Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Jodin said nothing, but his eyes never left Tovak. They were filled with hate and loathing. Tovak wondered how much of that Jodin turned on himself.

  “I’d like to know how he knows the signs, myself, sir,” Thegdol said. “It doesn’t figure, now, does it? How does a wandering recruit, fresh off the yuggernok, know advanced sign?”

  Benthok let out a breath, closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, they were clear and focused on Tovak.

  “Give Thegdol your Warrant,” Benthok said quietly.

  “What?” Tovak asked, sitting up straight. “No.”

  “I figure you have it on your person,” Benthok said. “If I were in your boots, I would keep it close. Now, give it to him.”

  “Sir?” Tovak replied, his guts churning.

  “I said”—Benthok filled his voice with iron—“give him your Warrant of Passage. Your corporal has a right to know what he’s working with. That is an order.”

  “Warrant of Passage?” Thegdol asked, with eyebrows raised. “You went to the Academy?”

  “I did,” Tovak said in a quiet tone. He’d never felt so cornered in his entire life. He was stuck. There was no way out. He was terrified of what he knew was about to happen next. But he also felt an intense wash of anger that he was being forced to expose his past, especially after Captain Struugar had allowed him to start afresh. He glanced at his friend, Gorabor, and felt sick. It wouldn’t take long for the entire company to learn the truth.

  Feeling a sudden intense hatred for the lieutenant, Tovak locked eyes with Benthok, reached inside his chest plate, and carefully pulled out the folded document. Without turning away, he handed it over to Thegdol.

  “So, it’s true?” Thegdol asked, staring at Tovak. He unfolded the document and began reading. As his eyes scanned down the Warrant, he said, “You should be in the pioneers, not with us, son.”

  Benthok’s eyes never left Tovak as Thegdol continued to slowly read. Then the corporal’s shoulders stiffened.

  “Tovak Stonehammer,” he whispered and raised angry, knowing eyes to Tovak.

  Feeling despair and a terrible hopelessness, Tovak almost cringed under his corporal’s gaze. He wished that the ground would open under him and swallow him up. He let out a single, self-pitying chuckle, and then shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that Thegdol was very familiar with his name, and in all the wrong ways.

  “As in Graybor Stonehammer and Barasoom?” Thegdol asked, lowering the Warrant. “I had an aunt and uncle who were killed in the village at Barasoom, their children too.”

  The rest of his squad mates appeared confused. Thegdol seemed to be the only one who had heard of his father’s disgrace. Tovak thought he might vomit.

  He turned his gaze to Benthok, who was looking upon him with a cold, calculating expression. Was there anyone in his life who wasn’t going to somehow have a connection to Barasoom? He had a sinking suspicion he would never be free of it.

  Tovak stood.

  “I have a Pariah in my squad,” Thegdol whispered, looking from the Warrant to Tovak and back again. “A bloody Pariah.”

  “What?” Gorabor asked, blinking. It was clear he was not quite understanding, then it dawned upon him and his face clouded over with anger and disgust.

  Tovak knew that, without a doubt, he’d just lost a friend.

  Jodin stood and spat on the ground by Tovak’s feet. “Pariah.”

  “It’s done,” Benthok said.

  Tovak looked at the lieutenant. The coldness had gone. In its place he saw a strange expression. It wasn’t anger. It was perhaps frustration coupled with something bordering on sorrow, and he couldn’t figure out why Benthok, of all people, would have that reaction. Benthok had forced the issue. Why?

  The lieutenant had come into this hating Tovak, or at least believing Tovak was bad luck. He would have expected Benthok to look pleased, or at least satisfied. But sorrow?

  It didn’t matter, though. Soon enough, everyone would know he was a Pariah. His life in the company would become just as difficult and uncomfortable as it had been back home, perhaps even worse.

  “I’ll take that,” Benthok said, taking the Warrant from Thegdol’s trembling hands. “I think we’re just about done here,” he added. “Corporal, break time’s over. Go help Logath finish up with hauling and loading carcasses.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thegdol said, clambering to his feet. “First Squad, on your feet. With me.”

  The corporal started off, with the others following, Tovak included.

  “Hold up, Tovak,” Benthok said, a firm edge to his voice.

  Thegdol gave Tovak one last parting look before he walked off with the others over the crest. They disappeared down the other side of the hill. Benthok opened the Warrant and read, slowly. His eyes moved from one line to the next, and when he got to the end, he simply folded it up again.

  “You may hate me for what I did,” Benthok said. “But in truth, I freed you from a lie. Lies bring no Legend, and any Legend built on a lie is no Legend at all. There is no doubt you will suffer from what I’ve done.” His tone was neutral. There was no anger, no condescension . . . just a simple statement of fact. He handed the Warrant back to Tovak, who took it and absently slipped it behind his breastplate. “But suffering brings strength.”

  Tovak had barely heard him. The weight of what he was about to endure pressed down on him, like a mountain upon the bedrock. He was utterly crushed by it.

  “Tovak,” Benthok barked suddenly. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes—yes, sir,” Tovak replied, blinking.

  “You have skill and potential. One day, you may thank me . . . or maybe you will forever curse me . . . but this had to be done, and it was better sooner than later, boy, or it would have been worse for you.”

  Without another word, Benthok turned and strode off.

  Tovak watched the lieutenant walk away, then turned his gaze towards the heavens. He stared at the blue sky as turmoil and dread raged in his heart. Tovak felt tears of intense frustration prick his eyes. He angrily wiped them away.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why do I suffer so?”

  There was no answer. There never was. Faith was like that. He felt his shoulders sag and glanced around. He could not stand on this hilltop forever. He knew that. Doing so would change nothing. He needed to continue onward, as he always had. Tovak took a deep, shuddering breath. He’d lived through tough times before. He could do it again and for as long as Thulla required it of him.

  “This changes nothing,” he told himself, anger trembling his tone. He balled his fists. “I came here to pursue my own Legend and that is what I will do, no matter how difficult that will be. I will soldier on. By Thulla, I swear it so.”

  Tovak took another deep breath, steadying himself, and let it out slowly. He set off after his squad and whatever the future held.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The march back to the main encampment seemed to take an eternity. Benthok pushed the section hard, keeping up a grueling pace, with only a handful of brief breaks for water when they happened across a stream or small brook cutting its way across the plateau.

  No one talked with or walked next to him. Most didn’t even look in his direction or turned away when he caught their gazes. Gorabor had said nothing to him. Gorabor had even refrained from playing his flute, although several of the others had broken out theirs and played a lively tune to keep to the pace. Tovak found he unconsciously stepped to the tune, as did the rest of the section.

  His isolation as an outcast had begun. It had also given Tovak plenty of time to think. He knew Gorabor felt betrayed and rightly so. In essence, Tovak had lied to him. He’d lied to all of them. He felt bad about that.

  He had experienced loneliness before. The sting of being ostracized was nothing new, but never had it pressed in on him so completely, nor felt so thoroughly oppressive. For a brief but blessedly short time, he’d truly been part of something. Now, that was gone, snatched away by Benthok, and h
e was once again just another Pariah forced to make his way in the world amongst those who reviled and resented his very presence. The pain of it burned, fueling not only his misery, but also his anger.

  As they marched, the suns descended beneath the western hills. By the time the camp came in sight, it was dark. The moon was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds. The encampment was a bright swath of light on an otherwise darkened horizon. It was impossible to miss, even at a great distance. The glow of campfires illuminated the clouds above. Tovak wondered what the goblins and orcs thought, for surely in the nearby hills they could see the thousands of campfires on the plateau—perhaps even from as far away as the mountains.

  The lieutenant led the section around to the main gate that had been erected on the northeast corner of the encampment and faced the direction the warband was headed. Other companies and sections were arriving, along with a supply train numbering over thirty wagons. They were forced to wait their turn to enter. The column finally moved forward and through the gate, which rose above the camp, nearly thirty feet in height. The sound of shouting drew Tovak’s eyes to the upper walkway, and he saw a warrior high above him who he recognized, which was a surprise. It almost made him miss a step.

  An officer with some sort of a baton in hand stood atop the walkway, shouting at Kutog, the wealthy recruit who had been so rude and condescending back on the yuggernok. The officer was tearing into Kutog for some infraction or failing. Tovak heard the words “idiot” and “moron.” He watched the officer raise the baton. It fell, hitting Kutog’s helm with a loud CRACK of wood on metal.

  The sight of it lifted Tovak’s spirits a bit. He wasn’t the only one having a rough time of it, and he had no doubt that Kutog had earned what was coming to him. Besides, Tovak thought, misery loves company. Then something else occurred to Tovak. Kutog would have marched all day in full plate armor and spent the afternoon and evening digging the massive trench or constructing the wall that now surrounded the encampment, only to get stuck on sentry duty. Even with all the hardships Tovak knew he was to endure, he realized he’d rather be out foraging and away from the encampment than being stuck where Kutog was. He was a skirmisher and there was some freedom in that, even for a Pariah.

  They passed through the gate, leaving Kutog and the irate officer behind. The encampment was laid out almost identically to the way it had been his first night with the warband, only on different ground. The banners and tents, those he could recall, were in roughly the same place. What at first had seemed like a confusing jumble of disorder clearly had some sort of order to it.

  There was a good deal more activity than he remembered, with the streets and avenues between the tents full of armored and unarmored warriors alike. The only appreciable difference was that there were no inner berms and trenches. Benthok led the section through the camp to the very center, where the watchtower rose into the air. As they neared, Tovak saw it was still being assembled. He thought it incredible that when the warband moved it was disassembled and then put back together again.

  The lieutenant led the section on an unerring course that ultimately brought them directly to Struugar’s tent and the company area. Benthok brought the small column up to the tent. The captain was nowhere to be seen.

  “SECTION . . . HALT,” Benthok shouted. “Left face.”

  The column halted and turned to face where Benthok stood in front of Struugar’s tent. Every one of them was tired and worn, except, it seemed, for Benthok himself. There was a tirelessness about the lieutenant that, despite Tovak’s new loathing for him, he could not help but respect.

  “Good job out there,” Benthok said, addressing the section. “I am extremely pleased with our haul this time. I am confident the captain will be satisfied as well.” Benthok paused. “Corporals, I sent word ahead. There should be a hot meal waiting for us. Get some grub in your squads. We’re not done for the day. Training after mealtime.”

  There were several groans at that.

  Benthok’s face hardened in the torchlight.

  “For that,” Benthok said, “we will go for a run around the camp, after we finish weapons drill.” Benthok gave the section a grim smile. “I do so love a good run. Don’t you, Corporal Thegdol?”

  “Aye, sir,” Thegdol sounded off enthusiastically. “A run sounds grand, just grand.”

  This time, there were no more groans, though Tovak sure felt like he wanted to. His legs burned from the exertion of the march. He’d been looking forward to removing his armor and taking the load off his feet.

  “Dis-missed,” Benthok said, then turned and made for Struugar’s tent. A moment later, he disappeared inside. The section broke up and walked wearily back towards their camp behind Struugar’s tent.

  Tovak followed the others past Struugar’s tent. As he moved by the supply tent, he saw the company area had been set up just as it had two nights prior. There were four rows of tents, with a wide alley going down the middle. Several campfires had been set and the light from them pushed back on the night.

  The members of his own section were moving to their assigned tents. Sergeant Bahr stood outside the supply tent and next to a table with a large iron pot. The contents steamed and Tovak smelled stew. A line had formed before the table and a cook’s assistant ladled the stew into wooden bowls.

  As he walked down the middle of camp, there were greetings from those sitting around the campfires directed at members of First Section and a good deal of friendly ribbing about losing the race back to the encampment and being late for dinner. There were friends and comrades all about him, and he knew with utter certainty that none of that goodwill would be shared with him. Whatever chance he might have had at developing any friendships had evaporated the second Benthok asked him for the Warrant.

  He recognized some of the faces from handing out the dodders. If he was not mistaken, they were members of Third Section, but he wasn’t quite sure. Tovak was still too new to the company. As he looked around, he decided half of the company must still be out in the field.

  When he reached the rear of the camp, he found no one around the fire that had been set there. He removed his pack. A smaller tent had been pitched next to the last communal tent. Laying his pack down on the ground by the fire, he breathed a sigh of relief as he stretched some of the soreness out of his shoulders. He removed his helm and set that on his pack as well, twisting his neck a few times to loosen the muscles.

  He pulled out the Warrant, opened the top of his pack, and slid it inside. There was no point in keeping it on him anymore. It no longer mattered if anyone saw it. For good or ill, the secret was out. Tovak turned and faced the flames of the fire, staring into their depths as if he might find some answer, some balm that would soothe what his life was about to become. The fire burned brightly, and in those flames, he found only a promise of more pain and suffering.

  His stomach rumbled, breaking him out of his self-pity. He went back up through the middle of camp towards the food. He spotted Logath and Jodin standing outside a nearby tent, talking with several warriors from Second Section. As he passed by, Jodin pointed. The others just stared as if in disbelief.

  Tovak shook his head and moved on. There was nothing he could do about it now. The news would take its course, just as it had so many times before. He found a half-dozen members of First Section in line. He joined them and waited patiently for his turn.

  Morda, in line ahead of him, turned and glanced back. He faced back to the front without a word. Staggen stepped up behind him, followed by several members of Fourth Squad from his section. Tovak glanced back. Staggen said nothing. His face was devoid of any emotion at all. He was simply waiting his turn and looked bored.

  The line moved, and before Tovak realized it, he was standing before the table with the stew.

  “I will be needing a new spear,” he said to the sergeant as the cook’s assistant ladled Tovak some stew.

  “Good gods,” Bahr said, sounding suddenly exasperated. “Broke your spear already? Don�
��t you know you are expected to care for your equipment? Tell me, you weren’t fool enough to use it for digging? That’s what your trencher is for. Bloody fool idiot.”

  “No, Sergeant,” he said, “it broke while I was fighting for my life.”

  “Against what?” Bahr asked.

  “A murinok,” Tovak said and even to his ears it seemed unbelievable. “I killed it and, well, the murinok in its death throes sort of broke it.”

  “You?” Bahr asked, his face full of disbelief. “I’ve heard some shit in my time, but you expect me to believe that? It’s coming out of your pay, boy.”

  “But—” Tovak started.

  “Don’t ‘but’ me, boy,” Bahr cut him off. “I ought to give you a thump for lying to me.”

  Tovak stood there, stunned. He didn’t know what to say.

  “He’s not lying, Sergeant,” Staggen said.

  Tovak turned. Staggen locked eyes with Tovak only for a moment, but there was something there Tovak didn’t recognize. Was it sympathy? Honesty? Or something else? Staggen then looked at Sergeant Bahr.

  “Tovak got an adult murinok, and all by himself too,” Staggen said, flatly. “He may be a lot of things, but he sure as heck got that murinok, and broke his spear in the doing of it.”

  “Thank you,” Tovak said to Staggen.

  “No thanks are needed,” he said tersely. “My Legend required I speak up.”

  Tovak felt gut-punched as he turned back to Sergeant Bahr. It hadn’t been friendship or even camaraderie that had driven Staggen. It was the obligation of Legend. In Staggen’s actions, Tovak keenly felt his squad mate’s rebuke. Shame filled his heart.

  Bahr glanced between Staggen and Tovak, then shook his head.

  “Stop by in the morning and pick up a new one before the company marches,” Bahr said. “I’ll make the entries in my ledger and list it destroyed in action. You will not be charged.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Tovak said.