Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield

by Perrin, Don

  “Of course, he’s here! You know that.”

  Theros scowled. “No, I don’t know that. Why should I? Does he come back here often?”

  “Morgion bless us, yes! You can’t tell me you don’t notice that! He’s back here every time we’re on the march. He even comes over when he’s done working in the smithy for you for the day. But then, it’s only natural, ain’t it, Master Smith?” The woman winked and leered. “Young blood is hot blood, they say.”

  Reaching out her hand, she playfully tickled Theros on his massive chest. “But there’s a lot to be said for experience, my man. Come by my tent tonight.…”

  Theros was growing embarrassed and angry. He could see some of the men, standing around, laughing and nudging each other.

  “Where is he?” Theros demanded, ignoring the woman’s offer.

  “He’s back behind the second wagon. He’ll be with Telera, my assistant.”

  Theros turned and hurried back past the wagons to investigate.

  Just as the woman had described, Yuri was walking with a young woman. She wore the same clothes as the first woman. Her long blond hair was braided and put up to keep out the dust and sweat. She probably was not more than eighteen. But now that Theros took a good look at her, he could see that she was different from most of the women who either fought in this army or served it.

  Her fair skin was reddened from the sun, as if she were not accustomed to being outdoors much. There was an air of delicacy and daintiness about her that made the shabby clothes she wore seem much more attractive than they really were. No wonder Yuri was drawn to her.

  Theros stood directly in front of the two, blocking their path. At the sight of him, the young woman blanched and shied like a skittish colt. Yuri went bright red and opened his mouth to speak.

  Before either could say anything, Theros pounced on Yuri and grabbed him by the arm.

  “Damn you! What in Sargas’s name do you think you’re doing? Your place is up with our wagon, not back here flirting with the women.”

  Yuri protested. “But, sir! I haven’t done anything wrong! I only—”

  Theros couldn’t believe it. The boy honestly had no idea how much danger he was in. He smacked Yuri hard on the back of his head, making him stumble.

  “Shut up and get back there, or I’ll whip you for insubordination!”

  Yuri looked over quickly at Telera. She was pale and frightened.

  “Go!” she mouthed.

  Yuri looked back to Theros, and then ran forward at a sprint.

  Theros glanced over at the woman. She cringed away from him. He saw in her eyes the same fear that he had seen in soldiers’ eyes when they were about to be whipped or beaten.

  “Don’t beat Yuri, sir!” she begged, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. “It was my fault. You”—she swallowed, then said bravely—“you can take your anger out on me, if you want, sir.”

  Theros stared. He couldn’t believe it. This young woman actually thought he was capable of beating her!

  “Great Sargas! Where is my honor?” Theros asked himself. “I’m turning into one of those bastards who uses threats and whips to maintain a show of respect that is, in reality, no respect at all. It’s just fear. This is no way to lead men.”

  Theros found he was still staring at the woman. She was pretty, but now that he regarded her closely, she looked worn and much too thin. Moorgoth worked everyone hard, men and women both. And only the soldiers were guaranteed a good meal. When the supplies ran low, those who did the cooking, not the fighting, were the first to go hungry. Her life could not be an easy one. And now she looked almost sick with terror.

  A wagon rolling past halted, its driver stopping to watch the interesting action on the roadside.

  Theros regained his composure and yelled back to the driver. “What are you stopping for? Nobody ordered a halt!”

  He turned on his heel and walked up past the commissary wagons to the front of the line. He couldn’t get the woman’s fearful eyes out of his mind. He saw them, and he saw the bodies of the women in the ditch. He remembered Yuri’s words.

  I don’t feel fit to live.

  Theros walked along alone, immersed in thought. He didn’t realize he’d reached his own wagons, until Belhesser yelled back at him, breaking his reverie.

  “What is it, Belhesser?”

  Belhesser held out his map. “Would you say that hill over there was this hill here?” He indicated a spot on the map just beyond where they were to set up camp.

  Theros took the map and studied it for a moment. He found the road on the map, and looked up to compare it to the terrain before him.

  “Yes, that’s the spot all right.”

  The wagons continued moving down the road. Theros walked back to his wagons. Yuri walked alongside, his head down. Theros tried to forget that he had struck Yuri, decided to pretend that the incident never happened. Again, he said to himself that it was for the young man’s good.

  If the spy was among the commissary people, then anyone from Theros’s section caught talking to anyone in Cheldon’s section would be immediately suspect.

  He even tried explaining this to Yuri, who only stared at Theros incredulously, managing to look as dumb as a tent post.

  “Spy?” Yuri repeated stupidly. “What do you mean?”

  At length, Theros gave up.

  “Forget it. Just obey me on this one. I don’t ever want to see you with that young woman again. For her sake, as well as yours. Now, run ahead and find me a good site for the smithy. We’re to set up once we get the word.” Theros turned to one of the soldiers. “Erela, go back and tell the sergeant of the commissary that the place there, in front of that hill”—he pointed—“is where we set up camp.”

  The two set off at a run.

  The sun was at the hilltop ahead of them by the time they had the wagons into position. Yuri had removed the digging implements from the smith’s wagon, and he and the soldiers dug a pit for the forge. Two of the soldiers were sent to find enough wood to last them for the next few days. Theros went off to talk with Belhesser.

  “Listen, do you know anything about a woman in the commissary by the name of Telera?”

  Belhesser leered. “So, you’ve got your eye—?”

  “No, not at all.” Theros snorted. “I just need to know something about her.”

  Belhesser gave him a puzzled look. “I know that she works as an assistant for Hercjal in bread-making. She joined us in Sanction. Said she was orphaned. Fever took her folks. That’s all I know. Why do you ask?”

  Theros passed it off with an easy shrug. “I thought I knew her from the Belching Fury. I guess I was mistaken. It’s not important.”

  Belhesser winked. “You have got your eye on her. You sly dog. Well, good luck to you. Not that there’ll be much time for slap and tickle in the next day or two. Are your wagons in position? Don’t set up your forge until I order it. If we’re losing, I want to be able to get out of here before those accursed knights catch us.”

  Theros returned to his smithy and found the forge pit had been built to his liking. The earth in the area was hard and rocky. The men had dug down with shovels and picks, forming a bowl in the center of the spot where Theros had indicated he wanted the smithy. The pit was lined with larger stones that they had found or dug up, forming a good fire reflector.

  The soldiers were cutting up the dead wood that they had hauled in and were stacking it beside the pit, ready to start the fire when needed. Yuri was over in the wagon, checking to make sure that none of the tools had shifted or been damaged. Theros left him alone to do his job. He had harassed him enough for one day.

  Theros walked up the hill a short distance and sat down, looking over the site. The commissary section was set up at the edge of the hill, forming the close side of the square. The quartermaster’s stores were a couple of hundred feet past the commissary, forming the far side of the square. The smithy was going to be on the left side as Theros looked down from the hill. T
he right side was open, and beyond it was where the infantrymen would set up tent lines.

  As the sun sank lower behind the hill and it grew too dark to see, Theros’s thoughts turned inward.

  What is going on inside of me? I am an honorable man. I should never have agreed to take this job, no matter how much money it paid. Moorgoth has men whipped almost to death if they commit the smallest infraction. He murdered those poor women, when it would have been just as easy to take them prisoner. He destroyed my forge, and instead of killing him, as any minotaur would have done, I came along with him! I took his blood money!

  Admit it, Theros, he thought ruefully, you wanted to be back with a fighting unit. You wanted the thrill of battle, the glory of the kill. Glory! He blew air through his nose. We’re nothing more than uniformed, organized bandits.

  Theros shook his head, stared down at the ground. And how do I explain today? How do I explain the way I treated Yuri? I can’t. And this isn’t the first time. He was right, that day he yelled at me. I treat him like a slave. And I know how it feels, to be treated like a slave.

  Sargas take me! What do I do? I have accepted Moorgoth’s money. We have a contract. It would be dishonorable to leave his army. Dangerous, too, Theros thought. Undoubtedly, he would think I was the spy. Yet I see no honor in staying. What do I do?

  Theros raised his eyes to the heavens. “Sargas, give me a sign. Give me direction. That’s all I ask. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Theros watched and waited, thinking that he might see the gigantic black bird with the fiery wings that had come to him before, No sign came, but perhaps now was not the time.

  Feeling more at ease now that he had shared his burden with Sargas, Theros stood up and walked back down the hill. Undoubtedly, someone would be looking for him by now, wanting the answer to some fool question.

  He wondered how Moorgoth’s army was doing.

  Chapter 21

  The army hiding in the forest waited for over an hour with no news. The wait was unnerving. Nothing could be seen in the town. Nothing could be seen in the fields surrounding the town. Nothing.

  A soldier crept through the underbrush to the baron’s side. “Sir, no sign of anything,” he whispered. “The scouts have seen no sign of the enemy.”

  Moorgoth nodded and the soldier crept back into the underbrush, back to his place farther up the line. They continued to wait.

  Suddenly, from their front, came a rumbling sound, rolling from the town and growing louder. Moorgoth rose to his feet and looked into the town. He pulled a spyglass from a pouch on his belt, and put it to his eye.

  Smoke was rising. Flames flickered on the far side of the town. The smoke was obscuring his vision, but the baron could make out individual buildings and the roads between them. He kept his eye on the main road that led into the town.

  The next sound he heard was that of horses, galloping through the streets. He couldn’t see them yet, but he knew the sound of hooves thudding against hard ground.

  A flash of steel. Another flash. Moorgoth moved the spyglass, followed the road down, and focused on two riders.

  They were his men.

  The baron put the glass down. He could now see the two clearly, galloping up the road. Behind them, he could see more horses thundering out of the town. He brought the glass up again. Yes, he recognized the maroon uniforms. They were his cavalry.

  In a sharp voice, he yelled orders back to a runner.

  “Those are our cavalry. Tell Captain Jamaar to hold his squadrons behind the forest until I call for them by bugle. Tell him to send me word of how he did. Understand?”

  The young man nodded and was off into the woods at a run.

  The first two riders galloped into the woods. Once out of sight of the town, the two riders dismounted. The runner raced forward to confer with the two. One of the riders remounted, just in time to lead the rest of the cavalry through the woods to the rear. The other rider returned with the runner to Baron Moorgoth’s position.

  “Good day, sir. It was a fine fight, but a tough one,” the officer called.

  “Lieutenant Boromus, isn’t it? You are second in command of the light cavalry. Am I right?” Moorgoth asked the young officer.

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Did you achieve your objectives?”

  The officer shook his head. “Not all objectives, sir. We rode into the center of the town. The town guard gave us a fight at first, but they weren’t organized. We threw them off. You were right, sir. There is a spy in our midst.” The soldier was grim. “They were waiting for us.”

  “Damn!” Moorgoth swore softly.

  “When we beat back the town guard, we began rounding up the civilians, marched them into the central marketplace.” The officer paused.

  “Go on,” urged the baron.

  “There were more civilians than we thought and they were ready for a fight. They fought like devils from the Abyss, sir. At one point, they dragged one of Captain Jamaar’s heavy cavalrymen from his saddle and beat him to death. We pushed the people back, but there was a lot of bloodshed.

  “The town guard regrouped and charged us on the west side of the town square, attacking us from the rear. They killed at least four and wounded four more before we could manage to turn around and make the battle more even.”

  Moorgoth could see that the man was nearly exhausted. “Go ahead, drink some water.” He offered the cavalry officer his waterskin.

  “Thank you, sir.” Boromus took a drink. “Once we’d whipped the town guard, we dismounted and held the horses on the east side of the town, ready for us to pull out, according to plan. We thought we had the civilians all penned up, but a bunch must have been hiding. They must have sneaked through the buildings, instead of going out in the streets where we could have seen them. They killed the guards we had set over the horses, and then cut the animals loose. We stopped them, but we lost a lot of men and mounts and supplies.”

  “What happened next?” the baron asked, frowning.

  “We fought on, both against the civilians in the square and the guard. We held on until midafternoon, as you had ordered. Then, we ran as fast as we could from that hornet’s nest. Sir, I can tell you, I’m looking forward to razing that cesspool of a town. I’ll …”

  Moorgoth let the man rant. He could see that Boromus was cracking from the strain. He needed to let off steam. The baron waited patiently until the man had calmed down.

  “You said that you had not achieved all of the objectives,” Moorgoth continued. “Your only objective was to have the calvary cause trouble in the town until midafternoon. It sounds as if you did that well enough.”

  “Sir, I didn’t think it was in your orders to lose half of the cavalry! Half, sir. Half are dead. What you saw riding out of the town is it—around fifty of us. There were some wounded, but they’re surely dead now.”

  Moorgoth looked down at the ground. Again he swore silently. He swore vengeance for his men. The town would pay.

  “You did well. You held on, and that’s what counts. Go back to your captain.”

  The officer looked at him in tight-lipped anger and despair. “Sir—” he began, but he couldn’t continue.

  Moorgoth understood.

  “Your captain is dead, right? You’re in command now. Is that right?”

  The young officer nodded.

  “Very well, you shall have the rank to go with it. You are now Captain Boromus. I wish it were under better circumstances. The fighting for the day is not yet over. Get your men fed and rested. I may call upon you again. Coordinate with Captain Jamaar. Go back to your unit.”

  The man nodded, but did not salute. He crawled back through the underbrush to his horse. Mounting, he slowly made his way back to his troops.

  Moorgoth shook his head. Half? Over half! Over half of his cavalry was gone. The cost alone was crippling, but the loss of good soldiers was worse. Those had been some of the finest mercenaries ever to come his way.

  His attention foc
used on the top of the rise to the left front. A lone rider stood on the ridgeline. Moorgoth raised his spyglass again, to see the rider better.

  Through the glass, he could see an armored warrior on a white charger. He could see the emblem on the breastplate—a bird. The rider was half a mile away and Moorgoth could make out nothing more. Yet he knew what that emblem was—a kingfisher, the symbol of one of the orders of the Knights of Solamnia.

  The knight rode down the hill toward the town. The smoke of the fires on the far side of town stained the pleasant summer sky.

  Moorgoth lost sight of the knight when he drew close to the town. The baron turned to order his men to get ready, but he needed to say nothing. Everyone was watching the knight. They crouched in their hiding places, ready to move. Excitement rustled among them like wind through tree leaves.

  Two minutes later, the knight came charging out of the town, galloping over the hill in the same direction from which he had come.

  “Settle down,” said Moorgoth to his men, though he knew they couldn’t hear him. “Settle down, boys. Now we get into the hard part. We have to wait for the main force of the knights to arrive. We even have to sit here and watch them assemble, right in front of us. And we don’t dare make a sound. It’s going to be hard.”

  He motioned behind him for the runner.

  “Pass this word to all of my officers. If any man makes a sound or moves so that the enemy finds us before we’re ready, I’ll cut his throat myself. Go ahead and pass the word.”

  Another runner came up, crawling forward to the baron’s position.

  “Sir, Commander Omini sends his regards.”

  Moorgoth glared at the man. “I don’t need Omini’s regards! What’s his damned news?”

  “He wishes to inform you, sir, that his scout reports a force of mounted heavy cavalry and another of foot soldiers moving at a quick pace toward the town.”

  Moorgoth was immensely cheered. They were racing right into his trap!

  “Good,” he said to the runner. “You tell Omini that I want his brigade flat on their bellies until they hear my bugle call. Tell him to recall his scouts and hide.”