The First Compact: The Karus Saga (The Karus Saga: Book Book 3)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “I understand Thulla, like the High Father, is a forgiving god,” Amarra said.

  “Then I will pray with you,” Kelgan said.

  Amarra gave a nod, then looked back on Karus and Martuke meaningfully.

  “Leave us,” Amarra said, “if you would.”

  Martuke gave a disgusted grunt, leaned forward, and closed the door.

  Chapter Three

  Karus had spent an uncomfortable night. He and the elves had camped out in the field with the dragons. Kordem and Cyln’Phax had harried the scattered enemy onward, driving them miles away. He doubted the remnants of the enemy army would be able to easily reform or would willingly linger nearby.

  That they had to spend the night in the field bothered Karus little. There had simply been no shelter available for them inside the town. The dwarven injured had needed it more.

  With Kordem’s assistance, they had been able to get a good fire going. That had helped a great deal and made things a little more bearable. Karus had even managed some sleep, though when he’d woken, he’d found himself stiff and sore.

  The first of the two suns had just come up and the sky was clear, almost incredibly blue. The rain had finally left them, and for that little blessing, Karus was immensely grateful. The warmth had even returned, and for the first time in days, Karus felt dry.

  He glanced back toward the town. Amarra was still in there with Dennig. Si’Cara had come to tell Karus that Kelgan still clung to life and had yet to pass on. Karus felt terrible for Dennig. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a son. How much worse was it to watch it happen, and slowly at that? He hoped and prayed he never had to experience what his friend was now going through.

  Karus turned his attention back to the enemy’s camp and the open gate that loomed just before them. Since there was nothing else to do but wait, he had made the snap decision to explore the encampment before the dwarves got into it. He wanted to study his enemy and get to know them better. This was the perfect opportunity to do that.

  The defensive wall that surrounded the enemy’s encampment had been built of earth. The wall rose to a height of ten feet and traveled outward from the gate in either direction. A wooden barricade topped the wall and a six-foot defensive trench surrounded the entire encampment.

  The gatehouse was constructed completely out of wood, with thick support beams that had been emplaced into the earth of the wall. A shielded platform over the gate allowed the defenders to rain death down on anyone who attempted to batter down the gate.

  Karus stepped through the open gate and looked around. Five of the Anagradoom had accompanied him as an escort. Karus thought the elves looked menacing in their black armor. They moved with a predatorial grace that was almost unnerving. Kol’Cara remained at his side, while the others moved forward a few paces.

  Arranged in orderly rows, hundreds of communal tents, separated by wide streets, spread outward before them. The camp was unnaturally silent, eerie, ghostlike even. The canvas of the nearest tents rustled as a light breeze blew by and around them. Other than that, nothing stirred or moved, at least nothing they could see.

  “We should be cautious,” Kol’Cara said, breaking the silence. “The dwarves have yet to make certain the camp is empty of the enemy, and we have not checked it either.”

  “Do you think there is danger?” Karus asked, his eyes scanning the tent line. He personally doubted any enemy remained. With the dragons and the army scattered, they would have been foolish to do so.

  “Danger?” Kol’Cara asked, glancing over. “There is always danger. Sometimes it’s not as apparent as one would expect.”

  Karus shot the elf a slight scowl, wondering if he was being toyed with.

  Kol’Cara gave a sort of half sigh. “I don’t think any of the enemy remain. They’ve surely fled.”

  Karus said nothing. He suspected the elf had more to say, so he waited.

  “Still,” Kol’Cara said, sounding almost wistful as his gaze drifted back to the tents. “There are things that could be dangerous in this camp.”

  “Like what?”

  “Items that are best left undisturbed,” Kol’Cara said, “religious relics, artifacts, and the like. You may not realize it, but the soul can be easily contaminated by such evil talismans.”

  “You’re not jesting,” Karus said, “are you?”

  “I am deadly serious,” Kol’Cara said.

  “Well,” Karus said, “if you see anything I shouldn’t be touching, you let me know.”

  Kol’Cara gave a nod. “Agreed.”

  Karus was about to start forward, but then stopped, looking back over at Si’Cara’s brother.

  “Why do the Anagradoom wear black?” Karus gestured at the black armor. “The other elves do not.”

  “It was our choice,” Kol’Cara said.

  “That doesn’t exactly answer my question,” Karus said. “I am thinking with you elves, there is a reason for everything you do.”

  “You are becoming more insightful by the day,” Kol’Cara said, with an ironic tinge to his tone.

  “Uh huh,” Karus said.

  Kol’Cara sucked in a deep breath and let it out. As he did, he briefly gazed up at the blue sky, then turned his gaze back over to Karus. “Because we are the Anagradoom, the exiled, the cursed.”

  “The cursed?”

  “Yes,” Kol’Cara said. “We are the cursed. The High Master saw to that. We stand apart from our people. By our actions, our willing choice to protect the sword and guard its bearer … you, we cast ourselves out of elven society, forever turning our backs on the light of the people”—he tapped his black leather chest plate—“so we thought black appropriate under the circumstances.”

  “One day,” Karus said, “perhaps, when this is all over, you can go back.”

  “I fear this will never be over,” Kol’Cara said. “The gods are eternal and so too seems the war. It raged before my birth and will likely continue long after my death.”

  “I’d like to think, one day, this madness will end,” Karus said.

  “One day, for us, it will end. For others it will continue—or begin a madness they can hardly imagine.”

  “Are you trying to cheer me up?” Karus asked. “Because if you are, you’re terrible at it.”

  A hint of a smile formed on Kol’Cara’s face. “Shall we go in? Or do you wish to stand here all day? I give you fair warning, elves are known for their patience.”

  Karus gave an amused snort and started forward. He was coming to like Si’Cara’s brother. Kol’Cara snapped out an order in Elven and two of the elves jogged ahead of them, over the open ground between the wall and the tent line. They began checking the nearest tents. The other two spread out, bows held at the ready, watchful.

  The camp was just as organized as Karus had thought when he’d seen it from afar the previous afternoon. He looked inside the first three communal tents he passed. Each tent slept nine and was clean, the bedrolls laid out neatly, as if the soldiers expected an inspection at any moment. The personal possessions of the soldiers who had occupied each tent were in medium packs set against the canvas walls.

  Stepping over a guy rope, Karus moved to the next tent, pulled back the flap, and ducked inside. Kol’Cara followed. Curious, Karus opened one of the packs. He pulled out a haversack filled with what looked like salted pork, bread, and what appeared to be some sort of fat in a cork-stopped jar. He did not taste it, for there was no telling what it actually was.

  Karus set the food aside and explored the contents of the pack further. He found a cloth bag that held a flask of oil, along with a small clay lamp and a number of uncut wicks. The lamp was shaped in the image of a fish. The detail was excellent.

  Also inside the bag was a needle and roll of coarse thread. He set that to the side and pulled out a spare tunic, a whetstone, a stained cloth for cleaning, and another flask. Karus opened it and smelled the contents, then gave a grunt.

  “What’s in it?” Kol’Cara asked curi
ously.

  “Vinegar.” Karus set the flask aside too. There was a mess kit and a handful of personal possessions at the bottom of the pack, which included a pair of dice and a plain dagger, likely used for eating. There was no purse. Just like legionaries, the enemy soldiers most probably carried their wealth on their person, rather than leave it behind in camp. He also found a waterskin. Unstopping the skin, Karus took a sniff and smelled the sour vinegar-like stench of poor-quality wine.

  Karus rubbed his jaw as he considered what he’d just learned. The pack was not all that different from what you might find in a legionary’s pack and kit. There were, of course, serious differences, but it was similar enough that he found it troubling. He gazed around the tent once more, impressed by the cleanliness and order. The fetid, lingering smell of unwashed bodies was absent. That meant the orcs bathed regularly and kept good hygiene.

  “It would seem they are not complete savages,” Karus said, looking over at Kol’Cara as he straightened up.

  “No, they’re not,” Kol’Cara said. “Do not let their bestial appearance fool you into thinking they are mindless animals. Orcs are quite intelligent, perhaps one might even call them sophisticated. I have never seen it myself … but before the Last War, I understand they were known for their culture and great works. At least that is what my grandfather told me.”

  “Great works, huh? I would think this camp counts as one.” Karus moved by the elf. Lifting the flap aside, he stepped back outside into the sunshine. Pausing, he glanced over at the nearest tent, before turning his attention to the defensive wall that surrounded the camp. Kol’Cara emerged behind him.

  Everything Karus was seeing seemed to indicate order, organization, discipline, tradition even, something the legion was well-known for. He had the suspicion the camp was laid out the exact same way every time the small army rebuilt it. The defensive wall was too well-made to be a one-time construction. His gaze settled on one of the enemy’s large stone throwers. It was a sophisticated piece of engineering too.

  The enemy had engineers. That was plain enough. He found that thought alone disturbing, for the Horde had to have some sort of formal education or training program. That meant not only did they study and learn how to build things like this camp, but, like the Romans, they also studied war.

  He already knew the Horde was a determined enemy … but now … he understood they were truly dangerous, unlike any he—or perhaps even Rome—had ever faced.

  Troubled, Karus began walking, moving deeper into the encampment, absorbing all he saw. He passed cook tents, portable forges, armories, and animal pens filled with strange-looking cattle, domesticated pigs, and lots of other interesting things.

  There were seemingly endless picket lines, with teska tethered to stout poles that had been sunk into the ground. The animals’ waste smelled terrible, so strong it made Karus’s eyes water. He passed supply dumps, stacked high with crates, jars, and bales of animal feed.

  Then, there were the heavy wagons and carts, several hundred of them, and well-maintained, too. He looked them over longingly, for the legion badly needed the transport.

  They passed a sick tent. The sides of the tent had been rolled up. Karus was startled to see several dozen patients lying on pallets. He still was not accustomed to the sight of the enemy, orcs. With their green skin and tusks jutting from their mouths, they looked so alien. And yet, at the same time … so familiar … very close to being human, uncomfortably so.

  Those that had been able had clearly fled. The rest had been left behind, but not before their throats had been slit. Someone had seen to it that none had been left alive for the enemy.

  Karus wandered the camp for more than an hour, until he came to three large iron cages. There was a group of live humans in one, six in total, all sitting upon the dirt floor. They looked dirty, ragged, half-starved, and had clearly been abused to some degree. Several of them sported bruises about the face.

  In the other two cages were small, almost tiny creatures, wearing gray tunics. There were ten of them, five in each cage. They were half the size of a dwarf and skinny as could be, with a grayish pall to their skin. Their hair was short and black. They stared at him silently, with small, beady, unblinking, black eyes. Fascinated, Karus stepped closer to the nearest cage. The creatures had no pupils.

  They were filthy and stank badly, as if they’d been in the cages for a long time. The small creatures fidgeted continually, almost like they had too much energy and could not stand still for long.

  “I would be careful, were I you,” Kol’Cara said. “Those are gnomes. They are allies of the Horde and are very unpredictable, not to mention dangerous.”

  “These?” Karus was surprised by that. “They’re no bigger than a child. I doubt they could stop a stiff wind if they tried.”

  “And yet,” Kol’Cara said, gesturing at the cage, “the orcs saw fit to confine them. It is my understanding the orcs fear their kind.”

  “Their allies?” Karus asked. “They fear their own allies.”

  “That is my understanding.”

  “Well,” Karus said, “I guess, in a way, that makes sense. Rome’s own allies fear her strength.”

  Kol’Cara did not reply.

  “Are you certain they are allies of the Horde? Penned up, they look like slaves,” Karus said, “or prisoners, condemned for some crime.”

  “We no slaves,” one of the gnomes said in Common, with clear indignation. His voice was squeaky and high-pitched. “And we do no crime. We free people.”

  Karus was surprised the gnome spoke Common. “If you are free, then why are you locked up in a cage?”

  “Orcs no trust us,” the gnome said. “As elf say … they fear us, and they should too.”

  “Why fight with them?” Karus asked. “Why fight with someone who does not trust you?”

  “We no want to, no like them.” The gnome gave a shrug of his tiny shoulders. “They are allies, so we fight. Is hard to tell why.”

  “Try,” Karus said.

  Another gnome spoke. “It just is how it is and has always been. We rather kill orcs. We like hunt orcs. They no like so much … don’t see the fun.”

  Several of the gnomes in the same cage snickered at that.

  “The dwarves will just kill them when they come to see what they can salvage from the camp,” Kol’Cara said. “Gnomes are the enemy. They are nothing but trouble and will lie to you. Do not waste your time speaking with them.”

  Sparing one more look at the little creatures, Karus moved over to the cage with the humans. They were squatting or sitting on the ground. As he approached, they stood. There was no fear in their eyes, no trepidation. They stared at him, almost defiantly. Each had a thin steel collar secured about their necks, which marked them as slaves. Karus found it interesting that slaves would dare meet his gaze in such a challenging way. This world was so different from the one he’d known.

  “Who are you?” Karus asked in Common.

  They stared at him in confusion. It was apparent they did not speak Common. It was either that, or they were very good actors. Karus glanced over at Kol’Cara with a raised eyebrow. The elf said something to them in another language. Again, there was no comprehension in their eyes. The elf tried again … Nothing.

  “Those are all the human languages I know,” Kol’Cara said. “It is possible the dwarves may be able to communicate with them.”

  “Do you think the dwarves will kill them too?” Karus asked. “Like they would the gnomes?”

  “They may just take them as slaves for labor,” Kol’Cara said.

  Karus did not like that. The idea of humans serving as slaves for the dwarves was somehow repugnant, wrong. He studied the men in the cages a moment more. It appeared as if they had been though a tough time of it.

  “Do you think they are a threat,” Karus asked, “if we free them, that is?”

  “To the Anagradoom,” Kol’Cara said, “these humans are no threat.”

  “Look at the ear
s,” one of the human slaves said. “He looks like a man but is not.”

  Karus’s head snapped around. It was a strange accent, but he understood the words.

  “Pointed,” another said. “He is no man.”

  “You speak Greek?” Karus said, switching to their language. “How?”

  There were stunned looks inside the cage.

  One of the slaves stepped forward. “We do. How is it you speak our tongue?”

  “Years ago, I learned it from a slave who hailed from Athens,” Karus said. He doubted they knew where Athens was, but as these were the first of a new people they had not met, he decided to be open. “I wanted to read some of the masters’ works in their original Greek.”

  The slave ran his eyes over Karus’s armor. “I do not recognize your armor. Where are you from?”

  “I am of Rome,” Karus said.

  “I have heard of your city and of your people,” the slave said, then turned to the others in the cage. “He is from our world.”

  “Truly?” another breathed. “We thought we were the only ones.”

  Karus felt rocked to his core. He was having difficulty believing he had heard correctly. Was it true? Had others been brought to this world, just like his legion had? Then, something occurred to him. The Greek had called Rome a city. The empire had conquered Greece and absorbed it. Surely they should know that. What was going on here?

  “What is your name?” Karus asked, struggling to contain and conceal his excitement.

  “Adrastus,” the slave said, “spear brother to King Leonidas.”

  “Leonidas?” Karus almost took a step back. It could not be the same Leonidas? Could it? He had read about King Leonidas. Most Romans knew his tale, honored his bravery. Was this a link to home? Perhaps they were not so alone on this world. “Thermopylae?”

  “You have heard of that blasted place?” another Greek in the cage asked, stepping up to the metal bars and gripping them. “You know of Thermopylae?”

  Karus gave a slow nod. A great battle had been fought at Thermopylae. The Greeks had withstood the might of the Persians, at least for a time. That had happened hundreds of years ago. Leonidas had been a king of one of the Greek city-states, a great warrior and leader of men. He had died, sacrificing himself and his warriors to buy time for his people and Greece.