by Perrin, Don
They were still moving as night began to fall. Theros left Huluk by a tree and looked around for a place to conceal a fire.
The trees changed to pine and spruce in this area. The flat land gave way to gentle, rolling hills. As they drew closer to the coast, the hills would be greater. There was no stream.
Theros found wood. The tinderbox in his pocket was all they needed to start the fire. They both drank from the waterskin. Huluk took the skin back for a second drink.
“I will take the watch tonight. You are still wounded and need the sleep.” Theros said.
Huluk handed the skin back. “No, we will both sleep tonight. Let the fire burn out. We are far enough away by now that no elf will find us.” Then Huluk added, with a wry smile, “If the elves find us, lad, they will miss Nevek.”
Theros understood. If they were indeed being hunted, they were to be the decoys.
He stacked up the fire. Huluk lay down on his side, and almost immediately went to sleep. Theros lay down, but he stared at the small sparks rising above the fire, wondering what it really meant to be free.
Chapter 11
Theros awoke with a start. The fire had gone out. Only embers remained.
A very distant scream, one of terror and pain, had stopped as suddenly as it had started. It was so distant. Theros had no idea from which direction it had come.
He sat up, hurriedly tossed dirt and sand over the glowing embers. Could it be elves? Who was doing the screaming?
Theros continued to listen. His nerves were stretched. He could feel his heart beat, hard and strong, the adrenaline keeping him awake and alert.
The scream came again and now sounded quite close. Theros was on his feet, Nevek’s axe swaying gently back and forth, waiting. Huluk was awake, too, propped up on his side. A red glow erupted from behind them. Theros turned around. The glow intensified. A tree was burning. He saw, in silhouette, a body flailing, black against the flames, but he heard no sound.
As suddenly as it had appeared, the red glow vanished, as if the tree’s flame had been snuffed out.
Sorcery. It had to be.
Theros crouched, afraid to move, not knowing what might leap out at him from the darkness. And then, the flapping of the wings of a huge bird, black in the night, nearly bowled Theros over. The bird came and was gone. A red glow shimmered where the bird had vanished. Theros was reminded of something, vague childhood terrors came back to him.
He maintained his crouched stance and waited. The attack was sure to come.
After a good hour of silence, the sounds of the woods began to return. Crickets began to chirp, leaves rustled in the wind. Huluk had fallen back to sleep. Puzzled and tired, Theros sat back down, rubbing the knots in his aching legs. He leaned against a tree, the axe across his lap, but he stayed awake until daylight.
The sun was nearly halfway up the trees before Theros dared to move. With the light, his courage began to revive. He stood up, looked around and woke Huluk.
“What is it?” Huluk asked in an urgent tone. Then he sighed. “Oh, it is morning.” He rolled gingerly onto his stomach, then stood.
“We had visitors last night,” Huluk said, recalling the incident. “Very strange. Did you find out who it was?”
Theros shook his head no. “I did not leave your side. I saw a tree on fire and a body and a … well, that’s not important. Now that you are awake, I’m going to search for tracks just up the hill.”
“Wait, help me. I will come with you.”
They did not search long before they found the site. Blood had been spattered everywhere. An elf’s body was propped up against a tree. Its arms and legs were missing. The eyes had been pecked out.
The two stood staring for several moments.
“An elf scout. He must have seen us, but he certainly didn’t report back. What exactly did you see?” Huluk demanded.
“I saw a red glow, then a bird,” Theros answered reluctantly, afraid he would not be believed. “It flew past me. But surely a bird could not have done this!”
Huluk lowered his voice. “Not a bird. It was Sargas. He came to answer my prayers of vengeance against the elves, to aid our cause. I have been blessed by a sign from my god. We are to continue our fight.”
“Sargas?” Theros asked. “Surely you cannot believe that Sargas came here to save us from elf scouts …”
Theros’s words died away. Memory returned clearly. The first night after he had been taken into slavery. The giant black bird glowing red in the night, flying above the ship and swooping down.
Theros murmured to himself. “It was real. He does exist. Honor, I remember.”
Huluk placed his hand on Theros’s shoulder. “Feel blessed. Sargas, the god of the minotaurs, must find us worthy. To be saved by him is a great honor.”
Theros helped Huluk back to their camp. They drank the remaining water, picked up their possessions and headed back down the road.
Several minutes later, they came across two more elves, both killed in the same manner as the first. Sheer terror was mirrored in their faces, their features locked in the scream they had never finished.
The two travelers did not tarry long. They continued on. Three hours later, they took a break. Theros thought he heard running water, and went in search of it. Sure enough, he returned in ten minutes with a filled waterskin and several large mushrooms.
“Here, eat!” he said to Huluk.
The minotaur gave the mushrooms a scathing glance, shook his head. “Without meat, I cannot eat such things. My stomach would reject them. I will be fine as long as I get meat in the next day or two. Here, give me some of that fresh water.”
Theros handed over the skin, then wolfed down the mushrooms. They settled the growls in his stomach.
“Do you really think that was Sargas back there?”
Huluk handed the skin back. “Yes, I am sure. We all have been taught the signs. He appears to our enemies first, blazing a path of terror before him. It is said that he always exacts some form of revenge for the defeat of a minotaur on the field of battle. When he appears to his own kind, he is seen as a bird—”
“—glowing red but appearing black,” Theros finished. “That is what I saw last night.”
Huluk looked incredulously at the human. “So you said, but I couldn’t believe it. You saw Sargas, too? Are you a believer of Sargas? You would have to be, or he would not have shown himself to you. There have been very few actual sightings of Sargas. All have been chronicled in the great books by the followers. I know of no incident, though, in which a human witnessed such an event. And lived to tell of it, of course,” Huluk added offhandedly.
They continued down the road. Huluk was having more and more difficulty keeping up. The wound stayed sealed, but the pain was intensifying. His muscles and joints were stiffening. Without proper cleaning and salves, the wound could putrify again.
An hour later, they had to stop for Huluk to rest. Huluk took another drink from the skin, but lowered it quickly. He pointed into the forest.
“I saw movement. It could be another elven patrol. Leave me here and circle around, and see what you can find out.”
Theros tried in vain to see anything. Taking the axe, he circled into the brush. He moved forward, half crawling, half running, bending over to conceal himself.
He stopped when he saw movement ahead. A large figure was peering out from behind a tree. The horns sticking out of the side of his head showed him to be a minotaur. Breathing a sigh of relief, Theros stood up. The minotaur’s eyes widened. He reached out with his axe held high, ready to strike.
Theros dropped his axe. “Stop! Stop! I am on your side! Stop!” he cried in the minotaur’s own language.
His pleas were echoed from behind the first minotaur. Another minotaur voice shouted, “Stop!”
The first minotaur halted, looked up the road. Nevek stood on the roadway, out of breath with his exertion. His wrists were manacled. “This is the human that aided Commander Huluk. He carries my axe!�
� Nevek motioned.
Ten more minotaurs emerged from the trees and walked forward, each with his weapon at the ready.
One of the minotaurs glared suspiciously at Theros. “If that is true, where is the commander?”
Huluk appeared, limping through the trees. “Here. Good to see you again, Nevek.” He turned to face the suspicious minotaur. “You see, Nevek didn’t murder me and make off in the night. You could learn much about trust and honor from this human.”
The other minotaurs bowed at the approach of the officer. Huluk’s horns were wider than the rest. His medallions showed him to be a skilled warrior.
“Commander, it is good to find you alive!” said one of the minotaurs.
Huluk chuckled. “I take it that you found Nevek here, running down the road. He carried my axe with him and you naturally assumed that he had murdered me and made off with my fine weapon. He had deserted from the Third Army, and you were keen enough to catch him. Is that it?”
The junior officer nodded his head slightly. He was the one now carrying Huluk’s axe. “Yes, sir. Well, not exactly, sir. Surely no one could expect me to send part of my patrol back to the village to report on the warrior’s wild story of the Third Army being completely wiped out, and to ask us to believe that a human slave who is not a slave was helping you to escape the elves?”
If Huluk had been well, he would have bashed the young officer across the jaw and sent him sprawling. Instead, he growled in high displeasure. “All of what Nevek has told you is true. And take those manacles off of my officer!”
The other minotaurs grunted and shook their horned heads. One removed Nevek’s manacles. All looked incredulous.
“No, listen,” Huluk continued, “I believe that Nevek and I, along with this human, are the only survivors of the army. The elves tricked us, routed us completely. Send your best runner back to the village to update the garrison commander. Tell Blevros that I am alive and not as well as I could be, but better than the elves had planned. Tell him that the army has been defeated, and to make whatever preparations he has been ordered to make by the Supreme Circle in this contingency. Further, tell …”
Huluk wavered, sagged, collapsed. The young officer yelled for two of the large warriors to aid the senior officer. Theros, standing to the side, was forgotten. He quietly cleared his throat to get the officer’s attention.
“Sir, I think that we should make a carrying seat from two strong branches and take Commander Huluk back to the village. He is not well, and I think his fever is returning.”
The officer clearly did not want to take advice from a human—slave or no slave. “Fetch branches,” he ordered his men. “We will make a carrying seat for the commander.” He glared at Theros, daring him to say something.
Theros kept a straight face, did what he could to make Huluk more comfortable.
The minotaurs returned with two straight branches, each about six feet long and about six inches wide. They had cleared off the attached branches and twigs with their axes. They held the poles like a stretcher, then lowered the poles to permit Huluk to straddle them. The minotaurs lifted the poles, allowing the commander to sit on them with only mild discomfort. Theros found a small branch to use as a crossbeam and asked for some rope. One of the warriors produced a length. He cut it in two, and the two of them secured it across the two beams, forming a backrest.
They were once again mobile. Huluk barked at the junior officer. “Don’t you damned well drop my axe! It’s been in my family for more than ten generations. Lose it or damage it and you will face me in battle! I’ve already lost a valuable breastplate.” He glanced at Theros and winked. It was the nearest the minotaur would ever come to an apology or to thanks.
Theros, understanding, smiled and nodded.
The officer grunted, obviously not understanding. He fastened his own axe to the holster on his back. He carried Huluk’s axe with the sort of reverence usually reserved for religious objects.
They headed for the village on the run.
Chapter 12
It was good to be back on board a ship. For seven years, Theros had lived on or around ships like this, a long galley—one of many evacuating the minotaurs from their failed colony on the coast.
Once Huluk had been safely transported to the village, the governor had met with him. It was confirmed that the Third Army was indeed destroyed, and that the elves were planning to eradicate the minotaur encampment from “their” land. The governor immediately sent a swift corsair to the Supreme Circle with a request for aid.
It had been an extremely orderly evacuation. The governor had ordered the defenses strengthened, and used his small force effectively to stall the elves on their march to the village and harbor. They had laid traps and ambushes, forcing the elves to abandon their heavy cavalry in the dense woods. The elves were forced to fight in ways in which the minotaurs were superior.
Those minotaurs not capable of fighting had been ordered to dismantle parts of the encampment. Tools, stores, war machines and personal belongings were all crated up and stacked by the pier, waiting for transport.
Ships stationed at the harbor were loaded and sent back to the minotaur homelands. All of the necessary equipment and belongings were put aboard, as were the females, children, slaves and wounded. Both Theros and Huluk were among the passengers. Nevek, now a junior officer in the garrison, stayed behind to aid in the defense. Huluk had personally recommended him for the field promotion. The governor agreed. Nevek’s horns seemed to grow almost a full inch overnight.
The ship rocked gently from side to side. Its sails were completely unfurled, catching the breath of the sea. Theros watched the minotaurs crawl among the rigging, wondered if he himself still had the knack. He longed to try, but his skill was needed in weapon-making. Standing on deck, he recalled old Heretos, his first master.
“I am not a slave. I am an honored member of the crew,” Heretos had stated proudly.
Now Theros could say the same. He was sought after to sharpen and re-hone the edges of weapons, to refit axes with broken handles. He was skilled in carving the intricate designs that the minotaur warriors placed on their weapons. Through the years, he had become skilled in leatherwork and knew the secrets of fastening metal to leather to form well-made armor.
And he had Hran to thank for it.
Memories of the smith returned to Theros, including the first time they had ever met.
Theros had been one of fifty slaves ceded to the commander of the Third Army. The commander had been informed of Theros’s skill as a smith, but the minotaur had not believed that a human could do such exacting work. Theros had been put to work in the commissary section of the rear guard. But instead of peeling and slicing for preparation of food, Theros was usually found out back of the tents, sharpening the kitchen knives or sewing and repairing the tents.
One day, right before the army shipped off to Silvanesti, a large minotaur, dressed in the leather apron that marked him as a blacksmith, watched Theros as he sharpened knives.
“Don’t you work in the commissary section, slave?” Hran asked.
Theros stood up respectfully. “Yes, sir. But the cook says I am more useful sharpening and sewing than I am preparing a meal. This is what I used to do on board ship.”
Hran grunted. Grabbing the young man by the arm, the smith dragged Theros inside the commissary tent. He found the minotaur in charge. “Perjaf, this slave tells me he sharpens knives and sews cloth for you. Is he lying?”
Perjaf wiped his hands on his apron. He had just finished slaughtering a pig. “No, the slave tells the truth. Why, was he not doing as he was told? Was he snooping around your shop? If he was, I’ll beat some manners—”
“You have the brains of a goat, Perjaf. This slave is much too valuable to waste sharpening knives to cut onions. I want him to work for me.”
Perjaf scowled. “He is quite valuable. He does leatherwork, too.”
“What do you want in return?” Hran was older, senior to Per
jaf, but they held comparable positions, so they had to barter.
Perjaf hesitated a moment. Hran had been good to him, had provided him with excellent knives and other implements over the years. He could not, however, just hand over the slave to him. It would demean him in Hran’s eyes.
“Have your new slave make me a leather harness for my battle-axe. My old one is worn through, and will split before too long. Do we have an exchange, Hran?”
Hran nodded, grinned broadly. “Done. Come along, slave.”
Theros could not believe his luck. At last, he was going to learn from a master.
“Where did you acquire the skills you have?” Hran eyed the boy as if he were a gift sent from Sargas. Theros looked eagerly around the forge, his gaze fixing on several fine swords.
“I was a slave to the warriors on the Blatvos Kemas, a war barge under the Velek hierarchy, until it was signed over to Supreme Circle member Kronic. He sold the ship, and most of the slaves, including me, were sent here.”
Hran nodded approvingly. Seeing Theros studying the swords, the minotaur asked, “Do you know how to make a forge hot, to hammer metal into a fine blade?”
Theros shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t.” He looked down at his feet. He felt two inches tall.
Hran slapped the human on the back, nearly sending Theros headfirst into the forge. “We have much work to do! You will be my apprentice, and will learn what I can teach. Remember that you are still a slave, especially outside of this building. In here, though, you are my apprentice first and foremost. What is your name?”
Theros stared, amazed. Always before, he’d been known as “slave.”
“Theros.”
“Now, Theros, get to work.” Hran had grinned.
The movement of the ship jolted Theros back to the present. He sighed. Hran would be pleased if he could see him today. Theros was free, and no longer had to do the work of a slave on the ship.
But even the lowest-ranking minotaur would rate higher than Theros. He would always have to wait to speak until he was spoken to. He could have no say in politics or administration, nor could he hold any official position. He could not own property.
