by Nelson, J P
“How did you …” I tried to ask.
“No time for questions, we need to withdraw, quickly.”
Suddenly a weird, haunting scream seemed to come from the walls themselves and everything shuttered. The ceiling cracked and pieces began to fall.
To the left I heard yells from prisoners apparently begging for us to let them out. A section of the ceiling fell in on some prisoners and Hoscoe ordered me firmly, “Now, Wolf! Make HASTE!”
I felt a wave of nausea and stumbled on my feet. Hoscoe hooked his left arm under my right shoulder and helped me get started.
As we turned to leave the way he had come, two guards came around the corner and were running our way yelling and wielding swords. Hoscoe asked no questions, he simply raised his crossbow and fired off both shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. Each guard took a bolt solidly in the chest.
Hurrying down the corridor and stepping over the bodies, we paused for a moment. Seeing a narrow door which was ajar, he noticed a bunch of clothing. Opening the door he grabbed some garments and thrust them at me saying, “Hurry, we won’t be able to explain a naked elf walking down the street,” as he reloaded his weapon.
Tying a pair of leggings on, I pulled a tunic over my head as we made a turn and climbed a series of steps. Three armed humans got in our way and made as if to attack. Hoscoe shot two of them, and pulling his dagger he parried the last while taking the human’s sword and running him though at the same time.
Handing me the sword, he reloaded his crossbow on the run. I had seen men Hoscoe’s age hobble around on canes while waiting for death. But he made easy work of those stairs. Me? I was struggling the whole way. One foot in front of the other was all I could think. Hoscoe was yelling at me, encouraging me, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying.
My breath was coming in sheets of pain and my head started spinning again. Hoscoe grabbed me and said, “We are almost there! Hold tight, soldier! Only a little further …”
We got to the top, walked through a room of some sort and I almost fell. It was hard trying to determine where I was. Then I smelled the air, fresh air. I realized I had been smelling it for a while, and was moving toward the aroma of flowers and trees.
Hoscoe and I were making our way out of the dugout entrance when Sormiske fell, or I should say was thrown, across our path just in front of the doorway. Once more I saw about two dozen warriors with readied crossbows drawn. Only this time, Hoscoe was beside me.
Chapter 30
________________________
HOSCOE LOWERED HIS crossbow and raised his hands as one of the soldiers pointed at him and said, “Sire, he it is who before attacked we were, the gate entered.”
Another soldier indicated Sormiske, “Sire, he it is who put to shame was the Meidranites by.”
The speech thing was driving me nuts. A different language, okay, but the butchering of one … I thought for a moment. If the Keoghnariu tongue could be interpreted as Shudoic spoken badly, would it be possible to invert the translation, at least in my own mind? Was this not a part of Bardism? If so, how much Bardic training did I really have, without ever realizing it? As the second soldier continued to speak, I tried to see if I could listen from the possibility of Keoghnariu as being badly spoken Shudoic.
Soldier number two pointed at me and said, “This one, the elvin-blood, was identified as property of the Witch Queen, and to be reserved for her purposes.”
‘Mon’Gouchett,’ I thought, ‘it works.’
The king, a lean man of about sixty, well set up and fully armed, walked to the forefront of our little gathering and gave us each a silent inspection. Nodding his head he declared, “Chain them, neuter them, then send them to the mine with the rest of their acolytes. They have been trouble enough. I want rid of all these pests.”
A soldier came running up to the king from behind some destroyed and smoking buildings. The king gave him notice, and while listening I saw the king nodding his head in approval. The soldier returned in the direction he had come from, and the king walked to the soldier apparently in charge of us captives, giving him some kind of instructions.
Apparently influenced by the soldier’s report, the king turned to and surveyed the dugout, then said, “Find a means of closing this entrance. Then search the interior and close it all down. Anything living you find inside, kill it. No questions. I’ll not have anymore of her dungeon secrets breathing our air.” He then turned to walk away.
The guards were about to close around us when suddenly Hoscoe asked, “If it should please my lord, the Honorable King Chitivias of Keoghnariu, may I have permission to speak?”
I had never heard Hoscoe talk like that, and he had bent into a partial bow, but with his eyes up and looking at the king.
Chitivias turned and gave Hoscoe an appraising glare, then walking forward a step looked at him more closely. After thoughtful scrutiny the king replied, “Speak, old man.”
“I am Hoscoe of Tremount, here to offer my indentured services to his highness, as a warrior with knowledge of the cognobin species of which you are about to engage in territorial warfare.”
Suddenly it dawned on me, Hoscoe seemed to have no trouble with the dialect.
“A warrior, you say?” The king studied Hoscoe thoroughly now. He then added, “And for how long of an indenturement?”
“For as long as it takes, my lord.”
The king looked skeptical, “So why were you in this hole, emerging with this slave?”
“This slave,” Hoscoe explained, “is Timber Wolf of the Ahnagohr Mountain Range, and he is my apprentice. An apprentice who was wrongfully taken by the wizard, Wahyene, for purposes which were intended to cause distress to your highness, and your kingdom.”
“So, you came here to save me from Wahyene?”
“In all honesty, my lord, no. My first intent was to rescue my apprentice.”
The king studied what had been said, and then with a hint of appreciation declared, “I like someone who can answer honestly while looking certain death in the face. And your apprentice, you are offering him for indenturement as well?”
“I would think, my lord, an apprentice would stay with his master until serving his tenure. Another five years would complete our arrangement.”
The king looked toward Sormiske who was still sitting on the ground, trying in vain to go unnoticed in his near nakedness, “And this one?”
Sormiske looked up to Hoscoe, a shadow of hope on his face. Hoscoe did not even look down and simply shrugged his shoulders, “He is what he appears to be. A servant for whomever is most convenient to pay his meal, no longer a threat to prey on young and innocent girls or women.” This drew glances of disgust from each soldier looking at the cowering human shell before them.
Stepping around and giving Hoscoe honest consideration, the king decided, “A warrior, eh?” He looked over to the soldier he had just talked with, “Commander, let’s see how his blood flows, this warrior with skills to lend.”
As the group stepped back into a circle, the commander handed his crossbow to a comrade, and then drew his sword and cautiously stepped around. Hoscoe handed me his crossbow and bolts, whereupon he stepped to the center and drew his own sword. I’ll give this to say, there was no arrogance in the commander.
According to the universal code of warriors, Hoscoe had made his claim, now he had an opportunity to prove it. Should he fail, then would come the time for belittlement and/or death. Should he prove his mettle, so be it. From the commander’s perspective, Hoscoe could always be filled with bolts immediately after the fight.
The two saluted each other and touched swords. The commander moved warily then made several tentative movements of offense, trying to feel out his unknown adversary. Hoscoe took his time and easily parried each attempt. The commander suddenly launched an onslaught which was spectacular to behold, but Hoscoe almost casually thwarted each strike and passed each feint. Watching both warriors wield their weapons was a theater of combat art in moti
on.
With a sidestepping movement, Hoscoe made a counter offense which seemed to lack any authority, but as the commander stepped back a portion of his hair fell to the ground. A simultaneous assault by both drew much sound of metal on metal, but no blood. Again the commander stepped back agilely, but it became clear that his right sleeve was cleanly sliced.
The surrounding soldiers were caught up in watching the fight, and the king was showing signs of being highly impressed. Once more the commander launched an assault, but this time Hoscoe let fly with a series of counters, strikes and weaving patterns.
The next thirty seconds seemed to last an eternity as the commander’s uniform began to separate and fall off in places, and then with a deft movement Hoscoe disarmed his opponent, flipping the sword into the air and catching it with his left hand; following through in one fluid movement, Hoscoe gracefully stepped behind and swept the commander off of his feet, sheathed his own sword behind his back, tossed the captured sword to his right hand, lightly stepped on the chest of his opponent, and pointed the tip of the blade a scant hair from the commander’s throat.
The king held his up hand quickly to hold the soldiers from shooting the obvious victor, and waited to see Hoscoe’s action. A hail of crossbow bolts would not save the commander at this point, if Hoscoe truly intended to slay the now vulnerable warrior.
Looking down at the white faced and sweating commander, Hoscoe smiled cordially and with a nod toward the king said, “This man fights with honor, and is much too good of a warrior to kill in such manner. I wager he will be invaluable during the upcoming storms.”
Lifting the sword tip up and offering his left wrist down, the commander hesitated only a moment and grabbed Hoscoe by the forearm, whereupon Hoscoe easily assisted him to his feet. With a flourish, Hoscoe offered the commander the return of his own sword to admiring exclamations of the soldiers around. Both men looked to the king.
Nodding his head, the king looked to Sormiske and said to one of the soldiers, “Do something with this.” To the Commander he said, “Bring Master Hoscoe and his apprentice to the General Hall at eventide. We will discuss terms of their indenturement. In the meantime, get them some food,” he looked at me in particular, “and a bath with fresh clothing.”
___________________________
I awakened as the twilight of morning peeked its way through the darkness of my room.
‘My room?’ I thought. Where was I? With sleepy eyes I looked in the direction of the light’s origin, a barred window was set center of one wall. A barred window … another cell? No, not a cell.
My mind was still hazy from my experience with Meidra, and my head felt like a hammer was beating inside my skull. But things were slowly coming into place. Taking my time, I brushed my eyes across the ten by twelve feet room. The walls were fashioned from some sort of brick and a wooden door hung opposite of the window. My bed was a well made wooden box about seven feet long, two and a half feet wide, with the top about a foot and a half up from the floor. Underneath were two drawers, each a little over three feet wide, which pulled out to store clothing and gear. A canvas mattress, stuffed thick with some kind of feathers, made for a comfortable sleeping surface.
In one corner was a chair with a canvas seat and back, and the sword Hoscoe had given me to carry was in another corner. There were wall pegs to hang garments and what have you, and a two level table about four feet long and three feet high made up the rest of the furnishings.
Brushing my covers off and swinging my feet to the floor, I steadied my head as I felt a wave of dizziness come upon me. With my hands beside me, I marveled at the clean muslin sheets, top and bottom, and the blanket. My feet rested upon a full rug and I scrunched my toes feeling the comforting knap. Could I be dreaming? Never had I slept in a room so nice or so plushly adorned.
Focusing on the brick of the walls, I realized somehow they had been glazed so as to slow their deterioration. Blinking for a moment, I heard a horn blowing a tune outside. Then there was a knock at my door. ‘A knock,’ I thought, ‘now that was a first.’
“Wolf?” it was Hoscoe’s voice, “are you awake?”
Looking down, I realized I was clean and wearing new cotton long handles. ‘Decent,’ I thought, ‘I was decent.’ Trying to get up, the world seemed to spin again. ‘Okay, this isn’t going to work,’ I thought.
I replied, “Yeah, I’m here.”
“May I come in?”
Glancing to the door I asked, “Can you make the room stop spinning?”
Entering the room, I saw a clean and refreshed Hoscoe. His face was smooth down to his trimmed goatee and mustache, hair neatly cut and his clothes were spanking new. As he moved to the chair he asked, “And how are you this morning?”
The room was easing down in its spin, and I blinked slowly a couple of times, “I’m not sure yet,” I replied. Glancing up at him I asked, “So, how did it go last night with the king?”
Hoscoe gave me a long look, chewed his lip a moment, and tilting his head he remarked from under his eyebrow, “Well, at least you are remembering something.”
“Huh?”
Stroking his goatee he said, “You have not been altogether with it for quite some time.” With a warm smile he added, “When they were leading us to the bath you collapsed. They had to catch you before you cracked your head against the floor.”
I was just looking at Hoscoe, “I don’t remember that.”
“Oh, I am sure. For the first two days you were either unconscious or screaming about Meidra, Cielizabeg, T’Kiemmer and the fall of Eayah. Sometimes you would yell a warning that ‘Wihlabahk was coming!’ T’Kiemmer, I have actually met. He is one of the High Priests of Eayah, the one who most usually presides north of the Alburin Sea.” He shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands, as if inviting clarity, “Wihlabahk, however, is a name with which I am unfamiliar.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind I could remember making that warning, but only in shadowy figments of memory, nothing clear. I had no idea who he was, either.
He paused a bit, and then added, “You relived some incidents of your past.” He resumed chewing his lip.
Worried about what I might have said, and who had heard, I sat there silent.
Delicately he said, “I was the only one to hear those portions of your life. We do not have to discuss them.”
He had stayed with me then, why was I not surprised?
Hoscoe was watching me carefully as he continued, “The king, himself, sent for a regional shaman to check you out. A rather interesting woman, I must say. I think the king was more interested in your mentions of Meidra, than anything else.
As he continued, he was soundlessly tapping his elbow where he had folded his arms, “The Shaman was adamant in that she believed your dilemma was less magical,” he paused, “and more a matter of the internal mind. The Shaman was also intrigued by some form of warding effect you were conjuring on your own. It seems you kept humming some tune with powerful manifestations, powerful enough so Meidra could not complete whatever she was attempting to do with you.”
Sighing deeply Hoscoe surmised out loud, “I have heard of such things, and have seen one person with cultivated powers of the mind. An order of practitioners called the Pyntahku deal with the mind, rather than what is often called magic.”
‘Pyntahku,’ I thought, then said, “Parnell had a friend who was a student of the Pyntahku. They were killed before we reached the bridge.”
Nodding his head he said, “I know, I found and buried them.” Gently smiling he added, “We have discussed bits and pieces of your journey several times.”
Looking down at my toes and wrinkling my own brow, I exclaimed in something just above a whisper, “Mon’Gouchett!”
Hoscoe laughed good naturedly, “You have the sound of that down quite well. You have been listening to me perhaps a bit too often.”
“Several times you say?”
“Yes,” he nodded, “for days you have awakened to s
tomach sickness, headaches, and often not sure who you are. Sometimes you remember, and sometimes … but, you have been getting better. The Shaman assured us it would only be a matter of time. Your mind had been trained, she said, to resist mental domination. Elves are stronger than most, but you seem to be extraordinarily strong. She was rather intrigued by you, and therefore, the king is also intrigued.”
Slowly shaking my head, it seemed I could vaguely remember an old woman with beads in her gray, braided hair. She muttered in a tongue I did not know and sprinkled dust over me. Her smell was different, but not unpleasant, a combination of smoke and herbs. I mentioned as much.
“Yes, it was she,” Hoscoe said, nodding in approval.
“How long,” I asked, “have I been here?”
“I kept you in my quarters for four days, until you stopped screaming, and then for two days more. You have been in this room for seventeen days.”
My eyes widened, seventeen and … twenty-one days?! Three weeks were gone. I asked, “What did she do to me?!”
Tilting his head and breathing in, Hoscoe answered, “I … do not rightly know.” He looked me strong in the eye, “But whatever it was, you survived. I would wager this makes you most uncommon. The Shaman believed your mind should have been subjugated, perhaps utterly destroyed and reconfigured for her control. She said she knew of such practices, and the subjects never survived.
“It seemed important to her that only you, she and I know you had direct contact with Meidra herself, and Cielizabeg. Anyone else with information of the incident believes the, spirit, of Meidra possessed the Witch Queen and assaulted you. She suggested that was the way it should stay. This is the story she gave to even the king. He knows no other version.”
“Did she have a name?”
“We addressed her only as the Shaman.”
My head was feeling more steady, and my thoughts were becoming more clear. There were so many questions coming to mind.
Hoscoe held up a hand, “What say we wait to discuss things further, until we know you are going to remember. Then I promise I will tell you everything I can. For now, let us get you something to eat. Do you feel up to going to the mess hall?”