might think their skin is covered with bark, and they know how to stand next to a tree and appear to vanish.  They are flesh and blood creatures who have learned to fashion tree bark into a supple armor, but which can deflect any save the most well aimed arrow.  A missile that hits just a hair off angle will deflect, so all shots must be squarely aimed.  And that’s hard to do in combat when people are turning this way and that.

Ahnagites are almost human sized, slender in build and can leap great distances.  While tree jumping isn’t their main means of travel, they can leap from tree trunk to tree trunk and swing branch to branch much like a monkey.  Did I mention the vast forests of the Ahnagohr Range?  These beings use no metal and fight with cudgels, spears and are very accurate with blow darts. 

Ahnagites compete with the orgs for the same food supply, although it is believed the Ahnagites are omnivores who also consume many forms of vegetation.  They are intelligent as well, and live in tribal communities which communicate through smoke signals.  What all else they could do was a matter of speculation, but it was believed they could speak with animals.  They could definitely imitate many animal sounds.

The smoke signals the scouts had seen had indicated a known adversary at the old human fort.  That would mean food, and they didn’t like Mahrq.  No wonder he was so agitated.  We had been in the heart of his enemy’s territory while seriously undermanned. 

Our pace was hard and fast.  Yank would alternate between cantering, walking and loping the team.  Hoscoe left the speed up to Yank.  A smart leader knows when to trust their people with their own skills.  Yank knew full well what was at stake and he knew how to handle a team.  There would be no dallying and we had days of rough travel in front of us.  I spent a lot of time on the box beside Yank and when he talked he was teaching me something.

“Everything has an art, Sed, even muckin’ a stall with a broke shovel.  These horses need to know they can trust me, and I’m a’goin’ to have to trust them.  I hold the lines just tight enough so they know I’m here.  They have to depend on me to steer ‘em true, so I can’t be afraid or they’ll know it.  Now, see here, I just guide ‘em.  I don’t have to jerk all that hard.  How’d you like someone to snatch a piece of metal between your teeth?”

All the while he talked while looking the trail and with a grin on his face.  This wasn’t a time for jokes, but Yank was doing what he did best, maybe better than anyone else, and he was loving it.  Even though we had a lot of travel time in front of us, it wasn’t a time for daydreaming or trying to figure my own personal questions.  Every sense had to be alert.  I might be a slave, but I was part of this party.  And while there was much for me to learn, my elvin eyes and ears were the sharpest of the whole company.

“You are not just up there to ride, Sed, I need you.  I need that elvin awareness of yours.  Yes, I know you have a sense of things.  You don’t know how to use it yet, and it takes training like everything else, but it is there.  Be extra aware as you ride the box.  If some creature tries to get your attention, then by Cherron’s Beard you let me know immediately.” Hoscoe slapped me on the arm with a wink and up to the top I went.  But not before he personally instructed me in the use of the crossbow.

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The wizard’s name was Wahyene, and he was a faithful follower of the Meidran Cult.  Depending on who you listened to, Meidra was one of the wives of Eayah, or his daughter, or his grand-daughter, or his great-grand-daughter, or a sick combination of all four.  Eayah was, as I have mentioned before, the most prominent deity worshiped by humans in Aeshea.  At least he had risen to that status in the last two hundred years or so.

The name Eayah could be traced back as far as the Kl’Duryq Wars, when the peoples of Aeshea fought with the Children of the Stars.  According to story, Eayah was a descendent of these Children and sided with Oshang in the final battles.  That was around nineteen hundred years ago.  Somehow, this Eayah fellow got a hold of something, made a deal with some supernatural being, or whatever, and ascended into godhood.  At least, that’s the story.

He disappeared and reappeared in culture tales throughout the centuries, sometimes as a tyrant and other times as a benevolent being.  About five hundred years ago he surfaced as the head of a pantheon with several wives, most of them from different species, and some horribly disfigured children.  Each of these were thought to be divinely empowered, most of whom were malevolent beings.  Of these, Meidra was the worst and considered to be goddess of all abominations and manipulation.  Her daughter, Cielizabeg, was a minor goddess of lust, lies and deceit.

The message depicted of Eayah at that time was: keep Eayah happy and he will keep his children off your back.  The Eayahnite Pantheon was primarily worshiped by humans surrounding the western Kohntia Mountains, and then spread into the Phabeon Islands.  But it never seemed to spread out beyond those areas.  It appeared to die out again after about a hundred years, but resurged and began spreading like wildfire. 

The strongest center of Eayahnite worship now seemed to be around the Plains of Shudoquar.  One of the three high priests of the order was a human named Logan.  He was said to be very conservative with a strong sense of fairness and integrity.  It was Logan’s administration which was turning the view of Eayah into a positive one.

A key factor in Logan’s popularity was that he came from commoner’s roots.  This was against the practice of the times, as higher level priests of nearly all religions came from aristocracy with strong political connections.  More importantly, the number of higher levels priests who had actually cultivated power manifestation capability was incredibly rare.  Logan had been a field clergy who waged war with werewolves, witches, an entire vampire cult, at least one demon lord, and won.

The word was that Meidra was trying to enter the physical world to take control from Eayah.  This has always been part of the mythos, nor was she the only descendent of Eayah’s to be after his so-called throne, but when Wahyene said he followed Meidra my eyebrows went up. 

The first night of camp I noticed Sormiske reading from a leathern binder.  Focusing my never-nosey elvin eyes, I was astounded to see he was reading from a newly written Eayahnite Bible.  ‘Now that made sense,’ I again thought with sarcasm.  Someone else noticed, too.

René was polishing his bow and casually remarked, “I see you’re readin’ from the book of Eayah.  Didn’t know you were religious and all.”

Sormiske looked up suddenly and curtly remarked, “Mind your own business.”

Everyone got quiet and René just looked up and shrugged his shoulders.  He was no longer in any way under Sormiske’s authority, and in truth never really had been.  He had been a captive of Mahrq’s, now he was working with Hoscoe.  “Hey, just tryin’ to make conversation.”

Looking about and noticing everyone staring at him, Sormiske pouted and said, “I’m going to be a priest.”

Sophoria no Sha’Deim … of course, I thought.  It was a religious exclamation I had heard once or twice as a child.  A priest had come by a time or two, and he used the expression.  I had never liked him, and he visited our quarters for several hours each time.  When leaving he would try to rub my head, but I wouldn’t let him.  He would pause at the front of our door when leaving and make this big, sweeping gesture toward us and say those words.  Shael’s, that was a long time ago.  I had been very little and had forgotten all about it.

There seemed to be much I had forgotten.

From off in the distance I saw Hoscoe look over and say, “I thought you planned to be a physician?  At least, that was what you talked most about while in Dahruban.”  It seemed to be an honest query without hint of contention, or was it?

Sormiske snapped an angry look at Hoscoe and was about to make some kind of remark, then quickly closed his mouth, looked around with his jaw pouted, and turned his back on the rest of us and went back to reading his book.

Out in the dangerous country, as we were, was not a time for any more trouble than absolutely necessary.  So no one said anything about Sormiske’s aspiration.  But it was clear several people wanted to laugh.  I couldn’t help but notice Wahyene smile in a little crooked smirk.  He wasn’t impressed either.

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Sormiske had his written commission from whomever, but it was clear who was actually in charge.  It didn’t take long for even his retainers to comply with Hoscoe’s command.  The second day we made great time until we ran into a snowdrift.  We had to come up to a complete stop and Wahyene climbed out of his roost in the wagon.  This was a dangerous place should we be attacked, and everyone was on extra alert.  There was no way around as the drift was in a cleft between two small hills.

Wahyene was looking dead center of the drift and starting to wave his hands around, when Hoscoe stopped him.  You should have seen the look on Wahyene’s face.  Hoscoe didn’t bat an eyelash, he just asked point blank, “What are you going to cast, good sir?” 

“Efforahd’s Fallion Inflamatory, if you must know.”

“If that is something akin to a mass of flame, would you be so kind as to place it here …” Hoscoe pointed somewhat higher up on the left side, next to the hill itself, “and then one over there …” He pointed to the other side, “and then in the center where the flush of heat will proceed straight through.”

Wahyene just looked at Hoscoe with a deadpan expression.

“To maximize the economy of a masterful spell, no less.”

Wahyene thought about it a moment and said, “I’ve only prepared three of these effects for the day.”

“But, if we don’t get through this drift quickly, we may no longer need any of your other effects.” Hoscoe glanced back down the trail, then again to the drift and Wahyene while raising one eyebrow.

Wahyene raised both eyebrows, tilted his head sideways and sighed an expression of acceptance.  Watching him let fly with those three balls of fire made everyone step back in awe.  Like I said before, tough!  Within five minutes we were hustling back down the trail.

Fortunately, René knew of this bit of trail.  It was called the Ghost Road because of all the deaths which had taken place on it; supposedly many of the deceased were still traveling the road, trying to finish their journey.  Once a well used game trail, it was traveled off and on for years by those brave enough to attempt navigation through the Ahnagohr Range.  This was before the trail, which Stagus built upon, was found.  There were several landmarks to go by, and thankfully the heavy snows had not yet started.  Otherwise we would have been in even more trouble.

Well past noon on the third day we were getting close to exiting the eastern part of the Ahnagohr when I saw a shadow move diagonally across my lap.  Looking up quickly I saw a huge, golden bird.  A Saukeir, I thought, and it was so close, too.  I froze.  Bird … Saukeir … Drake … Damn!  I glanced at the direction of the Saukeir’s flight and saw a large shadowy movement through the trees.  I yelled, “Hoscoe, the trees!”

With no hesitation Hoscoe yelled, “Now Yank, now!”

Yank snapped the lines and yelled “Hee-yah-yah-yah!” The horses catapulted unlike anything I had ever seen.  I was snapped into my seat by the impact of sudden motion.  A shrill, spine searing series of war cries shattered the air and the edges of the woods seemed to come alive with bodies swinging through the trees.

They had not quite been in position to spring their trap, as they must have been trying to get farther ahead in order to close upon us like a swarm.  Yank was driving like a hellion, yelling at the horses and snapping the ribbons, sometimes taking a long whip he had and cracking it above their heads; yet he had perfect control.  Taking up the crossbow beside me I tried to aim at a body swinging fast to get next to the wagon.  I fired but have no idea whether I hit my mark.  Before I could reload I heard something hit the roof of the wagon behind me.

With a quick glance I saw an Ahnagite settling his balance and whipping a cudgel from his belt. I guess it was a his, I didn’t stop to ask its gender and they all looked alike.  My blood quickened and breath left me in angst as I realized I had to protect Yank. 

Grabbing the roof rail above and behind me, I curled into a reverse roll up and on top of the bouncing roof.  Great!  All of the fighting I had done up to now had been with fists, and not much of that.  I was suddenly wishing I had wrestled with the fellows.  No amount of shadow boxing can prepare you for real hand-to-hand combat, and these critters had weapons.

He apparently figured on close quarter work, so his spear was slung behind his body.  The cudgel came fast with an over the top swing.  Ducking under and through to the left side I knew I didn’t have the space to play this game.  As he started his backswing blow I crossed my left arm over his right arm and desperately seized his weapon, my right hand came from down under, and grabbing the shaft from his hand I cranked hard up, over and back under again in a circle. 

Wrenching his cudgel away I spun and quickly smashed his knee and then into his face, marveling at the same time that my movement worked.  It caught us both by surprise and I pressed my forearm into his body, shoving him off of the roof even as another landed between me and Yank.  The trap door came up halfway as I stepped, accidentally slamming it shut. 

I was the target now as barky boy swung at me, but my adrenaline was rushing and I embraced it with a giddiness I couldn’t explain.

Countering his cudgel with my own we sparred for what was only seconds, but seemed a lifetime. Either by his skill or my accident, his club smashed my fingers causing me to drop my weapon.  The wagon bumped hard and I fell, he also stumbled toward me and I saw an arrow suddenly transfix itself in his throat.  He fell toward me and catching him with my feet I pressed up and back, throwing him over the back of the wagon. 

I tried to run forward to the box, caught the rail and heard another thump behind me.  Looking down I saw an iron pole, packed for use as a prying lever should the wagon get stuck. Snatching it up I turned just in time to see a bolt strike the new barky and deflect itself right through my own cloak and beyond. 

Barky had his spear up and thrust to my torso.  Blocking with my metal staff he tried twice more.  On the third try I leveled my staff with my shoulders and threw it at his face, sideways.  It hit him smack in the teeth and bounced right back where I could catch it, an accident, but I wasn’t complaining.  Sweeping in a left-wise spinning low hook motion, I caught him behind the knee and threw him hard on his back, right on top of the trap door as once again it was rising.

Two more barky boys were jumping to the top and I ducked while raising my hands up to protect my head.  It wasn’t my idea but they both landed into the ends of my metal staff and fell over the sides.  The smelly fellow on his back wasn’t happy and decided to grab hold of my staff and kick me over the back of the wagon.  I rolled and he came with me.  Both of us fell over, but I had the presence of mind to let go the staff and grab for the canvas covering the back.  It came partly loose and I fell to the ground, dragging behind the wagon.  I was quickly reminded the wagon was moving at breakneck speed with Yank still yelling “Hiyah-hiyah!”

We hit a bump that raised me up in the air, and how I did it I don’t know but I landed on my feet.  Sitting back I began skidding in the snow and was thankful for my hard-soled boots.  If only I could keep my balance.

I saw yet another barky boy land on the wagon top, and then there was a flash of light and burned pieces of critter rained about me.  Behind me someone was shouting, but with all of the noise I couldn’t make out who or what they were saying.  Pulling myself along the canvas I climbed back up to the top of the wagon.

Wahyene was there with a cut dribbling blood from his head.  Seeing me he handed me a crossbow saying, “We aren’t out of it yet …”  Looking in front there must have been ten thousand orgs lining the hills and pass in front of us.  Well, maybe not ten thousand, but a lot, anyway.  My breath was coming fast and I held the weapon, looking at it I wondered if I could hit anything. 

The orgs were lining up in front of the trail, and around the wagon came Hoscoe brandishing his sword.  On the other side rode René and Thad as together they made to pave the way for the wagon.  I felt like I was in the middle of one of my momma’s stories.

I could see ahead and the orgs were looking at each other as if we were crazy.  Hoscoe lowered his sword point and drove forward with a battle cry of Haht’swei; René was firing arrows from the saddle and hitting everything he aimed at.  Wahyene did his hands thing and smacking them together a bolt of lightning shot forward, hit the org in the center, then splintered off and hit a bunch more.  I was stunned at the sight and thought, ‘Wow!’

“Use the crossbow!” He yelled at me.  There was a white looking bolt in the chamber and the string was drawn back.  Happy for my elvin balance I tried to stay steady as I pointed into the bunch of orgs and fired, a surge of energy rushing through me as I pulled the trigger.  Immediately the string drew back and another white bolt fizzled into place.  ‘Mon’Gouchett!’ I thought.  Again I pointed at something and fired.  Was I hitting anything?

A horn blew, and then another from a distance.  Were we going to make it?  I could see them everywhere.

“Aim, take time to aim!” Wahyene yelled at me.  From his hands I saw another multi-targeted bolt of lightning flash forward.

Aim … okay.  I took an instant and sighted the crossbow.  I hit one of the orgs center in the chest and he went down dead.  Again, I felt that surge of energy.  Yelling at Wahyene I yelled back at him, “Can you do that with another one?”

He gave me a glance and grabbed a crossbow, passed his hand over it while I fired twice more, and then handed it to me.  Taking both weapons and tucking the butts into my armpits, I braced one foot on the front railing and felt the surge of energy pulse through me again.  I could feel a humming in the grips of the weapons and some force inside me seemed to beg for release.

The whole world seemed to slow as I suddenly saw, clearly, one target at a time come into focus as I fired at one target after another.  Faster, faster … the rush of heat ran through me en force.  I could almost hear the singing of the wind blowing from behind me.  I let the inner fire consume me as screaming with rage I fired each weapon as fast as I could pull the trigger … each org I hit was struck dead in his tracks, often with enough force to knock them over.  I was oblivious to anything else but my own targets and a hot, rush of wind blowing threw my hair.

The right crossbow suddenly quit reloading.  A few shots more and the other ceased reloading as well. We were almost through the hoard.  Wahyene must have run out of offensive spells, because he ducked back into the trap door.  Feeling washed out, I was so tired.  Then something hit the roof from behind. 

Again?

I turned and saw an org about to swing an ugly bladed weapon at me.  I ducked and he sprawled onto me, dropping his weapon over the side we both fell forward over the box.  We were there for just a moment, the org upside down and almost ready to fall forward with me on top.  I got a moment’s glance at Yank who looked at me wild eyed as if to say, ‘What are you doing there?’

With one hand around the org’s throat, I broke concentration to shrug my shoulders at Yank as if to say, ‘What do I do now?’  And then org and I both tumbled onto the wagon tongue between the wheel horses.  We struggled and fought, somehow keeping from falling through the traces.  He hit at me and I swung wildly at him. 

Our battle went up the tongue until we ended up between the two lead horses; him on top of me, his face against mine.  My back was on the harness tree which connected the team, and on each side of me I could see and hear the thunder of the horse’s hooves.  Suddenly I felt the memory of my childhood nightmare and panic seized my vitals.  One moment I was between horses running, and then it seemed everything turned to shadows and the horses around me became almost skeletal, their eyes transformed into black fire.

The crack of a whip sounded right above me, ending the ghostly vision.  Org had drawn out a long knife and was trying to push it into my gizzard, but Yank had snagged his arm with his whip and was swearing at the top of his lungs. 

‘Healing … healing …’ I thought.  ‘What about …’ I touched his face with my head and imagined hurt instead.  The remains of my inner heat surge flared and something went from my head into his.  I saw his eyes open wide for a moment, then his lids fluttered and I thrust up with my knee.  I managed to catch his blade as he went over my head and down in between the lead horses.  I heard a yell of anguish as I rolled to grab the harness of the horse on my left, which turned out to be the right lead horse

Pulling myself up and onto its back I realized I had made a mistake.  I had never been up on a horse before and let alone my fear of the creatures, there was no saddle and my more private parts were making a strong complaint.  Up from the side an org came at me with a spear.  Attempting to deflect with my knife, I also managed to slide the point up the spear and into the org’s chest.  The knife impaled the org and was wrenched from my hand as we rushed by.

Drenched in cold, anxious sweat I gasped and thought, ‘Good, that was great … now what?’

Another horn blew, how much farther?  I felt my mount falter and my leg was wet.  The horse had been horribly slashed, must have been by the org’s spear.  Panic washed through me again, if the horse went down it would throw the rest and crash the wagon.

Tearing off my glove I felt for the wound as the horse kept stumbling.  The creature was running on heart alone.  I forgot my own fear of horses to try sending this courageous animal a feeling of assurance; then attempted to close the wound with my hand.  I breathed deeply and tried to summon one more wave of the heat, of the healing energy.  ‘Come on …’ harder I focused.

‘There …’ once more power coursed through my inner self, pulsing in my chest, into my arm and through my hand.  This was life and death for us all.  It was as if I were pushing my very life force into the horse’s body through my hand.  I felt the wound start to close and a piece of metal emerge from the horse’s side. 

The horse was good, but I couldn’t hold on.  I heard the horn once more as I fell from the horse’s back, onto the road, and tumbled down below into a gully among the trees.

Chapter   20

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ROLLING IN THE snow covered foliage and bouncing a couple of times, I landed hard on my back.  Nothing seemed to be broken, but the breath had been knocked right out of me.  Suddenly something hit the snow and landed on either side of my shoulders, growling ferociously.  Afraid, but opening my eyes I looked straight up into the white underbelly of a large beast standing on all fours above me.  The creature’s head was directly over my belt line and its chest above mine.  From my vantage point it was clear this was a male, and the paws on either side of me were bigger than my hands.  My precarious position might be considered funny in other circumstances, but right then I was mighty concerned.

I lay there with a sense of impending doom, but then a ray of sunlight reflected with the glitter of gold and my breath caught … the golden tag … the giant wolf … and his growl turned to a wicked snarl that made my blood curdle.  And I still hadn’t caught my breath.

Looking down between my legs I saw what he saw, there were six orgs coming my way fast.  Suddenly the wolf leaped, spraying snow and forest flooring all over my face.  He leaped forward and caught one of the orgs full in the throat, carrying him back and into a tree.  Then tearing away from his fatally wounded target, he bounded this way and that between the second and third oncoming assailants. 

You’ve got to remember this wolf was well over three hundred pounds, maybe four, and insanely mad.  He had more body mass than either of these orgs and they were already in a panic.  I felt myself blacking out as I fought hard to remain conscious and get to my feet.  Scrabbling on hands and knees, I floundered into a tree as I forced my lungs to inhale and exhale.  Tearing my fingers into the bark I managed to stand while I heard snarling and screaming voices all about me.

Suddenly I heard someone shout my name, “Sed!”  It was Bernard riding hard in my direction with his arm outstretched.  I heard a hard strike and the wolf yelped in pain.  Looking, I saw one of two remaining orgs staggering and missing the whole backside of one leg as the other one swung wildly at the wolf.

Bernard was almost upon me as I stepped from my support and stretched out my arm, as yet another yelp of pain rang the air.  I caught Bernard’s arm and as I swung up, I saw the wolf seem to go down for a moment and roll with the remaining org.  Bernard rode hard to get up the slope, and at the top I was able to look around … the last org was convulsing in the darkening snow, but there was no wolf.  ‘Where …?’

One of the brigands and one of Sormiske’s men were bringing up the rear, and as we got back up on the trail the four of us rode all out to catch the wagon.  Overhead I thought I saw a Saukeir soaring above the trees and flying away.

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Call it a miracle, stroke of luck, whatever you may like. We all made it through alive.  Wahyene had hurled spells to either side and over the back of the wagon and I had paved the way with those magic crossbows.  Hoscoe had mowed down more bad guys than anyone could count, and René’s arrows had hit their mark.  Thad was swinging his hammer from horseback and crushed many a head and chest.  But the real hero was Yank. 

The sight alone of that big wagon and those horses took the orgs by surprise.  Many years later the orgs were still talking about it in their tribal gatherings.  Yank took those horses around stones, boulders, a major hole in the trail and more than one hairpin turn.  In between yells and reign popping he was smacking uglies with that whip.  More than once I saw an eyeball fly through the air of an org he had tip-whipped in the face.

Once we reached a safe point, Yank gradually slowed the horses to a walk to let them cool down.  When we came to a stop we regrouped and caught our breath.  I got down from behind Bernard and as he dismounted I said, “You went out of your way and saved my life.  Thank you.”

He just looked at me, shrugged, and said, “No man left behind.”  That was it, he said nothing else.  For a long time I thought of those words and never forgot them.

Now that we were seemingly in the clear, at least for the moment, it dawned upon me I had just engaged in my first true battle.  As the adrenaline washed away I found myself shaky, but instead of a lingering fear I felt something else; was this how the warrior-elves felt like after battle?  For some reason I wanted to sing, to dance the tribal fire … what would Kn’Yang have thought of my first engagement?  I looked into the woods; would momma have been proud?

As Wahyene climbed out of the wagon he paused and gave me a long stare.  I said, “Sorry about your head.”

He didn’t respond and kept looking at me as if for the first time, like he was trying to figure something out.  I was getting uncomfortable when one of the brigands, a small and wiry human named Hestor came over and said, “Hey, good shooting.” And he slapped me on the back.

I just shrugged, “It was the magic he put in the crossbows,” I said indicating Wahyene. 

“I don’t know, Sed,” René said, while seriously shaking his head, “your hair was lookin’ like it was on fire or somethin’.  And everything you hit knocked back four or five feet, then went down stone dead.”

“Yeah, Sed,” Thad put in with his slow drawl, “you was doing mighty fine up there.”

Hoscoe walked up and gave me an approving look and nod.  He gave out some instructions for putting a quick fire together to make some coffee, pan fried bread and deer meat, then led me off to the side, “What they are trying to tell you, Sed, is that the wizard enabled the weapons to automatically reload and fill the groove with a bolt of solid light.  The bolt hits with the force of a regular metal tipped shaft of wood and goes through less than metal armor.  It’s very effective in itself, but does nothing more than save ammunition and allow faster reload time.” 

I stood dumbfounded.  “But I couldn’t have done anything.  The crossbows were buzzing in my hand, but not until he did whatever to them.” 

Hoscoe just looked at me, tilted his head, and tapped me in the chest as if just slightly irritated with me.  Then he creased his brow and said in that damned, perfect Elvish, “And from the lands West of the Hoshael, even from the Mountains of Dsh’Tharr, came Oshang and his warriors of Sword, Bow, and Bouhli; and the Children of the Stars did tremble before those who would be called the Gahjurahnge, who Men would call Ranger. 

“And from the bow of Oshang did eschew arrows like unto fire and lightning; his countenance did shine as the Morning Sun; and those who beheld the fury of Oshang did call him terrible …”  With a tilt to the other side he looked me straight into the eyes, “Surely you have that story?”  I thought he would grind his teeth, for a moment there.  Then he turned and walked away.

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The horses were tired, but we needed a little more distance.  Without delay, after eating we put out the fires and proceeded to a place which was to offer shelter from possible elements.  That is, if it wasn’t being used by a bear or other big nasty. 

Before we remounted, though, I took the time to walk to that lead horse I had ridden ever so briefly.  I had always been so afraid of these animals, and wasn’t sure I was over it yet, but as I stood off to the side of this one, he looked over at me and there was no animosity whatsoever.  He dipped his head in my direction and with a slightly trembling hand I reached up and touched him on the nose.  We stood there for a long moment and I felt a warmth as he nuzzled my palm as I remembered Dahnté.

Sormiske saw me and snapped, “Get up on the wagon, we don’t have time for you to play around.”

I did as I was told, but somehow I felt different.  When I settled in my seat I was smiling.  Yank looked at me, but he said nothing.  He began to smile, too, as if he knew something he was keeping to himself.  Then he snapped the reins and we were on our way again.

With regard to orgs, one big plus is that they are very superstitious and afraid of the moon spirits.  I had never heard of moon spirits, but no one was complaining.  We camped without a fire, so as not to draw any more attention than was necessary. 

I had talked to Hoscoe about the wolf and he only shook his head grimly.  He didn’t see it during the attack and there had been no sign of it after.  Bernard was the only one to offer anything in the way of an answer, “I was right there Sed, and when I looked back to make sure we weren’t bein’ chased by them orgs, your wolf was gone.” 

That wolf, and I was sure it was the same wolf, had saved my life twice.  I wished him to be alive, very much.  Again I wondered who he might belong to, and why that person had never shown them-self.

As I rolled into my bedding it was the wolf which stayed on my mind. Was he dead?  Any thought of him being a spirit creature was gone from my mind.  Spirits don’t yelp in pain.  And there was the Saukeir.  So many questions with no answers, my head was spinning.  Finally I fell asleep.

The next morning, before light, we ate a hot meal and hit the road.  Hoscoe was also insisting on his coffee.  Coffee was not a common drink and considered a delicacy, but it was something Hoscoe kept in stock for his own personal use.  He had recently ordered a package of coffee, imported from the continent of Lh’Gohria.  Luckily it was still on the wagon when it was taken by Mahrq and hadn’t been removed.

As we were getting up, Yank walked by Sormiske’s bed, who was always the last to get up, and began grumbling, “That damned elf-boy needs to be doin’ more work, get off his ass and pull his damn lazy weight, ‘stead of waitin’ around …”  which was unusual for Yank. 

But then Sormiske rose up from his cover and barked at me, “You, Sed, get off your ass and help Yank harness the team.”

I was confused, but as I walked over to help Yank he turned and gave me a wink and said not a word, other than patient instructions how to curry the horses, check the hooves, apply the harness and so on.  Two of the horses needed to have shoes replaced, and I watched that, too.

To make sure I did work, Sormiske insisted that I help Yank with the team for the rest of the journey; and all the while Yank was trying to get me used to being around horses and how to care for them.  That Yank was a wise fellow, wise and slick as axel grease.  He even showed me how to feed a horse by hand without getting my fingers nipped.  I actually got where I looked forward to the feeling of horse whiskers against my palm.  I could see why my momma liked it.

Something else on that wagon hadn’t been removed, or found.  Yes, I focused on the trail.  But occasionally I would look at other things as well.  From time to time I would look down around my feet, at imperfections on the box seating, etc.  While elves can see farther than humans, we can also see in close-up detail beyond human capability.  Most humans need at least a basic magnifying glass to see some things we can see easily, and those glasses weren’t easy to come by and expensive to purchase.

During a small stretch of clear area I found an anomaly in the seat construction.  Casually pointing it out to Yank, he helped me manage to sneak some study and eventually I found a cleverly hidden latch mechanism.  While we were in the lead at one point, I used his utility knife blade to slide the latch.  A portion of the seat popped open, and as we both carefully slid ourselves around I found an interesting pouch hidden in a secret compartment.  Smiling at each other, we never mentioned the find to anyone else.

Those Clydesdales were grain fed animals and we had brought plenty of corn with us.  The pair up front weren’t used to it, but once introduced they loved it.  When I checked the right lead horse, there was no sign he had ever been injured.  Yank had been the only one to see me do my healing thing, and he said nary a word.  We had a silent understanding, Yank and I did.

To rest the team we made slow time, but we did push on.  At any moment things could go bad, so we kept our vigilance and stayed alert.  Within two days we made the new trade road. 

It was at the junction into the new road I saw high up on a ridge the figure of the great wolf.  Yank elbowed me from the side and said, “There he is.”  I was elated, but also sad.  I was on the way to some witch for whatever reason, but what I really wanted was to be like that wolf.  “That’s what I want,” I said softly, “to be free and wild as that wolf.”

“Huh?” Yank asked.  He looked up and admired the creature’s majesty, sitting up there like a king of his world.

He thought a minute and looked sideways at me began that sly smile, “Well, now, you two critters got a lot in common.  An’ the look in your eye, sometimes, is wild as a Hound of Hades.  Why don’t cha take Wolf for a name?”

I just looked at Yank and wrinkled my brow in thought, then back at the wolf.  The snow had started to fall again and I saw a breeze roll through his fur like a wave.

Yank laughed, “Yup, that’s it.  From now on we’ll just call you Wolf.”

That night in camp he was addressing me as Wolf, and Hoscoe turned a quizzical eye and gave me a look.  I shrugged and felt a bit sheepish, but he gave a nod of his head and casually said, “Wolf of the Ahnagohr Timberlands, I would say.”

“Gondishaey!” Bernard said, an extreme expression often used among the warrior types of the northern lands.  He raised his mug and said, “To the Ahnagohr Timber Wolf!”

“Gondishaey … Gondishaey … Gondishaey!” as most everyone exclaimed, raising their mugs and giving me a toast.  Even Wahyene tilted his head my way and with a hand gesture toward me, he quietly voiced the word and drank me a toast.  It was a bit embarrassing, as I wasn’t used to such things.  But I have to admit it felt good, and the name stuck.

Sormiske just kept quiet, set his jaw in a pouty expression, and found his bed.

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We had only one more altercation, this time with a different band of brigands.  Their attack was poorly planned and short work was made of them.  We had taken a full day’s rest at one of Stagus’s old campsites, well off from the new road.  It didn’t look like it had been used in years.

A watch was kept and René came in, having seen their camp.  Hoscoe had us hide beneath tarps under the new falling snow.  When these fellows tried to sneak into our camp, they saw nothing.  Then Hoscoe gave the call and Wahyene let fly with one of those balls of fire.

Thad was next into the fray and he just let go right and left with a hammer in each hand.  I also got to see René cut loose with short blade and hatchet, I was impressed.  In less time than it took to get under the canvases the brigands were dead, dying or running.

Hoscoe had us drag the bodies over to one side, stack them and leave them; but not, however, until they were relieved of weapons, money, valuables and such.

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