by Nelson, J P
The right crossbow suddenly quit reloading. A few shots more and the other ceased reloading as well. We were almost through the hoard. Wahyene must have run out of offensive spells, because he ducked back into the trap door. Feeling washed out, I was so tired. Then something hit the roof from behind.
Again?
I turned and saw an org about to swing an ugly bladed weapon at me. I ducked and he sprawled onto me, dropping his weapon over the side we both fell forward over the box. We were there for just a moment, the org upside down and almost ready to fall forward with me on top. I got a moment’s glance at Yank who looked at me wild eyed as if to say, ‘What are you doing there?’
With one hand around the org’s throat, I broke concentration to shrug my shoulders at Yank as if to say, ‘What do I do now?’ And then org and I both tumbled onto the wagon tongue between the wheel horses. We struggled and fought, somehow keeping from falling through the traces. He hit at me and I swung wildly at him.
Our battle went up the tongue until we ended up between the two lead horses; him on top of me, his face against mine. My back was on the harness tree which connected the team, and on each side of me I could see and hear the thunder of the horse’s hooves. Suddenly I felt the memory of my childhood nightmare and panic seized my vitals. One moment I was between horses running, and then it seemed everything turned to shadows and the horses around me became almost skeletal, their eyes transformed into black fire.
The crack of a whip sounded right above me, ending the ghostly vision. Org had drawn out a long knife and was trying to push it into my gizzard, but Yank had snagged his arm with his whip and was swearing at the top of his lungs.
‘Healing … healing …’ I thought. ‘What about …’ I touched his face with my head and imagined hurt instead. The remains of my inner heat surge flared and something went from my head into his. I saw his eyes open wide for a moment, then his lids fluttered and I thrust up with my knee. I managed to catch his blade as he went over my head and down in between the lead horses. I heard a yell of anguish as I rolled to grab the harness of the horse on my left, which turned out to be the right lead horse
Pulling myself up and onto its back I realized I had made a mistake. I had never been up on a horse before and let alone my fear of the creatures, there was no saddle and my more private parts were making a strong complaint. Up from the side an org came at me with a spear. Attempting to deflect with my knife, I also managed to slide the point up the spear and into the org’s chest. The knife impaled the org and was wrenched from my hand as we rushed by.
Drenched in cold, anxious sweat I gasped and thought, ‘Good, that was great … now what?’
Another horn blew, how much farther? I felt my mount falter and my leg was wet. The horse had been horribly slashed, must have been by the org’s spear. Panic washed through me again, if the horse went down it would throw the rest and crash the wagon.
Tearing off my glove I felt for the wound as the horse kept stumbling. The creature was running on heart alone. I forgot my own fear of horses to try sending this courageous animal a feeling of assurance; then attempted to close the wound with my hand. I breathed deeply and tried to summon one more wave of the heat, of the healing energy. ‘Come on …’ harder I focused.
‘There …’ once more power coursed through my inner self, pulsing in my chest, into my arm and through my hand. This was life and death for us all. It was as if I were pushing my very life force into the horse’s body through my hand. I felt the wound start to close and a piece of metal emerge from the horse’s side.
The horse was good, but I couldn’t hold on. I heard the horn once more as I fell from the horse’s back, onto the road, and tumbled down below into a gully among the trees.
Chapter 20
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ROLLING IN THE snow covered foliage and bouncing a couple of times, I landed hard on my back. Nothing seemed to be broken, but the breath had been knocked right out of me. Suddenly something hit the snow and landed on either side of my shoulders, growling ferociously. Afraid, but opening my eyes I looked straight up into the white underbelly of a large beast standing on all fours above me. The creature’s head was directly over my belt line and its chest above mine. From my vantage point it was clear this was a male, and the paws on either side of me were bigger than my hands. My precarious position might be considered funny in other circumstances, but right then I was mighty concerned.
I lay there with a sense of impending doom, but then a ray of sunlight reflected with the glitter of gold and my breath caught … the golden tag … the giant wolf … and his growl turned to a wicked snarl that made my blood curdle. And I still hadn’t caught my breath.
Looking down between my legs I saw what he saw, there were six orgs coming my way fast. Suddenly the wolf leaped, spraying snow and forest flooring all over my face. He leaped forward and caught one of the orgs full in the throat, carrying him back and into a tree. Then tearing away from his fatally wounded target, he bounded this way and that between the second and third oncoming assailants.
You’ve got to remember this wolf was well over three hundred pounds, maybe four, and insanely mad. He had more body mass than either of these orgs and they were already in a panic. I felt myself blacking out as I fought hard to remain conscious and get to my feet. Scrabbling on hands and knees, I floundered into a tree as I forced my lungs to inhale and exhale. Tearing my fingers into the bark I managed to stand while I heard snarling and screaming voices all about me.
Suddenly I heard someone shout my name, “Sed!” It was Bernard riding hard in my direction with his arm outstretched. I heard a hard strike and the wolf yelped in pain. Looking, I saw one of two remaining orgs staggering and missing the whole backside of one leg as the other one swung wildly at the wolf.
Bernard was almost upon me as I stepped from my support and stretched out my arm, as yet another yelp of pain rang the air. I caught Bernard’s arm and as I swung up, I saw the wolf seem to go down for a moment and roll with the remaining org. Bernard rode hard to get up the slope, and at the top I was able to look around … the last org was convulsing in the darkening snow, but there was no wolf. ‘Where …?’
One of the brigands and one of Sormiske’s men were bringing up the rear, and as we got back up on the trail the four of us rode all out to catch the wagon. Overhead I thought I saw a Saukeir soaring above the trees and flying away.
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Call it a miracle, stroke of luck, whatever you may like. We all made it through alive. Wahyene had hurled spells to either side and over the back of the wagon and I had paved the way with those magic crossbows. Hoscoe had mowed down more bad guys than anyone could count, and René’s arrows had hit their mark. Thad was swinging his hammer from horseback and crushed many a head and chest. But the real hero was Yank.
The sight alone of that big wagon and those horses took the orgs by surprise. Many years later the orgs were still talking about it in their tribal gatherings. Yank took those horses around stones, boulders, a major hole in the trail and more than one hairpin turn. In between yells and reign popping he was smacking uglies with that whip. More than once I saw an eyeball fly through the air of an org he had tip-whipped in the face.
Once we reached a safe point, Yank gradually slowed the horses to a walk to let them cool down. When we came to a stop we regrouped and caught our breath. I got down from behind Bernard and as he dismounted I said, “You went out of your way and saved my life. Thank you.”
He just looked at me, shrugged, and said, “No man left behind.” That was it, he said nothing else. For a long time I thought of those words and never forgot them.
Now that we were seemingly in the clear, at least for the moment, it dawned upon me I had just engaged in my first true battle. As the adrenaline washed away I found myself shaky, but instead of a lingering fear I felt something else; was this how the warrior-elves felt like after battle? For some reason I wanted to sing, to dance the t
ribal fire … what would Kn’Yang have thought of my first engagement? I looked into the woods; would momma have been proud?
As Wahyene climbed out of the wagon he paused and gave me a long stare. I said, “Sorry about your head.”
He didn’t respond and kept looking at me as if for the first time, like he was trying to figure something out. I was getting uncomfortable when one of the brigands, a small and wiry human named Hestor came over and said, “Hey, good shooting.” And he slapped me on the back.
I just shrugged, “It was the magic he put in the crossbows,” I said indicating Wahyene.
“I don’t know, Sed,” René said, while seriously shaking his head, “your hair was lookin’ like it was on fire or somethin’. And everything you hit knocked back four or five feet, then went down stone dead.”
“Yeah, Sed,” Thad put in with his slow drawl, “you was doing mighty fine up there.”
Hoscoe walked up and gave me an approving look and nod. He gave out some instructions for putting a quick fire together to make some coffee, pan fried bread and deer meat, then led me off to the side, “What they are trying to tell you, Sed, is that the wizard enabled the weapons to automatically reload and fill the groove with a bolt of solid light. The bolt hits with the force of a regular metal tipped shaft of wood and goes through less than metal armor. It’s very effective in itself, but does nothing more than save ammunition and allow faster reload time.”
I stood dumbfounded. “But I couldn’t have done anything. The crossbows were buzzing in my hand, but not until he did whatever to them.”
Hoscoe just looked at me, tilted his head, and tapped me in the chest as if just slightly irritated with me. Then he creased his brow and said in that damned, perfect Elvish, “And from the lands West of the Hoshael, even from the Mountains of Dsh’Tharr, came Oshang and his warriors of Sword, Bow, and Bouhli; and the Children of the Stars did tremble before those who would be called the Gahjurahnge, who Men would call Ranger.
“And from the bow of Oshang did eschew arrows like unto fire and lightning; his countenance did shine as the Morning Sun; and those who beheld the fury of Oshang did call him terrible …” With a tilt to the other side he looked me straight into the eyes, “Surely you have that story?” I thought he would grind his teeth, for a moment there. Then he turned and walked away.
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The horses were tired, but we needed a little more distance. Without delay, after eating we put out the fires and proceeded to a place which was to offer shelter from possible elements. That is, if it wasn’t being used by a bear or other big nasty.
Before we remounted, though, I took the time to walk to that lead horse I had ridden ever so briefly. I had always been so afraid of these animals, and wasn’t sure I was over it yet, but as I stood off to the side of this one, he looked over at me and there was no animosity whatsoever. He dipped his head in my direction and with a slightly trembling hand I reached up and touched him on the nose. We stood there for a long moment and I felt a warmth as he nuzzled my palm as I remembered Dahnté.
Sormiske saw me and snapped, “Get up on the wagon, we don’t have time for you to play around.”
I did as I was told, but somehow I felt different. When I settled in my seat I was smiling. Yank looked at me, but he said nothing. He began to smile, too, as if he knew something he was keeping to himself. Then he snapped the reins and we were on our way again.
With regard to orgs, one big plus is that they are very superstitious and afraid of the moon spirits. I had never heard of moon spirits, but no one was complaining. We camped without a fire, so as not to draw any more attention than was necessary.
I had talked to Hoscoe about the wolf and he only shook his head grimly. He didn’t see it during the attack and there had been no sign of it after. Bernard was the only one to offer anything in the way of an answer, “I was right there Sed, and when I looked back to make sure we weren’t bein’ chased by them orgs, your wolf was gone.”
That wolf, and I was sure it was the same wolf, had saved my life twice. I wished him to be alive, very much. Again I wondered who he might belong to, and why that person had never shown them-self.
As I rolled into my bedding it was the wolf which stayed on my mind. Was he dead? Any thought of him being a spirit creature was gone from my mind. Spirits don’t yelp in pain. And there was the Saukeir. So many questions with no answers, my head was spinning. Finally I fell asleep.
The next morning, before light, we ate a hot meal and hit the road. Hoscoe was also insisting on his coffee. Coffee was not a common drink and considered a delicacy, but it was something Hoscoe kept in stock for his own personal use. He had recently ordered a package of coffee, imported from the continent of Lh’Gohria. Luckily it was still on the wagon when it was taken by Mahrq and hadn’t been removed.
As we were getting up, Yank walked by Sormiske’s bed, who was always the last to get up, and began grumbling, “That damned elf-boy needs to be doin’ more work, get off his ass and pull his damn lazy weight, ‘stead of waitin’ around …” which was unusual for Yank.
But then Sormiske rose up from his cover and barked at me, “You, Sed, get off your ass and help Yank harness the team.”
I was confused, but as I walked over to help Yank he turned and gave me a wink and said not a word, other than patient instructions how to curry the horses, check the hooves, apply the harness and so on. Two of the horses needed to have shoes replaced, and I watched that, too.
To make sure I did work, Sormiske insisted that I help Yank with the team for the rest of the journey; and all the while Yank was trying to get me used to being around horses and how to care for them. That Yank was a wise fellow, wise and slick as axel grease. He even showed me how to feed a horse by hand without getting my fingers nipped. I actually got where I looked forward to the feeling of horse whiskers against my palm. I could see why my momma liked it.
Something else on that wagon hadn’t been removed, or found. Yes, I focused on the trail. But occasionally I would look at other things as well. From time to time I would look down around my feet, at imperfections on the box seating, etc. While elves can see farther than humans, we can also see in close-up detail beyond human capability. Most humans need at least a basic magnifying glass to see some things we can see easily, and those glasses weren’t easy to come by and expensive to purchase.
During a small stretch of clear area I found an anomaly in the seat construction. Casually pointing it out to Yank, he helped me manage to sneak some study and eventually I found a cleverly hidden latch mechanism. While we were in the lead at one point, I used his utility knife blade to slide the latch. A portion of the seat popped open, and as we both carefully slid ourselves around I found an interesting pouch hidden in a secret compartment. Smiling at each other, we never mentioned the find to anyone else.
Those Clydesdales were grain fed animals and we had brought plenty of corn with us. The pair up front weren’t used to it, but once introduced they loved it. When I checked the right lead horse, there was no sign he had ever been injured. Yank had been the only one to see me do my healing thing, and he said nary a word. We had a silent understanding, Yank and I did.
To rest the team we made slow time, but we did push on. At any moment things could go bad, so we kept our vigilance and stayed alert. Within two days we made the new trade road.
It was at the junction into the new road I saw high up on a ridge the figure of the great wolf. Yank elbowed me from the side and said, “There he is.” I was elated, but also sad. I was on the way to some witch for whatever reason, but what I really wanted was to be like that wolf. “That’s what I want,” I said softly, “to be free and wild as that wolf.”
“Huh?” Yank asked. He looked up and admired the creature’s majesty, sitting up there like a king of his world.
He thought a minute and looked sideways at me began that sly smile, “Well, now, you two critters got a lot in common. An’ the look in your eye, sometim
es, is wild as a Hound of Hades. Why don’t cha take Wolf for a name?”
I just looked at Yank and wrinkled my brow in thought, then back at the wolf. The snow had started to fall again and I saw a breeze roll through his fur like a wave.
Yank laughed, “Yup, that’s it. From now on we’ll just call you Wolf.”
That night in camp he was addressing me as Wolf, and Hoscoe turned a quizzical eye and gave me a look. I shrugged and felt a bit sheepish, but he gave a nod of his head and casually said, “Wolf of the Ahnagohr Timberlands, I would say.”
“Gondishaey!” Bernard said, an extreme expression often used among the warrior types of the northern lands. He raised his mug and said, “To the Ahnagohr Timber Wolf!”
“Gondishaey … Gondishaey … Gondishaey!” as most everyone exclaimed, raising their mugs and giving me a toast. Even Wahyene tilted his head my way and with a hand gesture toward me, he quietly voiced the word and drank me a toast. It was a bit embarrassing, as I wasn’t used to such things. But I have to admit it felt good, and the name stuck.
Sormiske just kept quiet, set his jaw in a pouty expression, and found his bed.
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We had only one more altercation, this time with a different band of brigands. Their attack was poorly planned and short work was made of them. We had taken a full day’s rest at one of Stagus’s old campsites, well off from the new road. It didn’t look like it had been used in years.
A watch was kept and René came in, having seen their camp. Hoscoe had us hide beneath tarps under the new falling snow. When these fellows tried to sneak into our camp, they saw nothing. Then Hoscoe gave the call and Wahyene let fly with one of those balls of fire.
Thad was next into the fray and he just let go right and left with a hammer in each hand. I also got to see René cut loose with short blade and hatchet, I was impressed. In less time than it took to get under the canvases the brigands were dead, dying or running.