Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Again, everyone was staring at him.

  “You make him eat pork. It is poison to their system.” The looks were not going away. “I mean it. It is not a joke. It is why elves hate swine of all kinds, wild or tame. My grandfather said it is one reason elves do not frequent human civilization, pork is a staple in many cultures all around Aeshea.”

  Fhascully was actually interested.

  Seedle remarked dryly, “Sergeant, I like you, but you need to get a woman and not revel yourself in archaic folklore.”

  Caroll interjected, “But it is of a truth, Mister Seedle, my people abstain from the flesh of swine. It has long been declared unclean.”

  “Does it bring you to death if consumed?”

  There was a long pause, “I am not certain. This I do not know.”

  “Wel-l-l-l-l then …”

  Chuckling, Jha’Ley said, “Gentlemen, this is all very interesting, but it looks as if we are about to encounter some bad weather. We need to find some shelter.”

  As the group dispersed, Caroll lingered and asked, “With permission sir?”

  “Of course Caroll, you don’t need to call me---”

  With a smile, the big man responded, “But of course, I must. My question, should sufficient time at hand be availed, you were not completed of your explanation.” He nodded to the watch.

  Quickly, as if revealing a most secret-secret, he continued for his friend, “Watch this. Close the thing, then open the face sideways … like this … and we have what looks like a watch, but is something called a stopwatch and a timer. If I press this small tab, the faces shine with a green light.

  “If I press this small tab, the timer can be set to count backward.

  “If I press this tab, it will clock forward, but not in physical time, rather how much time from start to pressing of the button again. See the four little dials? They will measure the number of hours, days, months, and years past according to the Elvish Calendar.”

  Caroll’s face showed he was taking it all in.

  “Here is my personal favorite. Flip the piece over and open this face to the side, and we have yet another watch. But Caroll, this watch is perfectly accurate with the one inside with a single exception. If we travel exactly one hour in distance to east of Merceil, the hour hand automatically adjusts itself by one hour.”

  “How?! Is it magic?”

  Jha’Ley chewed his lip, “I have no idea. There is no windup mechanism. It just works. Pop and I found it inside of an old mountain ruin in the pocket of a person long departed. When my Uncle Liam saw it, he said he had seen one other just like it. It was used by Captain Greybeard and it went down with him in the Kelshinua.”

  He flipped the front face cover open and pointed to the cover’s inside, “In here, he had a picture of a beautiful woman he never talked about.” Closing the face, he opened the main body, “And this chronometer was not set to Merceil time.”

  His face a study in contemplation, Caroll asked, “Then, upon what location would it be set?”

  “Do you know the bronze marker of the Prime Meridian, the line of longitude marked 0°, has not always been placed where Merceil now stands? There are many who would have it believed the marker stood in the fishing village the city was built upon. The notion lends even greater notoriety to a city which does not require such.”

  Jha’Ley shrugged his shoulders, “It is a matter of residential ego, I fear. None-the-less, the marker was first erected in the city of Parria, at the head of the Ponskitan Sea, when sailing became prominent well over three thousand years ago.

  “Many countries have laid claim to Parria over the ages, it is, after all, the oldest city in east Aeshea, and from time Ozan won independence from Vedoa nigh to two hundred years past, it has been the seat of Ozan.

  “When Vedoa was born, however, Parria was part of the new empire. Upon building of Merceil, the emperor moved the marker due north to their new capitol, which is on the same line. All modern charts have been referenced from the Merceil Meridian, as it is now called.”

  Caroll was listening intently, and Jha’Ley added, “You should see the marker at some point. It is a rather beautiful piece of architecture, actually. One hundred feet tall, perfect square at the bottom rising to a lightning rod at the top. The corners face the prime directions and the famed chronometer reads from all four sides.”

  Jha’Ley shook his head in marvel, “Perfect timekeeping. No one sets it, there are no known records of how the clock was set into place.”

  Bringing himself out of reminisce, he returned to his former train of thought, “Before the marker was erected in Parria, however, the Prime Meridian was centered in a place west of Belmond Glacier, a place called Sn’Ahquay Mountain. Captain Greybeard’s personal chronometer was referenced from that point. He was trying to get there, but we do not know why.”

  Caroll was in deep thought as his friend watched and waited for an obvious comment. Caroll tilted his head and remarked, “But, sir, I have given study to many charts for use in navigation, land and sea. Such a land is not marked or referenced on any chart I have seen, including those of my homeland.”

  There was a twinkle in Jha’Ley’s eye as he replied, “What if I told you such a map exists? A map clearly depicting lands no modern man has seen, other lands thought of as myth … an-n-n-nd … defines the parameters of the V’Pohra Tanzhi?”

  He slapped Caroll on the shoulder, “Come, my friend, let us assist in preparing for this storm. See? The drops are already heralding the tempest’s arrival.”

  Chapter 16

  WHILE JHA’LEY AND company were enjoying their trek in the Avalon Mountains, I was fighting my way from pit to arena to pit along the Pihpikow Road. Looking back and comparing notes, I’ll wager you cannot determine where I would rather have been; even when the kobolds attacked.

  The Kobolds of Avalon have been thought of as spirit beings; I say maybe and maybe not. These creatures usually appear as little, shriveled old men of about two and a half feet tall, semi-bald, grubby gnarled fingers with splintery nails, and narrow squinty eyes. The belief is they live underground or among the mountain rocks, so their eyesight is poor. They do seem to rely on their hearing and smell, which appears to be exceptional. Thick cauliflower ears and flat noses with wide nostrils lend to this thought.

  Island lore has it that kobolds are one of Avalon’s indigenous species. Kobolds were the ruling class of the island, when around 2371 ED they played host to refugees from beneath the waves, refugees which returned their compassionate treatment with treachery. Eventually, these refugees sought and learned the secrets of kobold and fairy magic. The Sisters Morkhun established themselves as a ruling order, one of who took the name, Nimue, and rose up as a leader among them.

  Nimue led in a magical war of conquest over the island’s natives; kobolds, sprites, huldes, pixies and other creatures often referred to as Fey Folk. Once the war had been won, she declared for herself the title, Famurkhun. Eventually, the land became known as Avalon, given to mean Land of Apples, due to the vast number of apple trees.

  Stripped of their heritage, and for an age made to be slaves of the Sisters Morkhun, the kobolds have become bitter and resentful. Today they are a race of scavengers, brutal and violent, given to mischief of all manner when the opportunity presents itself.

  The attack came without warning in the dead of night. Jha’Ley’s team had been trekking for two weeks, traversing gorges, streams, seeking unused trails and was well up in altitude. Their chosen camp was in a rock walled cranny overlooking a vast valley and forest. All were standing turns of two hour watches, and it was Fhascully’s turn.

  Kobolds are reportedly very intelligent; therefore, they must have been watching their intended prey for some time. Perhaps they assumed Fhascully to be the weakest, as he was constantly immersed in study and writing notes of plants, bugs and what not. Perhaps they thought him the least warlike, as the rest moved with a military attitude. Perhaps they picked up on Dessi and Seedle’s chi
ding of the man for his less-than-navy-like bearing and discipline. Or perhaps none of this had anything to do with their timing.

  What matters is, when the attack came Fhascully was inspecting a purple caterpillar on the end of a stick in reflection of the campfire light. He wasn’t looking into the fire, which the kobolds might have thought, and he caught a flicker of movement an instant before the stone from a slingshot hurtled toward his temple.

  Had he told the tale, his friends may well not have believed him, but an insect lighting upon his nose awakened Seedle and he saw the man’s response. The reaction time demonstrated by the naturalist would leave most men stunned in observation, but Fhascully dropped the stick and was into a roll before the stone reached his position. Into his roll he yelled, “HO!”

  Fhascully had his sword drawn as he rose to his feet and backhanded yet another stone, then skewered the first of many kobolds rushing into the camp, seemingly appearing from the rocks of the camp itself. In the years Seedle had known the man, he had never once seen his sword drawn and had always assumed it was more for decoration.

  It was a straight blade, not like the cutlasses used by most of the crew, the two-handed scimitar of Caroll, or the commodore’s dao-sword. Most importantly, Fhascully was shiking good.

  Everyone was up in mark time and to arms with these two and a half-foot-tall, a couple maybe three-foot-tall creatures, skitting about with sharpened sticks, clubs and slingshots. It would be funny if the intent wasn’t so clear. These kobolds meant to kill.

  Almost as soon as the attack began it was over with the five men standing in a defensive circle.

  Sergeant Dessi exclaimed, “Damn me, I know I accounted for two, and wounded at least three more. But where are they?”

  Caroll commented, “The blood upon blade affirms true scores, as does spill upon the ground.” He rubbed at a growing knot on his head from a stone as he searched for signs of their assailants.

  Jha’Ley walked about the camp mulling thoughts in his mind.

  There were no answers, and Seedle limped to his sleeping roll where he sat and investigated a strike to his shin. As he did, he gave study to the man now carefully cleaning his straight blade, “You engaged into action quickly, Mister Fhascully.”

  There was no answer.

  While examining the rocks and trying to determine where the kobolds went, as well as how they did it so quickly, Jha’Ley commented, “Yes, Mister Fhascully, well done.”

  Dessi, on the other hand, was staring; not at the perfectly crafted Sparkaen Broad Sword, with the twenty-five-inch double-edged blade, two marks from guard tapering to one and a half marks at the twenty-two-inch mark, chiseling into a sharp V-point for the last three marks. He wasn’t staring at the blood groove with the reinforced rib on both sides of the blade, the seven small holes evenly spaced down the center. He wasn’t staring at the unique sheen of meteorite steel and the glint of razor sharp edges all the way around. Dessi was starring as the man, a man who only hours ago, he was playfully ribbing about lack of discipline, not to mention being non-navy-like.

  It wasn’t as if they had just defended against a platoon of highly skilled warriors. The expertise displayed by the kobolds was in their uncanny sense of swarming coordination, not weapon proficiency.

  What arrested Dessi’s attention; was the cool efficiency with which Fhascully demonstrated techniques far beyond even expert level. Multiple times he swatted stones from the slings as if playing a game, and his parrying movements employed wrist action rarely seen among hack-and-slash-style swordsmen.

  Caroll glanced at the sergeant, then returned his gaze to Fhascully.

  Trying to bring the man from his mood, Seedle said, “You know, I did not realize a naturalist could move so well …”

  Fhascully was still quiet, withdrawn even. He nodded at Seedle and sheathed his blade as if he had done so thousands of times. Caroll was quiet as well, but for a different reason. He was watching Dessi. The sergeant wasn’t staring at the naturalist in good humor. Caroll could read men and women well; he had been doing it for many years and had learned a thing or two in service with Master Logan. Dessi had the look of forgotten memory in his eyes, and it was not pleasant.

  The matter may not be significant, not at this time, so Caroll did not bring it up to Jha’Ley. The commodore had more important things to concern himself with for now. Caroll would worry about it for him. But he kept watch over Fhascully, as well. There was a story here, and it ran deep. A man can change his name, his look, outlook on life, even his accent. But a man cannot change his scars or memories.

  Caroll was remembering no one had ever seen Fhascully with his shirt off. He had been ribbed for it on occasion. In fact, he had been ribbed often for many things, not that he didn’t bring much of it upon himself. But why? Caroll did not need to know. At this point in time it did not matter. But one thing did.

  As Fhascully stood on the rock edge overlooking the valley, the big man walked up and stood next to him. Casually, Caroll opened a small flask of brandy and took a drink. Then he passed the flask to Fhascully and held it for his taking.

  The smaller man had never spoken a word of kindness to the bigger man. He had not been rude, but the Lh’Gohrian was from a different culture, nearly black of skin, and damned if he was not intimidating. Caroll spoke as if he may be intelligent, but never mentioned his education, if he even had any. And Fhascully was an intellectual. His was a difficult and rare field and he needed to associate with others of his kind, those regarded as intellects. He needed to be, to feel respected. Friendship was not important. He had never, he needed …

  Caroll stood there calmly, quietly, with the open flask. Fhascully reached a tentative hand and took the flask, then smelled the liquor. It was quite good, truthfully. He took a sip, a good sip, and savored the flavor. He handed the flask back and quietly said, “Thank you.”

  The big man smiled and turned to walk away.

  Fhascully watched him turn, then said, “Thank you, Mister Caroll, really, thank you.”

  ___________________________

  Ever more watchful, they travelled on and found themselves scaling steep inclines and cliffs as much as hiking. More than once they looked upon what looked to be lakes of mist, beautiful but surreal. The third day after the kobold attack, the sky was heavily overcast. Soggy, tired, more than a little irritable and observant for signs of their quest location, they made wet camp under a slight outcropping of rock.

  Caroll was on watch when the kobolds made another attack. It seemed as if they came out of the stone itself, swarming all about the weary travelers. There was no doubt the men’s combat skills far surpassed their assailants, but the kobolds numbers appeared to be without limit.

  Seedle yelled in exclamation in between swings of his sword, “It is as … if we fell … into … a hornet’s … nest …”

  The men grabbed gear and fought on the run up their previous trail, the kobolds jumping upon their backs and striking against the head with gnarled sticks, pelting them with sling stones, a select few attempting to throw javelins of old tree limbs and rubbed upon stone to form points.

  One such javelin cut through Dessi’s breeches and slashed his right leg, knocking him down in the process. It just happened to be Fhascully who was behind him and grabbed his arm, pulling him up as they scampered up the mountain, and tearing loose the weapon to carry it by hand.

  As they put some distance between them and their camp, Jha’Ley called out, “They have withdrawn, gentlemen. Let us take a moment to capture our breath.”

  Seedle remarked, “The solid rocks are obviously their doorway.”

  Dessi replied, “I should be thankful these little men demonstrate small knowledge of metal working …”

  Fhascully said, “Commodore, Sergeant Dessi has taken a grievous leg wound.”

  “It is nothing, Mister Fhas---”

  “Bosh! These heathen may make use of poison.” Fhascully added with a touch of sarcasm, “Of, course, the amount o
f grog you Marines consume may …” he let his words drift awkwardly as Dessi glared at him with a partial scowl.

  Seedle took up Fhascully’s words, “… the content of grog in your system may well act as an antitoxin. But he is correct,” looking to Jha’Ley, who was taking note of the growing blood stain in Dessi’s breeches leg, and absently touching a little pouch he always wore on his belt, he added, “Commodore, this wound needs immediate attention.”

  Jha’Ley’s face was creased in concern of multiple thoughts, but his man’s injury now took priority. Fhascully was giving the head of the bloody javelin an intent study as Jha’Ley asked, “What do you think?”

  Tossing the weapon aside, the naturalist replied, “I detect no apparent trace of toxins, and the head appears clean. But the wound is open with a severe cut.” He and Seedle were assisting the reluctant sergeant in sitting down.

  “I do not need this. I can …”

  “You are hereby outranked, as officiating medic.” The breeches were torn open, revealing a gaping wound. Clasping the edges together, Fhascully put forearm to his lip in quick thought. Glancing to Jha’Ley he said, “Sir, the cut is to the bone. I need to stitch this.”

  “No butcher is going to poke a needle into my leg.”

  Caroll dropped his pack and suggested, “Mayhap these hands can help?” All eyes looked to the big man as he added, “In service of Master Logan, my purview often did embrace tending such wounds.”

  Dessi asked, “What the shite did he just say?”

  Fhascully leaned back to allow Caroll room while he still maintained clasp on the leaking wound. Caroll put his massive hands on the man’s thigh and closed his eyes.

  Seedle’s face showed amazement as the cut stopped bleeding and partially closed, enough to compare with four or five days of rest and recuperation. Suddenly exhausted, Caroll took a ragged breath and said, “Mayhap this touch hold until proper attention be rendered.”