by Nelson, J P
I had a mission, so hanging around wasn’t an option, but I did want a good bath. First, however, those biscuits were almighty inviting, as were the platter of scrambled eggs and meat.
The bath was nice, and when I was done and halfway dressed in my new clothing, I noticed a sheet of glass mirror on the wall. There was a small table underneath the mirror and I saw someone was into primping. There were some scissors, a mug for shaving soap, brush, straight razor and all. I looked at myself and mused for a long time. Getting some hot water while Ernt looked and wondered at what I was doing, I tried to make some little kind of sense of my life.
Back in front of the mirror I soaked a towel in the hot water and thought of the difference between an animal and, well, me. Basking in the heat from the towel on my face I imagined the removal from one frame of mind, one life mode, and entrance into another. The hot bath had in many ways already done that for me externally. Now the finishing touches.
While Ernt was rounding out his new outfit I shaved slowly with my new knife, ignoring the razor, scraping a design in the rich lather on my jowls. And then I cut some on my hair with the scissors. Afterward I stepped back and appraised myself again. My hair was long past my shoulders, about three or four inches down my back. On my chin I now wore a mature goatee and mustache, like Hoscoe had worn his. I was fifty years old, a full adult by elvin standards and no longer a child; by human standards I was comparable to a twenty or twenty-one year old. I stood right at five feet and ten inches tall, and I figured myself as a solid hundred and seventy-five to eighty pounds, all of it lean.
My arms were around seventeen to eighteen inches around the biceps, my chest and shoulders rippled with muscle, and what humans called a six-pack characterized my torso. I was much more muscular than an elf, but not to much. Yet mine was a physique resultant of excruciating training tempered by magical healing.
There were no scars on my body, due to the healing, but I felt them on the inside and they ran deep. You couldn’t see them now, but I remembered well when my body was covered with whip marks. I looked into and beyond the mirror and wondered who I was, what could my purpose be? Why had I gained another chance? A chance at what? A chance to do what? What kind of difference could I make? I was just one person, and now I was an outlaw at that.
Ernt’s and my escape would be outside the Dahruban jurisdiction, wouldn’t it? Unless some of those guards were Dahruban soldiers. Shael’s, I hadn’t considered that. And when Uven realized we had escaped, he wouldn’t let that slide easily. I had no idea how good a tracker he was, and I didn’t want to find out, not right now. Eventually our paths would cross again, I had no doubt, but it would be on my terms and not his. And I wanted Cielizabeg as well.
As I finished dressing, my thoughts ran to Ahjokus, the winged fellow. The word was he could see a rabbit hopping around from thousands of feet up, and he was a dead shot with a bow. I had only seen him for a moment and he didn’t look like much, physically. Yes, he was lean and muscular, but he was slender like an elf, and his ears were slightly pointed as well. I figured him to be maybe five feet and five inches and with his wings to get in his way, I couldn’t see how he would hold up in a close-quarter fight.
Ahjokus was supposed to be smart, though, and he had done something right to become Chief of Dahruban’s security. It was a post Hoscoe had once held, and he told me it was one of the few positions which had not yet become subject to absolute political assumption. In other words, Hoscoe said the job had political clout, but unlike many positions, you still had to be good at your business to even be considered for the position.
“Dahruban is still young as a major power, and the current governing body will do what it takes to keep it that way,” Hoscoe had told me. Of a sudden I froze in my thinking … Dahruban was a city-state, and as such a government to itself. But with all of the battles and warring, especially the Amber-Croaz Campaign of nearly twenty years before, many of the territories had unified as a country or territory of sorts with Dahruban as a capitol. Hoscoe said they were calling it Lahconna, from an old Elvish word, L’Kohnus, meaning Sacred Land. My breath caught, as I hadn’t taken that into consideration. Just how big was that territory, and what, how was it being governed? Where were the boundaries, and were we currently in them? Well, there was nothing I could do about it now, nothing but do what I planned and get out, way-y-y out of the region.
Getting Ahjokus involved in hunting us down would not be a good move. Besides, something warned me there was a lot more to the airborne archer than was obvious. Had momma said something at one time about a man, or an elf, or elves who could fly? What was it? Something, some obscure memory was floating around in my mind, but I couldn’t get a grasp on it.
Right now Ernt and I needed to get away from here while there was still getting-away time left. It would take a while for any news to get to Dahruban as we were way out in the back-country, but if my plan worked out well, we would only have a handful of days after I completed my task.
There was something I needed which I wouldn’t have time to make. Brigands liked the easy life, that’s why they stole. And the easy life meant recreation. I found three decks of playing tiles, dice, and a couple of other games, all of which I kept. But I had to go back outside to the tied up fellow to find what I was looking for.
I had only given him a cursory frisk for basic weapons; but going back to search him more thoroughly, inside of his belt pouch I found a treasure, at least it was a treasure for me. It wasn’t much, but it was a simple fife, a musical instrument in good repair.
“You shouldn’t run with such bad boys,” I told the brigand, “they’re a naughty influence.” I tried to *Detect* uncleanness on the fife, and found disease. I pushed energy through it and cleansed the instrument. It even smelled better. I blew a couple of quick scales, and although it was kind of high pitched for my taste, it was workable. Kneeling back down to the silent thief I said, “I won’t leave you without a horse. You did nothing to me. But don’t get any ideas. You tell people Timber Wolf of the Ahnagohr is alive and well,” I brushed my knife under his chin, “and don’t nobody get in my way.”
His eyes got really big, but I left it at that. Ernt didn’t say much, but he looked at the thief and punctuated my words with his own sinister grin, raise of an eyebrow, and a drag of his thumb across his throat. With that we rode out with everything of value, and then some.
Franko would be following the Pihpikow Road, which got use, but not heavily so. Highwaymen and such put hazards up that made travelers journey in groups more often than not, and there was a lot of country between the big city and Stafford. Since the Pihpikow belonged to no particular government, it was travel at your own risk.
As far as Kendle knew, Franko would be traveling with three freighter outfits traveling together as a member of the guard. He had very sneakily kept four of his preliminary fighters as retainers. What I was going to do was make a statement to the world, or at least northern Aeshea. It wouldn’t matter to a lot of people, initially, but the news would travel. Still, I had to be very careful, and I didn’t want Ernt mixed up in it.
We rode hard for a day and then moved off the road to make camp. The horses had been secured and I was cooking up some supper when I told him, “Ernt, I’ve come to like you, so I’m going to level with you. It’s come time for us to part ways.”
He just looked at me. He looked like a brute, but he was very smart, and I think he expected as much. “You go by self. Be ‘lone.” His words were more a statement as they were a question. But by his expression I could tell the question was definitely there. “You und me, be pard-ner.” He waved his hand across the land, “Take much. Be much rich.”
Shaking my head I said, “I don’t want that kind of life, Ernt. I don’t know what I want, but I want it to mean something. When I finish what I am going to do, I’m riding away from all of this. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can travel so I can’t be tracked. I can disappear into the wilderness.
; “If you help me, they will be able to read your tracks and follow you. There is a lot of wealth right here, with these horses and stuff that’s on them. I want three of these horse and supplies and I’m riding hard out. That will give you eight good horses. You can sell them, the gear, or do whatever.”
I held his gaze, “You’re too good a person to waste your life hacking around.” For a moment we sat by the fire and a thought came to me, “Ernt, I can’t make any promises,” I started drawing a map in the dirt, “but over here there is a place called Quandell. There is a man there called Mahrq, or there used to be.”
Ernt was nodding, “I know place. No be there, but find.”
“Good. Tell Mahrq you are there in the name of Hoscoe. He’ll understand.” I smiled, “You would fit in there, very nicely I think. Do you have any family? Have you always been … a slave, or prisoner?”
A slow smile crossed his face, I wished to had have time to get to know Ernt. He said, “No fam-ly. I make wheel. I make good wheel.”
Ernt was a wheelwright, what do you know? A good wheelwright could make a fortune in our day and time. I drew a careful diagram from my knowledge of Hoscoe’s maps, crossing the Pihpikow and rough cutting it until hitting a couple of villages. At any of those villages he could sell what he wished, and either take a barge across the Ellenburg River, swim it, or book passage on the Phabeon to any of several ports where he could make travel to the Chamberlain’s Highway. From there he could follow the trail to Quandell.
Drawing extra lines to my map, I showed him Sahnuck Pass, “I was part of the work force who went through there,” I said in remembrance. To which he said, “I see place. I go road. Good road.” I shared some coffee with him, and the next morning we parted ways, he to cross the Pihpikow and me to meet Franko.
It didn’t take long to find a good waiting spot. I didn’t want to meet in the daytime; I wanted it to be dark night. If they didn’t cross my path in the light, I would ride in the dark and *Merge with the Land*, specifically looking for a large group of people making camp. In the meantime, my straddle was beginning to ache. It had been years since I had ridden and while I could heal, it took time to build those muscles back up. Yup, I was saddle sore.
Those people were slow; it took two nights of riding before I found my quarry. There were eight wagons and twenty-two people in all, but it was late and everyone was asleep except the night watch. Leaving my own horses a half mile away, I snuck my way to the camp. Keeping the animals quiet was easy, and then I pulled out my fife and started playing softly, a lullaby if you will, and concentrated on making these people *Fall Asleep*.
Mon’Gouchett, but it worked. Carefully I collected all weapons and put them into a neat stack in the woods. Not knowing how long the sleep effect would last, I played the music as often as I could. I really should have an assistant, because this was taking a lot of work, a lot of focus, and more time than I wanted. But I had it to do.
This was a different kind of magic from reaching into So’Yeth, and it wasn’t nearly as well developed. I got several people tied, but there was only so long the magical sleep would hold, and before I could finish someone started waking up.
I had identified the caravan leader and tied him first, then Franko and his four. I knew his four very well. The fellow waking up had been fussing with a wagon when he went down to my lullaby, and I figured him for a teamster. As he awakened I was positioned right behind the leader with my blade pointed right at his throat. My other hand held a crossbow casually pointed at the teamster, and as his attention focused on me I said with ice in my voice, “If you want this pig to die, just start a problem. I’m Timber Wolf from the Ahnagohr’s. You know, the Feral Elf. You like to watch me kill people in the coliseum. Right now I have an itch in my hand, and I don’t give a damn.”
That teamster fellow was no fool. He slowly looked around and saw most of his companions were tied. He looked back at me and decided not to make a play. Maybe he looked in my eyes and didn’t like what he saw; maybe he had seen me fight and didn’t want to chance it.
It didn’t matter to me his reason for cooperating; the bottom line was it meant I didn’t have to kill him. Deep down, I really didn’t want to kill anyone ever again. That is, not after I finished what I had in mind. Besides, this teamster wasn’t really a part of the problem.
“You aren’t who I’m interested in, and if you do what I tell you, you’ll live to regret this moment.”
“Whatever it is you do,” the fellow replied in a dry tone, “you won’t get away with it.”
There was something about this teamster, if that’s what he was, that I liked. Quickly I put it out of my mind.
“There’s seven more of you who need to be tied,” I said, “And I want you to finish the task.”
I could see his mind working. This one was cautious, and a thinker, so I added, “I can hear the lice crawling in that man’s head,” I nodded to a man on the far side of the camp, “so don’t try whispering any messages.”
My new associate whipped his head to look at the snoring man I had indicated, then back at me with wonder and amazement in his expression. Sure enough, that man had lice. Now mister teamster-fellow had to discern whether I had seen the lice in passing, or whether I could actually hear the lice. As for me, I wasn’t telling.
He finished tying the rest of the camp, then he sat down per my instructions and I tied him. All the time I could almost tell what he was thinking; had he screwed up, or had he saved a lot of lives by complying with my orders? His predicament was not one I would want to be in, because, after all, the captor was billed as being crazy.
___________________________
A legend was born that night, although it wasn’t my intention, a legend of the bloody and un-catchable road bandit, Timber Wolf. For the next two years, every unsolved road robbery and massacre on that section of the Pihpikow Road was attributed to me. Rarely was there a survivor at these crimes, and the site usually involved mutilation and everything laid to waste.
But the cold truth is; I hate waste and anyone who had ever known me would understand those atrocities committed just wouldn’t be my style, if I had even chose the path of a bandit, which I didn’t, not yet, not for a long time, maybe, kinda-sorta, but that’s another story.
As I waited for my true targets to awaken, I rummaged around what was left of the cook-fire and fixed myself something to eat. The food was bland and I thought of an herb I had seen in the woods.
I went and collected some of what momma called masto-root, then brought it back and added it to the remnants of the stew.
This one fellow who I took to be the cook, was looking in alarm and spoke up without thinking, “Hey! That’s pois-.” Realizing what he was saying, he suddenly hushed up. I guess he figured if I ate it I would die.
Looking at him with a sardonic smile I said, “You keep believing that.” Pointing at the various parts I educated this human, “The leaves can be mushed, steeped in water and put on poison ivy to make it quit itching. The stem is good as is, although bitter, to chew and wash away fever. If you steep it with garlic it will flat-out cure most sicknesses. The first three outer layers of a mature plant are like leather, but when mixed with a strong tea will fix all kinds of digestive problems. And the inner bulb is like an onion. If you cut it all up, the whole plant, I mean, it can bring out the flavor of any stew. When made like a soup just by itself you can live on it indefinitely.”
I began cutting my plants up and adding them to the stew.
He scowled and asked, “Why ain’t I heard that before?”
Throwing him a sideways slanting look I said, “Because you are human … and stupid. You should learn how to live with your world, not try to control it.”
Some of those guys were really sleeping and I looked up at the night sky. With the guards out from my magical lullaby, it was, would be, up to me to make sure nothing unfriendly interfered with the camp. Something else I hadn’t thought about. I really needed to plan my actions
better.
Did I really care? Yes, I realized, I did. Why? Because aside from five people, these merchants were innocent of any wrongdoing against me. Or were they? Had any of them paid to see me fight? If so, then they were all part of the system who had kept me in blood.
Right?
Right.
Wrong.
Craiken!
Why did I have to go and get all full of notions? A third of the camp had awakened, but in seeing me and finding themselves bound, they kept quiet while watching. Oh, there were a couple who were grumbling, but I ignored them.
Frustrated with my unbidden thoughts of morality, I kicked Franko awake.
Cool and level I said, “Hello there, Franko. You sleep good?”
He tried to sit up and found his hands and feet tied, “Wha – what’s goin’ on?”
Kneeling down with my knife in hand, I pointed it at his chest, then his stomach, then I let it linger around his privates as I shifted my gaze to his widening eyes, and then I dragged the point down the inside of his right thigh. The point cleanly slit his pants apart, but didn’t cut his skin.
I smiled at him and asked, “How are you feeling this morning?” With a whisk of the blade I split the other side of his pants leg, again not breaking the skin. No joking, the man suddenly started to sob like a little child and began blathering all kinds of apologies. I didn’t listen.
Standing up I took my time and started casually searching through the wagons. I didn’t really care what was there, but I wanted to prolong the angst of my captives. Everyone was awake by now, and they weren’t very talkative.
Prodding and poking, pulling back a canvas here and there I found a few goods, mostly in the way of food that caught my eye. And then I found a bundle which fascinated me instantly, especially the aroma.
“I wouldn’t touch that,” One man said, “That belongs to Master Uven.”