Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

Mahrq gave Hoscoe a meaningful look, then braced his feet and affected a perfect salute. Hoscoe seemed taken aback a moment, then returned the gesture. It was a beautiful exchange.

  Mahrq turned to walk away and said, “Take who you need, I guess we better do it quickly.”

  “I concur.”

  Hoscoe saw me standing in the shadow with a bundle of gear. I asked, “Court-martial?”

  “He struck a fellow officer. Beat him quite thoroughly, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “The officer was attempting to force his way on a tavern girl.”

  I winced. So Mahrq had honor, at least at one time. “Does Sormiske know about that, and that Mahrq had served under you?”

  Hoscoe winked at me, and then smiled, “Sormiske was the officer.”

  ___________________________

  The word got out quickly that Hoscoe was going to pick four of the prisoners for freedom. Everyone, former slave and guard alike, knew Hoscoe had in his power to keep four men from an uncertain fate. His picks may not live the rest of the day, but they would be free men. Freedom, it has a magic ring to it. Over the course of many millennia men, women, elves, d’warvec, all manner of people had died to preserve or prevent it.

  What had Jared said? “I would rather live five minutes free than five hundred years as a slave.”

  Bernard was pure military and knew his stuff. He had very little personality, but was one squared away soldier. He talked occasionally, seemed to have one speed until he opened up with his sword arm, and had been Hoscoe’s Segundo at our camp. There is something to be said about working with someone you are used to.

  Thad I knew from working the point. He was tall, big shouldered, strong as a mule and steady as a rock. He had a slow sense of humor but was friendly to everyone. He had been a blacksmith who amassed a big gamboling debt and was sold as specialized labor. He wasn’t very fast, but I had never seen him quit until a job was done and he had performed the metal work for all three camps. When he chose his outfit, he picked out a hammer for a weapon. Hoscoe picked him particularly in case we had a breakdown. That cruiser had a lot of metal on it.

  René had been the hunter for camp two, and was the main reason the overthrow had been a problem. Most humans used the crossbow because it was easier to learn. René used a composite long bow, and he was fast, fast and accurate. He was twenty-one, mountain raised, able to ride a running horse bareback while hanging off the side of its neck shooting a bow, and a superb tracker. He was what he called a wilderman.

  During road camp chow talk, they said he could track a bird across the river. One fellow claimed to have seen him throw a piece of wood up in the air, pull an arrow and fire it into the wood before it hit the ground. I never saw it, but that’s what was said.

  The fellow added that when René pulled the bowstring, the back of his hand faced his body, an almost unheard of technique, at least in the human world, but it made perfect sense. The movement was much easier on the shoulder, included use of the back muscles; something called a compound movement and allowed for use of a bow with stronger pull.

  Come to think of it, when momma imitated use of the bow, her hand drew back in the same way. It also made notching and rapid fire of arrows much easier. It’s much easier to show than explain.

  The day the brigands struck the camps René had been out hunting. When the attack started he climbed a rock and took out six brigands with as many arrows. Unfortunately those were his last six. Drawing his sword he was caught with a bola from his blind side, just as he finished brigand number seven. Had the strike not been well planned from the beginning and most of the guards taken out, there wouldn’t have been enough brigands to collect the surviving slaves. Camp two had been more of a farming camp where much of our food was grown and preserved.

  Yank was something of a surprise, at first. Sure, he was a nice fellow who could tell a good story, was an above average worker, but except for his experience at driving a team of horses I couldn’t see why him. Anyone could drive a team of horses, couldn’t they? Someone else had the same thought.

  Among the prisoners one fellow called out, “Hey! Why Yank? Most of us are bigger and anyone can drive a wagon.”

  Though we were in a hurry, Hoscoe took the time and courtesy to answer an honest question, and he seemed to enjoy giving it, “Ten years ago a terrible battle took place outside of the Germaine country, up in the northern Kohntia Mountains. A hoard of almost six hundred barbarians massed to attempt wiping out an exploratory patrol from Dahruban. It took little time to almost obliterate the unsuspecting troops. In short order there were only eleven men left alive.

  “The second in command was a young man named Lieutenant Frederick, who decided to attempt making a run for it. The plan was to empty all supplies of a box wagon, fill it with the remaining soldiers and all the crossbow bolts they had left. One man had to drive the team and one man would set up top with him shooting a crossbow. A certain corporal volunteered for the duty, and the lieutenant rode the box beside him.

  “That corporal took that wagon through several miles of country he had never seen, driving at breakneck speeds to reach Fort Yardley, while these barbarians blew their horns and tried to stop the wagon by every means imaginable. The lieutenant died and the corporal took five arrows and one spear, but he got the wagon through. Only one man inside the wagon died and five more were wounded. I personally took the reports of three of the survivors.” Hoscoe gave an affirmative nod toward Yank, “He drives this wagon.”

  This wagon of Stagus’s, what Hoscoe had called a land cruiser, was an incredibly well built vehicle. Up to now I had never studied the thing, but it favored a floating barge at first glance, a barge with wheels. Hoscoe said this vehicle was designed and built in the Phabeon port city of Malone. Its purpose was to float like a boat, and roll like a wagon. They were expensive and used almost exclusively by the military. Stagus must have paid many a mark for this one.

  The underside was plated in black painted aluminum, and this one must have been treated magically because there were no seams. The entire thing set on a frame, which in turn was connected to wheels by metal leaf springs in back and coils in the front. Two partial side doors, one on each side, had to be accessed by a stepladder, and a tailgate in the back made for bulk loading. On top was a rim where you could put cargo and in the front was a short deck for the driver.

  This wagon was rigged inside with a narrow bed in the front, had a small hatch in the bottom for use as a waste dump, and a trap door led to the top. What seemed to be a pole in the center of the cabin was actually a tube, so a small mast could be slid into it from the top to mount a sail. The entire back area could be, and was now, used for cargo.

  The wizard claimed the bed as a private area for his, effects, as he called them. Since he might well be our ace in the hole for this dangerous journey, Hoscoe had no problem with it. A huge amount of dragon skin, teeth, claws and two eggs were now the cargo. Oh, and me. Another small sack was thrown in, as well. Stagus’s head had been preserved by the wizard.

  Trying to make a casual comment and learn at the same time I said, “All this skin, I thought dragons had scales.”

  The wizard passed me an undignified glance and said nothing. I felt like an idiot, so kept my mouth shut and started to go for a sack of supplies.

  The wizard then spoke, the first time I had heard him actually speak. His voice had a strange, guttural accent and when he opened his mouth his breath was revolting. Offhanded he offered, “A Shakeil Drake isn’t a true dragon. They look like one, breath fire like one, but otherwise their physiology is different.”

  I looked at him, interested, as well as becoming nauseous.

  “They don’t lay eggs. They keep them in their body and the drakelets hatch, so to speak, in the mother’s body. And they aren’t intelligent like proper dragons. They are beasts.” He walked away before I could even thank him for answering my question.

  Our food and water supply was also put in the wagon
. In actuality the load was now much lighter, as most of the previous load had been metal tools and the like. A nugget of fortune was that, in during the unloading and reloading process, we found a large supply of arrows, René’s personal quiver and his composite bow.

  I was the one who found it and handed it back to him. He smiled with deep appreciation, “I made her myself. It’s like a piece of me inside her.”

  It was really a beautiful piece of work. I had never seen an actual bow up close before, and running my hands over the perfectly shaped wood sent a tingle through my spine. It was made of several kinds of wood, in what he called a laminating process, and included Black Cedar, Sweet Wood and Silver Oak.

  René added as he caressed the bow’s texture, “It cost me a lot, but I had it magically treated by a master wizard. It won’t burn or warp, and water don’t bother it none,” he winked at me, “and it automatically adjusts to the shooter’s strength.” He slyly added, “I hear you’re pretty stout.” With a humorous raise of his forehead he said, “I bet you could sink one pretty deep into a feller, with the right draw.”

  Then he showed me his hand tooled quiver. Carefully pulling one particular arrow out, he showed me a Mythril arrowhead. “I got four of these I keep for luck. These beauts will sink through anything. I had five and I’ve used them all, but there was this run-in with what I think was a vampire.” He gave a sheepish grin, “Nothin’ else was workin’ and I didn’t hanker to go back and dig it out.”

  He was watching my facial expression as I admired his weapon, “You ever shoot a bow?” René asked. I slowly shook my head. He added, “You wanna give it a try? I’ll show you …”

  “No,” interjected Sormiske, as he walked up and heard the invitation, “he’s not going to need to know how. He’s a slave.”

  Also walking up, Hoscoe suggested, “It could be useful, Sormiske, for him to get some training. We are heading into dangerous territory and the org tribes are on the move. It is one reason Stagus was in such a hurry to get the building done and move on to the Citadel.”

  Sormiske grumbled a bit. Then he said, “Show him how to use the crossbow. He can use one of those. It might come in handy from on top of the wagon.”

  When he walked away and I had a moment with Hoscoe, I asked, “If Mahrq whipped Sormiske and doesn’t like him, why is he tolerating him now?”

  “Now, that is a good question,” Hoscoe answered. Raising his eyebrows he looked from me, to Sormiske, to the wizard, to Mahrq, and back to me, “I am not entirely sure he is. From listening to the men speak, my wager is that it was the wizard who negotiated the association before Sormiske was contracted for the job, therefore a name was not yet available for mention, or I am sure Mahrq would have voiced his opinion.”

  I saw a slow grin cross his face as he continued, “Knowing of Mahrq, I would guess he is simply honoring a contract and trying to get past it.” Passing me a quick, meaningful wink, he added, “There are those who live by a code of honor, even when branded as outlaws.”

  Sormiske was not happy. It would be Hoscoe and his chosen four, the wizard, Sormiske’s former driver, five more of Sormiske’s hunting party, and three of the brigands were contracted to go. That made sixteen people total to get dragon parts, Stagus’s remains, and me through one of the most dangerous stretches of mountain country anywhere, and we weren’t going to have access to the new road for days, if we made it that far. Everyone had a mount but the wizard, Yank and me. I had never ridden before so that was okay as far as I was concerned.

  The wagon was set with Stagus’s prized Clydesdales; six beautiful mahogany bay animals, each with a blaze down the center of the face. The skirts of their feet danced as they stomped in anticipation of moving. These animals could sense excitement was in the air. As I looked at them closely one looked at me, and once again I felt as if an animal was trying to talk with me.

  Yank suddenly came up with an idea, “Hoscoe, Mahrq has a pair of blacks he took from our camps. Those horses were caught by Fonder out of these mountain ranges and he broke ‘em in right in our camp. They ain’t as big as the drafters, but they know this kind of country and can run.”

  Hoscoe tilted his head and listened as Yank continued, “Up north, those sled dog teams use one dog in front what might not be the strongest, but it can go and it’s full of pepper. The rest of ‘em just up and follow. It wouldn’t take much to add some extra riggin’ if we do it quick, and it might make a difference.”

  Hoscoe thought about it for only an instant. Sormiske walked up and was opening his mouth when Hoscoe said, “I like it, make it happen.”

  Hoscoe looked to the north and west. He was worried about something and wanted out of there. Sormiske just stood back and left Hoscoe alone.

  ___________________________

  Hoscoe spent the rest of the time before our departure talking with the wizard. I didn’t know what was said, but the wizard’s face turned to curiosity, then approval. Sormiske had been idling around, then walked over to try to listen, apparently feeling left out. After all, wasn’t he supposed to be in charge? Just as he got within listening range, the wizard walked to the wagon without even acknowledging Sormiske’s presence. In fact he had to turn his shoulder to keep from running into Sormiske.

  In no time the entire wagon team was hitched and we were loaded, ready to go. Looking at the eight horse team, even though the lead horses were some shorter, I thought it looked almost dashing. With Yank sitting up on the box, reins in hand, I could imagine how this team would look running through the snow and mountain trails.

  We headed out through the remains of the gate and Mahrq’s crew was leaving out at the same time. As we parted, Mahrq and Hoscoe saluted with a friendly gesture.

  Tandy was to have led Sormiske out of the mountains and as far as Kynear, but at least we had his directions. Brigand he may have been, but he knew trails. On his own he probably would have still been alive. Hoscoe had talked with René and sent him on ahead. René carried one quiver on his back and one on each side of his horse. As we made out round and about of the fort, we stopped the wagon and the wizard stood up and started weaving his hands and making some sort of incantation. For several minutes he did that and Hoscoe kept looking north and west.

  I suddenly heard sounds of people coming from within the fort, and I saw fresh smoke rising up from where the chimney was. This much was for sure, we had us a kick butt wizard. He had formed some kind of large scale illusion, complete with smells, sounds and everything. The wizard did and said something else and I watched in amazement as all of our tracks covered up behind us. Hoscoe got us going at a good clip and for almost four miles I watched our tracks cover back up where we passed. I kept watch until the tracks quit filling in and I just turned to look at the wizard.

  Now that, I thought, was tough.

  Chapter 19

  ________________________

  TORVEN QUANDELL WAS a master rogue who established a hideout north and east of the Ahnagohr Range. He had lived his whole life in the wilderness and knew mountain country like no other human. Eventually he had a whole band of rogues who he brought to his hide out, there a small colony grew. In time the place became known as Quandell’s Cove. No one could find the place, it was so well hidden among the mountains.

  Over the years Quandell’s Cove became known as a safe haven for rogues, thieves, and anyone on the dodge. Quandell laid down a set of rules to live by, and as long as you caused no trouble within the Cove, there would be no trouble with you. If you were found to be representing the law or a military interest, you would be hung, no questions asked.

  The language of Quandell began as a code, used by the residents as a safety feature. Grandfather Quandell, as he came to be known, trained up his own policing force which developed into a type of army as the years rolled on. Families were started, children were born and villages were built, but all lived under the same code.

  When Grandfather Quandell passed on he was an old man who had lived out his later years
as a feudal lord. A man of foresight, he had established a means of government leadership which was still working, four hundred and sixty-two years after he first established his hide out.

  From Quandell’s Cove, the place became known simply as Quandell. There were those who called it Thieves Valley, because supposedly thieves are still welcome there, but not everyone in Quandell is a thief. There isn’t an actual city, but there are several villages and one fairly sizable town.

  Mahrq wasn’t from Quandell, but he apparently moved there after his military experience and became a Captain of their militia. Then he started his own raiding operation. It was home to Quandell that he was headed.

  There is a very good reason Torven Quandell chose to settle north and east of the Ahnagohr Range; because this happens to be one of the most deadly regions of the whole Sahrjiun Mountains. The people of Quandell had fought many battles and waged two wars with a race of beings known as the Ahnagites, for whom the Ahnagohr Range is named. At one point, the Ahnagites came close to wiping out the settlement in its infancy.

  Mahrq himself had led the win in two battles against these beings, and it seems they had a personal vendetta with him. Hoscoe and Mahrq knew of smoke signals which had been seen by a scout. The Ahnagites were preparing for battle. Hoscoe wanted no part of it and we were traveling quick-time to leave the region. Not that it would get much easier. Between us and the new road were at least two tribes of orgs who apparently were fighting among themselves regarding territorial issues.

  We were not in a good position.

  ‘This was well planned, Sormiske,’ I thought with sarcasm. It was no wonder he was stepping back and letting a seasoned warrior take charge.

  The Ahnagites have been described as demons or evil wood spirits. They are neither, but just as evil. At first glance you might think their skin is covered with bark, and they know how to stand next to a tree and appear to vanish. They are flesh and blood creatures who have learned to fashion tree bark into a supple armor, but which can deflect any save the most well aimed arrow. A missile that hits just a hair off angle will deflect, so all shots must be squarely aimed. And that’s hard to do in combat when people are turning this way and that.