by Nelson, J P
Waving his left hand to the sky and calling another series of words, he clenched the hand into a fist, hooked it hard to the ground while seeming to grab at something from the air below him with his right hand, then thrust the left fist outward as he opened it into something like a heel-palm strike. Five more bandits running into the camp suddenly were hurled thirty feet through the air as their chests seem to cave in.
Bost was just getting out of his bed and onto his feet when through the air I heard the whistling sound of a bola. I remembered how it felt; a cord with weighted ends suddenly wrapped itself around Bost and took him to the ground, one of the weights hitting him in the head and knocking him out. Beside me two bandits were coming into camp, one moving in my direction, when another person joined the fray and attacked my bandit.
It was Parnell who emerged from the darkness and jumped over a downed bandit, sliced the torso of one standing up, then hamstrung another.
Immediately engaging the bandit coming after me, Parnell parried the bandit’s sword once, twice, and then slashed to the leg followed by a back-stepping spin and a decapitating strike to the neck. With the head flying through the air another bandit turned to Parnell and swung wildly. Again Parnell parried, flowing his motion with an upward circle, cutting upward to his opponent’s arm-pit and then slicing diagonally downward, right side of the neck to left hip and continued into a slice into a third opponent.
Jinx followed Parnell’s strike with a thrust of his own as Parnell parried a final bandit’s sword. Kicking his adversary in the groin, Parnell slid his blade under the chin and cleanly swiped up and around while gracefully stepping away from the falling foe.
Breathing hard, Jinx looked around to make sure there were no more assailants, and then turned to Parnell and said, “That was good timing. You change your mind?”
Tilting his head in a slightly humorous way Parnell replied, “Nuh-uh.” Nodding over at me he said, “I came for him. He doesn’t deserve to go where you’re taking him.”
Wahyene looked around hard and prepared to wave his hands and say something, when suddenly he was up on his toes and holding his throat, unable to speak. It was then that it hit me, all of Wahyene’s magic relied on vocal components. Was this common with all wizards, I didn’t know? But it was something to remember.
To one side I saw a human facing Wahyene with his hand up in the air as if he was gripping something intangible. Jinx squared off into a fighting stance with Parnell, and from off to the side I saw another yet human emerge with a crossbow set on Sormiske’s still prone and covered form.
“Don’t do it, Jinx,” he said. “You know I can best you, with ease.”
Jinx looked at him levelly and said, “You won’t get away with this.” Indicating Wahyene he added, “You know who this is, remember?”
Careful not to take his eye off of Jinx, Parnell walked to the front of Sormiske’s bed, “I’ll worry about that later.” He pointed to the human with his hand up gripping the air, “You know who he is? That’s my lady’s brother. He is training with the Pyntahku.” He winked at Jinx, “Mind warriors, not magic. Now, I really don’t want to hurt you, so throw your sword into the fire; handle in the flame.”
Jinx thought long and hard about it. Glancing at Parnell, then to the crossbowman and the student, he decided to play it smart and complied. “Good, now Bost’s.” As Jinx got that one too, Parnell said, “Excellent.”
Without missing a step he kicked Sormiske’s foot, “Get up, Sorry. You’re a yellow bellied coward. Get up and give me Timber Wolf’s key. Now! And do it slowly.”
Sormiske got up out of his bed slowly, his face clearly showing fear. His hands were raised and he was holding the wrist cuffs of his under-drawers. Now, that didn’t make sense to me. With the left hand he let go of his sleeve and reached under the neck of his drawers. Pulling out the key and string, he tossed it to Parnell who caught it deftly. Both hands back up, he stood there and with a quivering voice he said, “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything ...”
Disgusted, Parnell turned his back to walk to me.
I liked Parnell; he was a good man who just wanted to do something for his future. Like Jared, he wanted a family, who deep down was honest and didn’t think like a criminal. Sormiske dropped his hands and I saw a glint of steel from the fire light, a sleeve dagger. I was shouting, Parnell froze and looked at me, with my hands bound I could do nothing but watch in horror as Sormiske, his face contorted in rage sprang forward and thrust a dagger into Parnell’s back.
Now out of angle to hit Sormiske, the shooter took Jinx in the chest, as Jinx in turn threw a perfectly aimed dagger into the Pyntahku student’s throat. Released from the telekinetic throat hold, Wahyene hurled what looked like five simultaneous bursts of light at the shooter as he was drawing his sword.
I was still yelling in anguish as Parnell dropped to his knees, looked me square in the eyes, and with blood in his mouth he formed the words, “I-I tried …” His eyes went sightless as he slowly fell over sideways and onto his back with his sword still in hand.
Chapter 23
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THERE WAS NO time spent on burials or the like. Sormiske, Wahyene, Bost and I were on our way up the trail in double-time. The fire was even left burning. Sormiske gathered weapons from all of the dead and piled them up in the wagon, while Bost hitched the better of the horses into harness. Wahyene kicked the Pyntahku student with his toe, after which he backed away and said something while waving a hand over the student’s body. The body suddenly erupted into a hot, red flame which consumed his flesh in moments, leaving only the baked bones.
Turning to Sormiske, Wahyene flashed an evil, appraising grin. In that whispering voice he commented, “You might make a good servant of Meidra, after all. Have you considered becoming a wizard?”
As we were preparing to leave, Sormiske walked to the fire and tore apart his Eayahnite Bible, dropping it into the flames of the campfire. Walking away he had that spoiled, snarling look on his face. Leaving the horse with the quarter-crack, the extra horse was tied to the back of the wagon.
Evan was still groaning on the ground and Sormiske walked over to check on him. In a cracked voice Evan pleaded, “Ya gotta help me,” and he grabbed Sormiske by the arm.
Appalled, Sormiske drew back. Once he regained his composure, he replied without emotion, “You’re gut shot. I can’t do anything for you.” Callously, Sormiske moved Evan onto his side, reached into his jerkin and found a small pouch, then unbuckled his dagger belt, “You won’t be needing these.” Then he mounted his horse and we were off.
We didn’t stop until we made the bridge, killing two horses in the process. Bost had to finish the ride on the wagon, but then he drove. Sormiske wanted to ride the one horse not in harness because he felt it made him look like a leader. At least we made it without further attack.
At the point where we were to cross, the canyon was over a mile wide. The walls were sheer rock and in most places it would take a sticky footed lizard to climb. If you fell you would have a lot of time to think about it on the way down. An ancient trail wound down the canyon walls on both sides and was connected by an amazing bridge which spanned the river. Thirty feet below the bridge was foaming, angry rapids.
The bridge had been built upon a series of rock formations which rose up from the water at several points. How this bridge was built was a mystery. There were no nails, bolts, screws or ropes connecting anything together. Instead of boards, great trees had been hewn and laid crosswise in some kind of interlocking fashion. The wooden crosspieces were about fifteen feet squared by forty feet long. Each piece was fitted perfectly together. Overall the bridge was over three quarters of a mile long by forty feet wide.
The trail we had been riding, this bridge, and the trail beyond to the village and then on toward Kiubejhan, was all there was left of an ancient highway built by the Empire of Ra, the builders of the pyramids. South of the Pehnaché River lay the vast Jho’Menquita T
erritory all the way to the Ahrgos Ocean, once the seat of a Minotaur kingdom.
The Pehnaché River itself was incredibly long; originating far up in the Kohntia Mountains and winding around forests, grasslands, straight through the heart of the Di’Yamohn Desert and forming the much twisted northern border of the Jho’Menquita Territory, before curving sharply to the north and finally emptying into the Teshucarr River, only two miles south of Emdejon Falls.
We had been traveling hard for almost a day and a half. As we drew up to the canyon’s edge, Wahyene determined it would be best to camp and rest the horses. He also seemed concerned about something else and kept looking around, however he did not voice his disquiet. It was as if he were looking for someone, or something not present.
This old bridge did not see much activity, but it did see some every now and again. Other than the sound of the river, there was nothing else to hear at all. Nor was there sign of any kind of movement on the trail or bridge. It was almost desolate.
We rested well into noon of the next day as Wahyene entered into and maintained a trance-like meditation. He would come out of it, cast some bones, and enter the meditation again. Finally he informed us it was time to continue, so we closed camp and prepared to move on.
Without passing a glance to either side or to any one, Wahyene stared at the bridge below and said, “Sormiske, you are our leader. You lead us down, and then up to the other side.”
Sormiske was white and glanced unbelievingly at Wahyene. He didn’t look like he had ever been here before, and he was scared. But Sormiske did as he was told and led the way. The trail down and across didn’t appear so big at first glance, but the road was wide enough for two large wagons to pass each other for the entire distance. Bost had to use the brake a lot to help the horses as we traveled down. Going across that expanse of water was real spooky; the whole way I half expected angry water spirits or something to come out from under the bridge to attack us.
Wahyene maintained a concerned expression and was constantly looking into the water and into the canyon walls. The horses weren’t too crazy about the trip across either.
Other than skittish horses, we had no trouble getting to the top on the other side. Yet there was an unnatural stillness in the air. Wahyene didn’t seem appeased, but he said nothing to us. The village was a few miles up the trail, so with a nod of his head for Sormiske to continue the lead, we headed that way.
All along the road there was no sign of any people at all. When we sighted the village up ahead, Sormiske got excited. But the closer we got, the more we noticed no activity was going on there. The trail went right through the village, and as we started driving through it became obvious a recent battle had taken place. Seemingly the village was deserted. All around the huts were signs of conflict; however there were no bodies. Smoke still rose from the smithy and I could smell food which had burned.
I felt some kind of presence, several presences actually, but couldn’t place their locations. Wahyene was fumbling with what I had learned was his component pouch and began hastily mumbling some words. Before he could finish, something stepped out from one of the huts to our left side and threw a javelin. Bost was driving from the right side of the seat and he took the missile through the body. The throw was strong enough to lift him from his seat and carry him into the street.
In a surreal fashion I saw him squirm in his last moments of life as mayhem broke loose. I didn’t get a good look, but more creatures I figured to be around six and a half to seven feet tall, came out of other huts with javelins. One missed me with its throw as I ducked, and the javelin hit Sormiske’s horse. The horse reared and Sormiske fell halfway into the wagon as Wahyene finished his spell and grabbed the reins, snapping the exhausted horses into a run. He yelled at me to come forward as javelins started whizzing by us. Looking at my hands he yelled a word and the chains fell off of my manacles.
Jumping to the front of the wagon, I saw a javelin hurtle close to me, but then deflect upward with a spark of red and yellow. “Here,” Wahyene yelled as he handed me the reins, “we don’t have much time,” and then he vaulted to the bed of the wagon with surprising nimbleness. Yank had let me handle the lines of the big wagon a time or two and I tried to remember everything he said and did. Bracing my feet against the board and snapping the ribbons, I yelled, “Hee-yah-yah-yah!”
Having no idea what I was doing, I was hanging on and hoping for the best. Wahyene spoke a word and clapped his hands forward; several bolts of lightning hurled ahead of us and caught multiple uglies in their paths. The team was panicking and not knowing what else to do, I thought briefly of the rat … reaching forward with my mind … [Calm] … I tried to *S’Fahn Muir* to the horses … [Faster, do your best]. All of my focus was on the horses, the reins in my hand, and that we had to make it out and past the village.
My hands seemed to hum and the light must have been playing tricks on my eyes, because I could have sworn the reins were turning blue in my hands, and then followed the ribbons all the way to the horses’ mouths. I had no idea what Wahyene was doing behind me, but I felt wind blowing through my hair. ‘Focus,’ I told myself, ‘focus.’ The horses seemed to find hidden strength within them, for they straightened and pulled harder into the harness.
The wagon could have been as light as a small cart, with the team racing as fast as they were. I was nearly oblivious to the action around me, but I saw two tornadoes suddenly touch down to either side of us, then move back as if to cover our escape. Chancing a glance, I saw Wahyene with one hand each outstretched to a tornado and I thought more were touching down. He was controlling them, ‘Mon’Gouchett,’ I thought.
Through the village and far down the old road I raced the team without stopping. Looking behind me I saw Wahyene down on the wagon, a gash on his head was bleeding freely. From under and just behind the seat, Sormiske was huddled and looking up at me.
The horses seemed almost fresh so I just let them run the path of the road until they finally slowed down of their own accord to a walk. It was closing into nighttime and I really didn’t want to be anywhere close to the village, or those things. I just kept the horses going until Wahyene could give me some direction.
I guessed we traveled a total of twenty miles when we rounded a bend in the rock and almost ran into a group of soldiers. Not again, I thought. “Wahyene …” I called, but there was no response.
There was no way for me to evade and one soldier caught the right horse’s bridle and brought us to a stop. Fantastic! A coward wizard wanna-be was behind my seat, an actual wizard from this region was either knocked out or dead in the wagon, and I was still wearing wrist manacles with rings for connecting chains. Two dozen or so mounted warriors were encircling the wagon with drawn crossbows and lances.
The person who appeared to be in charge looked at me with a hostile expression, he then roughly asked in what sounded like Shudoic with a strong guttural accent, “Speak do you the Keoghnariu tongue?!”
Looking him straight in the eye I said, “No. Do you?”
Something hit me in the back of the head and everything went black.
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Slowly opening my eyes I could tell I was in a dark place. Stone was all about me and there was no trace of sun or fresh air. The floor beneath me was dirty, covered with foul smelling straw, and I was naked. Uhm, this was not a good sign.
‘My head,’ I thought, ‘I’ve been whacked in the head again. I’m so-o-o tired of getting hit in the back of the head.’ But I shouldn’t have been out for that long. Our destination, Kiubejhan, was at least six or seven days away, and that would be making good time.
Slowly reaching to feel the back of my head, I found my whole body hurt and I was covered in lacerations. I heard a voice, a voice using that same guttural version of Shudoic say, “Look, movin’ he is. We playing can start now?”
“No. We some more wait. She wants awake he should be full. She wants him know what’s to happenin’ for and why.”
This wasn’t getting any better, and the garbled speech … was it just the way I was hearing things?
As I carefully felt my head, I was relieved to find it wasn’t broken again. No, actually, I had already healed, days ago. Why couldn’t I think, my brain felt like melted butter? Everything was so hazy. I could remember Wahyene saying, “Watch this one. He has the gift. It is still raw, but it is there and strongly so.”
It must have taken seven days of travel before we had come to the city, if you can call Kiubejhan a city. It looked more like a baby kingdom trying to hatch, which is exactly what it was. My memories … so fuzzy, but not because of the blow to the head. No, I had healed easily.
There had been a building on the outskirts of the city which could have once been a mining dugout, but then added onto. The soldiers led me into this building … it was a church of some kind … a church to Meidra. Apparently this wasn’t the official religious center, to have it so far away from everything else.
Inside, Wahyene took charge and had me taken to some room where he brought a bowl of dust over to me, blew it into my face and kicked me in the stomach. Later I had awakened to find myself cleaned, without manacles, covered in some kind of scented oil, and laying on a leather bed. I was still groggy from the drug in the dust, and an almost naked female was sitting in a hassock staring at me.
Her hair was a dingy blonde and at first glance she appeared to be very well endowed and attractive. I noticed she also had minor points on her ears. Her mouth, though, something about her mouth took away from her features. She was staring, like I was an amusement, her eyes partially glazed. When she smiled her features changed into a caricature of a demonic clown mixed with adult immaturity. Then she mockingly asked in the Elvish, “Are you really a virgin?” And then she laughed with a sound like a mixture of laughter and coughing. Now how would she or anyone else know that?