“Perhaps,” Struugar said, though Tovak thought the captain sounded far from convinced.
“There is no perhaps about it,” Benthok said. “And I don’t know how our boys will react. I can’t promise it will be good. In fact, I will bet my next pay it won’t be good. Better to be open about it at the outset than hide it, especially if you truly want to give him a chance. Sir, I recommend we deal with any trouble now. Or is it something else?”
Tovak felt as if his heart were gripped by a tight fist. He heard the creaking of a stool as someone sat. The silence in the tent grew.
“I don’t believe any good will come of this, but I swear on my Legend, I will follow your orders,” Benthok said.
“Good,” Struugar said, with a sound of finality and relief. “Now that that’s settled, would you kindly go get the company formed up? We have a long day ahead of us.”
Tovak heard footsteps moving towards the flap, so he slipped away before he was spotted. Anguish clutched at his heart. Yet again, he’d been given a ray of hope, while something lay in wait to darken it. His feet felt like lead as he moved into the company area.
Now that Benthok knew, how would the lieutenant’s attitude change? Despite what he’d told the captain, would the lieutenant work to drive Tovak out of the company? Regardless of the lieutenant’s actions, Struugar was still giving him a chance. He resolved not let his captain down. Still, what Benthok had said worried him deeply. If he was discovered for the Pariah he was, what then?
“I will just cross that bridge when I come to it,” he said to himself. As he passed by the supply tent, he discovered that not only was the company formed up, but the tents had been taken down, rolled up, and stacked next to the supply tent with the supports in a pile beside them. The campfires had been extinguished and covered over with dirt. Several torches had been lit. They cast their flickering light about.
The assembled company looked impressive. Three lines of skirmishers in their dark blue leather armor stood in easy, loose lines, talking amongst themselves as they waited. Their packs, spears, and gear rested at their feet. Every third or fourth skirmisher had a hornbow secured to his pack. There was also a line of strikers in full plate, their tall shields resting bottom-edge-down in the grass.
Gorabor was already halfway down the second line of skirmishers, busy handing out the dodders. Tovak hurried his step and started down the last line. He began passing out the steaming dodders to the strikers.
“Took too long at the latrine,” one warrior said when Tovak handed over the dodder. “Next time go after you’ve brought me my breakfast, will you?”
“Make sure you piss on his first,” the next warrior said. “Tevins likes when you do that.”
“Kiss my ass, Kennig,” Tevins replied as he bit into the dodder and began chewing.
“His girlfriend tell you that?” another warrior asked. “To piss on it, that is?”
“You mean the one he pays?” Kennig asked. “I don’t think you can call her a girlfriend.”
A burst of laughter followed. Grinning at the exchange, Tovak was past. Most nodded in thanks as he handed over the dodder, but several harassed him for being late. The commentary and insults were gruff but did not seem mean-spirited, and in spite of the hazing—maybe even because of it—he truly felt like he was part of the company, part of something bigger than he had ever belonged to before. He was just the new guy and it was clear many intended to make sure he knew it.
The feeling was almost enough to overshadow Benthok’s words, which were still hovering at the back of his mind. Tovak suspected Benthok was correct and he couldn’t help but wonder when it all might come crashing down again. Word was bound to get out. But more importantly, what was Grata’Dagoth? It was clearly a castle of some kind, for Grata meant “Fortress of the People.” He’d never heard of Grata’Dagoth and he knew of all the great fortresses. He’d had to learn them in school.
Once he’d distributed the rations and taken one for himself, he gave the bag to Bahr in the supply tent. There were only five dodders left.
“It’s about Thulla-cursed time,” the sergeant said, taking the bag and setting it aside. “The next time you get sent for rations, I expect you to get them before you decide to take a dump. The captain is due out any moment, and when he comes, the company will march. You could have easily kept the company waiting. That would not have gone over very well. Screw this up again, and I’ll have you shoveling a mountain of teska shit. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak replied.
“A fair word of warning, son. Better not let Lieutenant Benthok catch you dragging ass like that. There are worse punishments than spending the rest of your life knee-deep in shit. Trust me. You do not want to get on the lieutenant’s bad side.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said, chastened. “It won’t happen again.”
“That’s right, it won’t. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and put you on a charge.”
Tovak moved to where he’d set his gear. He slung his pack over his shoulders and grabbed his spear, ready to join the formation, although he didn’t know where to fall in. He moved back towards the company.
“Tovak,” Benthok said, spotting him and waving him over. The lieutenant was speaking with a sergeant. He gave a nod and handed a tablet to the sergeant, who saluted and moved off.
“Yes, sir?” Tovak stiffened to a position of attention.
“I’m attaching you to First Section so I can keep an eye on you and personally oversee your training, as well as Gorabor’s. Effective immediately, you’re assigned to First Squad. Thegdol is the corporal.” Benthok’s eyes drifted to Tovak’s hand, and the trace of a scowl crossed his face. “Make sure you eat that dodder. We have a long way to go today. You will need the energy.”
“Yes, sir.” Tovak felt not a little concern that the lieutenant would be personally conducting his training.
Benthok looked down the line. “Corporal Thegdol.”
“Sir.” A stout skirmisher stepped out of the line. He had bushy orange hair and a wide nose that looked like it had been broken and squashed against his face. The effect was a hard, almost menacing look. His beard was long, with four thick braids reaching down to his waist that were tied off with green leather laces. Silver beads had been woven into his beard as well.
“The recruit’s all yours.”
“Yes, sir,” Thegdol said, seeming not terribly pleased to have him.
Did he too know?
“Over here, boy,” Thegdol said and motioned impatiently.
Tovak started to move, but Benthok held out a stiff hand and stopped him. The lieutenant lowered his voice. “We’re heading out shortly. Do what Thegdol tells you. It could get dangerous out in the field in the coming days. If you listen, you might just live long enough to get the training you need to survive. Got me?”
“Yes, sir,” Tovak said.
Benthok removed his hand and Tovak stepped over to where Thegdol stood.
“Tovak Ironhammer, huh?” Thegdol asked.
“Yes, Corporal,” Tovak replied.
“Never heard of your family,” the corporal said, then turned and pointed at his squad, who were standing behind him in formation. “This is Jodin.” His finger moved down the line as he spoke. “That’s Lok, Morda, Staggen, and you already know Gorabor.”
Jodin nodded a greeting. Lok, Morda, and Staggen appeared as if they could care less that he was now part of the squad.
Thegdol turned and locked eyes with Tovak. “You keep up, do what you’re told, when you’re told, or I put you on a charge. There is always something needing doing. Punishment details help get things done. Those can come with a thrashing too. Any questions?”
“No, Corporal,” Tovak replied. He suspected Thegdol was a scrapper and, judging from his muscular bearing and manner, a good one too.
“Good,” Thegdol said. “Are your waterskins full?”
“Yes, Corporal,” Tovak said.
“Fall in at
the end of the line there and be sure to eat your ration. Marching on an empty stomach is a mistake.”
“Yes, Corporal,” Tovak said and moved quickly to the end of the line. He stepped in behind Gorabor, who leaned over.
“I was sure you’d get caught,” Gorabor whispered.
“I didn’t.”
“Hear anything?”
“No,” Tovak lied and then decided to change the subject. “So, what happens next? Where are we going today?”
Gorabor turned his head slightly. “We’ve got foraging duty again. We’ll leave before the bulk of the warband marches and make camp somewhere up in the high country tonight. I have no idea how long we will stay. Only the officers know that. When we’ve done our bit, we will meet back up with the warband somewhere along its line of march. At least, that’s what Thegdol just told us.”
“All right, you lazy durpas,” Benthok called, stepping up before the formation. “Packs on.”
The company began hefting their packs. Tovak stuck the dodder in his mouth and secured his pack, locking the shoulder brackets down and cinching up the waist straps so that they were snug. When it felt secure, he wolfed down the dodder, almost choking in his haste. It was crispy on the outside, and slightly sweet, with the meaty bits having a nutty flavor similar to murinok, but not as potent. He guessed the meat was some sort of insect, although he couldn’t tell which one.
“Company,” Benthok called, stressing the word. “Attention.”
At the sound of his voice, the entire company went silent, stood up straight, slapped their arms to their sides, thrust their spear butts into the grass, and came to a position of attention. Tovak did the same, like he’d been drilled to at the Academy.
Struugar strode out from beside the supply tent wearing his blue and gold armor, the cloak about his shoulders. His wild hair had been pulled back into a knot behind his head, and his beard had been brushed out. He moved to the front of the company, stepping up to his lieutenant.
Benthok, stiff at attention, offered the captain a smart salute, which was returned.
“One hundred and thirty-two present and accounted for, sir,” the lieutenant reported. “Two in the sick tent. It seems like bad meat is all.”
“Very good,” Struugar said, then turned to regard the company. He was silent for a long moment. “Baelix Guard,” he said in a strong voice. “Today, the Great March begins in earnest. Our people are finally on the move, leaving behind what we have called home for the past five hundred years. It is a sad day, but also a new beginning, a fresh chapter in our history. We will find a home, a haven where our people can prosper. But that is in the future, one I am honored to say we will have a hand in delivering.”
Struugar fell silent a moment. No one said a word. It was almost as if the entire company dared not breathe. Their entire nation was on the move, and all that protected the civilians from the enemy were the warbands. There was Legend to be had in that, Tovak decided. By just serving with the Badgers, he was doing his part to protect his people, even if they considered him barely fit to be counted amongst them.
“The Syrulian Empire has fallen. The Horde is coming,” Struugar said. “You all know that. It is why each and every one of you is here with us. Well, our time has come too. The Badgers have been tasked with a mission deep into hostile and unclaimed lands. The warband will be on its own, with no support for the foreseeable future.” He paused for a moment, looking over the warriors assembled before him. “I can’t tell you what we have to do, at least not yet. I have my orders. When the time comes, I will tell you. If what we do succeeds, the Badgers shall be remembered for an age.” Struugar paused, looking as if he wanted to say more. But then he shifted his feet. “Keep a sharp eye. Our advance patrols have encountered isolated groups of orcs and goblins, mostly in the hills and high country, exactly where we’re headed. They don’t seem terribly organized, but that can change fast as we march through their lands. Stay alert, work together, and protect your comrades, for we, in this company . . . all of us are family.” Struugar paused again, sucked in a breath, and let it out. “Enough speech-making. You all know your duty. I will be going with Third Section today. Lieutenant Benthok will take First. Sergeant Kelloth will handle Second. Fourth as usual will provide protection to the forage carts. Once we’re outside the encampment, the company will break up into sections. Each section will head to their assigned forage area.”
The captain turned and looked over at Benthok.
“Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
“Give the order to march.”
“Company,” Benthok called, “right face.”
The company pivoted, turning in unison. They instantly went from an assembled formation to a marching column. “For–waard, march.”
The steady, rhythmic thud of boots carried the company forward, and Tovak felt a surge of pride. He’d at least made it this far. The future lay before him, even if it involved foraging.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The twin suns beat down on Tovak, heating his helm and armor to the point where it was uncomfortable. Under his feet, the tough long grass folded, one monotonous step after another. For five hours, the section had kept a grueling pace to the tempo of the stone flutes that four of the warriors had with them, Gorabor included. About the size of a fist, the flutes were made from round river rocks with holes drilled into them. Their tune helped the long miles pass.
Tovak looked up and spotted a bird of prey circling high above. He stumbled over a rock hidden in the grass, then stepped around a small boulder. Tovak was at the end of the column, marching next to Gorabor. Those to the front kicked up dust, which tickled his nose and occasionally caused him to cough or sneeze.
After setting out from the main encampment, the lieutenant had only permitted three brief breaks. Those halts in the march had been beside creeks that crisscrossed the plateau. Skins had been filled and they’d been allowed to rest for a short while, eat, and drink their fill. Then, they’d been ordered back to their feet and moved on.
Thankfully, they were not required to march in close order step but permitted to spread out a bit. There was plenty of banter, occasional laughter, and with each stride, they’d drawn closer to the western foothills that marked the boundary of the Grimbar Plateau. At the same time, with every mile they gained a little more elevation.
Tovak was worn. Sweat ran down his face and the middle of his back. The thin air had him feeling a bit light-headed too. Still, he kept on with the rest of his section, which comprised four squads. Lieutenant Benthok had remained at the front of the line of march, leading the way and chatting amiably with one of the sergeants.
The direction the company had taken led them closer and closer to the foothills that rose sharply along the western edge of the plateau. As they’d moved farther north and west, both Second and Third Sections had broken away, headed towards the narrow valleys that cut into the foothills. Somewhere amongst them, they would set up camp and forage in their assigned area.
The foothills, stretching for miles, were covered with sparse pines, the occasional boulder field, and wide swaths of mountain flowers that splashed color over the tan and green terrain.
Tovak had always thought the mountains surrounding Garand’Durbaad lovely, but he had to admit that the Grimbar Plateau, ringed by hills and mountains, had a distinct untamed beauty that appealed to him. He found he almost couldn’t wait to get up in the hills and explore.
Small streams and creeks ran through many of the valleys of the foothills down to the plateau to meet up with a large river farther to the east. From his fellow squad mates, Tovak had learned the warband’s line of march would likely follow that river. Or so they thought. No one knew for sure where exactly the warband was headed. Thegdol had said as much when Morda and Lok had begun arguing about it.
When they reached the foothills, Benthok led them up a relatively clear path alongside a creek that ran through a cut in a narrow valley. The hills on either side were speckled
with more pines and wildflowers. Lots of game could be seen, including flocks of hoppers that fed hungrily upon the vegetation. The way ahead had plenty of room for the two-wheeled, teska-drawn carts that Tovak had learned would follow and carry not only their supplies up to camp, but also forage back to the warband.
Tovak leaned on his spear with every other step, using it like a walking stick and easing the strain of its weight on his arm, at least a little. He sucked in air as they marched up beside the wide, rocky creek bed, with a small stream of fresh water flowing freely amidst the stones.
Each breath burned in Tovak’s lungs, but he was holding his own, managing to keep up. He refused to let the others see that the march was taking a toll. He would not give them the satisfaction. He called upon Thulla for strength and focused on keeping pace with Gorabor.
They marched for another hour in the hilly terrain as they followed the flowing water ever higher, towards the snowcapped mountains that rose in the distance.
“SECTION . . . HALT,” Benthok called. The column shuffled to an abrupt halt. Tovak noted that several of the warriors leaned forward, catching their breath.
Tovak found that they had stopped in an open, flat area. They’d climbed high enough into the foothills that the hillsides were more thickly forested. The stream continued onward and disappeared around a bend about a half mile up the valley. The steep, forbidding slopes of the mountains towered over them beyond, their snowy peaks a stark contrast to the clear, blue sky.
“All right,” Benthok said from the head of the column. “We make camp here. Fall out. Packs and spears down.”
“You two look blown and the day’s not even half over,” Jodin said, eyeing Gorabor and Tovak. “My wife gives me a harder workout than this hike did.”
There were a few weary chuckles at that as packs dropped to the ground. Tovak gratefully set his pack and spear down, feeling intense pleasure of having rid himself of its dead weight. He suddenly felt incredibly light on his feet and marveled at the feeling. It was like he weighed next to nothing.
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