Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

“Corporals, on me,” the lieutenant ordered.

  The four corporals moved over to the lieutenant, Thegdol included. Tovak did not know the other three, but he watched, curious to see what was about to happen.

  “I want our defenses up against those boulders there.” Benthok pointed to where a row of tall, smooth granite rocks poked nearly six feet out of the hillside. They formed a line about thirty feet from one end to the other. “The trench will be dug five feet from the boulders. Move it around to that point there”—the lieutenant swung his finger about to indicate the spot—“and there and there. I will mark where I want the trench and berm so there can be no confusion. Understood?”

  They confirmed their understanding with a unified, “Yes, sir.”

  Benthok turned and looked around the section. His eyes fell upon Tovak and Gorabor.

  “You two, over here.”

  Gorabor shot a quick glance over to Tovak and then hurried forward. Tovak followed.

  “Sir,” they both said, stopping in front of the lieutenant and saluting.

  “You’ve got marker duty,” he said. “Thegdol, do you have the bag?”

  “I do, sir.” Thegdol held it lightly in one hand. He gave it over to the lieutenant. “I thought you might want it.”

  “Good thinking.” Benthok tossed the bag to Tovak. The lieutenant pointed back down the way they had come. “You will mark a path to our campsite for the carts. Tovak, Gorabor’s done this before, so follow his lead. The trail you mark should be made with an eye towards the carts being able to make it up here, which means the path you chose should be different than the direct route we took to hump it up here. Difficult, rocky terrain should be avoided. Think you two can manage to keep from screwing this up?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak and Gorabor said together.

  Benthok ran a hand down his neatly braided beard and was silent a moment as his eyes fell upon Gorabor. “Mess it up like this morning and there will be consequences.”

  “We won’t screw up, sir,” Gorabor insisted.

  “Remember, the warband’s scouts have run into scattered groups of goblins in these hills. Keep an eye out and don’t be heroes. If you see any of the enemy or stumble across tracks, come right back and report.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  Hiking down and back up the slope they’d just climbed was not something Tovak really wanted to do. His legs were still burning. All he desired was to sit down and take the load off, just for a little while, to recover. Still, he considered he was lucky to have secured a spot in the company and wasn’t about to complain or show weakness before the lieutenant, who knew the truth. At least he wouldn’t have to carry his pack, and he’d have Gorabor for company.

  “All you need to do is mark the trail to the base of that hill over there,” Benthok said and pointed. He eyed them both, and his eyes narrowed in warning. “I want you back in no more than an hour and a half.”

  They both nodded.

  “Now, fill up your waterskins and go,” Benthok said dismissively.

  They both saluted.

  “Oh, and Tovak?”

  “Sir?”

  “You can relieve yourself when you come back,” Benthok said. “After the job is done, that is. Don’t drag ass again, will you?”

  Tovak felt himself color. The lieutenant had heard how he’d been delayed with the morning rations. Benthok’s eyes were shrewd. Did he suspect Tovak had overheard the conversation in the tent? That was surely impossible. The lieutenant had no way of knowing Tovak had been listening.

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  Benthok turned away and back to his corporals. “Give the section a short break and then get them to work. As I said, I will mark the boundary for the trench.”

  The corporals saluted as Benthok moved off towards the boulders.

  Tovak glanced at Gorabor, who looked far from pleased at their assignment. The day was already hot and both were drenched in sweat and covered over in dust from the march.

  “We’re gonna need an entrenching tool,” Gorabor said.

  “I’ll get mine.” Tovak returned to where he’d dropped his pack and spear. He loosened the straps on the entrenching tool, pulled it out, and slipped the shaft through his belt, next to his sword. Grabbing one of his waterskins, he looked around at the other warriors of the section. They had sat down on the ground and were drinking from their own skins or talking. A small group huddled around a dice game. A couple more had moved over to the stream and were splashing water on their faces and arms, washing away the dust of the march.

  Tovak glanced down at his own arms. He would most definitely need to wash himself, but that would come later, when there was time. A sudden pang of paranoia hit him. While he was gone, what if someone went digging through his pack and found his Warrant? They might recognize his name and then life would become very difficult. He decided the chance of that happening, though remote, was something he was not prepared to risk. He carefully and inconspicuously as he could removed the Warrant and slipped it under his armor, where it would be safe from unwanted eyes.

  Gorabor had already gotten his own skin and made his way over to the stream. Tovak caught up and together they refilled their skins.

  “We better get moving,” Gorabor said, with a nervous glance towards the lieutenant, who was busy walking what would become the camp boundary.

  “Right,” Tovak said.

  They headed down the slope at a quick pace.

  Using his knife, Tovak whittled the end of the branch to a sharp point. Satisfied, he staked it into the ground. Then, using his entrenching tool, he hammered it down farther. Gorabor handed him a strip of red cloth from the bag. Tovak tied it to the stake. He stepped back and looked over his handiwork. A warm breeze ruffled the cloth.

  He glanced around. They were back at the bottom, where the valley opened up onto the Grimbar Plateau. He could see a few hoppers in the distance, grazing on the grasses. The lieutenant’s words fresh to mind, they’d kept a keen eye for the enemy. But they’d seen nothing and no other tracks but the section’s on the way down. Tovak took his skin, uncorked it, and tipped it back. The water was warm but tasted good.

  “Now for the climb back up,” Gorabor said, his gaze fixed upward. He gave a groan. He held four other makeshift stakes under an arm and the bag. “That’s gonna be one bastard of a climb.”

  Tovak could not help but agree. Instead of saying anything further, he started upward. They set a good pace. After they had staked the second marker, about two hundred yards from the first, Tovak paused and took a moment to stare out across the wide expanse of the plateau, admiring the distant peaks rising off in the distance. Somewhere, out on the flats, was the warband.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gorabor asked.

  “Inspiring,” Tovak said. “The open spaces take some getting used to, though. Not like home, under the mountain.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  They stood for a few moments, admiring the view, before Gorabor shifted.

  “We’re not here to take in the sights,” Gorabor said, handing over another cloth strip. “The lieutenant is expecting us back.”

  Tovak tied it around the top of the stake. The end fluttered in the breeze.

  “And you’re sure they’ll see this?” Tovak glanced once again out onto the wide plateau. He could spot no sign of any carts or wagons.

  “Yes,” Gorabor said. “The lieutenant gives the teamsters a map of where he’s planning on camping. They hit the foothills and then follow along until they find the right color stake. If they don’t find it, well, they’re reading the map wrong. It happened a week ago, when I first arrived. A teamster got lost. He was new and it was his first run, but that didn’t matter. The lieutenant was hopping mad. It kept us out in the field longer than we were supposed to be.” Hefting the three makeshift stakes they had left, he started up the valley. “Come on, let’s move and get the next stake planted. We don’t want to keep the lieutenant waiting
.”

  “Color?” Tovak asked as he followed along. “What do you mean the right color?”

  “It’s why all of the cloths in the sack are red. Our section gets red, Second Section gets yellow, and Third Section gets orange,” Gorabor replied. “I don’t remember what the Fourth’s color is, but as strikers, they rarely get foraging duty. Instead they spend their time guarding the carts and teamsters. There are two carts for each section. The teamsters assigned to us know to look for the stakes with red cloths. They park the wagons down on the plateau and run the carts up to our campsite and back to the wagons. The wagons and carts usually arrive after midday.”

  “I see,” Tovak said.

  Gorabor shrugged. “Last time we were sent out on foraging detail, Benthok had me set the markers with Dolan.” He looked over at Tovak. “The bastard was almost no help at all. He complained the entire way down and then back. I wasn’t happy getting stuck with the duty either, but his carping made it worse, if you know what I mean.”

  They walked for a short while without saying anything, keeping a good pace and sucking air as they climbed.

  “Hey, did you see the all-female company?” Gorabor asked, between breaths. “They were camped next to us in the encampment.”

  “No,” Tovak said, surprised. The change in subject caught him off guard. He remembered the female warrior he’d seen outside of the headquarters pavilion. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.” Gorabor fell silent for several steps before turning back and flashing a grin. “There’s a girl there.”

  “Really?” Tovak asked, having suspected as much. “I couldn’t guess.”

  “Gulda Stonecutter. She’s as beautiful as sunshine on a spring day,” he said, then paused a heartbeat. “We have plans.”

  “Does she know?” Tovak asked, amused.

  Gorabor’s grin grew even broader.

  “She’s sweet on me. We knew each other back home, grew up together. She joined up about a year before me. If I’m honest, and let me tell you, honesty is very important to me . . . I joined the Badgers to see her again.”

  “That’s why you joined up?” Tovak stopped. He almost laughed. “Because of a girl?”

  “Well,” Gorabor said, stopping too. “There is the Great March after all. I’m serving our people and at the same time get to be near the girl I’m keen on. My father almost shat himself with rage when he found out I wanted to join the Badgers. He wanted me to join the Bloody Fists, his old warband.”

  “You joined for a girl?” Tovak was so amused, he let out a laugh.

  “You wouldn’t laugh if you’d seen her,” Gorabor said. “She’s a right looker, my Gulda is. We’ve even talked about marriage.”

  “Serious then,” Tovak said.

  “Yep.” Gorabor turned and started climbing again. They kept moving up the valley, and the silence between them grew along with their exertions. They fashioned and planted several more markers along the way.

  “I am happy for you,” Tovak said and smiled. “Truly. I can’t wait to meet this beauty.”

  “It will be my honor to introduce you to her. So, do you have a girl back home?”

  Tovak’s smile evaporated, and he averted his eyes, instead looking out on the plateau.

  “Somebody break your heart?” Gorabor asked with a concerned look. “Left her behind, did you?”

  “No,” Tovak said. “Nothing like that. I just don’t have anybody, is all.” The last girl he’d been interested in had been Adelluh back in school, before he’d become a Pariah. None others since that time had wanted anything to do with him. For a flickering moment, he wondered what Adelluh might be doing just then. Had she found a mate? Started a family? Or was she on the Great March with her family, leaving behind their home? “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “Sure, Tovak,” Gorabor said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “You weren’t prying,” he said. “I just don’t want to speak on it, is all.”

  Gorabor gave a nod.

  They continued on, following the stream, which was on their right side, and the path of the section had taken led up to the left.

  “We better put one here.” Gorabor handed over one of the stakes.

  Laying his spear down, Tovak pulled out his trencher once again and set the stake in the ground, hammering it down with his entrenching tool.

  “Have you ever heard of Grata’Dagoth?” Tovak asked as he worked.

  “No, why?” Gorabor looked back at him.

  As Tovak tied off another red cloth, Gorabor clambered around a pile of large boulders and climbed on top of them to keep watch, carefully scanning the terrain in all directions.

  “Nothing but scrub, trees, and grass,” Gorabor said. “I think the scouts must have been wrong. There’s nothing out there but unspoiled country.” He let out an explosive breath, then looked over at Tovak. “Say, why do you ask about this Grata’Tatoth?”

  “It’s Grata’Dagoth,” Tovak said, though now that he thought on it, perhaps he’d misheard the name. “I just heard the name, is all. I was wondering if you knew where it was?”

  “How’d you hear of it?” Gorabor asked, mild interest in his tone.

  “One of the teamsters on the yuggernok I came in on mentioned it,” Tovak lied. He felt badly about that, but he’d already told Gorabor he had heard nothing at the captain’s tent.

  “He was probably having one over on you,” Gorabor said. “Gullible recruit and all. There is no such fortress.”

  Tovak nodded, as if he were agreeing.

  “Even if such a place did exist, I’m not sure it matters anymore,” Gorabor said. “What with the Great March, we’re leaving everything behind.” He leaned his spear over his right shoulder and eyed Tovak. “For boffers like us, it’s all the same. We march, we forage, we fight, and we die. And if we don’t die, we do it all over again.”

  Tovak looked at Gorabor with a skeptical eye and gave a chuckle. There was more bravado there than anything else, if he was any judge.

  “What we’re doing is important,” Tovak said seriously.

  “What we’re doing is foraging,” Gorabor said, unhappily. “Well . . . setting out stakes. Soon the lieutenant will have us foraging. I’d rather fight goblins than spend my time hunting and scrounging around for mushrooms and bugs and such. I didn’t join to be a scrounger.”

  “You joined for a girl,” Tovak laughed.

  “You have me there,” Gorabor said. “And what a girl.”

  Tovak uncorked his waterskin and took a few pulls to ease the dryness in his throat. He stopped it and eyed Gorabor, who was taking several long gulps from his own skin.

  “It’s hot,” Tovak said with a glance up at the suns. “I bet you could fry an egg on one of those boulders.”

  “I think the lieutenant has it out for me,” Gorabor said. “He piles on extra duties every chance he gets. Rides me ragged when I mess up, too. He seems to enjoy saddling me with this job or that. ‘Gorabor, you’re on dodder duty, teska duty, haul some water for the company or gather firewood.’ Sometimes I feel like a slave, not a warrior.”

  “I believe it.” Tovak could sympathize, for growing up in his uncle’s household, he’d often felt the same way. “I have a feeling I’ll be getting every menial job he can think of too.”

  “Well,” Gorabor said, suddenly brightening at that prospect, “now that I’m not the newest recruit anymore, I’m sure some of the jobs I’ve been getting will go to you.”

  “Thanks,” Tovak said dryly, thinking about the extra jobs Lieutenant Benthok could give him for dragging ass. “Let’s get the rest of these done. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the lieutenant. You can tell me more about Gulda as we go,”

  “My pleasure,” Gorabor said. “You know, of late she’s my favorite subject.”

  “I have no doubt,” Tovak said and resisted a groan. Though in truth, he was happy for his new friend.

  While Gorabor went on and on about Gulda Stonecutter, they
made their way up the valley, planting one stake after another as they climbed back towards camp.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  By the time they returned to camp, Tovak’s legs felt like they were on fire, and his heart pounded in his chest from the hike back up. His breathing came in ragged gasps and he was drenched in sweat. The warm summer air, combined with the two suns, had only made things worse. He glanced over at Gorabor, who looked just as fatigued. Gorabor wiped sweat from his face with a small towel he’d pulled from a pocket.

  “That’s some climb,” Gorabor said, almost breathless. He stopped for a moment and bent over, placing his hands on his knees. “I’d not want to do it again today.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to,” Tovak said as he wiped sweat out of his eyes. He was hot and uncomfortable in his armor. It chafed and had rubbed him raw in unexpected places. His helmet, however, was a particular torture. The unaccustomed weight on his neck was beginning to hurt something fierce. Tovak desired nothing more than to take it off, sit down, and rest his legs.

  “Agreed,” Gorabor said, straightening up. “We’re almost there. Let’s go.”

  They found that the campsite had been transformed. While they’d been gone, the section had dug a trench five feet deep that completely encircled the camp. Using the soil that had just been excavated, a four-foot berm had been built up along the inside of the trench and then packed down. Wooden stakes fashioned from thick branches stuck out of the berm. The ends had been sharpened to wicked-looking points. The trench and wall made the camp a formidable obstacle. At least Tovak thought so.

  The nearest trees had been felled. The crack of axes sounded on the air as two sweating warriors broke up the trees for firewood just a few yards away. Tovak did not know their names, but they already had a good-sized pile of chopped and split wood.

  A single fire burned in the center of camp, where Benthok stood talking to one of the corporals. Grayish smoke from the campfire drifted lazily upward into the sky. Looking for any hint of trouble and placed strategically about, three sentries with spears stood atop the berm. Their gazes were fixed outward, watchful. The one closest to them waved in greeting as he spotted them. The rest of the section, besides those working on chopping firewood, was nowhere in sight.