by Nelson, J P
Easing my weight onto my feet, the room started to spin again. Holding steady, I waited and the sensation passed. Moving slowly, I examined the table and found neatly folded clothing. Nodding at Hoscoe I said, “Alright. Let me get dressed.”
Standing up, Hoscoe walked to the door and replied, “I will be waiting outside.”
“Hoscoe?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“How is it you had no trouble talking their language?”
He smiled at me for a moment, and then responded, “I used to spend time with someone from this area. We often spoke his dialect.”
He gave me a pleasant nod, and then left the room.
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King Chitivias was a shrewd and intelligent man. He was also an accomplished warrior. As a young man he went out on his own and explored the Jho’Menquita Territory, Di’Yamohn Desert and Kohntia mountains. He traveled to the east coast and served two years in the Vedoan army, pulled a stint as a sailor, then returned and fought with the Malone militia in several battles against the Banupodai Bandits.
Upon returning to his home, Chitivias was almost thirty and he had ideas of what he wanted to do. The commander’s name was Lahrcus, and he was a paternal younger cousin. The two became traveling and exploration companions, and in time Lahrcus developed his own notoriety with the blade. In fact, he was regarded as the best swordsman south of Malone.
By the time Chitivias was forty-six, he had rallied most of the human clans in the territory to unite into a kingdom. A chief here and there rebelled and was defeated in single combat with Chitivias. Overall, though, he was rather charismatic and the people tended to like him and his ideas, especially the ideas of becoming rich through diamond mining.
The denizens of the Jho’Menquita Territory were fierce, and the city development was sound. Drawing from ideas he had learned in Vedoa and countries of the east, King Chitivias personally engineered the city development. According to Hoscoe, the barracks were the best designs he had ever seen, and the city was well planned for defense. There were four barracks clusters located in different parts of the city, which should make for fast response in times of sudden attack.
Wahyene appeared three years previous to discuss the possibility of a Meidran Priestess arriving. She would lend magical assistance in locating the ancient mines, he suggested, in exchange for the location of a temple within the new city.
While the king believed he knew where the lost mines may be, he agreed to consultation and eventually an agreement was reached. Sure enough, the Meidran Priestess arrived with a sizable entourage. After a month of conjuring and incantations, she located a mine through divination magic, but the location was several days away.
It hadn’t taken long for rifts to come between the king and the newly arrived Witch Queen, as she preferred to be called. First of all, the Witch Queen turned out to be the Meidran Cult’s High Priestess, which was not part of the deal. Then word began spreading the Witch Queen was going to make this area the new center for the Meidran Cult.
Later animals began disappearing, unexplained things and eerie sounds began to happen in the night, and talk began to arise that the Witch Queen was controlling the mind of Chitivias. Ultimately, the Meidran Cult was relegated to an old prospect mine on the outskirts of the city, where I had been taken.
The day Hoscoe walked into the city, apparently the Eayahnite High Priest, Logan, and a religious special strike force, declared war on the young temple and caused all kinds of chaos. Nobody knew for sure what had happened, but that a couple of demons appeared, an elemental was conjured up from the ground, lots of magical fire power, and that sort of thing all around the area occupied by the Cult. You know, the kind of stuff you would hear about in fantasy horror stories and really bad dreams, not something you would see in every day real life.
As if there wasn’t already a bad enough taste in everyone’s mouth regarding the Cult, this made it worse. The Witch Queen, Wahyene, and all of the leader types of the Cult were gone, no trace to be found.
I was the only one who had a story linking Meidra herself, to the situation, as well as the fate of Wahyene. In some ways I was something of a celebrity, or an anomaly, or both.
So now, here we were. Hoscoe had been made Master of the Blade, a fancy name for chief instructor of armed combat. Me, I was his apprentice, and had the privileges of most any other warrior. More, actually, I had my own room. Most soldiers shared a room with three fellow warriors.
We were placed in the North Tower Barracks. Hoscoe’s quarters had two rooms, and I was placed right beside him in standard warrior’s quarters but with one bed. All he had to do was prove his worth as a teacher, and we were set. And I had no worry he would do that. Now, I was wondering exactly how I would fit into things.
Our barracks had three levels, two above ground and one below. Hoscoe and I were located in the center on the top level. Hoscoe commented, “This is in part an honor, as me being the chief teacher, and in part because they will be keeping an eye on us. Do not misconstrue our standing, Wolf, we are not free men … but, at least we are not slaves. Well, not in the conventional sense, in any case.”
At chow that morning, it was nice to be in a real mess hall. As we walked in, Hoscoe received several shows of respect and was referred to as Master. Some of them looked at me as if wondering what to expect. I could vaguely remember being in here once, and falling against the wall. If memory was serving me correctly, three or four soldiers jumped up to help.
The food this morning smelled great. There was plenty of meat, fruits I am sure I had been eating but couldn’t recall, some kind of drink that resembled coffee, honey, a type of bread made from rice, freshly churned butter, and eggs fixed any way you want as long as you wanted them scrambled.
As usual, all of the faces I saw were human, but the looks I got were different. For the first time I didn’t feel like something which should be chained up outside. It was a feeling that took me a really long time to get used to. I had no idea what it felt like, not being a slave … at least, not in the conventional sense.
Most of the day was spent watching Hoscoe work while dizziness came and went. There were no signs of nausea, but my head, though, I wished there was a way to make my head quit hurting. Every once in a while I would remember some little thing I had done in the last couple of days. A soldier came up to me to ask how I was, and after a moment, I remembered his name was Ander.
He sat down on the bench next to me and asked, “Is it true you defeated the dark goddess in mental combat?”
Now I just turned and looked at the guy and thought, ‘Where in Zaeghun’s Lair did he get that?’ Having a total stranger walk up and start asking me questions about my health was a little unnerving. My first impulse was to get up and wait for instructions to do some task or another. I then wondered if anyone here knew I was really a slave, I mean, that I had grown up a slave and had been one until just now?
Politely, I managed to exaggerate a painful smile and replied, “If you call having the feathers beaten out of you, getting clawed by what felt like a mad bear, thrown against the wall like a rag doll, and having your brains boiled like butter … then I guess you could say I barely survived.”
He nodded and smiled in return. Then a flash of memory went through my mind; Ander had been one of the soldiers who jumped up when I fell against the wall. I said, “You got up to help me that day, thank you.”
His face beamed and you would have thought my comment had made his day.
“No problem,” he answered. Then he added, “Maybe we can sit down with a mug or three and you can get to know some of the boys.” He motioned to some of the soldiers getting ready to take swordsmanship class.
“I would like that,” I said.
Ander got up and wished me a good day, and then went to take his own place in the class.
Why did I say that, I mused? Would I really like drinking a mug with these humans? But it turned out I had a few good friends who
just happened to be human. Then there was Hoscoe, we really did need to talk. Why was he so concerned with me? And how would I act in a tavern, or whatever they called it here among the soldiers?
For now, it was better to just focus on watching the class. I was sure I would learn something, just by watching. Now, if only I could remember to the next day.
Hoscoe had been teaching regularly for over two weeks and had already gotten his system down. He had classes for young soldiers, as young as fourteen and fifteen, which is young for a human to be in an army. And then he had classes for established soldiers. The commander even stopped and watched for a while. From time to time he would glance at me, but he said nothing.
That evening Hoscoe and I talked some about the course of the day, how my head felt, what I thought of his classes, but nothing heavy in the way of discussion. When I lay down I worried if I would remember anything at all the next morning. But I was thankful, thankful for secure walls, for the first time in my life I had my own real bed, and in the corner stood a sword; not just any sword, it was my sword. It was with the thought of that blade in mind that I fell asleep smiling.
Chapter 31
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THE NEXT MORNING began well. I was able to remember everything from the day before and the room didn’t spin quite as much. My head still hurt, though, and it was a hurt I couldn’t just heal away. After pausing for only a few moments, my feet kneading the carpet knap, I was able to dress before the morning horn sounded. When Hoscoe knocked at my door, I was able to open it and greet him, ready for breakfast.
“Well now,” He commented with humor, “Clear eyed and bushy tailed, it seems. And how do you feel this morning?”
Standing in the doorway I slowly nodded my head, “Good, but my head still hurts. And you?”
“Hungry,” he said, “let us get some chow.”
And that’s the way the next few mornings went. We spoke casually about the difference in food from what we were used to, some about the culture, a little about what I was seeing in the classes, how well I was remembering things in general, and my headaches.
The days were for the most part uneventful and filled with watching Hoscoe teach, taking meals, walking about the barracks area enjoying not wearing chains, and my trying to get a feel for living in a military type environment. It was very different, but also similar to the organized structure of the road camp. Of course, I liked it much better, but every moment of your day had to be accounted for. And I picked up that many of the younger soldiers were being forced to serve.
Every other day I would see Ander at class, and he would always take a minute to chat. He introduced me to some of his buddies and from time to time we would see each other at chow.
Commander Lahrcus stopped by to watch classes, sometimes two or three times a day. Once he happened over to stand next to me. I had been balancing on the balls of my feet, shifting my weight slowly from one side to the other, imagining myself moving with the exercises of the current class.
Lahrcus casually offered comment, “He is good, isn’t he?”
The commander was without a doubt a pure soldier. A human in his prime at about forty-five to fifty years of age, between eight and nine inches over five feet tall, clean limbed and agile. His skin was dark with some gray mingled in his curly, black hair. His bearing was very upright, crisp, confident and totally squared away, but at the same time there was something else.
Where soldiers of the day were more often than not conditioned to blindly follow orders, not rarely to the soldier’s detriment, Commander Lahrcus was no common soldier. It was obvious in the way he studied the classes. He wasn’t just watching Hoscoe, as if planning a rematch, he was studying the soldiers in general. And he seemed to like what he saw.
Not sure how to reply to his implied question, I answered simply, “Yes sir.”
“Have you ever seen him fight in battle?”
Not taking my eyes of the class I responded, “Yes sir.”
He paused and looked me over, then asked, “Have you ever been in battle?”
I looked down for a moment, not sure how to answer his question. Would fighting Stagus, or shooting crossbows on the top of a wagon count as battle? “Yes sir,” I said.
Pleasantly he chuckled and asked, “You don’t talk much do you?”
Glancing at the commander, I couldn’t help but smile sheepishly, “No sir.”
After a few minutes of silently watching the class he asked, “What is your favored weapon?”
‘Favored weapon,’ I thought, I had no idea. Most of what fighting I had done had been bare knuckle. “My fists, I guess,” was my response.
Startled, he looked at me and seemed to size me up. I was thinking I had said something wrong when he good naturedly asked, “Are you going to fight cognobins with your fists?”
There was no intimidation in his voice, and he didn’t seem to be acting obnoxious, somehow I couldn’t help but like Commander Lahrcus. I answered, “I hope not.”
His quiet laughter was infectious, and I laughed myself. He bid me good day and walked his way.
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The twenty-seventh morning, since our confrontation with the king, was the first day of the week, Ohnday. The headaches still came and went, but otherwise I felt fine. It was with a great feeling of accomplishment that I knocked on Hoscoe’s door and asked if he was ready for breakfast.
Within the instant he opened the door, fully dressed, and with a tilt of his head implored from me, “And if I am not, kind sir, would you roll me out of the sack and force me to mark time to the sound of Revelry?”
“Huh?” He caught me off guard and had me at a loss of speech. ‘What in kahdjit did he just say?’
Laughing, he slapped me on the shoulder and said, “Let us go break our fast, Wolf. I think it is time to start your formal training.”
As a rule, the last day of the week, Sabboday, was a general rest day. Certain military procedures still went on, and guard was not diminished in any way. But where ever possible people were allowed time for personal recuperation, and some of the soldiers had families.
The Combat Arms and Strategy classes were held Munday, Tuesday, Thursday and Ehnday. Humday, the middle of the week, usually consisted of a variety of other classes for the young warriors. During the five day week, sometimes called the short week, all kinds of drills may go on through the day. And patrols, either training or actual, could be launched at any given time.
As for the rest of Kiubejhan, the capitol city, indeed the only city of Keoghnariu, everything was centered around its military.
After breakfast, Hoscoe and I walked up to the block building which served as his training hall. It wasn’t huge, but big enough on the inside to practice weaponry in bad weather. On the outside was where most of his classes had been held. The hall was pretty much one large room, which apparently had been a barn. The center was an open place of about forty by sixty feet, with two posts evenly spaced in the center to help support the open ceiling. Cross-timbers above were twelve feet up from the hard packed dirt floor.
In back, converted tack rooms were used as storage areas for various pieces of equipment, one became Hoscoe’s office of sorts. Along the walls were some benches, and it was to one of these Hoscoe led me and we sat down. There was no way anyone could hear our conversation without magical means, and apparently the Shaman was now the only magical person left for miles around.
“You seem to have made some friends,” he began, and waited to see if I would comment.
“A couple,” I responded, “sort of.”
Hoscoe passed me a glance and gave a small chuckle, “You are most reserved, but this can be a good thing. I think some of these fellows like you. You survived the assaults of a goddess, you know?”
I looked at him and saw he was making a light joke. Not sure what to say I just kept silent.
After a few moments of chewing on his lip, and then crossing his arms, he said, “The t
ime has come, Wolf, for us to lay our paths down clearly.” He looked me in the eye, “We must needs have an understanding.”
Hoscoe looked down to his feet and scuffed the floor a bit with his toe, and then seemed to look afar, as if through the walls and into another time. “I have made a commitment to serve as an indentured retainer, for the sake of teaching the young soldiers proper skills at arms, and to act as council with specific regard to the problem of these cognobins. You, have been cleared as my apprentice, for however long it takes.
“This could be a while. The road to the canyon bridge has been closed due to cognobin occupation now in the north, and travel to the east and into the desert is just as hazardous.”
Hoscoe paused to let that information sink in.
Then he continued, “No one here knows of your former status as a slave, and all they know is that you spent your early years in the Ahnagohr Mountain Range. They have assumed you were born there, and for now, it is my advisement they need know nothing to the contrary.”
Sensing my question before I could ask he said, “Sormiske has been sent to the mines, where the word has been passed around that he liked to abuse women. I understand he has become rather popular among the ruffians there.”
Leaving that subject closed, Hoscoe said, “I will be teaching these new soldiers, and some of those more experienced, the conventional skills of military combat. You will be training with them, and occasionally going out on patrols with them.”
Then he looked at me with a very serious undertone, seemed to chew his jaw a moment or two, then continued, “But in our off time, I will be teaching you the arts of elvin combat, lore, and Dsh’Tharr Guerilla Tactics.”
‘Dsh’Tharr?’ I was stunned. ‘Did he know my own lineage was …?’
His hesitation was only long enough to register the expression on my face.