Forging Destiny

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Benthok moved over to them and addressed himself to the corporal in a hushed tone. “As our line advances, I want you to follow us. When we move in, your job will be going right for the cave. We’ll work to provide you cover to get everyone out. Once you get them out of the cave, if they are mobile and capable of joining the fight, see that they do. If not, do your best to get them up the ridge and out of the fight. They might not have had food or water for some time. Expect there to be wounded.”

  “Yes, sir,” Karn said, in a low voice. “We will get the job done, sir.”

  “I know you will,” Benthok said.

  There was a high-pitched shout of alarm from the forest ahead and off to the left. The clamor of construction went silent.

  “Spears!” a voice boomed through the forest. “Forward, boys, forward.”

  A battle horn called out a single shearing note, which seemed to rip the air.

  “That’s the signal, boys,” Benthok said. “On your feet.”

  Below them and through the trees, the gnomes began shouting and shrieking in what to Tovak sounded like outrage mixed with alarm. Then there was the unmistakable sound of steel ringing on steel. Within mere heartbeats, the fight’s sound increased dramatically to what could only be described as a full-on raging battle.

  “Advance,” Benthok ordered.

  The line stepped forward as one, moving through the trees and down the slope of the ridge towards the dry riverbed below.

  “Come on,” Karn said and led his squad loosely after them.

  Tovak gripped his sword tightly. His heart pounded. As they advanced down the ridge and through the trees, the battle came into view, and Tovak had to blink several times to make sense of what lay before him.

  On the left, there was a wall of Dvergr shields in three ordered ranks. To their front was a mass of gnomes, pressing against the shield wall. It seemed to him that there were more gnomes than they had originally seen when they’d scouted the area. With great effort, the strikers were steadily shoving their way forward against the gnomes, who seemed crazed and eager to get at the Dvergr warriors.

  Another force of roughly a hundred gnomes was busy organizing themselves into a rough formation, just behind the raging battle. What looked to be a gnome leader was standing atop a large stump watching the fight. The clash of steel, shouting, and screaming were nearly deafening. The gnome leader turned and spotted Benthok’s formation as it moved down the hill. He shouted something, pointing. More than two dozen gnomes separated from the budding formation and started towards the skirmishers.

  “Karn,” Benthok shouted as he pointed at the cave entrance, “go now. Get the Second.”

  “Alright, boys, let’s go,” he yelled to his squad and began jogging away from the formation as Benthok moved the skirmishers to block the oncoming gnomes.

  Tovak followed after Karn as the corporal led them towards the earthen wall that hemmed in the cave. Behind them, there was a crash as the gnomes slammed into Benthok’s small formation.

  Suddenly, there were several gnomes directly to the squad’s front. These had remained on the wall, clearly left there to keep those in the cave from escaping. Tovak found himself confronted by a gnome. The creature held a small spear with a wicked-looking point and jabbed it at him. Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, Tovak hastily dodged and stabbed back. It caught the little creature in the side, opening up an ugly gash that bled heavily. The gnome shrieked in pain and, as if enraged, stabbed again. The tip of the blade bit into his chest armor, but did not go through. Tovak grunted from the force of the strike. He grabbed the spear with his free hand and ripped it out of the gnome’s hand.

  Badly wounded and bleeding freely, the creature stumbled backward. It fell to a knee and then rolled over on its side, twitching. A heartbeat later, another gnome attacked him, this one with a sword. Dropping the spear, Tovak blocked a strike aimed for his leg. Their blades met in a powerful clang.

  Tovak was surprised by the gnome’s strength and felt the impact of their swords communicated to his hand, which stung. The gnome shifted and moved its blade around his, clearly preparing to stab at him. Forcing his opponent’s sword aside, Tovak kicked out, his boot hammering into the creature’s chest. It fell back, hard.

  Tovak took two strides forward and drove his blade through the center of the gnome’s chest. It gagged as a gout of black blood bubbled up from its tiny mouth. He gave the blade a savage twist. Behind him sounded a scream filled with both fear and agony. He spun around, just as Dagmar screamed again.

  “Get it off me,” Dagmar cried. “Get it bloody off me!”

  Tovak took in the scene in an instant. Dagmar’s opponent, although disarmed, had gotten beneath his guard and was now scrambling up the back of the skirmisher’s leg. Karn, who had just dispatched his own opponent by decapitating it, turned and looked too.

  The corporal was closer, though Gorabor, battling with a gnome, was between him and Dagmar. Karn sidestepped and ran his blade through Gorabor’s opponent, drawing forth a bloodcurdling screech from the gnome. Another gnome blocked the corporal’s path and jabbed with a sword. The corporal countered.

  Tovak began moving towards Dagmar, who was vainly trying to get the gnome off him. He could not pry the creature loose. It appeared to be biting him. In what was clear desperation, Dagmar threw himself backward and onto the dirt wall, slamming the gnome against it. The creature fell off him. Suddenly free, Dagmar rolled away. Tovak could see blood running from Dagmar’s backside and down his left leg.

  The gnome scrambled and was back on its feet in an instant. It came charging straight back at Dagmar, but Tovak had reached it. His sword was already coming down, hard. The blade connected with the crown of the creature’s head. It cleaved through flesh, bone, and brain all the way down between the gnome’s shoulders. The head came apart before his eyes and Tovak felt a spray of blood and gore wash over him. The gnome crashed to the ground and lay there, legs twitching.

  “Thanks,” Dagmar breathed as he pulled himself to his feet. Tovak glanced around, searching for another threat. There were no more gnomes within twenty yards. He turned back to Dagmar, who was clutching his left buttock. “It bit me. The bloody thing bit me in the ass.”

  Tovak stared for a long moment, then suddenly laughed as Dagmar seemed to dance around in a circle, trying to get a better look at his butt. Absurdly, he found his comrade’s antics hysterically funny. It was a moment of madness, it was surreal, and Tovak could not help but laugh madly.

  “Tovak, Dagmar,” Karn shouted, irritation lacing his tone. “Stop screwing around.”

  Looking about, Tovak saw Karn with Gorabor standing on the wall. Both went down over the other side.

  “You okay?” Tovak glanced at the back of Dagmar’s leg and saw a streak of blood. A giggle escaped from his lips. “Are you going to live?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Dagmar replied sourly. “I’ve had worse. It just bloody hurts.”

  Tovak stole a quick glance around at the larger battle. What he saw seemed to be organized chaos. Benthok’s formation was fully engaged. They appeared to be holding back the gnomes sent against them. Beyond them, the main body was continuing to drive the greater mass of gnomes across the dry riverbed and in their direction.

  “Come on,” Tovak said to Dagmar and moved, following after Karn and Gorabor. As he clambered over the wall, he saw seven skirmishers emerge from the cave entrance. They were helping four wounded, who were having difficulty moving.

  To Tovak’s right, Gulda climbed up on the wall. Arrow nocked, she raised her bow and loosed. Tovak did not see where the missile went. His eyes had found the captain, who was still very much alive. Tovak felt a wave of relief. Struugar had a bandaged arm and was helping an injured skirmisher limp from the cave entrance.

  “Karn, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Struugar said, relief plain in his voice as Tovak came up to them. “We thought we were done.”

  “Sir,” Karn said, “we’ve been sent by the lieutenan
t to get you out of here. Gorabor, take Tehent. Help him to the rear.”

  “Yes, Corporal,” Gorabor said and took Tehent from the captain.

  “Is there anyone left inside, sir?” Karn asked, looking towards the cave entrance.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Struugar said. The captain appeared thoroughly worn out, but at the same time there was strength there. “I am afraid eleven is all we have left from Second.” Struugar paused a long moment as a look of sadness came over him. “Your brother did not make it. He died like a warrior and bought time for us to escape.”

  Karn scowled. “We found his body.” The corporal swallowed as he looked away. When he returned his gaze to Struugar, he was all business again. “Tovak, Dagmar, the rest of you, help the wounded up the hill and back into the trees.”

  The squad moved forward. Four female archers had emerged with the skirmishers from Second Section. Like the skirmishers, every single one of them looked like they’d been run through the gauntlet. One’s head was bandaged, and another limped on a leg wrapped with a blood-soaked and soiled bandage. Tovak moved up and offered his shoulder to the archer who was limping. They started forward at a slow but steady pace. To their front, Struugar moved up to the dirt wall and climbed up it to see the battle.

  “Thank you,” the archer said to Tovak as he helped her towards the wall. She looked utterly exhausted and was gritting her teeth against the pain. There was a sheen of sweat on her young face. She was also pale.

  “What’s your name?” Tovak asked, more to distract her than anything else.

  “Serena,” she said.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Tovak said as they continued towards the dirt wall.

  “Are you flirting with me?” she asked, looking over at him.

  Tovak felt himself flush with embarrassment, which caused her to grin at him.

  There was a sudden roar of cheering from over the other side of the wall. He glanced around but could not see over the mound of dirt the gnomes had piled up into a wall.

  “The gnomes have broken,” Struugar said, wearily. “They’re running.”

  Chapter Four

  Once again in the column of march, Tovak, with the rest of the detachment, marched across the rolling grasslands of the Grimbar Plateau. With the survivors of Second Section, the detachment was finally headed home, to the safety of the warband’s encampment.

  As he put one tired and weary foot in front of the next, Tovak found himself not only greatly relieved to be returning, but also reliving the last sights and sounds of the battlefield around the dry riverbed. It was haunting him.

  The wood the gnomes had harvested, along with the partially constructed artillery piece, had been stacked in a pile for a funeral pyre for the dead.

  Once it had been lit, a thick column of white smoke had quickly risen into the sky. The air was full of popping as the fresh pine burned, mixing with the sweet, sickly smell of burning flesh. The dead deserved better. They should have been interred in a family crypt alongside their kin, but out in the field, and with the Great March in motion, that was an impossibility. Everything their people had, including the family crypts, was being left behind.

  While they had worked at gathering the dead and building the funeral pyre, the gnomes had not disturbed the detachment. In fact, the little creatures had all but disappeared.

  Scouts were sent to determine if the gnomes were rallying off in the trees for a counterattack, but found no evidence of them, not even a hint they were still around. Tovak had found that unnerving, for even with his skills as a trained scout, he could not find where they had gone. To their frustration, Benthok and Karn had had no luck either. Tovak had learned from Karn that gnomes were like that.

  Karach’s skirmishers had arranged two rings of stakes driven into the ground surrounding the funeral pyre. Each one had a small gnomish head jammed down onto it, most with their dead, black eyes open, staring lifelessly into the great beyond. Karach was sending a message to the gnomes, and the image of it had been burned into Tovak’s memory. It would remain with him until the end of his days.

  As the detachment worked their way down the hills and ridges back to the plateau, Tovak had expected an ambush to come. Nothing of the sort had materialized and now, after several hours, they were within a mile of the encampment. Ahead, a light haze of smoke hung over the warband’s camp, like an ugly pall.

  The detachment was spread out in a loose column, with the skirmishers taking up the rear. Karach was at the head of the column, with Captains Struugar and Greng at his side.

  The heat of the day was beginning to abate, just a little. The last hours of sunlight beat down upon them all, as if to remind them of what was to come on the morrow. In the distance, a line of dark clouds rose ominously across the plateau, well off to the west, carrying with it the promise of rain.

  Tovak and Gorabor trudged along, a makeshift stretcher suspended between them. It was their turn to carry one of the injured, Serena. Tovak’s arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets, and sweat poured from his body. Thankfully, Serena had fallen asleep. The journey down from the hills had been a torment for her and the other injured. Though they had taken care, each step and jolt caused the injured pain.

  Excused from litter duty on account of his wound and ankle injury, Dagmar limped beside Tovak and Gorabor. He winced with every step. It seemed the marching was aggravating his injury.

  “How’s your ass?” Bettoth called out from behind in the column of march. It elicited a chuckle from several. Since they had come down from the hills, Dagmar had become the butt of the company’s jokes.

  “It hurts,” he snapped in an irritated tone. “What do you think? That Thulla-be-damned little monster nearly took a chunk out of my arse.” Dagmar gingerly placed a hand on his left bandaged butt cheek. “Bloody hurts.”

  Corporal Karn had been the one to clean, stitch, and bandage the wound, but not without some good-natured ribbing from the other warriors of the skirmishers. It seemed Dagmar would not be living this down anytime soon.

  Amused, Tovak grinned.

  The column ahead began snaking its way around a low rise in the plateau. It was an anomaly in the seemingly never-ending flatness. As the column marched around it, he was able to see Karach and Struugar at the head of the column. The two officers appeared to be in an animated conversation. He couldn’t hear what was said, but as he watched, it appeared as if Struugar objected to something the warchief had said.

  “I wonder what that’s all about,” Gorabor said quietly.

  “You saw it too?” Tovak asked.

  “It was kinda hard to miss.” Gorabor shifted his grip on the stretcher. “We’ve taken a pretty bad beating these last few days. Do you think Karach blames Struugar?”

  “Who knows?” Tovak blew out a worried breath. “I hope not.”

  “I doubt there’s anything to worry about,” Karn said from where he marched a few yards off. He turned towards Tovak. “It’s true we’ve taken serious losses”—the corporal’s look became strained—“my brother amongst them, but this isn’t the first time a company took it on the chin. You boffers are still new, but there isn’t a veteran among us who hasn’t seen the like before.” His expression hardened, but not in an angry way. “It’ll turn out alright. It always does. Karach values Struugar. The captain just has some hard questions to answer, is all. And mark my words, he will answer them to Karach’s satisfaction. Now, you two, keep the speculation to a minimum before Thegdol hears. Understand?”

  “Yes, Corporal,” they both said.

  Tovak adjusted his grip on the litter. It was hard not to speculate when things had gone so badly for the Baelix Guard, but he would do as the corporal said.

  “I may not be able to carry a litter,” Dagmar said, “but I can certainly carry a tune.” He pulled his flute from a pocket. “How about ‘The Battle of Sul’Drogal?’” Dagmar asked loudly.

  “Aye!” several voices rose together from amongst the skirmishers.


  Dagmar placed the flute to his lips and poured his heart into the rousing melody. Moments later, several more flutes joined in, and it wasn’t long before the entire formation seemed to march with a lighter step.

  As they played, Tovak felt his heavy heart lift, at least a little. They’d taken losses, to be sure, and there was still the disturbing vision of what they’d left behind, but they’d accomplished their mission. They had found the Second. It was as good as could be expected, and as they closed the distance to the warband’s encampment, he reflected that this was the life of a warrior. It hadn’t been like he’d imagined. The victorious made it home, and the dead were sent to Thulla’s feasting halls.

  “Tighten it up, lads,” Benthok shouted from where he marched at the head of the section with Thegdol. A moment later, a similar order was shouted from Captain Greng to his company. The column began moving into orderly rows and columns, sharpening up their appearance.

  It didn’t take them long to cover the distance to the main gate. As they reached it, a cheer rose up from the sentries along the trench that surrounded the encampment.

  “All hail Karach,” a number of the sentries shouted.

  Tovak and the rest of the formation behind the warchief cheered heartily, with the strikers smacking their swords against their shields. It lasted for a dozen heartbeats, and then everything died down.

  “It’s good to be back with the encampment,” Gorabor said. “I will be glad to put this stretcher down.”

  “Agreed,” Tovak replied. They’d been out in the field for a little more than four days. So much had happened, and in such a short time, too. It seemed to Tovak like he was a different person and had fundamentally changed.

  He thought on the maps he’d found in the orc camp. Something deep down told him they would prove vital for what was to come. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but as they approached the encampment, he grew more and more certain of it.