Nobody talked much to Sormiske, and Sormiske didn’t try to talk to anyone else.  Even his own people left him alone.  Between the two fights, Sormiske hadn’t swung his weapon or shot one bolt.  He had just pulled out his sword and held onto it.  He was looking to be nothing but a loud mouth snob with as much courage as a homegrown bunny rabbit.  Sormiske could talk, and talk well.  But otherwise he was what we common folks called a coward.

I found myself remembering Ahrnema and thinking she and Sormiske were two of the same kind.

Sormiske spent his time reading his Eayahnite Bible, mumbling to himself and singing in a high-pitched voice.  To give him credit, he could really sing; but no one wanted to hear it.  His voice had a quality rare among humans, something called a High Tenor.  It’s pretty when properly trained, but usually the range is attributed to women.

Once I heard Thad mumble during chow while Sormiske was singing to himself, “That boy ain’t had his balls drop yet …” Sormiske glanced around quickly to see who had spoken, but you couldn’t tell if he actually heard what was said and everyone else just kept eating.  My being just a slave and all, you might think I had no right to an opinion; but I had one, anyway, and I figured Sormiske brought all the bad feeling on himself.

After we were on the trade road he would sometimes practice preaching.  He didn’t sound very good, unless you wanted to be bored to sleep, but he was convinced in his own mind.  He would start rolling off about how this was a sin, and that was sinful.  But it didn’t hold much water.  It seems one of his men knew that Sormiske had him a wife and four or five children.  Sormiske, on the other hand couldn’t keep tastes to home.

The fellow’s name was Parnell and at the fire one night he was making quiet jokes, “Yeah, boys.  Old Sorry over there came to me one time in Malone and said, ‘See that girl over there.  I can’t keep my hands off her.  I just know my big sin is going to be adultery.  Women love me.’  And you know what?  Sorry never gets the idea that women just laugh at him.

“I knew this wench who told me Sorry paid for her one night, and couldn’t even get it on.  She said he wasn’t but this …”

“What’s going on?” Sormiske’s high-pitched voice asked.  It seemed every time he got flustered his voice sounded like a young girl’s, and he got flustered a lot.

“Oh, nothin’,” Parnell said, as everyone was laughing.

___________________________

 

Kynear was much bigger than I remembered.  Before we rode in, Sormiske had begun to start acting like he might be in charge.  After all, he had been the one with the orders, who had been sent by a factory owner in Malone.  Once the town was in sight he had me put into leg-irons; then he insisted he ride in front of our group so he could lead us in.

As we entered town it was clear something big was going on.  As Yank was driving down the main road someone yelled at him, “Heyo Yank, where you been so long?  You’re just in time to see the fight!”

People in the wild country will travel all day to hear someone preach, talk politics, see an execution or watch an organized fight.  Lots of people called it baiting, but it was two or more beings matched up with each other.  Often bare knuckled, sometimes with weapons.

“Who is it?” one of our fellows wanted to know.

“Chandler made some big claims his man could beat any one, so Edgarfield brought in this slink woman.  She looks good enough to eat, not fight.  She’s going to get killed.”

“Hands?”  Parnell asked.

“Shael’s no!  Weapons!” the man yelled as he hurried to the corrals where the fight was to take place.

We also were headed for the corrals, to put up the wagon during our rest time here.  As we pulled around to the back of the town I was left on top where my leg-iron chains were bolted to the wagon, while everyone else went to watch the fight.  Parnell had to stay with me as a guard, so he climbed onto the box beside me which turned out to be the best seats.

One of the horse corrals has been cleared and people were all around in eager anticipation.  To this day I cannot remember much about the human male who stood to fight, let alone his name.  He was ungainly, cocky and large with a potbelly.  The chipped, long sword was held point down as he looked at the female.  You could tell he was humored, he figured this to be an easy slice of pie.

But the female, now she I remember, and remember well.  There was little left to the imagination as she was clad in skimpy, string held swatches of cloth, surely intended for her opponent to focus on her attributes rather than movements. 

Around her neck was a simple, short string necklace of seemingly polished silver.  Her coloration was almost an olive bronze, like an ignorant human who basked in the roasting sun without covering.  Her hair was the color of polished gold with glints of cream in between the layers, and it flowed long on her shoulders and halfway down her back.

I had seen very few females of any kind during my lifetime; this one was the stuff dreams are made of.  Her conformation was nothing less than perfect on any line, and she was not frail.  She was shaped like an athlete and was almost as tall as the man, I figured her to be maybe five feet and seven inches.  She was definitely taller than the average human woman.  What was she doing here, fighting, I thought?

The oncoming winter wind blew into her hair and I could see gradual points on her ears, similar to but slightly different from an elf, or any elf I had heard of.  She, too, held a sword of nondescript appearance.  But her body language was one of near boredom.  Then her wandering gaze went across the crowd and met mine.  There was an instant of connection, an awareness that we both felt; I know we both felt it because it was like an electric current.  She was sixty rods away, but it seemed she was right beside me.  My chest became tight and my breath left me for a long moment. 

As if I were standing in front of her I could tell she had the bluest of eyes, and her face held a sadness which seemed to run deep.  Upon our connection, however, I saw a spark in her countenance.  It was as if, like me, her breath had left for just a moment.  I had to know this woman, this half-elf, or whatever she was.

She was still looking at me when I heard the ring center announce her name as Lath.  Lath … I savored the name in my mind and slowly formed the sound with my mouth, in an almost silent whisper.  Lath … in all four Elvish dialects, the most ancient Diustahntei, Gael Music language, and the vocalized Draconic, Lath is interpreted as the feminine tense for Warrior.

The command was given for the combatants to meet and touch swords.  I heard someone say the odds were twenty-five to one against her; big mistake.

Lath became all business and she looked around, turned and walked to touch swords with fat boy.  They stood back and he began to laughingly mock her, grabbing at his crotch and rolling his arms around.  Lath stood there with her sword still pointed down, but the look on her face slowly took the expression of a predator.  He moved around her in a circle and Lath simply followed him with her eyes and a casual pivoting motion.

He lunged once in an attempt to scare or fake her out, but she almost seemed amused.  This human, I thought, is toying with his own death.  Something about her, something about Lath’s manner told me, I who was still little more than an adolescent youth with only a small amount experience, that this was a seasoned fighter being baited by a human who would be rejected by any common militia.

Fat boy swung his sword in a mighty arc which grossly overused his shoulder muscles.  The stroke was meant to slice into Lath’s head, but she casually shifted her weight back and out of harm’s way with exquisite ease.  Again he attempted such a swing, Lath stepping effortlessly to one side.  The crowd booed and hurled insults at the human.

A third wide stroke and Lath suddenly moved with a fluidity of motion beautiful to behold.  She batted his sword with an ease to be found within a dance; for an instant I thought of my momma.  A fourth exasperated swing by the man, and as he swung she deflected this with a clinking sound to the side as well. 

Once more, now clearly upset, the fatty thrust at her torso and she parried the move with a slap into his face using the broad side of her blade.  This she followed with a spinning movement resulting in another broad side blade slap into the back of the human’s head. 

With a pivot and spin she kicked him in the groin.  Grabbing his sword hand she wrenched his weapon away, with the butt of her own sword pressed into his shoulder spinning him around and promptly kicked him in the rear end, knocking fatty into the dirt with a sprawl.

Stepping back she held each sword wide and as he looked up, she flipped them both far to opposite sides of the ring.  Lath then smiled at her opponent with the posture of the hunter.

He got up swearing profanity and balled his fists, the yells of the crowd loud in his ears.  Opening her hands in invitation and slinging her hair, Lath visibly dared her opponent to attack.  He charged in and swung a lumbering fist … which she caught with her left hand.  Wrenching the hand outward she slapped him hard with a right cross, then a backhand strike.  Hooking her right under his left arm she stepped in and hurled him over her shoulder and hard into the ground. 

Still holding his wrist, with a simple step in and over, Lath twisted her body with his elbow held between her knees and shattered his arm.  His elbow folded backward around her knee and with an extra motion she snapped his wrist.

Letting go, she stepped back as fatty rolled onto his side crying out in pain.  He staggered to his feet as the crowd hurled jeers at the would-be champion. 

Looking at Lath, the human began hurling defaming sexual insults amid his tearful wails of rage.  Lath struck him solid in the face with the inside of her right foot, followed with a spin and solid side-kick with her left foot into his chest that lifted him off of his feet, and onto his back nearly ten feet from where he left the ground. 

Landing hard, he rolled again to his side while groaning loudly.  He coughed blood and you could see his good arm flail wildly.

Casually walking over to the man she asked with quiet, but dripping sarcasm, “You wanted to do what?”  When she stomped her heel into his lower ribcage, you could hear the bones break.  Then she jumped upward into a spiral and landed with her right knee into his chest.

No one, not even fat boy’s handler lifted a hand to help him.  He died there … a long, slow death.

Chapter   21

________________________

 

 

AFTER SHE DELIVERED her final blow, Lath stepped back with hands outstretched as if she had done this many times before.  In fact, she had.  Two well-armed humans quickly stepped into the ring, followed by a third who was carrying a cloak which he draped over Lath’s shoulders.  As she was being led away, her gaze swept in my direction again.  Once more our eyes made contact, and I could see a resigned, defeated expression on her face.  ‘Why,’ I thought?  She had just beaten her opponent.  I did not understand.

Lath was escorted away from the corrals, past the stables and out of my sight.

All around the ring the gathered people kept talking about the fight.  Several believed the match had been a set up.  Many were in awe that a female could fight and kill with such ease.  Most had never seen anyone use their feet in such a manner.  No one felt a loss concerning the man she killed, save for his handler.  All had been thoroughly entertained.

As our own party began returning to the wagon they were talking among themselves. 

“I’ve never seen anyone like her,” commented Evan, one of Sormiske’s retainers, “I’d let her fight something else, though.”

“You only think with one part of your body, Evan.  Did you see how she moved?  She reminded me of that drake we just killed; real slippery.  I wouldn’t trust her out of irons.  That one is a killer,” commented Bost, another of Sormiske’s men.

Yank said, “I’ve seen her before.”

“Really, you’re kidding?  Where?”

“Around Shudoquar, they’ve been fighting her up there for years.”

“Wonder why she’s down here now?” Evan asked.

“To take her out of local circulation.  Give the promoters time to regroup,” replied Yank, “they do that kind of stuff all the time.  They was a bunch of people got tired of a woman kickin’ the man-cans.”  Yank was chuckling.

“Hounds of Hades, Yank.  You put anything down on her?”

Yank was climbing back up on the box, and with a totally innocent face he replied, “Uh, you forgettin’ somethin’?  I was a slave for seventeen months.  And I don’t think Sormiske has any plans on payin’ me anythang.”

Sormiske came around about then and was puffing his chest out.  With his head lifted high he acknowledged his original group, “Okay guys.  We have a place to stay.  Follow me.”  He looked up at Yank, pointed to a stable and said, “You can put the wagon and horses up over there.  I’ll be back by the time you get everything finished.”

Yank and I just looked at each other.

Then Sormiske looked at me with a smirk on his face and sneer in his voice, “I have a special place in the stable for you.”  Turning to Bernard he said, “I don’t need you, Hoscoe, or the rest of you anymore.  Tell Hoscoe that.”  Without waiting for a response he turned on heel and strutted away to his horse.

As Parnell was setting his foot into his horse’s stirrup, Sormiske turned and ordered him, “You go to the stable and make sure my prisoner is securely chained.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  With that he tugged hard on his horse’s reins and rode away and called out in his nasal voice, “Follow me guys.”

With one foot in the stirrup, Parnell stood there a moment looking sour.  After watching Sormiske ride away and thinking about it a moment, Parnell swung up and looked at Yank and me on the box.  Disgruntled, he muttered, “Alright, let’s go.”

Yank muttered to me knowingly, “That bastard’s makin’ him pay for makin’ a joke on him.”  Yank and I made eye contact, then he snapped the reins and he drove to the stable.

___________________________

 

Hoscoe had gone to visit someone he knew in the town and hadn’t watched the fight.  How long he was going to be gone, no one really knew.  Yank parked the wagon while a hostler showed Parnell where I was to be put.  Wahyene had spent the whole time inside the wagon, apparently getting his things together.  Parnell unchained me from the wagon box, then led me to a cleared out tack room and chained me to the wall.  His actions were not malicious, but he had suddenly become distant in my presence.

Some of what happened next I could hear, but Yank told me everything later.

Sormiske showed up to make sure everything was to his liking, but he acted nervous and seemed to be in a hurry to get away.  He explained to Parnell in detail how the eight retainers and brigands would rotate around the clock to guard me and the wagon. 

We had arrived on Munday and a priest of Eayah was supposed to be holding a small service on the next Ohnday, six days later.  Nearly all religions which held specifically designated days of worship observed the last day of the week, Sabboday.  The Eayahnite pantheon, however, had designated Ohnday as their holy day.  It seems Eayah had long ago proclaimed that, as his collection of wives and offspring were the most important of all deities, they should be revered at all costs on the first day of the week. 

The word was, however, Sormiske was more interested in impressing this particular priest than actually worshiping Eayah.  He was even going to a tailor to have a special outfit made.  This meant we would have a seven to eight day rest, after which we would leave the following Munday or Tuesday morning for the Phabeon port city of Teamon.  It depended on this meeting of Sormiske and the priest.  I would be confined to the tack room, but for the most part left alone.  Nor were Hoscoe, Bernard, Thad, Yank or René to be allowed to see me.

Sormiske must have been afraid they would try to set me free.  In any case, Sormiske was turning to leave the stable when Hoscoe appeared in the doorway, his sword hand was ungloved and resting comfortably on his belt, “You seem to be in a hurry, Sormiske.”

Yank said Sormiske stopped dead in his tracks and turned ten shades of white.  He began to stammer in his girly-pitched whiney voice and asked, “W-w-where did you come from?”

“Does it really matter?”  Hoscoe was standing right in the middle of the doorway, not moving. 

Sormiske looked around quickly as Parnell turned his back, giving study to his saddle where he had just placed it on a saddletree.  The hostler casually crossed his arms, stepped to the side and leaning against a stall door spit into the dust.  Wahyene seemed to have been preparing to climb out of the wagon, and then abruptly ducked back in as if he had forgotten something.  Yank hooked his thumbs into his belt, leaned sideways against a post, and chewing a straw flashed a wink and smile at Sormiske.

The self-proclaimed dragon hunter was all alone.  He began breathing hard and, with what Yank swore was a sobbing sound, asked Hoscoe, “Did, did you hear what I said?”

“Which part?”  Hoscoe still hadn’t moved and his face showed no expression.

Sormiske’s voice was rising into that whining pitch of his, “I, um … we aren’t going … well … you and your guys won’t be needed any more … you know what I mean?”

Hoscoe tapped one of his right-hand fingers gingerly on his belt, “How about you explain it to me?”

“W-will you let me out … I have to get back to my guys.”

Hoscoe took an easy step forward, “Does the name Foxill mean anything to you?”

“Who?” Sormiske stepped back, his hands slightly trembling.  His right hand absently touching his belt, then he let it go quickly as if he had touched a hot stove. 

“Just ten minutes ago he heard you indicate that should I be any trouble to you, you would have me run through.”  Hoscoe took another easy step forward, and Sormiske retreated the same, “You said I was an old man with nothing left.”  Hoscoe took another step and Yank said you could see water on the stable floor where there had been none before.

“H-he’s a liar.  He, he …”

“I will tell him you said so.  In the meantime … you …” The words were clear, firm and resolute, “… are dismissed!”

Sormiske quickly walked around Hoscoe with a hint of a limp, and then he stopped at the door and realized what he had done with his own retainers watching.  Yank says he stifled back tears and ran with something dropping out of his pant leg.  Maybe, no one else confirmed that, but I enjoy envisioning it.

Hoscoe said, “Parnell!”  Then, as Parnell looked up, Hoscoe tossed a pouch over with his left hand.  “See that Timber Wolf gets fed well, will you?”

Yank said the look on Parnell’s face and the manner of his catch indicated a bag heavy with coins.  Parnell just nodded and Hoscoe added, “There is plenty there.  You can keep what is left, but make sure he eats properly.  I know Sormiske, he will attempt to feed him bread and water.”

Looking to Yank, Hoscoe said, “I am going to run an errand and will be gone perhaps one week.”  Walking over to the hostler he said, “I need two good horses with lots of bottom.”  As Hoscoe followed him outside, he paused by the wagon and casually lifted a small package without looking up. 

Wahyene looked over the side door and looked at the package.  Taking it, he smelled it, and when Hoscoe then glanced up at him, gave Hoscoe a tilt of the hand.  Saying nothing, Hoscoe went outside to look at what the hostler had.

___________________________

 

Parnell was as good as his word.  Sormiske never came back to the stable, and Parnell made sure I got the finest quality food in Kynear.  He also made sure I got to go to the bathhouse.

It was the morning after our arrival, when Parnell led me down a back street to the bathhouse, that I saw Lath.  She was helping to load supplies into the back of Edgarfield’s wagon, apparently preparing for departure.  She looked around and our eyes met, both of us freezing in place for the moment.  She was about to say something when she was called by Edgarfield.  My own breath caught as she turned to Edgarfield’s beckoning.

Not a word passed between us and I cursed myself for not saying something, anything at all.  Suddenly it dawned upon me she was not just a fighter, she too was a slave.  And the necklace around her neck was not jewelry; it was a slim collar of some kind.

From Edgarfield’s wagon she turned to look at me once more and I saw something in her eye, a sparkle.  I felt it too.  Then she was called to get into the wagon and the driver snapped his reins.  The two armed humans from the ring were mounted and fell in behind the wagon.  My heart sunk as I watched the wagon turn a corner and out of my sight.

‘One day, Lath,’ I told myself, ‘I will be free … and I will find you.’

Parnell was just standing there beside me, an understanding expression on his face.  I had completely forgotten he was there, and me with chains on my wrists.  Embarrassed, I glanced at him and then around at my surroundings.  The air was cool, but it felt so hot all of a sudden.

He could have been arrogant, but instead he suggested kindly, “Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky some other time.  You never know.”  I couldn’t wait to get into the bath house.

Sitting in a tub of hot, soapy water was a new experience for me.  The bathhouse was partitioned off into several stalls; inside each stall was a tub.  The tub was a large wooden barrel with a small bench inside to sit on.  There was so much water inside, to begin with, and once seated, an attendant would finish filling it up to chest or neck level, depending on where you wanted it.  The soap was a big bar of something white which actually had a fragrance in it.  Once you were finished you stood up and got under this barrel which was about seven feet off of the floor, and pulled on a rope.  This drenched you with clean water and you had completed your bath.

The bathhouse was a popular commodity in Kynear, and Parnell had sprung for it out of the money Hoscoe gave him. 

Parnell was the only one with me, and I suppose I could have made a break for it, but there was so much more on my mind at the moment.  Besides, Kynear was at least fifty miles from nowhere and I had been a slave all of my life.  I didn’t like it, but there was something secure about it too.  It was something I would think on long and hard, later on.  At the moment I was what you could call, mentally conditioned for slavery.

Have you heard of those big Jum-Beasts you sometimes see at a circus?  They stand eight to nine feet tall at the shoulder and could plow through a wooden building without thinking about it.  But monkeys and children lead these big hairy creatures around with a small cord.  It’s because these animals are caught as infants and chained to a big post.  By the time these are adolescents, they have accepted they can’t break free and long since quit trying.

Freedom is a dream, but if you have never been free it is also scary.  How do you survive?  You have to be responsible for yourself and make your own way.

Right at the moment Lath possessed my thoughts, but then there was the wolf, the bird, my own healing ability which I still didn’t understand, those dreams and what about those crossbows?  When I fought Stagus my body seemed to get harder and stronger, then my skull was broken.  And I had no idea what was going on with this witch woman I was headed for.

Yup, there was a lot on my mind. 

Back at the stable, chained in the tack room, I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.  I was going to be in here for days, I needed to relax and find something to think about.  Something rustled under the strewn hay in one corner of the room and a big rat crawled up and out.  It paused and gave me a long look and started twitching its nose.  Something else, I thought.  This thing with animals, what is it?

I gazed into its little eyes and remembered how my momma used to talk with animals; she said the Druids called it S’Fahn Mier.  With a deep breath, I exhaled and attempted *S’Fahn Muir* with the rat, [Are you really trying to talk to me?]  It suddenly lurched to one side, then another, then stood up on its hind legs and hunched its shoulders and stared back.  I jumped back myself, startled at the sudden reaction and felt a profound sensation I was in its way.  Looking down and around me, I got up and stood to one side.  Suddenly the rat ran past my feet and disappeared through the hay, and under the wall just two feet away from where I had been sitting.

That was interesting, I thought, and shook my head to make sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing.  With a touch of self humor I thought, ‘Rat holes in my prison,’ and immediately the combination of the sounds ‘holes in’ made me think of the word Folsom.  ‘Folsom,’ I thought?  Where did that come from?  I walked around the room a minute forming the word in my mouth, then looked up to the ceiling as if that might help. 

A spider was up in a corner and I noticed a splash of blue on its body.  Blue?  Folsom blue … Folsom Prison Blues … it was a song I used to hear, that the old man of my childhood sang in the old form of Lohngish.  I sat against another side of the wall, absently pleased the chain gave me a ten feet range of movement.  I’m here in Folsom Prison, I know I can’t be free … but those folks out there are movin’, and that’s what tor-tures me. 

Closing my eyes I could hear him sing, the guitar always with that same dum-tum, dum-tum four count beat.  Often I didn’t know what some of the words meant, but momma would listen to him play.  They were songs of a world long dead and forgotten, he explained.  He sang about being a Honkey Tonk Man, whatever that is, counting flowers on a wall, taking time to smell the roses and eating banana pancakes. 

He had called me Komain Joh a couple of times, why did he do that?  Of course, my own birth name was Komain J’Sehf.  Was there a hidden meaning I didn’t understand?  What had momma told Roveir that one time?  J’Sehf was Elvish for Josephus, so where did she get that name from, it wasn’t Elvish?  Reaching back I focused and tried to unlock hidden memories.  There was a lot I had chosen to forget, could I get them back?  And if I could, what good would it do?

Once after the castle siege, Lexin had caught me alone and grabbed me by the ears.  He jerked me around, laughing and calling out, “Spike ears, spike ears.”

  Roveir had come from seemingly nowhere, caught and grabbed him by his own ears, and then grabbing him by the collar of his tunic hurled him into the ground. 

“Leave him alone!” Roveir ordered.  “You damned spoiled brat.  I’ll tan both you and your father’s hides.” 

Roveir ranted about how the family had gone downhill over the years.  “There is no respect anymore, for anything or anyone.”  After cooling his temper, he had sat down next to me and given me a little wink, “You will outlive him, Komain.  You have that advantage.  There will be a time when you will have the upper hand.  You’ve the bearin’ of a warrior about you.  See that you fight for a cause worth fightin’ over, and not just for the sake of fightin’ or power.

“A ship properly rigged can sail into the wind as well as be pushed by it.  What one calls a pirate, another calls a corsair.  If you stand by your crew, they will stand beside you.  Don’t fight the sea, sail with her.” 

These words came to me all at once.  Why?  Who was he, really?  Could he be my fathe---?  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something else.

Sure, he threw rocks at pinecones with me and I finally got to where I kind of liked it, and there had been the time I was so sick.  He had been the Duke and had kept the bad visits from happening after he had come back … come back from where?  He had wanted to talk to me and tell me stories, but I didn’t want to hear.  And he really liked my momma.

I remembered a night when I came in from the outside and he was holding my momma close, forehead to forehead, and she was smiling.  He bent down to kiss her, and she kissed him back … No!  I jumped up from my seat … NO! 

Clenching my fists I pounded them into the side of my head.  Not a damned human!  I had to get the thought out of my head.  As a species they were vile creatures.  They had violated and killed my momma and sister, then sold my twin as an infant. 

“Humans …” I hissed the word, and then banged the front of my head into the side of the wall several times, hard!  I had to get rid of the image!

My guard, one of Sormiske’s retainers whose name was Jinx, suddenly opened the door and demanded, “What’s going on?  What did you do to your head, Wolf, you’re bleeding?”

Leaning my head into my forearm against the wall, I just shook my head without looking at him.  ‘Breathe …’ I told myself, ‘… breathe.’  Inhaling deep I tried to rid my mind of everything.  Think of the rat, his wiggling nose was kind of funny.

Jinx just stood there for a minute, “Keep it down, ya hear me?  Ya need me to bring something for your head?”

I just shook my head again, no.  He said, “Alright.  Just take it easy in here.” And he stepped out, closing the door.

___________________________

 

Early the next morning Parnell came in with a big plate of food, still steaming hot from the stove.  Setting it down on a stool he said, “Hey, Wolf.  You better eat up and quick, we’re leaving out real soon.”

“Huh?  I thought we were staying until …”

“Not anymore.  Letcher and Dugan were both killed last night, and Sormiske just found out his priest isn’t coming, after all.”

Okay, I was fully awake now.  Letcher was one of the brigand fellows and Dugan was a retainer. “What happened?” I asked while pulling the lid up from the plate, smelling in two big pieces of beef, scrambled eggs, a pile of potatoes fried in butter and onions, and a couple of biscuits.  Parnell had also brought a small pot of tea.

“The word is all over that Sormiske backed down from Hoscoe in the barn, seems the hostler thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.”  Without distain he asked, “You’ve always been in a slave camp, haven’t you; born and raised, something like that?”

My mouth full of beef, I nodded.

“Well, things like that gets around fast.  The story will probably be all across the Phabeon and as far north as Dahruban within a couple of months.  Hoscoe is a known man,” Parnell shook his head and laughed, “and for someone to talk tough and then back down like that, it’s the kind of stuff people eat up.”

He settled himself down with a mug of tea, watching the door he continued, “Out here in the wilderness regions, a person is only as good as his word.  And if a person has the reputation of being a coward it kills your credibility.  You can survive like that in cities where politics and written contracts are the way of life, but out here … Sormiske comes from Dahruban.  As long as you live around the city-state, you are sort of protected by laws, law officers and stuff like that.”

He stepped out of the door for a moment and looked around, then back into the room.  He was in a hurry to talk.  Whispering at first he continued, “Sorry chucked up trying to act tough about Hoscoe.  A couple of years ago, he just happened to be part of a small party what was attacked by orgs, oh, twenty miles from here into the hills; Hoscoe, I mean.  His sword and savvy was responsible for everyone surviving.  The whole party was from Kynear.

“If Hoscoe had turned up dead, whether Sormiske was responsible or not, they would have strung every one of us up.  You’ve got to be careful what you say and where, Wolf. 

“Anyway, some of the boys were at the Hairy Dog Tavern drinking and hoping to buy a turn with one of the line girls.  The Hairy Dog ain’t exactly in the good part of town.  Well, Sorry was upstairs in one of the rooms and he suddenly came out with his face redder than ripe tomatoes.  His woman followed him to the top of the stairs laughing her head off, she was trying not to, but she couldn’t help it.

“Some fellow started laying down hash at him about the stable, and he just up and high tails it out of the tavern while tucking his shirt into his pants.  So that makes two strikes of yellow against him in this town.

“The same fellow was laughing him out when he saw Letcher standing there drinking his tankard.  This fellow just up and told Letcher his boss was yellow.  When Letcher said nothing, the fellow walked up to him and said he had to be yellow, too, for working with Sormiske.  Now, this big fellow was drunk, but it doesn’t matter.  Like I said, being a coward is a big deal, and it’s a killing offense to call someone a coward out here.

“Most men use their hands for work, so fist fighting is rare except for gladiators.  When scores get settled, it’s with a blade or club.  Letcher grabbed his dagger and just let loose.  Next thing you know a big fight was on with our two boys dead.”

“Were you there?” I asked.

“Nope.  Hestor was, and he told the rest of us who weren’t.”

I heard the stable door latch open, and with a mouth full of potatoes I quickly darted my eyes to the tack room door, then back to Parnell.  He frowned for a moment, got up and moved to the door.  Looking at me he smiled and nodded a thank you and said with a tinge of roughness, “Alright, hurry up and eat.  We’re leaving in about an hour.”

Chapter   22

________________________

 

 

A WAGON BRINGING Wahyene was driven up to the outside of the stable and he got out.  He was the last element of preparation, and he wasn’t happy.  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but Yank and Thad were the ones who came in and started getting the wagon ready.  Dugan had been Sormiske’s wagon driver, and nobody else was really experienced enough to handle an eight horse team for fast travel.  Sormiske had tried to hire ten or eleven people to drive his wagon, but no one wanted any part of him.

Since Thad was an experienced smith, and Sormiske was worried something might go wrong with the wagon, he took a page from Hoscoe’s book and hired Thad just in case.  Getting these two men was an act of eating crow, and Sormiske had to offer a pretty big sum to get their services.  It was not that Yank didn’t want to be around that nice wagon, but he intended to make Sormiske pay pretty pence for it.

As we swung around to leave via one of the side streets, I saw Bernard watching us leave.  Where was René, I wondered?  As if he could hear my thoughts, from the side of his mouth Yank offered, “René rented him a racing horse.  Wanted to take him a long ride.” He said dryly. 

It seemed there were several unfriendly faces watching us leave.  Sormiske made sure he was surrounded by his retainers as we rode of town and hit the trail, driving fast.

It took us four days of fast moving to reach the port city of Teamon.  Up to then I had never seen such a place.  There was a wall around the city itself and we had to pass through a big gate. Tall buildings were everywhere, and in the not to distant view was the Phabeon Sea.  I could see boats with sails on the water and I could not believe how big some of them were.

Yank drove to a stable where everyone stood guard as Sormiske went to the docks looking for someone.  Hours later he returned and informed us he had acquired lodging for the retainers, Wahyene and himself.  Later that evening we would load the wagon’s contents onto the Gracious Lady, a sleek two masted sloop.  We would set sail the next morning.  Once more, he made it a point to inform Yank and Thad they were no longer needed.

“Well then, how about our pay?” asked Yank.

Sormiske hesitated, “You can take a draft off of …”

“No!” Yank made it clear, “we will take hard money.”

The whining voice started to rise, “You can take …”

“We have an agreement.  This is Teamon, it will take only a moment to present ourselves to the magistrate and make a case.  You want to be held up like that?” Yank asked.

Sormiske was mad, but he knew he was fairly caught.  Blustering he said, “Meet me at the Inez Tavern in two hours.”

Yank and Thad looked at each other and Yank said with a grin, “We’ll just sort of hang around and make sure you don’t skip out.”

Flustered, Sormiske turned about and walked off. 

It was Parnell who told me later, “Craiken, Wolf.  We were in the tavern and Sormiske was talking to the Lady’s captain when Yank came over and asked what he was going to do with the wagon and team.  Sormiske just looked at him and said he didn’t have time to talk with servants.  Now, Yank just looked at him and said with this big smile, ‘Good thing, ‘cause we’re businessmen and might be interested in buying it.’ 

“Sormiske was trying to make a big impression and he was mad.  He said ‘It’s my wagon and I’m going to keep it.’  Yank just looked at him and said, ‘Does that mean you are going to register the title with the city?’  Sormiske about choked.  You and me know he didn’t have no title, not even a clean claim.  But he looked at Yank and said ‘You couldn’t afford it.’

“Well, you know Yank.  He doesn’t open his mouth unless he has something good to say, so he up and asks, ‘You afraid to make a price?’  So Sormiske up and blurts out and says, ‘You bring me ten Dahruban Marks and you can have the whole team, wagon and all.’

“Sormiske figured he had Yank.  Ten Marks is more than some common laborers earn in a whole year.  Yank just up and in front of the ship captain, gods and everybody sticks out his hand.  Sormiske doesn’t think before he acts, you know, and his hand was in Yank’s before he knew it.  Then Yank pulls out this pouch and counts out ten of those platinum Mark pieces, minted right out of Dahruban.  Sormiske’s jaw dropped and he about dumped in his britches.

“Yank had a piece of paper right there and they drafted a bill of sale to Yank & Thad Freighting Company.  Sormiske had committed himself in a public place, and a handshake is legal and binding in Teamon.  Witnesses were everywhere.  The captain even offered to write his name as a notary. 

“When they got done Yank said, ‘One more thing.  You told us you would pay us our wages here and now.  Let’s see, from Ahnagohr to Kynear to here, hazard pay and dragon hide finder’s fees, wages for fighting, keeping you from getting lynched in Kynear … damn Sormiske, I figure it comes to about ten Marks between the two of us.’

“Yank’s mentioning dragon hide and all, in public … Wolf, it beat all you ever seen.  Every thief in Teamon would be after all of that, and then wondering what else was available.”

I almost laughed, well good for Yank.  I thought, ‘A freighting company,’ the two of them would make a good team.  That bag under the box seat of the wagon had come in handy.  And Yank hadn’t even been part of the dragon hunting team.  What a smooth use of words.  I could see people curious to know why he was about to be lynched, although that’s not exactly what happened.

Yank tried to get to me to talk, but Sormiske left specific orders to not let him or Thad anywhere near me.  That evening the dragon parts were loaded into the ship.  When I reached down to get the sack with Stagus’s head, I expected it to be nasty smelling.  It turned out Wahyene had put some sort of preservation spell on it, then another to reconstruct the damage I did with my knees.

I was chained to the deck with a short chain as merchandise.  Sormiske, Wahyene, Parnell, Jinx, and the other two retainers, Evan and Bost were booked for passage.  The last two brigands were dismissed, and of course Yank and Thad were not coming.  It was amusing to me, however, that as the ship’s crew was making way to come on board, I saw Yank put his arm over one of the mate’s shoulders and led the way to a dockside pub.  When the mate walked on board, he was giving a serious, under the eyebrow grin at Sormiske.

By the time the ship set sail, Sormiske’s story, from the Ahnagohr Range all the way to Teamon, was all over the ship.  Sormiske made the entire voyage to Malone sitting inside away from everyone.

When morning came and the ship began to sail away, I watched the docks and thought of my friends; Hoscoe, Yank, Thad, René and Bernard and wondered if I would see any of them again.  Before them there was Jared.  All were humans.  What did that mean to me, really?  I had even quit thinking of them in a sense of species.  What of Lath?  Not a word spoken, but something had happened between us.  What? 

Once again I was being taken from everything of which I was familiar.  Turning my gaze from the shoreline to the open water I looked into the unknown.

___________________________

 

The Phabeon Sea was big, much bigger than I had ever imagined.  Most times I couldn’t see any sign of land, elvin eyes and all.  We stopped briefly on two different islands, but our true destination was Malone.  The ship belonged to Lemahr Celderado, the owner of a cloth manufacturing company.  His factory consisted of many looms, and his people wove some of the best linens, muslin and canvas cloth in Aeshea.

By previous arrangement, the Gracious Lady was to make port in Teamon every week and stay two days, waiting for the return of Sormiske, in the meantime sailing to trade among the islands.  I learned Celderado was responsible for financing Sormiske’s trip.  It seemed the dragon hunt was not Sormiske’s primary purpose, but a venture cooked up after the contract for Stagus was signed.  I had a hunch someone was going to be very mad.

When he was able to sidle up with me to talk, Parnell explained some more of the situation, “Stagus used to come to Malone to pick up prisoners for his projects, supplies, and he had that land cruiser built to specifications right in the shipyard.  He hired someone to rig a sail on top and sail it all the way to Teamon to prove it would really sail.

“Anyway, Celderado’s only child happened to be a girl of about fourteen years old.  It just so happened she liked riding horses, and she had never developed real big up here,” he indicated his chest, “so one day Stagus was out hunting, he saw her out riding on the outskirts of the country alone and thought she was a boy.  He caught up with her, and since she wore her hair real short, he figured she sure enough was a young boy. 

Stagus pulled her off the horse and went about trying to rape her.  When he found out she was a girl he went all into a rage, messed her up real bad and it killed her.  He hid the body, but the horse had gotten away.  He never knew who she was, and next morning was on a boat back to Teamon before anyone knew the better.”

“So, how did they find all of that out?”  I asked.

“The horse’s reins got caught in some brush and it was two days before a rider found her.  They backtracked and finally found the body.  Celderado is a big supporter of the Eayahnite Church, and they brought in a field cleric with some power.  They had the guy read her brain for memories.”

We both just looked at each other for a moment.  ‘To read a dead person’s brain for memories,’ I thought, ‘Mon’Gouchett, that was powerful.’ 

Parnell continued, “A reward was put up and Sormiske just happened to be there at the right time.  Now we’re here.”

Thinking back on how long I had known Stagus, and his manner with the boys, I mentioned, “He doesn’t, I mean, he didn’t like girls or women, did he?”

Parnell thought about it long and hard.  Turning toward me with a puzzled look on his face he remarked, “Now that’s the thing.  Stagus had a wife and four girls, eighty miles north of Malone in Tahlormun.  And he regularly contributed to the Popallo Temple.  They say he had even served as an elder, there.  One of his girls is married to a constable and has three kids of her own.”

Stunner, wow!  We both just stood there for a couple of minutes thinking on that one.

Finally I changed the subject a bit and asked, “Why did you sign on?”

“Needed the money.”  He grinned, “Got me a girl in Malone who’s waiting for me to come back, then we’re going to tie up.  Gonna start our own café, raise a family.  Already got the place picked out.  This money’s going to get us set up.”

I just looked at him a minute, “You’re a cook?”

He laughed, “Who do you think whipped up your meals?  I brought ‘em to you from the house we were staying at.  Sormiske wasn’t there, he was staying at Ingrid’s Inn.”

Shaking my head I thought, sometimes you just never know.

___________________________

 

Two days out from Malone, I saw the Emdejon Bar, a long strip of land in front of Emdejon Falls, said to be the highest waterfall in the world.  The Bar kept the outgoing current from pulling everything into the falls and down.  The falls had been estimated as a 383 feet high sheer drop. 

The captain saw my face, and with a look of pride he said, “It’s as close as we can get with this vessel.  An oar boat can get closer and touch land from this side.  She’s a sight to see, though.”  It was just a passing comment, not like he was looking for conversation with a prisoner or anything.  I just looked, taking it all in.  It was beautiful.

As we got closer to Malone, Sormiske became more agitated.  Then one morning the captain got a pigeon, tied a note to its foot and sent it up.  The captain’s action took Sormiske by surprise and he became really worried.  The next morning we pulled into port, and there waiting for us was a nice sized gathering and a really upset looking mom and dad.

Once we were tied up and the gangway set, Celderado himself boarded ship and walked right up to Sormiske.  His voice was quiet, but his face was stern, “A head?  You brought me a head?  You expect me to have a public execution with only a head?  I paid you a substantial deposit for a specific purpose.”

“Here you are, sir.”  The first mate handed the sack to Celderado.  Taking it, Celderado in turn handed the sack to someone who had followed him up the ramp. 

Celderado got right up into Sormiske’s face and said in calm, but ice-cold words, “You, are not a former military tactician, have never held a command, and were never in consideration for promotion to major.  You, in fact, were turned down for promotion to major twice.  You were a supply officer, busted down to lieutenant for inept leadership and unsatisfactory performance.”

This was getting even more interesting.  Celderado was walking up closer to Sormiske, as Sormiske edged backward.

“You were allowed to resign in advance of a court-martial and dishonorable discharge.” 

Sormiske’s back was almost against the main mast.

“Nor did you teach at the Military Academy of Dahruban, or any other academy.  You tutored a young man for a single test in the Province of Craddock, who in turned failed his examination. 

“After shifting to the village of Tega you mopped floors for six months while endeavoring to court several women.  You then attempted to force yourself on the daughter of a business owner.  You left just ahead of a lynch mob and returned here, where you lived with your wife in a home provided by your wife’s family, where upon you approached me with a letter of recommendation from your wife’s father.” 

Celderado was in Sormiske’s face as Sormiske cringed against the mast.

“You, Sormiske, misrepresented yourself.  I have been sending letters to every sizable business and port around the Phabeon Sea.  You are finished.” 

Celderado let the words sink in before adding, “I’ll take your cargo as compensation for breach of contract and your falsified information.  If I ever see you again I will personally kill you on sight.  If you aren’t out of Malone within the hour, I will have you publicly stocked, flayed, spitted, then drawn and quartered.” 

He then punctuated each of his following words, slowly and with meaning, “Now … Get … Off … My … Ship!”

Sormiske couldn’t even speak.  He fumbled with keys and went to unlock my chains. 

“What, are you doing?”  Celderado asked. 

Sormiske’s lips were trembling as he tried to reply, “I’m g-getting m-th-p …”

Wahyene spoke then, “He is attending to my prisoner.”

“And you are?”

Bowing ever so slightly, “I am Wahyene, Proctor of the Meidran Sect of Kiubejhan.”

Celderado’s forehead and eyebrows revealed an ever so slight indication of disgust.  He thought a moment, and then simply said, “This man is not welcome in this city, and will be lucky to get a job pushing a broom anywhere within the realm.”  Turning back to Sormiske he added, “Your wife comes from a good family, and her father has been exonerated due to incorrect witness on your part.  You, on the other hand, shall be excommunicated from the church.”  With that, he made way to the captain’s quarters, I presume to attend to ship’s business.

Sormiske’s hand was shaking so badly, Parnell finally took the key from him and unlocked my chains.  Wahyene seemed to take charge and the four retainers, Sormiske, Wahyene and I made our way down to the dock.  Mrs. Celderado braced Sormiske as he descended the gangway, and stared at him a long moment.  Sormiske couldn’t maintain eye contact and she demanded, “Look me in the eye.  LOOK at me, you bastard!”  Then she punched him square in the nose, not only breaking it but knocking Sormiske stumbling back and tripping over a crate.

In short order we were on a freight wagon being driven to the edge of the city.  Parnell, in particular, was upset.  No money, I thought, no café.  He had been depending on this.  Sormiske was destroyed.  Word of his backing down from Hoscoe was all over the western Phabeon coast, by now.  And these sailors had that story, as well as this.  Now he had been warned out of the most prominent city-state in the whole southeastern region surrounding the Phabeon. 

Parnell hadn’t been implicated, only Sormiske had been black-marked, but Parnell now had no capitol.  And deep down he seemed to be a good man. I saw him thinking things over and it dawned on me what he might be thinking.  There was still me.  If Sormiske and Wahyene could get me to the witch, whoever she was, the money could be really good.

What was Wahyene going to do?  He was clearly vested in getting me to his witch, but what would he do in regard to Sormiske? 

Parnell had told me his own journey was to have stopped here, in Malone.  But sometimes a person can do questionable things when pushed.  I wasn’t really anything to Parnell, and it would actually be in his best interest to help get me to Kiubejhan, if that was where we were headed, especially if it meant getting paid.

Outside of the city in a small hamlet, Wahyene shocked me when he pulled a pouch from his robes, handed it to Sormiske and said, “You’re still in charge.  Now get us there.”

Sormiske took the pouch with trembling hands and looked at Wahyene with amazement on his face.  Wahyene just gave him a wink.  All of us looked at each other.  Then Wahyene said in his whispering voice, “We still have a cargo.  To each of you who continue onward, you will be richly rewarded … in many ways.”

Exactly what he meant by that last statement, I had no idea.  But it didn’t look good for me.

As we all got out of the wagon, Parnell stopped for a moment and stunned everyone when he said, “I ain’t going to do it.”  Punctuating his words with outstretched hands and palms down he said, “I’m done.”  Then he turned and walked away.

Feeling a touch more confident, Sormiske started walking to a stable in the hamlet.  As he walked, I watched his back get straighter and straighter.  It was then I realized Wahyene was just using Sormiske.  I didn’t think about it at the time, but Meidra wasn’t popular in Malone, and her proctor wasn’t as likely to get as good a bargaining favor as a commoner might, at least not here.  Sormiske’s pride and ego was an easy tool for Wahyene to manipulate. 

What would happen to Sormiske, and what Wahyene had in mind for him, I didn’t know.  But after he acquired horses and a wagon, thereafter beginning our journey, I noticed Sormiske started emulating Wahyene during his morning spiritual rituals.  It seemed his every virtue was for sale.

___________________________

 

We travelled as hard and fast as we could to reach the Pehnaché River Canyon Bridge.  Everything south of Malone and around the Pehnaché River was Banupodai Bandit country.  Often the terrain was rocky and desolate, and an entire culture had developed with small bands of humans raiding and pillaging off of each other.  There was no law but their own and they could strike at any time.  Masters of desert and desert warfare, they were a nomadic people who rode camels and a breed of horse coveted by many. 

A Banupodai warrior with more than one or two of the legendary Arabian horses was considered rich.  These horses were said to have been the original Elvin Steeds, way back when, and the name, Arabian, was explained by Diustahn himself to represent Elegance and Purity.  Oshang was said to have taken an entire herd back home with him after the Kl’Duryq Wars, he liked them so much.

To the east lay the Di’Yamohn Desert with its occasional water holes, hills of quartzite, the deadly Di’Yamohn Viper and wild bands of Arabian Horses.  This was a truly wild and often hot region of land.  Our main problem wasn’t the possibility of attack, however.  Sormiske would have had to work hard to choose a worse selection of horses. 

He was only able to pick a tandem for our wagon, and one mount each for him and his three remaining retainers.  Wahyene had to drive his own wagon, and I rode chained in the back.  Of us all, I got the worse end of the deal.  The seat had independent springs, the wagon itself did not.  One of the mounts had a quarter-crack in its left fore-hoof, not good, and it slowed us down considerably.  The team itself was old and mismatched.  Overall it made for a poor trip.

On the south side of the bridge there was a village where we could get re-outfitted, but we had to get there.

It took us twice the normal time to travel, no one was in a good mood when it came time to camp, and the campsites were poorly chosen.  To Wahyene’s credit, each night he would enable some kind of magic ward around the camp which would alert us to intruders.  Sormiske, Jinx, Evan and Bost had to each take turns standing watch.  Sormiske said he didn’t trust me to watch, which didn’t bother me one bit.

Evan was standing the second watch when I heard something in the distance toward the east.  Then I smelled an ever so slight whiff of an odor I thought I recognized.  It made me think of onions simmering in butter, but it came from downwind, which was to the west.  I heard another sound, the sound of a boot easing down on the loose gravel of the road to the northeast; it was a skilled foot, a human would have to have really good hearing, and well trained at that.

Then I heard the snap of a bowstring.  Evan never had a clue.  He was nodding off as he was sitting and staring into the fire, then stood up suddenly to stretch.  Momma taught me never to stare into a fire, especially at night, because if you have to look into the darkness you will be momentarily blinded as your eyes focus.

The crossbow bolt went into his abdomen at the level where his chest had just been, and then the high pitch squeal of the magical ward sounded as bandits stormed our camp.  Sormiske just lay in his bed as Jinx rolled out with sword in hand and sliced one bandit across the torso, then ran another one through the chest.  Wahyene yelled a word and waved his right hand as an ugly purple and yellow bolt of energy left his hand, hitting a bandit in the chest and causing his whole body to go up in flames. 

Waving his left hand to the sky and calling another series of words, he clenched the hand into a fist, hooked it hard to the ground while seeming to grab at something from the air below him with his right hand, then thrust the left fist outward as he opened it into something like a heel-palm strike.  Five more bandits running into the camp suddenly were hurled thirty feet through the air as their chests seem to cave in.

Bost was just getting out of his bed and onto his feet when through the air I heard the whistling sound of a bola.  I remembered how it felt; a cord with weighted ends suddenly wrapped itself around Bost and took him to the ground, one of the weights hitting him in the head and knocking him out.  Beside me two bandits were coming into camp, one moving in my direction, when another person joined the fray and attacked my bandit. 

It was Parnell who emerged from the darkness and jumped over a downed bandit, sliced the torso of one standing up, then hamstrung another.

Immediately engaging the bandit coming after me, Parnell parried the bandit’s sword once, twice, and then slashed to the leg followed by a back-stepping spin and a decapitating strike to the neck.  With the head flying through the air another bandit turned to Parnell and swung wildly.  Again Parnell parried, flowing his motion with an upward circle, cutting upward to his opponent’s arm-pit and then slicing diagonally downward, right side of the neck to left hip and continued into a slice into a third opponent. 

Jinx followed Parnell’s strike with a thrust of his own as Parnell parried a final bandit’s sword.  Kicking his adversary in the groin, Parnell slid his blade under the chin and cleanly swiped up and around while gracefully stepping away from the falling foe.

Breathing hard, Jinx looked around to make sure there were no more assailants, and then turned to Parnell and said, “That was good timing.  You change your mind?”

Tilting his head in a slightly humorous way Parnell replied, “Nuh-uh.”  Nodding over at me he said, “I came for him.  He doesn’t deserve to go where you’re taking him.”

Wahyene looked around hard and prepared to wave his hands and say something, when suddenly he was up on his toes and holding his throat, unable to speak.  It was then that it hit me, all of Wahyene’s magic relied on vocal components.  Was this common with all wizards, I didn’t know?  But it was something to remember.

To one side I saw a human facing Wahyene with his hand up in the air as if he was gripping something intangible.  Jinx squared off into a fighting stance with Parnell, and from off to the side I saw another yet human emerge with a crossbow set on Sormiske’s still prone and covered form.

“Don’t do it, Jinx,” he said.  “You know I can best you, with ease.”

Jinx looked at him levelly and said, “You won’t get away with this.” Indicating Wahyene he added, “You know who this is, remember?”

Careful not to take his eye off of Jinx, Parnell walked to the front of Sormiske’s bed, “I’ll worry about that later.” He pointed to the human with his hand up gripping the air, “You know who he is?  That’s my lady’s brother.  He is training with the Pyntahku.”  He winked at Jinx, “Mind warriors, not magic.  Now, I really don’t want to hurt you, so throw your sword into the fire; handle in the flame.”

Jinx thought long and hard about it.  Glancing at Parnell, then to the crossbowman and the student, he decided to play it smart and complied.  “Good, now Bost’s.” As Jinx got that one too, Parnell said, “Excellent.” 

Without missing a step he kicked Sormiske’s foot, “Get up, Sorry.  You’re a yellow bellied coward.  Get up and give me Timber Wolf’s key.  Now!  And do it slowly.”

Sormiske got up out of his bed slowly, his face clearly showing fear.  His hands were raised and he was holding the wrist cuffs of his under-drawers.  Now, that didn’t make sense to me.  With the left hand he let go of his sleeve and reached under the neck of his drawers. Pulling out the key and string, he tossed it to Parnell who caught it deftly.  Both hands back up, he stood there and with a quivering voice he said, “Please, don’t hurt me.  I’ll do anything ...” 

Disgusted, Parnell turned his back to walk to me. 

I liked Parnell; he was a good man who just wanted to do something for his future.  Like Jared, he wanted a family, who deep down was honest and didn’t think like a criminal.  Sormiske dropped his hands and I saw a glint of steel from the fire light, a sleeve dagger.  I was shouting, Parnell froze and looked at me, with my hands bound I could do nothing but watch in horror as Sormiske, his face contorted in rage sprang forward and thrust a dagger into Parnell’s back.

Now out of angle to hit Sormiske, the shooter took Jinx in the chest, as Jinx in turn threw a perfectly aimed dagger into the Pyntahku student’s throat.  Released from the telekinetic throat hold, Wahyene hurled what looked like five simultaneous bursts of light at the shooter as he was drawing his sword. 

I was still yelling in anguish as Parnell dropped to his knees, looked me square in the eyes, and with blood in his mouth he formed the words, “I-I tried …” His eyes went sightless as he slowly fell over sideways and onto his back with his sword still in hand.

Chapter   23

________________________

 

 

THERE WAS NO time spent on burials or the like.  Sormiske, Wahyene, Bost and I were on our way up the trail in double-time.  The fire was even left burning.  Sormiske gathered weapons from all of the dead and piled them up in the wagon, while Bost hitched the better of the horses into harness.  Wahyene kicked the Pyntahku student with his toe, after which he backed away and said something while waving a hand over the student’s body.  The body suddenly erupted into a hot, red flame which consumed his flesh in moments, leaving only the baked bones.

Turning to Sormiske, Wahyene flashed an evil, appraising grin.  In that whispering voice he commented, “You might make a good servant of Meidra, after all.  Have you considered becoming a wizard?”

As we were preparing to leave, Sormiske walked to the fire and tore apart his Eayahnite Bible, dropping it into the flames of the campfire.  Walking away he had that spoiled, snarling look on his face.  Leaving the horse with the quarter-crack, the extra horse was tied to the back of the wagon. 

Evan was still groaning on the ground and Sormiske walked over to check on him.  In a cracked voice Evan pleaded, “Ya gotta help me,” and he grabbed Sormiske by the arm. 

Appalled, Sormiske drew back.  Once he regained his composure, he replied without emotion, “You’re gut shot.  I can’t do anything for you.”  Callously, Sormiske moved Evan onto his side, reached into his jerkin and found a small pouch, then unbuckled his dagger belt, “You won’t be needing these.”  Then he mounted his horse and we were off.

We didn’t stop until we made the bridge, killing two horses in the process.  Bost had to finish the ride on the wagon, but then he drove.  Sormiske wanted to ride the one horse not in harness because he felt it made him look like a leader.  At least we made it without further attack. 

At the point where we were to cross, the canyon was over a mile wide.  The walls were sheer rock and in most places it would take a sticky footed lizard to climb.  If you fell you would have a lot of time to think about it on the way down.  An ancient trail wound down the canyon walls on both sides and was connected by an amazing bridge which spanned the river.  Thirty feet below the bridge was foaming, angry rapids.

The bridge had been built upon a series of rock formations which rose up from the water at several points.  How this bridge was built was a mystery.  There were no nails, bolts, screws or ropes connecting anything together.  Instead of boards, great trees had been hewn and laid crosswise in some kind of interlocking fashion.  The wooden crosspieces were about fifteen feet squared by forty feet long.  Each piece was fitted perfectly together.  Overall the bridge was over three quarters of a mile long by forty feet wide.

The trail we had been riding, this bridge, and the trail beyond to the village and then on toward Kiubejhan, was all there was left of an ancient highway built by the Empire of Ra, the builders of the pyramids.  South of the Pehnaché River lay the vast Jho’Menquita Territory all the way to the Ahrgos Ocean, once the seat of a Minotaur kingdom. 

The Pehnaché River itself was incredibly long; originating far up in the Kohntia Mountains and winding around forests, grasslands, straight through the heart of the Di’Yamohn Desert and forming the much twisted northern border of the Jho’Menquita Territory, before curving sharply to the north and finally emptying into the Teshucarr River, only two miles south of Emdejon Falls.

We had been traveling hard for almost a day and a half.  As we drew up to the canyon’s edge, Wahyene determined it would be best to camp and rest the horses.  He also seemed concerned about something else and kept looking around, however he did not voice his disquiet.  It was as if he were looking for someone, or something not present.

This old bridge did not see much activity, but it did see some every now and again.  Other than the sound of the river, there was nothing else to hear at all. Nor was there sign of any kind of movement on the trail or bridge.  It was almost desolate.

We rested well into noon of the next day as Wahyene entered into and maintained a trance-like meditation.  He would come out of it, cast some bones, and enter the meditation again.  Finally he informed us it was time to continue, so we closed camp and prepared to move on.

Without passing a glance to either side or to any one, Wahyene stared at the bridge below and said, “Sormiske, you are our leader.  You lead us down, and then up to the other side.” 

Sormiske was white and glanced unbelievingly at Wahyene.  He didn’t look like he had ever been here before, and he was scared.  But Sormiske did as he was told and led the way.  The trail down and across didn’t appear so big at first glance, but the road was wide enough for two large wagons to pass each other for the entire distance.  Bost had to use the brake a lot to help the horses as we traveled down.  Going across that expanse of water was real spooky; the whole way I half expected angry water spirits or something to come out from under the bridge to attack us.

Wahyene maintained a concerned expression and was constantly looking into the water and into the canyon walls.  The horses weren’t too crazy about the trip across either.

Other than skittish horses, we had no trouble getting to the top on the other side.  Yet there was an unnatural stillness in the air.  Wahyene didn’t seem appeased, but he said nothing to us.  The village was a few miles up the trail, so with a nod of his head for Sormiske to continue the lead, we headed that way.

All along the road there was no sign of any people at all.  When we sighted the village up ahead, Sormiske got excited.  But the closer we got, the more we noticed no activity was going on there.  The trail went right through the village, and as we started driving through it became obvious a recent battle had taken place.  Seemingly the village was deserted.  All around the huts were signs of conflict; however there were no bodies.  Smoke still rose from the smithy and I could smell food which had burned. 

I felt some kind of presence, several presences actually, but couldn’t place their locations.  Wahyene was fumbling with what I had learned was his component pouch and began hastily mumbling some words.  Before he could finish, something stepped out from one of the huts to our left side and threw a javelin.  Bost was driving from the right side of the seat and he took the missile through the body.  The throw was strong enough to lift him from his seat and carry him into the street. 

In a surreal fashion I saw him squirm in his last moments of life as mayhem broke loose. I didn’t get a good look, but more creatures I figured to be around six and a half to seven feet tall, came out of other huts with javelins.  One missed me with its throw as I ducked, and the javelin hit Sormiske’s horse.  The horse reared and Sormiske fell halfway into the wagon as Wahyene finished his spell and grabbed the reins, snapping the exhausted horses into a run.  He yelled at me to come forward as javelins started whizzing by us.  Looking at my hands he yelled a word and the chains fell off of my manacles.

Jumping to the front of the wagon, I saw a javelin hurtle close to me, but then deflect upward with a spark of red and yellow.  “Here,” Wahyene yelled as he handed me the reins, “we don’t have much time,” and then he vaulted to the bed of the wagon with surprising nimbleness. Yank had let me handle the lines of the big wagon a time or two and I tried to remember everything he said and did.  Bracing my feet against the board and snapping the ribbons, I yelled, “Hee-yah-yah-yah!”

Having no idea what I was doing, I was hanging on and hoping for the best.  Wahyene spoke a word and clapped his hands forward; several bolts of lightning hurled ahead of us and caught multiple uglies in their paths.  The team was panicking and not knowing what else to do, I thought briefly of the rat … reaching forward with my mind … [Calm] … I tried to *S’Fahn Muir* to the horses … [Faster, do your best].  All of my focus was on the horses, the reins in my hand, and that we had to make it out and past the village. 

My hands seemed to hum and the light must have been playing tricks on my eyes, because I could have sworn the reins were turning blue in my hands, and then followed the ribbons all the way to the horses’ mouths.  I had no idea what Wahyene was doing behind me, but I felt wind blowing through my hair.  ‘Focus,’ I told myself, ‘focus.’  The horses seemed to find hidden strength within them, for they straightened and pulled harder into the harness. 

The wagon could have been as light as a small cart, with the team racing as fast as they were.  I was nearly oblivious to the action around me, but I saw two tornadoes suddenly touch down to either side of us, then move back as if to cover our escape. Chancing a glance, I saw Wahyene with one hand each outstretched to a tornado and I thought more were touching down.  He was controlling them, ‘Mon’Gouchett,’ I thought. 

Through the village and far down the old road I raced the team without stopping.  Looking behind me I saw Wahyene down on the wagon, a gash on his head was bleeding freely.  From under and just behind the seat, Sormiske was huddled and looking up at me. 

The horses seemed almost fresh so I just let them run the path of the road until they finally slowed down of their own accord to a walk.  It was closing into nighttime and I really didn’t want to be anywhere close to the village, or those things.  I just kept the horses going until Wahyene could give me some direction.

I guessed we traveled a total of twenty miles when we rounded a bend in the rock and almost ran into a group of soldiers.  Not again, I thought.  “Wahyene …” I called, but there was no response. 

There was no way for me to evade and one soldier caught the right horse’s bridle and brought us to a stop.  Fantastic!  A coward wizard wanna-be was behind my seat, an actual wizard from this region was either knocked out or dead in the wagon, and I was still wearing wrist manacles with rings for connecting chains. Two dozen or so mounted warriors were encircling the wagon with drawn crossbows and lances.

The person who appeared to be in charge looked at me with a hostile expression, he then roughly asked in what sounded like Shudoic with a strong guttural accent, “Speak do you the Keoghnariu tongue?!”

Looking him straight in the eye I said, “No.  Do you?”

Something hit me in the back of the head and everything went black.

___________________________

 

Slowly opening my eyes I could tell I was in a dark place.  Stone was all about me and there was no trace of sun or fresh air.  The floor beneath me was dirty, covered with foul smelling straw, and I was naked.  Uhm, this was not a good sign. 

‘My head,’ I thought, ‘I’ve been whacked in the head again.  I’m so-o-o tired of getting hit in the back of the head.’  But I shouldn’t have been out for that long.  Our destination, Kiubejhan, was at least six or seven days away, and that would be making good time.

Slowly reaching to feel the back of my head, I found my whole body hurt and I was covered in lacerations.  I heard a voice, a voice using that same guttural version of Shudoic say, “Look, movin’ he is.  We playing can start now?”

“No.  We some more wait.  She wants awake he should be full.  She wants him know what’s to happenin’ for and why.”

This wasn’t getting any better, and the garbled speech … was it just the way I was hearing things? 

As I carefully felt my head, I was relieved to find it wasn’t broken again.  No, actually, I had already healed, days ago.  Why couldn’t I think, my brain felt like melted butter?  Everything was so hazy.  I could remember Wahyene saying, “Watch this one.  He has the gift.  It is still raw, but it is there and strongly so.”

It must have taken seven days of travel before we had come to the city, if you can call Kiubejhan a city.  It looked more like a baby kingdom trying to hatch, which is exactly what it was.  My memories … so fuzzy, but not because of the blow to the head.  No, I had healed easily.

There had been a building on the outskirts of the city which could have once been a mining dugout, but then added onto.  The soldiers led me into this building … it was a church of some kind … a church to Meidra.  Apparently this wasn’t the official religious center, to have it so far away from everything else.

Inside, Wahyene took charge and had me taken to some room where he brought a bowl of dust over to me, blew it into my face and kicked me in the stomach.  Later I had awakened to find myself cleaned, without manacles, covered in some kind of scented oil, and laying on a leather bed.  I was still groggy from the drug in the dust, and an almost naked female was sitting in a hassock staring at me.

Her hair was a dingy blonde and at first glance she appeared to be very well endowed and attractive.  I noticed she also had minor points on her ears.  Her mouth, though, something about her mouth took away from her features.  She was staring, like I was an amusement, her eyes partially glazed.  When she smiled her features changed into a caricature of a demonic clown mixed with adult immaturity.  Then she mockingly asked in the Elvish, “Are you really a virgin?”  And then she laughed with a sound like a mixture of laughter and coughing.  Now how would she or anyone else know that?

Amused at me as if virginity was something to be scorned, she got up and tried to sway her hips in a seductive manner.  It was apparent she was utterly convinced of her own sexuality.  I would hate to be the one to tell her there was no temptation there at all.  As she stood and attempted to sensuously open her gown, her revealed torso and legs were covered with long, stringy hair.  This made her overall visage rather appalling, unless of course you were a drunken human or an org.

Repulsed, I actually cringed for a moment, and she did not like that.  Snarling she contorted her face and hissed, “Do you not like women?”

What made me say it, I don’t know, but I responded, “Not ugly ones who smell like a toilet …”

She opened a hand with fingers that suddenly transformed into a claw and reared back, her face contorted as canine fangs grew from her teeth …

“Hold, Cielizabeg!”  Entering into the room from somewhere off to the side, a mature, female voice commanded.  This voice was used to being obeyed, and although smooth, was as cold as ice, “He’s mine.”

This female moved without hurry and her actions flowed without effort.  Her skin’s color was pale as if untouched by the sun and her hair was an ordinary brown.  The robe she wore was snug upon her body, and she obviously had curves where curves should be.  In my mind I heard a subtle and seductive voice, brushing through my thoughts with a silky caress, [Hello … I am Meidra.  You are very lucky ...]

Meidra, I thought, so this is the witch.  She doesn’t look so much like a … aren’t Meidra and Cielizabeg supposed to be goddesses, or something like that?  What was going on?  Where was I?  Was I about to die?

As Meidra slowly glided across the floor toward me, she spoke to Cielizabeg in a voice that made you want to listen, “You may leave now.  This young stallion and I have much to discuss …” She looked at me with a sly sideways and suggestive smile.  Again, I heard only in my mind, [… don’t we?]

I didn’t see Cielizabeg leave, as my eyes were only on Meidra.  She looked so inviting, there was nothing evil here. 

Her dark robe hung loosely about her perfectly proportioned body, just barely closed together at her waist in a teasing fashion.  Little was left to the imagination in the way of her shape, and I could see a tattoo of a butterfly on her left breast and another on her right thigh.

Walking to me in a swaying, hypnotic fashion, Meidra untied her robe with a seductive smile. But as it opened, something from my earliest memories rose quickly to the front of my brain, Succubus.  I could hear songs in the distant recesses of my mind, songs of protection, Bardic Magic. 

Turmoil within me gave rise as my mind argued this beautiful creature, this, this woman of warmth with promise of pleasure was here to … to do what … to release me.  Why had that thought come to mind … release?  It sounded so sweet, so inviting.

Yet from a memory long suppressed, something instilled through unrecalled hours of repetition until it had become instinct rather than conscious thought rose up and a barrage of music I did not remember, yet which felt so natural, and pressed from within to be let go.

I tried to whistle so as to engage the protective powers of the songs, but couldn’t.  So I tried to hum, to weave the song which was intensely trying to rise to the surface of my mind. 

What about Meidra had triggered this thought?  How could anyone so beautiful …?  As the robe was slowly dropped from her shoulders, then down and around her shapely hips and thighs, I saw a glimmer about her form. Rather than a beautiful female, for an instant she seemed to have small goat-like horns on the top of her head, her nose was upturned like a pig’s, fangs lined her teeth and her body was covered in an ugly mat of sparse hair.  A long, boney tail moved snake-like behind her and her eyes were bloodshot with orange-yellow irises. 

The glimmer lasted only a moment, but it was enough.  Meidra instantly knew I had seen through her veil, something she did not expect, and she became furious.  I apparently had some training in mental disciplines of the Dsh’Tharr Bard, never realizing it until now, and still I was unsure how much … Momma, she hadn’t just schooled me in history and song … she had …

Like a scream in the center of my brain, I heard Meidra hiss, [What?  How DARE you?  He is MINE!  You are MINE, boy, do you HEAR?!]  I thought, ‘Who is she talking to?’

Meidra’s own power was based on what is called psionics, powers of the mind, and it wasn’t like I came upon the thought by contemplation, I just suddenly knew without knowing why.  A thousand lights seemed to explode in my head, wracking my psyche with pain I could have never imagined. 

To this day I have not been able to remember exactly what happened.  For what seemed an eternity my inner self felt as if it was floundering in a sea of black flame.  Repeatedly I heard the words, whether in my mind or with my ears, or even both, I still don’t know, “You belong to me … I own you … give yourself to me … you are a child of perdition … accept that you were born to please me … give to me what is mine …” Searing pain shot through my body as she raked me with her claws. 

Repeatedly she slapped me in an endless savage fury.  Upon my neck, back and shoulders she beat me with clenched fists and cursed my soul; at some point she slammed me over and over into the walls with all of her might.  Each blow, each rake, laced with snarls of rage as she tried to conquer my body and mind. 

I held on as long as I could and fought with my fledgling skill.  As she tried to consume and seduce my will, I was able to briefly see within her own subliminal thoughts.  Never before had a male of any species been able to deny her, and it was now a matter of ego and vanity; she saw herself as a goddess, and she needed, demanded all males bear her obeisance.  But with me she wanted more than to place me into her submission, she needed my blood.  More specifically, she needed my seed. 

Meidra needed a child by someone with strong elvin blood; an unholy child she could control and attempt to overthrow her father, Eayah.  The Abaishulek she found to be weak, and those from Ch’Hahnju?  Something was wrong there, but I couldn’t tell what it was.  And then I suddenly knew she saw my ancestral lineage.  I felt her astonishment, but only for a moment, then her hunger renewed with fervor.

Unable to fight no more, I, who had distained anything with regard to powers that be or any form of deity worship, in a plea for mercy cried out in my mind to Jh’Rhohai, he who the ancient elves revered as the Creator. 

  Suddenly the door burst open and the lock on my mind released.  Cielizabeg half ran into the room in a panic yelling, “The priest, he’s located us.  Meidra, we’ve got to do something!” 

Did Jh’Rhohai hear me?  Was it a coincidence?  Did fate roll the dice and choose to intervene?  All I knew was the onslaught on my mind and body stopped.

With my brain still on fire I could tell I was being held in the air by her left hand, my back against the wall and blood all over her claws.  Meidra’s face was livid as she looked to Cielizabeg and then back to me. 

Dropping me as one might release a soiled rag, she sneered at me and said in an embittered tone, “The men of the hall will teach you your place!  By the time they have broken you to the saddle, I will be back.  And by that time,” I could feel the evil radiating from her, “you will LIKE it.  You …” She hissed her words in dripping scorn, “WILL … belong to me!”

Yelling for guards to come get me, she turned to the frantically pacing Cielizabeg, “Come with me, we will lay a plan for this Logan of yours.  I will teach him to cross paths with me.”

The guards came in and dragged me, still naked, from the chamber and into a hallway.  They were still dragging me when I passed out.

___________________________

 

Lying on the dirty straw and rubbing the back of my head, I tried to move my left leg up into a half crouch.  If I could just make the room stop spinning … looking about everything was a blur.  Okay, iron bars.  Lots of iron bars.  That meant several cells. 

The air was damp and the smells were of stale sweat, rotting straw and human waste.  I must be in a dungeon. 

Two, no, three big humans males … all inside my cell; how could it get worse? No … that was not a question I wanted to ask.

Sitting up, even a little, was a chore.  I needed to heal, badly.  At the moment, however, more important matters were at hand.  My vision was starting to focus and I realized these humans had a depraved, smiling expression on their faces.  One stood up, and with an exaggerated motion removed his scant clothing.  The other two followed suit and it became obvious what these sons of pigs had in mind. 

One said to the others, “Hold him get away so he can’t do.” 

‘Huh?’  I thought.  The language sounded Shudoic, but badly butchered.

I realized my manacles had not been replaced.  `Not that it was going to do me any good, right at the moment.  Looking around for something I might use as a weapon, I saw only dried pieces of dung here and there in the straw.

The humans were enjoying themselves and posturing as they slowly circled around me.  The one closest to my feet said, “Holiness her wants you for to know, train you do we will.  Grow to soon like you will …” He spoke more but I couldn’t begin to follow what he said.  I already had gotten the idea of their intentions.

My memory went back in time and I remembered the rat, I mean the two rats, both of them.  The one had heard me. 

Trying to keep self-control in this most precarious of conditions, I endeavored not to panic and breathed … and attempted to *S’Fahn Muir* to any creature out there who could help … I felt something was there, but what was it … [Help me] I asked to anything that, who would listen.

My cell had a small hole where the wall met the floor, I didn’t realize this at first, but it is where my assistance came from.  Just as one of these humans was reaching down to grab me, this snake crawled through the straw and immediately struck up, twice, and bit the inner thigh of the brute at my feet.

The Di’Yamohn Viper often reaches lengths of sixteen to seventeen feet long and has the most potent venom of all vipers.  When my new buddy surfaced and bit human number one, you should have seen the panic.  Here were these three humans jumping around a fourteen by eighteen feet locked cell, all naked, all desperately running from this snake. 

It was only a moment until this angry serpent caught the second human on the Achilles tendon.  By this time human number one was crying tears, holding himself and begging for help.  He was already starting to get wobbly as the other two were at the locked door screaming for help. 

One guard came to the edge of the cell, and then backed away with hands in the air as he saw the viper.

Human number three cornered himself as he started to wet the straw, trembling before the viper as it rose up and poised in front of him.  Entranced, I watched the creature deliberately wait until the human was in just the right position, then it struck twice so fast it seemed to me only a blur of motion. 

Slithering through the straw the viper coiled itself in front of my feet and I started to get concerned.  Then it rose up slowly and just looked at me.  It was still there when two guards came running to the cell, and it turned around and stared at them, opened its mouth and hissed.  I have no idea how long my guardian stayed there, because I simply passed out.  But when I awoke the next morning, the snake was gone and the dead humans were still in my cell.

Chapter   24

________________________

 

 

EARLY ON THE second morning after we drove Stagus’s old wagon into Kynear, René was having breakfast at Gertrude’s Diner.  The sun had not yet risen when he walked in, but a few locals were already gathering for hot griddle cakes, eggs, overnight stewed chunks of beef and bowls of grits smothered in butter.  If you asked for it you could get local made cheese grated into those grits.

Waking up early was not new for René, he used to say he was the one who got up to wake the rooster at home.  Growing up as the sixth of eight children on a mountain valley farm, he was doing chores since he was old enough to walk.  His great-grand pap on his pa’s side, a former sailor named Moureen, immigrated to the Jutte Range territory because he heard it would be a good place to raise horses. 

Bringing a band of twenty mares and one stallion from Lychiwal, a country north of Vedoa, Moureen and a few kinsmen left the east coast, followed the Pihpikow Road all the way through Dahruban and into the Plains of Shudoquar.  From there they continued down the Norder-Sau Trade Route and around the Jutte Range, before finally laying claim to fourteen thousand acres in an area now known as Gustav Valley.  Along with these horses they brought goats, milking cows, chickens and their families.  These people had come to stay.

Sure, they had endured their share of battles, but these weren’t city folk with a hope of migration.  These were hardy folk from the rocky northeast coastline of Aeshea.  Conflict with thieves and marauders was not unusual, and they had learned to handle attacks from the gorinel. 

René said the gorinel were a nasty species of goblin.  Hunter-scavengers covered in coarse hair, these were creatures of the night that shun the light, regenerate lost limbs and who fight with razor sharp claws and fine pointed teeth.  In their own way, the gorinel were as dangerous as the orgs.

Moureen’s kinsmen were mostly of the sea, as well.  More than that, the word was they had been pirates, and Moureen himself had been captain of a successful pirate ship.  It boiled down to a hardy band of travelers who lost no one on their trek to a new land.

Following a rough map drawn by an old shipmate, Moureen led the way to an area seen only once by a man in his youth.  But this is the way of pioneers and wilderness travelers, explained René.  Drawing paper was a rare commodity among wildermen, a descriptor for anyone who lives and thrives in the wild.  And learning to observe the most minuscule, as well as obvious landmarks, was a bread and butter practice if you want to survive in nature, let alone keep from getting lost. 

A big two-story building was constructed straightway for defense, and still stands in the settlement of Rooster.  Nowadays it’s called the Lazy Tom, or Lazy Tom’s Place.  Since then it’s been built onto, has battlements on the roof top and René told me there are even levels underground.  How they were built he never said, but the place had fended off many attacks and those sailors turned wildermen had yet to be been bested.

Once the families started building their own places and moving out, the structure had been used as a trading post, hospital, school, church, inn and tavern.  When René left it was being run by his uncle on his ma’s side, twice removed, who goes by the name of Statler.  Once the settlement was established, one of the kinsmen, a woman named Bridget, headed off to the southern port city of N’Ville to do some ocean voyaging.  It seems she remembered this huge llama like critter, called a ponshiu, she thought would do well in the new settlement.  She came back two years later with four pairs of these things and a baby boy named Jack.

René said they stand equal to a sixteen-hand horse at the shoulder, look a lot like a long haired llama from a distance, but have long floppy ears and clawed toes rather than a hoof.  Of course, I had to use my imagination, llamas can be found in the Kohntia’s, but I had never been there.  To watch them move they seem to just shamble along, but they can actually step out in a fast walking pace and seemingly can go forever. 

Ponshiu are just as sure footed as a goat, can eat anything a goat can eat, and produce milk that tastes better a goat’s.  But their meat is stringy, tough and almost rancid tasting any way you cook it.  When René recounted his memory of eating ponshiu he would make this horrible face and remark, “I swear I’d rather eat skunk meat.”

As big as they are, they’re so gentle a small child could lead one with a string.  And protective?  René swore they were better than a nanny and watchdog put together.

One night when we were still Mahrq’s prisoners, I heard René tell the story, “My Aunt Posy had always been a headstrong sort, and not given to listen as a youngun.  When she married into our family, her old man, my Uncle Rachet, warned her about trottin’ off alone into those hills where they lived.  When her firstborn, my cousin Tawd, was just startin’ to toddle, she took him up into the backwoods huntin’ sourberries to make some of her famous pie.

“She sat Tawd down and told him to stay put while she climbed some rocks to get to a loaded bush.  In no time at all Tawd had scuttled clean out of sight and down next to a crik.  Next thing you know there was a ponshiu cutting a rusty with that loud moose-like call of theirs.  Aunt Posy took note that Tawd had gone and she dropped her berries and made the ridge over the crik, just in time to see a catamount about to jump on the little feller. 

“It must have been one hungry cat, ‘cause they don’t generally hunt folks, but this ponshiu jumped clear out of the brush and hit that catamount just as it was jumpin’.  That there ponshiu tore up the varmint like so much gunnysack.  It used its teeth and claws like it was a cat itself.

“Tawd had done fallen over another little hill tryin’ to get away, and as Aunt Posy ran up the top and looked over, you’d never believe it, boys, but there was a second ponshiu carryin’ the little tyke back to momma.  It was carryin’ Tawd like a dog would carry its pup.  ‘Stead of a scruff, that ponshiu had caught Tawd by the back of his shirt.   

“That was seven younguns ago.  Aunt Posy is still headstrong, but she listens a mite better, now.”

Bridget raised those Ponshiu into a good-sized herd and braided the hair into the strongest ropes that can be found.  One of her younguns makes the best cheese out of Ponshiu milk you ever tasted, and when some of the older folk go out into the mountains they take a Ponshiu for a pack animal.  René said they’re gentle rides, but using them as mounts just didn’t catch on.

When Jack grew up he founded a good copper mine and named it the Sally-Jack.  A few folk migrated in to work the mine, set up a shop or two and the town of Tin Horn was born.  The name started as a joke, but it stuck and now anywhere in the south the town is well known.

Some might think a well-established town would grow, and sure enough, Tin Horn has several solid businesses.  But the country is still extremely rough and requires people with the bark on their hide to survive.  A gold or silver mine would attract huge numbers with the thought of getting rich and getting out.  But all the folks in Tin Horn, Rooster and the surrounding area don’t total up to a thousand people.  Nonetheless, Tin Horn is the place most left alone by the orgs and cutthroats of the Jutte Mountains.

René’s grandpap stayed in the original settlement and worked the family farm.  When René’s pap died in a logging accident, grandpap just naturally took over as the father figure, kith & kin being important things among the family.  They were a regular clan.

With four healthy older brothers, René knew early on he wasn’t going to be in line for any significant inheritance, nor did he really mind.  From the beginning he found his great loves to be horses, hunting, fishing and exploring the wilderness.  It was nothing for him to be gone for days at a time, even as a child.  Sure, he had the six years of obligatory schooling, but nature was his teacher.

When he found an ancient bow up in the mountains, he knew he wanted to be an archer.  It was broken, but the construction was fascinating and different from the customary crossbow.  Later, he found an arrowhead which turned out to be made of Mythril.  Sitting at the breakfast table in Kynear, he was wearing the arrowhead around his neck as his good luck talisman.

When he was thirteen years of age, René left home and didn’t come back for two and a half months.  While he was out he had snuck into an org camp, eased a stone handaxe from aside the bedding of one who was sleeping, and got out clean free.  When he finally came home, supper was cooking and his ma looked around and said, “You’re late.  Now go clean up and set down to supper.  We want to hear all about it.”

“It ain’t that they didn’t care,” René said to me one time, “there was just so many younguns around, and everyone knew I had the wanderlust in me.  It was only a matter of time before I left for good.  Just make sure I do it right, grandpap always told me.  And ma, she always hugged me and made me give her a kiss before I went anywhere, ‘cause she said she never knew when it might be the last time.”

A few months later a group of five people wanted to explore the mountains looking for iron ore, René left with them to serve as their scout and never went back home.

At twenty-one he had seen and done more than most men twice his age.  Less than average in height, he stood maybe five inches over five feet tall and was lean and tough as rawhide.  Bare hand fighting was not his forte, but it was said he was a hellcat with a short blade and hatchet. 

He had taken the job hunting for the road crew without knowing much about Stagus, and in fact had never met the man.  Due to his brusque manner, Stagus wasn’t popular in Kynear, but he bought well and his money was good.  Most of what was known was that he was responsible for building the trade route through the mountains, and that was it. 

The taskmaster of camp two had done the actual hiring of René.  But after learning about the master road builder’s practice with young boys, René had planned to quit when his contract ran out.  That would have been two weeks after the attack by Mahrq’s brigands.

Wearing his blonde hair down to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed mustache and clean buckskins from head to toe, René was something of a dashing young human male and well known and liked in Kynear.  Seven times out of seven starts he had ridden a local horse, Madigan’s Pride, to victory.  His most memorable race being the prestigious Henley Cup, the number one steeplechase on the western Phabeon coast, and horseracing was a big thing.

After sitting down at a still empty table in the diner, a buxom young lady of about fifteen came over to take his order.  With a hint of flirtation and a wistful voice she said, “Hi René, it’s been a while.”

He blushed a bit and smiled, it seemed this young lady always had that affect on him, and they had danced a few times at town socials together. 

Without thinking he replied, “Whatever you have,” he said with a smile, “and plenty of it.  I’m really hungry.”  Immediately he turned red and thought about his words.  They could easily be taken the wrong way.

She flashed him a wink and walked away with a little swish of her skirts.

‘Whew,’ he thought as he shifted nervously in his seat.  Watching her walk away, he wondered if anyone else thought it was hot in there and he began to inspect his nails.  ‘Breathe deeply,’ he thought to himself, ‘just breathe.’

As he was waiting for his meal and sipping hot tea sweetened with honey, a fellow came in right off of the trail.  The traveler sat down at a long community table not far from where René was sitting.  He then began talking to the farmer sitting next to him about priests who can’t be depended on.  It seemed the Eayahnite Priest who was supposed to run services the upcoming Ohnday wasn’t going to make it.  He was tied up elsewhere, the traveler reported, shaking his head as the young lady came to take his order.

René ate his meal and listened to the traveler talk about religious politics, how Eayahnite Priests went where the money was instead of the need and what makes Eayah special anyhow?  After all, the gods don’t really care about mortals, do they?

How this traveler knew about the priest, René did not know or care.  He also noticed Jinx had come in from his evening shift of guarding me.  Laying down four bits to pay for the meal and a little extra for the young lady, René quietly got up and left.

Playing a hunch, he ambled his way around through the backstreets of town until he was between Ingrid’s Inn and Cassidy’s Dress Shop & Boutique.  There were no doorways leading to the ally, and the ally itself was little more than a breezeway between the two buildings.  Sometimes it was used to store crates and such, but that was it.  Because this was the better end of town, bums and lewd women weren’t tolerated.  So it was highly unlikely anyone would be sleeping in a crate, save animals, perhaps.

The shop wouldn’t even be open at this time of the morning, and it would be noon before a sliver of light would find its momentary path in the ally.  Therefore, for the time being, the ally was very dark.

The inn had no ground floor windows on this side, and the windows of the second level had been built when there had been no neighboring buildings.  A third level had been built only a couple of years before, and windows had been definitely added.  These could see out over most of the town’s rooftops. 

René remembered one of the boys commenting how unhappy Sormiske had been about not getting a room on the top level, then whining for having to look out his window at an old building.  He also remembered Sormiske’s bragging how he liked sleeping in the open air. 

Standing in the ally, René saw a few crates here and there.  An old mutt poked his head out from one and René motioned for him to shush.  Taking some ever present jerky from his belt pouch, he tossed the pooch a piece.  Gratefully, the dog grabbed the morsel and contented itself with chewing on the dried meat.

Looking up, René saw one window half opened.  Smiling with mischief, he thought, ‘Got nothin’ else to do at the moment.’  Limbering his muscles a bit, then looking about just to make sure no one was around, he silently leaped to the first box, to the opposite wall and back to a ledge just below the window.

Easing up, he looked into the darkened room and sure enough, there was Sormiske huddled up in his bed.  René thought, ‘Needn’t have looked, he’s snoring loud enough to attract bugs.’

This eavesdropping stunt wouldn’t have worked if Wahyene were sharing the room, but he was staying in a converted loft at the stable for his own privacy.  In a few minutes, René’s hunch paid off.

There was a pounding on Sormiske’s door and Jinx’s voice could be heard on the other side.  Sormiske’s muttering was hardly the talk of someone entertaining thoughts of becoming a priest, and it took a few moments for him to make it to the door.  In short order, Jinx told Sormiske what he had heard about the Eayahnite Priest not coming. 

Sormiske then swore violently and profusely.  Ordering Jinx out, he suddenly called him back and asked if Hoscoe was still gone.  Upon learning he was, Sormiske told Jinx to get the men up and ready to move out.  They would leave as soon as they got packed.

René didn’t waste any time and quickly returned to the side street cottage he was sharing with Yank, Thad and Bernard.  It was little more than a shed, but calling it a cottage made it sound nicer.  All three were up and Yank was stomping into his boots as René quickly gathered his blankets, bow and three quivers.  All the while he was explaining what he had heard.

Yank asked, “So what are you going to do?”

With a good-natured grin René said, “Goin’ to rent me a horse and take a ride. Hoscoe sets store by that Wolf feller, and he ain’t gonna like this one bit.  That Sormiske is no good, and if he wants to get shut of town before Hoscoe finds out, I figure Hoscoe would want to know before the scat gets dry on the trail.”