Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Thank you, s—” Tovak cut himself off. The habits of the Academy had become ingrained. Anyone who was serving had been a sir. “I mean Kyn,” he corrected and then opened the gate for the teamster, swinging it wide and out into open space.

  Kyn lowered the ladder over the side and then sank two rods at the top into holes bored into the deck. The bottom of the ladder almost touched the ground. Kyn gave the ladder a jerk to make sure it was secure, then stood.

  Kutog stepped around Kyn and then roughly shoved Tovak aside with his shield. “Out of the way, Pariah,” he growled before dropping his pack to the ground below. It landed with a heavy thud. Kutog mounted the ladder and, holding his shield to the side, climbed down one-handed.

  Tovak’s temper flared again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. When he opened them, he saw Kyn shake his head at Tovak.

  “Boffers,” the teamster grumbled under his breath. “There’s always them bastards that think they are right better than the rest of us.”

  “It’s all right,” Tovak said, although he wanted to call Kutog out and beat him senseless. He dared not, though. There was too much at stake.

  “You’re a lot more forgiving than I would be.” Kyn gave Tovak a scowl. “I’d have given him a thrashing for that. If he were on our crew, I tell you, I’d have whipped him or gotten whipped in turn. But at least I’d have stood up for myself. People like him only respect strength.”

  Tovak could have told Kyn that it never went well for him when he stood up to the likes of Kutog. Bastards like that always seemed to return with friends, and Tovak had none of his own. He could have said a lot of things, but none of it would matter. He knew that. “I’ve come a long way to get here, and he’s just not worth the effort,” was all he could manage. It sounded rather lame.

  “If you say so,” Kyn replied, sounding far from convinced, then glanced back at the other recruits, who were still getting themselves ready. “How long have you had your Age of Iron ring? You seem older than the rest.”

  “Four months,” Tovak replied, glancing at Kyn’s hand. He had noticed the ring before. “Yours is truly striking.”

  Kyn looked surprised by the compliment, holding up his hand to show off the incredibly detailed silver band, made in the form of a dragon with an obsidian orb set in its mouth. “My father crafted it for me.”

  “It’s beautiful work,” Tovak said, in honest admiration. “Your father has real skill.” His hand involuntarily went to his own Age of Iron ring, a simple band of rough iron he kept hidden beneath his tunic on a copper chain.

  Kyn paused and glanced behind him as more recruits began working their way to the ladder. “Say, I never did catch your name.”

  “Tovak,” he said simply.

  “Well then,” Kyn said, clapping him on the back, “welcome to the Blood Badgers, Tovak.” He glanced out at the encampment that stretched about in all directions. “And don’t you worry none about that bastard.” He indicated Kutog, who was heading off towards the center of the encampment with a determined stride. “He’ll be getting the education of a lifetime over the next few weeks. He’s full of himself now, but in a few hours, he won’t be. First Company’s a line formation. They’re always under the eye of Karach. Lots of spit and polish and guard duty, if you know what I mean. He’ll be the new guy in his company. If he shows too much cheek, they will cut him down and teach him a little humility or beat it into him if needed.”

  Tovak liked the thought of the latter. Kutog needed a good beating.

  “Karach’s warband is the best mix of small clans and clan-less warriors in the whole thanedom, misfits really, all of us.” Kyn pulled Tovak aside so that the recruits could begin making their way down the ladder. They began to file by. Several cast Tovak unfriendly looks before they disappeared down the ladder. Kyn seemed not to notice and instead gestured outward. There was a proud note to his voice. “I’ve been with the Badgers for ten years now. Let me tell you something, Tovak. All them other warbands look down on us because we’re a mixed bunch. This warband knows what’s what.”

  Tovak wondered where Kyn was going.

  “Who gets all the tough jobs? Who gets all the shit assignments? So, Tovak, I ask you, who is it the Thane sends for when it matters most?” Kyn paused expectantly.

  “The Blood Badgers?” Tovak offered.

  “That’s right, the Blood Badgers,” Kyn said, with a pleased grin. “Because we always get the job done. Karach Skullsplitter is the best warchief to ever lead a warband. He’s hard, but fair. We’re all misfits here. Karach has taken us all in and now we’re family.”

  “I see,” Tovak said, gazing about the encampment.

  “Do you?” Kyn asked. “You will not be the first Pariah the Blood Badgers have accepted. Nor likely the last.”

  Tovak blinked at that.

  “My advice is to do your best,” Kyn said. “Find a good company and build your own Legend. In time, things will change.”

  “Kyn,” Duroth shouted from behind on the steps that led up to the driver’s bench. “Quit your loafing and get that boffer’s feet on the ground. We’ll be unloading all night if ya keep jawing with the Pariah.”

  “You better get on down,” Kyn said, turning to Tovak. “Old Duroth might be loud, but he’s right, and despite the bark he’s really not so bad once you get to know him.” Kyn glanced around at the stowed cargo. “We’ve got a lot of work to do before we can turn in for the night.”

  The rest of the recruits had already debarked. Tovak stepped up to the ladder, turned, and then leaned forward as he put his foot on the first rung. His Age of Iron ring slipped out of his tunic and dangled free. He quickly tucked the cheap token back inside, but not before Kyn spotted it.

  Kyn turned knowing eyes to Tovak.

  “Don’t you worry none,” Kyn said. “You’re gonna fit in just fine around here. Do you know where you’re headed?” he asked, stepping up to the edge of the deck.

  Tovak began to descend the ladder, then paused and looked back up. “I’m off to join the pioneers, but I don’t really know where to go.”

  “Not everyone can make it in the pioneers,” Kyn warned. “Most get turned away.”

  Tovak resumed climbing down the ladder. He jumped the last foot and his boots slapped down on the ground.

  “I have a Warrant of Passage from the Pioneer Academy,” Tovak said, patting his pocket where the document rested. “I even received a mark of excellence.”

  “Well done,” the teamster said, sounding impressed, though his eyes took on a sad tinge. He blew out a breath and then pointed towards the center of camp. “In that case, you’ll want to find Dagon Trailbreaker. He’s the captain of the Second Pioneers. Everyone around here knows who he is. I’ve never met him, but I hear he’s a real bastard”—Kyn gave a shrug of his shoulders—“but with a mark of excellence, he might just take you in, Pariah or no. Head towards the center of camp and look for a tall green and black banner with a durvoll on it, you know, the big dog-looking thing with six legs.”

  Tovak nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Safe journeys, young Tovak . . . . May your Legend never fade.”

  “May you always find the Way.” Tovak bowed his head briefly.

  Gazing down on Tovak, Kyn hesitated a moment, looked about to say more . . . then turned and was lost from view.

  Tovak bit his lip. Had he just read pity in the other’s eyes? Tovak shook his head. Perhaps he’d just imagined it.

  As he stepped away from the ladder, he found himself moving with a lighter step than he’d had in a very long time. Garand’Durbaad lay far behind him, as did his past and the pain that came with it. The mere possibility of what lay ahead filled him with a sudden excitement.

  “They don’t know my family,” he said quietly, a smile creeping onto his face. It was why he had chosen the Blood Badgers. The warband was a mix of all the clans. “I am finally my own Dvergr.” He traced a finger over his Age of Iron ring, feeling it
beneath his tunic. It might be of the lowest quality, but it marked the beginning of his adulthood, where he could truly shape his own future.

  It was enough.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tovak felt like his future had suddenly opened before him. His past would soon be left behind, little more than a bad memory to be forgotten over time. He strode around the side of the yuggernok that had carried him, stepping past the first of the great iron wheels.

  Ahead was another artillery park, much like the first he’d seen, only this one was larger. The machines were parked next to one another in neat orderly rows. The sight caused him to hesitate and stop. He stared in awe for several heartbeats, then felt an intense surge of pride. In that moment, he was proud of his people, who built mighty works and machines. The Dvergr were an old, hardy race that originated from a world far from this one. Despite being cut off from their ancestral home, they carried on, doing whatever they needed to survive amidst the Last War, a conflict of gods and ideology.

  Each warband was a testament to the strength and determination of his people as a whole. And despite how he was treated, Tovak was still fiercely proud to be counted amongst them. Deep down, all he wanted to do was serve his people and prove his worth.

  As his gaze roved over the machines, movement caught his eye. Three engineers carried a long iron shaft with metal fins on one end and a foot-long barbed tip on the other. The iron glinted dully in the light of a nearby torch. They lifted the missile up to two more engineers, who struggled to set it into a deep flight groove of one of the largest bolt throwers Tovak had ever seen. They looked to be training. He couldn’t imagine what such a machine might be used against. Assaulting a fortress? Punching through a gate? Perhaps even killing a beast, like a dragon? Whatever it was intended for, he knew he would not want to be on the receiving end.

  Tovak tore his gaze away and glanced around. He was in a large open area, clearly set aside for yuggernoks. A half-dozen of the oversized wagons were parked near a wide enclosure, full of picketed oofants.

  A team of the massive beasts were being led into the enclosure as crews worked unloading the wagons that had clearly arrived earlier in the day. Teamsters on one the yuggernoks set crates, sacks, and barrels onto a wide platform that had been raised up to the rear deck by a mobile wooden crane with iron wheels. Several smaller carts and wagons had been run up and were being loaded with the goods freshly unloaded.

  An older teamster with grizzled gray hair stood nearby, looking on. He held a wax tablet and was making notes with a stylus, clearly accounting for the goods being delivered. An assistant of some kind stood next to him, holding several additional wax tablets.

  The twin suns had nearly dipped behind the mountains, filling the cloudy skies above with orange and pink-laced fire. The smell of the oofants was strong, mixing heavily with smoke, sweat, and cooking that filled Tovak’s nostrils with every breath. He hoped that wherever Dagon’s company was camped, it lay upwind and far from the great pachyderms.

  Tovak began walking again but stopped after a few feet. Movement at the front of the yuggernok caught his eye. Duroth and another teamster climbed down a rope ladder from the driver’s platform. A third teamster appeared and followed after them. They stopped a moment and conferred, then strode up to the lead oofant, which they began to unharness.

  Tovak watched them work, realizing a single misstep by an oofant could crush one of the teamsters. The massive animals huffed as the harnesses came off, clearly delighted to be free of the restraints. Oofants were impressive beasts. With their thick, armored hides, massive tusks, and long trunks, they were capable of crushing just about anything should they become enraged. Tovak had heard stories of such things happening.

  As he watched Duroth work with them, however, the gentle, happy sounds made them seem almost harmless, like they were big puppies. Only the beasts weren’t. There were warbands that trained oofants for battle.

  As the first oofant was led away by one of the teamsters, Duroth turned his attention to the next oofant. He began unbuckling the straps holding the harness in place. Moving around each leg as he went, he patted and soothed the great shaggy beast, humming and clucking at it like a mother tending her child.

  “That’s it, Theola,” Duroth said, patting her belly, “we’ll have you out of that harness and eating fresh-cut grass with your sisters in no time. One of my lads will be brushing you down before you know it.” Duroth was so intent, he didn’t see Tovak standing there just a few feet away, watching. The teamster just kept tending to the beast of burden, like it was a well-loved child.

  Kyn climbed down the ladder. Duroth spotted him and stepped back, out from under the animal. He untied the bridle, which Tovak saw had been secured to a stake in the ground.

  “Get yer sorry ass over here and take Theola to the pen, you dumb scrugg,” Duroth growled.

  Kyn obediently jogged over.

  Duroth handed over her bridle. “I ain’t paying you to lollygag.”

  Kyn nodded and, without saying a word, grabbed the bridle, gave a strong tug to get the beast’s attention, and then led Theola off towards the pen.

  “See that she gets some fresh grass too,” Duroth called after. “Not the stuff already in the pen.”

  “I will, boss,” Kyn said over his shoulder. “I will.”

  Shaking his head, Tovak stepped away before Duroth spotted him. Tovak left the area and moved onto a street that cut through the encampment. The grassy street stretched out to his left and right. It was lined by rows of hundreds of tan communal tents. The street was thick with both warriors and civilians as they moved about on their own business. Some of the warriors were in their armor, but most wore tunics. For a moment, Tovak just stood there and looked around. The warband’s camp was clearly huge, and in the growing darkness of the setting suns, he had a fleeting moment of concern about finding his way.

  He turned left and began walking, looking for a side street that would take him deeper into the camp, in the direction Kyn had indicated. Tovak stepped around a pile of dung left by some animal and then had to almost jump aside to avoid being trampled by a squad marching the opposite way.

  “Out of the way, scrugg,” the corporal snapped.

  Tovak watched them pass, then continued on. He found himself looking continually to the left and right, almost as if his head were on a swivel. There was just so much to see. He passed one company area after another. The standard for each was planted in the ground before what he took to be the commanding officer’s tent. He noticed there was always an armed guard standing watch over it.

  The unmistakable reek of teska dung was on the air. With each and every step it grew stronger. He wrinkled his nose and tried to breathe through his mouth. He’d cleaned out his fair share of stables over the years and had never become accustomed to the pungent stench. Sure enough, he came upon a penned-in area, nestled amongst the tents. The pen held a dozen teska. The shaggy, six-legged creatures chewed listlessly on feed that had been thrown down before them.

  Teska, much smaller than oofants, stood about five feet at the shoulder. They were covered in thick, shaggy coats of dark fur. The heads of the males sprouted horns, but the animals were considered generally harmless, unless they became spooked and stampeded.

  Tovak found a side street and took it ‘til he reached another wider street that moved in what he hoped was the direction of the center of camp. The camp seemed to be a virtual maze. Like the last street, this one was of trampled grass and dirt, lined on either side by hundreds of tents.

  The street was full of Dvergr, forcing Tovak to often sidestep around small details and formations of marching warriors, groups, supply carts, or mothers and their children. It was loud and noisy. He continued on, turning onto street after street.

  The twin suns disappeared fully behind the mountains, taking with them the last rays of daylight and casting the entire camp in the shadow of the coming night. Torches lined both sides of the street. Each communal tent had a campfire
, which meant that there were hundreds of fires around. The entire camp was bathed in a flickering orange glow that drove back the darkness. As he moved deeper into the camp, the smells of cooking fires caused his stomach to rumble.

  He reached a row of tents that had been set aside for the cooks. Animals and large insects of all sorts were roasting over open fires or were in the process of being prepared. Cooks and their assistants moved between the fires, giving the spits a turn.

  Tovak stopped and stared at a multi-legged creature about ten feet long that was being roasted over a fire. He recognized it as a murinok, a large and deadly member of the centipede family. He’d only seen drawings of the creatures, but had heard they were exceptionally good eating, a delicacy reserved for only the wealthiest of people. The scent of its roasting flesh set his mouth to watering, and he wondered if the puffy white meat tasted as good as it smelled.

  “Off with you,” a cook shouted when he spied Tovak. The cook was a plump, old codger with an eyepatch, a shaved head, and a short gray beard. He wore a badly stained apron. “You should know better. There’s nothing here for a camp follower. Go on, see your mommy if you want food, boy.” He raised a cleaver menacingly when Tovak hesitated. “Everything here is reserved for Fifth Company. I’ll have no thieving, understand me?”

  Tovak was about to protest, but changed his mind and moved off towards the next tent, where more insects were being prepared. Lying on the ground were the carcasses of a dozen heratta, with their long antennae, giant, faceted eyes, and cylindrical bodies—basically giant grasshoppers.

  A cook worked at a nearby wooden table, butchering a krata, one of the fearsome spiders that were known to live and hunt in the mountains. He was casually ripping the legs off, each of which gave a sickening crunch as it came free.

  Tovak stood there, appalled, gazing upon the krata, which was the size of a large dog. Krata were the stuff of Tovak’s nightmares. He hated spiders to begin with, and this creature was one of the worst. Even a juvenile was capable of hunting and killing a full-grown Dvergr. Worse, the creature was known to hunt in packs, which made them even more dangerous.