Theros Ironfield

Chapter 24

Theros entered the food tent with his bowl in hand. Theldon Sarger and Belhesser Vankjad sat at a table to one side. The rest of the tent was filled with workers and soldiers employed by the commissary, quartermaster and smithy. His four assistants were sitting with women from the commissary, laughing and drinking, happy to be away from their duties for a while.

Theros went to join them. The soldiers, seeing him approach, jumped to their feet.

Theros waved them down. “No, that’s all right. Stay seated. Have a good time tonight. Don’t worry about the forge. I’ve posted Yuri on sentry duty at the forge tonight. He’ll wake one of you at sunrise to take over.”

Erela answered for the group. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

Theros turned back to the officers’ table.

Belhesser looked up. “Ah, Theros, I was wondering where you had gotten to. We saved you some food and wine.”

The officer handed Theros a goblet full of rich red wine. Theros accepted it and sat down with the others.

Cheldon leaned back in his chair. He looked up at Theros. “I saw you over with the prisoners. I trust you were just there to make certain that their chains were still good and tight.”

“I took them some water,” Theros answered, refusing to lie. “They fought well, from what I’ve heard. They were suffering from thirst.”

Belhesser frowned, displeased. He stared hard at Theros. “It’ll all be the same when Baron Moorgoth puts them through their paces. They’ll wish they were never born on the face of Ansalon after tonight!” He laughed.

Theros nodded. “I suspect you’re right.”

Hoping this would end the conversation, he dug into his food. Two helpings later, he felt better. The wine was starting to take the edge off the day. He pushed the whole issue of the knights out of his mind, while he tried to work out a way to deal with Yuri’s disappearance.

It was getting late. Outside, he could hear the sounds of drunken revelry. Inside, the men were just as loud.

Cheldon nudged Theros. “Cheer up, man! Have s’more wine.” He was working hard at getting drunk. “Don’t sit there and sulk. What’s the matter with you?”

Theros realized he’d been sitting, brooding in silence for an hour, on a night when he should be celebrating. He attempted to make conversation. “I heard that today was a stunning victory for the baron!”

Belhesser nodded, waved his wineglass in the air, sloshing the liquid all over himself. “Damned right. I heard that we inflicted over fifteen hundred casualties today. We had only one hundred dead and another hundred wounded. That’s incredible, considering that most of the Solamnic force was mounted knights!”

Cheldon agreed. “They must have really been surprised when ol’ Dargon showed up with an army nearly three times the size of their army!”

They all laughed, Theros included.

“Yes, it must have really been a fine sight to see. Captain Ibind told me that they used the forest to break the cavalry charge. Moorgoth feinted with a battle line in front of the woods, but then had them dive into the cover of the brush when the cavalry came too close. The knights stopped cold, their horses refused to budge. Our boys ran right back out of the woods, and the fight was on! I even heard-”

The sound of a man screaming in agony shattered the night and the merriment. Inside the tent, everyone stopped talking. The scream came again. They all stared at one another. Theros tried to look as if he were as baffled as the rest.

“Maybe the fun started early,” Belhesser suggested.

At that moment, Uwel Lors came bursting through the far tent flap.

He strode up to the officers’ table and saluted. “Sirs, I have to report that several of the prisoners have escaped.”

“Then what the devil was that yell?” Belhesser demanded.

“Ah, sir. Some of the prisoners didn’t quite make it. They had a wounded man with them, you see, and-instead of abandoning him-a few of the fools stayed with him. Now, sir, I have received information that one of you was seen speaking with the prisoners earlier this evening. Is that true?”

Belhesser and Cheldon both looked over at Theros.

Theros stood up. He cleared his throat. “Yes, it is true. I took them water earlier this evening.”

“And did you notice any of them missing then?” Uwel asked, flicking the handle of his whip casually against his leg.

“No, all twenty were there.” Theros shrugged. “They must have escaped after that. How many got away?”

Uwel eyed Theros in suspicion. “I’m going to have to report this to Baron Moorgoth. Fifteen of the knights have escaped. Five were recaptured. We will make an example out of them.”

As if to emphasize his point, another scream echoed across the camp.

Uwel saluted again, then left the tent.

Belhesser turned to Theros. “Thanks a lot!” He was bitter. “You’re under my command. What were you thinking?”

“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble. I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll tell Moorgoth it was my fault and I’ll resign,” Theros offered.

Belhesser continued to look grim. “If you had anything to do with those knights escaping, you won’t be given a chance to resign. It’ll be the Abyss for you. Those knights will get off lucky, compared to what Moorgoth will do to you and probably to me, too. Maybe I can go head off Lors, come up with some sort of excuse.”

The shocking sound of the scream and the knowledge of his own danger had sobered up Belhesser. Glaring at Theros, the officer rose from the table and dashed out of the tent.

Theros rose. He didn’t want to go out there, but he was afraid that it would look suspicious if he didn’t. He glanced over at Cheldon.

“You coming?”

The scream had badly unnerved the officer. He was gulping down more wine. Shivering, looking sick, he shook his head. He managed a strained smile.

“N-no. I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Baking bread. That’s what I do.” He gazed up at Theros. “Don’t tell anyone though. Will you?” He gulped more wine.

Theros walked out of the tent and into a scene straight from a nightmare.

The five knights were strapped to large wooden tripods. Each man’s wrists had been tied together, then hung over the center joint of the tripod. Their legs had been spread apart and tied to two of the tripod’s legs. Their armor and outer clothing had been removed. They were clad in just breechcloths and undershirts.

One of the knights had already been tortured. He sagged limp on his tripod. His face was battered almost to a pulp. His shirt was soaked with blood.

Baron Dargon Moorgoth was addressing the troops. “We’ve won a great victory today, but at a high cost. Many of our comrades suffer from wounds inflicted by these knights. Many of our good friends are dead. It’s too bad that their comrades were so unknightly as to play the coward and run away. But these will be made to pay the price.”

A soldier took a burning brand from a nearby fire and brought it forward. Uwel Lors took the brand.

“Time for a little fun!” Uwel announced.

He walked to the unconscious knight and held the flame under the man’s left foot. Suddenly, the knight’s head jerked back. He screamed and tried to move his foot out of the flame. The ropes held fast.

Even though he was some distance away, Theros could smell the stench of burning flesh. It sickened him, but it pleased the drunken crowd. They yelled for more.

Uwel took the brand and turned to the next knight. By the light of the flame, Theros could recognize Sir Richard.

Of course, he had stayed with his command, remained behind with the wounded knight, though he knew full well what his fate would be.

“Sargas honor him,” Theros said quietly. “And grant him a swift death.”

Uwel lit the knight’s loincloth on fire. Sir Richard tried to twist right and left to get away from the searing flame, but to no avail. The skin was bubbling and melting, finally turning black all around his midriff. He tried bravely to stifle his agony, but the pain was more than he could bear. His screams caused the drunken men to laugh more loudly. Mercifully, as far as Theros was concerned, the knight soon lost consciousness.

The crowd loved the show. Uwel moved from knight to knight, burning their feet, hands and undergarments. The first knight didn’t move. Theros guessed he was dead. Uwel took his fighting knife and slit the man’s stomach. The body lurched and strained, but the knight never regained awareness. Within moments, the body stopped twitching. The knight’s soul had moved on to whatever god awaited him.

The torture lasted for another hour. Three knights were still alive, all of them writhing and twisting in their bonds. The sight was ghastly.

Theros could take no more of it. His stomach clenched. He’d seen man and minotaur die in battle and never felt as sick as this. His only solace was that he had warned Sir Richard in time, and the knight commander had taken his warning and acted upon it. Fifteen knights had escaped and had, hopefully, found their way into the forest, where Yuri and Telera could guide them.

Theros pushed his way through the crowd of soldiers. He needed water, needed to wash out the taste and smell of blood. He stumbled over to a water barrel, took a drink and was immediately sorry. He bent over double, vomiting, every heave accentuated by a scream from one of the knights who still hung on their tripods.

At length, when he had nothing more in his stomach, Theros straightened, drew in a deep breath. He washed his mouth out with water, splashed water on his burning face. He took one last look back in time to see Uwel swing a long sword, chopping deep into Sir Richard’s neck. Blood sprayed out over Uwel. Covered in gore, he laughed. Sir Richard hung limp. The knight was dead. All the knights were now dead.

Theros knew his soul would never forgive him for the sights he had witnessed, that they would torment him in dreams for the rest of his life.

He went back to the commissary tent, stumbling like a man in need of more wine.