I broke several ribs, my jaw and I don’t know what all else when I landed flat on my chest.  The wind was knocked out of me and it was all I could do to focus on *Self Heal*, quickly, for I could feel myself beginning to drown as my lungs filled with blood.

He rushed over to me quickly and asked, “By the Hounds of Hades, what are you doing?!”

As I coughed and spit, struggling to roll onto my side, I looked up at him and replied, “I don’t think I can fly,” which I punctuated with more coughing and then rubbing my ribs.  It is the only time I ever saw Hoscoe put his face in his hand and shake his head.

I tried all kinds of things.

At the beginning of our second summer, he started tying a rag around my head and making me try to feel my way around by sensory awareness.  I’ve stepped into things I would rather not mention, ran my face against the wall, and tripped more times than I can count.  Four times I broke bones, but Hoscoe reminded me that healing was one ability I had pretty well gotten down pat.

I swung from ropes tied to the ceiling, balanced myself on bars he bolted between door posts, and sometimes he would make me walk up and down steps on my hands instead of my feet.  Once, while he had me walking on my hands, he turned two puppies loose for me to play with, while upside down.

As I thought back on all of these things, I continued to massage my hand where Hoscoe had so nonchalantly smacked it.  He casually circled around, waiting for me to engage another round.  I stared at his obtrusive coffee mug with an ill feeling. 

Only a few moments ago I had employed a recently developed skill and had held that very mug in my hand. Through intent focus, I had caused his lukewarm coffee to heat up to a healthy steaming hot.  Against the wall now leaned a stick I had held, and slowly caused to warp.  And in both of our quarters were some potted plants I had successfully caused to sprout.

Yes, a lot had gone on in the last two years.  But I still had yet to score a strike on Hoscoe. 

Focusing on my hand, I healed it quickly.  ‘This time,’ I thought.

With a flourish of my own weapon I said, “En Guard, Hoscoe.”

Slash-parry-parry-counter-repost-slash-thrust-spin-hook-over-hand-thrust-drawback-feint-backslash-Whack!  My sword went flying through the air and he touched me on top of the head with the flat of his blade.

Damn!

And him standing there sipping that mug of coffee …

Chapter   33

________________________

 

 

HOSCOE ENCOURAGED ME to be friends with Ander and his buddies.

“He invited you to have a mug of ale, did he not?”

“Yes, he did.  But I …”

“But what?” Hoscoe looked at me and chuckled, “Just meet with him and have a mug.  He is a talkative young man.  Just ask him casual questions and let him speak.  Then follow through with another question about something he just mentioned.  He will think of you as a superb conversationalist.”

I stared at Hoscoe incredulously.  “Really?  What kind of questions?”

“Anything which may arouse your curiosity.  Let it flow, Mehio.  You will be fine.”

Slapping me on the back he added, “You spent practically all your childhood with only your mother.  On the road crew you confined yourself in a friendship with Jared, sometimes with Sym.  Now it is you and I, but you needs must broaden your circle of friends.”  He saw my expression and chuckled, “It is always good to have your inner circle of two or three most trusted mates, but you must learn to be relaxed with other people.  You do not have to divulge your innermost thoughts, but allow yourself some time to enjoy … the company of another person, or persons even.

“You may find yourself in a place among others, where all faces are strangers, and you may find you wish you could talk just for the sake of having unimportant conversation.  You will find that communication is a skill, and you have the tools to develop a great skill … if you so choose.”

I could already remember being in just such a place; places, actually.

“Go do it, Wolf,” he said, “go have a drink, you may find you enjoy it.”

I just looked at him.

A couple of days later, Ander came up to me after classes and asked, “The fellows and me are headed to Baldwin’s Pub after chow tonight.  Why don’t you come down for a while?”

Over the months he had asked me a few times already, but each time I found a reason not to.  This time I agreed.

His face lit up and he said, “Great!  I’ll tell the fellows.  You’ll have fun, give you a chance to take a load off and relax a bit.  See you after while.”

Walking to Baldwin’s that evening, I felt very awkward.  I had never been in a pub before and I felt really self-conscious.  The handling of money was a new idea for me, as well, and Hoscoe had taken some time to coach me with it.  The coins he had taken from Evan and Jinx he gave to me, so I had something of a stash.  Actually, by local standards I was loaded, for a soldier boy.

When I entered the establishment, I heard someone laughing.  Looking quickly from one side to the other, I wondered if it was me they were laughing at.  To this day, I have to remind myself to relax every time I hear laughter.  It goes back to my days on the plantation, when I was the butt of nearly every joke.  My early days on the road crew were only a little better.

The place wasn’t well lit and smelled mostly of dark ale, cactus liquor, crispy fried potatoes and roasted meat on a stick.  Mix in body odor and bad breath and there, you have it. 

Off to one end, some soldiers were watching two of their group smack a little ball back and forth on a wooden table with small, wooden paddles … chik-a-chik-a-chik-a-chik … listening to the sound and watching the two players move the ball with such smooth, yet fast movements, was almost mesmerizing.

Entranced with the game of pong for a few moments, suddenly I felt as if I were watching the game in slow motion.  I could see, or was it sense, exactly where the ball would go at the exact moment it was smacked.  Somehow I knew that, if I so chose to do so, I could have reached out and grabbed the ball in mid trajectory.  Interesting

Someone was playing a guitar with two strings just flat enough to make my ears curl.  Beside him, someone else was trying to sing. 

A flash of memory arose and I saw Roveir playing music with my momma.  The memory held until I shook it from my head.  I had been doing well at ignoring such memories.  My thoughts were running toward turning around and walking out, when off to the side I heard Ander’s voice, “Hey Wolf?  Over here!”

He was seated with his three constant chums over against the wall around a table.  I walked over and a server came by, asked what I wanted and I asked for a mug of ale.  It was that simple.

Ander and chums joked with each other about the day’s activities, girls they had known or were seeing, where the patrols were going and what about those cognobins?  I didn’t know much what to say, so I kept quiet for the most part. 

Someone would ask me a question like where was I from, how did I like being an apprentice to Hoscoe and things like that.  I would answer, but didn’t know what else to say and my brain fogged up, not remembering the easy questions Hoscoe had suggested.

I learned this was a soldier’s pub, and the ladies weren’t allowed in here in order to help keep the male hormones down.  Soldiers would come in here to unwind, relive a good day or try to put behind something bad.  Fights were rare, due in no small part to old man Baldwin, a massive man standing an easy six feet six and the owner of the pub.  He was well known for his combat skill and served as his own bouncer.

The story was he once broke up a fight between eight soldiers.  Baldwin physically threw each of them out of his place, one of who was two hundred and fifty pounds and powerful.  He had come through the old battles to form the kingdom and the tales of his combat acumen were still being told.  Nobody wanted a problem with Baldwin.

Ander told me, “He keeps the playing field neutral.  His Highness supports him, too.  This is the only place in the city where everyone is equal.”  He laughed, “The officers and royalty don’t come in here.”

“Except for Aldivert,” piped in Izner, a heavily freckled smiling face of a teenager.  He had joined swordsmanship classes maybe a year ago, and was a talented slinger who had jumped to top ten in the entire program.  He was one of the youngest in the military and had opted to join, as opposed to apprenticing out to be a miller when his pap died. 

“Yeah,” added Merle, “he’s an asshole.  Thinks he’s some tough nut.”  Merle was considered one of the strongest fellows in the barracks, maybe the strongest, but a really nice person. 

Ander once saw him grab the ends of harness from two different horses facing opposite directions.  Merle had taken a bet he could hold those horses together and hook the chains while they pulled against him.  He won two and a quarter marks on that bet.  I didn’t want Merle mad at me.

“Who’s Aldivert?” I asked.

“His Highness’s nephew,” answered Ander.  Then he added, “You probably haven’t seen him yet.  He’s mid-twenties, has a captain’s rank, but acts like he’s in line for the throne.”

“Like that’s ever going to happen,” that was Dudley.  Short, hairy, always seeming to have a problem, but a dead shot with the crossbow and would face a dragon armed with only a bucket of water.

Ander slyly winked and said, “Whoever gets Tancine, gets the kingdom.  I guarantee it.”

“Ooooooooo …” chimed in Izner and Merle.

“And, who is Tancine?” I asked. 

“That shit with the goddess really messed you up, man!” exclaimed Dudley.

Ander suddenly pointed a finger at Dudley and said, “Hey …”

Izner said, “Common, Dud …”

“Yeah,” said Merle, “keep it cool, man.”

It took me only a moment to read between the lines.  Ander had made it a point for no one to touch on the Meidra subject with me.  I really liked Ander; he had a moral code about him.  In fact, I found myself liking all these fellows.

Dudley held up his hands and said, “Hey, I just mean that everyone knows she’s the king’s daughter,”  His eyes got exaggeratingly wide, “his only daughter, I might add.”  He squirmed in his seat and grabbed his mug handle, “Shizet.”

“Besides,” interjected Izner, who suddenly dropped his voice real low, “I hear she might be lifting her skirts for that guffous from Malone.  What’s his name?  Patriohr.”

“PIG piss!” Dudley exclaimed while slapping his beefy, empty hand on the table.

“Sssssshhh!” Izner said, as he held his hand up in warning to Dudley, looking around the room in newfound paranoia.

“Hey, Ize,” Ander said, “careful what you say, man.  That could get you in trouble,” then he settled back and added with a mischievous grin, “besides, Dud has her earmarked for his self.”

Dudley gave Ander an evil eye and started to challenge, “Damn, you, I’ll …”

“But what if,” Merle started as he shrugged his shoulders, keeping his voice low, “what if the king had, you know, had another kid out there somewhere.”

Izner looked around, “Yeah?!  Hey, he’s the king.  Anyone hear of his queen?  Ain’t got one.  Everyone knows that.”  He looked around again and made sure his voice was low, “I heard he has a mistress in every village.  He just moved Tancine up from some small place in the south, what, four years ago.  Right when the cognobins started showing up.”

Dudley kicked back his mug, belched really long and loud, signaled for another ale, almost blurted out something when he made an exaggerated effort to keep his voice low, then leaned over the table and said, “If Aldivert thought there was a, an heir out there, he’d a’done spit the shit through ‘im with his polished bull shticker.”

Ander gazed at his friend and finally said calmly, “Dud, are you getting drunk?”  With a soft chuckle he added, “You’re gonna give Wolf a bad first impression.”

Dudley glanced at me with a dour look, then winced his face up and gave me a wide, exaggerated grin.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  Dudley belched again, looked at me and gave a double raise of his eyebrows as the server brought him a fresh tankard of ale.

They made some more idle talk and I looked around the room.  It was such a small place for so many people.  Over on one wall there were several round targets and fellows were throwing darts.  I winced at the guitarist as he played that flat, top string again.  It got worse, I think, every time he played it.

Ander laughed and I looked around at him. 

“What’s wrong, Wolf?  You don’t like the brew?”

I hesitated a moment and replied with a slow smile, “Actually, no.  I don’t.”

“Well, what do you drink up in the mountains where you come from?” asked Izner.

I shrugged, “Water, tea, sometimes some wine.  I’ve had mead a time or two.  And I’ve had coffee.”

“Coffee, I heard about that.  It’s ground up goat pellets, ain’t it?  Wanna try somethin’ to put hair on your chest?”  Asked Dudley.

“Not tonight,” interjected Merle.  Dudley gave Merle an almost hurt look.  Then Merle looked at me, “If you want to try cactus liquor, it’s best to do it before drinking two mugs of ale.  You can get really sick, especially if you’re not used to it.  Liquor before beer, never fear.  Beer before liquor, never sicker.”

“Beer?” I asked, “What’s that?”

Merle and Ander looked at each other with a mutual expression that asked of each other, how to explain.

Dudley piped in, “Tuh keep it shimple.”  He opened his hands outward, “Beer is weak ale.  It’s the stuff you get in Malone to what’s shapossed to be good drinkin’ …”

Dudley shrugged his shoulders at the others and wrinkled his brow.  Then looked at me with a blank expression, emptied his mug and ordered another.

Anyway, that’s how I got to know Ander and his buddies.

Over the next couple of years we hung around pretty regular.  Every now and again we practiced swords together, threw darts and played pong. And I found I liked tequila, what they called cactus liquor.  I also learned I had a high tolerance to alcohol. 

The one time I felt a buzzing, I found I could heal myself of the effects.  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt, and it only took twice for one or other of them to try drinking me under the table.

They also taught me this game called pigskin.  You had this oblong shaped ball made from tanned pigskins, and by throwing it to a teammate or running with it in your arms, you tried to make it to the other end of a pasture field while the members of the other team tried to tackle you to the ground.

I didn’t need to be told that I didn’t want Merle tackling me.  So I learned to throw it pretty good.  It turned out this was one of two sports everyone in the barracks loved to play.  No one could explain to me why my position was called quarterback, only that it had been called that forever.  Whatever, I got to throw the ball a lot and I liked that.  There was this man named Becket who could catch most anything I could throw, all we had to do was find a way for me to get him in the clear.

The other big game was something called football.  You had this leather, round ball, and you kicked it all over this field to make goal in one of two special nets.  You couldn’t touch the ball with your hands, but you could hit it with your head.  Izner and Dudley made a really good team, and watching Dud scoot his stocky, short body around so quickly was something to see. 

For either game, Ander usually was a favorite choice for team captain, simply because he could lay out a great plan which worked more often than not.

Popularity didn’t exactly come knocking at my door and I was still pretty much a loner.  But I had become accepted, just another one of the fellows in the barracks.  I wasn’t trying to hide, but I had taken to wearing a headband which usually covered the tops of my ears.  This was something not uncommon, and both Dudley and Ander wore the same kind of thing.  So, unless you asked or had seen them, you wouldn’t know I had points on my ears.

Something I was always careful of, however, I never shared with anyone my special abilities.  As far as anyone knew, I was an orphan from the eastern Ahnagohr Mountains who had elf-blood.  I had gotten to know Hoscoe and he agree to teach me swordsmanship.  That was it.

Ultimately it was Ander who became my best friend, but Izner is the one I related to the most.  Somehow I felt like we were the same age, him being sixteen at the time, and hanging around him brought out a certain mischievousness I never realized I had.  From Izner I learned the art of the practical joke and we became pretty good as a prankster team. 

I’m afraid to say some of the things we did.  We were never caught, although we came close a time or two.  And even though he never said, I am sure Hoscoe knew.

Eventually I saw Aldivert, and he was definitely narcissistic.  He stopped by to watch Hoscoe teach a few times, then he would throw his nose up and walk on.  He was taller than the average human and leanly built.  They said he was good with a sword, but not nearly as good as he thought he was.  His assignments were always involving the mines, so he was rarely around the city.

Dudley had served with him.  In fact, Dudley had been a soldier longer than the rest of us chums.  He had made sergeant twice, but had been busted back down both times by Aldivert.  Dudley’s view about Aldivert was simple, “He’s a regular pig banger, hasn’t met nobody he don’t think he’s better than, but he’s smart.  And he’s got balls.  Only people he backs down for are the commander and His Highness.

“He’s got him a knack for moving quiet and trackin’, too.  Last year there were two prisoners escaped from the mine we were at.  The captain hunted them down himself.  Trailed ‘em across rock and sand, then brought ‘em back barefoot walking behind his horse.”

It was something to remember.  Hoscoe taught me that an arrogant person, who also had great skill, was a person to watch carefully.

___________________________

 

Every so often, Ander and the fellows would get called into riding a patrol.  Five times in the last two years, Hoscoe had me go along.  It would be good learning for me, he said. 

“These are perimeter scouting patrols, Wolf, you will not be gone longer than a few days.  All I want for you to do is keep your eyes open, and observe everything you can.  Observe the heavens, the ground, what seems to fit and what does not.  Remember, if you master your awareness of what is natural, then what is unnatural will become obvious. 

“Keep as much watch on the troops you are riding with as anything else, and watch how the captain acts and reacts to everything.  When you return,” Hoscoe instructed, “I will quiz you on your perceptions.”

So far, when I had gone out we saw no sign of any enemy, let alone the cognobins.

“It does not mean they are not there, however,” Hoscoe warned, “when in doubt, always, always assume they are out there.  It is better to be a little paranoid and live, then take safety for granted and be slain.”

Captain Shophut led many of the perimeter patrols, and he had been in charge of the ones I joined.  He was a bald headed, seasoned warrior somewhere in his thirties.  He was a no nonsense man who knew what he was about, and was well liked by the men.

When the fellows were in, we would all usually meet once or twice a week at Baldwin’s.

That guitar playing, however, really bugged me.  I learned there was no designated musician, and whoever caught a’hold of the instruments could play.

One afternoon when the fellows were on a patrol, I thought I’d mosey into Baldwin’s before anyone else showed up.  The only person I saw was the barkeep, and he was getting stock ready for the evening.  I walked up to the instruments, and looking around to make sure no one else saw me, I stared at that old guitar.  Reaching out, I touched it like it was some kind of lost artifact, or something.  All manner of memories flooded my mind. 

Until I had been taken from my momma’s side, I had touched a guitar every day of my life.  She spent countless hours teaching me scales, chords, riffs, tuning variations, and so much more. 

As I touched the old instrument, a tingle ran through my arm and into my soul.  The guitar had been beautifully made, and at some time had been well maintained.  Now it was just a piece of community property and it was showing the wear and age of an article not properly cared for.

Picking it up with reverence, I caressed the neck and resonator, often called a box by many musicians.  Some of the frets were starting to pucker outward, the neck was warped in two places and the gut strings were old.  I closed my eyes and felt of the wood; it was at least one hundred years old.  I *Pushed* energy into it to see what might happen.

The neck gradually straightened out with a groan and popping sound, a hole in the box knitted itself together and the strings became refurbished.  I was astounded.  I tuned it into what is often called standard key, and then carefully strummed a few chords in D minor, my momma’s favorite key.  Smiling, I put it back into its stand, then quickly left the room.

A couple of days later, I felt something almost pull me back to the pub.  So I again made my way in quietly and ambled to the guitar.  It had been played and out of tune again, and noticing the barkeep wasn’t close by, I gingerly picked it up and caressed the instrument. 

Retuning was easy.  Then I sat upon the stool and just held the guitar in my hands.  Closing my eyes I felt along the neck and softly strummed a chord or two, then rolled out a soothing melody.  I found myself humming an ancient song in Elvish.  A bird flew in and lighted on a table next to me and I heard the barkeep walking into the adjacent room. 

Startled, I quickly put the instrument back into place and left.  ‘What was I doing,’ I thought?  When I got back to my quarters I was trembling.  No more, I would touch it no more.  This was nonsense.

___________________________

 

Ander and chums came in from their patrol the next week, so we agreed to meet on Ehnday evening to toss a few darts and relax. When we walked in a young foot soldier named Nihler was trying his hand at bending the strings.  As usual, Ander would elbow me as I politely tried to hide my facial expressions over the butchering of music.  I also noticed the strings were badly out of tune, again.

We had tossed a couple of games when Nihler finally put the box down.  After a few moments, a fellow named Chimothy walked over with a tankard of ale and picked the guitar up.  Izner chided me as Chimothy tuned up as best as he could, “There you go, Wolf, your favorite minstrel.”

I passed Izner a dirty look, took special aim, and trumped his score with a perfect bull’s-eye.  He shook his head in exasperation and gave me a look that said, “Why did I have to go and open my mouth?”

Standing next to Izner I found myself thinking about this fellow who had been one of my buddies for two years.  Yet he was so different from when we first met.  Only two years ago he was the same age as me.  Well, sort of, if you figured in human years.  Only now there were significant changes.  He was shaving regularly and his voice had become deeper.  Dudley used to pick on him for having only one or two strands of hair on his chest, and now he was covered in hair.

Where Izner once was a lanky teenager, he had been filling out and was now on the verge of full manhood.  I had experienced this with Jared.  My friends were leaving me behind. 

I was finally getting the hang of just playing around and sort of acting like a kid.  But while my chums still liked goofing around, they were also talking about taking wives, raising families and all of that sort of thing.

It’s not that they were excluding me from the inner circle.  To the contrary, I was a regular part of the group.  But there was that part of me that still felt like I didn’t completely belong.  When they started getting old, would they still want me hanging around?

Old, I thought.  The word hit me hard and sudden-like.  If we all lived naturally, I would see their great, great grandchildren grow old and … I didn’t want to think about it.

And then I remembered something Hoscoe had told me.  A story about a woman he once knew.

She was twenty something and very pretty, talented with the artist’s paintbrush and could sing like a bird.  A man in his forties came along and fell in love with her. “It seemed they were perfectly suited for each other,” Hoscoe said.  “The man brought her a beautiful token and proposed marriage.

“She turned him down without a thought.  ‘You are old enough to be my father,’ she told him, ‘and I don’t want to have to be saddled with an old man while I am still young.’

“In her haughtiness, she turned and walked into the street … right in front of a racing team of horses and a careening wagon.  She died there in the street with the man holding her head.

“The man,” Hoscoe went on to say, “eventually married another lady with whom he had a wonderful life.  Ultimately he outlived even his beloved wife of more than forty years,” To Hoscoe’s knowledge the man was still alive and well past the age of one hundred.

Another man he knew left the military as a major in his early thirties.  This fellow had become obsessed with living a long life and determined a career as a soldier was simply too dangerous.  He opened a small mercantile which he operated for six months.  As winter was setting in, he stepped on an ice-covered step and slipped, breaking his neck as he fell against his hitch rail.

“You cannot count on tomorrow,” Hoscoe had told me several times, “plan for the next day, look back to learn, but live in the day of which you are standing.  Make the most of where you are and cherish those who are close to you, and when your time comes, you will have lived a full life.”

I gazed at Izner for a moment; Izner, this human who was my friend.  Only two years ago I wanted all humans dead.  Well, most of them, anyway.  I resolved then, all humans are not alike.

I decided to cherish the day as a subtle smile broke through my face, just as Chimothy warmed up with a few chords on the old guitar.

Chapter   34

________________________

 

 

IT WASN’T THAT Chimothy was all that bad, he had a certain amount of rhythm and he made use of many chords.  But he insisted on singing and playing in the key of C, which was way too high for his range, and his F chord was really sour.  Somehow he felt pitching his voice as high as he could, and really belting it out, helped him put feeling into his songs.  It drove me nuts. 

If it weren’t for hanging out with my friends, I wouldn’t be able to stand the sound.  Of course, some of the soldiers liked it, and he was definitely the best guitarist of the lot.  He had even developed five different thirteen-song sets, which he played in exactly the same order, in exactly the same way, every time he played.  I simply focused through it.

Chimothy was working through number seven of the first set, a love song in which four different times he would try to hit a high note, wa-a-ay above his range.  The final note he would hold for as long as he had breath.  What was even worse, he didn’t use bar chords well at all, and he insisted on trying to play them.

As he hit the note the third time I just closed my eyes and bit my lip. 

Dudley bumped me with his shoulder and laughingly said, “Why’ntcha go show him how to play?”

Looking sharply at him, I saw he was just being funny, but I felt a chill come over me and my breath caught for a moment.  Then I happened to see the barkeep had heard what Dudley said and was looking at me from under his brow.  It was one of those long looks that can put the sammies into you.

It was time for me to go.

I was fishing in my pouch for a coin to pay my tab when two soldiers from South Wall barracks walked up and one said, “Yo! Wolf! You and Dud owe us a rematch.”

The fellow talking was Vensi, and he was looking all tough and mean.  Of course, it was all in fun.  Dudley and I had whipped these two something terrible a few weeks back in dart throwing, and then did it again three days later at their own barracks. We had promised a rematch whenever we saw each other again, and I guess again was right then.

Dudley walked up to the other fellow, a lanky towhead they called Puffer, and chested up to him saying, “Oh yeah?!  You just THINK you want a rematch, ‘cause when we get done with you, your feathers are a’gonna peel right off’a your short little quills.”

I have no idea what Puffer said, but Dudley was hamming it up like he was about to fight in the coliseum against a sprite with one leg.  Then Dudley slapped my shoulder and said, “Let’s go clip their pricks, Wolf.”

Glancing over, I saw the barkeep still looking at me from under those eyebrows.  He was making me nervous, and I saw him mutter something to a fellow named Tobin who was at the bar.  A trickle of icy sweat ran down the middle of my back, and I was now committed to hang around.  What was I so nervous about?

Casually fun things like darts meant a lot to some of these guys.  As a soldier, one never knew when you might not come home again.  Small enjoyments were precious. 

Focusing on the game was hard, and we actually dropped behind as I kept hearing Chimothy play.

I completely missed the inner score ring of the dartboard, something I never did, and you could hear the ooo’s and ahhh’s.  Some of those South Wall boys were in there and they were having a grand time. 

The drinks were flowing from the bar like a river and every third person was chewing on a stick of nearly burned meat.  You would think the future of the world was at stake here.

Dudley took me to the side for a moment and asked, genuinely concerned, “What’s a’matter man?  You aw’wright?  You look white as a ghost.”

Shaking my head I mumbled at him, “Sorry Dud, I’m letting you down.”

“Huh?”  He looked hard at me a moment and cocked his head, then reached up and grabbed the back of my head and pulled me down to where he could whisper in my ear, “Hey, it ain’t nothin’ but a game.  Ever’one loses at some time or ‘nuther.  We’ll whup ‘em next time.”  He let go of me and slapped me on the shoulder while barking out, “Now don’t make me whup your ass!”

Chimothy was closing out the last song of his set, it was my turn to throw and I was last.  These guys were tossing well and Dudley had brought us within grasp of a win.  But I needed to score really high, or it was over and South Wall would reclaim a championship they had held for over a year.

“Do that Ahnagohr Mountain shit!” Dudley roared out. 

Ander opened wide his hands and brought them to his head, humorously imitating Hoscoe as he taught focus.  Have I mentioned Ander is the best mimic I have ever known?  Something inside of me started to laugh.

Merle and Izner were cheering me on as well, not to mention all the boys from our own North Tower Barracks.

‘Nothing but a game,’ I thought.  Suddenly I remembered sword fighting Hoscoe and his coffee mug and me falling from the ceiling while trying to fly.  Inside I felt as if a heavy load had been dropped from my shoulders, and wasn’t sure why.  I gave a grunting chuckle and looked down at my feet, around to my chums and faces in the cluster around us, and then at my target. 

Fingering my three darts, I heard Chimothy about to key in on the final bar of his song.  The familiar rush of heat and energy ran from So’Yeth, into my body and through my hands.  The world seemed to *Slow* and then the center of the target seemed to close in on me as if it were right in front of my face.  Okay, now that was new.  Could I call this *Close Sight*?

Inhaling deeply, with a sudden explosion of motion I threw my darts in rapid fire succession and scored center with each shot, the final strike hit as Chimothy was closing out his last note.  Our total made exactly one hundred and eight points, the score we needed to win.

You would have thought Dudley had won a thousand Marks in a game of chance, he jumped up and yelled so loud. 

The crowd around us exploded into mixed sounds of cheers and disappointments.  Vensi and Puffer both spun around as if they had been hit and several hands slapped Dudley and me on the shoulders.

Izner brought us drinks made with tequila and I turned around, only to look square into Chimothy’s eyes.  He had stepped down and was walking over with a tankard to maybe throw a game or two.  My breath caught again as my eyes flashed at the guitar leaning on its stand, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the barkeep looking at me again.

I needed to get out of there.  My breath was catching again and I felt sweat all over me as chills ran though my body.

“Hey Wolf!” Tobin yelled at me as he leaned at the bar holding a foaming mug high in the air, “Play us a tune.”

I froze in place as the greatest fear since seeing that dragon’s jaws at the point gripped my insides.  My head seemed to grow large enough to fill the room, and as I looked around I saw the barkeep look me in the eye, nod at me, and then tilted his head over to the guitar.

Dudley yelled out to the barkeep, “Shizet, Higby, Wolf don’t play no guitar,” he gave me a quick glance to support what he was saying, “Do ya, Wolf?”

Why did it seem so quiet?

Dudley’s eyes squinted as if wondering if I had been holding out on some vital secret.  In a more inquisitive tone he asked, “Do ya?”

Ander glanced at me with a kind of contemplative wonder, Merle looked as if he had never seen me before, and Izner?  Ize leaned against the wall and crossed his arms and looked like he was trying to figure out why he hadn’t thought of this before.

From all around I was hearing, “Common, play,” “Yeah, Wolf, show us something,” “Hey, Wolf, you been holding out?”  “Play some of that mountain stuff, man.”

I wished I had never stepped foot in that pub.  I hadn’t played in years, and never for any one.  ‘I should have never touched that craiken …’

Speaking smooth, Ander asked, “Come on, Wolf. What can it hurt?”  Calm, cool as always; and he was smiling.

Beside him, with a mug in his hand and a curious smile on his face, Chimothy shrugged his shoulders and said, “Give it a go.  Ain’t no one goin’ to laugh at you, Wolf.”

Dudley planted his hands on his hips and got that cross looking face, “Pig shit.  I’m gonna haft’a whup your ass.”

Then Baldwin himself stepped into the room.  Great, where was Hoscoe when you needed him?

Across the room I saw the guitar, just sitting there in its stand.  Slowly, I grabbed a towel.  Wiping my hands I began to make my way across the floor.

Everyone was quiet as I sat on the stool and just gazed at the instrument now in my hand.  Gingerly I touched the wood of the neck and everything else seemed to vanish from my mind.  The pub seemed to disappear and the heavy silence melted away.  Lovingly I turned the keys and put the instrument back into a ringing tune. 

‘How long had it been?’ I thought.  But no, it didn’t matter.  I reached back, way, way back, and tried to *Remember* the notes.  They were still there, as if resting and waiting for me to call upon them again.  But my fingers, the tips were so soft.  I *Channeled* energy, and felt the tips of my fingers grow the calluses which were necessary tools for the guitarist. 

A warm energy filled me and I rolled a few scales, it was as if I had just played yesterday.  I closed my eyes.  ‘The song,’ I thought, ‘the last song Chimothy had been playing?’  For over a year I had been listening to his music, every word and chord had been long memorized.  The lyrics weren’t bad, and the rhythm had potential. 

How could it sound better?

Ahhh, yes. 

Gently brushing the strings I mentally adjusted a chord here, another chord there.  In a few moments I had transposed the key to E minor and altered the flow of the chord changes.  Instead of a brushing stroke pattern, I switched to a smooth finger roll. 

As I began to sing I felt overwhelming emotion within me wanting to burst outward, so I focused the sensations into my fingers and voice.  As I brought the song to its close, I lingered the last word into a silky softness rather than the high pitch Chimothy had been using.  A final brush of the strings, and I held the note in my mind.

Applause, lots of applause.

I opened my eyes and some of those hardened soldiers were sniffing, tears running down some cheeks and clapping their hands hard and loud.  Me, I felt wiped out, and content.  What had I just done?

The barkeep was smiling and nodding his head, several voices called for another one.

I played another song the soldiers were used to, and then I played one I had heard a worker on the point singing about a lost love and how she was the prettiest little red haired girl.  Before I realized, I had played a dozen songs including a couple instrumentals and an elvin song or two.

But more than just play, I had been able to channel emotions through the vibration of the strings and everyone who heard had stopped and listened.  It wasn’t something I chose to do, it just happened.

Was that what my momma did?  Even the animals had paid attention when she sang or played.  Did I possess the same kind of power?  Was it something that could be developed?

As we were walking from Baldwin’s an excited Izner asked me, “What was that?!”  He added, “You had the whole place listening to you, like enraptured, even.”

“Shizen, Wolf, you even had that pudge-ass Montao cryin’ in his ale.”  Not for the first time, I wondered if Dudley could say anything without swearing somehow.

“That was good, Wolf, real good,” Merle was just walking and nodding his head.

Ander said, “I really liked the one about the little red haired girl.”  He looked at me and asked, “Why didn’t you ever say you could play?”  He shook his head and softly laughed, “you sure are full of surprises.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Hoscoe.  When I did he was all ears.

After listening with arms folded and hand stroking his goatee, he finally remarked, “I think, young sir, your mother’s power flows through you.  I have suggested all along that she was training you in the disciplines of the Tell Singer.”  He thought for a while as I waited to hear what else he would say.

“The ability to alter, to even control emotions in others, could be a useful skill far beyond that of entertainment.” 

He paced around the room, then turned to me and said with a smile, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

I hesitated, but knowing Hoscoe, he would wait for me to answer if it took all night.  With a slow smile of my own I answered, “Yes, I did.”

“Then, I encourage you to continue, and just enjoy letting the music flow.” 

Leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, he looked down in thought, and with a continued smile looked back at me and added, “The discipline of war is not in itself a complete art.  It must needs be tempered with something to bring balance. 

“Music is a wonderful complement to the violent arts.  Kn’Yang was a poet, Shihnuthai was a magnificent painter, Oshang himself was a culinary master, and Ahnushain composed and played some of the most beautiful flute music ever heard.  From the time of Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah, artistic expression has been required for any druidic study. 

“So,” Hoscoe nodded his head at me and added, “pursue the melody, and let it flow.  As we continue, we will explore even more avenues.”

Once more I marveled at his knowledge of Elvin Lore.  Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah, I thought, hers was a name momma mentioned in a hushed tone.  She was the daughter of Hahjiufae, daughter of Diustahn himself, supposedly the father of all our kind. 

Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah was believed to be the first Dorhune and that her spirit was still out there, somewhere, floating around in the wild regions looking out for ... who knows?

Her grandson, Tahrum Shiu’Fahrah, was the first to be identified as an elf.  The word, elf, was actually a human word which played off of Ehleshuvah.  Before that, The People called themselves Diustahntei, and they didn’t exactly look like we do today.  They were much taller and shaped just a little different.  Momma said the old paintings depict them to be slightly birdlike in the eyes and face.

   I thought a moment and asked Hoscoe, “What artistic expression do you follow?”

Clearly, he was pleased I had asked the question.  He answered, “I am writing a history of my own experiences, a tome of memoirs, if you will.”

“Really?  Can I read?”

He looked at me with a mischievous expression and answered, “When the time is right, yes, you may.”

___________________________

 

Baldwin turned up another old instrument, in worse shape than the first guitar had been, but he handed it to me and in his deep voice said, “You fix it, and it’s yours.”

I was astonished, but said, “Thank you, sir.”

My own instrument, I thought.  I had never owned anything like it before.  Hoscoe asked if he could watch me work with it, and although embarrassed, we went into my quarters and I duplicated exactly what I did with the first guitar.  I went even deeper and the surface polished itself until it looked brand new.  Hoscoe just watched in wonder and slowly shook his head.

“You have a gift, Mehio,” he said.  Then he listened as I played a few tunes, old elvin tunes.  After the last note he returned to his own quarters, lost in memories of his own.

The Meidran incident we had been able to downplay as my simply being able to survive and not really having done anything.  The music thing was not to be ignored.  People were wanting to know when I was going to be at Baldwin’s, Chimothy asked me to work with him in practice and others wanted to know if I could teach them to play. 

Humday became Wolf’s Night at Baldwin’s, and the place would be packed.  Baldwin paid me a percentage and I was wondering what had happened in my life.

Something within me was changing.  I began to feel more confident in myself, but not cocky, Hoscoe took care of that. 

“Remember, fame is a fickle thing, even in small doses.  What you do is less important than why you do it and who you are within,” Hoscoe told me.  His words struck a chord deep within my memory; long ago my momma had said almost the same thing to me.

When I walked about, I no longer tried to evade conversation, and now everyone knew who I was.  For a while that was disconcerting, and yet it was nice to be liked.  More than that, knowing folks genuinely liked my music gave me a sense of fulfillment I had never experienced before. 

Sure, Baldwin paid me, but for me it wasn’t about the money.  The more I played the more I wanted to play.  I had found something, something nobody could ever take away.

My regular playing continued through the mid-year season and into final harvest.  By time the farmers picked up their tools to hit the field I had taken on four guitar students, one of whom was Izner.

Sometimes when practicing alone, I would feel a memory of Roveir surface, but immediately I was able to shake it off.  That was someplace I didn’t want to go, at least not then, and maybe never.  I just wasn’t ready for it.

___________________________

 

Ander and I were walking to a shop in the city, something I rarely did, when someone I didn’t know saw us and made a comment about my music.  He asked me why I didn’t seek a profession as a minstrel, “You could play in the Coliseum of Dahruban,” the fellow exclaimed.

As we continued walking, Ander slapped me on the arm and remarked, “You could be famous, Wolf.  Imagine everyone chanting your name and coming just to see you, by the thousands, even?”

I just looked at him incredulously and asked, “Now, why would anyone want to chant my name?”  He was just kidding, I think, but the thought lingered in my mind.  To have a large group of people want to hear me play … hmmm … there was a certain something about that …

From the corner of my eye I saw a woman in the shadows.  She was dressed in drab, nondescript clothing with a hood covering her head.  She was staring right at me and watching me walk by. 

Ander had been talking about this really nice sword he wanted to buy, which was actually the reason we here in the first place, but the woman had my attention and I glanced her way again.

Looking back a third time I realized I knew who she was.  Stopping on the boardwalk, I turned to her and walked back her way.  She was staring at me with a penetrating glare. 

“Ma’am,” I said, more matter of factly than in question, “you’re the Shaman Lady.”

She just looked at me, and over from the side Ander looked on.  Her gaze was eerie, seeming to try to bore into my soul.  I felt an unnerving sensation sweep through me. 

“Thank you for coming to help me that day,” I said. 

A whiff of strange smells came to my nostrils, then she canted her head in the strangest way.  Her eyes, there was something about her eyes, something eerie.

Just behind me I heard Ander ask, “Hey, Wolf?”

In a chilling, whisper like voice she said, “Wihlabahk is coming …”

A flash of searing hot pain went through my brain and suddenly Ander was beside me, his head under my shoulder helping me to brace up against the wall. 

The back of my head felt like it was on fire, and a sickening thrum sensation made its way through to the front of my head.  Weakness washed through me and for a moment I had a hard time not falling down.

“Wolf, Wolf, are you alright?!”  Ander was anxiously asking me.  “Say something, man.”

Shaking my head, the dizziness started fading away and I was able to focus.  It was hard, but I managed not to throw up.

Ander was in front of me trying to get me to look up, “Look here … in my eyes.  You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah …” I stammered.  “Where did she go?”

“Where did who go?”

“The old woman I was talking to.”

“Wolf,” Ander had a serious expression on his face, “there was nobody.  You just suddenly walked over and started talking to a shadow in the alley.”

The wave of weakness was gone, but my head still hurt a bit.  Not there?  No, I thought, she was there.  I could smell her, that unique blend of smoke and herbs.  Invisible, maybe?  Could I see things which were invisible?  Was that even possible?  And what about the sudden flash?  I hadn’t had an episode in, well, over two years.

I looked into Ander’s eyes, then nodded my head in thought.  “It must have just been my imagination.  I’ve been tired a lot lately.”

“Yeah, man, you work your butt off.  You’ve got to back down every once in a while.”  He gave me a hopeful glance as he held onto my shoulders, then asked, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “Let’s go look at that sword you’ve been talking about.” 

Chapter   35

________________________

 

 

WHEN HE FIRST arrived in Kiubejhan, Hoscoe had indentured himself to the king as, a warrior with knowledge of the cognobin species.  One thing which had bothered me from the beginning, however, was that these critters were new to the region and no one had even heard of them before six years ago.  And then Hoscoe stepped up and claimed to know something about them.

When I asked him about it a little later, he grinned slyly for a moment and said, “Well, I did have knowledge of them.  I had heard about them, and I saw them lying about in the destroyed village.” Raising his eyebrow at me in humor he asked, “How much does one have to know in order to claim knowledge on a subject?  They did not ask how much knowledge I had, they merely assumed I knew more than they.”

Hoscoe had been working on a map he was making on his wall, and turning to me he added, “Besides, I am deliberating the issue.  Contrary to local belief, I don’t think they are demons at all.  And I did have the opportunity to study their dead up close.”

He studied about where to place a small marker on his map, and then continued, “Apparently I am the only one to have close up knowledge of these, cognobins, as they are called.”

I was curious, “Really, not demons?  Then, what are they?  Where do they come from?”

He brushed his chin, added another element to his map and said, “I’m not sure what they are.”  Then he turned and looked at me again, “But this much I know for certain, they can be injured and slain, therefore they are neither spirit creatures nor demons.  Nor are they related to the goblinoid races.

“Goblins repel from fire, not because of fear, but because their eyes can’t tolerate the direct heat or the patterns of flickering flame.  Furthermore, their skin is not porous as ours is.  If our skin touches fire, it will burn or blister.  If a goblin is exposed to fire, or any concentrated heat for that matter, the heat will permeate inward.”

I remember giving him the most perplexed stare.

Hoscoe then began gesturing around his arms and face as he explained, “You see … all goblin races are covered in what appears to be warts.  But they are not warts, they are small reservoirs, or little deposits of water, which helps them to stay hydrated for extended periods of time.

“All goblin races recycle their water,” he chuckled, “which is one reason they always smell so badly.

“They can withstand natural heat well and thrive in arid regions.  But concentrated heat is unnatural, their water sacks cannot respond quickly enough and can rupture, explode.  And because their skin is so naturally tough …”  Hoscoe expanded his hands and exaggerated his eyes, “the explosion goes inside the body.”

Hoscoe chuckled again, I always liked hearing him chuckle with that accent of his, “Goblin stew.”  Then he wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust.

“These cognobins do not possess any of the intricate features of goblin-kind.  Ugly, yes.  Goblins, no.”

Hoscoe paused, lost in thought.  And then he continued, “No, I think they more resemble something else.  But I do not want to venture a guess as yet.

“I believe the real question at hand, however, is more accurately … who directs them?”  Punctuating the remark he raised his eyebrows, then tilting his head he returned to his map.

During our first year Hoscoe spent many hours in meetings with the king, commander and other figures of leadership regarding those cognobins.  What was peculiar, though, was shortly after we got here, the random attacks stopped.

Yes, they had taken control of the Phabeon River Canyon Bridge and its surrounding area.  And they were camped in strategic locations along the desert border.  But the continued onslaught against the citizens of Keoghnariu seemed to cease, and the expected mass attack had not happened.

Hoscoe believed, as did many others, the apparent cease of aggression was directly linked to the disappearance of Meidra.  The officials of the kingdom believed she was in on some form of overthrow of Chitivias.  Many believed she had been interested in claiming the diamond mines for herself.  Hoscoe believed something else was going on.

Hoscoe had wanted to go back to Biunang Village to further investigate the slaughter and remaining bodies.  But only days after the destruction of Meidra’s Temple, reports came back that the cognobins had secured the area around the bridge and old village.

Then came the issue of horses.

Horses were not rare, but they weren’t plentiful, either.  Farmers were allowed what was needed for plowing and what not, but good riding stock were taken for military use of the kingdom. 

It must be remembered, the human population of the Keoghnariu Kingdom was concentrated in agricultural villages, many of which were walled with upright logs.  The diamond mines were a small, select and specific part of the culture, but there were other mining operations, as well.  There was lots of iron in them there hills; very high-grade iron ore, at that.

Young though the kingdom was, lifestyle was still based on the longtime hunter-gatherer ecology throughout the Jho’Menquita Territory.  While trade with the outside world was an eventual goal, King Chitivias was directing his people into a self-sustaining government and eco-system.  This was an especially good thing, considering we were effectively cut off from the rest of the world. 

A lot of emphasis was placed on crops, and crops were cultivated which had many purposes.  Grains were grown of which the entire plant could be used.  Basket weaving was becoming an art, and an indigenous grain called sobeth could be processed for many different uses.

Up to recent decades, human living standards in the territory was low.  Usually one would have to survive with only what one could carry.  Possession of a horse was a luxury, and there were lots of predators in those dense forests which loved horsemeat.

Attaracks were maybe four feet tall, walked on hind legs most of the time, but could run on all fours really fast.  They were scavengers, mostly, and traveled along the edges of the forests in family hunting groups of four or five.  They would eat anything they could find, but relished horseflesh.  They could blend well into any of the regional background, but the scariest thing about them was their intelligence.  They weren’t quite up to using weapons, but they were capable of solving minor problems.

Gadwaurs were spotted cats, maybe two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, who hunted in male and female pairs.  They were probably the premier hunters in the whole territory and were also great climbers.  You might encounter one anywhere.  Clean creatures, they rarely abandoned a carcass and returned to it, and highly territorial.

Attaracks were known to follow gadwuars, although seeing an attarack didn’t always mean the presence of a gadwaur.

Lihtosax, however, were at the top of the forest food chain.  Imagine a tarantula crossed with a centipede; it spins a large, multi-faceted, almost invisible web, and can emit a musk cloud which will paralyze anything that breaths it in.  Their bite contains a toxin which turns flesh into a rotting gel; this they drink through suction tubes.

Oh, and a mature Lihtosax can grow to be five feet long, not counting legs and antennae.  Thankfully, Lihtosax most usually stayed farther south, in the vicinity of what is called the Mhn’O’Quai Jungle.

Anyway, keeping a horse without a place to protect it was dangerous business.  Simply put, while there was forage enough, this wasn’t wild horse country.  Arabian horses, however, thrived in the regions north and east of the Pehnaché River.

Most horses throughout the kingdom were kept within walls, and more often than not they belonged to the crown.  Horse warriors were considered an almost elite group and were specially trained.  Civilians who owned horses were charged a high tax, since they must be kept behind walls.  And horse feed was made expensive as well.

When Hoscoe had ridden through the gates, he was seen as a traveler; no problem.  But when he indentured himself, well, it changed things.  We weren’t entirely trusted, if you remember, from the beginning.  So it wasn’t long before it was suggested Hoscoe sell his horses to the crown. 

It was all polite and diplomatic, of course.  But Hoscoe let me know it was one way to ensure we wouldn’t try to go anywhere real fast.  Two people on foot, days away from anywhere in the wilderness, who didn’t know their way around, and with cognobins everywhere … it didn’t sound like an intelligent decision.

Hoscoe’s value as a Master of Swords, a teacher, became immediately apparent, however.  And truth to tell, he relished the duty.  He had many gifts, but one of his greatest was in teaching. Lots of people think just because you know something you can teach it; not so.  Nor can you just up and learn to teach.  You can learn to teach better, but it takes talent.  I’ve seen a vast number of people try to teach, who have even gone to schools to learn teaching, but have no business doing it.

Hoscoe’s classes had become very popular and were now required by all soldiers.  There were times he attended council with the king to discuss the cognobins, but it was not all that frequent.  Hoscoe believed Chitivias was drawing all of the wrong conclusions.

Hoscoe, however, kept his map current and was forever contemplating motive, purpose and plan.  For two and a half years this riddle had perplexed him.  I would say it perplexed me as well, but to be honest, it was beyond my reach and scope so I simply left it to the expert.

Every day he would look at his wall and contemplate potential strategies, lines of attack and what not.  I never ceased to be amazed at the detail he had put into his project.

When I told him my story of the Shaman Lady he was very disturbed, far more than I thought he would be.  He paced around his quarters chewing his jaw, then looked at me and asked, “Is that everything?  You’ve left nothing out?”

“Nothing,” I replied.  I had laid it out in explicit detail, from the pace we were walking, to my noticing the shadow, how I walked to her and her exact words and tone.  I had even described the smell.

“Just who is Wihlabahk?” I asked in exasperation.  It wasn’t a question to which I expected an answer.  Many times we had gone over the subject, what I could remember from my experience with Meidra, and more.  The answer was always the same, no clue.

Hoscoe just chewed his jaw and looked at me with that penetrating stare on his face.  Then he stopped and solemnly said, “I am not entirely sure it is some-one … or even some-thing …”

We were in his quarters and I sat down on one of his chairs, “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, continued walking and it seemed he was on the verge of an answer, but not quite. 

Wincing his mouth, he said, “I do not know.”

I have to admit, though, as difficult and eluding as the problem was, I enjoyed watching Hoscoe think; and there was a lot to think about.

“Look,” he said, “none of this makes any sense.  If the cognobins were truly centered out of the old Minotaur ruins, there would be much evidence of occupation there.  If Xiahstoi has returned and is leading this force, logic would determine he would want to reclaim his old kingdom. 

“But there is no occupation,” Hoscoe pointed and circled his hands around the old ruins, “here, or here.  I say this is rubbish.  Unless Xiahstoi has been sleeping for over 2000 years, he was slain, or disappeared around 3187-3188 ED.  The story has it he was slain by Km’Jhai.”

‘Km’Jhai,’ I thought, ‘wasn’t he one of Oshang’s son’s?’

I was about to ask, but Hoscoe was pacing and staring at his wall map, and as I was opening my mouth to voice the question he said, “In any case, I wager he was either elf or D’Rhoatna Ieshintow,” he paused and glanced at me, “D’Rhoaw, or what most human cultures call Drow, if you will.  Th’Khai believed he had advanced into the Lords of Darkness of Xibalba.”

Hoscoe looked at me again, as if he were delivering an expose in a classroom.  We had talked about things before, but not like this.  He was saying things I had never heard of and momma had taught me a lot.  I was astounded.  How much did he know?  How much had he learned from Th’Khai?  It was as if he didn’t realize he was saying so much and was thinking out loud.

He talked as if he wanted to tell me so much, but was holding back.  For what reason?  What and how much was in his Tome of Memoirs? 

I was about to again try to ask about Km’Jhai, but without pause Hoscoe continued, “From Xibalba, Th’Khai believed Xiahstoi came here, to this land, and slew Set, who was the son of Zapcana, who in turn was one of the Five Heads of Tiamat.”

He turned back to his wall and crossing his arms, began stroking his goatee and spoke as if lost in thought.  I waited to see if he had quit talking for a minute, then once more tried to ask my question as he suddenly continued while still staring in the wall, “But it does not matter if he were elf, Drow, or a sprite from under a mushroom patch.  Xiahstoi was represented as a god of death.  During his era he was wanton and bloody.  His people killed for sheer pleasure … and,” Hoscoe looked at me with a serious and stern expression on his face, “they did NOT take bodies away with them.  Bodies were mounted on X-shaped crosses for all to see.”

He walked toward his coffee pot, made a cup for himself, and then almost as an afterthought offered me to come make a cup.  Rising up, I went to fix myself a mug of the strong coffee and he continued as he paced, ever staring at his wall.  I was now trying to remember what my question was when he added, “The name Xiahstoi has not been uttered in centuries, and then only as a historical reference.  No, the name has been drudged up for a fear tactic.  And it has worked.”

I sipped my mug, sweetened with molasses, and gave Hoscoe my full attention.

Glancing at me, then back to the wall, Hoscoe continued while pointing to a specific point, “Chitivias is convinced Xiahstoi is going to come from these ruins, and lay siege to his city.

“No, something else is in the air.  Something bigger … much, much bigger …”

I asked, quickly, this time, “What would Meidra have to do with it?  Isn’t she a goddess of some kind?”

“That,” he answered, “is part of the overall problem.  Leading armies is not, and never was, part of her forte.  She has historically always been a seductress, a manipulator.  Nor am I sure your antagonist was the original Meidra.  If she indeed was, then she is very, very old.  Or, she has found a way to cheat death.”

Stepping back from his map, he almost stumbled on his divan on the other side of the room.  Irritably righting himself, he tilted his head and squinting his eyes Hoscoe seemed to be trying to put his drawing into a different perspective.

“Meidra first appeared in lore about 4513 ED as an adolescent nymph.  I saw a painting of her, quite attractive, actually.  But she did not look like an elf.”  Hoscoe talked as if he were speaking off hand, as if this were a casual side conversation.  His main attention was the wall.  Yet he continued without giving me any more direct notice.  “It is possible she could be of a long lived species, although they are disappearing fast.  Even elves do not live as long, any more.

“Elvin life spans have diminished by 10% every 1000 years.  Eayah, now, he is a different story.  Th’Khai had ideas about him.  He had a theory, but would never discuss it.  And he had too much more to teach for me to get caught up in it …”

‘I thought, How many people am I going to be around or hear of, who keep holding things back?’  It was frustrating.

He slowly walked back up to the wall, placing his hand against the carefully drawn map; he ran his fingertips across his drawing as if he were caressing it.  Continuing he said, “She may not be anymore a goddess than you or I.  It is all relative, actually.  A god or goddess can be anything, anything at all.  Anything worshiped can technically be a god.  It does not need to be an intelligent anything, or even alive.”

He began lowering his voice into a mumble then, “I knew a man whose god was his hair.  When it turned prematurely gray he hung himself.  And then there was …” Hoscoe began speaking so quietly I couldn’t make it out, which is pretty quiet, but I could see his lips moving as his movements became slower and slower. 

Walking over to watch, I saw him suddenly stop his fingertips at the edge of the map, and then he looked far up the wall onto the bricks and touched uncolored places here and there.  His eyes and facial expression changed as if he believed something suddenly made sense.

Looking to the opposite wall, he then looked down and asked me to grasp one end of his divan.  So we picked it up and moved it around into the middle of his quarters.  Hoscoe then stood staring at the empty wall and I was beginning to wonder if the cord of his sword handle was beginning to unravel.

With one hand on hip, his other holding his coffee, and staring at the empty wall he said, “We have been formally invited to attend Princess Tancine’s Birthday Ball.  She turns sixteen three weeks from tomorrow …”

I was stunned, a birthday ball?  We had just been talking about cognobins, Xiahstoi and Meidra.  And we still hadn’t gotten around to Wihlabahk. I wanted to keep talking about this important stuff.

What would I do at a Birthday Ball? 

Over the last few months I had barely gotten used to hanging out at Baldwin’s, and the place could only hold a couple hundred people when packed.  Usually forty or fifty soldiers might be in there of the evening, on average.  Likely most of the people in the city would be at the event, and I hadn’t even seen the whole city.  It took most of a day just to walk the outer wall perimeter.

Still focusing intently upon the empty wall, Hoscoe added, “… and you have been asked to perform.”

With that my breathing went still. 

He sipped his coffee, shrugged his shoulders and said, “It is alright.  I told them you would love to.”

I starred at Hoscoe dumfounded.  He took a moment from his blank wall to glance at me and say, “You have a lot of practicing to do.  I suggest five songs, and that one about Blue Roses should be one of them.” 

His expression was incredulous as he stood there looking at me, “What are you waiting for?” 

Motionless, I watched him go to his desk, pull out drawing quills and some vials of color, and start to sketch big, broad lines on his polished wall.  Without pause he said to me, “You can forego sword training, but not the strength regimen,” he stopped suddenly and turned, pointing his quill and raising an eyebrow at me, “but only until the Ball engagement is completed.”  Hoscoe acted exasperated, “Young people, will do almost anything to get out of work.”

His strokes were broad and I saw an outline of the whole continent of Aeshea start to take shape.  I very much wanted to stay and …

“Practice,” he instructed sternly.  As I reluctantly turned for the door I paused and hesitated with the door half opened.  Suddenly I remembered my question about Km’Jhai.  Glaring at Hoscoe I saw him pause with brush in mid-movement, poised inches from the wall.  After a long moment he slowly turned his head my way, tilted his head forward, and looked at me from under his eyebrows, “Yes-s-s?”

“Never mind,” I said.  I would ask him later.  Shaking my own head in frustration, I stepped into the hallway and closed the door.  And then it really settled in, I was going to play for a large group of people … Mon’Gouchett.

Chapter   36

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STEPPING INTO MY quarters, I sat down on my bed and leaned back against the wall.  Glancing over to my corner chair, I fondly looked at my personal guitar, which rested in the seat awaiting my touch.  Just a few hours ago Ander and I had been joking about me playing before crowds of people, and now … I was going to play for the princess … for her birthday, no less.

Goose bumps were raised on my arms in thought of it.  Apprehension?  Yes.  But there was an excitement there, too.  I was startled at the sudden realization that I wanted this, was already embracing this opportunity to rise up, to meet this challenge head on.

Why?  What happened to the scared boy who couldn’t summon the nerve to jump into the rapids with Jared?  Where was the timid soul, so full of anger, yet hesitant to strive for freedom?  Was I growing up?  Or was it something else?

I thought of Hoscoe, Ander, the rest of my chums, the common soldiers who listened to me play at Baldwin’s, and the fellows who risked their lives to save mine.  Could just having people around you, who believe in and support you make such a difference?  If Jared asked me today to jump, would I? 

Getting up and walking to the chair, I picked up my guitar and propping my foot on the seat, softly strummed a few chords in the key of D.  Smiling, I began to think what songs I knew which might be nice for a sixteen-year old princess’s birthday.

Yes, I thought, I would jump.  I might drown, I had no idea how to swim, but I would jump.  ‘This one,’ I thought, ‘is for you, my brother.  I hope you are doing well, wherever you are.’

___________________________

 

By Dahruban dating, it was early fall of the year 473 Yuban, but elvin calendars recognized it as 5133 ED.  In Keoghnariu they were celebrating their twenty-second year since coming together as a kingdom and the formal crowning of Chitivias.  But no matter what dating system you used, it was a time of major changes throughout the world, some for the better and others …

In Dahruban, the composer Aviudel dan’Noyetts had just completed his sixth symphony, arguably the grandest musical piece of the era.  Sail north from Dahruban, across the Alburin Sea, and you will eventually come to the Kingdom of Chequor.  The politics there was so bloody, this year alone there had been four rulers on the throne.  And no one was taking bets on the thirteen year old girl, under crown at the time, making it to the end of the year.

Foh Ch’ua Llou of Pahntikki Island, just off the western coast of the Rok’Shutai continent, which is south of Aeshea, had been trying to find a better way to preserve food … and instead came up with a substance which is highly explosive.

Acclaimed artist and sculptor, Gohnshier Shingo Mahtoya, was in his seventh year of work at the Ufhatol Castrom.  The Ufhatol Castrom being a huge structure of stone recently built by King Zeuxo II, of the island realm of Bhuat-che, in honor of its upcoming 2500 year anniversary as an independent nation.  Once finished, Mahtoya was already contracted to travel north and east to Montelbahn Castle in Vedoa.  There he would paint collages and portraits of the royal family and their history.

Philosopher, actor and sometimes duelist, Robanno Allena, recently had settled in the port city of N’Ville, where he could gaze at the ocean and write his masterpiece, “Ode to the Forgone Soul.”  At the same time, the Church of Eayah’s Circle of Bishops, declared that historians had been demeaning to Eayah.  Therefore all literature must be abolished, save for the Eayahnite Bible.

Surprisingly, one of the Three High Priests, Logan of Xenias, stepped forward and spoke against the declaration.  This played hob within the Circle and caused all sorts of ripples throughout the church. 

But the actions of people weren’t the only things happening.  The planet itself was talking.  Storms were becoming worse, hurricanes beyond memory were sweeping the oceans.  The island chain of Famatsu-Tonte was wiped clean by a tidal wave, sending more than forty-one thousand souls to the oceans depths and obliterating an entire culture.

An exploration and hunting party in the Genoal Plains, that vast expanse west of the Melphashic River and Norder-Sau Trail and bordering the Hoshael Mountains, were making camp and witnessed a volcanic eruption far into the Hoshael peaks.  Massive land-quakes began along a fault line in the northeastern corner of Aeshea.  On the southern coast of the southern continent, Lh’Gohria, six hundred and seventy miles of ocean shoreline literally fell into the Mon’Cique Ocean during a disastrous quake, taking with it four towns and the important trade port of Del’Ton.

South and east of Rok’Shutai, a large land mass was rising up from the ocean.  Some were claiming this was the fabled Isle of Altis, lost thousands of years ago with an enormous magical culture.

And all of that was just this year alone. 

Within the last ten years more things had been invented than perhaps any time in history, more things were being discovered, and even the way people were being governed was changing. 

Anybody, any age, could lose their head on the block in Vedoa for all sorts of offenses.  In Stafford, you could get away with anything you had the money to pay for, or connections.  N’Ville was somewhere in the middle. 

In Dahruban you could be put into the Coliseum for crimes of violence, but in Malone public executions were long and drawn out and included a profound trial.  Not once, since immediate hangings were abolished in Malone, and the lethal process switched to public execution, had anyone been put through the trial process and ever found innocent.

Chazon was now king of Gevard, with Lord Herrol appointed as his commanding general.

Off of Cape Faldahlon, two sailors who had gone looking for the broken lands of Dalshinju three years prior aboard the twenty-six man caravel, Horasheo, were found adrift.  Both men claimed to have been shipwrecked for forty years, and their age showed it.

Vedoa had launched the world’s first submarine, reportedly powered by men in seats pedaling a big propeller in back of the vessel.  The submarine had a special nose for battering vessels from below and could stay submerged for an unknown duration.  At the same time, Captain Jann Raul Jha’Ley, commissioned by Vedoa as privateer against the country’s many seaborne enemies, was building a reputation as a most formidable opponent; his string of victories having surpassed all on the Ocean of Mon’Cique.

A young woman named Olisia built and flew a balloon, with a basket underneath which she rode, five hundred and sixty-two miles from the Kadmus Islands to Lh’Gohria.

It hadn’t been all that long ago that I, myself, had been part of an historical event, the opening of what was now being called the Chamberlain’s Highway.  Why the Chamberlain’s, I never got that one, but that’s what they were calling it.  Quite literally, Jared and I had been the ones who hammered the last obstruction of rock out of the Sahnuck Pass.  Ten months to the day, Yank & Thad Freighting Company became the first to successfully make the run from Dahruban to N’Ville.

They endured four attacks and two narrow escapes.  Their cargo; several rolls of cloth, a bag of apples (to prove they would or wouldn’t spoil, which they didn’t), and a sheaf of mail.  One of those letters included a bank draft and letter from Magnate Copius dan’Shalleen, granting the YTF Company the right to make purchases on his behalf.

After Hoscoe left Teamon, Whitney led the way back to Kynear to take Hoscoe’s letter to Bernard via shortcut known by Trap.  Along the way, they happened upon a horde of yellow painted, religious radicals planning to make a mass attack upon Kynear.  The Cult of Phalquas has been growing for some time, and now they had decided it was time to force their religious views on the territory at large.

It seems there are several religious groups who believe the great stellar alignment, coming in the next thirty to thirty-five years or so, is going to bring a new era in deities.  Most believe this phenomenon is what’s causing the natural disorders, for sure.  But like many others, the followers of Phalquas believe he is going to be the next all-powerful god.

Convinced the power of Phalquas would protect them with holy armor; these warriors were going to fight unclad.  Their numbers were close to one thousand, so Whitney, who was known in Kynear, took a fellow soldier, named Solly, and rode the final miles to Kynear. 

Whitney’s son, Nigel, and the other soldier, a seasoned veteran named Binch, stayed back with Trap to try to figure a way to cause the Phalquasites a problem. 

The town rose up quickly to arms under Whitney’s leadership, and waited quietly for the cult warriors to come within easy crossbow range.  As the enemy horde prepared to enter the town, three mud-covered strangers suddenly ran though the nearly naked army throwing bee’s nests and maddened vipers in all directions.  As if on cue, the three strangers dropped to the ground as Whitney opened fire and those left standing were slaughtered. 

Immediately after the crossbows ceased, the three jumped up and cut loose with swords and blades.  Trap seemed to be having the time of his life as he spit tobacco juice from his mud covered lips into the eyes of the enemy, then whipping his steel from one yellow-back to another.  Whitney led a group a militia into the fray and none were left of the offending horde.

If not for Trap, Whitney, Nigel, Binch and Solly, Kynear would have been taken that night. 

If it isn’t enough to have religious groups rising up all over and becoming violent, the orgs had been banding together and forming a nation.  Typically they live in tribal groups and don’t get along with outsiders.  But in the last couple of years a half-breed, supposedly a cross between an org and captive human woman, had risen up and proclaimed himself to be a warrior-priest. 

They called him Marduk, but there is no surety that is, or ever was, his real name.  And no one is sure where he actually came from.  The hub-bub was that he had been involved with the mountain war against Gevard, going back to the battle of Fel’Caden Castle, but there was no proof of it. This much is certain, he had been gathering the orgs together into a unit, and seemed to be leading them efficiently.

Their first strike was against the Southern Jutte settlement of Rooster in the Gustav Valley late last year.  The battle was bloody and the orgs lost, but it cemented their acceptance for unification under Marduk.  In the meantime, and amid the fighting, a young lady named Madigan gave birth to her first child on the floor of her father’s new store.  René, who had led the counter attack from amid the brush, was now the proud daddy of a bouncing baby boy.

As for me, however, my total focus was on performing well for Princess Tancine.  Three weeks I practiced, night and day.  And if I had any idea of keeping it to myself, it was foiled when I saw Ander and Merle the morning after I learned I was to play. 

Merle had a big, knowing smile on his face.  Ander just looked at me and said, “Hey, Wolf, way to go!”

“Huh?” I asked.  It was Sabboday and we were supposed to have met for some casual sword practice.  Ander had purchased that blade he fancied and wanted to swing it a bit, get a feel for the weapon and all in the training hall.  Hoscoe preached intimate knowledge of your weapon, “It could mean the difference between life and death,” he insisted.  And Ander was a very serious student.

Meeting them after breakfast with my guitar slung on my back, I had been wondering whether I would say anything to them or not.  Well, right away, in any case.  I hadn’t gone to chow, having stayed up late the night before.  I had eaten from fruit I kept in my quarters, so hadn’t seen anybody.

Ander said, “You’re playing at the Ball.  It was all over Baldwin’s last night.  We kept hoping you would come down.”

I unlocked the training hall door, being Hoscoe’s apprentice had its privileges, including having a key to the training hall.

“How are you feeling, mate?  You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks,” I replied wryly. 

Truth to tell, I couldn’t go to sleep due to thinking of the Ball.  I was nervous, but excited, and kept going through the songs I knew.  It was close to twilight when I finally fell out the night before, but I didn’t sleep for long.  My head was thrumming, and the Wihlabahk thing the day before wasn’t making it any better.

Ander’s new sword was nice, and expensive.  He had saved for over a year to get that thing.  It was made of a special new kind of steel being produced at the Brosman Iron Mine in southwestern Keoghnariu.  It had been hammered by a weapon smith out of Vedoa and was something of a prototype.

Similar to Hoscoe’s blade, Ander’s sword had a hand-and-a-half grip with a full tang.  The blade, however, was single edged, straight and had a chiseled point, instead of the standard leaf-point design.  It hadn’t been received well because it was so different.  Most blades were double edged, but there was just something about it Ander liked.

This much for sure, it was beautifully balanced and quick on the slice.  And his fast draw technique was like lightning.  The edge remained razor sharp, even after destroying two practice sticks.  As nice as it was, and as excited as he was, I couldn’t get my mind off the music. 

‘Three weeks,’ I thought.

After maybe an hour I finally blurted out, “Hey guys what do you think of this?”  And I picked up my guitar and prepared to start in with a song.  Hesitating for a moment, I watched Ander and Merle for their reaction.  They looked at each other only a moment and chuckled.  Ander grabbed a towel and wiped his face and said, “Yeah, Wolf.  Let’s hear it.”

‘Three weeks.’ 

Over and over I practiced, discarded, and practiced more songs.  I even wrote one.  It was amazing how easy it was for me to do, so I wrote a couple more. 

The encouragement I received was stunning.  Never before had I heard so many comments of “You’re goin’ to do great,” “Hey, can’t wait,” and “We’re proud of you.”  I wasn’t used to any of it, but that last one made me stop and take pause. 

The burly sergeant who first said it was known for his brusqueness.  When I seemed stunned at his words, he just clapped me on the shoulder and added, “You’re one of us, boy.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, and then said in a concerned voice, “But what if I screw it up?”

“So what if you do?”  He answered with a humorous grunt.  “Look, you do like you do in here,” he was referring to the pub, “and you’ll be fine.  Be yourself, Wolf.  They all have potbellies under their girdles, pick their noses and cut nasty farts like the rest of us.  Me and my boys’ll be out on patrol that week, but we’ll be a’thinkin’ about you playing.” 

He waved his hand at the throng in the pub, “All of us will.”

The sergeant started to walk away and I grabbed his arm, “Hey, I don’t even know you’re name.”

Turning toward me slowly, I felt embarrassed.  He tongued his jaw a moment, and then said with a touch of humor, “Yeah, but we all know you.  Every man-jack in this army has heard about you.”  He took a savoring sip of his ale, licked his lips, and then said with a sly grin, “I’m Cudty.”  With that he turned and walked to the bar, and within moments he spoke to a couple of fellows and they all left.

Sergeant Cudty, a name I had heard.  He was one who would stand by you till the last, and took nothing off of nobody.  He had turned down becoming an officer because he saw himself as just one of the boys. 

I was in the training hall with Izner and Dud, when Ize suddenly asked, “Can you dance?”

“Dance?”  I thought a moment, I knew my momma’s dances, but … “I know a few, why?”

“Because, smart boy, you may have to dance.  And it would be nice if you could move your feet like you move those strings.”

Now that was something I hadn’t thought of.  And he was right.

Dud spoke up, “I’ll dance with ya.”  Then he blew me a kiss.  I veered back and balled up my fist in play as he laughed.

“Seriously, can you dance?”  Izner asked.

Without going into details, we wound up barring the door from inside, and Izner talked me into letting him take me through some steps.  I was astounded at his footwork.  So, I prepared myself all the way around, or I hoped I had.

It was the beginning of the third week when I finally decided on my set, and I practiced until I was afraid the others down the hall in our barracks were going to put me out.  But when the time came, I breathed in deep and hoped I didn’t step over my feet and fall flat on my face.

The infant kingdom of Keoghnariu was currently sealed off from the rest of the world, but they had contrived to develop a grand hall with incredible acoustics.  As small as the kingdom was, I somehow expected the great hall, which also served as the king’s throne room and public judgment center, to be much more conservative.  But Chitivias had grand visions for his kingdom.  Hoscoe had told me it was big, but I had not realized how much so.

The center was two levels high.  A row of columns on each side supported the rounded ceiling, and a balcony surrounded three sides of the hall.  The balcony walk space wasn’t incredibly wide, and behind each were rows of secondary rooms.  Down on the main level, under each balcony was a spacious area with walls lined with the mounted heads of various creatures, a few paintings, and at six points on each side wall there was an indention where stood a full suit of banded mail with sword, spear and shield.  On either side of the main entrance, at the one end of the hall, was another guardian suit of mail, similarly armed.

I learned there was a smaller courtroom where the king performed much of his business, but this main hall was beautiful.  There were maybe twenty-two hundred people in the hall to celebrate Princess Tancine’s birthday, and I want you to know the place was decked out in style.

Silver was everywhere; candelabras, chandeliers, platters, furniture trimmings, jewelry, everywhere you looked there was the sparkle of silver.  Colored ribbons adorned the walls and beautifully blown glass sat upon pedestals and tables.

The attire I saw this evening was beyond anything I had ever seen.  I had been worried about my own clothing when an attendant from the court came to my quarters and measured me up for my own outfit. 

Hoscoe had not gone with me to the ball, which I wondered about at first.  But Ander, Dudley and Merle walked with me to the Great Hall.  It seemed that Izner was going to escort some fine lady.  All the way I kept trying to tell myself I was going to be fine, but with every step I started becoming nervous. 

What if I botched a chord, or a string broke, or the worst thing possible – I forgot my lyrics.  One of the songs I was performing I had written myself.  I started fidgeting as we walked and Merle elbowed me and asked, “Would’ja want me to hit ya with a mud ball?”

I guess you would have to be there to appreciate it, but something in the way he said it made me suddenly laugh.  Then dependable Dudley chimed in, “Damn, Merle.  I wanna see him shit his britches.”

‘No, Merle, I don’t want you to hit me with a mud ball.”  Turning to Dud I remarked, “And I haven’t filled my britches in a couple of weeks now.”

As we stepped through the entrance, I took it all in and was almost overwhelmed.  It was the number of people all in one place, I had never seen anything like it. 

“Hey,” Ander said, “just be yourself.  They all pick buggers, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said.

An attendant had been waiting for me and led me around toward the back, but not before I saw Hoscoe.  Whoa!  He was really snazzed up, and at his side was a beautiful lady of maybe forty or so.

Me?  Never had I been dressed as such.  A dark green shirt fit nicely against my body, with a matching pair of breeches cuffed at the ankle.  My boots were such a highly polished black you could actually see yourself in them. 

A sleeveless maroon tunic draped my shoulders and hung mid-thigh, with a black sash wrapped three times around my waist and tied, elvin-style, with the ends trailing off of my left side.  My hair was long, past my shoulders, and it was brushed until it shown golden with a touch of red.

My guitar I had polished until Hoscoe threatened I would rub through the wood.

The Ball had been underway for maybe a half hour when Princess Tancine was formally introduced to the festivities, and when she walked into the room I believe every candle flickered.  Her raven black hair hung in adornments well past her waist.  Her gown was the color of snow highlighted with crystals, and her skin was of olives and cream.  She was truly beautiful.  My mouth became completely dry, and I was going to have to sing her, I mean, sing to her.

My heart climbed up into my mouth until I was sure it was beating against my tongue, as I heard the band come to the close of its last piece before my own set was to begin. 

I had been confident, but now my stomach was rolling like thunder, when a well-dressed fellow stopped next to me and said, “Stage fright?”

Looking him square in the eye I said, “Yes sir.  I think I’m going to throw up.”

He laughed, and for a second I thought he was laughing at me.  Then he placed the back of his hand against my chest, looked away, then back at me and got real close and said, “I’ve played Malone, Charlamae, N’Ville, Montelbahn Castle and the Chessne Garden of Dahruban.  It’s when I don’t have the quivers right before going out that I get concerned.  It shows you give a damn.

“Remember this, my boy, you’re playing to them, not at them.  You’ve been doing it for months down at the pub.  Just tell your story.  But tonight, the only one what matters is the princess.”

The old fellow stood there immaculate in front of me, and then he straightened my tunic a bit and brushed off a speck.  “I’ve seen them come and go, and I’ve heard you play.  You have a gift, pass it on.  No matter how much you practice, the show is different every time, and sometimes the improvisations are the best.” 

He gave a sudden nod of his head, a quick wink, and then he slapped my chest with the back of his hand.  “Jam, my brother.  You’re on.”

The coordinator looked right at me and nodded.  I was on, he signaled.  Walking to the pedestal and stepping up I trembled inside, every stride of the way.  This was the most important night of my life.  It was her birthday, yes.  But I was stepping up center stage.  This was my performance, me, and no one else.  It wasn’t Baldwin’s where everything was casual and no one cared if you missed a chord or two.

Just to the side was the old man who had just been talking to me.  What was that he had said?  Looking up, I saw Tancine gazing at me.

Over to the other side stood Hoscoe and his lady friend, and then out in the middle was Izner beside a pretty girl.  Over there was Ander, there was Commander Lahrcus, and there was … my gaze stopped … there was Aldivert.  On his face was a scowl, just like the Abaishulek Elvin merchant that time.  Micheullous, his name had been Micheullous.  His name came to me that suddenly, after all these years

It was then I realized this was my purpose in life, maybe not as a musician, but to be in front; for better or worse to be seen and heard, to make a difference, or at least attempt to do so. 

Closing my eyes, I gently waved my head to clear my thoughts and felt my hair flow from side to side around my shoulders.  I opened myself to the warmth and felt it flow into my body.  With my guitar in hand I softly opened my eyes with a subtle smile, and directing all of my attention to the waiting Princess, I said, “Happy Birthday, Your Highness …” and I began to play.

Chapter   37

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WHEN I AWAKENED the next morning, I could still hear the music from Tancine’s Birthday Ball in the back of my mind.  From my first song, and through the entire five song set, I kept her attention and maintained eye contact.  Opening with the popular song, Blue Roses, I then led into an elvin selection.  I sang a medley of youth oriented music in the local dialect, followed by an elvin instrumental.

As I performed, it seemed to me we were the only ones in the whole place.  Merle told me later it was like everyone was enthralled by my music.  Absolutely nobody made a sound.  Men and women were sliding their hands into each other’s, and some were swaying together as if in a subtle dance.

Tancine’s chest rose and fell in rhythm of my music and her eyes seemed to sparkle.  It felt as if she was directly in front of me, her face so close to mine.  Our eyes firmly entranced, I sang and played my music.  All through the hall radiated feelings of tranquility, and then I moved into the final song, the one which I had written.  It told of a beautiful maiden dancing through the meadows.  Her hair of raven black with eyes having captured the essence of the heavens, the maiden’s smile could make the flowers bloom and storms temper into gentle rain.

After the final moments of my song, quiet still permeated the air as the last notes lingered upon the mind.  Her hand found its way into mine and the band began to play something soft and soothing.  The old man who had talked with me was standing slightly off to the side with something called a saxophone.  It wasn’t long until it became clear he was the star of the band.

It was good that I let Izner coach me, because the dance was one of the four waltzes we had practiced.  Tancine and I melded together in movement, stepping like unto a morning breeze billowing across a field covered with a spring bouquet. 

Everyone made way to give us room as we danced and we had the entire center hall for our private floor.  Our steps were perfect in synchronization with each other and it seemed we had danced as a couple for years.  Step-two-three, step-two-three, turn and then glide, turn and then glide, now this way then that, she spins and comes back … we floated all about the floor in the Tandlefrahn Waltz, considered one of the most beautiful of ballroom dances.

I had never had a girl so close to me before, let alone hold one.  I could feel her youth, her radiance, the blossoming of her womanhood as it quickened my pulse.  Something inside me slowly came alive, something I had never felt before.  Although not playing, I felt as if I was still radiating essence, and she was a captive to my touch, or more accurately my voice.

Without realizing, I was gently humming to the rhythm of the band; feeling the notes and making them my own.  Was that it, the secret of the Bard’s Magic?  It made perfect sense.  To harness musical sound, and to merge the inner strength with it, using the vibrations as a catalyst to convey emotion to those about oneself, the effects to reach as far as the hearing ear.

Tancine responded to my lead and as I looked upon her, I felt that if I could carry her to the stars she would go where I would go.  The expression upon her face was one lost in rapture, and as she turned her lovely eyes to gaze into mine and I saw explicate trust.

Trust … such a powerful word.  I brushed my eyes along her smooth neck, saw the way her raven hair fell upon her lovely shoulders, the way her body filled out her gown, and felt the perfect touch of her hand in mine.  Again I gazed into her eyes and remembered Hoscoe telling me, ‘Honor is who you are when you can do whatever you will, and know you can get away with it.’

There were two ways this dance could end, and the one was quite provocative.  To feel the leg of a princess wrap around mine in sensual embrace, tipping her head way back with her breasts pronounced upward, one hand intertwined in my hair with amorous invitation.  It was an accepted way to end the dance, and common.

The final measure was being played, building into the final notes.  All I had to do was touch her back in just the right place as a cue.  In her eyes I saw, I could feel she was willing to do so … I could feel my blood quicken with a rush …

The last bar was in sound, I spun her out and made a cross step at just the right moment and saw her smile.  As the last note of the saxophone was played we both performed a spinning movement, and then as we joined hands once more I stooped down and she stood on one foot.  Bowing low I allowed my lips to ever so barely touch the back of her hand … and we held the pose. 

The Great Hall exploded in applause and in the corner of my eye I saw her father, the king, nodding in earnest approval, and over to the side Hoscoe sent me a wink; I had chosen the appropriate ending.  The saxophone player was beaming with pleasure.  My chums were ecstatic, each in their own way … but my blood was still rushing.

___________________________

 

The rest of the ball went beautifully and without a hitch.  There was music, lots of different dances, and food.  Mmmnnn – the food.  Izner could really dance, and watching Hoscoe with his lady friend … that caught me completely off guard.  Not that he was too old or anything, and she looked really good, I just hadn’t thought of him doing anything like that … you know, romantic like.

But you know?  I was at Baldwin’s a good bit.  It would be easy for him to keep company with a lady and me not know.  It did my heart good to see it.  He didn’t talk a lot about his wife, but he had really cared for her.  How long they had been together, I didn’t know.

At least he was enjoying a lady’s company and she definitely seemed to be enjoying his.

Ander and Merle were having a good time, but the one who really surprised me was Dudley.  That cussing, often times obnoxious bruiser, was dancing up a storm.  And he was good.  Better than Izner, even.  In fact, he was probably one of the best ones out there.  And his manners were impeccable.  There were actually women waiting to dance with him.  Goes to show sometimes you just never know.

At one point, the band started playing this song a rather difficult dance could be performed to, and it was Dudley and this other lady who took over the floor.  I mean everyone just stepped back and watched.  That keg shaped chum of mine was moving like he was born to the dance floor.

I got to dance with a few other ladies and several folks came up to talk.  Commander Lahrcus happened by and commented, “Good choice.  Well done.”  With that he saluted me with a drink in his hand and went on his way.  For a moment I was unsure what to say, and then Ander slapped me on the shoulder and said, “Let’s get a drink, Wolf.”

Walking to the serving table we got a couple of drinks and talked casual, fun talk.  We imagined balls every night, having drinks served in the barracks, and all sorts of things.  We just had a good time. 

Then I saw this blonde haired lady standing to herself; I noticed Ander had been giving her the scope more than a few times.  Now, my buddy Ander had a way of taking charge and having all kinds of great plans, but deep down, he was a quiet kind of fellow.

Over on the floor I saw Merle holding this lady who stood just to his arm-pit level.  He was barely moving his feet, but she was dancing all around him and they both looked to be happy.  Izner was making the moves with his lady friend, and Hoscoe … I had to look twice … he and his partner looked as if they had known each other forever.

I know Ander, and he had been having a good time.  But he was doing it from afar.  What I mean is, he wasn’t actually mingling with the ladies.  I noticed he had been looking this one young lady over many times.  And if I wasn’t mistaken, she had passed him a lingering glance a time or two, as well.

Some time back I mentioned Izner had brought out a mischievous spark in me, and I was having me a notion right then.  Another young lady, a red-head, walked over to the blonde, and, well, I couldn’t help but tuning in my elvin sense of hearing and hear her address the blonde as Lafia.  It seemed the two were good friends, and as they were laughing I casually walked that way with Ander chatting away about how his new sword could clean slice a melon in the air, twice, before it fell down.

Under my breath I said to Ander, “Say Lafia,” I elbowed him, “Now!”

Without thinking he blurted out, “Lafia?!”

She suddenly turned and looked at him, somewhat surprised, and then blushed, “Yes?”

I just stepped slightly away and looked at Ander and said with some surprise, “You know each other?  That explains it.”

Quiet, ever contained Ander looked as if he were going to have a heart attack.  She was instantly intrigued, and the redhead, full of life and personality asked, “Explains what?” as she looked to Lafia, to Ander and then to me with a curious smile.

“Uhg –,” I overacted exasperation, “Sergeant Ander, here, has been watching her all night.”  I looked at Ander questioningly and asked, “Is Lafia the butterfly you’ve been waiting to dance with?”  I politely reached over and took his glass, downed the rest of my own, and shook my head, “Well you picked the right moment.”  I looked toward the band, “Just in time for a fresh song.”  With that, I saw Lafia look at Ander with an ever so slight breath of expectancy.

Looking at the redhead, I was feeling full of myself now, and I passed her a slight wink, “Fair lady, would you do me the honor?”

She gave me a most pleasant smile, a curtsy, and I offered my arm.  We walked to the bar where I could deposit my glasses and we began to dance.  Very nicely, I might add.  As to Ander, if he were upset with me he would have to show it much later.  Right then he was only looking at Lafia.  And she was looking at him.  They began dancing and I turned back to my partner with a smile.

Toward the end of the evening, I was standing somewhat to myself on the balcony.  Looking over the rail I envisioned what it must be like to have built something like this.  It was beautiful up there, looking down over the festivity, the structures, all of it.  A painting of a ship tossed in a storm caught my attention.  I was about to walk over and inspect it when someone I had been introduced to earlier in the evening walked over and leaned against the railing beside me.  His name was Gohruvae and he was chief of the Brosman Iron Mine, way off in the western edge of the territory. 

Gohruvae was of average height, perhaps fifty-five or sixty, well set up and bald.  You would think by now, I would have gotten used to seeing humans who were losing, or had already lost, their hair.  But I couldn’t help wonder why it happened.  A species thing, I guess.

“It’s been a nice gathering,” he remarked as we both looked below.

“Yes sir, it has,” I commented in return.

Easing to one side, and leaning against the rail with his arm, he gave me a careful appraisal.  This had happened a couple of times in the evening by others, so I tried not to be conscientious about it.  And then he said, “You’re a smooth operator, Sir Wolf.”

I glanced at him suddenly and saw he was wearing a subtle, yet calculating smile.  It wasn’t unfriendly, but I was now cautious.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He sipped his wine, contemplated what he was going to say, and then continued, “Maybe a year ago, one of the boys in East Gate Barracks got wind that his family’s grain crop had been ruined for some reason or another, and they would hunger through the winter.  His father was going to have to come to my mine and work.

“Then a sack full of coin appeared inside his bedding.” 

Izner and me had … I had forgotten about that.  It was money I didn’t need anyway.  Izner was really sneaky and it had been fun to get in at night with no one knowing, or so I thought.  We had had fun that night.

Standing there beside Gohruvae, I kept my face still and said not a word.

“One of the South Wall fellows, a lad named Puffer, was bitten twice by a Di’Yamohn Viper while saving a child who had fallen down one of those pits, you know, where the Meidran Temple was.  He got the child out, his mate, Vensi, was trying to pull them up when you and that big fellow, Merle, happened by,” He raised an eyebrow, as if wondering why we had been there at the same time, in the first place.  Vensi and Puffer were on wall patrol, we weren’t, “and helped with the rope.

“Puffer’s face was white and was talking about the viper, and you wasted no time.  You did something to his leg while Vensi and Merle made sure the little girl was alright, and when you were done Puffer was asleep, but alive.  Vensi said his pants leg was black with bad blood, but there wasn’t more than two pairs of scratches in the flesh.

“Vensi said you told him, ‘It was just an Ahnagohr Remedy, I don’t think it’s anything serious.  You know how he exaggerates things.’”

Gohruvae gave me a shrewd look, “Vensi’s pa was a snake handler.  Did you know that?  He knew that mark when he saw it.”

I didn’t.  I was feeling a bit edgy, and it had been such a great night.

He looked back at the hall, “There’s other things I’ve heard, here and there.”  He glanced back my way with a warm smile, “And then there’s the way you have handled yourself tonight.”  Gohruvae let that sink in.

‘Who was talking to him,’ I thought.  ‘Was I in some kind of trouble?’

“I watched you with your friend, too.”

Gohruvae was a smart man, very observant as well.  I was feeling hot and starting to sweat, and he must have sensed that, too.  He shifted himself around and caught my eye in full contact, “Cudty was a good friend to my second boy.  He and my two oldest boys spent their first years in the army together.  Then my oldest went up north and I haven’t seen him since. 

“Wandle, my second, took a spear in the chest from a cog, oh, five years ago.”

He took a long breath in remembrance, and then added, “Puffer is my youngest boy.  You ever need anything, you let me know.”

From beside a painting on the balcony, I saw my red-haired dancing partner slowly walking my way with a subtle swish of her dark green gown.  Gohruvae gave me a courteous nod and backed away saying, “You have a nice evening.”

The redhead’s name was Riana, and we had danced three consecutive dances together.  We had talked little, but I found I really liked her.  During our last dance, she had hummed with the tune and I found she had a pretty voice.  We had hummed the dance together in harmony and laughed when we had finished.

She tilted her head at me and with laughter in her eye she pleasantly said, “They’re about to play the final song tonight …” she said with an open invitation in her voice.

Smiling, I asked as I offered my arm, “Then would you permit me?”

“MmmNNNmmm …” she said with a softly sensual timber in her voice, “I thought you’d never ask.”

___________________________

 

Dancing with Princess Tancine had been very nice, but let’s face it, a big piece of it was for performance sake.  I had come to entertain her, and there was nothing wrong with that.  What’s more, I had held her spell bound, literally, I think.  There was more I wanted to learn and experiment with concerning that, but dancing with Riana was different.

Our meeting was totally unplanned, a thing of chance.  And she was bubbly, vivacious, so very much alive.  Her laughter was infectious and her smile was disarming.  Riana was a very sensual young lady, but very proper at the same time.  I was extremely unprepared for her.

I learned she was a solid seventeen, an age when young ladies were already married or getting married and starting families, was already an accomplished dress maker, loved music and everything to do with it, had an exhilarating sense of humor, and her eyes were as green as emeralds.

When I escorted her to the carriage she and five other ladies were sharing, we paused just before I helped her up.  She turned to me and said, “I had a wonderful time,” and her face was lovely.

She bit her lips for a moment before saying, “I work at the Lynmire Dress Boutique …”

Not sure what to say, I took her hand and asked, “May I come see you there?”

Her eyes grew wide and she kind of bounced a little, “Yes, yes!”

For a second there I felt kind of awkward.  I had never done anything like this before.  Her hand was in mine, so I bent down and kissed her hand like I had the princess’s, but only I touched her hand a bit more.  She gave me a little curtsey and settled into her place in the carriage.

As the driver snapped the reins and pulled away, I found Ander standing beside me.  Together we watched the carriage go around the corner and then we walked back to the barracks together, me with my guitar slung on my back. 

Sleep was a long time coming, but the next day was Ohnday, or was it Ohnday already?  It didn’t matter. When I finally reached slumber, I spent the whole night dancing in my dreams.

Chapter   38

________________________

 

 

OHNDAY WAS A restful day for me, and for the first time in a long time I awakened well past daylight.  As a rule, I was an early riser.  But the last three weeks had been the most grueling I had endured thus far.  The work was hard, sleep often restless, and the pressure was high.

Take nothing away from physical labor, I’ve done it all of my life, and I don’t mean casual stuff, either.  But working hard with your mind is a different kind of work, and it’s every bit as exhausting as the physical, maybe more so.

Up to then, I had never given thought to performing as a real job, but my attitude had changed.  From there on out, I knew I would give credit to those folks who work hard to entertain, or any kind of art, for that matter.

Walking around the edges of the Great Hall, I saw paintings and sculptures and such as to make me set back and make wonder.  This place was home to elegance.  You wouldn’t think it if you were anywhere out of side of the city walls.

Sure enough, Keoghnariu was a young kingdom, but the culture wasn’t really new.  A good bit of all of this was brought down with the people who came from Shudoquar, once the culture center of the whole world.  Mix in some Vedoic architecture, curtain wall and tower designs from Malone, and native building materials and you had something new, but which looked aged and established.

The old saxophone player, I learned, was Dominick Triple.  Originally from a small village in Lh’Gohria, his people had been preserving a class of music called Jazz, Rhythm and Blues that traced back further than anyone could remember.  There were those who insisted it was almost as old as elvin music.  And Dominick was considered one of the best.

The Dom, as he was usually referred to, had been visiting Kiubejhan by special request of King Chitivias when the cognobins had taken control of the bridge.  In effect, he and his group were trapped there.  How must it feel, I wondered, to be the best at what you do and be caught like a bird in a cage?

I was eating a piece of fruit that Ohnday afternoon when I got a knock on my door.  Walking over I asked who it was, and it was our barracks on-call messenger with a note for me.  Stepping out, I took the note and opened it right there in the hall.  I had never received a note before.

It was from the Dom himself, asking if I would like to meet in his room at the top of the Jade Emporium to play with his core band.  My breath caught and my eyes got wide. 

Earlier I had pounded on Hoscoe’s door to see if he had come in, but he hadn’t.  I can usually hear pretty good through the door, and hadn’t yet heard any sound of him returning to his quarters.  Was he still with his lady friend, I wondered?

Excited, I got myself together and made way for the Emporium.  I forgot that I was still exhausted.

___________________________

 

The Jade Emporium was a top of the line eating place with rooms to let in the upper levels.  These rooms served as apartments and points of business, for now, but when traffic with the north was still open they served as high-class hotel rooms.  Someone was waiting for me when I walked into the front o the Emporium, and going up the spiral staircase was nice.  Once more I was in the heart of elegance.

Stopping in front of the door of my designated room, I took in a breath and knocked.

“Come on in,” a deep voice said.

There were five members of the band sitting there laughing, wine cups around, and they were smoking something I hadn’t seen before.  A window was opened, so as to make for ventilation. 

The Dom walked up to me and grabbed my hand from an upright position and gave it a shake, “Heyo, little brother.  You want a ceegar?”  That must have been the brown, tube-shaped thing with the ash he was holding between his teeth.

He was chuckling good naturedly as he waved around to the others, all sitting and fiddling with their instruments.  The smell from his ceegar was appealing to me.  I was thinking I just might want to try one.

“This here’s Cougar Jack on the drums, Sweet Dad Tommy on the slide trombone, Handsome Henry on the stand up bass, and Strings Bandy on the git-fiddle.”  I had never heard of a guitar being called a git-fiddle before, but I was elated to be in this particular company.

There was nothing stuffy or uptight about this group whatsoever.  They were laid back and cool, as the word goes.  They were polite to me, but still a bit reserved, like they wanted to check me out.  Of course they had heard me play the night before.  But I had been rehearsing for weeks.  They wanted to see what I could really do, from the heart.

Sweet Dad said in a gravel deep voice, “You can hep yo-self to the wine.  We ain’t gonna do it for ya.  You make yo-self to home.”

I got myself situated and checked my tuning as I saw a couple of them glance at each other with almost evil grins.  What had I got myself into?  Then Cougar Jack gave me a taunting squint of his eye and bobbed his head around and said, “Let’s see what choo got, Woff-man …” and he slapped his drum sticks together four times into a smooth beat.  Taken off guard I froze and then started off beat into what kind of tune I had no idea … I just fumbled.

Cougar just stopped and gave me this down on the dog look, “Now what choo call that?!   Strings, pop one.”

Then Cougar counted off again and Strings did something with his fingers I had never heard of.  He played a couple of quick bars and then the trombone jumped in.  He played and then the bass, and then the Dom with his saxophone.  Even Cougar took a turn.  I had never heard anyone play lead with drums before, didn’t realize it could be done.

They all blended in and started this basic twelve-bar tune and they were good.  But they were all just having a good time, and then Cougar said, “Jump in there, boy, give us something.”  I didn’t know what to do, so I grabbed the key and slid in and just kept time.  Over and over these guys went, each would take a turn at doing a little variation and I watched Strings carefully.

Listening to these guys play, I knew I was wa-a-ay out of my league.

I began changing out to bar chords and putting a little something different into my rhythm and then the notes started to wake something up inside.  I began absorbing the music, each variation of each player.  A humming began within my core and I was there, I was with them, not the same level of skill, but I could feel it.  I had never been exposed to this kind of music before, and I was learning.

Sweet Dad took his run and Cougar said, “Come on, boy … let’s do it …”  I kept up my rhythm, then closing my eyes I tried to find the riffs and variations they had been playing and replicate it with my guitar.  It was close, and in the background I could tell they were playing support for me.  I just focused in and tried to play all of their parts in succession.

“Bring it home, Dom!” said Cougar.  The Dom laid into that sax and I caught Cougar’s eye, the change in his manner let me know he was tying it off and he counted at me with nods of his head, one – two – three –and then he winked. We all stopped as the Dom played out the final notes with Cougar softly rolling it out, and then closure with a velvet soft rotation on the drums and one on a cymbal.

The sound faded away like ripples on the water, and then they all said, “Yes-s-s!”

“So, what do you think?” the Dom asked Handsome, as he looked up at the oldest member of the group.

“Yap.  No dowbt in my mind.  Same hands.”

I just looked around, not sure what was going on.

The Dom looked me square in the eyes and said, “Thirty-five, forty year ago, me, Handsome, and Sweet Dad came to a closed off mountain country called Gevard,” I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up, “and played a few gigs there for the Council of Dukes.  They brought in this elf-woman who made us sound like rubes.”

He motioned to Strings, “He was a young fella then, learning the ropes.  But this elf-woman gave him lessons on the box.  And it cost a pretty copper, too.  But we want to know, is if you are any relation to Shinny?”

Shinny … the name … it brought back an old memory.  I had been little and someone came to play music with, or rather be taught by my momma.  They had called her Shinny, in fact, now that I remembered, most everyone called her Shinny but Roveir and Barlan.

I looked at the Dom, “You gave me a piece of hard ribbon candy, once.”

The Dom slapped his leg and laughed hard, “Ah-HAH! I knew it!  I knew when I watched you at the pub one time, you was that little fella.  And when you closed your eyes and got set,” he leaned forward and pointed at my chest, “you looked just like your momma.” He sat back with an emphatic nod of his head.

They were all quiet and I had expected questions.  You know, questions about what had happened, how did I get here, all that sort of thing.  But none were asked.  It was eerie, meeting someone I had known from so long ago.  Here, of all places. 

Strings brushed a couple of chords in D minor, and said, “How ‘bout one for momma Shinny?”  And then he went into an elvin song translated into the Lohngish tongue.  He had made some variations, but I grasped them quickly, and as I heard his chorus, I harmonized with him.  I loved it.  And the others got right in there with us.  But it was the saxophone which helped it most of all.

___________________________

 

I became Fonshune to the group, Fonshune being the Elvish word for Little Brother.  We played the afternoon away, into the evening and well up into the night.  I learned some fascinating finger work from Strings, and I learned he had a unique method he liked to do which he called “popping,” which wasn’t a popping sound at all, but was the way he plucked strings together to make his signature sound. 

I even taught them a couple of elvin tunes. 

There had been another member of the core group, a Trumpet player named Fabulous Farley, but he had been in Biunang when the cognobins wiped it out.  The rest of the band I had heard at the ball was a selection of students trained by these guys.

As it came time to leave, I got up and thanked them for the time.  They were all warm and friendly and when the Dom walked me to the door he put his hand on the wood and said, “Hey man, we all got a story to tell, and we all got us some losses.  But strangers are strangers, friends are friends, but family ain’t always family.  So you got to find a different kind of family.” 

He looked around the room and said, “Ain’t none of us tied by flesh blood,” and then he looked at Cougar and added, “well, I don’t know about the Cougar, he could be one of mine,” everyone started laughing and Sweet Dad threw a towel at the drummer, “but here it is.  We are all brothers of a different kind, and we stick tighter than blood.  It’s up to you, but you got family if you want it.  You dig?”

I was feeling something, but didn’t know what it was.  Something about the Dom made me think of Hoscoe, but different.  It was like he knew a whole lot more than he was saying.  And I thought again about Hoscoe, where was he, anyway?

Speechless, I just looked at the guys in the room. Handsome and Strings held up their fists at me, supporting like.  Cougar snapped the point of a drumstick in my direction with a wink, and Sweet Dad gave me this slow nod. 

I took the Dom by the hand in that cool-hand-shake he had given me before, and then he bumped my fist with his.  As I started to leave he said, “You don’t have to ask, just come on up.”

Nodding my head, I walked back down that spiral staircase.  If they were my brothers, Ander and chums were good friends, what would that make Hoscoe?  He would be more like my … my throat got tight … the word evaded me, one I had never used.

___________________________

 

The next morning it was back to business.  I had maintained my same physical training regimen, which Hoscoe called PT, all through the last three weeks, but I wondered if he would show up this morning.  I was sure he was still not in quarters when I came in the night before.  However, as I opened my door to enter the hall, he was opening his door as well, right on cue.

How had he gotten in without me hearing him, I didn’t know. What with my uncanny hearing, I could hear the casual mouse skitter across the floor in the closet on the other side of my own quarters if I focused real hard.  And I had been listening for Hoscoe to return.

I looked at him with a surprised pause, and then said, “Good morning.”

He acted as if nothing unusual was about, and returned my gaze as if to ask, why are you looking at me that way.  And then he returned my greeting with a, “Good morning.”  He closed his door and had the most humorous tilt to his head as he seemed uncharacteristically awkward, then after fidgeting ever so slightly he asked, “Well, are you ready?”

Trying to suppress a grin, I closed my door and answered with one of his favorite words, “Absolutely.”

He raised his eyebrows, and as I walked past him he fell into step beside me as we went down to begin the work week.

The next several days were intense as he worked me back into a hard groove.  But even though my gig at the ball was over, I was still having a hard time getting to sleep, as if something kept nagging at me.  I would time and again lay awake long into the night, and my rest time was often spent tossing and turning.  It wasn’t mental, however, not like I had forgotten or was worried about something in particular.

I also noticed hair was starting to grow on my face and a little on my chest.  That was appalling to me, elves didn’t grow body hair.  It wasn’t something I talked to Hoscoe about, either.  I scraped my face with my dagger, and then healed myself of scratches before going out in the morning.  Combined with my recent sleep patterns, this was making my morning a less than pleasant experience.

Hoscoe and I talked about the Dom and the band, my getting invited to play with them, and their knowing about my momma.  I explained word for word the encounter with Gohruvae, and then I mentioned Riana.

All I could get from him about his lady friend was that her name was Joniece, she was a widow, and was owner of the Esther House, a three level building with one more underground which housed several different businesses.

Hoscoe just nodded his head and approved of Dom and his band, “He is a good man.  They are all good men.”

I eyed him suspiciously and asked, “You know them?”

Hoscoe tongued something out of his teeth, presumably something from breakfast, and answered, “I have heard them play before.”  At my expression he chuckled and added, “Yes, we have been here nearly three years, I have met and conversed with Dominick, Strings and the rest several times.  And no, I did not know he knew your momma, although I had my suspicions.”

Again, in answer to my look, he added, “The world is not so large as you might think, young sir.  You will eventually meet someone who knows of your past.  It will be how you handle the meeting which will matter most. 

“I think, however, meeting and playing with them will most assuredly be in your best interest.  It will be an outstanding means to expand your Bardic training.  You do not have to tell them that, of course.  But use the time to see if you can absorb their knowledge.  See what you can take in from each session, but above all … enjoy the time.

“You do not know how much time you may have with them.  And they are among the best in their field.”

Partially disturbed, I commented, “You keep telling me I don’t know how much time I, we or whatever may have.  It seems to me this is a good thing going on here, and everyone is telling me I should become a minstrel.”

There was a long moment he chewed his jaw.  I believed I had said something out of line when he said, “Is being a minstrel something you want to do?”

“Everyone says I ...”

“But …” He became very stern, “Is it what you want to do?”

Hesitating, I gave it deep thought, “I like it, but …”

Was Hoscoe asking me to make a life path decision?  We had a rule, we always played it straight.  Sometimes it seemed he didn’t tell me everything, but I had come to accept he was waiting for times when I was ready for whatever he had to say.  But he had never lied to me, I didn’t think.

“… I don’t know,” I finished.

Hoscoe just shrugged his shoulders, “That is alright.  And you do not need to know, for now.  But even the Elvin Bard is more than just a minstrel, should you eventually take that path.  And these skills can be useful, regardless of what path you take. 

“Your momma understood the art of warfare.  It was evidenced in many of the skills she taught you.  The way you throw, the manner you naturally move your hands with a stick, your footwork … all bespeak combat training.”

I was stunned.  The thought of my momma lifting a hand in violence just didn’t lend itself to my thinking.  But then … I remembered that night at Fel’Caden Castle, years ago.  My momma; a warrior?  And what of that sorcerer; what was his name?  Could she have actually …?

He could read my face, “Your footwork, you learned it in elvin dance steps.  What of the names of some of those dances?  Translated into the human tongues, many of them represent tribal patterns of fighting arts.  They are graceful, yes, but when adapted into skill at arms, they contain entire combat stratagems.”

Again, I was stunned.  A flash of vision of my momma dancing in the torrent of wind above the cauldron … I was starting to become just a touch angry and I asked, “Why haven’t you pointed it out before?  Why?”

“Because …” he said with slow, steady calm, “you were not ready.  Look at you.  You are only now beginning to feel real confidence in yourself.  You still have not become comfortable with references to your past, and you are learning now what Dsh’Tharr Elf children learn early on.  You have told me your momma was limited in what she could say or teach you.”

I was beginning to feel hot, irritable.  As long as we had known each other, Hoscoe and I had never uttered a cross word to each other.  I had trained with total trust.  But, was he treating me like a child?  Emotions were rising up I did not understand.

“Wolf … Mehio …”

I looked up and into his eyes.  There was something inside me, something growing, something I didn’t know if I was prepared to deal with, and I wasn’t sure what it was.  Now that I thought of it, it had been there for some time.  This thing … it was what was keeping me up at night, it had to be.

“If it became necessary, if there was no other way, could you put me down?”

The question took me by surprise and I felt someone had thrown a bucket of water over me.

“Could you put me down, Wolf?  If it became necessary?”

I had no answer.  What was he talking about?  Why was he even asking such an absurd question?  Hoscoe was … he was like … he was like …

Hoscoe stood there, with his arms crossed, I couldn’t remember him crossing his arms.  He waited, then nodded with a note of patience.  “You are almost there.”

“Almost there, where?!” I demanded, “to kill you?!”

It was Thursday evening and we were standing in the training hall. The air had started becoming unusually cold and two nights before a slight flurry of snow had come and gone.  It didn’t snow on the south side of the Pehnaché River.

Casually and calmly, Hoscoe said, “Come with me.  It is time to show you something.”

Frustrated, I opened my mouth, then thought better of it and shut it.  I followed him outside and we both stood for a moment.  Another flurry was blowing and all around soldiers were looking up at the sky with wonder.  Chewing his jaw, Hoscoe began briskly walking to our barracks.

“Hoscoe …” I said abruptly.

He turned to look as I took up a quick pace beside him.

“You still haven’t told me who Km’Jhai is, was.”

A mischievous grin crossed his face, “He was Oshang’s second son.”

Craiken, I thought.  It figures.  I knew he was one of Oshang’s sons.  I looked at Hoscoe irritably as we made quick time to North Wall Barracks.

Chapter   39

________________________

 

 

“I THOUGHT YOU knew your lineage?”  Hoscoe asked, as we stepped into his quarters. 

“I do,” I said sullenly, “but Km’Jhai isn’t exactly in my lineage, is he?”  My tone was testy, and instantly I regretted my words.  What was wrong with me?  Everything seemed to be going good, and now, now …

Something seemed to want to be let out, something strong, maybe violent. 

Hoscoe’s words were smooth, almost gentle, when he asked, “Would you be so kind as to light the fire?”

There was a small stove in his quarters, and that was what he made his coffee on.  I struck a match to his always prepared tinder, and prepared the pot for coffee. 

It had been a while, since I began practicing, since I had been in Hoscoe’s quarters.  I only briefly noticed the new wall map he was standing beside, my mind was somewhere else.

“What do you mean by telling me I’m like a child and am I ready to kill you?”

“That is not, what I said.”

“Yes, you did,” I was becoming angry, “you said -”

“I … said … you are learning now what Dsh’Tharr Elvin children learn early on.  Hardly the same as calling you a child.  Nor did I ask if you were ready to kill me.  I asked if you could put me down.”

Frustrated, I glared at him.

“Your emotions,” he said, “they are coming alive.  That is a good thing.”

Once more I was confused, and I looked side to side as if trying to come up with something good to say.

“It is the first time I’ve seen you angry since your fight with Stagus.”

Taken aback, “Ang- …,” my tone was suddenly challenging, “… so, anger is a good thing?!”

“It can be, when channeled correctly,” and he turned to his wall.

Shael’s, I thought, he’s going to ignore me and mumble about …

“We are all still children, Wolf.  Contrary to popular opinion, you never grow up.  We are the same person as when we were young.  We just grow older, hopefully learning something in the process.”  He looked at me and continued with a wistful, knowing expression, “Some of us make decisions to follow a different path from what we were first set upon, but most do not.

“You have lived your life conditioned to do as you are told.  You have never had the luxury of making small choices which may fail, therefore allowing you to learn.  You feel compelled to excel for fear of failure, and that is the wrong reason.

“You should excel simply because you wish to do your personal best.  Not to be better than the next person.  Not that competition is bad,” he gave a grunt of humor, “I am competitive myself.  But I am my own competitor.

“If you are performing for someone else, as in a contracted project, then you must needs satisfy your client.  But if you have done your personal best, then that should be satisfaction enough for you, yourself.

“You are striving to rise above your former path, and I am proud of you.  You still have much to learn, but you are getting there.”  He paused and considered long before speaking again.  “You are the best student I have ever had, invariably.”

Hoscoe turned back to his wall and said, “As to putting me down, you will understand when the time comes.”

Before I could gather my thoughts to speak, he said, “Come here,” pointing to a location on the map he began to explain, “we are here … here is Gevard … and here is Dahruban.”

As I observed his map I was in awe.  Hoscoe had painted a map of the whole world of Orucean.  Momma had made those magical maps in the dirt for me, but this was good.  The attention to detail was stunning.

It felt to me as if I had traveled far over the course of my life, but just on the Aeshean side of our continent alone, I had seen a very tiny part of my world.  From the most eastern point of Vedoa, to the eastern boarders of the Hoshael Mountains was about six thousand miles.  From side to side were three deserts, two Great Plains, two freshwater seas, a salt water sea, five major river systems, three mountain ranges … Shael’s!

From the east lay the Gohbashai Mountains, then the Kohntia’s, then the Sahrjiun’s, and down below … around where we were … the Sahrjiun and Kohntia ranges met to form the Tio’Pashon range and right in the cradle was Keoghnariu.  Thousands of miles to the north was the Kohnarahs Bay region, where U’Lahna was.  Just seeing it made a lump form in my throat. 

Would I ever get to see her?  Again, I wondered what she would be like.  Would she want to know me?

West of the Hoshael’s was another great mountain range, the Dsh’Tharr.  The map west of that, however, was vague and there was little more than an outline.  But it showed a land mass over half again the breadth of Aeshea from the eastern edge of the Hoshael’s, to the extreme western coast.  Overall, The land mass of the super-continent must be over nine thousand miles wide and touched all four of Orucean’s oceans.

I was studying that western land mass and Hoscoe followed my direction of vision.  As if knowing my question he said, “The great Nor’Gael, nobody has ever returned from exploring there.  Elvin lore has it written off as a vast waste land”

“How do you even know the outline, then?  Is it a guess?”

“I have seen maps, maps drawn by those who supposedly knew.”

I glanced quickly at Hoscoe and with anticipation asked, “You’ve been to the library at Ch’Hahnju?”  More specifically, I was asking if he had been to the Great Elvin Citadel at Ch’Hahnju Mountains.  It was the first elvin holding, and said to be the last pure culture left in Aeshea.

Shaking his head, he replied, “No.”  With some reserved irritation he added, “They see nobody, help no one.  Those idiots Sha’Rhunza, Ahl’Tohku, Fahlmazhar, Ehx’Hual and all that lot are just waiting for human kind to kill itself out.  Reality has no part in their reasoning.”

“Then where?”

With a slanting glance from his eye, and characteristic grind of his teeth, Hoscoe pointed.

From tales of my momma and the stigma she had put on the place, I inhaled through my teeth, “The Vale of Thahndurai.”

Hoscoe nodded slowly, “Home of the Dsh’Tharr Elves, sometimes called Thunder Valley.”

Reluctantly excited, I asked, “You’ve been to Cahf Nl’Ouan, the cave of knowledge?  Did you see … did you see the ruin?”

“Yes.  But anything movable has been taken, some to the Tomb of Shihnuthai.  But the wall paintings are still there.  Maps, murals, portraits …” He paused, with intent.  I looked over at him.  Hoscoe gave me a sly look and added, “I saw him.”

“Him, who?”

With a glint in his eye and humor in his voice, he said, “Oshang.”

I looked back at the map and chewed my own jaw.  We had talked about my feelings toward Oshang before.  He had left his people, deserted them to be destroyed and chased to Zaeghun’s Lair and back.  His responsibility was …

“Things are not always what they seem, Mehio.”

Suddenly I asked, “How did you get there?”

“Th’Khai took me.”

Incredulously I said, “I thought he was a cripple.”

Hoscoe laughed, “Timber Wolf, if you want to do something bad enough … you will find a way. 

“The ruins are not what you might think.  Actually, there is no structural decay or compromise.  It is a ruin of a culture.  Th’Khai said something dark still lives in the castle.  We had to be most careful just to get into the valley.  But such a castle was beautiful to see, so different from anything I have seen before or since.  Built right out of the rock, it was, and many kinds of material were part of the building; onyx, emerald, jasper, jade, crystal … but not like Stone Bridge Citadel.  Oh, no.  It was shaped by the power of Druids, impregnable from the outside.  Th’Khai says it was taken from within, from a means totally unexpected.”

It didn’t make me feel any better about Oshang. 

“I think you are too harsh on your ancestor.”  Hoscoe said, as if reading my mind.  “When you are a leader of so many, you must make choices.  They are not always pleasant, and they are not always the best.  But as one who has led thousands, I tell you this … I believe he made what he felt was the best choice for his purpose.”

Hoscoe let that settle on my mind and continued, “We do not have all of the facts.  And before you make a decision, a good leader always wants all of the facts.  You may not always get them, but it is important that you try.”

He pointed to where the Dsh’Tharr Mountains seemed to descend below the surface and remerge to the south into the Dsh’Nyarr range, “We traveled here, as well.  We found a stone hand holding an elvin sword, the Scared Rock, and several long abandoned dwellings of houses built into the high up cliffs.”  He shrugged, “But no sign of where Oshang and his forces may have been attacked, or anything comparable.”

We both glanced at each other.  Like him or not, it would be interesting to know what really happened.

Below Aeshea, Hoscoe had drawn in a beautiful representation of Rok’Shutai.  Off of the southeast corner of Aeshea were the Kadmus Isles, then the smaller continent of Lh’Gohria.  Way off to the east, the desert continent of Fn’Jaht.  There was more, but that was the jist of it.  Cities, lakes, points of battle, so much detail.

I ran my fingers gingerly across the map.  “So this is what you wanted to show me?  Hoscoe, this is nice.”

He smiled, “Let us get some coffee.”

___________________________

 

Sitting on the edge of my chair, sipping on a three-quarter empty cup of coffee, I listened and watched intently as Hoscoe delivered his study and speculations to me.  His right hand was widely animated as his left kept the ever-present mug level and non-splashing. 

“Listen,” he began, “ever since there have been two or more individuals in one local, there have been disagreements, arguments, and ultimately battles and wars.  We hear about it more often now, because there is a much greater population.  But the ratio per capita for conflict is about the same. 

“When you travel much, you see and hear of more conflict.  If you stay in one place, which the greater percentage of persons do, you see it occasionally to rare, and hear of it in far off places when you associate in gathering.

“Living here, it would seem the cognobin occupation is a matter of potential conquestidorial threat.  But I think that is looking at the matter from the wrong perspective.  Indeed, I do not believe the cognobins care about the people of Keoghnariu, except as a possible source of food.  Nor do I think they care about the mines, any of them.”

He walked over to the original map and showed me, “Now here, here, and here …” he pointed to various regions on the map, none with any particular pattern, “… are the locations where the cognobins have emerged.  And then they stopped, for the most part, when Meidra disappeared.  But cognobin altercations have still occurred, mostly with what is left of the Tiskites, that lizardly man-like species from the jungles.  Not that that is a bad thing, of course.  But, still.

“It is as if the cognobins have had no direction.  Nor have they shown interest in the old Minotaur ruins, here, in the eastern mountain ridge.”  He looked at his map, “It seems they are more congregated here, around these pyramids to the south.” 

Stepping back, it was as if he was admiring his handiwork.  “It would appear,” he speculated, “from the information we have, that they are staying away from the Kalki-Shurma and Mhn’O’Quai Jungle interiors.” He added as if the thought just occurred to him, “Which may indicate they fear the Lihtosax, and that could be useful.”

I asked, “Where do Xiahstoi and Wihlabahk fit in?”

Lost in thought, Hoscoe then answered, “I do not believe Xiahstoi is going to be a factor.  As to Wihlabahk, we will have to deal with that bird when it shows itself.”

Then Hoscoe turned back to the world map, and looked at me with an almost giddy smile, “But let us look at things from this perspective.”  He started pointing at different locations and talked of battles, uprisings, close groupings of political murders and overthrows with punctual details, all of these things which had gone on in the last ten or twelve years or so.

As I listened and watched, I was clearly fascinated, but didn’t see how it all came together.  As he went on, however, I began to see a pattern emerge.  Like he had said, it wasn’t something you might think about living in any particular location.  But if you looked at it as we were, now …

Down in the Southern Sahrjiun regions, Phalquas had been preaching up a storm that he was on parallel with all the gods and deserved worship in his own right.  Those who stood with him, he preached, would reap the benefits when he gained absolute power.  In the meantime, he expected everyone to give up their lands and possessions for his use and glory.  The scary thing was that people had been falling for him for years, and all he did was talk.

Contending with the Phalquasites for regional territory was Marduk and the orgs he was trying to assemble into one nation.  If he succeeded, Hoscoe assured, Marduk would have the strength of over 10,000 seasoned org warriors.

Descending from the forbidden regions of the Hoshael Mountains was a bloody, witchcraft and ancestor worshiping horde of barbarians who simply called themselves, Rohoas Dahrnacus, interpreted as Red Dragon Cult.  They were systematically conquering the whole of the Genoal Plains country and creeping eastward.

For years, the Eayahnite faith had been permeating the ancient lands of Shudoquar, and trying to get a priest into the political hierarchy.

Way up in the frozen lands, with their patches of green, the realm of Val’Nahahl had been going through troubled times.  The followers of Loki had overthrown the Temple of Odin, and now had a Grand Chief who claimed to have taken possession of Thor’s Hammer.

In the Death Forest on the western side of the Gohbashai, a scary witch doctor named Yoh-yok-tan-xio was said to be able to raise the dead to do his bidding, and was talking of a Black Night in which all the world would become his domain.

And then drop back down to Keoghnariu with our cognobins who were once run, or at least influenced, by Meidra.  If you looked at the movements and projected movements of all of these groups, there were two things in common; they all involved some form of religious support or theme, and they were all starting to look like spokes in a giant wheel.  And the hub of that wheel?  Either the easternmost coast of the Phabeon Sea, or someplace in the central Kohntia Mountains.

“But why?” I asked when Hoscoe took a long drinking break from his mug.

“That’s just the thing.”  He offered me to join him to refresh our cups.  “The positioning indicates various forces moving with intent to a similar goal.  The distance, however, indicates most are too far apart to communicate, therefore alleviating the assumption that they are moving in concert.  Furthermore, none of their faith statutes are particularly agreeable.”

I reclaimed my chair, and he took one and sat across from me.

Savoring a sip of his coffee, Hoscoe then casually said, “Kohrinju Tómi.”

“Huh?”  I said.  “That’s an old elvin music term.  In times past, teachers of music would take several children to separate places, each were taught to play their own song, each song sounding like a separate piece of music.  But when they were all played together at the direction of a master, they made a beautiful harmonious arrangement.  It taught the students …”

“… that such things which may seem unrelated and significantly separate, may oft-times be integral parts of the same composition.”  Hoscoe smiled and took another sip of coffee, which he savored for long time as we sat there without word.

Hoscoe then offered, “Th’Khai once discussed what he called the Kohrinju Principle.  He believed there was once a tendril, a web of connection …” he waved his mug around trying to grasp the right words, “… which not only tied various places on Orucean together, but other worlds as well.”

Pushing his mug toward me to emphasize a point, Hoscoe continued, “But here is the kicker, he believed events here, were affecting events …” he waved his empty hand up toward the heavens, “… out there, and vice versa.  Only he could not prove it.”

I savored my own coffee, then I asked, “What do you think?  You knew him well, traveled and studied with him.  Was he crazy?”

Hoscoe thought about it, tilted his head, and I got the idea he wasn’t sure, in spite of the fact Th’Khai was his teacher.  Hoscoe had learned a lot from him, for sure, but his own people had cast him out.  Of course, those were the same people who didn’t try to rescue my momma.  I still had problems with that, even if they thought she was dead, I would think they could have looked to make sure, whatever.

Slightly changing the subject, Hoscoe said, “There is a closely guarded prophecy at Ch’Hahnju.  The Prime Minister, Sha’Rhunza, boasts that elves are in no way mentioned, but the word is that all men will die by fire and the world torn asunder, by which only a marginal few will survive.  This is supposed to occur during the Fourth World Wide War. She refuses to let the document be seen, but the ruling circle is dogmatic about its existence and antiquity.  They insist the few refers to Elvin-Kind.

“Th’Khai brushed it off as rubbish, but I have been wondering of late …”  Hoscoe pulled on his goatee, and then mused, “If you count the Dragon Wars, which were over before the elves even arrived, there have been four wars to span the known world …” he tilted his head, “… technically.  And this is the position for which Th’Khai argued.

“But … if one wishes to be truly technical … the Dragon War had nothing to do with the time of elves, humans and d’warvec.  From 1712-1714 ED was the Dorhune-D’Rhoaw War, which didn’t physically cover the globe, but involved all peoples in existence at that time.  Hence, it could be categorized as a World War.

“From 3172-3188 ED was the Kl’Duryq War, which did indeed span the globe.

“But from 4190-4316 ED was yet another war which spanned the globe, but from beneath the surface, and we did not see it.”

Now, this I knew nothing about.  I leaned even more forward, as if that would help me hear better.

“The Aquars ...” Hoscoe said, as if the word explained everything.

I scrunched my forehead, I didn’t get it.

“The Aquatic Wars, Aquars.”  He seemed to be exasperated and continued, “There were at one time, one hundred and nineteen established aquatic cultures.  Some of these had developed devices for propulsion and they had their own expression of magical usage. 

“The Scepter of Neptune was said to have been found in the saltwater Cave of Delphi, and they all but wiped themselves out to claim right to possess the scepter.  This was also the period in history with the greatest number of reported sea serpent and monster sightings.  These were not beasts scavenging the oceans, they were creatures used for the sake of war. 

“Some of the remnants of these cultures are said to still survive, and unions of Aquastikarrs with terrain dwellers are said to have resulted in those with the genes for sorcery. “

Holding up my hands I said, “Wait, wait, wait a minute.  A quasitikik- what?”

“Aquastikarrs.  Someone akin to a wizard, but who does not prepare spells from books and such.  According to Th’Khai, wizards can tap into something called the Eldoritch Field and shape this energy through sounds, components and specialized hand gestures.  These are so refined and sophisticated; books are needed to record patterns of use, components needed, and so on.  Much like your physical training, the more they practice and study, the more Eldoritch energy they can contain and harness at a given time, but each person has an inborn maximum potential.”

I interrupted, politely of course, but still, “I thought sorcery, wizardry, mage work … I thought it was all the same thing.”

Hoscoe raised his eyebrows in an implied warning, “Do not tell one of them that.  Each believes the other to be an inferior practitioner.  Again, according to Th’Khai, they tap into the same Eldoritch field, but in different ways.  The Aquastikarr can do it at will, but they must learn specific manifestations through grueling hours of practice, and they are not nearly as versatile as the wizard.  It is almost like having a talent you must cultivate, but the latent capability is there from birth.  Ultimately, their body is a living conduit into the Eldoritch field, but with limits.

“A wizard, however, must also be born with a certain gene enabling the ability to do what he or she does, but theirs is more of a mental and physical discipline.  To the observer, however, one might as well be the other.  So the terms are interchanged from lack of knowledge, or consideration.”

Nodding, I got the picture, sort of.  I wished I could have met Th’Khai.  He sounded like someone who really knew his history.  I had millions of questions I would have liked to ask him.  Well, maybe not millions, but a lot.

“So, back to the subject at hand, this war could be counted, or not, as one of the Four Wars.  It would depend on who was making the determination, which is a dominant problem with interpreting prophecy.

“Whatever the case, it is my belief we are headed into a major conflict, perhaps of world wide nature.  I cannot say, I have had access to knowledge aside from Aeshea, not in the last several years.”  With that, he sat back in his chair and carefully sipped his coffee. 

“This,” he said, referring to his drink, “I have always had imported directly from N’Ville, and these particular beans are grown only in Lh’Gohria, until now.  Often times I would receive a news writing from N’Ville, and what I might gain from couriers traveling here and there.  Of course, now …” there was no reason for him to continue.

When he said until now, Hoscoe was referring to my major contribution for his comfort, here.  I had managed to *Heal* some of his roasted beans and cause some of them to sprout.  Most of the plants in his quarters were coffee bean plants.  I tended them regularly and touched them often, keeping them continually producing beans.  Sometimes he called them bonsai beans, but they were full sized and still carried that rich flavor he loved.  I had to admit I had grown to like it as well.

Together we sipped coffee and said nothing.  And then I asked, “Why?”

Hoscoe wiped his mouth, and then said, “I do not know.  You see, I cannot find a motive.  Many believe this world is going to end when the alignment occurs.  Many believe the gods are coming.  Others seem to be planning a world conquest after the alignment.”

Turning to look at his map he thought some more and said, “If I were planning something like this, however … if I were positioning armies in such a way … if I were on a quest for continental, or even world conquest …” 

Very deliberately, as if making a critical move in a chess game with someone whose tactics he didn’t know, Hoscoe then said, “It is my gut feeling that someone is planning to make war, before the alignment.  And the objective has nothing to do with territorial resources or some sort of vendetta.” 

Getting up and moving back to the map he said, “It is my feeling … that the prize these armies are after must be won precluding the eve of transition from 5168 to 5169 ED.  That is approximately thirty-five years from now.

“I do not know what the prize might be, or why they want it, but I believe it is here.”  He pointed at a very specific place in the middle of the Phabeon Sea, a place where a blurred image representing a city was painted in.  “And to get to it,” he added gravely, “they will have to grow gills … or drain the entire basin.”

I got up and walked over to look for myself, but I didn’t really need to.  Hoscoe’s finger was dead on the ancient elvin city of Phabeous.  ‘To drain the entire sea,’ I thought.  In a subtle blur I saw a line I hadn’t noticed before, the original river bed of the Teshucarr River.

If the sea were drained, based on the contours of the land and any possible course the Teshucarr might take in its flow to the ocean, it would place the ancient city to the east of the river, regardless.  And of all the forces Hoscoe had identified on his map, these cognobins would have an easy go of getting there first.

Looking back at the original map of the entire Jho’Menquita Territory, I traced an imaginary line between the bulk of cognobin forces and the Pehnaché River Canyon Bridge.  The young city of Kiubejhan was right in the middle, and based on what Hoscoe was saying, they weren’t going to wait thirty-five years.

Chapter   40

________________________

 

 

THE EMDEJON FALLS were estimated to be three hundred and eighty-five feet tall, and believed to be the tallest waterfall in the world.  Hoscoe said it was the only way to drain the Phabeon Sea, if that was to be done at all.  What he meant was, to drain the Phabeon, the falls would have to be somehow destroyed.

“As you know, the sea has not always been here.  It was created during the Kl’Duryq War, when the Symboli Maidens were brought down to choke up the river.  There is a painting of it in the Cahf Nl’Ouan.  Twin pillars of rock standing, oh, way high, like a colossal fork up to the heavens.

“The Teshucarr flowed east of the Emdejon Hills, down through Leuma’s Gap and still winds south to fall into the Argos Ocean.”  Hoscoe’s face became one of awe.  “Magnificent, truly a work of natural beauty.  The falls are perhaps a bit more than one hundred and sixty feet high and you can see a cave or two behind the water.  There is no way to get in there, though.  Sailors believe there is a guardian dragon living in there, although no one has ever seen it, nor is there any evidence it exists. 

“Those who sail around Cape D’Vhall like to journey past the Teshucarr Falls to see the splendor.  It is one of the wonders of the world, and when the sun hits it just right, you can see all of the colors of the prism.”

“You speak like you’ve seen it, Hoscoe.”

He smiled an old smile, in his eyes were a haunted look, “Yes, Wolf.  I have seen it.”

“What?!  When?”

I couldn’t tell if Hoscoe was trying to decide what not to tell me, or if it were so long ago he was trying to remember.  Then he explained, “It has been many years past.  A group of eleven of us came looking for an artifact called the ‘Eye of Anu-Rah.’  Reportedly one could gain knowledge of past, present and even the future.” 

He said sort of sheepishly, “I had hoped to solve the puzzle of Oshang, myself, and it sounded like the best way to gain some information.”  He raised his eyebrows, “Well, it was a thought.  But, we never found it.

“Two of us were caught in those damned Lihtosax webs, Tiskites accounted for three more and … well … anyway.  Only four of us made it out.”

Hoscoe turned to the Territory map and pointed along the Teshucarr River, “Around here, maybe four easy days ride from where the Brosman Iron Mine is now, there is a cul-de-sac with an ancient gateway built into the side of the mountain. 

“We had found an old man whose tongue had been removed, but who supposedly knew the magical password to get us through.  When we got there, however, none of us could pronounce it correctly.  Or else it was fraud.  According to story, there is a tunnel called Cherron’s Road, and if you make it through, there is an ancient staircase down to the Teshucarr River.

“There is supposed to be an old trail which you can travel past the worst of the rapids, and there are supposed to be several which could be class five.  In any case, there is a flat place where a small wood grows.  From there, an old hanging bridge is supposed to carry you to the other side.

“We had hoped to go that way and perhaps find Xibalba and hunt around, or even go in there.  But we were caught in a bloody fight with the Tiskites and five of us were captured.  We were all wounded, but managed to break free and finally made it to the Pehnaché Bridge. 

“Before we made the bridge, though, we had to fend off attacks from Attaracks, and us without weapons.” 

There was a moment of silence before he continued, “There … was nothing we could do.  I can still hear him scream.”  Hoscoe closed his eyes and shook his head.

Pulling up his mantle, he exposed his back. I saw a network of scars from what looked like claw marks and teeth.  “He was my good friend.  The others had to pull me out of there.

“Telling his wife was a challenge, and looking into the brown eyes of his little son.  Well … we go on.  We must.  It is a part of being a man, or woman, of war.  When you battle long enough, you eventually lose someone you care about.  And it will happen more than once.  The best thing you can do is honor their memory from time to time.”

He seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts and came back to the puzzle, “The falls.  I do not know how they could be brought down.  It would take something huge, and even then probably something magical.”

“I was thinking about the elemental creatures, you know, when Meidra disappeared.”

“Yes, Wolf, so was I.”

“So, what do we do?  What can we do?”

Hoscoe glanced at me with a chuckle, thought, and clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Now you are thinking like Oshang.”

I scowled and he chuckled some more, “We keep our eyes open.  And then we do what needs be done, when the time comes.”

“But what would that be?  We’re kept in here in the city, you aren’t allowed to ride, and what would we be looking for?  How much can we do, anyway?”

“What our parts in the play might be, who knows?  Something to remember, however, one person can oft times make all of the difference.  In the meantime, we look for what is not natural.  Then we plot our solution and carry on from there.” 

He looked out the window, “When the cognobins first started making appearances, it was summer time and there were strange changes in the weather.  I think we may be out of the city soon, but Wolf, I do not think the cognobins are the real problem.”

“Then, what is the real problem?”

His breath was deep, and then he replied, “I am still working on that issue, but I do not think we’ve seen it yet.  In fact, I am sure we have not.”

___________________________

 

Before leaving that evening, Hoscoe took the time to say, “About Gohruvae, he has a solid reputation.  I think you have made a good friend.  Actually, I think you have made several good friends.  You have done well.”

I started to go to my quarters when he stopped me, “How about Riana?”

“What about her?”  I began to flush a bit.

Hoscoe winked at me, “I think you should call on her.  She seems like a nice young lady.”

I walked to my quarters.  Yes, she was.  And I had thought about her several times.  But what about Lath?  She still came to my mind as well.  And I had only seen her that once, well twice, over three years ago.

At chow the next morning I asked Izner about, what if, there had been a girl, you know, somewhere way off, and you felt something, but didn’t know what, but you saw someone else who was nice, but what about …

Izner had a mouth full of eggs, morning steak and biscuit.  He tried to talk, bounced his head while trying to chew in a hurry, then washed it down with hot tea and wiping his mouth with a napkin asked, “You mean Riana?”

Looking around a bit, I answered, “Yeah.”

He laughed and said, “Hey mate, she’s nice, and I hear she really likes you.  But it ain’t like your goin’ to marry her.  See her, like her, and it’s okay.  You could have your pick of the girls, you know?  But decide what kind of reputation you want.  Cause she’ll tell everyone, whatever you do.”  He then went on about his string of broken hearts going back to when he was six years old, or something like that.

Izner’s words brought back the many times Hoscoe had talked about treating a lady right.  “Women will respect a gentleman, but many tend to sleep with gnolls.  But don’t you be the fool, either.  There is a proper and improper way about everything.  The thing to do is be a man of class from beginning to end, regardless.”

Humday continued to be my night at Baldwin’s, and I played with the Dom and band on Munday and Thursday evenings.

Ander went with me one afternoon and we stopped in at the Lynmire Dress Boutique.  Sure enough, Riana was in there and when she saw me she got real excited.  It had been two weeks since the ball, but she knew soldiers are real busy, or so she said.  Anyway, we talked a little and we set an evening when I could come over to her parent’s home to have tea.

We did that several times; it was real nice and her family was very pleasant.  Every time I was with her, though, I would always get this hot feeling all throughout my body.  It wasn’t something I was used to, but it felt good, almost empowering.

Something was bothering me though.  I was becoming irritable a lot lately.  There was nothing I could pinpoint as being wrong, but deep down inside I felt angry; angry and agitated.  Once I snapped off a comment to Ander, and then immediately apologized. 

“Hey, mate, it’s alright.”  He said.  “What’s wrong?  Do you want to talk about it?  Did Riana say or do something?”

“No.”  I answered.  Shaking my head I said, “I don’t know what it is.”  And with that I excused myself and went to my quarters.  Even playing the guitar was sometimes irritating, and I was still having trouble sleeping at night.

  For two months Riana and I met occasionally for tea, and one evening we went to the rooftop to look at the stars.  It was our first time actually being alone.  Courting in the city was a carefully watched over affair.  They say in Malone guys and gals just go out all over the place, no chaperones or anything.  But here, it was very formal, a lot like they say it is in Vedoa.

I felt a little awkward, but we started talking about the strange weather patterns, the clear sky and the stars.  I pointed out the Archer and some other constellations and after a while we were just quiet.  I found her hand in mine and warmth went all through my body.  It got a little tough for me to breathe and then I felt power surge up through me.  I found it hard to control, for I had nothing to use it for and no reason for it to be manifesting.  A gentle wind blew and my hair got that tingling feeling again.  I looked at her and her red hair was blowing as well. 

Riana looked up at me and I knew she could feel something, and she took my other hand.  I could feel my energy gently flow into her and her eyes widened a little.  She took a deep breath and smiled at me.  When our lips touched for the first time, it was like nothing I could ever explain.

Leaving her home that night I had a hard time keeping my feet on the ground.  I mean I felt so empowered I might could have floated to the moons.  But it touched something else too, something deep within me.  Kissing Riana was the sweetest moment I had ever experienced, so what was this other thing?  It almost felt like an awakening.

My breath came in hard and labored for a brief time, and I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts.  I felt like an animal, like something primitive and wild.  Arriving at my quarters and laying down, I had a hard time getting to sleep.

The next day I felt crabby and had to watch myself carefully, so as not to get into an argument with anyone.

When evening came, and it was time for me to work out with Hoscoe, I didn’t want to be there.  I don’t know where I wanted to be, but not there.  He came in and was watching me carefully.  In fact, I noticed he had been watching me a lot lately.  When I would ask him why, he would shrug his shoulders and hold his hands up as if to say, nothing in particular.

But that look was starting to get on my nerves, and it aggravated me now.  If he had something to say, why didn’t he go ahead and say it.  I shook my head violently to clear my thoughts.

Casually, but with what seemed like a subtle edge to his voice, Hoscoe asked, “What’s the problem?  Are you shirking your education?”

I looked at him suddenly and with anger.  What was he talking about?  Shirking?  I wasn’t shirking anything.  “I’m here aren’t I?”  I retorted.  What was wrong with me?  I had no business talking with him that way. 

Calmly, Hoscoe poured his coffee, and then walked to the center of the floor.

“Whenever you’re ready …” He took a sip and I vaulted at him and slashed hard as he met my blade with an effortless movement.  It dawned upon me I had not taken time to give him salute or exchange any form of courtesy.  But inside, I felt that burn.  Suddenly I didn’t care.  It was a silly custom, anyway.  This was about fighting!

With rapid fire, I levied assault after assault at Hoscoe.  Each time he kept batting me away, touching this body part or that, but he said not a word.  I struck at him hard, and watched him sip that damned coffee mug while smacking my hand numb, knocking my blade out of hand, and then sweeping me off of my feet.

Anger … no, rage … was it rage?  What was this filling me, begging for release? 

“Again,” Hoscoe said, and as I got to my feet he flipped my sword to me off of the floor with his own blade tip.  What an insult.

My next charge should have worked, it really should have.  I wanted to catch him off guard with a sudden movement, so the moment I caught the sword I lunged, but he brushed me off easily and with a kick to the rump sent me hard into a post.  From deep within I felt the rage meet the heat from So’Yeth.  Leaning my head against the post I tried to shake my head clear, but it wasn’t working.

That primitive, wild feeling of raw power rushed through me and pounded my skull, seeking, begging for release.  My hands were trembling and my breathing became very deep.  Something wanted out.

“What is your problem?” asked Hoscoe, almost contemptuously, “Is that all you’ve got?”

When I opened my eyes I felt a rush of energy from my feet to my head.  The hairs of my arm tingled and I felt my eyes narrow to slits.  From my throat came a low growl, such as might come from a savage beast.  I let it go.

___________________________

 

Turning around I saw the room and smelled sweat.  I heard the rustle of mice scurry from the room.  Through the hard packed dirt below my feet I was *Aware* of something repeatedly pelting the ground outside.  A surge of something like electricity charged my body, and I liked it.

The man before me stood with a training sword in hand.  Where he had been standing in a relaxed cat stance, he now slowly adjusted his posture and his demeanor changed.

I knew this man, this human.  His name was Hoscoe.  He had been a general once, then a guard, and he had been training me for three years.  But now he was my opponent and he was taunting me into a fight.  Was that a cup he held in the one hand?  Did he not know that cup was useless?  It was nothing more than a distraction, a taunt.  Nothing more.