Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

  Once respects had been paid to the three men, Hoscoe mounted up and continued on. For a moment he paused and looked down at Evan’s body and muttered, “You were warned about living the life of a dingo. This is your reward.”

  As he traveled, Hoscoe one by one found the remains of the two dead horses. Disgusted, he continued on.

  Drawing near to nightfall, Hoscoe saw the sky suddenly turn an ugly black as he reached the Pehnaché River Canyon Bridge. Bizarre cracks of red and white lightning coursed the heavens in the direction of Biunang Village. Whatever was happening there, it was definitely not natural. His gut feeling was that Wahyene was in some way involved with the phenomenon.

  Wizards of any kind were uncommon to very few in number, while wizards with any significant level of power were downright rare. Although mentioned with varied measures of awe and respect, wizards were over all feared by the general public. More often than not, they were typecast as an egotistical, self-serving, arrogant and sub-standard version of any intelligent species.

  Hoscoe viewed wizards as simply an alternate class of combatant. They had a different type of weapon, different ammunition and usually not enough of it. Like any conventional warrior, they had their own nuances and psychological patterns.

  Wahyene had shown a penchant for effects of convection, flamboyance and visual force. The Meidran Wizard was used to being in control and seemed to enjoy having others be intimidated by his presence. Hoscoe mused that his effeminacy contributed largely to this.

  Finding our canyon campsite, Hoscoe spent little time looking it over, and then began descent into the canyon trail. Making cautious way across the bridge, Hoscoe continued toward the village. Nightfall was looming, and rather than ride through an unknown sight of possibly recent magical combat, he chose to make a dry camp.

  Hoscoe warily eased up on the ruins of the village the next morning. From a distance he stopped and with his spyglass, an expensive and uncommon commodity, surveyed what he could. The tornadoes had destroyed most of the buildings, leaving little intact. He thought he saw a body here and there, but, aside from scavengers, could not detect any signs of life. In a tree not far from the entrance of the village, he saw a body impaled.

  Focusing the glass, he could detect a purplish hue in the skin and he noticed the creature was wearing no footgear. This, Hoscoe thought, must be a cognobin.

  Surveying the ruins from a purely militaristic perspective, Hoscoe became quite intrigued. From his vantage point, he had been able to conclude at least eight of the bodies he saw were cognobin, and was relatively sure the others were as well. Where were the people, the livestock, even the sound of a dog barking?

  The tragedy was severe. Only a couple of weeks ago these ruins included homes, families and businesses which took years to develop. Now, there was only desolation.

  Throughout Hoscoe’s long career in Dahruban’s military service, it had always been a matter of personal pride to take a hands-on attitude with any investigation he was involved with. As he climbed higher in rank, this attitude rankled with many of his peers, as they claimed it made them look bad.

  “Delegate down,” they would say, “that’s what Lieutenants and Captains are for.” But Hoscoe would have none of it; the delegation of general assignments, construction details and patrols, absolutely. But if a matter were considered important enough to be placed in his hands, then it was his opinion he could not make correct decisions based upon second hand information.

  As a result, there was little he hadn’t seen, and his savvy helped him rise to the highest military position in the land. It was under his watch that Dahruban became the most powerful member of the Associated Kingdoms.

  Traversing through the village, or even around it, was paramount to Hoscoe’s journey. But there was something here he did not understand, and his tactical military mind was already at work.

  His horses were not happy at the smell of death, and the remains of the cognobins were extremely rank. Patiently, Hoscoe studied the remains of the village and surrounding area. Much had been destroyed and most signs of conflict had been wiped away by the tornadoes. But for the trained eye there was still much to see.

  That the wagon had been driven straight into town was clear, and in time Bost’s javelin impaled, mangled body was found. Partly covered by the ruin of a building, Hoscoe found the horse Sormiske had been riding. It was evident by the sword scabbard tied to the saddle. Sormiske had seen an actor in a play sling his sword in such a manner and insisted this was a mark of nobility.

  Hoscoe concluded that as of noon the day before, this village was alive and well with no clue of impending doom. So, what had happened and how did the cognobins get in so quickly; magic? Hoscoe knew ancient stories of sorcerers who were able to transport from one place to another, but not in mass. And he had a hunch these creatures had no such ability.

  Eventually, Hoscoe did find signs of two wounded cognobins. He also found signs of a small scout party of three humans. Apparently they had ridden up to the village late the evening before, and then stopped to survey the desolation. Choosing to split up, these scouts started riding through the dead village.

  These two cognobins had each chosen a target and attacked. The third scout tried to escape, but from what Hoscoe could tell, one of the attackers had thrown a javelin close to one hundred rods to run the human through, but the horse got away.

  To Hoscoe’s curiosity, however, the cognobins drug the humans and two horses in the direction of the village well, and then seemed to throw the carcasses inside. Then the cognobins appeared to climb into the well, also. Examining the well itself, it was a large opening which had been dug out to a diameter of thirteen feet.

  To keep livestock and children from wandering into it, a neatly placed rock wall about two and a half feet high had been built around it. A gate allowed an individual to step inside and walk around a three feet wide ledge, therefore having easy access to dropping buckets to hoist the water up from below.

  Curiously, Hoscoe found no evidence of hide, hair or blood on the inner surface of the well stones.

  Looking down, Hoscoe was certain he could see the water rippling below among the shadows.

  No, it didn’t add up.

  He looked long upon the well, the destruction of the village, and then around the countryside. Deep in thought, Hoscoe collected his horses and mounting up, turned toward Kiubejhan

  Chapter 29

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  THE GUARDS LET the bodies of my Meidra appointed playmates lay in my cell for the whole night, and most of the next day. None of the other prisoners in adjoining cells said a word. They were all looking at me to see what I was going to do.

  What they were waiting for, I had no idea. If I could have escaped I would have already done so. It’s not like I was going to say “Drop down walls!” and watch it happen. Of course, if I had thought it at the time, I might have tried. You know, just to see what might happen.

  Looking back, I imagine many of the prisoners were wondering if anymore snakes were going to come in and stand guard over me.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten and my stomach was thinking my throat had been cut. Weakness washed all through my system and several of my wounds had become infected. Desperately I wanted to be clean and sit down to a good meal.

  Eventually, some guards came to remove the corpses from my cell. At what must have been close to evening someone came around and brought me a dish of food, but the stuff was only so much swill. Just the appearance of it made my stomach turn. They say if you are hungry enough you will eat most anything. But I hadn’t gone that long without food, not yet.

  I watched as the others were scrambling for their bowls, then turned my head away and tried to think of anything to take my thoughts away from the sounds of slurping.

  As to clothes, I could forget it. I noticed half the people in here were naked and probably had been for a long time. The prisoners in here were literally being treated like anim
als.

  I focused on trying to heal myself up, and as I did so the infection pushed its way out of my body. The process took most of what energy I had. I was clawed up pretty bad and it took me two tries to do it.

  Somewhere along the line I fell asleep.

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  The sounds of violence woke me with a start. The ground itself was shaking and something in the ground groaned and the prisoners all began screaming for someone to come and release them. Several were aggressively shaking the bars, as if doing so would actually help their situation.

  Two guards ran past the cells down the corridor to my left, looking behind them with panic as they fled. Then I saw Wahyene down the cell lined corridor on my right. This master wizard whom I had seen demolish enemies, hurl balls of fire and levy multiple bolts of lightning, was walking backward in retreat from an enemy I could not yet see.

  Through the bars, I could see Wahyene was almost even with the door two cells down. He spoke words and waved his hands, then a bolt of bluish energy from far down the corridor struck what seemed to be an invisible, concave shaped barrier directly in front of Wahyene.

  For a long moment, it looked as if he was holding a large warrior’s shield in front of him. The force of the energy bolt was actually causing Wahyene to slide back fifteen feet on the floor until he was in front of my right hand adjoining cell.

  All around me the prisoners were screaming in terror. Some were trying to force themselves in between bars to squeeze out, others were trying to climb upward, and others still were cowering against the farthest walls. But I was feeling the presence of the energy pulse through me like ripples from a rock thrown into a big pond; it took my breath, but it felt good at the same time.

  Stepping a couple paces back while uttering more words, Wahyene flourished his hands and a wave within the floor rolled toward his adversary. Bars bent, pieces of the ceiling broke and fell to the floor, and then some kind of vortex caught the debris and hurled it full force right back at the Meidran Wizard.

  Immediately Wahyene spoke again while stepping back, his voice rising and reverberating in a ghostly and unnatural tone, as it seemed a giant vacuum sucked the air in from the left end of the corridor. Then with a harsh thrust forward with both of his hands, an immense volume of solid fire exploded forward and filled the prison chambers all down the right side. If the screams had been bad before, they were horrific now. I watched the flesh burn completely off of at least four prisoners in less than a second.

  Yet a lone figure stood strong against the fiery onslaught, hands forward and head bent as if leaning in against a strong gale of wind.

  I had never seen anything like this, and though I was scared as well, I was fascinated even more. The pulsing of energy coursed through my inner being. I could feel the Eldoritch Power all about me, I could almost taste it.

  Another step back and Wahyene was almost in front of my cell bars.

  I could now see what appeared to be a dark haired elf, tendrils of smoke wisping from his body as he stepped unharmed from the dissipating flame. His face was resolute, and his hair flowed back with resonance of his power.

  “You will not catch her; she is to powerful for you, Mahrufael!” Wahyene yelled as he stepped back even more. I wanted to do something, help the elvin wizard in some way, but what?

  Mahrufael’s response was to brace his feet and wave his own hands, as a blue aura flowed about him. He then whirled his body and swung his arms, not unlike one might throw a discus. A circlet of energy, perhaps two feet in diameter, flew at Wahyene, who again seemed to brace himself with the invisible shield.

  The circlet of energy struck the barrier and broke apart, unraveling like a spring come awry in colors of blue, purple, orange, and yellow. I saw the prisoners in my right hand cell caught in the flashing of light and they fell in pieces, as if sliced into multiple sections with a cauterizing blade; there was no blood at all, only wisps of smoke from the severed body parts.

  Stepping until he was now center of my own cell, Wahyene began to circle his hands and speak yet again …

  I had noticed long ago, that for every effect Wahyene conjured, each effect had its own pattern of hand weaving. I had seen this hand pattern before, the multiple lightning bolts.

  His mouth was moving, but I felt a rush of heat in my own body and could not hear him. I had no weapon, but words were necessary for all of his magic. If only I had more time, or something … the world seemed to *Slow* down and I could hear my own hear heart beat, ever so slowly … ba-Bum … ba-Bum … ba-Bum … my breath almost seemed to cease … and I had to force my body to move faster than a snail’s pace … it was as if I were moving in room completely full of thick honey …

  What was happening?

  With my eyes I glanced and it was as if everything in my immediate presence had come to a near stop, but nobody except I appeared to notice. Directly in front of me Wahyene was caught in the middle of his spell … If only I could …

  I had no weapon.

  I could throw, how many times had I thrown rocks at the pinecones? But there were no … wait, there was something. Forcing myself to move, I dove for a clod of dried dung. The dive felt like it took forever and I pushed with my mind for speed. Coming up on my feet I focused. Would this even work?

  Wahyene was still speaking his spell.

  The timing had to be right.

  Wahyene was still moving backward.

  He moved so that I had a clear throw between the bars and I snapped my hand hard as I could ... in impossibly slow motion I watched the clod sail between the bars and right in front of Wahyene’s teeth as the world sped up again. Wahyene was opening his mouth wide for his final syllable when that clod hit him full force in the back of his throat.

  Wahyene’s sound was cut short as he choked, his spell foiled. A bolt of mingled blue, purple, red, and green energy hit Wahyene, and he exploded into so many pieces of raw flesh as the force knocked me down.

  Mahrufael ran up next to my cell looking for signs of Wahyene. He gave me a glance and was about to say something when a human in the garb of a rogue, mace in hand and a bow with quiver on his back, ran down the corridor quickly and stood beside him.

  In the human’s other hand he was holding a small orb which was glowing softly white, with traces of amber within the center. I could hear something that sounded like singing from the orb and the human quickly said, “She’s here. We have her. Tell Teaberry to be ready to trigger the seal, I’m going in!”

  With that, the human gave me a cursory glance, turned into smoke and went through a crack in the floor right in the front section of my cell.

  Mahrufael hesitated a moment and looked at me. He glanced at my cell door, winked at it, and the lock opened. With a wordless gesture of his hand at me, he disappeared with an imploding flash of blue light.

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  When Hoscoe entered the gates of Kiubejhan, he had little trouble convincing the gatekeepers he was there to spend a season hunting for the region’s wilderbeasts. He stabled his horses, and then began roving the streets, checking this tavern and that.

  He had kept his crossbow in its sling and a quiver of bolts to his side, not to mention his sword. As a new arrival identified as a hunter, it would not be incorrect, the trader had informed him. This city was not exactly metropolitan, as it were, but in the heart of still dangerous country.

  Hoscoe was moving into the sector where Meidra’s so-called temple was located, when several explosions occurred at once, all from the general area of the temple. Chaos set forth and the screams of some great beast erupted from below. Some kind of creature tore itself out of the ground and went on a rampage, against who, Hoscoe didn’t know or care.

  Something was going on and it involved magic, heavy magic. Pandemonium spread through the area. Animals were going insane and began attacking people; magically induced, Hoscoe thought. A horse broke itself free from its hitch pole and attacked Hoscoe. Evading the crazed a
nimal, he made way to an overhang.

  Looking about for a better position, Hoscoe caught a glance of an acolyte, shaved smooth from top to bottom and wearing only a loincloth. The traumatized acolyte was running with hands over his head for an old dugout door only twenty feet from Hoscoe’s position.

  The face, Sormiske! Hoscoe quickly made for the door and tackled the panicked Meidranite. Sormiske looked up at his capturer and almost squealed, trying to escape.

  Hoscoe smacked Sormiske, and then grabbing him by the throat he slammed the sobbing wretch against the wall. Putting the point of his dagger against Sormiske’s throat, Hoscoe demanded, “Where are they keeping him?”

  “W-who?” Sormiske stammered.

  Hoscoe put the razor sharp blade down, against where Sormiske’s genitals should have been. Momentarily startled, Hoscoe pricked the cord holding Sormiske’s loincloth in place. Falling to the floor, it became clear Sormiske had been relieved of all appearance of masculinity. There was nothing to be seen but a large, cauterized wound. Sormiske’s shame was clearly apparent; he had not been made a student of wizardry, but had been punished for his ineptness by being made a eunuch slave of the Meidran Cult.

  With a calm but cruel edge to his voice, Hoscoe said, “Now your anatomy matches your courage.” Pricking the skin beneath the shapeless chest, Hoscoe leaned closer and harshly whispered, “Tell me what I want to know, or I will shave the skin from your living body.”

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  When Mahrufael disappeared, I stared at the opened cell door for a moment, wondering what had just happened. And then of a sudden I heard Hoscoe’s voice yelling from down the corridor, “Wolf, Wolf, are you alright?”

  Coming up to my cell, he glanced at my naked form. How he could find humor at such moments was beyond me as he asked, “Cherron’s Beard, my boy! Are you planning to entertain the ladies?”

  Noticing my already open cell door, he took no time for discernment. He opened the door and said, “Let us be on our way then.”