Theros Ironfield

Chapter 23

Baron Moorgoth was elated with the turn of events. The town was his for the plundering. He would see to it that the townspeople rued the day they had dared to cross him. He would avenge his lost men.

The sun was setting slowly in the western sky. There were still wounded on the field, but none were from Moorgoth’s army. They had been located and carried into the woods, to be later transported back to the encampment.

The Solamnic wounded were damned to the Abyss, as far as Dargon Moorgoth was concerned. Those who escaped the wrath of his men could suffer all through the night and the following day. Let them fend for themselves. He called his officers to meet with him on the edge of the forest.

“All right, gentlemen, very good work. I congratulate you. Well done! I want the first brigade to set up a picket line around the town tonight. Nobody in, nobody out, under pain of death. If there are any men in this army who want to get a head start on pillaging, they hang in the morning.

“I can’t afford any more casualties. I need this army ready to fight. This is just the first town, the first battle. We’ve got a whole season of campaigning to do, and only six or seven weeks before winter sets in. Tell the men to be patient. We’ll get our loot, all right, but we’ll do it on my orders. Now, how many prisoners do we have?”

Berenek Ibind was in charge of the army standard and the command group. The baron’s bodyguards were holding the prisoners.

“Sir, we hold only twenty knights. The rest were wounded and were dispatched.”

The baron rubbed his hands together. “Good. At least we shall have some sport tonight. Move the second and third brigades back to the camp set up beyond that second hill. Make sure that the commissary crew takes hot food out to the first brigade tonight. They’ll have a long night of it.”

The officers saluted and went back to their commands. Soon, orders were being shouted all over the field. The first brigade began to deploy around the town, keeping a distance of at least two hundred yards between the nearest building and their picket line. The plan was to set up roadblocks at either end of the town, on the roads leading in and out. No one was to leave that night. Any citizen foolish enough to try to do so would be searched for weapons, roughed up a bit, then sent back home.

The second and third brigades headed for the site of the camp. Among these were the command group, bringing with them the twenty prisoners. The knights were tied by the wrists and ankles and had been disarmed.

Moorgoth let them keep their armor. It was heavy and would increase the difficulty of their march.

* * * * *

Theros looked up to see a column appear over the hill. The army was back! His smithy was set up, but the fire was not yet started in the forge.

“Yuri, hurry up with the wood!” he yelled at his assistant, who was struggling with a load of slumak bark and wood.

Theros had set up the grates above the fireplace to heat the metal. Two large barrels of water stood to one side to temper the metal.

Yuri stumbled into the tent and threw the wood down. He began to stack the wood up near the edge of the tent, away from the fire. The last thing they needed was the cordwood catching fire and taking the whole smithy with it.

“We’ll be mending weapons all night, it seems,” Theros commented, hoping to draw Yuri into conversation.

Yuri didn’t even look at Theros. He just turned and went back out into the twilight to collect more wood. The other soldiers came in and stacked their bark and wood, too. Erela-the soldier that Theros had come to know best-entered last.

Theros had already laid a bed of coal rocks. Over them, he had placed twigs and leaves. Now came the slumak-a very hard wood. It took a long time to catch fire, but once caught, it burned long and hot.

Theros and Erela were still building the fire when the second brigade marched past the tent, on their way through to the opposite side of camp, where they would set up their tents. The soldiers looked worn, but pleased with themselves. They had won, and nothing cured minor wounds like winning. They would be well paid. They would start celebrating as soon as their tents were pitched.

The unloaded commissary wagons, pulled by draft horses, headed to the battlefield to carry the wounded back to the camp.

Under Theros’s care, the fire started. The flaps of the tent’s chimney were tied back to allow the smoke and heat to escape. Yuri had attached a metal skirt around the hole to protect the canvas from getting too hot and bursting into flame. Theros stoked the fire, and for a time, forgot his troubles.

The flames danced, weaving in and out, merging, parting, them coming together again, reminding him of two lovers. He thought of Yuri and Telera. Theros thought back to Marissa.

His heart soared as he remembered his night with her. She was almost a dream to him, a shining moment in a bleak existence. He remembered her kiss at parting. She had made it clear to everyone that she liked him. Maybe she even loved him.

“So what makes me any different from anyone else?” he asked himself. “Why should she choose me? Certainly not for my looks!” He chuckled some at this.

He’d never thought much about his appearance, until he started living among humans. Among minotaurs, ugliness was equated with prowess in battle. Scars and lumps were badges of honor. A slit nostril, a torn and tattered ear, missing teeth-these were outward signs of a proud warrior and were much admired by minotaur females.

Among humans, Theros had been astonished to learn that women liked men with smooth skin, unbroken noses and hands that weren’t rough and calloused. He had led a hard life, one that had left its marks on his body. He carried scars from battle-not only battles with men, but also those with his work. When he looked at his dusky face in the shaving mirror, he was always displeased with himself.

His nose had been broken more than once. He’d lost a front tooth during a “discipline” session on board the minotaur ship. Part of his hair had been singed off during a fire and would never grow back. Thinking himself ugly, Theros had managed to convince people he was ugly.

But he’d seen a new side of himself reflected in Marissa’s eyes. It had never occurred to him that women might be able to see beneath the scars and the roughness, to see the dreams and longings of his soul. He had found himself sharing such things with Marissa during that night. She had listened, been interested in him. He had even told her his dream of seeing the god Sargas. She had not laughed, as he had expected.

Yuri’s voice, talking to someone outside the tent, disturbed Theros’s reverie, then became a part of it.

Yuri was nearly the same age as Theros had been when he had won his freedom from the minotaurs and had been granted the capability to forge his own life. Yuri didn’t have that choice. He was not a slave, yet he didn’t seem much better off than Theros had been. Theros realized suddenly, ruefully, that it was easier to yell at Yuri, to hit Yuri, to force Yuri into obedience, than it was to talk to Yuri, reason with him, discuss things.

Theros thought of the girl, Telera, the girl Yuri loved.

Yuri had the right to feel the same way about a woman that Theros felt, but the young man had to learn that there was a time and place for everything-even romance. What if this girl were a spy? The inexperienced and naive Yuri would be an easy target for seduction. And even if this relationship were all perfectly innocent, it looked very bad.

“It cannot continue,” Theros told himself. “It’s a matter of discipline.” But perhaps he should try to talk again to Yuri, explain why it was bad, rather than just order him to quit seeing the girl.

And that brought Theros in a circle back to Marissa. He smiled. When he had served his time in this army, when he felt he had repaid Moorgoth’s investment in him, Theros would go straight back to Sanction, straight back to Marissa.

The sound of shouts and jeers woke Theros from his musings. He looked out of the tent to see the bodyguards from the command group marching into the center of the camp. They brought with them the twenty prisoner knights, tied together to form a human chain. Weary, the men stumbled over the rough terrain.

So this is our enemy, Theros thought.

He had heard nothing good about the Knights of Solamnia. The minotaurs had no use for them, claiming that the knights had lost all honor because they’d been given the chance to stop the Cataclysm and had failed, or some such tale. But these knights had, from what Theros had heard, acquitted themselves well.

He came out of his tent to get a better look at them. The bodyguards dragged the prisoners to the center of the enclosure made by the wagons and tents. There, they hammered a large stake and tied the chained knights to it.

“Stand at attention, you dogs,” one of the sergeants yelled.

Most of the knights remained standing proudly, but one-wounded, perhaps-slumped to his knees. The sergeant walked over, kicked the man in the face.

The soldiers laughed, jeering and throwing food scraps at the prisoners. Theros was appalled. By all accounts, the knights had fought valiantly. Among the minotaurs, if a foe has fought well in combat, that foe is honored, not tormented and abused.

The knights were trying to assist their fallen comrade. The sergeant started to kick the man again. He found Theros’s huge hand engulfing his arm.

Theros glared at the sergeant. “These men are thirsty. Bring them water.”

The sergeant glowered back. “Those weren’t Moorgoth’s orders, sir.”

“Those are my orders,” Theros returned.

The sergeant didn’t like it, but Theros was a senior officer. Saluting, the sergeant stalked off.

Theros helped the wounded knight to a seated position, assisting him to rest comfortably against the stake. By taking note of which knight the others looked to, Theros determined which one was the senior officer.

Curious to talk with these knights, Theros questioned the man.

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

The knight cast Theros a bitter, hate-filled glance. At first, it seemed the man would not answer, but then-perhaps reflecting that Theros deserved something for having halted the torment of the wounded man-the knight replied.

“Richard Strongmail, Knight of the Order of the Kingfisher of the Knights of Solamnia.” The knight spoke his name and rank proudly, despite the fact that he was a prisoner, in chains.

Memories of another battle, another defeat, were strong in Theros’s mind.

“I am Captain Theros Ironfeld. I am the master smith of this army. Tell me, Knight of Solamnia, why are you here?”

The knight was scornful. “If you are referring to why we fought today, it was because the Solamnic Order had pledged its own in the defense of the town of Neugardj from the attack of Moorgoth and you thieves.”

Theros didn’t relish being called a thief, but he let it pass. He didn’t feel he had much to say in his own defense.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Theros said. “I mean why did you allow yourselves to be made prisoners?” Minotaurs would have died fighting, if they’d had the chance.

“I was bested on the battlefield,” the knight replied, “and I surrendered when it became clear that I would fight only to my death. There is no honor in fighting a lost battle. Vengeance is not a trait of my order.”

Theros rubbed his chin. “So you surrendered yourself. You didn’t get knocked out and wake up a prisoner?”

“On my oath, no! I surrendered, and surrendered what was left of my command.” Sir Richard’s eyes flashed. “I was assured that we would be treated honorably. My men have not eaten nor drunk water since the battle. Are we to be starved to death or made to die of thirst? Is that the way you treat your captives?”

Theros was displeased. Prisoners they were, but they were not animals. Even animals should be given water.

“It is not right,” Theros said. “I will see what I can do.”

Sir Richard eyed Theros with more respect than he’d done at first. “Thank you,” he muttered, and turned back to his men.

Theros left, walked across the field to the commissary tent.

Most of the men and women of the second brigade were through the food line, and the third brigade and the cavalry were beginning to line up.

Theros entered the tent where the food was being served. The smell was wonderful. They had cooked up a hearty stew with lots of meat and vegetables. Loaves of fresh bread were stacked on a table. The soldiers came through, had their bowls filled, then grabbed hunks of bread. They headed out the far side of the tent to eat and drink. The wine had already been distributed. It was a night of celebration.

Theros found Cheldon Sarger standing just outside the tent, keeping an eye on his command.

“Ah, Theros. Good to see you. I’ve set aside a pot of stew and some loaves for the logistics company. We’ll eat in here, away from the flies and bugs. Bring your men over when you’re ready. Oh, I’ve been saving a few bottles of good wine from the barracks in Gargath.” Cheldon winked. “I think we deserve a few to celebrate!”

“Sure, thanks, Cheldon. Say, I’m sorry about losing my temper over that affair with my assistant. I was worried about the boy, that’s all. I’ll bring my men back, but first I was wondering if I could get some food, at least some bread, for the prisoners?”

Cheldon Sarger looked at Theros as if he had suddenly grown three heads. “Food! Prisoners! What for? They sure aren’t going to need food where they’re going!”

Theros didn’t understand. “What do you mean? Aren’t we going to ransom them back to their kin?”

Cheldon laughed. “And get what for them? Those knights are poor as rats, most of them. No, we’ll have some fun tonight. I heard from Captain Ibind that these knights aren’t going to last the night. They’re to be this evening’s after-dinner entertainment! Great fun, eh?”

Theros couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly. Moorgoth was going to torture these prisoners!

“They need water, at least,” Theros growled. “I can’t believe that Baron Moorgoth would allow such a thing. I just can’t.”

But Theros could believe it. That was the problem. Unfortunately, this news about Baron Moorgoth didn’t surprise him all that much.

“Just remember that to the victor go the spoils, and tonight, we’re victorious!” Cheldon spoke loudly. “Bring your lads around in about an hour.” This said, he drew Theros off to one side, continued in a low voice, “Look, I don’t like this ‘entertainment’ business any more than you do. But what can we do to stop it? I say we stay in here and eat and drink ourselves into a pleasant stupor.”

Theros mumbled an agreement, turned and left. Cheldon was right. If Theros protested or tried to protect the prisoners, Moorgoth would suspect the smith of being a traitor. He might even figure that Theros was the spy.

Head bowed, lost in thought, Theros wasn’t watching where he was going. When he fell over a tent peg, he looked around, found himself among the tents of the women. He turned on his heel to make a quick departure, when he heard voices coming from one of the tents.

Theros recognized one of the voices.

“We’ll escape tonight,” a voice said, “when everyone’s drunk …”

Theros walked up to the tent, ripped open the flap.

Frightened eyes stared back at him. Yuri and Telera, seated together inside the tent, shrank back at the sight of Theros’s anger.

“What is the meaning of this?” Theros demanded.

Yuri jumped to his feet, came surging forward, put himself between Theros and Telera.

“I’m the spy, sir. I confess it. Take me away. I’ll-”

“No, don’t, Yuri!” Telera was on her feet, too, clinging to Yuri.

He attempted to say something, to argue. She shook her head, stepped in front of him and faced Theros.

“I am the spy, sir. I’m the one you want. Let Yuri go. He didn’t know anything about it. I’ll swear to that-”

Yuri started protesting. Telera was shaking her head.

“Shut up!” Theros said in a low, impassioned voice.

Both of them, startled, fell silent.

Theros raised the tent flap, peered cautiously back outside. No one was around. He lowered it again, turned-seething-to the two in front of him.

“Tell me the truth, damn you,” he said.

Telera licked her lips, swallowed. But her voice was strong and steady. “I am the daughter of a knight. My father was murdered by Baron Moorgoth and his men when they raided our castle. I escaped by hiding in the woods. When I came back home, I found the bodies …”

She blinked her eyes. Yuri took hold of her hand.

After a moment, Telera continued. “I swore revenge on Moorgoth. But I’m a female and am not trained as a warrior. What could I do? I decided I would join his band, and whenever I could, get word to my father’s friends about what the army was doing, how many men it numbered. I used Yuri to get information. He didn’t know-”

“I found out, sir,” Yuri added. “I was glad to be able to help, even though Telera didn’t want to put me in danger. And I’ll keep on being glad, no matter what they do to me. Only please, sir, see to it that no harm comes to Telera.”

“I’ll die at their hands before I’d leave without Yuri!” Telera said firmly. “I could not die in better company than with Yuri and the gallant knights. My only regret,” she added bitterly, “is that I failed. Moorgoth and his army live still.”

“Not all of them. Not by a long shot. At least you’ve accomplished that much,” Theros muttered the words and he hadn’t realized he’d spoken them aloud until he saw the two looking at him with dawning hope.

“Do you mean that, sir?” Yuri could scarcely talk.

Theros didn’t answer. He was thinking. “Listen, Telera, do you know your way around this countryside?”

“Yes, sir. I was born and raised not far from here.”

“You could find your way, even in the darkness?”

“Yes, sir. And it won’t be that dark tonight. The moonlight will be bright enough to walk by.”

“Good. On the other side of the hill is a line of trees. No one’s around. You won’t have a better chance. Head for those trees. Wait there. You’ll be joined by others.”

“By you, sir?” Yuri was gazing at Theros with the respect and admiration Theros had long sought from his apprentice. “Will you meet us, sir? You’ll be in danger yourself if they discover that I’ve gone.”

“Never mind me. Do what you’re told for once in your life.” Theros growled, but he smiled at the same time.

“Yes, sir,” Yuri said softly. “Sir, I want to thank-”

“No time.” Theros cut him off. “Belhesser will be looking for us. I’ll cover for you. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Telera rested her hand briefly, hesitantly, on Theros’s big arm.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, simply.

Theros grunted and nodded. Then, lifting the flap, he went back outside, looked around. No one was nearby. He motioned for the two to come.

Yuri took Telera’s hand, and together they slipped out of the tent and dashed into the forest. Theros waited for a moment to be sure that they had made good their escape, then he turned back to his smithy. He had the feeling that, no matter what happened, he would never see Yuri again. Theros wished him and Telera well.

At the smithy, the soldiers were sitting around, waiting for the chance to eat. Theros waved his hand.

“Go on, men. Get in line. We’re to eat inside the commissary tent tonight with the quartermaster’s staff. He’s saved some wine for us, too.”

The soldiers jumped up, grabbed their bowls, and rushed off to get in the food line.

Theros took his own cup and dropped it into one of the buckets sitting beside the water barrels. He filled the bucket and walked out of the tent. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. On the far side, he could see campfires, with men sitting around them, eating and drinking and celebrating.

No one was paying attention to the prisoners in the center. There was no need. The knights had given their word of honor that they would not try to escape. Moorgoth respected the knights’ word, even though he obviously thought them fools for making such an absurd promise. The baron would teach them their folly tonight.

Perhaps the knights are fools, Theros thought, but only because they believe that other men are as honorable as themselves.

Carrying the bucket of water, Theros walked up to the knights. Most had cast off their metal breastplates and other armor. Theros went to Sir Richard, who looked up warily.

“Here, take a drink,” Theros said.

The knight grabbed the cup from Theros’s hand and drank it dry. He passed the cup to the next knight, who refilled it from the bucket. One of the knights held the cup to the lips of the injured man.

Sir Richard was on his feet. “Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “Perhaps you can tell us what’s going on. No one has spoken to us about ransom or prisoner exchange-”

Theros interrupted. “That’s why I am here. There will be no ransom. No exchange. Tonight, you and your men are to be made a form of ‘entertainment’ for the troops. I think you can guess what that means.”

By the grim look on his face, it was clear Sir Richard knew what was in store for him and his men. “Baron Moorgoth promised-”

“He is a man without honor,” Theros said, ashamed. “As an officer in this army, I cannot stop what he means to do to you, but as a man of honor, I cannot condone it. I advise you to do whatever is in your power to preserve your command. I know you’ve given your word to an officer that you will not escape. Well, I’m an officer, and I release you from your word.”

“Are you suggesting that we-” Sir Richard began.

Theros halted him. “I wish you well and hope that Sargas sees you through the night. If you happen to be walking around over by that line of trees, you’ll find people there who can aid you. You can trust them.”

Theros turned and walked away quickly.

He entered his tent. He’d done what he could for the knights. They were on their own now. All Theros had to do was make certain that no one noticed Yuri was missing for at least a day or so. As Belhesser had said, Moorgoth would be in a good mood following his victory. He wouldn’t be worrying about spies now.

Picking up his bowl, Theros left for the commissary tent.