Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

  “That general turned around and rode back. Next morning on the battlefield he rode up under a white flag and surrendered his sword.

  “At his trial, Val’Ihrus himself testified in favor of the general and his honor on the battlefield. The man was allowed to live and became governor of his people for as long as he lived.”

  Whitney’s son, Nigel, asked, “Has he ever lost?”

  “When he was just a captain and was given his first command, he was sent to investigate a band of highwaymen and ran right into an ambush. He and his troops were soundly whipped and had to run for the mountain. Well those highwaymen just followed them for two days. The young captain got mad and said that Gentleman’s Line Fighting was useless and switched tactics.

  “Those highwaymen found him flatfooted and laying down on his face. He barely got on his feet and started running, and they chased him into a cul-de-sac. Val’Ihrus did a swan dive and yelled ‘Now!’ and his troops opened fire, killing all but four of those bandits. All four were taken in and hung.

  “Guerilla warfare, he called it. It’s what you do when you are serious about winning.”

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  The men made fast time of their journey, hoping for some delay which might allow them to make Teamon ahead of Sormiske. As it was, they entered the city gates even as the Gracious Lady was leaving dock.

  Riding toward the waterfront to get information, Hoscoe saw the wagon as Yank and Thad were preparing to paint their business name on the sides.

  After exchanging information and a bit of catching up, a frustrated Hoscoe went about trying to charter a vessel. No one, however, was preparing a journey toward Malone within the next couple of days, let alone immediately. One vessel, the Glory of Greta, was to leave out four days hence. Not good enough, however.

  Hoscoe was leaving inquiry with one captain when Thad led a worn, wizened sailor up to talk. Hoscoe gave the man courtesy and the sailor just blurted out, “Ahr ya lookin’ fer passage because of that Sormiske feller, that jimmy what runs with that Wahyene devil?”

  “Yes sir, I believe I am.”

  “Then ya don’t gotta look no further. I kin get’cha there, scat.”

  It was Thad who added, “Hoscoe, this man knows Wahyene, personally. He knows where he’s from and where they went.”

  Hoscoe looked to the sailor with new interest, “Oh, really?”

  “Yup. He’s frum Keoghnariu. That witch queen of theirs wants to breed up for a new kind of demon she can control to kill Eayah. And they need elf-blood to do it. They been settin’ up a new temple in Kiubejhan”

  Hoscoe’s face went from blank, to angry, to calculated. Then he affirmed, “Keoghnariu …” Closing his eyes he slowly shook his head, “Mon’Gouchett, damn!”

  Chapter 28

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  AFTER HOSCOE HAD negotiated a charter with the sailor, he entered a tavern and wrote three letters, each of which he sealed with a signet ring. One of these he gave to Yank and Thad, telling them to present their letter to Magnate Copius dan’Shalleen of Dahruban.

  To Thad he grasped forearms and said, “Thaddeus, may your hammer never miss a beat. Be well and may fortune be with you.”

  Turning to Yank he grinned and grasping forearms said, “Sergeant Royerson, take time to ask if the lady is married, and to whom.” Glancing at both of them he added, “It has been my pleasure, gentlemen. I expect you should do well together.”

  Hoscoe was a man with a purpose and there was no time to waste. Thad and Yank were speechless as they watched him head out to the dock for immediate departure.

  Whitney was carrying his bundle toward the ship when Hoscoe stopped him. “You are not going with me, good sir.”

  Startled, Whitney turned to Hoscoe and said, “But, general, you might well need me.”

  “Yes,” Hoscoe replied, “and there are going to be many times I will wish I had brought you along, and more of you as well. But for what I am going to attempt, I must go alone. The wind is changing, and you will be needed by your commander. This, however,” he held up the second letter, “is of utmost importance to me. You and your squad must get this to Bernard at Kynear at all costs, and this one to René.”

  Seeing the disappointment in Whitney’s posture, Hoscoe put his hand on his shoulder and making clear eye contact reiterated, “Really, this is most important. And you have those wonderful grandchildren who will need your presence. Relish them, please.”

  Reluctantly, but nodding his head and accepting the letters, Whitney said, “Yes sir. I will see to it.” There was a long moment’s hesitation, then he asked, “We aren’t going to see you again, are we, sir?”

  Throwing his duffle over his shoulder, Hoscoe smiled with good humor and replied with a tilt of his head, “One never knows what the weather may bring.” He paused, and then added, “I am proud to have known you, Whitney. Keep an eye on Wadsworth, will you. The land needs him.”

  Whitney sniffed and tried to casually rub his nose with his finger, made a clicking sound with his tongue against his cheek, and his eyes seemed to be red. Then with a firm set of his jaw, he snapped to with a salute.

  Returning the gesture, Hoscoe snapped a salute of his own, and then boarded the Orson Ida. Looking back as the ship sailed out, Hoscoe could see Whitney standing there until the dock became a line in the horizon.

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  The Orson Ida was a small, single-masted vessel with a crew of the captain plus one. The mast looked to have been repaired more than once and was held together with a splint. A tarp over the aft end made for a cabin, and she looked to be more ready for scuttling rather than a refit, but she sailed.

  During the journey, Hoscoe learned everything he could about Kiubejhan and the region about. The sailor called himself Captain Mullet and he had grown up in Biunang, the little village just south of the Pehnaché River Canyon Bridge. Once he was old enough, he left what seemed to be a meager existence and took to a life of fishing on the sea.

  Growing up in the small farm community with Captain Mullet was the son of a harlot and would-be witch; an effeminate little boy whose name was Wahyene. The witch-woman eventually took her son and joined a caravan headed north. Wahyene eventually became a prominent power within the Meidran Cult.

  The Meidran Cult, Hoscoe knew, was centered in the northern Kohntia Mountains in a valley called Ziulnoch. The place was over a thousand miles north of Malone. The thought of Keoghnariu and the cult becoming involved there never even crossed Hoscoe’s mind. Why a drastic move so far south from a place no one bothered? It was a dead country … or was it?

  About a hundred years before, an exploration party from Shudoquar ventured into Jho’Menquita Territory. The country was said to be a forbidden land to humans, although there was a culture of somewhat barbaric clansmen living all throughout the mountainous southern borders. This party, however, was hunting for a legendary diamond mine. There were a few humans living along the river paths, but venturing too far into the interior was usually fatal. It had been said remnants of a serpent race still lived there and resented humans trying to inhabit the region.

  The legend was that long ago the god of death, Xiahstoi, slew Set and claimed the land for his minions, the Minotaurs. The Minotaurs had claimed the land long before, and been overthrown by Set’s followers, the survivors who now were called Tiskites.

  Xiahstoi was reportedly rising again with a new force, a demonic goblinoid race from underground called the Cognobin. These creatures were somewhat intelligent, grayish purple in coloration, about seven feet or more tall and favored javelins, maces and morning stars.

  Cognobins were not thought to have a large population, at least not yet, which was the only good thing to say about them. Centered deep in the old Minotaur ruins, they were starting to come out and make attacks more and more often against the humans. So far, though, an attack had not yet been made on Kiubejhan.

  The exploration party from Shudoquar did not repo
rt finding the diamond mines, but was absorbed into the scant human culture and manifested themselves as leaders. In time, the city-state of Kiubejhan was born and recently a human named Chitivias had become established as their first king. They were calling their young country Keoghnariu.

  Hoscoe already knew much of this. What he hadn’t known, was the high priestess of Meidra had made an arrangement with Chitivias for residence. This was in exchange for divination guidance to find the lost mines. Captain Mullet believed the mines had been found. And there were those who believed Meidra herself embodied the form of her high priestess.

  Captain Mullet’s personal interest in the matter was that he had returned home about two years ago, only to find his family’s small holdings, as well as children, had been taken for the cause of Meidra. The children, he was sure, had been taken to the diamond mines to work. The Captain was a fisherman and trader, not a warrior, and he was up in years. What could he do?

  While working his circuit around the sea coastlines, the Captain happen chanced upon a roguish friend and one time fishing partner who called himself Teaberry. Over several mugs of ale he told his story. Teaberry, it seemed, knew someone who might be interested in such information. At least someone knew, the captain told Hoscoe. The rest would be in playing of the tiles.

  The captain discussed the area, the old highway and where Kiubejhan was located. He talked of customs, the law, Chitivias’s vanity and strengths and the military structure. When Hoscoe wasn’t talking and learning, he ate and slept.

  By the time the Orson Ida landed at Malone, Hoscoe had learned everything Captain Mullet had to say. And Mullet really liked to talk.

  Walking the docks of Malone, Hoscoe learned the Gracious Lady had put in two days earlier, and had left just yesterday. A dockhand was laughing about a sight he had seen from the deck of the Lady. Hoscoe bought the mate a tankard and learned the entire incident, complete with embellishments.

  The mate had driven the wagon taking the crew of seven to the edge of Malone, and told of the sorry lot of horses the man with the bloody nose picked out.

  The mate said laughing, “If the jimmy had only asked, I knew where there was a dozen fine mounts … right there in the hamlet.”

  Laying a gold coin on the counter, Hoscoe told the bar tender to take good care of his friend, the mate, and he left in search of horses and an outfit. There was riding to be done.

  Taking a cab to the hamlet, Hoscoe did a bit of listening around and managed to buy a round for a fellow just out of Keoghnariu. The man was a trader who tied up his business in Biunang two weeks prior and headed for his winter business in Malone.

  “Nice enough folks,” the trader said, “Except those damned Meidranites. I think they’re all insane, and that high priestess is the worst.”

  At Hoscoe’s coaxing the trader suggested the best tavern, diner and place to stay in Biunang. Within thirty minutes Hoscoe pretty much had the feel of the area where he was headed. Save for bandit activity, he shouldn’t have much trouble getting into the country. And he believed he could reason with the king to arrange for my release.

  Hoscoe was an even six feet tall, and although he was on the backside of middle age, he was the epitome of the physically well-conditioned human man. There was age in his face and he did not move as he once had, but he had never taken to what is often called Old Age Syndrome, common among humans. I had seen him spar the wooden sword with other guards, and the youngest ones couldn’t make him break a sweat.

  His personal sword was forged of meteorite steel. The blade was always kept razor sharp on both edges, and could slice an apple cleanly in half in mid air. This sword had been custom made to Hoscoe’s specifications and was forty-five inches from point to butt. The blade had a blood groove down the center and the point was a tapered leaf design. The grip had an extended length, so as to easily accommodate both hands should he chose to do so. Yet the balance was perfectly centered at the guard, so as to provide ease of one-handed combat. The guard was also of meteorite steel and the grip was wrapped with braided cord.

  Unlike most humans, Hoscoe carried his blade on his back. To his left side he carried a matching dagger with a nine-inch blade. Throwing daggers were placed all around his body, and there were other subtle weapons as well.

  You sometimes hear stories about magic weapons, but these are few and far between. A wizard must imbue a part of their own essence, their life force, into each magical weapon made. They just don’t stand by and manufacture magic weapons like an assembly line in Malone. Hoscoe did bring with him an experimental weapon, a crossbow which could fire from top and bottom. It was a tricky mechanism, but his worked.

  Hoscoe outfitted lightly and chose three solid looking horses. He would be switching often and planned to sleep little. Wearing his studded leather armor, equipped with several crossbow bolts and supplied with food, plenty of water and a bedroll, he took to the road for Kiubejhan.

  At noon on the second day, Hoscoe was humming a tune when he encountered two riders sitting side by side in the middle of the road. One showed Hoscoe a big, toothy smile and held his hand on the grip of a large scimitar. As Hoscoe kept riding and humming his tune, they looked at each other, amused.

  When Hoscoe got to within ten rods, the second rider whipped his hand behind his neck as if to grab something, but he never got to complete his motion. Hoscoe tilted his crossbow and took back-scratcher in the chest. Before toothless could draw his weapon, he caught one in the center of his throat.

  Hoscoe casually rode on and reloaded his crossbow as if nothing had happened, still humming his tune.

  At one point in his journey, he had stopped to make for a short camp when he heard riders coming upon his position. He had rigged the crossbow so it would hang from a sling off of his shoulder, but he held it casually in his right hand. It would require a tilt of his hand to quickly bring the weapon to bear. A voice called out in the Fhathern tongue, “Hail the camp. Can we come in?”

  “Enter, and be courteous,” Hoscoe called back. Three riders walked tired horses into camp, but Hoscoe had chosen his site well. His own back was against a wall, and nothing was likely to scale the slick rock behind him.

  “Where’s the fourth?” Hoscoe asked cordially, a steaming cup of drink in his left hand.

  “Well now, this gent’s a little on the smart side.” Ignoring Hoscoe’s question, the spokesman asked with a cruel glint in his eye, “What’s that you’re cooking?”

  “It is called coffee. It is supped upon by individuals of intellect to enhance contemplation.” Hoscoe was very casual as he poured steaming, black liquid into an old ivory colored ceramic mug.

  The speaker’s countenance fell, “What are you saying, old man? You saying I ain’t smart?”

  Again casually, “I do not believe I must imply anything of the kind. I am about to engage in drink and a bit of something to eat. Are you hungry?” Hoscoe stood in a relaxed manner, sipping from the mug he held in his left hand.

  The speaker looked at his buddies and laughed contemptuously, “I think we’ll just take what you got and …”

  Hoscoe shot the speaker through the throat, then shifted aim to the gentleman riding on the left and placed one center through his heart. Without breaking his motion, Hoscoe dropped the crossbow, reached across his belt and drew a throwing blade, whipped it into the belly of the bandit lurking off in the shadows to his right side, and reaching up and back drew his sword without spilling a drop from his mug.

  The lurking bandit could be heard groaning in his death throws just outside of the camp perimeter. The other two were stone dead, lying where they had fallen from their horses.

  Pointing his sword at the awestruck remaining rider, Hoscoe asked cordially, “You now have four horses plus gear. Would you like to try a cup of coffee? It could be very enlightening.” The man slowly nodded and got down from his horse.

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  When Hoscoe found the sight of our campfire skirmish, he advanced ca
utiously. Desert rats were tugging at the bodies, and he saw Parnell. He also found the still smoldering remains of the Eayahnite Bible. Hoscoe knew he had been closing in, but had not realized just how close.

  He couldn’t be more than a few hours behind, and it was still a ways further to Kiubejhan, if that was indeed where we were ultimately headed. He did not believe catching us would be a problem.

  The mate in Malone had told him about Parnell leaving the party, and in a matter of time Hoscoe was able to sort out the conflict and those who were friends of Parnell. For someone who know what to look for, much can be learned in tracks upon the ground, the position of a broken crust of wood, how a body has fallen, and even the absence of various articles.

  Inspecting Evan’s remains, Hoscoe was able to determine the man had lived several hours after the wagon had left. Evan had tried to fight off the first of the rats with a small knife he had kept in his boot. Hoscoe could see where he had pulled up his pants leg to get to the sheath underneath.

  Hoscoe was sure no more than three bandits had survived, and they badly wounded. They must have retreated far away, because no further sign of them was evident.

  Had a proper search been performed on Jinx and Evan, a platinum cross, a couple of gems and several gold coins were within their clothing. Hoscoe knew Evan had sewn the gems into the underside of his jerkin.

  After studying the fight scene around the camp, Hoscoe concluded Wahyene must have been exasperated by the defiance of the other power wielder. It would have been interesting to have seen exactly what happened.

  Making note of the time of day, Hoscoe decided to take the time to bury Parnell, his two friends, and speak words over them. There was no telling when, or if, he might be back this way and Hoscoe wanted Parnell treated decently. As to the rest, they should have chosen better paths to follow.