by Nelson, J P
We all ate in there, brigands and prisoners, where it was comfortable. Whoever built this place knew what they were doing. Wood planks had been used to line the walls to help keep in the heat, and the eight feet ceiling was made of well fitted wooden beams. When I first stood next to the walls I could feel something strange about them. They looked and felt like wood, but I couldn’t determine what was different.
One of the prisoners, a slave worker from camp two spoke up, “I know where we are,” he said with enlightened wonderment. He was a fellow in his mid-thirties, of average height and build with brown and gray hair. He was called Yank, but no one had ever asked why. He walked up to one wall and touched the wood, “It’s been magicked,” he said.
“Huh?” asked someone else.
“Yeah. See?” Yank pointed all around, “It hasn’t aged, any of it. My pap told me about this place.” He looked around excitedly, “We’re standing in old Fort Barlow.”
Others were starting to gather around him in hopes of hearing a story. I would learn than humans will sometimes travel miles just to hear a good story. Even Deyan, who was now Mahrq’s second in charge, had walked over, listening curiously. Deyan asked, “What’s this about Fort Barlow?”
For the first time the center of attention, Yank seemed to come alive as he began talking with animated gestures, “Fort Barlow is the name of the fort in the Lost Garrison legend. It was way back, before the Org Uprising some three hundred years ago and more, when this trapper name Barlow found some ore he thought might be silver. Turned out it was Zahgitite, you know, the stuff they say the elves used to mix with silver to make Mythril.”
Several eyes turned to me then, and I just shrugged my shoulders, “Hey, I have no clue. I was born into slavery, remember?”
Yank continued, “Anyway, the king of Charlamae put this expedition together and even sent a pretty high class wizard …”
“Yeah …” someone interjected, “… Aggatha Ro’Yahl.”
Yank paused for a second and looked toward the interrupter with an impatient expression, “… to build this fort and mine the ore. The fort came first while Barlow led the way to find the deposits. Sure enough, tons of it was found, or so the story goes. A smelter was supposedly built where the mine was and some of the stuff put into bars.”
“Supposed to be a thousand bars, ain’t it?” the same voice asked.
From someone else, “Will you shut up and let him tell the story, Haden?”
“Thank you,” Yank said, “no one knows how many bars were made, but most think maybe ten or twelve. The stuff is supposed to be hard to work, takes a lot of heat to separate the metal out of the rock. More heat than any other ore.
“Like I said, Aggatha was a high class wizard and she had a lot to do with forming the walls. The story goes she pretty much made the rock shape up out of the ground. That’s why there aren’t any seams in the wall.”
I hadn’t even noticed and wondered if anyone else had. Yank was sharp and apparently noticed a lot.
“Well, while they were digging they woke something up, something vile and evil. Aggatha fought it, whatever it was, but she was beaten … or rather she couldn’t beat it. She tried to warn the fort commander but he wouldn’t listen. She managed to get one bar to a soldier who killed his horse to get out of there, but Aggatha stayed behind.”
“How did Aggatha get back to the fort so quick?” someone asked.
“Magic,” Yank answered, “legend says she could go as much as five or six miles with a snap of her fingers. Anyhow, this soldier’s name was Wallace, and he said he got fourteen or fifteen miles out when he glanced behind him and saw the trees bending in a wave coming his way. His horse died from running so hard and Wallace said smoke came out of the forest and wrapped around him. When he woke up the bar was gone, the horse was still warm, but his hands were all shriveled with age.
“He finally made it out of the country, but he looked to be eighty or ninety years old. He was only twenty-two when he was recruited for the garrison. He had married a farm girl and when he made it home she had done had their only youngun. He said it made it hard to be a pap to a baby when he was so old. But he always told for nobody to come up this-a-ways.
“When no one heard hide nor hair from the troops a few folks came looking. They had just vanished. Their gear was gone, supplies, everything. No bones were left and there was no sign of battle, excepting the wall being knocked down.
“The story goes Aggatha got away but stayed in the mountains to warn folks off and became known as Black Aggie.”
There were lots of murmurings after that. Then I heard Hoscoe’s voice, “I have never heard about the fellow’s name. How did you know that part of the story?”
Yank smiled, a little embarrassed but pleased, “He was my ancestor on my pap’s side.”
Hoscoe walked closer to Yank, “How did you get to be a slave?”
Yank scratched his head a bit, looked at the floor, and then replied, “Got caught.”
Hoscoe’s humor was aroused, “Got caught?”
“Yeah … got drunk and bedded the constable’s wife.”
Laughter rang out and Yank added quickly, “Hey, she was in the tavern dressed like a wench. I didn’t know no different.” He grinned a sheepish grin, “But she took my money and knew what she was about … best time I ever had.”
Mahrq came down from inspecting the upstairs and demanded, “What’s going on here? There’s work to be done.”
I saw Deyan walk over to Mahrq and start talking as the two went up the stairs, “Did you hear Yank? He was saying …
Hoscoe addressed Yank again, “What was your occupation?”
Yank took a deep breath and answered, “I used to pull the ribbons. That’s why they call me Yank.”
‘Pull the ribbons,’ I thought? What was that?
Someone else piped up laughing at Yank, “I thought they called you Yank because of something else.”
Yank’s face became sour, “I’ll give you something else to think about, ya damned bonehead. Come here and I’ll …”
“Did you drive the team that made the Yardley Run a few years ago?” Hoscoe interjected and had a curious expression on his face.
“Yup, that was me.”
As Yank walked away to pick up debris I saw Hoscoe watch him with consideration, then he shook his head with a look of respect on his face.
Settling in for work, I still didn’t know what it meant to pull the ribbons.
Chapter 17
________________________
BY THE END of the second day we had gotten the place into fair condition. There were no signs of the dragon hunter and his party, and it was clear Mahrq was not in the best of moods.
We had settled into our quarters for the night, and most of us were asleep, when a group on horseback entered the camp. By the scurried sounds of movement in the palisade, this must be the dragon hunting party. I heard conversations going on, but the tent walls and distance kept me from making anything out.
Then, not to far away from our tent I suddenly heard a stern and angry voice, “What do you mean, Stagus is dead?” At first I thought it was a woman yelling, the voice pitch was so high, or perhaps a young human teen in the middle of puberty.
Mahrq’s voice answered clearly and was somewhat on the defensive, “I mean, Stagus is dead. He …”
“The deal was for you to bring me STAGUS!” The first voice was rising in unbridled anger.
“I know that …”
“Alive! I wanted Stagus a-LIVE!” That voice was beginning to sound like an irritating whine.
“I understand …”
There was the sound of muffled thumping, as if the first person was slapping Mahrq, which was not likely, or was smacking the back of a gloved hand into the palm of another, which was most probably, “Alive and in chains! Not dead!” The words were being driven home with drops of acid in his speech.
“If you would …”
“We laid it out perfectly. I gav
e you specifics of his arrival and accompaniment; you have this so-called superior mountain team. You assured me nothing would go wrong. What went wrong Mahrq?” It dawned upon me the hunter’s voice was pitched just a little too high and with a nasal sound. He sounded almost comical.
There was a pause, “I want it clear with no frills, no embellished mountain man tale spinning. Tell me how you screwed up this perfect plan.”
There was another pause, as if Mahrq were waiting to make sure he wasn’t going to be interrupted again. I was remembering Mahrq’s own yelling conversation with Deyan. Then Mahrq began, “The operation went perfectly in camps one and three. The camp two operation hit a couple of snags, but they were taken care of. Stagus was caught, literally with his pants down, just as planned and put into irons …”
There was a long hesitation. Then Mahrq continued, “… but on the wagons returning from the point was this slink kid. He got up into Stagus’s face and challenged him in front of the gods and everybody.”
They were speaking in Quandellish and I very much wanted to get closer to see and hear better, but Hoscoe was awake and motioned me to stay still.
Mahrq was still talking where I could hear, “We thought it could be fun to watch …”
“You what?” the first voice was incredulous.
“We let them fight.” Hurriedly Mahrq added, “Stagus was known everywhere for his fighting. Last month he beat two sailors to death over in …”
“I don’t care what he can do.” Swearing all manner of profanity the first voice added, “I don’t care what he could do. You had him in chains and you let him out. Where is his body?” In jibing sarcasm he asked, “Did you think to keep it, like maybe for a souvenir?”
“Over this way …” and the voices faded as they walked away, apparently in the direction of Stagus’s wagon.
I just lay there for a while, not sure what to think. After a few minutes footsteps came toward into our tent. Inside stepped Mahrq followed by a blonde human who was just under average height, pot bellied and with a short-cropped hair cut. He looked in no way impressive, but his demeanor was clear in that he thought very much of himself.
Mahrq pointed at me and said, “There he is.”
The man stood there for a minute looking at me, and I was laying there on one arm looking right back at him. He looked like someone who enjoyed giving orders and being obeyed. There was something of an arrogant swagger to him and he was painfully neat. Hadn’t he just come in from a hunt? This fellow was serious about his looks, but not so much about his physical condition. And either he had just shaved or he couldn’t grow facial hair. Just by watching his body language you could tell he had a serious short person’s complex.
I thought to myself, ‘So, this is the dragon hunter?’ Somehow, there was nothing impressive about this human.
He asked Mahrq with a sideways nod, “What language does he speak?”
“We hear him talk Lohngish and he knows Quandellish,” Mahrq replied.
Nodding his head at me he asked, “So you’re the elf who killed Stagus bare-handed. Stand up and let’s have a look at you.”
Slowly brushing my covers aside, I stood up in my winter long handle underwear and gave him his look. He gave me a good study, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. He wasn’t like Stagus, there was something different in his manner I couldn’t place. I knew instantly I didn’t like him. Okay, I didn’t like humans in general, but this was something different. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Did you know Stagus has killed more than thirty men in stand up, bare knuckle fights? They were big, hearty men, too. And you pluck him down, a half-grown elf.” He moved closer and kept studying me, “Or should I say half-elf?”
All I did was slowly shake my head no. I had no idea of anything Stagus had done outside of the camps. The hunter’s face was becoming red as his blood pressure seemed to be rising, and he looked to be trying to act tall and intimidating. I quelled a sudden impulse to laugh.
“How do you know Quandellish? There have been no elves in Quandell for hundreds of years.”
From behind me came a voice, “He was born and raised a slave. You can learn a lot among other slaves.”
The hunter looked beyond me and asked, “Excuse me? Who are you? I gave you no permission to … Sophoria nod Sha’Deim!” The words I recognized by sound, but the dialect? It wasn’t a tongue my momma spoke, and I didn’t learn it from Jared. The phrase, it struck a chord in my memory. Why?
Hoscoe stepped around from behind me and looked the hunter level in the eye, “Hello Sormiske. It has been a while.” Hoscoe did not have his hand out in greeting.
The hunter, Sormiske, was completely taken aback and for a moment speechless.
Mahrq stepped up, “Wait a minute,” looking at Sormiske he asked, “you know this man?”
Sormiske got his composure together and, ignoring Mahrq, gave his full attention to Hoscoe, “Hello, sir. I heard you were dead.”
“Hardly ...” Hoscoe answered wryly.
Sormiske seemed to hesitate another moment, “I am sorry about your family, sir. Jonathan, Captain Jonathan, was well liked, and a good officer.”
“Ahem,” Mahrq cleared his throat and addressed Sormiske, “mind if I ask who this is?”
Sormiske did not take his eyes off of Hoscoe, “I served two years under this man. Mahrq, you are looking at General Tyorrin Hoscoe Val’Ihrus.”
Mahrq turned to look at Hoscoe and his face almost paled. Now I was looking at him differently. Hoscoe had been a general? Of where, and when?
As if he were reading my mind Sormiske added, only he was talking sideways to Mahrq, “General Val’Ihrus is as you know, without a doubt, the most effective general in Dahruban history. I was with him at the Battle of Wilcher and through the Jernigan War. He could quite possibly take what’s left of your band and kill you single handed.” To Hoscoe he offered a partial bow and salute, “Sir, would you please to come outside with me?” Hoscoe gave me a glance, and then followed Sormiske outside. Mahrq hesitated a moment and gave me a long, studious look, then followed the two men outside and let the tent flaps fall shut.
Standing there by myself I was feeling pretty awkward. I sat back down on my bedding and just looked around. All this time, Hoscoe had been a famous general. Not that it really affected me, but I wondered what direction things would now take. I thought we were becoming friends. With this former acquaintance showing up, he would surely want to separate himself from us prisoners.
Between fifteen, maybe twenty feet away from the tent’s side walls I heard the sounds of men walking. In the Shudoic tongue I heard Sormiske and Hoscoe speaking. How many languages did Hoscoe know, anyway? I knew several, myself, and a lot of humans knew two and sometimes three, the ones who traveled a lot, anyway. But this made five languages he knew, for sure. I was impressed. Of course it made sense he would know Shudoic. The Plains of Shudoquar, the largest realm in Aeshea, was the first established country west of Dahruban.
It seemed Mahrq wasn’t with them. Perhaps they had moved between the tents for some private talk, getting away from brigands lurking around trying to hear? Not that I, myself, would try to eavesdrop or anything. Being awake and able to hear so well, um, sometimes it’s hard to tune things out, you know?
Sormiske was asking, “May I inquire how you became involved with the likes of Stagus?”
A pause, “I have my reasons.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sure you do. It’s just … did you know he raped a young girl from Malone? She was the daughter of an important man.”
Another pause, “I’m sorry to hear that. I have not been privy to such information.”
“There is a large sum being offered as a reward for his return. He was to have been publicly stripped, skinned and crucified for slow death.”
“I see.” I could almost envision Hoscoe, or should I call him general, mulling the information over and nodding in his knowing way. “The reward would be most important. What
happened to the young lady?”
It was Sormiske’s turn to pause, a long pause, “I’m not sure.” I thought I could hear a shuffle of feet on the ground. “I believe she expired, sir.”
“Expired? Of course, I am sure Stagus would have been most rough. She must have suffered a great deal.”
“I suppose so.” Again a pause, “The point is I now have a dead Stagus, but I still need to take him to Malone, or at least present proof of his death. A bit further along the trail I have another client to satisfy.”
“The point, of course,” Hoscoe’s tone had subtly altered and was now almost mildly condescending. I honestly don’t think Sormiske was picking up on it. To me, Hoscoe’s voice fluctuation was obvious. I was beginning to wonder how bright this Sormiske fellow really was. “Well then, your course must be clear. Since you are in charge of this operation, and unless you have taken up the marketing of human merchandise, it shouldn’t be a problem to have some or most of us released.” I could hear a smile in his voice.
A long awkward silence followed, “Well, you see, sir. Therein lays the problem. I am in charge, and I haven’t taken up marketing of human merchandise, as you put it, but I have a dilemma. I’m not going to get the sum I expected for Stagus, and the dragon didn’t produce what was fully expected. My client made a reference that if I were to happen along an elvin male, she would be very generous. There is an elvin male in that tent, there, and he will make up for what I will lose regarding Stagus.”
“I see. What if I choose to take him of my own accord?” I was stunned. Hoscoe asked what?
“What if you choose …?” Sormiske seemed to fluster, “Sir, may I ask, did you actually surrender, as in accordance to the Associated Kingdoms Code of Combatual Conduct? Or did you just casually allow yourself to be taken?”
Once more, I heard a smile in Hoscoe’s reply, “What, Sormiske, do you think?”