The Istaka Passage Mitchell Bonds 1
The Istaka Passage
By Mitchell Bonds
© Mitchell Bonds 2009
Distribution of this document in full or part is prohibited
Chapter X: The Lost Chapter
From Pansy to Paladin
In which Reginald Helps a little Wolf, and Fights a Large one
Sir Reginald Ogleby, the Crimson Slash, whistled cheerfully as he rode west from Merope toward the Mountains of the Morning. It was a beautiful day. The gentle breeze kept the heat of the summer down to a tolerable level, moreso now that Reginald had removed his plate armor and hung it on Toboggan. Even insects refrained from bothering the Hero and his horse. Keeth soared overhead, attempting assorted aerial acrobatic antics.
Reginald rode the seldom-used road between Merope and the Keep of Five Flames. The road, which had once been solid red bricks, was now overgrown. Tufts of grass sprouted in between many of the fading bricks trough cracks in the mortar. The forest that surrounded the Keep was visible on the horizon, as well as the mountains that surround the ancient eldritch tower. Waves of long grass surrounded both sides of the road. Much of it had already gone to seed in the summer sun, making the road seem a mere back-country path. It had been more in ages past: the highway to the most epic and unconquerable challenge in all of Heroic Lore.
The horse was Wraith, whose body they had recovered from the site of Reginald’s capture. It had been quick work for the animal cleric to regenerate the horse and restore life to his body. Such restoration was impossible for humans and the other Races, for they had souls, but it could be done for animals, though the cost was prohibitively high. Fortunately for Reginald, he’d carried Horse Insurance, so the procedure cost him only the ten-gold deductable.
Reginald rode for several hours, interrupted only twice, once to let his horse take a break, and once to talk to Keeth. Keeth walked beside Reginald and Wraith for a bit, then had said he was hungry and took off again, flying out of sight. For an hour Reginald continued onward to the Keep, enjoying the mid-afternoon sun.
Then he spotted something moving in the tall grass.
It looked like an animal of some sort, but it was merely lying there, faintly moving its legs. Cautiously, Reginald dismounted, drawing his sword from its saddle-sheath, and slowly approached the creature.
It was a wolf. Or, more correctly, it resembled one. It was an Istaka, one of the Races native to Centra Mundi—a race of intelligent, bipedal canines. The Istaka appeared to be hurt. It lay on the ground whimpering.
* * *
Humans are always quick to give improper names to things and peoples they do not understand. For example, when Lord Colmarian the Headstrong sailed west in his winged ships and discovered a new land, he mistakenly believed he had landed on the mystical island of Lorimar. Thus, an entire continent was misnamed Lorimar, and the real Lorimar has yet to be discovered.
A similar mistake was made with the Istaka. Humans generally referred to them as “wolf-people,” but as with the Katheni, there was variety within the Istak species. Many did resemble bideal wolves, but some resembled foxes, dingoes, or other varieties of canine. Though, in defense of humanity, wolf Istaka were the most common.
Being canines, their muzzles were much longer than human faces. The average Istak male stood five and a half feet tall, with a three-span tail. In body, Istaka were much like Katheni, with nearly the same leg build. However, both races would be insulted if you were to say so. The two races did not get along well at all, at times fighting like…well, like cats and dogs. In fact, the only race the Istaka disliked more than the Katheni was Orcs. The feeling was easily reciprocated, as Orcs hated everyone.
* * *
Even though he subconsciously knew better, Reginald laid his sword down and walked over to the injured Istak. He knelt beside it and cleared his throat. “Friend, are you hurt?”
The Istak raised its head and howled. Five more Istaka jumped from the tall grass and attacked Reginald. One leapt straight onto his back, knocking him off his feet. Another landed on him just as he hit the ground and snapped at his throat.
“‘A foul trick!’ quoth the Hero, and launched the wolf from him with a powerful kick!” Reginald sprang to his feet in time to counter a pounce from a third wolf with a grievous bare-fisted blow to the Istak’s jaw, sending it sprawling and yelping. “And thus did the deceitful wolves get what they so richly—”
Two Istaka working in concert attacked next, one barreling into the backs of Reginald’s knees, the other jumping up and landing on Reginald’s back. They almost took him down, but Reginald rolled with the hit, grabbed the two Istaka by the scruffs of their necks, and carefully slammed their furred heads together as he came up.
“The Thunderous Thud of Canine Cranial Collision was music to the ears of the Hero, who now turned to seek his weapon.”
The weapon in question was, in fact, in the paws of an Istak. The wolf-person was stealing it, or at least trying to. The sword was taller than the Istak, and too long and heavy for the well-muscled creature to even lift. The wolf glanced at Reginald with panic in its eyes.
“Leave that be and stand your ground!” Reginald yelled. The Istak dropped the sword and backed slowly away from it.
“Stand your own ground, human,” a voice snarled from behind Reginald.
He whirled around, just in time to catch a heavy paw in the face. The Hero tumbled backwards, barely keeping his balance. His antagonist was very large for an Istak, over five foot ten and muscled like an ox.
The Istak glared at Reginald. “Those are my friends you just injured. All they wanted was your horse.”
Reginald dusted himself off, blood beginning to ooze from the claw-gouges on his face. He saw an Istak trying to seize Wraith’s reins, but the warhorse was fending the wolf off with vicious kicks whenever the Istak got close enough to grab them.
“Actually, I need that horse,” Reginald said. “He’s my only mode of transportation.”
“That’s too bad,” growled the Istak. “Since you attacked the hunting party, I will have to make you pay.”
“I attacked them? I think not,” Reginald replied. “I stopped to help one I thought was injured and they attacked me from hiding. Besides, you are hardly the one to make me pay for anything.”
The Istak snorted from his canine snout. “We’ll see,” he said, adopting a crouched fighting stance. “I am Honovi, hunt leader. You will die here and we will eat your horse.”
Reginald smiled. “I am sir Reginald Ogleby, the Crimson Slash, a Hero in Good Standing with the Guild of Heroes. I will teach you that Heroes are not to be tangled with lightly.”
A look of shock crossed Honovi’s muzzle, but Reginald gave him no chance to react to his last statement. He charged.
* * *
Wraith was not a happy war-horse.
First, he had been forced to ride in the company of a dragon. Then the indignity had been expanded to include a dragon and a pair of large cats. Next, he was temporarily killed—always a bother—only to be dragged back to life by an inept animal cleric. Now, he was surrounded by bruised and hungry wolves, while his rider fought a very large one. Snorting, he lashed out with his hooves at a nearby wolf, which dodged out of the way. This was not a good day. Wraith needed some fresh clover, badly.
Toboggan, on the other hoof, chewed amiably on a large tuft of grass while stoically ignoring the fight, as he always did. His life consisted of simply eating, carrying large loads, and ignoring whatever scrapes Reginald got himself into. In fact, Toboggan’s only action in the melee was to gently kick an Istak that had tried to remove Reginald’s armor from its sling on the mule’s back. Tearing another mouthful of grass free, Toboggan glanced at Reginald, who was giving the Istaka a good drubbing, then turned his attention to a brightly-colored butterfly.
* * *
“Then didst the Hero tackle the leader of the Istaka! Man and Wolf crashed to the ground in a whirl of frenetic fighting!”
“Silence, human!” Honovi growled, and sunk his fangs into Reginald’s shoulder.
“The Hero ripped the wolf free from his toothy hold, and hefted him into the air. The Istak twisted acrobatically in midair so as to land on its paws! But to no avail. He landed in the path of a mighty unarmed blow from the Hero’s legendary fist!”
Honovi tumbled tail-over-ears and landed in a heap of dusty brown fur on the overgrown bricks. He picked himself up and backed away from Reginald. “Listen,” the Istak said, sounding shaken. “We didn’t know you were a Hero. We wouldn’t have attacked if we’d known. We don’t want to fight you.”
“Now that you know your opponent can’t be taken down by guile or weight of numbers, you’re just going to give up? You can’t stand to fight someone who may actually be your equal or stronger than you are? Coward!” Reginald yelled, charging again.
Honovi leapt sideways, avoiding the charging Hero, and attempted to trip him with an extended foot-paw.
Reginald instantly modified his rush. “Seeing the attempted trip, the Hero took hold of the Istak’s footpaw, and didst drag him bodily across the ground!” He whirled and threw Honovi to the dirt, placing a foot on the Istak’s chest. “And there we are. Victory is Mine,” Reginald said, pulling back his fist for another Heroic blow.
“No!”
Someone tackled Reginald from behind. It was an adult Istak, but rather small, even by Istakan standards.
“Please, please don’t kill him,” the attacker whined. “He’s my only friend. He doesn’t mean it. He’s sorry. Just let him go, please!” The Istak clung to Reginald’s leather jerkin.
Reginald pried himself loose. “Well, goodness. I wasn’t going to kill him. If it really means that much to you, and if he vows to stop assaulting travelers on this road...”
“Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!” The small Istak barked.
“I vow no such thing,” Honovi growled. He stood, clutching his side and neck. “I am not your friend, Yazi, and you are out of line, saying what I will or will not do.”
The small wolf immediately dropped to the dirt, ears flattened to his head. “I’m sorry, Honovi. I wasn’t thinking. Of course, you’re right, it wasn’t my place, I’m sorry...”
Honovi looked at Yazi in disgust. “Stop sniveling and get up, you pathetic runt. And get away from that Hero, he’s dangerous.”
“Right, sorry, moving right now.” Yazi slunk away from Reginald’s side and moved over to where the larger Istaka stood.
“Not next to me, dimwit. Stand somewhere else!” Honovi growled, fur bristling. He kicked Yazi as he walked by.
Yazi slunk further away, tail between his legs, and sat down in a miserable grey ball.
Reginald scowled. This treatment of the smaller wolf was irritating his sense of fairness. “You, Honovi. What are you going to do, then? I have defeated you in single combat—does that count for nothing?”
“It would if you weren’t trespassing,” Honovi said brusquely. “You’re in our hunting grounds without permission, and that makes your life forfeit.”
Reginald gave the Istak an amused smile. “Forfeit, you say. Fascinating. I suppose you’ll be the one to take it from me, then?” he said with a chuckle.
Honovi backed a bit further away, but growled softly. “I hardly seem capable. I have personally never been defeated before, so I dislike you from the start.” He looked at the other Istaka, who were circling the apparently inedible Wraith and Toboggan, trying to keep them from escaping. Of course, Toboggan was showing no indication of doing so, while Wraith looked more likely to collapse the skull of the first Istak to touch his bridle.
“I will take you to the Pack Leader,” Honovi said grudgingly. “You will ask him for permission to cross our hunting-lands. You, Hero, have my pledge that we will not attempt to harm you further.”
Reginald stared unflinching into the Istak’s brown-gold eyes. “I see no reason to go with you anywhere. I have defeated you by force of arms, so my life is hardly forfeit. But,” he said, holding up a finger to stifle Honovi’s intended interruption, “I will accompany you nonetheless, for the sake of Honor—both yours and mine.”
Honovi smiled grudgingly. “My thanks, Hero. I hope the detour will not trouble you overly.”
“How far is your village?” Reginald asked.
“Not far at all!” Yazi said cheerfully. “Just a little ways into the for—”
“Shut up, Yazi!” Honovi barked. “Nobody was talking to you!”
Yazi cringed. “Sorry, sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise...”
“No, it isn’t far,” Honovi said to Reginald. “Our village is just inside that forest over there.” He gestured to the forest in the distance that surrounded the base of the Mountains of the Morning. “We should be there in less than hour.”
“All right then,” Reginald said, picking up his giant sword and re-sheathing it. “Let us proceed.”
* * *
Reginald rode Wraith at the back of the pack of Istaka, down the forgotten brick road to the forest. Wraith seemed unhappy with Reginald’s choice of company yet again, while Toboggon merely ignored the world as he habitually did. The midafternoon sun beat shone right into Reginald’s eyes, causing the Hero to squint as he towards his forested destination.
After a few minutes, Yazi dropped out of the tail end of the pack and walked next to Reginald. “Hello, Sir Ogleby,” the little wolf said. “My name is Yazi. I’m sorry if I surprised you earlier, I was just trying to help my friend, Honovi.”
Reginald looked down at Yazi. The small Istak’s left ear was ragged, as if someone had bitten a chunk out of it, and a set of newly-healed claw marks showed through his fur. “Greetings, Yazi. Mine name is Reginald. I take no offense at your actions. I would do the same to protect a friend, but…” He lowered his voice and leaned down from Wraith toward the small Istak, “why do you think he is your friend? I heard how he talks to you and seen how he treats you. I have enemies who treat me better than that!”