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Enjoy this sample of Reclaiming Honor, The Way of the Legend, Book One.
One
Tovak Stonehammer breathed in the crisp air, clenching his fists in frustration and anger as he stared out at the grasslands of the plateau rolling by. Behind, yet another conversation about him was rolling by, just as easily as the landscape.
“Thank Fortuna we’re almost there. I can’t wait to get off this rickety old thing … I swear, the stench of the Pariah is getting worse every day. I’m afraid it’s gonna stick to me.”
The voice belonged to Kutog, an arrogant Dvergr from a wealthy family who had spent their entire journey making no secret of his family’s wealth, influence, and his intense dislike for Tovak’s presence.
Tovak was the Pariah.
“My father says it would be better to simply put them all to death.” A round of agreement from the other recruits floated up behind Tovak. “Put the honorless scruggs out of their misery …”
Tovak didn’t recognize the voice and wouldn’t dignify the person by looking, which was what they likely expected. Knowing who it was only made it harder for him to go about his business. He’d heard such things many times before. It never made it any easier. He had long ago learned how to ignore those who insulted and reviled him while he was within earshot. It came with who he was, a Pariah. And though words hurt, he’d suffered much worse over the years.
“The warbands shouldn’t take their kind,” another voice said.
“If they weren’t so desperate for warriors, they wouldn’t,” Kutog said. “Don’t worry, he’ll probably piss himself at the first sight of a goblin and run.”
The group laughed.
Tovak burned with shame. He closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy breath. His objective was making it to the Blood Badgers, just like the other recruits he shared the journey with. For it would only be through building his own Legend that he could finally and forever cast off the stigma of Pariah. Until then, he would endure. He had no choice.
Tovak was far from what had been his home—a place to which he would not return, at least if he could help it. He certainly never desired to see it again. The memories were just too painful. The great reinforced iron wheels of the yuggernok—one of the massive cargo wagons of Garand’Durbaad—ground its way across the Grimbar Plateau, carrying him one turn of the wheel at a time closer to his dreams of Legend. The yuggernok and three others of its kind traversed the rolling grass prairie in a small convoy on their way to resupply the Blood Badgers Warband.
Tovak ignored the voices behind him and whispered a prayer to Thulla as he watched the plateau pass by. He unclenched his fists and tied a prayer knot of gray cloth into a small braid hidden behind his thick auburn beard, marking the prayer’s passing.
And the Way shall be opened to the faithful, so they may be tested and reclaim that which was taken from them. The passage, lifted from Thulla’s Blessed Word, echoed in his thoughts. He knew Dvergr scripture as well as the priest who had taught him. Like no other, that passage had sustained him through the rough times for as long as he could remember. The prayer knot was one of twelve required by scripture, and he maintained them all without fail, as one of the faithful.
He had his faith, he had his dream, and he was going to be at the forefront of the next Great March—the exodus of his people.
It was enough, enough to sustain him.
The incessant rumbling of the yuggernok, its massive wooden frame creaking and groaning with every turn of the great iron wheels, had taken some getting used to. The wagon was pulled along by a team of six oofants—distant cousins of elephants. They were larger, shaggy beasts of burden capable of travelling tremendous distances. Fully grown, they normally stood fifteen feet at their humps, though some occasionally reached twenty feet tall. They had long, curved tusks that reached out to lengths of eight feet and made formidable weapons against predators and raiders alike. Each of their thudding feet added its own tempo to the low, subtle thunder of the yuggernok’s passage. During the long nights, Tovak had at first struggled to sleep through the racket, but in time, the sound had come to lull him to sleep as the miles passed.
Setting out from Garand’Durbaad, the small caravan of yuggernoks had traveled for two weeks, and in that time, Tovak had grown increasingly restless. His body, accustomed to the rigors of physical labor and the Academy’s military training, yearned to be active once again. The only time he was able to stretch his legs was when the oofants needed rest or water.
Early on, out of boredom, Tovak had even offered to help the teamsters tend to the animals and the rig. Duroth, the lead teamster, had rejected him, saying only that they didn’t want a dumb, young Pariah’s bad luck. So, he had passed the days and nights by riding in the back of the covered wagon, watching the mountains in the distance slide by.
A ruddy pair of suns squatted just above the nearby ridgeline separating Grimbar Plateau from the heavily forested, orc-infested lowlands to the northwest. As the two suns set, they took with them the warmth of the day. It would turn cold again soon as daylight shifted to shadow and shadow to night, but Tovak was accustomed to cold nights spent shivering under his blanket.
He was no stranger to the cold. Under the mountain, the stone floors and cold barns where he’d worked and slept had been chilly. Hardship was something to which he had become accustomed. He shrugged his shoulders into his threadbare woolen blanket for warmth, doing his best to mind its frayed and torn edges. Unable to afford the cost of a replacement, he’d had it for years. In truth, it was almost like an old friend.
As the deepening shadows from the mountains stretched across the rolling countryside, he silently watched the tall grasses of the prairie. Almost hypnotically, they bent and swayed with the wind.
“Stand to,” a harsh voice shouted, jarring Tovak out of his thoughts. He recognized Duroth’s bellow and wondered if the old drunkard had been at the jug yet again. “I said, bloody stand to.”
Tovak had learned to follow Duroth’s orders or face the consequences, which could and often did include a cuff or, if enraged, a beating. Duroth was shorter than the average Dvergr, ill-tempered, and possessed with a genuine enthusiasm for swearing … particularly by taking Thulla’s name in vain. He had long, gray hair and a braided beard tied with simple black bands.
At the start of the journey, Duroth had made it clear to everyone that he’d been a training instructor with the Blood Badgers once and still held the auxiliary rank of sergeant. This meant he outranked the recruits and was the ultimate authority on the oversized wagon.
Tovak and the other recruits stepped out from their berths into the central passageway that stretched from stem to stern along the interior of the yuggernok. Like Tovak, they had all recently achieved the Age of Iron and were now fit to join a warband and grow their Legend. Unlike Tovak, however, they already had secured appointments to various companies in the Blood Badgers.
It would have been easier if he’d had a clan or sponsor to arrange for his appointment. But as it was, a Pariah could only hope he would be able to join a company once he was standing before its commanding officer. As always, Tovak was on his own. No one cared a fig for a Pariah. Well, to be honest, very few did.
There were twenty recruits on board Duroth’s yuggernok. They, Tovak along wi
th them, placed their backs to the curtains of their berths and faced forward, stiffening to attention.
Tovak stood before the three-by-six-foot area of floorboards Duroth had laughingly referred to as Tovak’s “berth.” Without a clan, sponsor, or patron, he had been forced to pay for his own passage. Tovak had spent a week trying to arrange for a berth aboard one of the caravans, but it was always the same. One teamster after another simply turned his nose up at a Pariah.
Tovak had been losing hope when a strange impulse finally pushed him in the direction of an older yuggernok that looked to be on its last legs, barely travel-worthy. Its owner, Duroth, was its match in appearance, and he’d had a strong reek of spirits upon him. The teamster’s initial reaction had been identical to the others: “Fortuna don’t look kindly on Pariahs.” However, when his eyes had found Tovak’s purse in hand, his tune had changed. “Maybe we can work something out …”
In exchange for ten copper suuls, a substantial chunk of Tovak’s hard-earned savings, Duroth granted enough space at the back of the yuggernok to lay out his blanket each night. It was twice the cost of a standard berth, and Duroth made no secret of having taken on a Pariah, which made Tovak’s journey a lonely one.
At least he’d gotten aboard.
The corridor, such as it was, held the sleeping bunks for the other passengers and the crew. The yuggernok could sleep up to thirty Dvergr in narrow bunks shielded only by curtains and a weatherproofed canvas roof.
When unoccupied, the bunks were disassembled for additional storage space. Stacked above each bunk were crates, sacks, casks, and amphorae, all supplies destined for the Blood Badger encampment. The supplies had been strapped and tied down so they didn’t shift or move during transport, and the teamsters regularly checked to make certain everything was still safely secured.
Tovak knew from speaking with them that Duroth’s yuggernok was the only one in the caravan carrying passengers. The other two hauled only supplies.
“Thulla curse you young scruggs,” Duroth hollered from the front as he stomped slowly down the corridor. “We’re almost to the encampment. Soon enough, I’ll be done with the lot of you. And I say the sooner you bugger off the better. No more nursemaiding for me, Fortuna be praised. You’ll be someone else’s headache after today. Bloody Thulla, I can’t wait to get rid of the lot of ya.”
Duroth stopped before Tovak, and his rheumy eyes narrowed.
“I said eyes forward!” he said, his breath thick with spirits. “You best get used to acting like warriors if you expect to join the Blood Badgers.”
Tovak kept his face calm, impassive. Standing a head taller than Duroth, what he really wanted to do was grab the short drunkard by the collar and throw him over the edge of the platform. But that was not in the cards. The other teamsters would likely not look kindly upon such actions.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Duroth growled in a low tone so that only Tovak could hear. “I never should have let one of your kind aboard my rig,” he seethed, poking his finger into Tovak’s chest. “Thulla’s bones, they’ll probably blame me if something happens to the Blood Badgers … All you Pariahs are bad luck, boy.”
Tovak shifted his gaze forward, staring over Duroth at the supplies stacked and strapped down on the other side of the corridor. He bit back the suggestion that Duroth had been too drunk at the time to see anything but the purse and more coin for another bottle of spirits.
Duroth hesitated a moment more, his jaw flexing as he considered Tovak. He let out a heavy breath that was part sigh. The stench of spirits was almost enough to make Tovak gag. Then, the old Dvergr turned and stomped back the way he’d come.
Like so many other times, Tovak wanted to say something … do something. Frustrated rage bubbled up inside him, but he kept his mouth shut. Duroth was in a position to kick him off the yuggernok and perhaps even keep him from joining a company.
All Thulla’s sons and daughters have free will, and it is His domain to mete out reward and consequence as He sees fit. Tovak had always liked that passage and found a measure of comfort recalling it. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips together in silence, when something occurred to him. Duroth’s drinking might have been the only thing that had allowed him to gain a berth. The great god worked in mysterious ways. Tovak sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
“The main encampment is in sight,” Duroth continued, loud enough for all to hear. “Gather up your belongings and be ready to get your sorry asses off my rig the moment we come to a stop. We won’t be serving no dinner for you either.” He came to a halt halfway down the corridor, leaned around a recruit, and swept the curtain aside. He made a show of peering within the berth. “And clean up before you go. Don’t leave nothin’ behind. Your mommas didn’t come along for the ride, so anything I find after your feet hit dirt is mine.”
“Who does that drunken bastard think he is?” the recruit beside Tovak hissed.
Duroth swung around in a flash. The old teamster’s eyes settled on Kutog, though it had not been him. Duroth stomped back down the corridor and stepped right up into Kutog’s face, his nose only inches away from the recruit’s chin. He slowly ran his eyes up and down Kutog’s larger frame and then glared up into the recruit’s eyes.
“Anything you want to say to me, rich boy?” Duroth demanded. “Or perhaps I should have a few words with your new commanding officer to let him know what a Thulla-cursed, disrespectful little cuss you are? One word from me and you’ll be without an appointment, in the same boat with the Pariah there.” Duroth jabbed a thumb in Tovak’s direction. “What would Daddy think, eh? How would you like that?”
There was a long moment of silence.
“No, sir,” Kutog said. “Sorry, sir. I have nothing to say.”
“That’s what I thought.” Duroth let out a disgusted grunt and turned on his heel. Without another word, he marched back up the corridor to the steps that led to the teamster’s bench. He stopped at the first step, turned back with a disdainful sneer, and then climbed up, disappearing.
Tovak let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It seemed that the others did the same, and then they went back into their berths. Many of the recruits traveled with armor, weapons, and even multiple packs containing their possessions. Compared to the others, Tovak had very little. All he owned fit into his small, battered, and patched pack.
Turning around, Tovak grabbed his blanket from where he’d discarded it, folded it carefully, and laid it aside. The other side of his berth opened up to the prairie, with only a couple of stacked crates between him and the rear deck of the yuggernok.
“At least I didn’t have to walk,” he said under his breath, for he had at one point, prior to securing passage with Duroth, thought he might need to. He picked his pack up from the deck and set it upon a nearby crate that had served as a table for him during the trip. The sigils stamped upon the side in black lettering indicated it was destined for someone named Struugar Ironfist, of the Baelix Guard. Tovak had spent much of his journey daydreaming about who Struugar might be and what the crate might contain. He’d had little else to do.
He untied his pack and peered inside to make sure he wouldn’t be leaving anything behind for Duroth to confiscate. He found a small toiletry kit, a bone-handled comb, a book wrapped in cloth, a small wooden box, a knife, and his spare tunic. He also had another pair of socks, which had been patched numerous times by his own hand. He ran his fingers along the cloth-wrapped book, feeling the smooth fabric. It was the same type of cloth used for prayer knots, and as his fingers brushed the surface, he offered up thanks to Thulla for it coming into his possession.
Within the cloth was his copy of Thulla’s Blessed Word, kept hidden from condescending eyes. In truth, the book was old and battered, its stitching coming loose in places, but it was one of his few treasured possessions.
A pang of sadness tinged with shame washed over him at the necessity of hiding the book from prying eyes. His people had mostly abandoned
Thulla. They blamed the god for the problems they faced. Part of Tovak understood the why of it, but it still bothered him to his core that he had to hide his faith.
“‘And the Way shall be opened to the faithful, so they may be tested and reclaim that which was taken from them’,” he whispered. Tovak closed his eyes for a long moment. He breathed in and then out.
If only he could show his people that suffering was one of the paths to Thulla, not a reason to turn away from the great god. Was that not one of the primary lessons taught through the tale of the hero Uliand Stormhand in Thulla’s Blessed Word?
As the first holy warrior of Thulla, his trials had been unparalleled and had only made Uliand stronger, or so the scripture taught. The loss of his family, torture, years spent fettered in chains, all of it had prepared him for divine service. The god tested his flock, and faith brought salvation. Indeed, Tovak’s own faith had been his compass, his foundation, and his anchor during the worst of times.
Folded inside the book was his Warrant of Passage, proof of his graduation from the Pioneer Academy. He unwrapped the cloth and pulled the yellowed parchment out. With it, Pariah or not, he had the right to travel to a warband of his choosing and apply for a posting. The document represented years of work. It was the first step in his dream of proving that he was just as worthy as the next Dvergr and not the disgrace everyone thought him to be.
The Warrant even bore the coveted Crossed Hammers, a mark of excellence granted to top students. Not only did Tovak know his numbers and letters, but he’d also completed basic military training and gone on to complete pioneer school, a grueling twelve-week program. The Academy taught scouting skills to those deemed to have promise or the potential to become a pioneer. He hoped this achievement would allow him to sign up with one of the coveted pioneer companies. It was with the pioneers that he saw himself rebuilding Legend and breaking free of the Pariah’s stigma.
He pulled a small, plain wooden box out of his pack and slid open the cover. Inside was a spirit deck, containing forty-eight placards, hand-painted by Tovak’s priest, Father Danik. After Thulla’s Blessed Word, it was his most cherished possession, and certainly his most valuable. Most Dvergr believed that spirit decks were simple folly, but among the faithful, they were believed to be a direct connection to Thulla, allowing one to divine a measure of the god’s will.
The First Compact: The Karus Saga (The Karus Saga: Book Book 3) Page 37