Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  He stood and snapped to attention.

  The officer’s beard had braids coming down from the ends of a bushy mustache. He wore a light leather breastplate with silver engraving, indicating he was a lieutenant, as well as bracers and greaves that looked well-used, yet maintained. His helm, tucked under his arm, was a dark metal with a pointed nose guard. The hilt of a sword poked up from a thick, silver-threaded belt at his waist, with a matching dagger sheathed on the other side.

  “I asked you a question, soldier,” the officer hissed, taking a step nearer. “What was that you were doing just now?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Tovak replied. “I was getting my kit ready.”

  “It did not sound like nothing.”

  Tovak decided to remain silent, as the officer had not asked him a direct question.

  “Recruit, I’m your lieutenant. You report to me.” He gave Tovak a once-over. The look on his face said that he wasn’t all that pleased with what he took in. “Do you understand me?”

  “I do, sir,” Tovak replied, suddenly remembering what Struugar had told him last night. He realized that this must be Lieutenant Benthok.

  “Think you can manage grabbing your gear and following me?” Benthok asked. “Or will you require written instructions?”

  Tovak blinked. “Yes, sir. I, uh, mean no, sir?”

  “Which is it, recruit? Can you follow or do I need to lay down a trail of breadcrumbs? Well, speak up.”

  “I can follow, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Right, let’s go.” Benthok abruptly turned his back on Tovak and started off towards the supply tent.

  Tovak threw his pack over his shoulders, hooking the brackets into the metal clips of his armor. He donned his helmet, then checked that his sword was properly secured. Satisfied, he picked up the spear and then hurried after the lieutenant.

  The rest of the company area was a hive of activity as warriors emerged from the communal tents. One set to work at one of the fires, which had died down to embers. He tossed several fresh pieces of wood on. It caused a spray of sparks to leap into the air. Several warriors just beyond were pulling their armor on or checking equipment. Tovak realized they’d risen early, before the lieutenant had woken the rest of the company.

  No one spared Tovak any attention, but he did notice several eyes warily track the lieutenant as he passed. Despite Benthok’s shorter legs, Tovak found he had to hurry to keep up, for the lieutenant set a brisk pace.

  As they approached the supply tent, he saw a line of warriors had already begun forming. Sergeant Bahr was handing out small bundles wrapped in a rough-woven cloth.

  Benthok moved to the head of the line and held out his hand.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Bahr greeted cheerfully as he handed one of the bundles over. There was a sly grin to the sergeant’s face. “I trust you slept well.”

  “Hardly,” Benthok replied, apparently not noticing Bahr’s expression. “I was roped into a patrol with the First. Got back into camp less than an hour ago.”

  “No sleep for the wicked then, eh, sir?” Bahr asked, his eyes flicking to Tovak.

  “Apparently not.” Benthok tossed the bundle to Tovak, who caught it. “To be eaten on the march today, not before.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tovak looked inside and saw three small loaves of buurl, still warm from the cooking oven. Once they cooled, the bread would harden. The tough, tasteless gray loaves, frequently laced with bits of whatever dried meat had been on hand, would last for days before spoiling. They looked and felt very much like the river stones they were named after.

  “I see you found our newest wet-behind-the-ears recruit,” Bahr said.

  “I did.” The lieutenant was moving again, leaving the sergeant and Tovak behind.

  “Better get after him, boy.” Bahr jerked his head.

  Tovak set off after the lieutenant, rounding the corner of the supply tent, only to find Benthok had stopped.

  “Leave your pack and spear right there and put that hard bread in your haversack,” Benthok ordered, pointing to the ground beside the supply tent. There was another pack and spear already on the ground. Tovak did as instructed. Benthok waited until he had finished, then started off again. Tovak rushed to catch up.

  Gorabor was waiting on the back side of the tent. He stiffened to attention at the sight of the lieutenant as they rounded the corner. Gorabor saluted. Benthok did not bother to respond, other than to put his hands upon his hips and come to a stop.

  “Gorabor already knows this,” Benthok said, “or at least I thought he did.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Gorabor said, his eyes flicking to Tovak in embarrassment. “I got turned around, sir.”

  “No excuses,” Benthok hissed, with evident irritation. “No matter where the warband is, the encampment is always set up the same.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gorabor said.

  “So,” Benthok said. “Since I made the mistake of assuming Gorabor knew his way to the mess and back, I will march you both down there. Between the two of you, one of you should remember the way. So, pay bloody attention.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gorabor said.

  “Ah, yes, sir,” Tovak said, not quite sure what was being required of him.

  “Every morning we’re in the main camp,” the lieutenant said, “you both will have a job. Gorabor’s already had it. Like a dumb durpa, he’s managed to screw it up. You both”—Benthok stressed the word both—“will go to the cooking mess assigned to our company. Follow me so far?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Yes, sir,” Gorabor said.

  “Good,” the lieutenant said. “You will fetch the company’s breakfast, our morning rations. Then you will come right back here and distribute the rations to the company. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said, wondering what breakfast would be. He hoped it was eggs and some pork. His stomach gave an eager rumble at that thought.

  “When the warband marches, like today, we get issued dodders of some kind.” Benthok looked over at Tovak. “You know what those are, right?”

  “Pieces of fruit, vegetables, or meat in a batter that is then fried in hot animal fat,” Tovak replied.

  “You are not as dumb as you look. It’s what I like to call ‘breakfast of the victorious,’ ” Benthok said, then his gaze became suddenly intense, as if he had just thought of something. “The note the captain left for me says you want to be a pioneer.” It was not a question.

  “That’s correct, sir,” Tovak said.

  “The skirmishers not good enough for you, recruit?” Benthok asked.

  “Yes, sir . . . ah, I mean no, sir,” Tovak said hastily, concerned he might have caused offense. It was his turn to feel embarrassed now. He felt his face flush with heat. “It’s been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember.”

  Benthok gave a grunt.

  “Half of the company dreams of being pioneers,” Benthok said, glancing over at Gorabor with a sour expression. “Even this fool. Yet, incredibly he can’t even seem to find his way to the mess without getting lost. Bloody idiot.”

  Tovak said nothing but glanced over at Gorabor, who almost quaked under the lieutenant’s unforgiving gaze.

  “The skirmishers are not a bad place to start,” Benthok said, turning back to Tovak. “We do a lot of the same things the pioneers do and as a result they draw heavily from our ranks.”

  Tovak suddenly felt a surge of hope. Then he remembered his interview with Dagon. Second Pioneers was out. Dagon had made his feelings plain. Would First take him, if he proved himself? Would they accept a Pariah into their ranks?

  “Regardless of what you want to be, you will learn to be a skirmisher first,” Benthok said, poking a stubby index finger into Tovak’s chest armor. “With the warband about to move, there will be no time for our standard basic training. You will have to learn as we go. Once we’re in the field, I’ll work you ‘til you’re ready to drop. Everybody thinks they can be a pioneer, but if you can’t make it
in the skirmishers, then you definitely won’t cut it in the pioneers. You get me, boy?”

  “I understand, sir,” Tovak said quietly. “I will do my best.”

  “Your best likely won’t be enough for me,” Benthok said, and then turned and started walking again. “Follow me and pay attention so you learn the way to the mess.”

  Benthok said no more and led them through the darkened camp, weaving his way through the veritable maze of tents. Tovak did his best to pay attention. Few torches were still lit and even fewer fires. He could easily see how Gorabor could have gotten lost, especially at night. Tovak could smell food on the air, long before they arrived at the nearest of the cooking pavilions, where a line of warriors stood twelve deep. His stomach rumbled again.

  The lieutenant stopped before the line and surveyed it for a long moment. An older cook with a severe expression handed a large cloth bag over to a warrior at the head of the line. Beside the cook stood an assistant with a tablet and stylus. Several cooks worked around a number of large pots of boiling oil, stirring with large sticks. The cook fires lit the area and the massed heat drove back the morning chill. They were clearly making dodders, for one was using a pair of tongs to pluck the sizzling balls from a pot and place them, still steaming, into a canvas sack at his feet.

  “When they ask, tell them you need four bags for the Baelix Guard, and then you return. I have to go and speak with the captain. Think you can find your way back?”

  Gorabor hesitated, which caused a scowl to form on the lieutenant’s face.

  “I believe so, sir,” Tovak said.

  “No dawdling, then,” Benthok said. “When you get back, the company should be formed up. You issue one ration to each warrior and move on down the line until you’re done. Then take one for yourself. Give whatever is left, including the sacks, to Sergeant Bahr. Don’t screw this up, either of you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “No, sir,” Gorabor said.

  Benthok spared Gorabor a hard look that bespoke intense frustration before turning away and moving off in the direction they’d just come.

  “Like I said,” Gorabor said, breathing out a relieved breath. “Hard as granite in winter.”

  “How long have you been with the Baelix Guard?” Tovak asked.

  “A week,” Gorabor replied. “Been on dodder duty the whole time . . . . Until today, I usually came with a boffer named Dolan, but he went to help a mate to the sick tent this morning with a serious case of the shits. Dolan knew the way and, well, I didn’t have to pay attention much, if you know what I mean. Watch out for him, though. He’s got a mean streak.”

  “Dolan,” Tovak said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I sort of got lost this morning.” Gorabor looked sheepish. “When I found my way back, I ran straight into the lieutenant. Fortuna must hate me. If it had been Sergeant Bahr, he would have rapped me once and then pointed me in the right direction.”

  “The lieutenant didn’t seem too pleased,” Tovak said with a grin as he and Gorabor got into line.

  “I was supposed to be back with the dodders already,” Gorabor said. “We aren’t going to be so popular this morning.”

  The line moved up and they both took a couple steps forward.

  “Have you seen any action yet?” Tovak asked.

  Gorabor shook his head. “Since I got here, the main encampment hasn’t moved, and we’ve been out almost every day, foraging in the foothills to the west. Mostly just bug and dain hunting. We haven’t even run into anything more dangerous than the hoppers, and they don’t bite or sting none. It’s been kind of boring actually, boring and backbreaking.”

  “Not much Legend to be had there,” Tovak said, feeling unhappy at the prospect of such menial work.

  “You got that right,” Gorabor replied. “What I wouldn’t give to run into an orc or goblin patrol, get some excitement. Joining up sure isn’t what I thought it would be. Fetch this, go get that, dig a hole. I got tired of it all real quick and I’ve only been here a week.”

  Tovak looked over at Gorabor, who nodded his sincerity as the line moved up again.

  “Have you started the training Benthok mentioned yet?”

  “Just a bit, like last night,” Gorabor said. “It’s been more work than anything else. Besides, my family saw that I knew how to use my sword, sling, and a bow. I don’t know what else they can teach me, to be honest, other than pioneer hand signals. Benthok’s been teaching me. I take to it like a duck to water. How about you? Any training?”

  Tovak perked up at that. Benthok knew pioneer signs? He glanced back in the direction the lieutenant had gone, then returned his attention to Gorabor.

  “I have had some training,” Tovak said, not wanting to mention the Academy.

  The line moved forward again and then they found themselves before the cook and assistant.

  “What company and how many bags?” the cook asked in a bored tone.

  “Four sacks for the Baelix Guard,” Gorabor said.

  The cook nodded, turned, and picked up two brown canvas sacks off a table behind him. He handed them to Gorabor, and then got two more for Tovak. The assistant standing next to him made a notation on a tablet.

  The bags were heavy, and the dodders within, still radiating warmth, made Tovak’s stomach growl. He had no doubt they’d be tastier than the buurl, which he had eaten at the Academy. It was just about his least favorite food. Still, when you were hungry, food was food. He had long since learned that lesson.

  “Next.”

  With sacks in hand, they made their way back to the company’s camp. As they passed by the side of Struugar’s tent, they overheard someone say Tovak’s name in a harsh tone. Gorabor looked to Tovak. Both froze in their tracks.

  “That was your name, right?” Gorabor hissed quietly.

  Tovak nodded. It sounded like a heated conversation was going on in the captain’s tent. He could make out the glow from the lantern and two shadows within. He took a step nearer. Gorabor grabbed his arm and shook his head.

  “Bad idea, Tovak.”

  “Go on,” Tovak whispered. “I’ll be right along.”

  “Are you sure?” Gorabor said, eyes darting towards the tent. “You could get into bucketloads of trouble eavesdropping on the captain.”

  “I’ll take that risk,” Tovak replied with an almost desperate insistence. He knew he was risking Benthok’s ire and severe punishment, but he couldn’t just walk past, not now.

  Gorabor looked uncertain, then gave a shrug. “What do I tell Sergeant Bahr?”

  “Tell him I had to hit the latrine.”

  “He won’t like that,” Gorabor said. “It’s your funeral.”

  Shaking his head, Gorabor moved off, making his way back to the company area.

  Tovak stepped closer to the side of the tent and tried to look as inconspicuous as he could in the shadows. He was grateful it was still dark out. The voices had become hushed, but no less heated.

  “. . . honestly, I don’t like the idea of having a Stonehammer in the company, sir, no matter what name we’re supposed to call him by.” The voice belonged to Benthok.

  Tovak’s heart sank. It all came back to his father again. He should have known that Struugar would tell his lieutenant.

  “Will you do as I have asked?” Struugar’s tone was quiet but strained.

  “Of course, sir,” Benthok said. “I don’t have to like it, but you know I will follow your orders. I always do.”

  There was a long silence. “And?”

  “I’ll do what I can with the boffer,” Benthok said, “but it still doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “He’s just another recruit, that’s all.” Struugar’s tone was suddenly harsh. “And the gods know we’re short-handed. With the mission the Badgers have just been given, we will need every sword.”

  “There are few of us old hands who don’t remember the disaster at Barasoom,” Benthok said tersely.

  “And you know how I feel abou
t that,” Struugar said.

  “If it becomes known that you let him in,” Benthok said, “it could very well cast a shadow over our company, just when we don’t need it to.”

  There was another long pause. Struugar said nothing.

  “Are you prepared for what may come of taking him in? How do you think Dagon would react? That bastard doesn’t let things like this go.”

  “I’ll defend my actions with steel and an Adjudication Circle, should it become necessary,” Struugar said.

  “It may come to that,” Benthok said.

  “Aye, it might.” Struugar gave a dark chuckle. “Besides, I already talked to Dagon.”

  “You did? I will of course act as your second when he challenges you to the Circle,” Benthok said.

  “Thank you. But it won’t come to that with Dagon.”

  “He’s good with this?” Benthok asked, sounding shocked.

  “No,” Struugar said. “He lives his life by the Way. He will not trouble us, nor will he speak of it.”

  Tovak heard Benthok blow out a long breath.

  “I would dearly love to learn how you pulled that off, sir,” Benthok said finally. “Truly. I may not agree with it, but I understand the debt you owe. That said, the fate of our people rests with the success of the Great March. Finding Grata’Dagoth may save us all . . . . Still, you know as well as I, dissension in the ranks at such a time is not good, blood debt or no.”

  “I’m not doing this because of the debt, Benthok,” Struugar said. “And you’re the only one I can trust with something as delicate as this. He just wants a chance to serve, like any one of us.”

  “There’s more to it than just him being like any other lad. You know how superstitious the boys are.”

  Struugar barked out a laugh. “Don’t give me that nonsense.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you, or even I, believe,” Benthok said. “Bad luck spreads, and by saddling us with him, you’ve planted the seed in very fertile soil.” Benthok took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Word is bound to get out who he is.”