by Sam Ferguson
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Kamal replied evenly, staring up at the smooth stone ceiling above.
“That’s it then?” Gauer said as he stomped over to the side of the table and looked down at Kamal. “We lost seventy-three dwarves to rescue you, and all you have to say is’I’m fine, thank you,’ while you lie on a table in our hospital wing? Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps dwarf blood is as precious as your own? Has it ever occurred to you that if you would fight with us, we would all be stronger?”
Kamal turned and looked at Gauer. The dwarf’s dark eyes were filled with anger, but there were also tears there as well. “It is not the way of the Krilo,” Kamal said. “I cannot break from the Way of Wisdom.”
“Fat lot of good your knowledge does you,” Gauer spat. “You let others die in your stead so you can feel superior with your big heads and your big houses out in the valley. You claim to cherish life, but you are quick to throw your friends to the wolves.”
“I have thrown no one to the wolves!” Kamal shouted. “I am not allowed to fight. It is against our way. I could not fight them, and even if I wanted to, you saw how big those men are, what chance would I have had against five of them on my own? They slaughtered my friends! You may see death, but I felt it! I felt it for each one of my brothers that died at their hands!” Tears filled Kamal’s eyes as he recalled not only the images of the Genverbonds who died, but also the memory of the pain each death had brought upon him.
“You Krilo think you are so special,” Gauer said with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to be telepathic in order to share in the pain of death. I don’t feel it the same as you, but I feel it nonetheless. The difference is that I fight to protect my friends, and you would send them to death.”
“I didn’t send the others to death,” Kamal shouted. “We were attacked, they surprised us. I was already separated from them.”
Gauer lashed out with his hand quicker than Kamal had ever thought a dwarf could move. In an instant, Kamal’s lower jaw and face was stuck inside the vice-like grip of the dwarf warrior.
“I am not talking about them,” Gauer said. “I am talking about Reu. All this time, you pretended to be his friend. You ate with him, talked with him, sat at his family table, and now you casually send him out to die for you, as if that was his only purpose in life. You sit here in our hospital wing, alive because we risked three hundred dwarves to save you, and Reu goes out to meet your enemy, and fight your battle for you. If he doesn’t come back, you will wish those barbarians had killed you, for you will have a new enemy in me, I promise you that, Krilo.”
Gauer shoved Kamal’s face to the side and stormed out of the room.
Kamal rubbed his jaw as the dwarf’s words sank into his heart. Kamal had often felt sad at the loss and sacrifices the dwarves made on behalf of the Krilo, but never before had it hit him so hard as it did now. He burst into sobbing, for he realized Gauer was right. The oath of peace was not as simple as it was made to be. The dwarves were dying not just to keep the Krilo alive, but to allow them to live life the way that they chose. For the first time, he was seeing the truth of it more clearly. By entering into a pact wherein the dwarves fought for the Krilo, the Krilo had blood on their hands. Questions and doubts cut cracks in every argument of logic and reason Kamal had been taught up to this point in his life. Perhaps Gauer had the right of it. Perhaps the Krilo were not special at all.
*****
Halsten checked in on Samek once more after he made sure Agatha and Sarkis were safely guarded in a tent a couple miles to the north of the main camp where the dwarves had already fought with the Varvarr. His large friend was lying upon a cot fashioned from sturdy branches and animal skins. He was awake, and smiled when Halsten entered the tent.
“No one ever told me the final count,” Samek said.
Halsten took in a sobering breath. The casualties had been high, too high in fact. “Of the two hundred you had, forty-nine dead, another fifty wounded. Of the fifty, ten are not expected to make it to see another sunrise.”
Samek nodded. “Eleven,” he said softly. “There is no use in denying it now.”
“No, you will get your strength back, you just need rest, Samek.”
Samek grunted and pulled a blanket away to show his bloody bandage. “They gave me the soup, go ahead and smell for yourself.”
Halsten hesitated. It was an old method, handed down by the elders throughout the generations. Whenever there were many wounded warriors, a strong onion soup would be made and administered to them. Of course the soup would help replenish their strength, but that wasn’t the reason for giving it to them. In the case of mortal wounds, the scent of onion would be detected in the wounds after consuming the soup. Sometimes, a strong odor meant a man had less than an hour to live. Other times, a strong Varvarr could perhaps live another day or two, but the prognosis was always the same. If you could smell onion in the wound, it meant death was close.
“Come on,” Samek urged. “Don’t be shy about it. It is better to know the truth than hide behind a lie.”
Halsten moved close and knelt beside Samek. As gently as he could, he lifted the bandages and sniffed. At first he could smell the slightly metallic scent of blood and nothing else, but as his breath came in, the unmistakable odor of onions came to him as well. Halsten closed his eyes and set the bandage back in place.
“Samek…”
“We all die,” Samek said quickly. “Every one of us will face death in the end. I am proud to have it this way.” Samek pulled his blanket back over himself. “I am in the prime of life. I fought against a foe that not many of our brothers have ever seen. I slew a great number of them myself, you should have seen me.”
“I heard,” Halsten said with a nod as he sat back on his haunches and locked eyes with his friend. “They said you fought with the strength of a wolf. That you jumped into the middle of the dwarves and broke them apart. Bryk said that if not for you, the dwarf formation might have held fast for much longer, and that would have been even more deadly for our brothers. You have earned great honor today, my friend, of that you can be sure.”
Samek smiled. “It is you who has given me the greatest honor,” he said. “You brought me home, so I could see the Sacred Valley and feel of its promise. I know that when I die, there will still be food for our people. This is my greatest honor.” Samek took in a deep breath and then said, “You, on the other hand, will be cursed to live until your body grows feeble and weak. I would not have enjoyed that process myself.”
The two of them shared a laugh, and then they went quiet for a time. Samek looked at the closed flap of the tent, while Halsten stared down at the dirt floor and ran a great many thoughts through his head. He had known the journey would be difficult, but never had he imagined he would lose Samek.
“There is something I need to tell you,” Halsten said after a bit.
Samek shifted his gaze back to the young chief.
Halsten huffed and shook his head. The words had a hard time forming in his mouth. “On my twenty-first birthday…”
“Oh don’t tell me the story of the bear again,” Samek moaned. “I have heard it so many times.” His words complained, but his smile belied his protests.
Halsten continued. “It wasn’t me… I mean, I am not the one who wrestled the bear, Samek. Do you remember? Both of us were in the woods. We were drunk—”
“It was some good ale,” Samek put in quickly. “How could I forget?”
Halsten frowned for a second. “It was you who wrestled the bear, Samek. You did it. We were both drinking, and the bear came up on us. It was just the two of us. The bear stood on its hind legs, and you walked up to it and punched it in the face, don’t you remember?”
Samek’s smile faded a bit. “I remember, Halsten,” Samek said. “That was a mighty fight for the ages. I never fought an enemy like that before. We wrestled and matched our strength against each other. I came away with a few claw marks to show for it, but the bear got
the worst of the encounter. I strangled the poor beast, and crushed its throat.”
Halsten nodded. “You both fell to the ground. I was so drunk I could barely walk. I stumbled on my way to get to you. I was worried the bear had won, so I pulled it off. When I did that, I tripped, and I fell on top of the bear. When my father found us the next morning, we were still asleep. You see, I never started the story about wrestling the bear, I just…” Halsten shrugged. “Well, I just never corrected them when they told it.”
Samek nodded and held out his left hand. Halsten took it and the two gripped each other around the thumbs tightly. “I woke up before you,” Samek said. “Your father didn’t start the story, I did. I told them that the bear struck me and that you wrestled it to death with only your hands.”
“But why?” Halsten asked. It was not the way of the Varvarr to share the credit for glory, and was certainly unheard of for one Varvarr to entirely shift the glory to another.
“Because I was never to be the chief,” Samek said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “The people needed a chief they could look up to, someone they could trust. Times were always hard, with food dwindling and fighting orcs. The Gray Wolves needed a hero, someone who had done extraordinary things to lead them to a better life.”
“But you…”
“But nothing,” Samek said sternly. “Look at who you have become. You fight for your people. You are the second best hunter, after me of course,” Halsten and Samek shared a chuckle at that, “and you have brought our tibe back home to the Sacred Valley. It was more than just getting the people to believe in you. You see, my father once told me something that always stuck with me. He said, the way others see and treat you, is how you will come to think of yourself. So, as the people grew in their belief of your greatness, so did you. I think I can give up one story for something like that.”
Halsten didn’t know what to say. He reached up with his other hand and squeezed Samek’s left hand tightly, as if that would somehow thank him for the generous gift he had just revealed. The young chief knew it could never repay Samek, but he hoped that Samek would understand how much he was appreciated, not only for the bear story, but for everything he had done.
“You have always been like a brother to me,” Halsten said.
Samek smiled, and then he changed the subject. “What of the dwarf bodies, have you put them up on stakes for all to see?”
Halsten shook his head. “No. We stripped them of their weapons and armor, and then we piled them onto a hill about half a mile to the south and burned the corpses.”
“And so tomorrow it will be off to find the temple then?” Samek asked. “I wish I could have seen it with you.”
Halsten patted Samek’s hand. “You wrestled a bear, I’m sure you can muster the strength to get over this, it’s only a flesh wound after all,” Halsten jested.
Samek scoffed. “That’s what I said at first too,” he replied. “But, it was you who wrestled the bear. Don’t ever tell anyone else otherwise. It would erode their confidence in you.”
“I should honor you with the truth,” Halsten said. “I should have done it long ago.”
“Swear to me,” Samek said forcefully. “Swear it now.”
Halsten could see the earnestness in his friend’s eyes. “All right, Samek. If that is what you wish, then that is what I will do.”
Samek nodded. “Good.”
Footsteps came to the tent. “Chief, I need to speak with you,” someone called.
“What is it?” Halsten asked without leaving the tent.
“Our forward scouts have reported that the dwarves are coming back. This time they have four hundred with them.”
Halsten’s features hardened. The kindness in his eyes that had been there while he spoke with his friend drained out, replaced by a bitterness that was something akin to hatred, but not quite as sharp. “Then assemble the warriors as I instructed. We shall go out to meet them.”
Halsten stood. “Farewell, Samek,” he said. “I hope to see you again when I return, but if you decide to depart before then, well, then I wish you great happiness as you join Akuhn in the Great Hunt.”
“I will be looking down on you, guiding you to the best deer,” Samek promised.
“No,” Halsten said with a shake of his head. “I should like to hunt moose.”
Samek nodded. “All right, then I will lead you to the largest moose ever to walk the Sacred Valley.” Halsten turned and went to the tent flap, but Samek called out suddenly. “Before you go, how is Bryk?”
Halsten frowned for a moment. “Bryk lost his left arm from the elbow, but he is in good spirits.”
“I know that,” Samek said. “I am asking about the soup.”
Halsten sighed. “I smelled a great scent of onions,” he said.
“I see,” Samek said softly. Halsten turned to offer his condolences, but Samek smiled and gave him a single nod. “Then, I shall have another brother with me on the Great Hunt.”
Halsten nodded and left the tent. He found Gryn waiting for him outside. Gryn was one of the more experienced scouts, and from the look on his face Halsten knew that the incoming danger was worse than before.
“I thought I told you to assemble the others,” Halsten said sharply.
Gryn pointed off to the left. “My brother Mikel was with me, he went to assemble them and set up the plan as you instructed earlier. I waited to give you more details about the enemy.”
Halsten shot a glance to the north, offering a quick, silent prayer to Akuhn that his family and the others not of fighting age who had been sent there would be kept safe. There were one hundred and fifty warriors in the north along with his family and other children and Varvarr not of fighting age, making a total of a little less than three hundred Varvarr in the reserve camp. Counting the warriors that had survived the first encounter with the dwarve and the ones who had come with Halsten across the Inner Sea in the second wave, he had three hundred and forty Varvarr warriors.
“You said there were four hundred dwarves marching toward us?” Halsten asked.
Gryn nodded. “Each wearing the same armor we found on the others.”
Halsten took in a breath. “Then this will be a good fight.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Halsten sat at the base of the mound of charred bodies. The smell was horrid, but no matter how much it made his body want to retch, Halsten remained calm and presented a face of total control. He had five hundred warriors at his command, and they had not been idle since the last battle.
It was not in a Varvarr’s training to spend time devising plots and devices to trap an enemy. Such things were seen as tools of the weak. The Varvarr believed glory was won in the open field. Still, Halsten had ordered the female warriors to hide in the taller grasses to the east. As long as they remained undetected, this would allow Halsten to surprise the enemy force and close flank them with one hundred and fifty warriors. The females were every bit as fierce as the men, and more than that, they had all collected the shields of the fallen dwarves.
Halsten would wait near the mound of burnt corpses for the dwarves to come. He would attack them head on with fifty of the best male warriors. The remaining ninety male warriors were hiding in the grass to the west, opposite where the female warriors hid. He knew it was not the most honorable way to fight, but he decided that this once, he would make an exception to the normal traditions and try to catch the dwarves in a vice-like trap.
The other warriors sat in a line extending out on both sides of him. The men chanted and repeated prayers to Akuhn as they kept their eyes upon the south. Halsten had his bow across his lap. The arrows sat in a quiver in front of him. His axe was at his right side, and Samek’s hammer was at his left. He rocked back and forth slightly, chanting a mantra that his father had taught him before his first battle with the orcs.
“The teeth of the wolf shall tear my enemy at the throat. The claws of the wolf shall rip my enemy’s chest. The teeth of the wolf shall tear
my enemy at the throat. The claws of the wolf shall rip my enemy’s chest.” He repeated the lines over and over.
A chill ran down his spine and his teeth began to chatter somewhat as his body fell into the rage. It consumed him. Became part of him. It enhanced his strength and quickened his muscles. The more it overtook him, the louder he chanted.
To his right sat Ingvar and Ivar. Halsten had seen little of them since they left their home in Feklyn Woods, as they had always volunteered to scout ahead of the group, but he was happy to have them at his side now.
Ten minutes more passed before the dwarves became visible in the south. They marched toward the Varvarr directly, without trying to flank or out maneuver them. Halsten smiled. A proud enemy was always the most glorious to destroy in battle. The dwarves came close enough to see what the charred mound behind Halsten was, and then they stopped.
Halsten rose to his feet, and the other warriors did likewise. Upon seeing the formation of the Varvarr, the dwarves thinned their columns and shifted into wide rows that matched Halsten’s formation. Halsten knew the dwarves had their deadly crossbows. He also knew that they were heavily armored, but he was undaunted. The dwarves had never seen a warrior overcome by the Varvarr Bloodlust before.
Halsten shouted his chant at the top of his lungs. The warriors around him joined in, shaking their weapons in the air and stamping their feet. The young chief, overcome by his state of rage, went to the mound of charred bodies and grabbed one that was mostly skeleton, with only a bit of burnt flesh still clinging to it. He took the thing by two of the limbs, spun around twice, and let the burned corpse fly through the air.
His men gave a great cheer when the corpse slammed into one of the armored dwarves and knocked him back into three others. All four of them fell to the ground as the blackened skeleton broke into pieces upond impact. Many of the dwarves nearby shifted to look at the remains of their fallen comrade and Halsten could smell the fear of his enemy for a moment.