Winds of Torsham (The Kohrinju Tai Saga Book 2)

by J P Nelson

  Caroll was nodding his head as Dessi continued, “Once your mind is set, there is no keeping you down. You will go outside the box without question. You will bend the rules, break them if need be, to do what you have committed to do …”

  A sudden flare of challenge rose up in Seedle’s expression as his friend held up his hands, “… hey … do not deny it. You won fights you really should not have won. Why? Because of your passion, your drive, you will not stay down. You have tunnel vision, man, and even when addled you think well.”

  The cob was obviously distraught; if not the responsibility, it was the nature of the assignment itself.

  Dessi blew a short laugh, “Come on, Seed, you are already thinking how to make it work.”

  Seedle looked over the crenellation while his friends looked at him. Then he turned around with a single tear on his cheek, “Okay … for the commodore. But fellows, we need the very best pilot possible, one who has steel in his balls and can stay up for a long-g-g time. And I am thinking boats with those steel runners like Waddles, and the bottoms of those barges we found on that island by the igloo village. If I were going to make this happen, if I were the trolls, I mean, I would not wait for thaw. I would do it while the ships are still in ice.”

  Dessi answered, “I was just thinking the same thing, they will want us trapped.” He nodded, “Steel runners are a good idea … I already see where you are going.”

  Seedle ran the back of his hand across his face, then tongued the inside top of his lip, after a moment he spat to the side. From under his brow he looked to Dessi, “This will be a sailor’s job, you know, we will have to go light on Marines, but those Marines will need be shiking good sailors.”

  Dessi was not pleased, but he also understood, “How many?”

  Seedle pursed his lips and squeezed his neck muscles, “I think maybe four, five at most.”

  “Duly noted. I think I already know who …”

  Caroll asked, “Is a man’s name to your mind as pilot?”

  There was a moment of pause, then all three said the name at the same time, “Telroy.”

  ___________________________

  First morning in the old castle, Dessi had his leaders out in the main ward right after chow, “Alright men, we are calling this Ward One. Behind us is obviously the gatehouse.” He began pointing in specific directions, “That long building to our immediate right is the old stable and the grounds to the other side is Ward Two. You will notice, if you have not already, it is the only ward level with this one.

  “On the other side of the main keep the ground rises up about twelve feet, we call that Ward Three. A wall centered by a gate and stairs connects it to Ward Two. Moving in a left-wise circle is the next wall with another gate and stairs leading up another dozen feet into Ward Four.

  “Another wall and gate and we drop down to the approximate level of Wards Three and Five. That one gives direct access to the building structure we see on our left. We think this must have been the barracks. That ground is covered by more than just vines, it looks like vegetables were grown there and it looks like a deep well at center. One of the sailors found a collapsed structure under the vines.

  “From Ward Five we go through another wall and up onto Ward Six. Ward Six is a touch higher than four, giving us five different elevations to work from excluding towers.

  “Sergeant Rahno, you found the remains of a catapult on Ward Six. Under Wards Four and Six are a total of three large bunkers.”

  He looked each of his men in the eye, “Men, it is going to be up to us. The commodore is anticipating a Class 5 Combat Action with a horde of trolls. With the men we have we could defend long against marauders or local hostiles, but for a true war we are drastically undermanned.

  “We are going to bring the bulk of ranging weapons from the ships and mount them on towers. Then we will see what we can contrive to supplement those.”

  Dessi waved his hand, “There will be no direct section duty assignments. We will be alternating shifts and sections so we are all familiar with all sections.

  “We are not sure, but we suspect there could be someone from Vedoan military involved, so we are forming a new code system for use with drum, flag and horn.”

  Kneeling down to draw in the dirt with a stick, the men knelt down with him as he continued, “We need to develop several strategies. Here is what we are going to do first …”

  Down in the boathouse, Seedle was having a heart-to-heart talk with Telroy. As the cob discussed his ideas, the young man’s eyes grew wide while soaking everything in.

  “Well then, it is all on the deck for you to see. Are you in?”

  The sailing master’s mate took much time dwelling on the issue, then he was very deliberate in his words as he looked Seedle in the eye with resolution, “Aye, cob. When do we begin?”

  A mischievous grin crossed Seedle’s face as he answered, “My young friend, we already have.”

  Looking toward the large saw blade Seedle said, “Let us discuss what we need with our chief carpenters, then you are going to have to teach a select group of men skills you are not going to be able to give practice for.”

  Seedle called out in a sing-song fashion across the large room, “Oh-h-h Mister O-T-T-T-u-u-s-s-s …”

  As the carpenter looked their way, Seedle motioned to him, “Can we talk with you for a few?”

  Inside the spacious bunker under Ward Four, Jha’Ley and S’Getti were sitting at a makeshift table enjoying the last of their tea. Breakfast was now over and the crew had for the most part dispersed for assignments. They were now out of earshot of anyone else as S’Getti asked in a subdued tone, “So, my good commodore, what think you of the keep and grounds? Does it not give you cause to wish a bride and minions?”

  Giving his friend a sarcastic sideways glance, Jha’Ley answered, “Oh, I cannot tell you how eager the thought makes me.”

  S’Getti grinned, took a sup of his tea, looked to the bottom of his mug and added, “I have been oppressed of desire to make question … what of this lock- and pocket-picking, confiscation of milk, bread and cheese and the career you once made of being a grand juggler and acrobat?”

  Jha’Ley chuckled and raised his eyebrows, “Well, my friend, not all things are what they may seem, even most of the time.”

  S’Getti tilted his head back, amused. He was sure a story was forthcoming when the commodore suddenly spied someone walking by the open doorway. Jha’Ley abruptly got up and setting his mug to table said, “Villiam, if you would but excuse me for a moment, I need to make conversation with someone ….”

  The captain was about to feign hurt feelings, but it was too late, Jha’Ley was gone quickly out the door.

  Fizer was on way to his morning duty when Jha’Ley matched pace with him, then casually asked, “Do you know the key to making good oatmeal cookies?”

  The older man was caught off guard for only an instant, then recovered himself with smooth action as he answered, “Don’t forget to add oatmeal.” With a sideways glance to Jha’Ley as they kept pace he asked, “Akender doa melia?”

  “Shomedi doa mea.”

  They paused where no one could hear. Fizer looked to Jha’Ley, “You wear the mark?”

  “No. My teacher-father, whose name I shall not speak, was to present me in Dahruban for Journeyman’s Initiation. Then he took a bolt to the throat. Three weeks later my life took major change and I left Bli’ath, never to return. It was 5118 ED.”

  A spark flickered in Fizer’s eye, “Then it’s good you mention not his name, old things with lingering threads sometimes are best forgotten …” he smiled warmly, “… sir.”

  “Lingering threads?”

  “It was in such conclave that order met violent ends. All present were slain on that eve. Very few of us were left, only a fringe living on the edges. The word is, someone in Dahruban would still like to learn of any survivors. I felt it prudent to drift east, years ago.”

  Jha’Ley was solemn, “I see. I knew of
the slaughter. One who knew, but was member not of the order, made me to know, and continued my education a bit further. He made suggestion my new path would lead to better ends. But he instilled within me the loyal code. I have not forgotten. Your accent was familiar to me of the Alburin,” he shrugged, “and I wished to take chance …”

  “If he whose name you do not speak was your teacher-father, I would be his brother.”

  “Which would make you my uncle.”

  “And your purpose for invoking recognition of an old order now long dead, but not forgotten?”

  “A Rogue of the Nander-Kyne once told me the order now long dead was of highest code among their brethren. I wish you to know you have a friend.”

  Fizer studied his commodore with new scrutiny. “Nander-Kyne, you say?” He narrowed his eyes and it seemed an expression of respect crossed his face. The old thief held his hand out with what others may think a strange position of fingers, “Oonsan-tae?”

  Jha’Ley responded to the shake in kind fashion, “Oonsan-tyne.

  “I wish to relieve you of your duty. There is something else I have in mind for you, if you will have the challenge. It will be somewhat off the record, however.”

  “And what is that sir?”

  “How are you with traps?”

  Fizer grinned, “What, sir, did you have in mind.”

  Jha’Ley put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Let us talk.” Of a sudden, a thought crossed Jha’Ley’s mind, “By-the-way … can you tell me what fenko means?”

  ___________________________

  What did the expedition know of trolls? Not much. They were the only race not of human, elf or d’warvec origin to be found on all continents. They were savage, barbaric, often attributed to being dumb brutes, but Caroll suggested Logan’s study showing they had once commanded a thriving civilization, even down to a written language and cultivated arts.

  Logan believed they had cities now under the Itahro Glaciers. Then the elves drove them out into the Uordak Valley, resulting in enmity against all elves. Tales of such things happened all through history. As such, it was suggested they may have seen the pirate colony as an act of hostile invasion. If so, then these ships at the old castle could be construed as even worse … if, that is, the trolls had knowledge of their occupation.

  Jha’Ley declared at the first war-meeting, “We cannot know what to expect, gentlemen, so let us expect everything. We are at Code 4 Alert. This winter will not be anything like Fort Choe.”

  He paused and radiated optimism, “It will be nice to find a way through the barrier come thaw, but we are not expecting it. It may be years, decades, even more before five miles of ice allows for passage.

  “We will tow barges, then drag them across the Stair Point we found at the ice lagoon, followed by supplies, and cast for Sterine … period. A team will be sent for Captain Ervis, another will employ ships to return for pick-up. After all have been rescued, we will scuttle the ships, then we go home.”

  Seedle’s demeanor changed in the weeks to follow. He was still good to his men, but it was noticed he lost much of his jovialness and it was a thing talked about. Much of his time was spent in the boathouse where the first actions were forging and adding metal runners to the underside of the Waddles and Kimble, the Kimble being the other barge from Clarise. These runners would not impede water travel, but would allow these craft to skate well across ice … at least, that was the idea.

  From the Ubank’s deck, one of their barges, the Arnold, was also fitted with these runners. S’Getti did the metalwork himself, having been an accomplished smith. Once the runners were fitted, the boats were put into the long slip.

  Mopping his brow with a towel, the captain looked to Seedle. In wordless conversation they exchanged grim thoughts, but they understood each other. Only a select few knew. If things came down to this plan …

  S’Getti put a hand to the cob’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze, then walked off to talk to Ottus. As he turned he made nod to Corad, chief guard for the day at the boathouse.

  The Marine walked up to Seedle and nodded to the floating craft, “Heyo cob. How well do you think they will do?”

  Seedle rubbed his jaw, “I do not know, sarge, I do not know.”

  It was one week after Jha’Ley met the three atop the gatehouse when he addressed Seedle in private, “Here are two bone tubes.” He was very emphatic and handed the first one to Seedle, “This one, is the heart and soul of our expedition. You know where it goes. But this other …” the commodore breathed deeply, “… this goes home. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yessir, we do. You have my word.”

  “Thank you Mister Seedle.”

  Jha’Ley gave formal salute and Seedle returned the gesture.

  Building boats was not the only objective for the boathouse sawmill, Dessi brought plans for two trebuchets. It would take up a lot of wood, but these weapons could make a major difference in an all out battle. They could cut more timber come thaw, if they survived.

  Things were moving well in all directions, including harvest of wild vegetables, but then a hunting party of four did not come back. A strong force was sent out with Toagun as scout. Their trail literally vanished a bit over two miles from the castle heading east. No sign could be found. It was literally as if they walked into nothingness.

  Four days later, a private from the hunting party staggered his way to the gatehouse. He had no recollection of anything beyond being out on the hunt one moment, then waking up without his weapons in the forest only hours ago. What was even more important, he came back very sick.

  The fellow had severe pains in his intestines and his bowels ran like water. Yeau recognized the problem right away and explained he had somehow acquired a sickness called the Lithuan Plague. It was curable, but debilitating. The patient would dehydrate, run fever and spend much time with diarrhea. Rest, much liquid, meat broth and breads were considered best remedies.

  How, though, did he contract the illness way out there?

  The malady swept through the place, ultimately affecting everyone but Caroll. On average each man spent ten to twelve days sick, and twice the time regaining his strength. Chronic dehydration killed six men.

  As the sickness swept through the population, the conveyor belt of the saw mill suddenly broke. It took days to repair the thing, all the time Ottus could not figure out how or why. He told Seedle, “The thing was working perfectly …”

  “You think sabotage?”

  Ottus gritted his teeth, “I do not know, cob … but something is not right.”

  Another jonboat and a barge were built and readied with the metal runners. Plans were laid to bring in more timber, but they focused on carefully building more barges with what wood they had.

  Then came the day Jon, the senior carpenter, was guiding lumber along the track and the blade suddenly came loose, ran the length of the beam and right through the man … literally cutting him in half from head to waist. The blade continued to slice another’s torso and head, then severed yet another man’s arm at the elbow.

  The tragedy was bad enough, but it was discovered the blade had been tampered with. Ottus realized Carpenter’s Mate Rance had not been seen since morning, and he had been one of the first to recover from illness.

  Seedle was there at the scene; pointing to Rymon, Carlson, Fizer and Fadious, “Get weapons, come with me.”

  They searched for an hour, then Fizer showed concern with one of the old doors in the tunnel. Seedle started to take the handle by hand and open it, but Fizer grabbed his wrist, “It ain’t right, cob.”

  The fellow spent some time investigating things Seedle couldn’t see, then he slid something small into the crack atop the door. Fizer gave a nod and the Marine Sergeant, Rymon, went in first. Employing proper tactics, Fadious followed him in, then Fizer. Looking up, there was a trap designed to swing down and impale whoever was in the doorway.

  In middle of the floor lay Rance. Rymon took a candle to i
nvestigate the room while Fadious knelt to examine the carpenter’s mate. Abruptly, he looked up and brought his crossbow to bear on Seedle’s position.

  The cob was knocked to one side from behind as bolts flew from Fadious’s weapon and Carlson’s, who was now beside Seedle. Carlson took a bolt in his shoulder, Fadious was impaled through the chest, but he was starting to speak. Carlson instantly whipped a dagger across the ten feet into the other man’s throat.

  Rymon had spun around and was about to shoot when Carlson rasped in collapse, “He … he … was going to … shoot …”

  Fizer came from behind the door having seen nothing. Seedle knew not what to think. No proof could be found to determine clearly facts other than what was apparent. A file and wrench matching what was used on the saw was found on Rance’s body. When Carlson returned to consciousness, he swore he was saving Seedle’s life.

  Seedle affirmed, “The corporal was behind me, I saw nothing of him until Fadious suddenly raised his weapon, at what looked like me in direct manner. I find it hard to believe he was involved in sabotage, he or Rance.”

  Neither Rymon nor Fizer saw anything, except for Carlson’s dagger flying through the air. What Fadious was about to say could not be determined.

  The bottom line was four men were dead, one maimed, another out of action until he healed. Oh yes, and now there was the fact members of their own team had resorted to sabotage. Mistrust now was in the air.

  Well past Winter Solstice, Dallio was on watch with Guen. Dallio’s attention was drawn from the road below as he peered through the crenellations. He commented to his partner, “I thought I saw some, something down there.”

  Guen looked from another position and asked, “Where?” Guen shouted as he saw what looked like a human-sized figure suddenly appeared from the dark as if they had been shrouded, pointed a stick of some kind and fire exploded about Dallio … carrying him off the wall to land in a flaming mass of flesh on the Sixth Ward.