by Nic Weissman
The troops walked at a good pace on the way to the coast. Onaisour looked back feeling, for a moment, homesick for the place they had left the previous week. They had almost reached Kashgar, a small fort near the border. According to the colonel, they would then follow the Linde road to a place halfway between the border cities of Nubyshev and Comagne. They were probably a little more than a day's journey from their destination. By nightfall the next day, they could stop and finally get some rest.
They had left their headquarters in Kiyats a week earlier. His muscles were numb from the cold weather and his feet were really sore. Luckily, they had gotten new boots at the previous season so, unlike what happened to some of their colleagues, they didn't have to worry about the stones of the road getting into their footwear through the holes in the sole.
For the moment, the entire operation had been very strange. Whenever they could they avoided the main roads. Contrary to the usual, they did not stop to spend the night in the cities through which they passed, not even in the outskirts. They always camped in a forest, as if they were hiding. When a sergeant dared ask the colonel about this matter, he bluntly replied that the troops needed the exercise and contact with nature. The tone left no doubt that they should not ask about it again.
When the troops left their barracks, they said in the city that they were going to practice in the forests of the center of the County, and that they would return to their jobs in just over two weeks. However, exercises like these never required more than four or five days. What was even stranger, as they came out of their barracks and entered the roads, the flag holders were ordered to put away all the insignia and join the troops as any other soldier. Finally, when they crossed the border with the mark of Mositus, the colonel addressed them at the first break they took. He told them where they were going and said they were going to help their Mositus brothers, who were awaiting an orc attack. He also said that, at the risk of being accused of treason, they should not discuss with anyone that they had participated in this mission when they returned home. Everyone should keep the history of the troop exercises within the Kiyats County. They were also not allowed to question the origin of the other soldiers who they were going to find once they reached their destination.
Onaisour couldn't remember ever having a mission even remotely similar to that one. He had heard stories of the Hawks, the elite troops of the County, which had made inroads in the past in other areas, even in the realm of Fugor, always moving in secret. But those missions were always in small groups of no more than ten soldiers; he had never done anything like that for such a numerous troop.
Onaisour was already a veteran soldier; that year was his twentieth season in the ranks of the militia of the Kiyats County. He hadn't known another job other than being a soldier but, although he had fought in some skirmishes, at that time he hadn't participated in any major war. The threat of the kingdom of the orcs on the border of the marks was permanent and the counties lived a bit calmer, being far away from the border.
His companions were clearly nervous. A large-scale confrontation with the orcs would undoubtedly be a very dangerous episode. The orcs were tall like a man but much stronger; they were also ruthless, treacherous, cruel, brutal and were no less skilled with weapons than a professional soldier. They were responsible for terrible stories, and when a little boy in Bor was told a scary story, it was often starring an orc. In the collective subconscious of the Kingdom, the orcs represented everything bad and everything that you had to fear in the world.
At the beginning of the Second Age they had conquered all the territory that Bor occupied today and had enslaved men, treating them with the utmost cruelty for almost a millennium. Only a long and terrible war, which lasted many centuries and was completed by King Turin, returned their freedom. King Turin founded the kingdom of Bor, as it was known today, and had been the greatest king in the history of that country. He had also been a brave and skillful warrior and an amazing leader. The weapons and armor of King Turin were the most famous relics that had existed in the Kingdom, although they had been lost long ago. The legend said that they were objects of great power, especially the sword, that Turin had gotten into the lair of a dragon showing great courage.
The memory of the stories of King Turin comforted, for a moment, Onaisour's heart. Their ancestors had managed to triumph over the orcs and he was a professional soldier; he was going to give it all he'd got. Freedom and the welfare of the Kingdom could rely on that troop.
“For Oris, for Turin, for Bor!” Onaisour cried, surprising the soldiers who were at his side a bit.
“For Bor!” said the entire troop at once, including the officials and the colonel himself.
It was a thunderous cry that echoed in every heart that headed to the war. The colonel was happy that a soldier had spontaneously shouted the slogan of armies and militias of the kingdom of Bor. It was their most sacred phrase, the one that the officials used to encourage their soldiers just before going into battle, the one that the troops repeated at the end of the solemn ceremonies during peacetime. The Colonel made a mental note of the soldier who had shouted the cry, and decided he would sit him on his right, a place of honor at the dinner that night, so everyone could see. Behaviors like that should be rewarded, especially in this time of need.