Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga)

by Nelson, J P

  The trail led north by northeast, way up to the Jho’Menquita border at the Di’Yamohn Desert. I eventually found his horse, dead, lying in the trail a few miles from where the Pehnaché River lay flat, level, and wide between the two territories. The river would be deep at this point, but you could walk up to it and, if you wished to make a try of it, launch a craft. Trouble was, there were no trees or driftwood on this side; just some dunes and some low plant growth. On the other side it was pure desert.

  I saw Sormiske hobbling toward the river, gazing at it, and I’m sure trying to figure how to cross. Somehow I’m sure he planned to swim his mount over; not that current and distance across he wasn’t. I figured it to be three-quarters of a mile across, and it wasn’t moving slow. This wasn’t the place to do such a thing.

  From out in the distance, I could feel them coming, a group of riders from around the dunes, but I had planned this for a while. This was something I had to do.

  Ground tying the packhorses, I rode the final thousand rods to where Sormiske was standing, staring numbly at the water only eighty-five feet away. He was dressed in a once-white, filthy long sleeved tunic and muslin leggings. As I got within a few feet, he then turned to look at me.

  I had healed, yes, but the hair was bristled short all over from the tunnel flames. At first he didn’t recognize me and he started to stammer some nonsense about how he lost his horse and needed help. Dismounting, I then walked casually toward him.

  Getting up close so he could see my eyes, he recognized me as I spoke, “Hello Sormiske.” His face turned white and his lips began to take that whiney twist when I hit him. It was a casual slap, but when he straightened up his face contorted as a spoiled child. My left crossed into his nose and he went backward onto the sand.

  From that point it became methodical. Sormiske had always fancied himself a fighter, but he had next to no skill. Beating him was irritatingly easy, but with each strike I saw images of Hoscoe, his wife, his son; I thought of his granddaughters, Jinx, Parnell, the girl Stagus had slain, and Gohruvae … the man who risked his life to save his servant.

  I kicked, punched, kneed and smashed elbows into Sormiske’s body. Many bones were broken and he cried like the coward he was. Finally, I had had enough. This wasn’t satisfying in any way. Looking at his whimpering shell, I bent down and gently put my hand on his, and then I administered a *Heal* effect on him … steady and strong I pushed my energy into his body and felt the bones come back into place, bruises go away, internal bleeding stop.

  Through my *Awareness* I felt them coming near, watching. But I didn’t care. I was doing what I came here to do. The choice was made before this journey started. Nothing or no one would get in my way. This was the realm of the Banupodai Bandits, fierce warriors in their own right, but they would have to wait their turn.

  Standing, I looked down at the coward before me and said with contempt, “You are less than nothing, Sormiske. You played a game of risk and came up wanting. It’s over now.”

  Watching me back away, he looked at me surprised. He reminded me of a mangy cur expecting a strike from his master. Getting to one knee, his lip quivered again. Slowly raising his hands he looked at me, the horse close to him, and those gathering around behind us. I could see his two-dimensional mind calculating as he asked with a hint of almost giddy excitement, “You mean you’re giving me a chance? That’s all I want. Just give me a chance. One chance …”

  Deliberately turning my back to him and beginning to count in a slow whisper, I took a moment to gaze upon the group behind me. They were wearing colorful robes and had missing teeth, and they were not Banupodai. I had made a mistake, a very bad one.

  Focusing on my next maneuver, I waited to the count of four, positioned my feet, and then whipped my body around as Sormiske charged upon my back with a dagger high in the air. How stupid, so predictable. With all of my strength I slapped the edge of my right hand across his throat. His feet swung up in the air with the force of the blow as he did a full backspin and landed on his stomach without a bounce, his mouth open with shock. Pushing him over with my toe, I saw he had impaled himself in the gut with his own dagger.

  Kneeling down I said, “That one was for Parnell.”

  In the language of another time long past I added, “Go to hell you piece of shit …” and then in a coarse, but loud whisper-like tone in his face, “… you damned, morose cookie …”

  He died as I sent him away with a cruel smile and a wink.

  ___________________________

  Many times I have thought back on that day. Lahrcus had asked me if I believed in fate. Knowing what I know now, I’m sure if I hadn’t ridden up that day Sormiske would be just as dead. So did I do the right thing? Would I do it different, now? Searching within myself, I must say, no. To me, Sormiske needed to die for the deaths of those he had caused. Not for any other reason. But I would have been much more careful.

  I still ask myself; was I too focused on revenge, or was it arrogance, that made me overlook a serious detail. This much is certain, the people who had surrounded us weren’t Banupodai, they were Coumunti, and having watched me work they were taking no chances and had me dead to rights. As fast as I was, there was no way to evade a dozen prepared blow darts at once.

  At least four or five of those darts had scored, and every time I started coming around I got hit with another. That went on for a long time. When I was finally allowed to wake up, I was still groggy from the paralytic drug coated on those darts. It was, I believe, the same fast acting stuff the Tiskites had used.

  All I had on was my legging and boots and was being dragged on a travois. Weapons, top half of my long underwear, everything from waist up was gone, and they had frisked the hideout blade in my leggings as well as the knives in my boots. My wrists and ankles were bound securely and tied together in behind. Yes, I was fairly caught and on the north side of the river, being drug across the desert sand.

  Just days ago I had been a major of the Kiubejhan Military, fighting side by side with Hoscoe and preparing to lead my men into the depths of that pyramid. It didn’t matter we had closed the door on the cognobins, nor that the elemental was gone, what mattered to me was my friends. They were dead because they followed me. The heir, who I was supposed to protect, was gone. I consumed myself in grief of those I had watched die in my life, those whom I had not been able to help.

  Hoscoe was dead because he came to find me … no … he was dead because he went back to help Gohruvae … but he wouldn’t have had to do that if he hadn’t come to find me in the first place. Perhaps I deserved this, to be a prisoner once again.

  ‘Cherron’s Road,’ I thought, ‘I’m still in the tunnel and I’ve dropped Hoscoe … we’ve both fallen and this is just a dream …’ a dream fleeting through my mind as I died and was sent to the underworld.

  I was awakened by unfriendly hands shaking my shoulder. Forcing my eyes open, I saw a man with a water skin close to my cracked lips. Slowly he poured the lukewarm liquid into my parched mouth and I drank. He spoke to me but I could not understand; I did not want to understand, not anymore.

  A collar was put on my neck and my feet were cut loose, and together with several other captives we marched for days in a big caravan across the dunes. Where we were going I didn’t know, what was being said to me I didn’t care. I wanted to die, it was that simple. At an oasis settlement I had my chance.

  I was led to a walled in circle with people in bleachers all around, untied, and pushed into the middle. A burly human was pushed in with me and the spectators all started yelling. My new buddy raised his hands into the air like he was something special, and then walked over to me and offered his hand in greeting. Not sure what was going on, I reached for his hand and then he sucker punched me, but good.

  The blow knocked me off my feet, however I got up quickly and mad. But wait … this was what I wanted, right? I could let him kill me and it would all be over. I deserved to die.

  Over and over he hit me, of
ten knocking me down, each time I got back up, but I didn’t hit him back. The crowd was mad, I could tell. They wanted a fight. Well, I wasn’t going to give them one.

  Again he hit me and I could feel the energy of So’Yeth rising up, seeking me, but I pushed it away. I was done, no more, I wanted out. The man was having a good time at first, then he became enraged when I refused to hit back.

  He struck me and I went down, but this time my head was reeling and my mind went spinning. Everything became blurry and I thought, ‘It’ll be over soon.’ I got up one more time, staggering. But he didn’t close. Instead he was taunting me. Why did his features slowly become that of Stagus? “Do you want to fight?! You want to swing on me, you little spike-eared slink?” I could still hear the words.

  Again I took one to the head. This time I staggered all around what was called the pit, but didn’t quite go down. He walked around me again, and measuring me for a hard one he broke my jaw. Crawling on the dirt floor I felt the energy calling to me, reaching up, touching my inner self.

  I looked up at the human and my jaw snapped back into place. A sneer came across my face as I smiled wickedly. He walked over and reached down, grabbing my hair. Seizing his hands I spun over and with a snapping motion shattered his wrist. Kicking him in the torso, I grabbed his own hair and bashed my knee into his face. Not letting go, I pummeled him with a multitude of screaming uppercuts, then setting him up I dropkicked him with all I had.

  The man hit the side of the ring and staggered back my way as I quickly returned to my feet and set myself up, right into the same chopping technique with which I had killed Sormiske. I let loose a roar of rage and those darts hit me again as the spectators went wild with cheers.

  My place in the world became one of fury, death and destruction in the venue of pit-fighting and coliseum style combat. Could I have escaped? There were times when it could have been possible, but there is no greater prison than the one inside your own mind.

  In time they quit shooting the darts into me, not because my spirit was broken, I just quit caring. My hair grew back and I wore it long and wild with a mustache and full goatee. A few tried to talk with me, but I talked to no one. I became like a beast, angry, full of grief, never forgetting my self-shame.

  My physical training I continued; handstand pushups, regular pushups, pull-ups, squats, all kinds of dynamic tension … and I did it all to the point of pain. Then I would heal myself and sometimes do it again. My senses I maintained; trying to increase the range of my smell, hearing, and by reaching into So’Yeth and seeing how far I could go.

  For close to three years I was taken around the desert, central and eastern Kohntia Mountains, and then I was bought by a man who took me on a tour of the east, or rather, the eastern part of the country where pit-fighting was allowed. I obviously won because, well, if you lost you were dead. No one knew my name and I gave it to nobody, so I was fought under various titles.

  I had just been brought to a new location when they put me up against this prancy-dancy arrogant man who kept throwing his foot up in the air as if he was kicking at bugs or something. Before the match began he stood on one leg and snapped his foot ten times at his head level, then looked at me and flexed his chest muscles.

  When the command came to engage, he came at me with that foot and I simply caught it, kicked him ten times in the groin as fast as I could, then kicked his other leg out from under him. Stepping over his leg, I spun my body around and cinching his ankle tight with my hands, his screams were bloodcurdling as I snapped the joint. Then I stomped him in the neck and as fast as that it was over. Shael’s, was the crowd mad. We had to leave that night because the crowd had wanted a nice long fight and was about to riot.

  In a pit called The Leather Barrel in the port-town of Sancridge, just north of the Cape of Thenahgo, I had just fought the main fight when my excited owner brought a well dressed man to my holding cage. The man was Edgarfield; it had been a long time.

  Chapter 53

  ________________________

  KYNEAR SEEMED A lifetime ago. Edgarfield wouldn’t have remembered me from then as we never actually met, but I remembered him. I wondered if he still had Lath.

  He walked to the front of the bars and looked me over carefully. In Lohngish he asked me, “Where is home to you?”

  I just stared at him and my owner said, “He doesn’t talk, not to anyone. But he fights the best of any of ‘em I’ve ever had. He could make you a fortune up around …”

  Edgarfield held his hand up for the man to be quiet. Edgarfield was smooth, calm, and in control. Again directing his attention to me he asked, “You are not Abaishulek … from the Gohbashai Esh’Niufahrr, maybe?” He was thinking, “Your nose is too straight to hail from Lychiwal, and you are too short for the Val’Nahahl Bands.”

  He turned to my owner and said, “No matter, I will take him.”

  The Cape of Thenahgo is the southeastern most point of Aeshea, and we were bound north by boat to Franswa in northern Lychiwal. Once I had been loaded onto The Reliance, he came to my cell in the berth and said, “We can get along, or not, it is up to you. I do not give a damn. But I will make you the same deal I offer everyone. You give me seven good years, and I will let you go.”

  I walked over to the bars and took one in each hand and asked, sarcastically, “And just how many have made it that long?”

  Edgarfield was genuinely pleased, “You have a cultured tongue. You were not sent out in disgrace from Ch’Hahnju by any chance? If so, you are a long way from home.”

  I didn’t answer and I saw an amused twinkle in his eye. He answered me, “So far … no one.” With that he turned and went out. ‘Lath,’ I thought, ‘had Lath been killed?’

  In the cell beside me was a middle aged man who said, “That’s a cagy man, Mr. Elf sir.”

  I just looked at the speaker, who added, “I’m Doc Lamindo. You make the fights good, get the crowd to like you, he makes money. When he makes money he’ll take care of you; feed you good, get you gals, guys, happy dust, whatever you want.” Doc watched to see how that registered with me.

  “He used to have a woman fight for him, a woman named Lath.”

  Doc’s eyes went awry and he blew through his teeth, “Now there was a mean one, she nigh broke him into bankruptcy. Over a year she dominated the Grand, but she pissed off the crowd with her fast wins and nonchalance. He had to sell her, damn, maybe a year ago.”

  “Who to?”

  Doc laughed, “Why do you care? She won’t mate. Lot’s have tried it.” He squinted his eyes and shuttered. “Besides, you’re in here. I don’t know that kind of stuff anyhow.”

  “Are you a fighter?”

  He lifted a wooden leg, “No. I fix you people up so you can go it again.”

  “So why are you in here?”

  He lifted his eyes, sat back onto his cot, and said, “Because every time I get a chance I run.” Once more he showed me his wooden leg.

  “Oh,” I said.

  ___________________________

  I don’t know how honest Edgarfield was about his seven years, but the food was indeed good. The thought of being touched by women into doing prisoners or slaves who killed each other didn’t turn me on, so I wasn’t going to go there. Maybe it’s because I grew up on stories of the love between Diehn N’Jiun and Lahnumae Ahk’Nohra, maybe I longed for what Hosc-, my mentor had with his wife, or maybe I was spoiled with the feminine touch and tender kisses of Riana, there just isn’t anything about the male anatomy that makes me want to … well, I’m just not interested.

  As far as happy dust goes … I watched a couple of they fighters do it and there was nothing happy about it. All I saw was an intelligent mind go to butter. No thanks. When it got offered to me as a means of escape from reality I said simply, “Escape? Escape to what? It looks like a prison to me.”

  The jiuk responded with, “Don’ knock it unlesh yu triet it …”

  “I only have to hear you talk to know I don’t want it,” I
replied dryly.

  The man just looked at me with his burned out eyes and snorted his dust, lay back, and I watched his brain turn to mush. He never woke up.

  From time to time I would remember Riana, and then I would become disgusted with myself. I didn’t deserve to carry the memories of such a quality lady. Lath came to mind as well, and I wondered where she might be, a slave like me. Would I ever see her again? If so, would I be able to set her free? I began to fantasize that if I performed well enough, somehow our paths would cross again and I could … what could I do? Again I would become depressed.

  Doc and I talked for more than a year and I began learning his form of medicine, until the day came he was taken to fix another fighter. I heard later he tried to run once more. Edgarfield walked among us, his fighters, and a guard carried Doc’s head by the hair for us to see.

  From touring the northeast and as far as the Val’Nahahl frozen boarders, we returned south and hit the Pihpikow Road; our ultimate destination, Dahruban.

  As we traveled we got bits of news from here and there: Vedoa was about to enter civil war; the scattered bands of Val’Nahahl Elves were trying to unite with the winged folk of Bristahven against Lonahki and his followers; the Associated Kingdoms may be falling apart as a united body; and the talk of the times, the Eayahnite High Priest Logan had split with the whole religion and may be starting his own cult.

  I remembered Hoscoe’s thoughts about Logan, but it didn’t matter anymore. If there really was a worldwide something going on, I had already done my part and screwed up my life doing it. Tilting my head back against the bars of my cell I just put it all out of my mind.

  As we were well into the winding road going into the high ups of the Kohntia Mountains, someone pointed to what might have been a trail south. “There’s supposed to be a dangerous sect of people called Pyntahku as got a fortress up there,” they said.