by Nelson, J P
After the guard had left I turned to Hoscoe and asked, “How long? How long have I been …?”
“For the whole day. The guards drug you over here and left you to die. I could not get to you until after dark settled. We have all been packing supplies from the camp for a journey, I am not sure where, yet. We reloaded all the goods Stagus just brought in, the tools, everything left of any kind of value. It is a good load of loot, actually.”
I started to ask another question, and I had many, but he held up a hand and said, “We have time to talk later. It is nigh to midnight and you need some proper rest. You think you can stand up? I would like to get you over where we are. There are blankets and some food, if you can eat a little. You are going to need it, trust me.”
For the first time it began to register on me where I was. Whoever it was, they drug me off to the side next to one of the now burned down shacks. All around me was debris, ash and charred wood. I tried to stand and everything started to spin, my stomach felt queasy.
My weakness I am sure was obvious. Hoscoe hooked my left arm over his neck and gave me support to the other side of the compound, where the rest of us captives were. As he took a’hold of me I realized just how big he really was. Hoscoe had muscles under his muscles, but his ease of movement belied his size. A couple of our captures watched us under cocked crossbow, but offered no comment.
A tarp had been slung in a make-shift shelter. Apparently these brigands hadn’t expected to be here this long. I couldn’t help wonder what was in store for any of us. By the time Hoscoe had helped me over I felt more tired than I believed possible. It wasn’t just the fight and busted head, the healing thing took something out as well.
It was almost a contrast in principles. I can be injured, but healing myself will fix the injury while costing me something else. Too much to think about at the moment.
Most everyone was asleep, but Thad was awake and getting me a bed ready. Another pair of eyes was looking, but I couldn’t recognize who they were. Hoscoe did. In a quiet, but authoritative voice he instructed the eyes, “Bernard, rustle some of that stew, will you? Make it heavy on the meats and carrots, but only about half a bowl. He is not going to be able to eat a lot, but he is going to need something in his system.”
Okay, I thought, Bernard. He was one of the guards, uh, one of our former guards that is.
“Thank you Thad. Would you mind getting my canteen from my duffle and bring it here?” Hoscoe eased me to my bedding. Had he just thanked Thad, and then ask him to do more? Hadn’t Hoscoe been chief guard just hours before? Thinking back on the years, I realized Hoscoe had never raised a harsh word to anyone. Nor had he been rough with any of us slaves. I needed to be more observant with people.
The guard, former guard, Bernard, came over with a bowl of stew and Thad brought the canteen of water. Hoscoe knelt down and looked me level in the eye, “Now, take your time and eat as much as you can. Do not force it down, but make sure you eat something. The meat will give you protein and the carrots will give you some energy. In the morning eat heavy as you can on the potatoes.”
He paused for a moment, “You have been through a lot, but it could get worse. These fellows are not pleasant and they know what they are about. If you wake up and are thirsty, drink slow, but drink as much as you can.”
He slowly got up and turned to go.
“Hoscoe …” I said in a weak voice. He turned around and looked at me. “Thank you.”
I saw slow warmth grow in his face and he smiled at me. It was a nice, relaxed smile and I could tell my words meant something to him. What had momma told me, “Never forget to say thank you; you have no idea what it can mean, even to the desolate soul.”
With a forefinger he gave a friendly gesture toward me and said, “In the morning …” Then he nodded at me and turned away.
I ate as much as I could, but my stomach wasn’t in the mood for much. It seemed I was more thirsty than anything, but I couldn’t guzzle it down. Besides, Hoscoe had advised against it, anyway. Putting the cap on the canteen I eased back into and under my blankets. Looking at our group, at what was left of the point camp and over to where Stagus’s wagon was parked, all manner of questions ran through my mind. Looking into the night sky I noticed snowflakes begin to flurry, and then I fell asleep.
Chapter 15
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THE NEXT MORNING everything was covered in a light blanket of whiteness, almost as if nature wanted to cover up the fact our camp had even been there. It reminded me of what my momma used to say, “No matter what anyone tries to do, Nature can and will ultimately prevail in the end.”
Because the camp occasionally moved, all construction was temporary. Tents were used often, and the shack walls could be dismantled and carried to new locations. It was one reason for their less than sturdy construction. Now, however, almost nothing remained but blackened pieces of wood. Absolutely nothing was left standing save for the poles of the corral and some hitch rails.
Hoscoe had unofficially taken charge of the group and he had everything in ship shape line. At first it appeared to make life easier for the brigands, but he explained that the less Mahrq had to worry about us, the more we would be left alone. It seemed we were waiting on another group to join us from the other camps.
Sure enough, the brigands only paid us enough attention to assure we weren’t trying to escape. We had a meal and Hoscoe came over to make sure I was okay and give me a bundle of clothing. In it was a fresh body shirt, hip length tunic and a heavy mantle with a hood.
“You going to make it, Sed?” he asked with a wry smile.
I looked at him and with a hint of humor and a raised eyebrow I replied, “Maybe. But I have a wicked headache.” Nobody but he and I knew about my self-healing. Thad had been close enough to see me lying there, but had not touched me. As far as he knew, Hoscoe had overestimated my injuries, which was fine with me. I still wasn’t sure how it worked and I didn’t want to be farmed out as a miracle healer.
Once he made sure everyone had had breakfast and we were in order, Hoscoe sat with me and we talked in Elvish, “You were not supposed to kill Stagus, you know?”
I kept feeling the back of my head. Not meaning to be funny and in a serious tone I said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Hoscoe looked over at me and suddenly started laughing, the sound was infectious and after a moment, I realized how dryly sarcastic my answer sounded and I chuckled in spite of myself.
“I think you will do, my young sir,” Hoscoe said.
There were many thoughts and questions in my mind, but I had no idea where to start.
Hoscoe began to explain, “After your wagons left for the point, Stagus had me and a couple of others sit with him for a big breakfast. He was proud of himself.” In an exaggerated attempt to imitate Stagus, Hoscoe went on, “‘I’m a goin’ to be rich, boys,’ he said, ‘ain’t nothin’ goin’ to stop me now.’ He was really full of himself about finishing the road. I think he had been drinking for days, you could smell it in his sweat.
“We ate, and we ate well. Finally he got up to go to the latrine. ‘I got business to attend to,’ he said. Stagus was always course, often gross, and he explained in detail what and how much he was going to do and how many wipes he figured it would take him. The others left to go about their duties and I sat for a few minutes to enjoy my coffee. There is nothing like a good morning cup of coffee, and when it is available I take advantage of it.
“I was just putting my cup down when all Hades broke loose.
“Most of the guardsmen took it in one shower of bolts. I drew my blade and stepped up to the door and saw Stagus being led from the latrine, his britches literally around his knees.”
Hoscoe passed me an amusing look, then gazed out to where the main shack had been and shook his head. I listened attentively and waited for him to go on.
“It was the funniest sight I had ever seen.” He looked at me and pointed his finger in punctua
tion, “The bastard deserved it.” He almost mumbled under his breath in Nahjiuese, “No way to run a camp, or to treat people of any kind.”
Nahjiuese was one of those languages my momma had taught me. It was one of the oldest tongues and came from the lands far to the north, the lands of Nahjiua, which once had been a great kingdom. Nahjiuese, it was the common tongue of humans where my momma had lived before her captivity. I was more interested in Hoscoe than his recounting, but I kept listening.
I wondered if he realized he had slipped languages, then seemingly without notice he continued in Elvish, “I decided there was no use risking my neck for someone who had already surrendered ...” he looked at me and grinned with a wolfish grin, “… so I just raised my hands and said ‘No more.’ Stagus was furious and was yelling all kinds of filth.”
I asked, “They didn’t push it with you? Nobody tried to fight you?”
Hoscoe shrugged his shoulders, “No. I knew of these boys. They kill when they need to, but Mahrq does not like to waste ammunition. Besides, even among brigands he is known for using only as much violence as is necessary. He prefers loot, but will use captives to carry merchandise if there are not enough domestic animals or wagons. Then he may or may not sell the captives. He may just turn them loose if a market is not nearby. And if you are enslaved, there is always a chance of escape. They took my sword and led me to the poles. That was it.”
Hoscoe looked at me with a wry look, “It is not as if he’s worried about someone recognizing him one day. He lives in the wild country and knows it like the back of his hand. And it is not likely anyone is going to finance the sending of troops way out here to hunt him down, at least not yet. He’s not going to like this trade route opening up, not one bit.”
He scratched his nose, “Slavery gets a lot of work done and keeps some bad people off the streets. Selling certain criminals off instead of housing them with taxpayers money, like a lot of the so-called civilized cities do, is considerably more successful in deterring the criminal mind than free food and housing. I do not approve of slavery due to taxes or bad debts, but I do not make the laws. Of course, that is just my opinion.”
He noticed my being quiet.
“Most people are born into slavery of one kind or another, Sed. They are slaves to their work, to working for someone else’s dreams or goals, whatever. You will find a lot of people, especially the farther into civilization you go, frown upon breeding people for slavery or selling children. You will find that practice mostly here in the deep south and southwest, it is a means of controlling those who have been conquered. And that happens a lot.
“I know at least one country up north where, if someone is murdered, they put the culprit in jail because execution is considered barbaric. But the same country loves to watch fighters get bloodied up and slain in coliseum fighting. Go to the east coast and pinch a woman in Vedoa, they will flog you in public. Get caught in the wrong bedroom and you will hang.”
It was as if Hoscoe was trying to teach me something, but why? Or was he just talking because of a need for communication? I had noticed for years, humans talk for the sake of talking, whether they say anything or not. Momma and I could say nothing to each other for hours, but say much in the process.
Hoscoe had even more to say, “Not all of us humans are alike, nor are all elves. I have known good and bad d’warvec, gon’yia and chonatts as well. We are all people, each with our own story, hopes, goals and failures. Some of us have pointed ears, some do not. And what this group of people holds as values may mean nothing to another.”
Hoscoe wasn’t hammering philosophy or anything, he was just talking casually. But there was a meaning in his tone. He sounded a lot like my momma. The thought came to me the two would have gotten along well. I just looked around at Hoscoe wondering and thinking. How much did he know about me? What had Stagus told him, if anything?
Hoscoe gave his knees a pat and said, “Just some things for you to think about.” I watched him get up and start making rounds of the other prisoners, former guards and slaves alike. Watching him for a while I thought about what all he had said. It was a lot to chew on, and completely against my vengeance mentality.
How did I feel about Hoscoe? He actually took the time to care for me, and that still had me confused. Wasn’t he part of Stagus’s operation, a guard for hire who did his job well? Was he a coward, not to fight? I let that one go real quick.
Hoscoe did not seem cowardly, not in the least. He was always in control of himself, never seemed to get mad and come to think of it I had never seen him drunk. More than once I had seen him step between slaves in a scuffle. Any other guard would just let slaves bang their heads in. And there was something in his manner which commanded respect. He didn’t come right out and demand it, but something about how he handled himself made you want to pay attention to what he did and said.
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Mahrq spent much of the morning pacing and I could hear him commenting about the weather, how slow subordinates were and where in Hades was Bulder? It became clear Mahrq had never intended to wait around this camp for any lengthy time period.
Once, the guard who whacked me came over to stare. He walked away shaking his head.
We prisoners had it easy, for the most part. The ones who had been guards were now singing a different tune and a couple of them were actually talking about how much they hated Stagus. One, a young human with no hair named Frahn, came up and told me he loved every second of the fight and hoped I held no hard feelings toward him. It’s amazing how a person’s attitude can change when the tables turn.
Hoscoe simply hung around our group and rested, encouraging us all to do the same. “Rest and eat when you can, fight when you have to,” he told me.
At one point I asked, “Where do you come from, Hoscoe?”
He looked at the ground for several moments until I wondered if he even heard me. Then he replied with the shadow of a smile, “I come from all over Sed.” After a few moments of thinking, he scratched at the ground with a stick he had been fidgeting with and said, “I was born up north, wa-a-ay up north.” He glanced at me with a somewhat sad smile and I knew he really didn’t want to talk about it. So I let is slide.
While we had time to breathe, I spent some time by myself. I made as if to meditate and attempted another *Self Heal.* The same warmth rushed through my body, from the ground up, and when I was done there were no marks left at all from the fight. No scars, no nothing. Flexing my fingers and arm muscles I just marveled. If anything, I felt good. I began wondering what else I may be able to do if I took the time to experiment. How to go about doing it was another matter. A slave doesn’t exactly have a lot of private time.
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It was almost noon when a cavalcade of five loaded wagons and a procession of twenty-two prisoners were marched to our camp by about a dozen mounted guards. Mahrq was livid and it was easy for me to hear and understand all their conversation. As I said before, they spoke Quandellish, a tongue heard rarely in these parts. And when I want to, I can hear much farther than humans … elvin ears and all.
Mahrq went straight to the man in the lead. Swearing profusely with almost every other word he demanded, “What took you so long, Deyan? Where’s Bulder?”
The man identified as Deyan answered, “We hit the other two camps clean, but on the way in we were hit by a good sized band of orgs. We didn’t do bad and lit out o’ there and made steady time. But when once we settled into camp, Corley went to make sure the prisoners were all secured. Then he suddenly started screamin’ like he’d seen a devil or somethin’. Bulder tried to yell him out of it when Corley couldn’t talk.
“You know Corley, he wasn’t scared of nothin’. Bulder grabbed him to shake sense into him and this slink slave jumped up, grabbed Bulder’s dagger and skewered Corley. Then he turned right around and grabbed Corley’s sword and slit Bulder’s gullet and swiped his neck faster than you could shit …”
Mahrq cut him off and yelled emphatically, “Bulder’s dead? Did you get the spike-eared bastard? Get down from that horse!”
The wagons were rolling into the compound as everyone was listening to Mahrq and Deyan. Of our group, only I and maybe Hoscoe could understand what was being said.
Mahrq was livid as he started to walk to the wagons, apparently to inspect the merchandise, then whirled back to Deyan, “Did … you … get … that … slink … trash … slave?!”
“No.”
It looked for a minute like Mahrq was going to hit Deyan as he brought both hands up, and then violently clenched them hard in the air. He exploded almost into Deyan’s face, “Why NOT?!”
I wondered why Deyan didn’t just clout Mahrq. Now off of his horse and standing face to face, Deyan was at least eight or nine inches taller.
Deyan replied, “Two of the boys got off shots, but the slink ducked down and one took Corley, another one took one of the slaves. He had hit ground rollin’ and was into the hill faster ‘en we could get to him. He’s good Cap’n, real good. Tandy tried to track ‘im but there weren’t any tracks anywhere.”
Mahrq yelled for a small, greasy looking human to come over. Firm, but not yelling, Mahrq asked, “You tried to track this spike and you found nothing?”
“Nope, I didn’t find nary a thing. I hunted up the ridge-line, like where he had gone, then I backtracked up their cooking creek, and scouted as much as a half mile in ever’ direction he might ‘uv gone. But there weren’t no tracks nowhere. The new snow had some rabbit tracks and I saw wolf sign, but nowhere did I see where a two-legged critter had been. It was like he just outright disappeared.”
A brigand who had been in camp with us had walked up to listen. Tandy turned to him and said, “You shoulda seen the prints from that wolf, Behn,” Tandy held his hands out in a big circle, “that big, no exaggeratin’. Had to ‘uv weighed four hundred, maybe four hundred and fifty pounds. I never seen one that big, never heard of one that big either.”