Theros Ironfield

Chapter 19

Baron Dargon Moorgoth walked to the front of the column. His command staff stood ready to move out. The army’s standard-bearer, a tall young officer named Berenek, held the flag unfurled in the morning breeze. It was only an hour since the sun had cracked the horizon.

Theros looked around at the baron’s staff. There were four officers, Berenek included, and four soldiers, all sergeants. Normally, the heavy cavalry would serve as Moorgoth’s personal bodyguards, but today they were off on a different mission. The sergeants-normally his organizers and scribes-would be his bodyguards. Looking at their grizzled faces and calloused hands, Theros guessed that Baron Moorgoth was in safe hands.

“All right, men. Ready to go?”

Every one of them responded yes. The baron waved his hand and then began to run, at an easy pace, down the road. The command staff was only a few steps behind. The infantry battalion commanders yelled their march orders and the entire army lurched to a walk, then to a jog-trot. Like a huge slug, the army started to crawl along the road.

After the first mile at a run, the long forced march was already starting to take its toll. The line of men and women looked tired. But no one would think of falling behind. For one, they’d taste Uwel’s lash. And they would be ridiculed as weaklings by their comrades.

Another mile and still they kept going. The troops traveled light, but each man carried his weapon and supplies. Still, they covered a lot of ground. The men and women pounded on, well aware that the faster they ran the distance, the more time they would have to rest when they reached their destination.

They left the slow-moving supply wagons far behind. The wagons would catch up later, possibly even after the battle was over.

* * * * *

After the third mile, Moorgoth called a halt. The soldiers behind him sagged down onto the ground and sat there, sweating and panting.

Moorgoth removed his boots. A good-sized blister was forming on the back of his heel on his left foot. He pulled out his dagger and lanced it. The liquid drained immediately. He put his sock back on and pulled on his boots, tightening the straps as tight as they would go. Standing, he tried the foot. The pain was a minor irritation.

He walked back through the first battalion of infantry, stopped to talk to small groups of soldiers.

“So, Corporal? You and your section going to make it to the other end?”

“We’ll make it, sir. There’s no question of that.”

Satisfied with the answer, Moorgoth moved forward once more to take his place at the front of the column. He felt good now. His foot would hold up.

“Ready?” he asked his command group.

He waved his hand forward, over his head, and began to march, not run. He kept up a brisk pace, but the soldiers appreciated the fact that they were not running. They needed the break.

They did not stop again until they came to a small forest straddling both sides of the road. As they entered the shade of the trees, they met a group of three women driving a donkey cart, coming the other way. Alarmed at the sight of the soldiers, the women abandoned the cart, jumped over the sides, and ran.

“Catch them!” Moorgoth ordered.

His men caught two of the women easily. The other woman ran like a frightened deer down the road, outdistancing the armor-clad man who chased after her.

“Stop her!” the baron ordered, glancing back.

An archer ran forward. He unslung a longbow, took careful aim and loosed the arrow. It flew through the trees with a whistling sound. The woman suddenly stumbled, then fell flat on her face, an arrow sticking out of her back.

“Good shooting, Corporal. Well done.” Moorgoth complimented the archer. The soldier saluted and went back to his place in the ranks. The baron made a mental note to remember that man. He would get an extra share of the loot.

The sergeants dragged the other two women back to the main body of the army. The women were sobbing, horrified by the slaughter of their companion.

One of the sergeants came forward to ask for orders. “If we let them go, sir, they’ll tell someone they’ve seen us for sure.”

“Kill them,” the baron responded.

The women began to scream and wail. One, an older woman with graying hair, fell to her knees, her hands uplifted in a plea for mercy. At this, the men detailed for the job looked uneasy, fingered their weapons, but didn’t draw them.

“I don’t like this, sir,” said one. “This isn’t what I was hired to do-kill a kid and an old granny.”

“We could bind them, leave them in the forest,” said another.

Moorgoth was furious. They were wasting time. He said nothing, however. He merely looked about for Uwel Lors.

Uwel strode forward. Grabbing hold of the older woman, Uwel flung her down on the ground in front of him, drew his dagger, and grasping hold of her hair, jerked her head back and slit her throat. The younger woman screamed and fainted. This made Uwel’s job easier. He leaned down and cut her throat wide open. Now that the task was done, the two men who had been supposed to carry it out helped Uwel drag the bodies to the side of the road.

Baron Moorgoth made a mental note of these two men. He would have something to say to them later. Rather, Uwel would have something to say to them. Moorgoth waved the troops forward again, leaving the dead where they lay. The bewildered donkey stood with his cart near the road, braying mournfully as the army marched past.

* * * * *

Theros led the column of wagons that followed after the main army. He and Belhesser marched on foot, accompanied by Yuri and the soldiers from the smithy. The wagons rolled along next, followed by the quartermaster’s troops and wagons. The rear guard was made up of sixty soldiers and one officer. The column moved forward at a leisurely pace.

“I can see why they left us to ourselves,” Theros said to Belhesser.

“Yes, we’re much too slow for the main army. They’ll be at the assembly area for the ambush before we’re even halfway there.”

They marched for four miles without taking a break, entered the same forest that the main force had entered an hour or so earlier. Then they saw a donkey cart standing on the side of the road.

“Curious. What do you make of that?” Belhesser said.

He called a halt. The supply wagons were the lifeblood of the army. And though this looked apparently innocent, no one wanted to take a chance. Wizards had been known to use their cunning craft to make objects as innocent-looking as this donkey and cart into deadly traps for the unwary.

“I’ll go forward and check it out.”

Theros hefted his axe, motioned for Yuri and the soldiers to accompany him.

Theros was the first to find the women lying in the ditch. He went over to investigate. Flies buzzed over the bodies that lay in pools of their own blood. One of the women was young, no more than eighteen, perhaps. The other, older woman was either the mother or maybe even the grandmother.

Theros, fearing an ambush, glanced around. He saw nothing, however, heard nothing. The woods were quiet, but that was not unusual, considering the large number of soldiers that had just marched this way. He sent Yuri on down the road, then waved the column forward. The infantry in the rear dashed up to join him, weapons drawn.

The commander stopped when he saw the bodies.

Belhesser, coming up behind him, spoke first. “What do you suppose happened? Surely the baron wasn’t afraid of two women?”

The infantry commander laughed callously. “Baron Moorgoth couldn’t afford to have them running around screeching that they’d seen an army. They could have warned the cursed Solamnic Knights.”

Theros shrugged in agreement. Whatever stirrings of pity he felt, he quickly tamped down. “Bad luck for them. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Yuri came running back down the road. His face was white and it went whiter when he saw the bodies in the ditch. He made a strangled sound, gagged, and turned hastily away.

“What is it, Yuri?” Theros demanded harshly. He could see the others exchanging glances and grinning. He cuffed Yuri on the ear. “Get a hold of yourself,” he said in an undertone. “People are watching!”

Gasping and wiping his lips, Yuri made his report. “There’s another dead woman down the road, there.” He pointed.

“You’re sure she’s dead?”

Yuri nodded, unable to speak.

“Well, then, she’s no threat to us now. We had best move on,” Belhesser ordered.

The infantry and the wagons moved past the bodies in the ditch. At Theros’s order, Yuri cut the donkey loose from its harness. No reason to let it suffer from thirst and starve to death. The donkey trotted off into the woods, glad to run away from the smell of blood and death. They left the cart on the side of the road.

Theros passed the body of the third murdered woman. She had been shot in the back with a longbow-the broken arrow shaft still protruded from her back. She lay in the road where she had fallen. The soldiers had walked right over her. The woman was barely recognizable. Her body was a pulp of bones and blood.

Yuri was looking backward, stumbling as he went. “We should have buried them, at least,” he said in a choked voice.

“No time,” Theros growled.

“I hate this army!” said Yuri suddenly, softly. “I hate the baron. I hope they’re all slaughtered!”

“Stupid hope, boy,” Theros said, glaring at him. “You’ve just wished your own death.”

“I wouldn’t mind much now,” said Yuri. “I don’t feel fit to live.”

Theros said nothing more. He could almost feel the hot, angry breath of Sargas down his back. No minotaur alive would have ever committed such a dishonorable, cowardly act. At that moment, Theros was ashamed of being human.

They marched on.

* * * * *

The baron signaled another halt. They were less than two miles from their destination. It was just past noon sun. If all was going according to plan, the cavalry attack on the village was moving forward at this very moment.

“How do you think they’re doing, sir?” asked Berenek, the standard-bearer. “The cavalry. I hope they’re doing well. My brother is with them.”

Moorgoth slapped the tall man across the back. “I had forgotten that Wirjen Jamaar was your older brother. He’s my best cavalry officer. He will do just fine. Is your family name Jamaar as well?”

“No, sir. My family name is Ibind. Wirjen and I are only half brothers. His father died in a goblin ambush before I was born. My mother remarried.”

They were interrupted by a messenger running back from the front lines. It took several moments for the man to catch his breath. “Sir, I am to show you where to meet Sergeant Jogoth. We’ve got the area all scouted out. You can see the town from where we are.”

The baron was very interested. “And how’s the cavalry attack going? Could you see it?”

“It looks as if the cavalry has broken into the town. We could hear fighting in the town-probably the town guard-but we couldn’t see anything.”

“No sign of the knights?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

Moorgoth ordered the men to return to a run. They moved more slowly than when they had first started out. They were all tired. Still, the faster they deployed, the more time they would have to rest, and the more fit they would be when they hit the enemy.

The baron picked up the pace. “Come on, you bastards, hurry up!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

He didn’t bother to look back to know that everyone was keeping pace with him. They would follow him at a sprint, if they had to. All knew that to disobey would bring down the wrath of Uwel Lors.

The scout ran beside the baron. After the first mile, the ground began to slope. A large hill stood to the left. They headed down to the wooded bottom of the river basin.

The soldier pointed. “That forest there, sir. That’s where we enter. On the other side, about five hundred yards across, you can see the town. There’s nobody out here. They’re all in the town fighting, I suppose. We scoured the area pretty thoroughly but we found no traces of anyone. They’re either not here or they’re really good at hiding.”

They slowed to a jog, and finally to a march when they entered the forest. Leaving the road, they moved through the trees. As the baron entered the woods, another scout came out from behind a tree.

“Sir! Over here, sir.” The sergeant motioned for the baron to join him. The first scout continued to lead the rest of the force through the forest.

The sergeant held out a map, drawn with charcoal on a piece of smooth tree bark. “Here’s the layout, sir. Tell me if you want anything changed.”

The crudely and hastily sketched map showed the town and the edge of the tree line. The road entered the town about a thousand yards past its exit from the trees. The first and second brigades of infantry were to move into line in the woods, with the archers deployed forward, at the edge of the trees. The command group was shown in the middle.

“Yes, this is fine, Sergeant. When you’ve finished moving the troops into position, assemble your men, and set up near the road. When our cavalry comes through, stop them and have them form on the other side of the forest, near the road. I want them ready to dash back up that road in a hurry. Send Captain Jamaar to me. Carry on, Sergeant.”

The troops were still moving through the woods and into position. Everyone was quiet, too tired to talk. The last run had taken its toll. Now, at least, they had time to catch their breath. Moorgoth returned their salutes as the soldiers moved past him.

Finally, the rear guard advanced. They were the last company of the second brigade. The company commander saluted as he came up to the baron.

“Sir, we’re the last of them. We left sixty-one soldiers behind on the road today. Most dropped from exhaustion. They should be picked up by the wagons. We didn’t see nobody followin’ us, sir.”

Sixty-one people hadn’t been able to take the killing pace, had fallen out of ranks. Still, that wasn’t bad for an infantry force this size. Not bad at all. Any comparably sized army would have lost three times that number, or more. Nevertheless, Moorgoth would ensure that those sixty-one people were flogged and lost pay. He wasn’t paying for soldiers who couldn’t keep up.

The baron followed the last company through the woods, and turned off to find his command group. They would be facing the town.

The fluttering red flag indicated his tent.

The baron, spotting it, was highly displeased.

“Berenek, get that flag under wraps. I don’t want someone from that town seeing a red flag in these woods. Don’t bring it out again until I order a move. Now, pass the word down the lines, right and left. I want to see senior officers here in ten minutes.”

The waiting game was on. The trap was set. Would the Solamnics take the bait?