Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield

by Perrin, Don

  Theros was impressed. “I look forward to setting up shop and getting to work. I’m never happier than when I am banging metal into armor or a weapon.”

  The cavalry officer, a tall man with wide shoulders, laughed out loud. He raised his goblet of wine and clanked it against Theros’s. “Good for you, Ironfeld! I am glad to have an officer who likes what he does. Tell me, have you ever worked horse armor?”

  Theros was bewildered. “You mean armor for horses, or for horse soldiers?”

  “Ah, you make me laugh, Ironfeld. I like that. I am, of course, talking about barding for the horses themselves. Have you ever done work like that?”

  Theros shook his head no.

  Wirjen scowled, slammed down his glass. “Damnation! I thought that Baron Moorgoth said he had acquired a qualified smith. What the hell good are you going to be to me if you can’t make armor for my horses? It is vital—”

  An officer across the table interrupted him. “Ironfeld, pay no attention to Jamaar there. He cares only for his horses. He didn’t happen to mention that we’ve never had barding on our cavalry here, did he?”

  Theros wasn’t certain what to say, and so he kept silent. The other officer continued. “I command the first battalion of infantry. We met before in the foyer. I’m Gentry Hawkin. We’re looking forward to a smith who knows how to keep weapons in shape. I don’t need another smith like the last. One of his swords in your hand was as good as having a stick. You knew it was going to break. It was just a matter of when. Come over to my quarters tomorrow and I’ll show you what I mean. We want better for the campaign.”

  Conversation came to a sudden stop when the baron stood. “Gentlemen, it is good to have new officers among us. It will take a while for them to get accustomed to the way we do business around here. Still, let us be patient until they have learned our ways. Now, I know you’ve all been wondering where we’re headed.”

  The veteran officers murmured their assent. They obviously had not been told where or when the campaign was going to take them this year.

  “We will be going north, into the Nordmaar area to remove resistance up there. I understand that there are still pockets of Solamnic Knights, and we all know the treasures that they hold in their castles. We go to challenge them!”

  The officers were on their feet, cheering.

  Late that night, after much wine and many, many war stories, Theros stumbled up the stairs to his room.

  He was, once more, a member of an army, an officer and a smith. He could hardly believe it. And they were going to fight knights. Knights of Solamnia.

  Hran would be proud.

  Theros couldn’t figure out how to work the fastener on his jerkin. It didn’t matter. He was sound asleep before his wine-muddled brain had time to work on it.

  Chapter 18

  The army had been deployed for nearly a month, moving forward in fits and starts. They would set up camp for several days, send the hunters and scroungers out to replenish supplies, then tear it down, move forward for a week, and then repeat the process. They kept on the move as much as possible, for fear the hated Solamnic Knights—reportedly nearby—would hit them before they were ready.

  “I will choose the ground,” Moorgoth was fond of saying. “They will fight me on my own ground.”

  It was a ragtag army made up of men and women from all over this part of Ansalon. The backbone was the mercenary force. These men and women were well treated, ate the best, got the best wine, had the best places to pitch their tents. The rest were conscripts or debtors. People who owed the baron money—and there were many in Sanction—could pay off their debts by serving in his army. They were the ones who came in line for the brunt of Uwel’s discipline. The mercenaries—who knew their own worth—wouldn’t stand for it.

  The soldiers were mostly human, with a half-breed or two thrown in for good measure. Moorgoth refused to fight with hobgoblins or ogres, who, he claimed, could not be disciplined.

  “We have our standards, sir!” Uwel sniffed.

  Theros was relieved, albeit surprised, to notice that the black-robed wizard who had burned down the forge—thereby proving he was handy with fire spells, at least—was not marching among their ranks. He questioned Uwel about the mage.

  “If there is one person you cannot discipline, sir, it is a magic-user. Too used to getting their own way, sir, and that’s a fact. Plus, they’re all dyed-in-the-wool cowards. We tried one once, and the baron said never again. The first time an arrow whistled past his head, the man passed out cold. And when I poked him a bit with my knife, sir, to bring him around, he bleated like a stuck hog. Gave away our position to the enemy. I was forced to clunk him over the head with the hilt of my sword to get him to shut up.”

  “Did he?” Theros asked.

  “Yes, sir. Permanently, sir.” Uwel looked thoughtful. “I hit him a bit too hard, I think, sir.”

  The troops did not know that they were heading out to fight Solamnic Knights, the only organized force that stood between Moorgoth’s army and the towns and villages they planned to plunder. The officers knew, but they weren’t passing on anything to the men and women under their command. It was the soldiers’ job to move and fight when ordered, not to be involved in the discussion of where or why they were moving. They were paid, and that was enough for Dargon Moorgoth. If it wasn’t, Uwel Lors, the senior nonofficer, exacted a swift and punishing discipline.

  Yuri wasn’t the only person to feel Uwel’s lash. The man was quite skilled with his whip and livened up an otherwise boring march by snapping it over the heads of the conscripts or licking it at their heels. Any who complained were pulled out of line and dealt with more harshly. Uwel added his fists to his whip for variety. It was sometimes Theros’s job to pick up these unfortunates, who were generally left unconscious by the side of the road until the wagons came along in the rear.

  Fear and money—or the hope of it—was what was holding this army together. Theros contrasted that with the minotaurs, who fought for the glory of their country, their clan and their own personal honor. The elation Theros had felt at once more being involved with a fighting unit was rapidly evaporating. He said nothing, however. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his army. He would do his job, for which he was being paid—well paid.

  After three days of marching, Moorgoth brought the army to a halt. Tents were pitched, but Theros was ordered not to set up the forge and equipment yet. They would be moving again. Theros and Yuri were attending to minor repairs to equipment they could handle with the small forge-fire, when a runner dashed up.

  “Sir. Baron Moorgoth requests the pleasure of your attendance at an orders group in thirty minutes. Shall I tell him that you will attend?”

  Theros nodded and waved the soldier away. He never quite trusted Moorgoth’s grand way of speaking—Theros always had to sort through the polite nothings to get to the meat—but he was pleased to have a chance to talk to him. The last few days, the rest of the army’s officers had begun to shun him and the two other new men. They stopped talking when Theros or Cheldon or Belhesser joined them. Theros had no idea what he had said or done to offend anyone. He hoped Moorgoth might be able to provide an explanation.

  The command tent stood in the center of the small camp. The army standard—a black serpent’s head on a red background—flew from the front tent pole. Four guards stood at the ready in front of the tent. That was double the number of guards in a minotaur army. The guards waved Theros past. Obviously, he was expected. He entered the tent, found the other officers already present.

  “I will come right to the point,” Moorgoth stated. His voice was tight, his face flushed. “There is a spy in this camp. And one of you three”—he singled out Theros, Cheldon, and Belhesser—“is responsible.”

  The three officers stared at each other. Cheldon shook his head in disbelief. Theros leaned over to whisper to him. “So that’s what’s going on! They think it’s someone from our organizations! We’re the new ones.”

  C
heldon nodded. He said nothing, but he looked troubled.

  Moorgoth went on. “We have a problem, gentlemen. Every time we move, the Solamnic force moves ahead of us, keeping within striking range, cutting us off from our objective. Our army is a small one. We cannot attack a village and still keep back enough to hold off those damned knights.

  “According to our scouts, we easily outnumber the knights, but they are nearly half heavy cavalry. They are highly mobile, and that’s where the problem lies.

  “We’re running out of time, gentlemen. We have to take the three villages in this area soon. I need new recruits, money and supplies for my army. Before we attack those villages, we’re going to have to take out that damned Solamnic force!”

  Moorgoth looked hard at the three officers, staring at each in turn. Each man met his commander’s gaze and held it, including Theros. Moorgoth appeared satisfied.

  “I trust you men. All of you. But one of you is harboring a spy. Find that person, bring him or her to me, and you will be well rewarded. Understood?”

  The officers indicated their assent.

  After the meeting, Theros, Cheldon and Belhesser held their own meeting in Belhesser’s tent.

  “For damned sure, keep your eyes open around your people. You especially, Theros,” Belhesser emphasized. “I know all the people who are working with me. They’ve been with me for years. But you have raw recruits working for you now. Who knows where they came from or who they are?”

  Theros had taken on three men to work with him at his smithy. He picked them out of the conscripts because they had the brawn needed to haul about the smith’s heavy equipment. Yuri was still the apprentice to Theros, and the three others did odd jobs. They were hardworking men. Theros really didn’t know them well yet, and he was forced to admit that any one of them could be a spy. His only complaint about the men so far was that, being older, they teased Yuri and mistreated him when they thought Theros wasn’t looking.

  Theros had been looking one day. He had started to intervene, but had decided, on second thought, that Yuri should learn to take care of himself. This wasn’t an elven dancing school, after all. This was an army. The life, and the men and women who lived it, were rough.

  Theros nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Still, I think the spy is most likely among the camp followers. The women in what I’ve heard called the “Pleasure Platoon” come and go as they please.”

  Cheldon Sarger laughed nervously. Everyone was tense, keyed up, kept glancing over his shoulder. “It could be anyone, for Morgion’s sake! We’ve got to watch our backs. No matter what Moorgoth says, the officer found harboring a spy is ruined.”

  “Probably dead!” Belhesser corrected grimly.

  On this gloomy note, the meeting broke up. Theros walked through the infantry tent lines back to his own tent.

  As he passed through the camp, he noticed an unusual bustle. Soldiers who would have been lounging around, dicing or chatting or cooking, were instead polishing their weapons and checking over their armor. Officers ran back and forth from the command tent. Moorgoth had said there would be a fight, but he hadn’t said when. Obviously, everyone else in camp knew something Theros didn’t. The knowledge made him angry. He had as much as been accused of being a traitor. His honor was being called into question. But he couldn’t defend himself. Not until he knew for certain that none of his people were spies.

  * * * * *

  Theros left orders for Yuri to wake him before sunrise. The sky was gray, and there was enough light to see, but soon the valley would be sun-drenched and hot.

  “Bring me some food from the commissary tents, and see if you can’t get some extra bread,” Theros grunted.

  “Yes, sir.” Yuri ran off.

  Theros watched him leave. “He could be the spy. Any one of them could be the spy! If one is, he will know my wrath!”

  He pulled on his breeches and black leather boots. Theros wore the maroon surcoat, and over that a belt with leather shoulder straps attached to form a “Y” in the center of his back. Here he carried a metal holster that held his two-headed battle-axe.

  Hran had always maintained that the axe was the perfect weapon for a smith. He could be armed and ready for battle, yet still keep both hands free to do work as needed. The battle-axe was of Theros’s own design and his personal favorite.

  On the way to the smithy, Theros saw Yuri over in the meal line, collecting his food. The young woman serving him was flirting with the young man. The two spent a long time together, talking. Now and again, the young woman would blush or giggle. Yuri gazed at her in admiration, a feeling that was obviously returned.

  All this lovemaking going on while Theros starved! He was just about to stomp over and retrieve his apprentice, when Yuri returned with the food, including the extra bread that Theros had ordered. Theros took the food from Yuri without a word, and hungrily dove into the meal.

  The men had eaten earlier, while it was still dark. In this army, the officers ate last. It was the soldiers who had to eat first, to ensure that they were well fed. No army survived when its troops starved.

  Speaking of troops …

  Sudden realization hit Theros like a blow to the head. Where were the horses? Theros set his plate to one side and stood. He looked around the camp. The area where the cavalry had been set up was empty. No horses grazing. No tents, no men.

  Theros was a sound sleeper. Still, he should have heard the noise of the troops riding out—unless they had deliberately sneaked out in the darkness, muffling all sound. As if hiding from the enemy. Only this time, the enemy was within!

  He shouted to Yuri. “Where in the Abyss did the cavalry go?”

  Yuri blinked, astonished. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t notice that they had gone.”

  “You’d damned well better find out!” Theros growled.

  The sharp notes of the “officers to me” bugle call rang through the camp. Cursing, Theros took a long swig of water from the water bucket, and headed off at a run to the command tent.

  This time, as he passed through the infantry lines, he saw that the soldiers were ready to march. Their corporals and sergeants had them sitting in ranks, waiting for the order to move out.

  “Nice of Moorgoth to let me know what’s happening,” Theros muttered.

  He entered the tent with the rest of the officers. Cheldon and Belhesser stood together in one corner. Theros joined them.

  “Do either of you know why the calvary left this morning?” Theros said in a low voice.

  They both shook their heads. Neither looked pleased.

  “I didn’t even hear them leave,” Belhesser replied. “Obviously, the infantry officers know what’s happening. They’re ready to go.”

  “Everyone knows but us,” Theros said angrily.

  Baron Moorgoth entered the tent, closely followed by Uwel Lors. Uwel barked an order for the officers to stand at attention.

  Moorgoth strode to the front of the tent. “Gentlemen, please be seated. As you know, the cavalry has deployed during the night.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” said Theros, “but some of us didn’t know!”

  Moorgoth turned his attention to the three officers. “Quartermaster, Smith and Logistics Officer—I owe each of you an apology. I don’t mean to single you gentlemen out, but as I said, I have reason to believe that the spy is somewhere in your organization and none of you has done anything to reassure me.”

  The three officers exchanged glances.

  “You don’t trust us,” Theros said, anger burning.

  “I trust you three,” Moorgoth corrected quietly. “That’s why you’re here.”

  Theros’s anger dwindled. At least his honor wasn’t in question. That was what mattered.

  Moorgoth continued. “I received word around midnight that the Solamnic force was no more than ten miles north of here and headed this way. We are only ten miles east of the town of Milikas, our intended target. I’ve sent the cavalry to raid the town. They will hit
at noon sun. This attack will cause the Solamnic force to draw off, come out of hiding and force them to meet us in battle—on our terms! On our ground!”

  Moorgoth grinned. So did everyone else in the tent. The plan was becoming clear. “While the cavalry is keeping the knights occupied along their front lines, the infantry will strike the Solamnics from the rear. We’ll set up an ambush, and take out those bastards before they know what hit them.

  “But to make this work, we are going to force-march the army this morning until we’re within a mile of that town. We’ve got nine hours to cover nine miles. Think we can do it?”

  A resounding cheer went up. Moorgoth smiled and left. After that, everyone looked at each other. An army of a thousand, each carrying a heavy pack marching—no, running—that distance? Covering it in nine hours? Well, they had said they could do it. Now they were committed.

  The orders conference broke up moments later. Officers ran back to their commands to begin the preparations.

  Theros barked orders, hurried his soldiers into quick action. He sent Yuri over to bring their wagons forward. When the wagons arrived, the smith was broken down, ready to load. They were shoving the heavy crates onto the wagons when Baron Moorgoth walked up.

  “Carry on, men. Good job to you all. Oh, Captain Ironfeld, a word, if you will.”

  Moorgoth drew Theros off to one side, looked around to see that no one was listening. Certain that they were alone, Moorgoth crouched low to the ground. He drew out a map, rolled it out in front of them.

  “Ironfeld, you and the other logistical units will be slower than the rest of the army. I’m going to assign a company of infantry to march with you. When you get to this position here”—Moorgoth pointed out the area on the map—“I want you to set up your smithy. If the plan works, I want you working on arrows and spears when we move back to this area. We’ll need new weapons fast. Can you do that?”

  Theros nodded. “Yes, sir. But why tell me? Belhesser Vankjad is the commander of logistics.”