She was one of their champions and had dominated her spot for years, so I was told, and a favorite. Her fighting reminded me of an angry cat mixed with a viper, really scary. Our battle was one of gymnastics and agility, leaps, rolls, aerial acrobatics and blood. For a time, there, I thought I might get my death wish. The trouble was, I had too much fight in me to go out slow, I needed to be killed quick, and I had learned a quick death was not likely in the pits unless you were a newbie at the bottom of the card. I had learned that the slower my death, the better the crowd would like it; I had become a main eventer.
Reaching into So’Yeth, I found my resolution and applied *Stone Bones*.
As I began to take the upper hand, things started coming out of the walls. I mean that literally; spikes poked out, vertical bladed edges, whirling saw blades at various angles … I now knew how blood spatter got up into those seats.
Focusing on keeping the smell of Morning Glory out of my system, where her next strike was coming from, and the placement of those furniture fixings, I went deep into my own energy to *Slow* everything down … got the predictable timing of her next few movements … and then as she leapt for an attack, I leapt over her and grabbed her tail out of an aerial roll, landed into a full spinning movement, and whirling her once, twice, three times, I let her fly into one of those revolving saw blades.
And the crowd went wild.
Back in my holding cell, Edgarfield came over and demanded privacy. He was nodding his head, but then he asked, “What is it with you and your sex? I am being offered premiums for a roll with you. They are lining up, actually.”
I hadn’t sat down yet, and I just turned and looked at him, “You want me to fight,” I held up my fists, “I’ll fight. And you’ll make money.” I walked close to the edge of the bars, “But I’m no animal to breed at your disclosure.” What made me do it, I can’t say, it seems I do a lot of things on the whim, but I grabbed the wooden bars and spoke low and menacing, “I could have killed her …” thorns started to grow out of the wood, “… dam-m-mned quick.”
It would be the only time I ever saw him lose emotional control, if only for a moment, as he eyed those thorns and slowly stood back with his hands up and take a long, deep breath. Regaining his composer he eyed me carefully. Then he nodded slowly and asked, “Then, would you see to a compromise?”
___________________________
After I had bathed and eaten, Edgarfield led a small party of males and females toward my cell. I was nude and as I saw the groupies I let out a small, extended growl. They had come to watch one or more of their own get lucky.
The female who entered was painted in demonic tattoos, had piercing in places I wouldn’t consider safe to venture even if I wanted to, and she reeked of dried alcohol and drugs. Many of those piercings were tied together by tiny little chains. I could sense her lungs were already coated in slow death by the smell of her breath, and the aroma of her body spoke loudly of disease, the kind Doc said was transmitted through sex.
Clearly she thought she was hot and special, and she walked so seductively around me, verbally offering me pleasures I could find nowhere else. What clothing she had on she dropped and stood with her legs wide apart. With a sexy voice she said, “Come and get me, baby …” So from my reclining position I lunged at her as she screamed. I grabbed a handful of chain and ripped as her groupies shrieked in entertained horror.
Seizing her by the hair, I threw her into the bars and then lifting her over my head I body slammed her into the floor. Flipping her onto her belly I grabbed the hair so it tore in places at the scalp and hissed at her with a growl the others could hear, “You wanna hump, bitch? When I’m done with you they’ll have to pierce you back together.”
She fought valiantly to get out from under me as she cried and yelled, “Get that crazy thing off me!”
I accidentally let her escape to the door being opened by Edgarfield as her friends squealed with delight. Edgarfield said, “I told you he was feral, he’s uncontrollable.” He eyed the pack, “You’ve all paid for the chance to get lucky; who’s next?”
One tall human male looked at me a moment, and I eyed him back. His hair was cut short except for a long braided rattail hanging down his back. On his ankle was a braided piece of indiscernible material which was long unwashed and I couldn’t help notice his feet were crusty filthy, as if he rarely to never wore shoes. A tattoo of what must have been a badly drawn caricature of himself, with his foot high in the air, was embossed within a triangle on his left chest. Otherwise he was naked and apparently proud of himself. I passed my gaze to his privates and wrapped my right hand into a fist in the air, then with a sadistic grin I pulled down hard and pretended to throw something away. Immediately after, I chomped my front teeth together as I had watched some rats do, and then sucked air loudly against my slurping tongue.
Mr. Studly turned white, grabbed at his crotch and ran down the hall with a sound of anguish, his bare feet slapping a cowardly rhythm against the stone floor. As he left I could smell a trail of Morning Glory flowing from the pores of his skin. When they had all gone Edgarfield gave me an appraising look, said nothing, and nodding his head walked away. That was the last time he put me in a cell with wooden bars.
We worked Stafford for six weeks and I fought four more times. It was during our last week and the night before my last fight I got company. Somehow I knew it would happen, so when I felt the catlike footsteps in the hallway and heard the voice I wasn’t surprised.
“Hello my brother.” It was that same, I am cool and in control, voice he had always used.
“You … are not my brother.”
I could hear the smirk from the shadows, “Of course not. You look good out there, you know? I, we’ve made some good coin betting on you.” He waited for a response, and didn’t get one. “I can get you out of here, it would be easy.”
“And what, would I have to do in return?”
“Help me kill someone.”
“I would think you wouldn’t need my help.”
He moved so the moonlight of my cell window would play on the iron bars of the door. “You have certain skills I don’t have.”
“Who do you want killed and why?”
“Why is my business; as to who, it’s someone you know.”
My curiosity was up, now. I didn’t know anyone, not up here in the north, anyway. At least I didn’t think I did.
“King Patriohr of Keoghnariu.”
“King Pat- … how … when?” I was stunned.
Uven looked at me with a cruel smile, “You didn’t know? Ah, you’ve been too busy fighting and killing. It’s only been a few months ago, he came up with a resistance army and killed King Aldivert in a one-on-one duel. Seems he and a few others had been hiding out in mountains, just waiting for the right opportunity.”
Uven winked at me then, “You should see his queen. Nice red headed tart named Riana.”
I couldn’t have been hurt worse if he had skewered me with a hot iron poker. And then I realized, “Cielizabeg, she wanted you to tell me that didn’t she?”
He stared into my eyes and I suddenly felt something inside my mind, searching for my fears, I could tell. I opened my mind quickly and let him in, but only for a moment, and then I tried to reach mental fingers within his, kind of like what happened with Meidra.
Uven jumped back quickly, startled and alert, and I sneered at him, “You think like you are the only one who has any skills. We’ll meet by sword one day, and we’ll see how good you are.”
He had pressed to see inside, but by letting him inside my mind so quickly was the equivalent of letting an eaves-dropper fall through the door. I had taken his footing and seen into his own surface thoughts. Uven, on the other hand, hadn’t had time to see within mine. From now on I would have to be careful. He stepped back and left.
Patriohr was in no danger, not now, anyway. He, Izner and Dudley had all gotten away. How was not clear, but they had joined with Lahrcus and eventually took back Kiubejhan. My friends were not dead, not all of them, anyway, I had not failed. I looked at my hands and cursed myself for a fool. All of this time … and I thought of Riana. Somehow Cielizabeg had learned of the two of us, and she wanted me to know my lady was now in the arms of another.
All of that I got in a matter of a couple of seconds. It made me wonder what else was on his mind, and could I develop the same kind of skills? One of the things I had tried to do when training with, with … was to read other’s thoughts, but I had never come close. I could join the minds of animals, but not humans. Could I do it with elves, I wondered not for the first time? I thought of those couple times with my momma …
As to Riana, a small fantasy which had kept me going was the thought of getting out of all of this, riding up to Riana, swooping her up, and going away to live happily ever after. That was now gone. Riana and Patriohr, there were many mixed feelings about the union. I hurt.
Where I once felt guilt and grief, I plummeted into personal despair and self-pity. When I fought that night, I almost died, but when I came around there was a whole new aspect of my persona. I now wanted to punish everyone and everything. This time it was a man who looked like one giant muscle. And he was good, I’ll give him that. But when I let go, I held nothing back and I was cruel.
The trigger was when he looked down at me and called me a spike. I looked at his feet, then up at him, and with all the degradation I could muster said, “You human.” I allowed all the hate I ever felt to fill and wash through me, and it became my strength for years to come.
Things of beauty no longer registered in my mind. When we entered Dahruban, I didn’t see the amazing architecture, I only saw forward to the next fight, to the next time I could wreck my rage.
Twenty-seven months, that’s how long we were in Dahruban. Never before had anyone lasted as long as the City-State Champion. The coliseum chanted my name in fervor; GO-JAI, GO-JAI, GO-JAI, waiting to see who might take me out, and waiting to see what I might do. I gave myself to it, drawing from their sound to fuel my own rage; where once I harnessed musical notes, I now harnessed the spectators’ roar.
After completing my kill, one evening, I looked down at the remains of my adversary and suddenly I heard Ander ask, “You could be famous, Wolf. Imagine everyone chanting your name and coming just to see you, by the thousands, even?” The words came to me hard, and I looked up to see the crowd. Inside, I cried, I was ashamed and felt myself draw back, just pull away from the reality of my existence.
Every intelligent species, male and female, I fought them without feeling of remorse; and then I would go to my concrete holding cell and try not to think at all. But then came the day they took me out and I was left in the center of the coliseum, alone.
Something was different this time, and Edgarfield had not come to my cell as usual to look at me. The chanting was strong, and then from the north direction of the base wall a door opened and out came the first tiger I had actually ever seen. She was easily eight hundred and fifty pounds and she was hungry.
The tigress didn’t come at me all at once, but circled me and sniffed me out. This, I thought, was not part of the deal. I did not kill animals for sport; people, no problem. They probably deserved it, but not an animal. Where that sentiment came from, I wasn’t sure, but it rose up from the core of my being, strong and firm.
She was getting worked up and the crowd wasn’t helping matters, but I extended my hand and reached out to *Mind Link* with her feline mind, [Friend]. She was mad and had experienced the coliseum thing before, and she snarled at me. We circled around each other, she sizing me up and building her speed and I intently cautious and wary, all the while my hand was outstretched, my mind reaching. Then I began to hum, a soft and soothing hum as I drew power from the sound of the crowd.
Slowly, I felt her open her mind to me and embrace my soothing emanations. Ever so carefully I moved close to her, and then I was able to pet her. She sat down and I began to scratch her ears as the crowd went ballistic with boos and cries of fraud.
The lovers of blood and carnage are a fickle bunch. I tell you they will turn on one of their own as fast as the flip of a coin. Such as it was with Edgarfield; for three years he was the top person in his field, then with my taming of the tiger his status was gone within seconds.
Facts did not matter in this case; the people believed the whole thing had been rigged and somehow went down badly. Arguments with the officials were not my problem, nor did I feel sorry for Edgarfield. He made a fortune selling death as entertainment. With the exception that my high grade of food was gone, it bothered me not when we were closed down and had to leave the city.
Once more we took the Pihpikow Road westward, only I don’t think Edgarfield planned to push through to Shudoquar, I think he meant to head north by northwest and skirt the Alburin Sea. Four days into our journey, however, I watched him, late after camp had been set, go into the woods, find a nice tree, and hang himself.
Why did he did it, I don’t know. I have no idea what he said to anybody, what his personal conflicts might have been; and frankly I didn’t care. I just watched as he sought the right branch, tied his noose, and away from everyone else he ended his life.
The next morning they found him and someone asked if I had seen him do it.
My only response was to pick my fingernails with a twig and nod my head.
“Why didn’t you say something, you gods-damned spike?”
Taking my time I looked at the man levelly and responded, “Because you’re a human, and I don’t give a shizet about you or your damned gods.”
In a rage he pulled a knife, and before anyone could stop him he hurled it at me. Even as he whipped back to throw I performed a front roll from my sitting position; as the blade spun in my direction I stood, snatched his knife out of the air by the handle, did a cross-stepping pivot, and return snapped it through his mouth and into the back of his throat so that the point protruded out the back of his neck.
With a lowbrow challenge, I passed a gaze around the cluster and said with deadly calm, “Any more of you pigs want to try?”
Nobody moved, so I sat back down and resumed the cleaning of my nails.
________________________
SIX TIMES I was bought and sold before I fought again. Edgarfield’s entourage liquidated everything and then I guess the money split. There was much talk about shooting me and putting me out of everyone’s misery, but I was still a hot commodity in the ring, which meant I could still make someone lots of money.
Opportunities for escape again showed themselves a couple of times, and I believe I could have succeeded. The trouble was, I didn’t want to be free. In my mind I had nowhere to go, no purpose to fulfill. Now, I know that sounds dumb from someone on the outside. But have you ever heard people complain about their life, yet never make a move to change it? To do the same thing day after day and year after year, yet expect different results is just as dumb, if not dumber.
“Most people are born into slavery of one kind or another. They are slaves to their work, to working for someone else’s dreams or goals, whatever.” Who told me that? I didn’t want to think of it. I had become a slave to a system, I wasn’t happy, and I didn’t want to be happy. At the same time, my meals were prepared for me, I didn’t have to worry about making decisions, choosing what direction to travel, or be responsible for anything.
Responsibility, that was it … I didn’t want to be responsible for anything, or anyone, ever again. Responsibility meant pain, anguish, and loss. It meant screwing up and having to live with the guilt, and the eyes of people dying you can’t help, for the rest of your life. As a slave I could blame someone else, or circumstance, when things didn’t go well.
Besides, what would I do out there on my own? As a slave I did as I was told, as Hosc-, as a student I followed my studies as was prescribed, as a soldier I pursued the objective put before me according to the rules to which I had sworn. This way, as a fighter, the only person at risk was me. If I died, then so be it.
My name was changed to Killer Koyle as we went up the backside of the Alburin regions and I returned to the smaller pits. Not all of my fights were with prisoners or slaves, not any more. Some of my opponents just wanted to see how tough they were. As we traveled north into the Hilderkai Territory, I started encountering more d’warvec and a couple of times an elf.
It was in a small village that I saw Karthanook for the first time. I wasn’t here to fight, but to observe someone else I would probably have to fight later. Karthanook was still a preliminary, but already he had a propensity for sadism. He liked what he was doing in a passionate way. The way he stalked his opponent and his use of those feet were things that stayed with me. Somehow, I had a gut feeling we would meet one day.
In one village I caught a glimpse of an elvin lady from afar who made my heart skip a beat. Her hair was nearly black and rippled in the breeze, her features were clean, and I wondered if she might possibly be descended from the Ch’Hahnju Folk. She glanced up and saw our little procession and turned her head in disgust. It was like a blow to the pit of my stomach.
Riana, she would have turned her head, too, wouldn’t she? I had no right to think of Riana. She had found another, my dreams dashed forever. But what dreams? Were they not just fantasies? I mean, it had been at least four years when she … did I expect her to just wait?
And Patriohr … the thought of another man being with my … but, she wasn’t mine, was she? She said she would wait for me to return if I could. And I promised I would. A broken promise, I had broken my promise to her. I didn’t have to go after Sormiske, or did I?
Maybe I should have gone looking for my friends and not assumed they were dead. Maybe I should have gone straight to Aldivert and killed him, and then taken Riana. Maybe I could have paid more attention when I fought Sormiske, and I wouldn’t have fallen to those damn darts. Maybe, maybe, maybe …
Maybe I should pay more attention to what I was supposed to be doing … as the five foot tall d’warv I was supposed to be fighting picked me up and smashed me into the rocky pit floor. Daydreaming while in the ring with a champion d’warv of eight years isn’t a good idea.
Have you ever tried to kick a d’warv in the groin? Not a good idea, either. I haven’t seen one naked, but it isn’t there. I mean, they don’t have their testicles there, I don’t think. This one didn’t. And his fists were the size of a buffalo roast.
This guy was more of a wrestler who could punch, than a puncher who could grapple a little, and his timing was precise. His blows were faster than a d’warv had any right to have and he was really, really strong. He lifted me up and slammed me into the rock wall so hard I spit blood, and then he spun around and did it again. This he kept up for multiple repetitions, not allowing me to focus long enough to heal. Up to this point, it was the closest I had come to actually getting killed, and it went home somewhere in my mind that I didn’t really want to die.
For the first time in my fighting career, I suddenly found myself looking death in the face. This d’warv was going to do what none of the others could; he was going to kill me. He wasn’t insolent, he wasn’t strutting or posturing for the crowd. He was fighting because this was how he made his living. He let me fly and I hit the wall with my feet about three feet up from the floor, then I slid down onto my duff and sat there a dizzy moment trying to figure out where I was.
Everything was spinning and I tried to reach down into So’Yeth, but he picked me up again before I could make a real connection … then with cold realization I realized he knew.
He had watched and knew what to look for, and when I healed the first time he had picked up on it. I figured he had fought someone like me before. He knew just how long I needed to stay against the ground to touch the power.
As he held me in the air I hit his face, but without authority. He had hurt me and I was unprepared. Again he slammed me into the floor and I felt my hip crack. I was now genuinely afraid. There had to be something other than this. It was time to start thinking about it
With one hand he picked me up … ‘well, maybe now wasn’t the time to think’ … and threw me against the wall again … ‘at least, not about career options.’ The spectators were yelling at the top of their voice, and in this pit the volume echoed even louder.
Sound … could I focus on the sound?
He lifted me up and held me level to the ground against his chest …
I attempted to *Absorb the Sound*, it felt like a refreshing cup of tea …
He pressed me up over his head …
My hands on his arm I breathed out harshly and imagined a ball of energy, like what the warrior-elves had done, entering his arm …
A flash of light didn’t come from my palm, and he didn’t blow up, but he shook violently for a moment and dropped me as he staggered backward. Falling to the floor, I reached down hard and fast into So’Yeth. The rock was naturally part of the terrain and apparently had been built upon as a structural foundation, and I *Self Healed* … feeling severe pain as my hip came back together from at least three pieces.
The d’warv shook his head and arm, then looked at me. That was something he hadn’t counted on.
I focused all of the healing I could, as fast as I could. You hear stories of people who smack you on the head and say “Be healed,” but it doesn’t work that way. You need the natural ability, but it is a specialized discipline and it takes concentration.
As he came toward me I did a fast roll, absorbed the sound energy, and leaping off the wall back onto him, I indeed smacked him on the head and released the same effect as before. It was sort of electrical and it hurt, but it was one of those hurts-so-good type of hurts. His head jerked and again he backed off trying to shake it out. Landing on my feet, I went into an agonizingly painful roll to buy myself some distance and healed some more, that fellow had damaged me good. Reaching down I felt for the rock, and applied *Stone Bones*.
I say I make my bones like stone, but they don’t really. They just get really hard and my fists get tougher. When he came my way this time, I met him his way. I struck with two right jabs to his snout followed with a left cross to the jaw, then sliding to his left side, I ducked under him from behind while reaching up under his body with my right hand, grabbed the front of his belt from underneath, and rolled him over my body and onto his back.
He was used to throwing people, and D’Warvec Wrestling is about locking arms and tossing each other down. Yet he apparently knew nothing about break-falls, because his head cracked hard on the rock floor, and when I say cracked … I mean I believe it literally cracked.
When I got back to my feet, though, I knew he wasn’t done. From instinct he got up, and through blurred vision he tried to find me. This fellow was a warrior all the way through. As he turned I scooped him up onto my back, immediately wondering why I did that. He must have weighed at least two hundred and sixty pounds and shaped like a medicine ball, a medicine ball with tree-trunk arms and legs. I was committed to my movement, however.
Getting myself set, I secured my hands under his chest and thigh, and then hunkered down so my legs could assist me and hoisted him straight up and over my head. Two hundred and sixty pounds of d’warv is not the same as lifting a two hundred and sixty pound human, or a much heavier bar with weights on the end. But I held him for just long enough, and then puffing I knelt down and dropped him straight down on top of my knee.
I saw little lights everywhere for a moment and almost fell, but immediately I lifted him up into a sitting position and laced my left forearm under his chin and right arm behind his neck. Suddenly I didn’t want to kill this fellow. He was a d’warv, but he fought with heart and he was honest with his fists. Kneeling there on my left knee, I gazed at the crowd and in the far off background I could hear their cheering, almost as if it were coming from another world. My opponent was no longer the enemy, in my mind the true villain became society itself.
Did this d’warv have a child, a family somewhere? What led him down this path? I felt him start to struggle and I knew I had it to do. My trademark technique was to slowly choke the carotid artery of the neck until my opponent quit kicking. But not this time, I would never again give the crowd what they wanted. I jerked quickly, cleanly, but I did it with a thousand regrets. If I didn’t, he would not have understood. He would have pursued until one of us were dead, anyway.
As we left the pit house, off in the distance in the dark beside a tumble down hut, I saw that same elvin lady looking our way, and then at me, and once more I felt ashamed. She saw me look at her, and then she mounted a spotted horse and rode off into the wilderness.
___________________________
Following the Driadak River as far as Kohnarahs Bay border we traveled, and I felt my anticipation rise. Was it possible I could see U’Lahna, or to get her a message, or something? But what would I say or do? Would she believe she even had a brother?
The opportunity came for me to ask someone about U’Lahna, and the answer dashed my hopes. She had left some time ago to relocate south and work there. Where, the person didn’t know.
Pit-fighting wasn’t well thought of in the Kohnarahs, but it wasn’t actually illegal, so my owner of the time decided to take a chance. We spent about a year in that cold territory, and I loved it. The cold appealed to me, but my owner got sick and sold the whole troop, all four of us fighters, to pay health care. But he died, anyway.
My new owner was a skinny, unfriendly man who had been a bear hunter, named Franko. He stumbled on some gold and became rich, now he saw himself as the new Edgarfield and intended to make fortunes. He had watched me fight and kept the Killer Koyle moniker on me. He had heard Edgarfield had done well with an elf-buck, and he wanted to see if I had the same kind of stuff as that spike-eared Gojai did. Me, I never let on.
Taking me, two well-muscled humans, and a half-human and half-org named Ernt, Franko brought us back down the trail into Hilderkai as soon as the weather allowed. We each fought three times, and at the last stop one of our humans went down to Karthanook. As the hybrid snapped our man’s neck, he looked up to where I was and drew a line under his neck and then pointed at me.
Ernt gave me a look and a grunt, but I just eyed Karthanook carefully. I wanted out of this business, but Karthanook just made it personal. If you play with fire long enough, you will get burned. Was it possible to take him down and get out, all at the same time? Or was that pure ego talking?
Edgarfield said no one had ever lasted him seven years, and I had been doing this for well over eight. I had fought everything you could bait a humanoid with, short of using weapons. You could say I was living on borrowed time, and I knew it.
___________________________
Franko had big plans for himself, and as hard as it was to believe, he had been a pit-fighter himself. The word was he spent many a winter in villages supporting himself by sport fighting, which is not usually to the death, but could be. He bought several more pitters, a regional word for preliminary fighters, and then we set off for the western lands of Nahjiua.
There were a few women among the pitters, but one in particular I noticed had points on her ears. They weren’t as pronounced as mine, but they were there. She was much more mature than I, but she caught my interest and I learned her name was Debohra.
If fighters and slaves could get away with it, sex and rape was permitted, as long as it didn’t interfere with travel or fighting prowess. I never took part in all of that, nor did I ever interfere. I simply had never cared, but when a couple of the males started making rough with Debohra, something inside rankled. Was it because she was of similar blood? Was I taking up for my own? I had never thought of it, in fact, the only elf I had ever had a relationship of any kind with was my momma.
Whatever the reason, I said, “Leave her alone.”
I had only known some of these people for a few months, but even the guards poked each other and paid attention.
One of the males looked my way with a scowl and said, “Keep it to yourself. If you want a turn you can wait.”
“I no do if I you!” The voice was deeper than the gravel and I was astounded to hear it come from the half-org, Ernt. He was speaking directly to the male who had addressed me. The male was about to open his mouth again when Ernt imitated breaking a stick with those huge hands. Did I tell you Ernt reminded me of T-bone, only with a hair suit on and a messed up face with a bad under-bite? Well, he did, in case I didn’t.
Franko suddenly appeared and said, “Whoa, hoa. What is this? The start of an alpha struggle?” He looked to me who had just stood up, and the two males, one of who had his hand on Debohra’s arm. Looking back and forth, an evil grin came across Franko’s face.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I’ll let the three of you go at it, and the winner can keep the girl.”
Ernt looked at me, then at them, and then back at me. At that day and time, multi-man fighting didn’t go on in the pits, for that matter, weapons weren’t allowed either. It was always one-on-one by fist and skull. Ernt was curious, and I don’t blame him. He might have to fight me one day, and it’s always good to know your opponent’s skill.
It had been a long time since I had done proper warfare fighting, and something inside me invited this.
Watching only the spokesman, my *Awareness* felt the other try to sneak his way around behind me as we moved in a makeshift circle. Sneaky boy had bad balance and he moved to heavy on his heels. He tried to throw his manacles over my head, and I let him, but with both hands close to my chest. Mouth then charged in low.
Why do would-be toughs always try to charge in low? I brought my knee up and crunched his face. As he stood straight up, I pulled sneaky up on top of my back, then ducked low and under his right arm dragging his chain with me. He turned a flip and fell onto his back. I stepped forward beside his head and did a spinning side kick to mouth’s chest which lifted him into the air and onto his back with a thud, then with the same foot, brought it back to stomp the head of sneaky as he lay on the ground.
It was over as quick as that and both just lay there and groaned.
Looking carefully around at my audience as if addressing a class of young boys regarding etiquette, I said, “Always, always treat a woman with some class.” I passed my gaze to Debohra and offered my hand, and she walked to me with awe upon her face. It was the first time anyone had stood up for her for anything.
Franko told me later that as long as I performed well, she could stay mine. Right then I wasn’t sure what was going on, but later I figured out she became his way of keeping me in check. Without realizing it, I had revealed a weakness; I had a moral code. In our type of work, morality didn’t fit in. Up to then everyone just thought I was this heartless killer, almost everyone.
When I later asked Ernt why he spoke up, he looked at the haunch of meat he was eating and said, “I see you give you food to youngling.” He gnawed the bone of his meat, “You no should be here.”
By what small gestures can judgments be made? I didn’t remember giving any child my food. Nodding my head in thought of this half-breed org showing sentiment, I said, “Thank you.” He stopped eating and glanced at me, then started chewing again. I don’t think anyone had said that to him before.
Debohra had plain brown hair, hazel eyes and was much older than me, mature wise, and she didn’t know her ancestry. She had been taken from her momma when she was old enough to walk and put to work in the field. As she grew older and matured, she was sold to a pleasure house, and later she was used for breeding. Her last master had been hung for some kind of criminal activity and she was put on the block and advertised as having a few good service years left in her. Franko bought her and that was that.
It wasn’t true love, I knew that, but something about her made me feel needed, and she was good to me and for me. Debohra got me to tell her stories, and eventually to sing for her. The smile on her face made the music worth singing, but I kept it quiet just for us. In time I got her to sing with me, and I taught her my momma’s songs and some little bit of history.
Franko didn’t interfere, I was on the rise again, and he had heard that I had been the coliseum champion. All he saw was money in his pockets.
I knew this land of Nahjiua well, by story and description. It was wide, full of rolling hills and forests and was beautiful. Far to the west was where my momma’s people were supposed to live. Would I ever see them, I wondered. Looking to Debohra, I wondered how she would adapt to being free. If I could break out, would she go with me, would she want to?
We could pick some place to go, and I would take her there. Once out from the chains, I believed I could escape with her. I started to think and look for ways to get away, clean and clear. These guards were former military and were well trained. Escape for two would take more than just getting out of camp and would be tricky.
When we lay at night her hair would fall in that certain way I learned to like, and she enjoyed me pushing the loose strand or two away from her eyes. On the occasions I would have to fight, she would be there, she understood, and she helped me wash off the blood.
Over a year and a half we toured around Nahjiua and surrounding Wilderlands. Franko didn’t want to over fight us, and he wanted to cultivate a good name in pit-entertainment.
As for me, I took to looking to the far northwest. Up there somewhere was the Itahro Mountain range and an land of ice. For some reason the Gadriel’s Peak dominated my mind and I wondered how long it would take Debohra and I to reach it.
Would the elves up there accept me, us? Were they still even there? Was anyone left who might remember my momma? Again I thought of my twin, U’Lahna, the other sister who had died, Kalisha, and my younger brother, L’Sol. Would our paths ever cross? Was it possible we might have already seen each other and not known it?
I remember looking over at Deborah’s sleeping form and resolved to help her get free. We would make a home, and once all was good, I was going to hunt my brothers and sister. For better or worse, I wanted to know what had become of my family. And there was one more … I had made an oath to myself to find one other, I had sworn to find Lath and make her free.
Was that a silly self-promise of an adolescent for sake of fantasy? Why did that golden haired warrior still linger on my mind? Four times, only four times our eyes had made contact and never a word spoken. It had been years ago, but hadn’t there been some kind of connection, or was it my own imagination playing tricks with my memory?
What if I did find Lath, and if there was some kind of spark there, what would that mean to Deborah?
Reflecting over the last few years I was aware that her name had only come up on occasion as a reference. No one of her description had been seen since Edgarfield sold her years before. If I were to search for her, where would I begin, Aeshea was a big place.
The thought finally came to me the most likely truth was that she was dead. Fighters rarely if ever made it out alive. Perhaps the best thing for me was to accept she was indeed gone … another person I wanted to save, but couldn’t.
Again I looked at Deborah sleeping with a slight smile on her face, and I gently brushed the hair out of her eyes.
___________________________
The township of Verage was on the Shudoquar border and it was to be our last night there. I fought the main event, which was routine, and was being escorted back to Debohra and my holding cell when I noticed she wasn’t in there. I turned to ask where she was and completely missed the warning signs. My head was clubbed hard, and when I woke up I was fully shackled with my neck and wrists in a wide metal collar.
In front of me, kneeling was Franko, and he had a very bad face on. “Well now, what have we here?” He tapped me rather hard sideways on the head. “Have you been holding out on me?” He tapped me again. “Haven’t I been good to you? I let you keep your own whore … fed you right … even gave you some privacy.” He pulled out a scroll with a broken seal and waved it under my nose, then slapped me with it.
“You were supposed to knock her up, you bastard. Doesn’t it work?”
He looked around and laughed. Tilting his head to some of the males to the side he said, “They liked her. Liked her good.” Back at me he tapped me three quick times on the top of the head. It’s alright Mis-s-s-ter Tim-m-mber Wol-l-lf of the Ahn-n-nagor Mount-tains. Mis-s-s-ter Ma-a-ajor of Ke-og-na-riu. That’s right.” He waved the scroll in front of me again. “We have a special contract for you, back at Dahruban.” He stood up and kicked me in the face. “Now heal yourself of that. You son of a whore.”
My head reeled, and the surprise of it all started setting in. As I looked at Franko I knew that no matter what happened, I was going to kill him.
Someone came to him with an urgent message, and I strained to hear. The merchant band Franko had sold Debohra to had been wiped out by brigands. Only one person survived, and it was the messenger who just brought the word. We were on the way to Dahruban within the hour.
________________________
HATE, ANGUISH, LOATHING, more hate … that’s what I was feeling. Debohra had hurt nobody, and now she was dead, wiped out in a caravan not ten miles from the town. Straight to Dahruban we traveled, and every foot of the way I fumed and planned vengeance on them all. Only Ernt was exempt, he had been at the pit with me.
What I would do after I escaped, I wasn’t sure. My life had to mean something more than gladiatorial combat, but Franko was going down. And who wrote that letter? There was only one person I knew who could link me from the Ahnagohr’s to Keoghnariu, Uven.
Back in Dahruban, I fought six different matches over the course of seven weeks and spent the rest of the time in my holding cell. This evening, Ehnday of the ninth week, I would fight Karthanook. It had been what, around four years, since I had fought in this coliseum? Using my real name wasn’t fooling anyone, but the gimmick tag-line was a lot more catchy. These people hadn’t forgotten me, not one bit, and most of the guards remembered me as well.
The money on our fight tonight I heard was the biggest that had ever been laid down. For two weeks after my sixth fight the promoters hyped the bout as the match of the century. Some hopefuls were betting entire fortunes. Somebody was going home broke tonight, and somebody was going to find themselves rich. The odds were going down at three to five, in Karthanook’s favor, of course, but it was amazing who was betting for me.
Aristocracy were swarming for Karthanook, but the lower class, elvin-bloods, and an entire clan of d’warvec had come to bet on me. ‘Now that,’ I thought, ‘was irony for you; d’warvec betting on an elf.’
We were both put in separate cages surrounded by guards on the outside of the coliseum for the people to come and see. I knew the routine; all manner of people would come and stare, make comments, give gestures, all sorts of things. But this time I saw three people walk by not paying attention, and then one saw me as if by accident and was shocked. I had never seen these people before, and they all looked at me as if mortified.
The one was a female with long blonde hair who looked to be part elvin. One was clearly an elf-male with dark brown hair and something of a wilderman’s look to him. I trained my hearing to the three and heard the female address this one as Sparrow. She was addressed as K’Ruhn, Kharron, Karen or something like that … it was a name I had never heard before. The third they addressed as Raph. He was short for a human, had his blonde hair drawn back into a ponytail, but unlike the other two seemed perfectly at home in his surroundings.
Something more, the other two had it to smaller degrees, but Raph reeked of magic. From twenty feet away, yes, I could almost smell it and it made my skin tingle. From the ring in his left ear, to a ring on his right hand, articles in his belt, and more; more than I had ever noticed on a single being, ever. And these three didn’t appear to be here for the fight. My curiosity was aroused. But, I reminded myself, it was none of my business.
They finally went away whispering to each other. That was odd in itself, people didn’t whisper amidst the noise of Dahruban. Usually you had to talk loudly, if not sometimes yell, just to make yourself heard.
___________________________
Back inside my holding cell I had my meal, stretched, and went over all of my mental notes on Karthanook. His skeleton would be next to impervious, not unlike a cognobin, and his strength incredible. I could see two avenues. The one; go in for a quick kill and hope he had no endurance. All of his wins were drawn out, but he showed no deliberate hasty action. That could indicate a lack of wind and a reliance on superior size and strength.
Another idea would be to let him exhaust himself by beating on me while I spread out my healing process. But that option had absolutely no appeal. I would not be able to go berserk on this critter. I just wasn’t close enough in strength to make it work, without weapons, that is. I was going to have to play it careful and rely on what was now eleven years of pit fighting experience. If it came down to it, there was the idea of timing that foot stomping routine of his, but that was a long shot, and if I was in that bad of a shape …
The introductions were made with much grandstanding and music, and there we were on the ground of hand-to-hand combat. This was supposed to be the fight of fights, the greatest contest of the age, and there was not an empty seat to be found. I flexed my arms and fingers, and squiggled my toes through my moccasin boots. Remarkably, my footgear had still not ever worn out. It was the only thing left from my days as a soldier, well, almost.
I was always careful when taking my boots off to bathe, and they were the first thing to go back on after. I even slept with them on. But right now they were helping me with my traction.
Karthanook loved to taunt, and he was doing it now. It was for the crowd, really, I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I was watching his abdomen, to see if he had closed it up into that ball of muscle. I didn’t know what it would look like if it had. He looked normal, I guess. The male I watched him destroy never got in for a hit, so I was going to have to do some experimenting I really didn’t relish.
Shael’s, those feet really looked mean.
I shot in fast and hard, switching in mid-movement to the outside while landing a strong left into his mid-section. The intent was to soften him up and deliver a good right to the kidney, but when my left wrist snapped in half and drove pain all the way into my brain, I knew this wasn’t going to work. He backhanded me across the dirt and by the sounds of the crowd it was clear the fight was on.
Time after time I went in and made a hit of some kind, and either got out of the way or was batted with a backhand. So much for going in for a quick-kill, nor was this critter tiring. Somehow he knew most of my moves … not fair. How dare he use intelligence in the ring.
He came after me a couple of times and my rolling techniques served me well, but a well placed drop-kick, one of my favorite movements, only served to hurtle me away from him. It had been like drop-kicking a solid wall.
At what I was guessing was just past the half-hour mark, I was simply out of my own reserves of power and had healed all I could. I think I counted forty-one bones I had broken so far. I could heal, yes, but it still hurt to Zaeghun’s Lair. It was looking more and more like my one chance was to suck it up to the end; but could I endure that long?
Circling him once more, I had all of my strength I could reclaim. This was it. I made one more all out charge and he caught me with a clout that sent me reeling, followed by another, and another. I was on one knee trying to get up when he said in guttural Longish, “Ce-beg say hel-low.”
Cielizabeg, it figures … and then that hoof-like foot hit me and everything went black.
___________________________
When it was all over and the guards stepped out of my way so I could return to my holding cell, one of them said to me, “I was betting on you, Mr. Wolf, sir.”
Another said, “By Eayah that was a good fight.”
I just wanted to get back and lay down, this was too much. I wanted, needed to get out, but how. My feet, something was wrong with my feet and they wouldn’t work right. Stumbling, I almost fell into the hallway wall as the world seemed to be slowly spinning. The guards were there, but none of them wanted to touch me. That was fine because I didn’t want to be touched, despite the fact that everything began to blur. Visions and memories I thought I had forgotten faded in and out through my mind.
Did I hear the sounds of Barlan the hostler putting harness on the horses … was that the smell of my momma’s griddle cakes? Where, when was I? ‘Momma? Is that you?’ I felt the words form in my mind and whisper through my battered lips. I was confused as I fought to bring myself together.
A sharp pain in my knee helped me to regain a semblance of control as I partially fell to the stone floor, then immediately staggered back up. Weaving like a drunk I made my way down the corridor.
When I finally got below and walked past the cells, they were all looking to see who it was coming back, and some of them cheered. Ernt had won his fight and was lying on his blankets, but sitting up he watched to see if it would be me returning down the hall. ‘Animals,’ I thought, ‘we are all in here like a bunch of animals.’ I paused in front of his gate, not to say hello, but because I was ready to fall over. Still, he held up his fist.
Orgs and elves weren’t supposed to like each other, like the enmity between elves and d’warvec but worse, yet I found myself wanting to like this person. I squeezed my own fist and held it up as far as I could reach.
Making it to my cell, a guard unlocked the gate for me to step in, but as I did, I could feel magic inside, and over in the corner, I saw a blurred outline of someone standing there. It was some kind of invisibility, stronger than Y’nesia used. I could just make out the one called Raph. He was shocked that I could see him, and he raised a finger to his lips.
Apparently he had just got there, so I staggered in and they shut and locked my door. I wanted to talk, to ask what in Cherron’s Beard he was doing there, but he shook his head no, and then he took what looked like a folded handkerchief and put it under my blanket. With a smile and a nod he eased to the door. As he stepped to the bars, he angled himself to look out in both directions, which didn’t make sense to me as he was invisible, and then walked right through the iron gate as if he were a ghost.
I wondered if other elves could see invisible beings like I could. It was one ability I didn’t have to concentrate on to use. It was natural for me, like my hearing, sense of smell and ability to see magical auras. Cats could see in the dark, and I believe into other dimensions, for sure. But at the moment my real curiosity was what was in that handkerchief. As I sat down on the blanket, however, I went right to sleep.
___________________________
Franko didn’t like me, but he always came to check on the physical state of my condition, his property, within a day of my fight. This time he didn’t show up, and any change in established routines always led me to questions.
My sleep was interrupted only by the bringing of food, after which I went back to sleep.
The holding cells of the main fighters were built of solid stone block. There was no way for one prisoner to converse with his or her next-door neighbor, so I couldn’t talk with Ernt, who was five cells down from me. From time to time, the guards would talk with the prisoners; even establish friendly relationships with them.
Over the years of my fighting, and you might as well say making my home in the Dahruban for so long, I had developed a reputation. While I wasn’t friendly, I never was rude to the guards.
During my days as City-State Champion, this one night-guard use to walk through the halls trying to memorize poetry. After months of listening, I corrected him as he was stumbling through a verse of Onigha Scientelli’s poem, Rose beneath my Pillow. It was a long, but beautiful poem, even if it was human written, about the love between a soldier and his lady. Anyway, he was startled that I would speak, let alone know the poem.
“Beware,” I told him in a low, slightly sardonic tone, “the somber perch of the bird within the cage; for careful sight may lend visage of the eagle who yearns for soar-dom.”
He carefully walked to the gate of my cell and said in astonishment, “Whence Walked the Wayward Yeoman, act two, by Tannon … I don’t remember which line.”
“Scene one, line twenty-six.”
“You’re educated, I wouldn’t have thought …”
“You never know who might be in here. I had a cellmate who was a physician, once. Another had been a priest, and for a while a librarian fought who could quote ninety-two books from memory.”
“… It’s just, just, watching you fight out there. You’re so savage.”
“Savagery is a state of mind. Out there it’s a state of necessity.” Leveling my gaze at him I added, “The options are rather bleak.”
“I see your point,” he said.
His name was Kendle and up until the match with the tiger we talked regularly. We weren’t friends, but we were friendly. Mostly I helped him learn his poetry, sometimes he would ramble about things in the city, but I never talked about myself. He was clearly a person alone, who didn’t feel as if he fit in.
Kendle was still around, and shortly after Franko brought us in, he made it a point to come and talk. He didn’t take it personally when I wasn’t happy to see him, but when he came by one night and quietly said, “I’m genuinely sorry to hear about your mate,” I snapped my head his way and gave him a careful look.
“When I destroy this city, I will let you live.”
I wasn’t being sarcastic, and he knew it. He could have been rude and obnoxious, as I was in the cell and he was outside. But he wasn’t. Instead he said very slowly, “I would appreciate that.” Then he went back to making his rounds.
On the second night after my fight with Karthanook, Kendle came to my cell once more when everyone else was mostly asleep. Putting his hands around the bars and leaning his weight inward he asked, “Pssst, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might want to know ...”
I got up to my feet and walked to the bars. This man wasn’t afraid; he wasn’t arrogant, but he knew he had always been courteous to me, and he knew I respected courtesy. It would have been so easy to snatch his arms, to grab his head … I leaned up against the bars and gave him my attention.
“Your promoter, Franko, the word is all over that he bet against you, which is against coliseum rules to begin with, but he bet everything. Karthanook was a property of a lady named Night Fawn, and she went under, too. But here’s the thing, Franko is in jail. They’re going to let him out if he sells what he has left to this man in Stafford, and then uses the money to cover his bets, fines, and leaves Dahruban. They’ll ship you and the big fellow, Ernt, by boat to the docks at Stafford. You two will fight at Child’s; I think they want to see you fight each other.
“The word is, if Franko agrees, he’s going to ride that way himself, then sail for the Phabeon.”
We stood there for a long time just looking at each other. It was hard to hate all humans when someone like this was around. I asked, but had a hunch I knew the answer,
“Who is buying us, Kendle?”
“I think, the word is, his name is Ulen.”
“You mean Uven?”
He thought a moment, and then said, “Yeah, that’s it, Uven. I understand he’s a pretty shady character.”
“Yes,” I said, “He is.” I straightened up, and then slowly took his hand and forearm, so he wouldn’t be alarmed, and gave him a firm clasp, Thank you, Kendle. ‘And so it was that the beast of the mountain did set forth from his cage, and became the hunter once more …”
He looked at me for a moment, tilted his head in thought, and then said, “I … I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”
“You will, Kendle, you will.”
___________________________
‘So then,’ I thought as I walked back to my blanket. ‘Uven thinks to buy me, does he?’ Laying back with hands behind my head I began to plan. For the first time in years I felt confidence, I had an edge.
Once my meal tender had left the night before, I had taken that handkerchief from under my blanket and gave it careful examination. It radiated strong magic, so when I opened it, I opened it carefully. Laying it down on a carefully scraped clean spot on my floor, and attuning my *Awareness* intently for anyone walking down the hall, I unfolded the silken material one fold at a time. Every time I unfolded it I could feel the magic stronger than before. What was in here?
The original size of the material was a one and a half inch by three inch square. When I had unfolded it eight times, I had a six by three feet square of material that was still flat and smooth with one fold left to go. As I opened the final fold, it uncovered what to me was a wealth of treasure.
Somehow, this six by six foot square of handkerchief material could engulf and hide anything it could naturally fold over and appear as just another piece of cloth. It didn’t begin to bulk up in thickness until I folded it down to a nine inch by eighteen inch rectangle. Whoa!
Unfolding it once more I marveled at what was laying on one-half of the unfolded material. There was a brand new rucksack which was full, tied to it was a bedroll and ground sheet, and a sizable length of cord was wrapped around it. There was an outfit of clothing, a cloak and new canteen. What really caught my eye, though, was the belt. This belt was carefully coiled and was connected to a hatchet and a dagger.
The dagger was old and well used, but the heft was perfect and as I held it, it felt as if it were made for my hand. The handle was some kind of bone with a slightly curved shape and it was definitely a full tang weapon with a blood groove down the center. The blade was seven inches long of the sharpest stuff I had ever seen, and it was a dark gray metal I had never seen before. It appeared to be a double edge blade with the bottom side sharp all the way to one half inch from the double brass guard, but only the front four inches of the top side was sharp. The sweetest part, however, was that it radiated a magic like that of So’Yeth itself, nothing like the sword I had taken from Phostein.
When I started moving things around, underneath it all I found a well made long sword and sheath. It wasn’t fancy, but was far better than military grade, a thirty inch blade and forty-two inches over-all, nicely balanced with a hand-and-a-half grip and very sharp on both edges. To have a sword in my hand again, it was exhilarating.
Who, I wanted to know, were those people who had gifted me with such things? Raph surely didn’t expect me to see him, and he apparently expected to be gone before I got back, therefore this gift was meant for me not to know who provided it. And then I noticed the note under the rucksack. It wasn’t sealed, and was folded rather than rolled, as was the custom of the times.
The top writing was in a feminine hand and the characters were of archaic Lohngish: When I was hungry you gave to eat, I was forlorn and you gave me supplication, I had lost my way and you showed me the path to follow. Take these and hold fast. Make a difference. It wasn’t signed.
‘When I was hungry,’ I thought. Sure, I had given out a lot of food in my life, who did I show the path to? I was confused, but I had the gifts. Was Lahrcus right about believing in fate? And the message about making a difference, it sounded a lot like … like what … Hoscoe … used to say.
Underneath the one hand writing, was another form of writing in Elvish, again, something different from the time, but this wasn’t archaic. The characters had a variation I had never seen before. This handwriting explained the dagger and a few of the other articles. The cord was slender and made from Oska Silk worms, meaning it was fire proof and as strong as a freighting ship’s hoisting ropes. The cloak wasn’t magical, but weather and wind proof, and the sword had been charmed against rust and acid … sweet.
I couldn’t resist, getting up I walked to my door and put the dagger’s edge against the back side of one of the bars. Pushing down, the blade shaved a nice sliver from the bar without suggesting a mark, let alone dullness, to the dagger. I was very excited. Inspecting it closely I wondered, could this be Nihkros Mythril?
I found it odd, though; I had been completely outfitted to head into the wilderness except there was no footgear. Not that I needed it, but it was a curious notion. Since Izner, no one had ever mentioned my boots that never wore out.
Inside the rucksack was a spare tunic, several pounds of jerky, salt, ground corn meal, a sack of various gold and silver pieces, several other articles, and a sack of coffee. Somebody knew me and my tastes. I needed to find these people, and when the time was right, I would do just that. For the time being, though, the handkerchief was tucked safely away in my boot.
Sure enough, some new people came to take Ernt and me to a two masted vessel down at the docks. Ernt only knew we had been sold and en route to Stafford. When we were placed in makeshift cells down below, our escorts removed our manacles and went topside.
Ernt looked over at me and saw me grinning an evil grin. Slightly irritated he asked, “Why you smile?”
I sat back on my cot, massaged my wrists, put my hands behind my head, and passed him a casual glance, “Because, my fine friend … the bars … they are made out of wood.”
________________________
“BY THE WAY,” I asked Ernt, “can you swim?”
We were both sitting on our cots after days of sailing, anticipating our big escape, and he looked at me and said, “Yah. Do not all?”
It was my turn to look at him, “Uh … no, actually.” Swimming, I thought … ughhh.
What we were about to do could go all kinds of ways, good and bad … for us, I mean. By asking questions and what not from the sailors who came down to check on us, I knew we were about a day’s sailing from Stafford, which put us way ahead of Franko and the group of merchants Kendle told me he was traveling with. I had been sloppy and arrogant with Sormiske, this time I was going to plan better. But before I left this region, me and Franco were going to have a discussion. I owed it to Debohra, and to myself. I was done living with guilt; there were enough eyes of dying people in my dreams for me to see.
This vessel, named the Laughing Jil, was small and rigged for shallow sailing, and along with my reaching down to *Detect* for the land below, I was thankful we weren’t in very deep water at all. The problem was; it doesn’t need to be very deep to drown. I was going to have to get some drift to hang onto, or learn to swim in a real hurry. Strangely enough, I had learned most sailors can’t swim, either. I would have thought sailors would be great swimmers. But they’re too afraid of sea monsters and the like to want to get in the water in the first place.
Sea monsters; that gave me a last minute idea.
The Jil was slow, but still faster than common land travel, and Dahruban was several days from Stafford by land. Timing our host’s appearance in the hold, I had taken the dagger and belt from my cloth and secured it in place around my waist. Ernt watched in creased brow amazement, but uttered not a word. There would be no room for swordplay down below, and figuring the long blade would only be an encumbrance in the water, I left it in the cloth.
It was nighttime and I knew the sky was overcast, this was going to be fun, and I do mean fun in a sarcastic kind of way. Ernt and I grasped forearms for luck, and then I grabbed two of the wooden bars between our cells. Focusing, I caused them to *Rot*, after which we broke them apart. First phase completed.
He stepped into my cell and I did the same thing to six more bars … we were going to need room to move in a moment, I hoped. After clearing a big hole among the cell bars, Ernt got himself into position behind me, hands on my belt, and I turned to face the wall of my cell, which was the hull of the ship.
“Okay,” I said, “here goes.” I placed my hands against the hull, reached down into So’Yeth through the water, which I had been practicing, and prepared to push the rot effect into the hull in mass, fast. When that hull cracked we would be in trouble, and I would be counting on Ernt and his superior strength to yank us back and out of the way before the timbers crushed into me. This was definitely a teamwork thing. I was hoping for Ernt to get us safely to the other side of the hull in quick order.
“On three,” I said. Of course, he couldn’t do anything until I did, but it was something for me to say. “Three … two … one …” And then I pressed the essence of *Rot* into the wood as far and as fast as I could, with all that I had if necessary. For a moment there I didn’t think it was going to work. I could feel essence rush through me, but nothing seemed to happen. Then we heard this awful groaning and the wood in front of me suddenly folded in.
I tried to yell at Ernt, but the noise was too loud for him to hear me. He saw the leaks just before an area of hull about ten feet in diameter gave way, and he yanked so hard I thought he pulled me in half. The water hit us and helped us along, but he got us across the centerline and around to the side at an angle to keep us from taking the brunt of force. It only took a moment for the ship to start tilting and crewmen were rushing down to see what had happened.
The integrity of the whole ship started to give way as she began to sink, and Ernt and I were fighting to get to the top. We had to battle our way past three mates and yells went out that we were escaping. I had to put my dagger into play, and marveled at how easily it cut. I wasn’t blood-lusting, I just wanted out. On top, more of the small crew were concerned about the damage below than our escape, but there were those whose job it was to get us to Stafford. Remember, we were valuable cargo.
Ernt grabbed a belaying pin, essentially a two foot long stick, and rammed two of the guards while I slit and slashed at two more. Someone aimed a crossbow, and as he fired it I felt the embrace of power and was able to *Slow* things down, from my perspective, anyway, which meant to everyone else I suddenly sped up. As the bolt came across me toward Ernt, I was able to force my own actions to catch the shaft. Before the shooter could regain his composure I had jumped onto a rope, swung to his position, land on my feet and spin into a slash that sent him on his way.
Ernt threw a screaming sailor over the rail and I yelled at him, “Let’s go!”
We jumped over, I took a huge gulp of air, and then I attempted to *Summon* something from below to help.
Can you say catfish? Can you say frigging fourteen to fifteen foot long catfish? When I hit the water I went down a good ways. The side we jumped from was the side going up, and when the water surrounded me I went just this side of panic. It was the first time I had been under water, and when I opened my eyes I thought it was over. This huge fish rose from the murk and the only reason I saw it was because I see heat in the darkness. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a huge, whisker-face looking creature that looked like it could swallow me whole and look for more.
But its mind, such as it was, was opened to me and I realized this monster was just a giant fish. Mon’Gouchett, but what a fish; no wonder sailors don’t go into the water. I could see Ernt in the water deeper than me about eleven rods away and directed the fish to go that way. Ernt was moving up well, but when he saw the shape he almost lost it himself. At first he thought the fish had me in its mouth, but as we went past I grabbed him and we were off to shore. I learned later that he could see heat in the dark, too, not as far as I could, but he could do it.
It wasn’t easy trying to get my fish friend to go against instinct and get us above water level. The critter didn’t comprehend inability to breathe water, but it broke surface twice allowing us to get a breath of air. But then I just couldn’t do it anymore and let go. I didn’t release it from helping me, because I didn’t want it suddenly thinking of us as a good meal. But when I let go I found myself thrashing, and then Ernt grabbed me by the back of the collar and he brought us the next hundred or so rods to the shore.
Ernt whomped me once on the top of the head, I was panicked that bad. But I got the idea and went limp and trusted him to do his thing. Right then I resolved myself to learn how to swim. When, I didn’t know, but someday.
We didn’t land on a beach, or even a gentle slope. It was steep, but grabbing handfuls of grasses and weeds we pulled ourselves up to a flat spot and we lay there sopping wet, tired, and cold … but we were free.
___________________________
Ernt and I had eaten well and regularly on the ship, nor had we been stinted on water. And since we had timed our escape based on meals and what not, we weren’t anywhere close to hungry and well hydrated. So, other than me wanting my sword, there was not a real urgency to get my cloth open for gear, which was a good thing. There was no good place to open up a six foot square hanky, and I didn’t know if getting it wet would be bad. Inside my boot pocket, it was nice and dry.
After we rested briefly, we finished climbing to the top of the slope and found ourselves amidst rolling hills, trees, and what have you. The Pihpikow Road could be just right over that rise, or it could be as much as several day’s hike from the seaside. Dawn was upon us and I was shivering from the cold. Yes, I like the cold, but I like to be dry and properly clothed. Ernt, I just looked at Ernt, he wasn’t fazed by the cold at all.
It was then the waft of baking bread hit me. Well, maybe I was hungry after all. “Hey, Ernt. Want some breakfast?”
Ernt grinned, he smelled it too.
A half mile away we found the remains of what must have been a trading post. It was built from rock and there were two buildings still standing. They looked to have been for the most part abandoned and forgotten, but right at the moment I counted a dozen saddle horses in the corral and smoke was coming up from the chimney. A touch of sneaking around showed them to be brigands, highwaymen in hideout.
Inside the stable I *Blended* myself in, and searched the place. Yup, I found two light crossbows, not up to the standard of the LCB, but they were loaded and cocked and conveniently placed for emergencies. Beside each were a couple of quivers of bolts.
While I was in there, a scruffy dressed man came in and walked right past me standing in a nook. Blending is nowhere near the same as invisibility, but if the blended person remains still and picks their location intelligently … you would be surprised at how little humans actually are aware of their surroundings. As he walked past the second time, I reached out my arm and wrapped it around his throat. In a couple of moments he was fast asleep. This time, I didn’t kill.
Frisking the bandit I found a couple of hideout knives and I took his sword, which I gave to Ernt along with a crossbow and quiver.
Nonchalantly we went up to the door and I knocked. It was funny how quickly those rascals scampered. I *Detected* movement through the flooring, and counted five moving bodies. Of course there could be more still laying in. One reason brigands are brigands, is because they’re generally flat out lazy. They seem to think stealing is easier than real work, but I’ve never known a brigand who had much or who was living a good life. Brigands often work harder to not have to do anything than they would to earn an honest living, they generally have to live on the run, and … well, you get my point, don’t you?
When I knocked again I heard a gruff and startled voice, “Who’s out there? What do you want?”
“Just a couple of pilgrims in search of a good meal.”
“We don’t got nuthin’ for you.
Eleven years of practicing the trace of movements of mice, rats, and other little creatures across floors with my eyes closed helped me pinpoint the positions of all five, including the one who was trying to tiptoe across old boarded floors to where a weapon must be.
The door swung inward, so I lifted the latch, pushed inward quickly and back just as fast. Three thunks hit the door as someone was trying to time my stepping inside with the swing of the door. Shoving the door hard, I saw one man in front trying to reload a crossbow and I just helped him load one in the mid-riff. Dropping the weapon I went in with a roll as Ernt stepped in and shot another. Taking them out was child’s play, compared to what we had been doing in the coliseum.
As we looked around we figured a decent inventory of miscellaneous stuff. All said and done, there was plenty for Ernt to chose from to give himself a good outfit, and I picked out a few odds and ends to round my own self a bit. Two of these fellows liked throwing knives, and I just helped myself. I didn’t think they would mind.
I had a mission, so hanging around wasn’t an option, but I did want a good bath. First, however, those biscuits were almighty inviting, as were the platter of scrambled eggs and meat.
The bath was nice, and when I was done and halfway dressed in my new clothing, I noticed a sheet of glass mirror on the wall. There was a small table underneath the mirror and I saw someone was into primping. There were some scissors, a mug for shaving soap, brush, straight razor and all. I looked at myself and mused for a long time. Getting some hot water while Ernt looked and wondered at what I was doing, I tried to make some little kind of sense of my life.
Back in front of the mirror I soaked a towel in the hot water and thought of the difference between an animal and, well, me. Basking in the heat from the towel on my face I imagined the removal from one frame of mind, one life mode, and entrance into another. The hot bath had in many ways already done that for me externally. Now the finishing touches.
While Ernt was rounding out his new outfit I shaved slowly with my new knife, ignoring the razor, scraping a design in the rich lather on my jowls. And then I cut some on my hair with the scissors. Afterward I stepped back and appraised myself again. My hair was long past my shoulders, about three or four inches down my back. On my chin I now wore a mature goatee and mustache, like Hoscoe had worn his. I was fifty years old, a full adult by elvin standards and no longer a child; by human standards I was comparable to a twenty or twenty-one year old. I stood right at five feet and ten inches tall, and I figured myself as a solid hundred and seventy-five to eighty pounds, all of it lean.
My arms were around seventeen to eighteen inches around the biceps, my chest and shoulders rippled with muscle, and what humans called a six-pack characterized my torso. I was much more muscular than an elf, but not to much. Yet mine was a physique resultant of excruciating training tempered by magical healing.
There were no scars on my body, due to the healing, but I felt them on the inside and they ran deep. You couldn’t see them now, but I remembered well when my body was covered with whip marks. I looked into and beyond the mirror and wondered who I was, what could my purpose be? Why had I gained another chance? A chance at what? A chance to do what? What kind of difference could I make? I was just one person, and now I was an outlaw at that.
Ernt’s and my escape would be outside the Dahruban jurisdiction, wouldn’t it? Unless some of those guards were Dahruban soldiers. Shael’s, I hadn’t considered that. And when Uven realized we had escaped, he wouldn’t let that slide easily. I had no idea how good a tracker he was, and I didn’t want to find out, not right now. Eventually our paths would cross again, I had no doubt, but it would be on my terms and not his. And I wanted Cielizabeg as well.
As I finished dressing, my thoughts ran to Ahjokus, the winged fellow. The word was he could see a rabbit hopping around from thousands of feet up, and he was a dead shot with a bow. I had only seen him for a moment and he didn’t look like much, physically. Yes, he was lean and muscular, but he was slender like an elf, and his ears were slightly pointed as well. I figured him to be maybe five feet and five inches and with his wings to get in his way, I couldn’t see how he would hold up in a close-quarter fight.
Ahjokus was supposed to be smart, though, and he had done something right to become Chief of Dahruban’s security. It was a post Hoscoe had once held, and he told me it was one of the few positions which had not yet become subject to absolute political assumption. In other words, Hoscoe said the job had political clout, but unlike many positions, you still had to be good at your business to even be considered for the position.
“Dahruban is still young as a major power, and the current governing body will do what it takes to keep it that way,” Hoscoe had told me. Of a sudden I froze in my thinking … Dahruban was a city-state, and as such a government to itself. But with all of the battles and warring, especially the Amber-Croaz Campaign of nearly twenty years before, many of the territories had unified as a country or territory of sorts with Dahruban as a capitol. Hoscoe said they were calling it Lahconna, from an old Elvish word, L’Kohnus, meaning Sacred Land. My breath caught, as I hadn’t taken that into consideration. Just how big was that territory, and what, how was it being governed? Where were the boundaries, and were we currently in them? Well, there was nothing I could do about it now, nothing but do what I planned and get out, way-y-y out of the region.
Getting Ahjokus involved in hunting us down would not be a good move. Besides, something warned me there was a lot more to the airborne archer than was obvious. Had momma said something at one time about a man, or an elf, or elves who could fly? What was it? Something, some obscure memory was floating around in my mind, but I couldn’t get a grasp on it.
Right now Ernt and I needed to get away from here while there was still getting-away time left. It would take a while for any news to get to Dahruban as we were way out in the back-country, but if my plan worked out well, we would only have a handful of days after I completed my task.
There was something I needed which I wouldn’t have time to make. Brigands liked the easy life, that’s why they stole. And the easy life meant recreation. I found three decks of playing tiles, dice, and a couple of other games, all of which I kept. But I had to go back outside to the tied up fellow to find what I was looking for.
I had only given him a cursory frisk for basic weapons; but going back to search him more thoroughly, inside of his belt pouch I found a treasure, at least it was a treasure for me. It wasn’t much, but it was a simple fife, a musical instrument in good repair.
“You shouldn’t run with such bad boys,” I told the brigand, “they’re a naughty influence.” I tried to *Detect* uncleanness on the fife, and found disease. I pushed energy through it and cleansed the instrument. It even smelled better. I blew a couple of quick scales, and although it was kind of high pitched for my taste, it was workable. Kneeling back down to the silent thief I said, “I won’t leave you without a horse. You did nothing to me. But don’t get any ideas. You tell people Timber Wolf of the Ahnagohr is alive and well,” I brushed my knife under his chin, “and don’t nobody get in my way.”
His eyes got really big, but I left it at that. Ernt didn’t say much, but he looked at the thief and punctuated my words with his own sinister grin, raise of an eyebrow, and a drag of his thumb across his throat. With that we rode out with everything of value, and then some.
Franko would be following the Pihpikow Road, which got use, but not heavily so. Highwaymen and such put hazards up that made travelers journey in groups more often than not, and there was a lot of country between the big city and Stafford. Since the Pihpikow belonged to no particular government, it was travel at your own risk.
As far as Kendle knew, Franko would be traveling with three freighter outfits traveling together as a member of the guard. He had very sneakily kept four of his preliminary fighters as retainers. What I was going to do was make a statement to the world, or at least northern Aeshea. It wouldn’t matter to a lot of people, initially, but the news would travel. Still, I had to be very careful, and I didn’t want Ernt mixed up in it.
We rode hard for a day and then moved off the road to make camp. The horses had been secured and I was cooking up some supper when I told him, “Ernt, I’ve come to like you, so I’m going to level with you. It’s come time for us to part ways.”
He just looked at me. He looked like a brute, but he was very smart, and I think he expected as much. “You go by self. Be ‘lone.” His words were more a statement as they were a question. But by his expression I could tell the question was definitely there. “You und me, be pard-ner.” He waved his hand across the land, “Take much. Be much rich.”
Shaking my head I said, “I don’t want that kind of life, Ernt. I don’t know what I want, but I want it to mean something. When I finish what I am going to do, I’m riding away from all of this. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can travel so I can’t be tracked. I can disappear into the wilderness.
“If you help me, they will be able to read your tracks and follow you. There is a lot of wealth right here, with these horses and stuff that’s on them. I want three of these horse and supplies and I’m riding hard out. That will give you eight good horses. You can sell them, the gear, or do whatever.”
I held his gaze, “You’re too good a person to waste your life hacking around.” For a moment we sat by the fire and a thought came to me, “Ernt, I can’t make any promises,” I started drawing a map in the dirt, “but over here there is a place called Quandell. There is a man there called Mahrq, or there used to be.”
Ernt was nodding, “I know place. No be there, but find.”
“Good. Tell Mahrq you are there in the name of Hoscoe. He’ll understand.” I smiled, “You would fit in there, very nicely I think. Do you have any family? Have you always been … a slave, or prisoner?”
A slow smile crossed his face, I wished to had have time to get to know Ernt. He said, “No fam-ly. I make wheel. I make good wheel.”
Ernt was a wheelwright, what do you know? A good wheelwright could make a fortune in our day and time. I drew a careful diagram from my knowledge of Hoscoe’s maps, crossing the Pihpikow and rough cutting it until hitting a couple of villages. At any of those villages he could sell what he wished, and either take a barge across the Ellenburg River, swim it, or book passage on the Phabeon to any of several ports where he could make travel to the Chamberlain’s Highway. From there he could follow the trail to Quandell.
Drawing extra lines to my map, I showed him Sahnuck Pass, “I was part of the work force who went through there,” I said in remembrance. To which he said, “I see place. I go road. Good road.” I shared some coffee with him, and the next morning we parted ways, he to cross the Pihpikow and me to meet Franko.
It didn’t take long to find a good waiting spot. I didn’t want to meet in the daytime; I wanted it to be dark night. If they didn’t cross my path in the light, I would ride in the dark and *Merge with the Land*, specifically looking for a large group of people making camp. In the meantime, my straddle was beginning to ache. It had been years since I had ridden and while I could heal, it took time to build those muscles back up. Yup, I was saddle sore.
Those people were slow; it took two nights of riding before I found my quarry. There were eight wagons and twenty-two people in all, but it was late and everyone was asleep except the night watch. Leaving my own horses a half mile away, I snuck my way to the camp. Keeping the animals quiet was easy, and then I pulled out my fife and started playing softly, a lullaby if you will, and concentrated on making these people *Fall Asleep*.
Mon’Gouchett, but it worked. Carefully I collected all weapons and put them into a neat stack in the woods. Not knowing how long the sleep effect would last, I played the music as often as I could. I really should have an assistant, because this was taking a lot of work, a lot of focus, and more time than I wanted. But I had it to do.
This was a different kind of magic from reaching into So’Yeth, and it wasn’t nearly as well developed. I got several people tied, but there was only so long the magical sleep would hold, and before I could finish someone started waking up.
I had identified the caravan leader and tied him first, then Franko and his four. I knew his four very well. The fellow waking up had been fussing with a wagon when he went down to my lullaby, and I figured him for a teamster. As he awakened I was positioned right behind the leader with my blade pointed right at his throat. My other hand held a crossbow casually pointed at the teamster, and as his attention focused on me I said with ice in my voice, “If you want this pig to die, just start a problem. I’m Timber Wolf from the Ahnagohr’s. You know, the Feral Elf. You like to watch me kill people in the coliseum. Right now I have an itch in my hand, and I don’t give a damn.”
That teamster fellow was no fool. He slowly looked around and saw most of his companions were tied. He looked back at me and decided not to make a play. Maybe he looked in my eyes and didn’t like what he saw; maybe he had seen me fight and didn’t want to chance it.
It didn’t matter to me his reason for cooperating; the bottom line was it meant I didn’t have to kill him. Deep down, I really didn’t want to kill anyone ever again. That is, not after I finished what I had in mind. Besides, this teamster wasn’t really a part of the problem.
“You aren’t who I’m interested in, and if you do what I tell you, you’ll live to regret this moment.”
“Whatever it is you do,” the fellow replied in a dry tone, “you won’t get away with it.”
There was something about this teamster, if that’s what he was, that I liked. Quickly I put it out of my mind.
“There’s seven more of you who need to be tied,” I said, “And I want you to finish the task.”
I could see his mind working. This one was cautious, and a thinker, so I added, “I can hear the lice crawling in that man’s head,” I nodded to a man on the far side of the camp, “so don’t try whispering any messages.”
My new associate whipped his head to look at the snoring man I had indicated, then back at me with wonder and amazement in his expression. Sure enough, that man had lice. Now mister teamster-fellow had to discern whether I had seen the lice in passing, or whether I could actually hear the lice. As for me, I wasn’t telling.
He finished tying the rest of the camp, then he sat down per my instructions and I tied him. All the time I could almost tell what he was thinking; had he screwed up, or had he saved a lot of lives by complying with my orders? His predicament was not one I would want to be in, because, after all, the captor was billed as being crazy.
___________________________
A legend was born that night, although it wasn’t my intention, a legend of the bloody and un-catchable road bandit, Timber Wolf. For the next two years, every unsolved road robbery and massacre on that section of the Pihpikow Road was attributed to me. Rarely was there a survivor at these crimes, and the site usually involved mutilation and everything laid to waste.
But the cold truth is; I hate waste and anyone who had ever known me would understand those atrocities committed just wouldn’t be my style, if I had even chose the path of a bandit, which I didn’t, not yet, not for a long time, maybe, kinda-sorta, but that’s another story.
As I waited for my true targets to awaken, I rummaged around what was left of the cook-fire and fixed myself something to eat. The food was bland and I thought of an herb I had seen in the woods.
I went and collected some of what momma called masto-root, then brought it back and added it to the remnants of the stew.
This one fellow who I took to be the cook, was looking in alarm and spoke up without thinking, “Hey! That’s pois-.” Realizing what he was saying, he suddenly hushed up. I guess he figured if I ate it I would die.
Looking at him with a sardonic smile I said, “You keep believing that.” Pointing at the various parts I educated this human, “The leaves can be mushed, steeped in water and put on poison ivy to make it quit itching. The stem is good as is, although bitter, to chew and wash away fever. If you steep it with garlic it will flat-out cure most sicknesses. The first three outer layers of a mature plant are like leather, but when mixed with a strong tea will fix all kinds of digestive problems. And the inner bulb is like an onion. If you cut it all up, the whole plant, I mean, it can bring out the flavor of any stew. When made like a soup just by itself you can live on it indefinitely.”
I began cutting my plants up and adding them to the stew.
He scowled and asked, “Why ain’t I heard that before?”
Throwing him a sideways slanting look I said, “Because you are human … and stupid. You should learn how to live with your world, not try to control it.”
Some of those guys were really sleeping and I looked up at the night sky. With the guards out from my magical lullaby, it was, would be, up to me to make sure nothing unfriendly interfered with the camp. Something else I hadn’t thought about. I really needed to plan my actions better.
Did I really care? Yes, I realized, I did. Why? Because aside from five people, these merchants were innocent of any wrongdoing against me. Or were they? Had any of them paid to see me fight? If so, then they were all part of the system who had kept me in blood.
Right?
Right.
Wrong.
Craiken!
Why did I have to go and get all full of notions? A third of the camp had awakened, but in seeing me and finding themselves bound, they kept quiet while watching. Oh, there were a couple who were grumbling, but I ignored them.
Frustrated with my unbidden thoughts of morality, I kicked Franko awake.
Cool and level I said, “Hello there, Franko. You sleep good?”
He tried to sit up and found his hands and feet tied, “Wha – what’s goin’ on?”
Kneeling down with my knife in hand, I pointed it at his chest, then his stomach, then I let it linger around his privates as I shifted my gaze to his widening eyes, and then I dragged the point down the inside of his right thigh. The point cleanly slit his pants apart, but didn’t cut his skin.
I smiled at him and asked, “How are you feeling this morning?” With a whisk of the blade I split the other side of his pants leg, again not breaking the skin. No joking, the man suddenly started to sob like a little child and began blathering all kinds of apologies. I didn’t listen.
Standing up I took my time and started casually searching through the wagons. I didn’t really care what was there, but I wanted to prolong the angst of my captives. Everyone was awake by now, and they weren’t very talkative.
Prodding and poking, pulling back a canvas here and there I found a few goods, mostly in the way of food that caught my eye. And then I found a bundle which fascinated me instantly, especially the aroma.
“I wouldn’t touch that,” One man said, “That belongs to Master Uven.”
“Oh, really? Why didn’t he have it transported by boat?”
“Because … I am the merchant who brings them, and I don’t travel by water.”
Searching the wagon I found four such bundles and I took them. “How much of this is Uven’s?”
He hesitated and I added while shaking my head, “You … aren’t the bad guy,” I smiled, “I am. Do you want me to disembowel you for withholding information?
“The whole wagon is his.”
I found a couple more bundles I liked, a burlap sack to put them in, and carefully put them to the side. But not before I opened one and savored the smell. It had been a long time since I had tasted a fine cigar, or even a cheap one, for that matter. Of course, in our day and time, most anyone who took the time to roll a cigar took the time to do it right.
Finding several flasks of lamp oil, these people watched as I doused the wagon with all but one flask. This one I tucked a long strip of cloth into and set it on the ground for all to see.
Again Uven’s merchant spoke, “You are making a big mistake.”
“No,” I said, “he did, when he tried to set me up. You make sure he knows who did this, and tell him any wagon I ever find hauling his merchandise will get the same treatment.” I winked at him, “I sunk his ship as well.”
Ignoring the man I casually walked to one of Franko’s four males and said, “Hello. Do you remember me?” I grabbed him by the hair and punched his face, then in front of everyone, I flipped him over, pulled his pants down and castrated him. Holding his parts in front of him to see, I then tossed them into the woods, wiped my hands in his hair, and carried him to the wagon where I placed him on top of the cargo.
“These men,” I casually spoke so everyone could hear, “raped my lady … at the command of this piece of shit over here,” I said indicating the sweating and trembling Franko. The next three screamed and begged for mercy, apologized, and threatened to kill me all at once as I slowly repeated the process. All four I piled on top of the soaked wagon. Nonchalantly I asked, “How does it feel, fellows?”
From all around the camp I heard reprisals and condemnations, “Damn, man, that’s enough ... You’ll hang for this … By the gods, this isn’t humane … They will hunt you down and …”
At the last I hissed my words, “Oh! I hope so, please. Hunt me down … and you be one of them.” I grabbed a crossbow and flipped a shot at the speaker; the bolt buried itself between the crotch of his breeches and into the ground. With a sneer I asked, “You want me to do it again, only six inches higher?” I sneered, “I can scratch a rat’s ass at a hundred rods with this.
“If I see your bird man coming after me I’ll put him out of the air and tear his feathers out.
“Humane?” I asked, “You pay to watch me do worse.” I paced among my captives and looked into their faces, “I thought you might like to wonder what it’s like up close in the front seat.” With a slant in my eye I looked around and looked one of them in the eye, “Oh … are you afraid you might be next?”
Franko was squirming, trying to get away but his feet were bound tightly by my own hand. I walked to my sack, reached into the opened package and savored a fine cigar, and then bit the end and rolled it in my mouth. To the owner of the oil soaked wagon I remarked, “You can tell Uven I didn’t realize cowards had such good taste.” Reaching into my boot top, I pulled out my firebox, hidden all of these years, flipped it open and lit my cigar, and then the cloth of the remaining oil flask.
Picking the flask up and puffing my cigar, I walked around and said, “I fully planned to kill all of you, but instead I want you to watch, watch and see what happens to yellow bellied cowards that I catch. You think you are safe behind your rules of society, you ignore what happens to innocents … just as long as it doesn’t happen to you.” I walked up to one man who sat there giving me the dirty eye, and I spat on him, “May each one of you hypocrites see your family raped, sold or slain before your eyes … and you, yourself sold into the pit.” To another I leaned down and said, “Or else, by Zaeghun’s Lair do something about it.”
I was done speech making. I was no orator, and I figured nothing I said to those men would make a difference anyway. But I said what I wanted to say and into living ears. Should I make a delivery to a group of dignitaries I would take the time to prepare something eloquent, this had been on the fly and unrehearsed, yet I realized it was what I felt at the core of my being. Someone should look after the ones who couldn’t help themselves. Someone should guard the light in the lives of the innocents.
I halted in my tracks and thought, ‘Guardian of Light, that’s what my name meant in the Elvish, my name, my elvin name, Komain.’ Suddenly a chill ran up and down my spine.
Taking my flask of oil, I tossed it onto the wagon. Turning and walking to slowly kneel in front of Franko, I blew some smoke into his face and asked so that the camp could hear above the screams of the four, “Did you know the human body can live without its skin?”
________________________
WHEN I ARRIVED at the river, some sixty-five miles south of Stafford, I had been riding hard. There was still no time to waste and I figured within the next couple of days I might have Ahjokus in the air hunting for me. It wasn’t a sure bet he would, but I didn’t want to take any chances. My talk against him at the merchant’s camp was bold, but I had no delusions and wasn’t wasting any time.
There was a small settlement where I could catch a boat down river, or get someone to take me across, and that was where I was headed first.
Selling my stock and surplus gear, I hitched a ride down river to Ambler. There I purchased berth on a nice vessel headed to Teamon, all the way across the Phabeon Sea. I loaded up in the room, but before she cast off I found a way in the shadows to *Blend* and get off ship. Before leaving I laid hands on the door jam and made the wood warp and squeeze shut, just in case anyone got worried about me not coming out during the journey and tried to force the door. It was a big boat, almost a barge, that handled a lot of passengers, and I thought it would be easier to lose myself that way.
Ambler was on the far side of the river, which worked perfect for me, and I hid in the back of a small merchant’s cart as he left for a village to the south. When he stopped a couple of times, I easy rolled out and *Blended* myself until he got back in his cart to take off. The merchant knew his cart and could tell the weight was off, but unless he grew special eyes I would be alright.
As he got near the village I rolled out and struck a path off into the country. I really wanted a horse, but I didn’t want any kind of visual connection with anybody, so that began my trek into the Kohntia Mountains by way of the roughest country I could find. With my handkerchief empty, I could load it with all kinds of dried meat, tea, coffee and of course my huge stash of cigars. I found anything I put into the handkerchief would be in exactly the same state it was in when I put it in there no matter how long it was folded up.
There was nothing in Gevard for me, short of the revenge I wanted but wasn’t ready for, and I saw no point in returning to Keoghnariu. At some point I knew I wanted to return for Hoscoe’s sword, but I had a good blade and at the moment I just didn’t want to go down there.
I wasn’t changing my name again so I didn’t want to go where I might be recognized, therefore I thought to aim my nose into the wilds and see what happened.
Five days into the Boshtero Range of the Western Kohntia’s I was traipsing through the dense forest when I saw a shadow cross overhead. Living life on the run puts zest into your step and caution in your every action. I had yet to let my guard down and was making mileage as fast and carefully as I could.
Keeping to thick cover and staying away from anything that might leave marks of passage, even though my boots left nearly no mark, I wasn’t intending to leave anything to chance. But that shadow was of a very large critter with wings. Freezing in place, I chanced an ever so small gesture to look up, and sure enough it was that Ahjokus bastard scoping the ground from the sky.
Movement is the surest giveaway, and even *Blending* I took no unnecessary chances. I did it real slow and hoped he couldn’t see things invisible. I was mid-stride and right under some thick branches, so I was hoping against hope he hadn’t seen me.
Several more times I saw him cross over, once he dropped down real low where I could see him clear. You want to talk about discipline? I stayed right there for hours, I didn’t even leave my mid-stride position until I was sure he had glided off across the hill-line. I was straightening out behind that tree when he came back across.
It was nighttime when I took the chance to keep going, but as cool as it was up there I was sweating something fierce. If I had any doubt of how deep I was going into the mountains, it was gone now … I was headed as deep as I could go.
Ahjokus didn’t happen that way by chance … he knew, he knew I had gone off in that direction. And if he could follow me that closely, well, he had something going for him and I didn’t know what, and wasn’t prepared to deal with it right at the moment.
The next morning I was still behind that tree, afraid to move, and every bit of my body was aching from the position I spent the night in. And then, of all things, a bird came to rest in the branch above me. Sure enough, he made a mess in my head, but I wasn’t moving.
It dawned on me to do *S’Fahn Muir* with my new hairdresser. According to the bird, the flying person had been gone for hours. I lit a shuck, I mean, I got out of there fast.
For about four years I wandered the vast expanse of the Kohntia Mountains with no real direction, but the country I saw was breath taking. Finding water was no problem, I knew how to find edible plants and roots, learned to fish with a spear and ate a lot of trout, and for red meat I would hunt deer and mountain sheep. After that first trout, however, I really got into that and ate it in preference to everything else.
Those mountain sheep, though, they were no such thing. They were deer, every bit the size of the ones I saw in the Ahnagohr’s, only with curved horns instead of antlers and long hair. Probably a human named them mountain sheep. And the deer were different, too. They absolutely dwarfed the mountain sheep. I figure they dressed out to as much as three hundred and fifty to four hundred pounds, on the average.
True to what my momma had taught me, when I made a kill I did it with respect and a word of thanks to the animal’s spirit. All of the creature’s flesh and skin was used, and when I harvested the carcass I would point the head in the direction of the rising sun.
The crossbow I wanted to replace, or at least supplement, remembering Kispahrti and my despair at the time it took to reload. It took several tries before I built a bow that was functional, and then later I built one that was fairly nice. A deerskin quiver held several arrows I made with metal tips, but I kept a few with wooden tips only. I also found a couple of two-foot long pieces of wood to carry on my back as fighting batons.
A path perhaps unused in hundreds of years led to an old stone ruin on the edge of a crystal clear pond fed by a waterfall. I practiced fishing with my bow for weeks and let the essence of the mountains seep into my being. While there I took time to make two flutes, each in a different key, a recorder, a set of what my momma called Celtic Pipes, and another possible pouch.
The possible pouch I made in the same way as I made my boots so long ago. On a whim, I thought to use an entire deerskin, *Channeling* and *Pushing* my energy into the material every step of the way. The end result was a nice cross-shoulder sling pouch, but on the inside were two extra pouches you would have to look for on the sides. Each seemed to tap into some magical space and would hold one square foot of volume, completely undetectable from just looking at it. I was drained every time I worked on it, and it took quite some time, but I was pleased. This possible pouch was fireproof.
More than once I found ruins from ancient times, and one not so ancient. Way up in a beautiful clearing I found a well built log cabin. It hadn’t seen use in many years, but when I went inside I found four neatly made chairs, a table, and a second room with a homemade bed. There were pans, pots, some cups and a carefully built fireplace which was laid for a fire.
I was hesitant to make the fire, and looking at the wood it was really old. So I lingered for a couple of days, cleared out the fireplace and laid it with fresh wood. Using a broom I found I swept the cabin down and here and there touched the wood to restore it. The thought of the place falling apart after caring hands had worked so hard did not set well in my heart.
While I was replacing the woodpile and walking the forest, I found three graves. One was full sized and the other two were smaller. Rotten crosses were erected at the head of each grave, and I revitalized them as well. From the crude inscription, this was a man’s wife and two children. The date was decades old. He must have left and just never returned. I planted some flowers on the graves in honor of their memory. Why it mattered at all to me at that time in my life is still a mystery to me, but I did it.
Well into my fourth year I was working my way through a meadow when I heard a noise that just didn’t sound right. Walking into that direction, I stepped under a tree branch and right into another world. I mean one moment I was in the forest with nothing around but trees and a meadow covered in blue flowers, and the next I was looking at several rows of vegetables, a rock building on the side of a hill, and an old man feeding squirrels.
Doing a double take and shaking my head to ensure clarity, I stared at this man who looked up at me and, without skipping a beat, said, “Come on in young feller, ‘tis supper time.”
As much from stunned curiosity as anything else, I thought, ‘What the kahdjit’; sensing nothing sinister, I walked on up. Inside, the dwelling looked many times larger than the outside. Sure enough, at a formally set supper table he had place settings for two people. Looking around, I carefully removed my rucksack and sword, then washed my hands at a crystal laver he indicated.
This whole thing seemed creepy. But he struck me as being a lonely old man who had lost the string off of his crossbow. He began talking to me like he had known me for years, so I just played along. It was when the first course came in through the door that I was really taken aback. When I say the course came in through the door, that’s just what I meant. Two silver covered bowls floated in and placed themselves where they were supposed to be.
The old man asked what kind of soup I liked and I heard myself say, “Um, I really like onion and mushroom with chicken and parsley.” He waved his hand and smiled with pleasure, and the polished lid rose up and before me was a bowl of onion and mushroom soup with chicken and parsley.
I pinched my leg to see if I was dreaming and he said, “No, no … don’t bother yourself to see. I can quite assure you, you are not in slumber.” He giggled and began to sup his own soup and then asked me, “How is your grand pa-pa”
Caught even further off guard I said, “Sir, I have no idea.”
“Of course, of course … I’m sure he is doing well. I hope he doesn’t catch cold, it’s that time of the year you know?” The old man just giggled and seemed happy as a lark. We had several courses including fish, beef, chicken, something he called pasta and a variety of vegetables. And they were all exceptional. When the meal was over he had me walk through his dwelling with him as he began to water flowers, flowers which were all but dead.