by Nelson, J P
“You must needs listen before making any comments.” He watched to make sure he had my compliance. I felt hot and it was almost hard to breath, the room almost seemed to want to spin. Mysteries I had wondered about were about to become known, or were they? Did I really want to know?
And then he began with his story, a condensed part of it, anyway.
“I was orphaned at the age of six, when a small band of Jokhliynes attacked our home in the Woods of Stohrkoff, up in northwest Nahjiua.” Seeing my lack of comprehension he added, “The Jokhliynes are a large type of wood sprite, maybe four to four and a half feet tall, can walk through anything of pure wood, and not very nice. They hate almost everything, and although they consider themselves guardians of the woodlands, the druids even regarded them as somewhat evil.
“In the home they slew my mother, older brother and sister, my infant sister, and then my father and uncle as they came in from putting up stock. It was horrible, and I saw all of it. My father and uncle had built well from stone, but the door was itself made of wood. I escaped into the cellar and through a tunnel to the nearby creek, but it was of no use. Jokhliynes can smell out prey like a bloodhound and they found me straightway.
“One had grabbed me by the calf and pulled me to, lifting me by the tunic it was about to swipe me dead when a shrill musical note filled the air. This dark sprite took a look of horror and dropped me like a rotten twig, and then skittered into the woods. I lay there frightened to death, when a figure in a hooded cloak and walking on a cane seemed to emerge right out of a tree.
“He called himself Th’Khai, and from that day forward he raised me as his own.” Hoscoe hesitated, clearly feeling emotions not often released as he remembered so far back. He glanced at me as he continued, “He was an elf, an elf from the old world.
“Th’Khai soothed me, but in the beginning when he spoke I heard his voice in my head, not my ears. He waited several days before letting me see him without his hood. He wanted to make me comfortable with him, first, because when he removed the hood his features were more frightening than the Jokhliynes.
“Much of his face, all of his right side, and his torso was one ugly scar of burned flesh. His left leg was mangled where it had been broken and twisted, and the only part of his body of which he had full use was his left arm. Even his voice had a harsh, rasping sound, making some words very difficult to understand. In time, I learned his entire family had been slain by a rogue dragon, and his own skills had been fruitless. Ashamed and disgraced, even shunned by his own kind, he left his land and spent his life wandering alone.
“He had been part of a tribe of elves led by Kn’Yang, last chief of the Sh’Nika tribe of Dsh’Tharr Elves, but that had been long past. He had become a lone wanderer in the northeastern Hoshael woodlands, reciting poetry to the creatures of the forest and playing his flute. The Fey Folk knew him well, and they either revered or feared him.
“At times he would descend toward the human settlements in the night, just to do some small deed of benevolence. It was a way to at least be near people. Th’Khai is a Nahjiuese word, not Elvish, meaning Night Man. The people near the mountains knew there was a guardian of sorts out there, but they were afraid as well.
“His exile and loneliness had finally become too much to bear and was contemplating Setdyruhp, the forbidden act of self death, when he came across me.
“Knowledge was of no merit without someone to share, he explained. The elves had disavowed his standing within their community, and humans looked upon him as a monster, as they could not see past their own eyes. From time to time, humans would leave gifts of appeasement in the trees, but they did not want him dwelling among them.
“The fey folk had no need of his learning, and d’warvec do not look kindly upon elves in any regard. Th’Khai had yet to pass on his Gymitsachi, which had long been a tradition within his family. And so it was that he offered to teach me, a human child, in the elvin way.
“My only charge; to preserve the teaching and in time play my part in passing of the Gymitsachi.”
Hoscoe was speaking as if I wasn’t even there, now. He was relieving memories, powerful memories. And he continued speaking, “I accepted the bargain and for eighteen years he taught me continuously. His knowledge spanned far more than the world we know; I learned tactics of Abraham, Alexander, Attila, Cochise, Oshang, Kn’Yang, Dahrbus Yuban and even the D’Warvec Warrior Vienwerbalt.
“Th’Khai drilled me in the thoughts of Solomon, Sun Tzu, Tatanka Iyotaka, L’Amour, Almadin and the Tao of Diustahn. By the time I was twenty-four, I knew how to forge weapons, design a stone archway and recite over four hundred poems. Although he could not swing a sword, he understood the principles well enough so he could talk me through in-depth training, far beyond the imagining of the common soldier.
“Finally he said to me, ‘Hoscoe, your time has come to sojourn into the word of men,’ and with that he prepared me to journey abroad.” Hoscoe looked at me with wonderment in his eyes, “I could not fathom what might lie before me.” He chuckled at the thought, and then continued his tale, “With thoughts of grandeur and heroism, I ventured into the lands of Nahjiua.
“Oh, there were maidens aplenty to rescue, rogues to overcome and scoundrels to outwit, but within a year I found myself in the employ of a weaver. Now, you might not think an association with a cloth maker to be worthy of a warrior, but Th’Khai had instructed me well in that before one undertakes one’s true life mission, they should take time to learn from three mentors of integrity. Th’Khai had been my first.
“‘Learn life, if not profession, from three strong teachers, and you will gain perspective from different directions,’ Th’Khai said. And it is true. I spent four good years with Lahrunce, and while my weaving skills never developed to a strong level, I learned much in the art of doing business and how to interact with the common person. He was fair, but a firm dealer of goods and we traveled much. I acted as his personal armsman.
“Five years I had been among the land, and Nahjiua covers much territory. The time came when I wished to pay Th’Khai a visit, but when I arrived at the old dwelling it had long been deserted. I found a note engraved on a piece of wood,” I saw Hoscoe’s lips tremble just a bit as he hesitated. I thought there was moisture in his eyes and I looked away out of respect.
He recovered himself, and staring at the wall he kept on, “On it was written, Beloved Hoscoe, When you were lonely I was there for you, when you were hungry I fed you, when you were cold I gave you warmth, and when you were sick I cared for you. I have raised you as my own son, schooled you, and trained you in the best way I know how. Never forget your Honor, Integrity and your Promise. As long as you remember your teaching, I shall always be with you, for I taught you all that I am.
“And he signed it … well … he signed it. I knew … I knew it was he.” Hoscoe got up and walked around the floor a bit, absently brushing his nose and stroked his goatee. Then, almost as if he were performing a lecture, he gave me a glance and continued, “I rode on, then. Here and there an adventure presented itself, but eventually Dahruban made its way upon my horizon.
“Stopping at the Wooly Shoe Tavern, a popular place for soldiers at the time, I took a mug and observed a rascal acting rough with a mop boy. It was only a matter of course for me to impose a bit of courtesy, and before long the rascal had been deposited into the street. The owner of the Wooly Shoe, a woman named Vorla, hired me to act a bartender and house guard. She became my third mentor.”
I was just looking at Hoscoe, and he returned my gaze and hesitated, “What? She was very good in the way of business, and I learned much about dealing with rough men without using force.”
Was I wrong, or was Hoscoe flushing just a little? I had a hard time suppressing the hint of a smile. He titled his head, glanced at me, then away, and back at me again, I saw an eyebrow rise and I thought the shadows of interesting memories were coming to his mind.
“In any case,” He went on, “I maintained
employment there for about five or six years …” I was still just looking at him, but again he hesitated. Not a word did I say, but it had become just a bit amusing. Hoscoe was trying not to become flustered, “I can still toss the bottles with the best of them, and have forgotten not one mixture for any drink …” He stopped pacing and looked at me with a partially open mouth and raised eyebrows.
Apparently deciding to leave the tavern subject alone, Hoscoe bent forward as if to dive into some great exposition, “It was from the tavern I was invited to join the militia. Many of the city’s soldiers frequented the establishment, and so it was I presented myself to the quarter’s commandant. I quickly progressed into soldier’s position, became a footman, and within one year had earned rank as a sergeant.
“There were many battles, and on one occasion I found myself in command of thirty-seven soldiers with no officer. We completed our mission and I received a battlefield commission.” He began pacing again as he absently muttered, “… fifty years, over fifty years of soldiering.”
There was a long pause, “I … I married late in life, and had one son. He was a good boy, and his mother was dear to my heart.”
There was a lot of hesitation, and I knew he was having a hard time as he slowly paced. I wondered how long it had been since he had talked about his family. He began again, “She had the blackest of hair, and she always had a smile. She never cared about the … about the blood, always so warm and supporting. She was there when …”
He looked at me hard, “There are many women out there, Wolf, many are only concerned with taking control of a man’s life, or with what wealth she can get from him. But there are good ones out there, take care to be particular. And should you be fortunate enough to find a good one, treat her as if she is worth more than all of the jewels of any lair … for she is.”
Hoscoe breathed in deeply and seemed to contemplate what next to say, “Jonathon was a good boy. He was strong, a good student, and very much wanted to be like his father. He went through the military academy, which I helped found, and graduated at the top of his class. He had … he had reached the rank of Captain … by the time he was only twenty-three years of age.
“He was twenty-six and in charge of his own command at Fort Culver, far into the northern wild-lands. The fort was small and was to lend support to prospective miners in the region. I was to have been there, but was detoured to investigate another matter. Denizens from the region descended on the fort with a midnight assault, it was a near absolute massacre. Sormiske was the officer of the watch, and one of only four survivors.” Hoscoe paced, I could not see his face.
He continued, “Two little granddaughters, one newborn and I had not seen,” he breathed hard, “and my beloved wif-fe …”
I saw tears on Hoscoe’s face.
Slowly walking the length of the room, I saw him try to casually wipe his face. I was seeing this fearsome warrior in a new light.
Regaining his composure, he paced his way back while still talking, “I was still not ready to be put to pasture, but I had lost my will to live. I should, I should have been there … so, I retired.”
There was another long pause, “I ambled my way into the Sahrjiun Mountains, in the direction of Mount Bn’Chella, an old elvin place of solitude Th’Khai had talked to me about.
With a hint of a smile he said, “For a time, I actually thought I could hear something calling to me in my heart, leading me. I found a beautiful lake, and above it was the mountain. It was as if I were compelled to climb, but there were the Yeti.” He breathed deep, and exhaled slowly, “It wasn’t easy. But I made it.
“At the top was this big cave, and inside I met what many people called an oracle. He knew who I was and called me by name. He asked me, ‘Did you not, Hoscoe, make a bargain as a child? Is there not yet a duty for you to complete?’ I was astounded, and I tried to think what duty. And then I remembered.”
He sat back down next to me and folded his hands; I realized he was waiting for me to figure it out. Then it hit me, I said, “The Gymitsachi?”
Hoscoe nodded in approval, and said, “My own son was gone, but I still had knowledge to pass on. For as much as my heart was in mourning, life had not yet ceased, there was yet a purpose for my existence. This … oracle … informed me there was a youngling north of Tremount, should I choose to go there.”
I was feeling that hot, dizzy feeling again.
“When I hired on with Stagus, he did not know me, but I knew of him. At first I was not sure who I was looking for, until I saw you, Wolf.” He brushed imaginary dust from his clothing, “I offered to purchase you, and then I could have set you free, but he would have no part of it. So it was I had to wait my time. A skill, not a virtue, taught me by Th’Khai.”
There were a few minutes of quiet as he waited for it all to sink in.
“So, there it is in a brief nutshell.” Turning to face me in a more direct manner, he solemnly and profoundly asked, “Will you, Timber Wolf, son of an unknown human man and a captured Elvin Tell Singer, accept me, Hoscoe Val’Ihrus of Nahjiua, human born but raised by an elf, as your mentor of the elvin ways, for as long as time doth provide?”
For months, now, I had been wondering what Hoscoe’s true interest was in me, and how much he actually knew of my background. There were still questions to be asked, but here it was laid out before me. For three years he had bided his time, waiting for a chance to do what? Rescue me? Whatever, he had been there with me in mind, to be my friend and bring things into a situation where he could pass on what he knew. All based on his own code of honor and the suggestion of a forgotten oracle no one believed in anymore.
Dumbfounded, I searched his face and then his eyes. Sincerity radiated all through his essence. What can you say to something like this? It was nothing you could just make up, this was real and it was happening to me. How could I ever make myself worthy of what Hoscoe had done, of what he was offering to do?
Swallowing what seemed to be a huge lump in my throat, I offered a shaky hand, and in a voice that barely would find its way upward, I said, “Yes.”
Hoscoe’s smile was beaming, as he shook my hand in a firm forearm grasp.
And that’s how my formal training in military tactics and warfare began.
Chapter 32
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PARRY-PARRY-FEINT, slash, counter and lunge thrust, whack … the flat of Hoscoe’s sword smacked my hand numb making me release my grip on the sword, and then a humiliating slap of his blade on my rump. Damn!
Irritated, I massaged my hand and looked over at Hoscoe, who was drinking his cursed coffee from that old white mug with his left hand, his right hand pointing his sword tip into the air. Thankfully, we were inside the training barn and alone. No one had seen. Not that anyone ever fared better, but I had my pride.
“Too fast, not enough technique,” he casually said, not having the grace to at least act like I posed him even a minor challenge.
Shaking out my hand, I bent over to retrieve my blade … but making sure to keep Hoscoe within clear sight and to the front of me. Once, only once, I bent over to pick up my sword with my back to him and he kicked me hard in the tail, spilling me hard into the floor and onto my face. That had been well over two years ago.
The Winter Solstice had been nearly upon us when Hoscoe and I had emerged from that old dugout entrance, and we were about to begin our third spring in Keoghnariu. Life wasn’t necessarily easy, but it was good.
Every day, six days a week, I got up to do something called a power walk for one mile, jog for two miles, power walk another mile, flat out run for two miles, then walk one last mile. Then it was either abdominal exercises of standing on my toes to make my calves burn. After that I stretched, then went to the water pit for a bath. I had never before heard of indoor plumbing, but this place had it and it was nice. While bathing I would heal myself from the heavy exertion. Then it was time for breakfast.
Six afternoons a week I pursued extreme strength t
raining, designed by Hoscoe, followed by another session of stretching and healing. Hoscoe explained that a normal person would collapse from over-training like I was doing, but he wanted to see just where I could go physically. At thirty-seven years of age, he figured I had most of my height at 5’9”, although I might get a little taller, and I was starting to fill out into young adulthood.
I currently weighed around one hundred and thirty-five to forty pounds and could just put twice my weight over my head. He understood, though, that I was still a few years from physical maturity and was more equal to a human teenager. I wouldn’t be a true adult until I was in my fifties.
There was always a period of punching and kicking a six feet long canvas sack. Hoscoe had this sack specially made from an old duffle bag. It was about one foot in diameter, filled and hard packed with old clothing and blankets, and he hung it from the ceiling so the bottom was two feet up from the floor. He taught me twelve specific striking techniques he called Tohrnacios Dorcé, an Elvish term meaning Deadly Dozen. They came from a thousand year old fighting style called Tohrna-Te Sao; a combination of Wild Elf empty-hand and knife fighting tactics, and quarter-staff, spear, and rough-wrestling techniques of the Nahjiuese Hillmen.
Anyone who understands the dynamics of Elvish would recognize the name Tohrna-Te Sao as having been taken from various elvish words, apparently by a human in honor of the elf or elves who shared their art with said human. No elf would have bastardized the language to construct such a word; it just isn’t grammatically correct. The resultant fighting system, however, is incredibly efficient.
“There are many fancy patterns and would-be techniques out there,” he said, “but do you master these and the rest are just pretty exercises. Master these, and their suitable variations will make themselves known to you.”
Another bag he had made for me was to practice a plethora of throws on; I had no idea there were so many ways to throw a person.