Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Tovak felt a fierce sense of exultation and moved in, his anger suddenly returning in a rush and fueling him forward. Logath struggled to sit up, his weapon still in hand. He raised it in a clumsy warding gesture. He was clearly still dazed, but he saw Tovak coming at him and tried to scoot back out of the way, desperately holding his blade in a blocking position to protect himself.

  “Bastard,” Tovak roared and slammed the weapon down as hard as he could. Their two blades connected with a loud CRACK. Both training weapons broke with the impact, and the upper half of Tovak’s slammed down onto Logath’s helmet.

  “Tovak,” Benthok barked. “That’s enough.”

  Tovak froze, breathing hard, and then stepped backward. He stared down at what remained of his weapon and realized he had gone too far. He let the grip slip from his fingers, which had gone numb from the repeated blows. The stump of the training weapon fell to the ground before Logath. He turned, expecting to see Benthok angry, but instead, the officer’s eyes were fixed squarely upon Logath, as was the rest of the section. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the fight play out between him and Logath. Silence reigned across the training ground.

  Slowly, the lieutenant walked over to them. He blew out a frustrated breath, then fixed his gaze upon Tovak.

  “This was supposed to be a zjain exercise,” he said. “Every skirmisher must master the zjain and practice with it until they know it better than themselves. Could you have misunderstood my instructions? Because the stance you chose was not for the zjain.”

  “No, sir,” Tovak said, struggling to catch his breath. “I did not misunderstand.”

  For a moment, Benthok appeared as if he was going to say something else, but then glanced down at Logath, who was still somewhat dazed and bleeding from a cut on his lip. The corporal held his head in both hands.

  “Logath,” Benthok asked, “are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better, sir,” Logath said, dragging himself, almost painfully, to his feet. He looked a little unsteady and held a hand to the side his head. “I’m a tad dizzy is all.”

  “That was a pretty nasty blow. Head back to camp and have Sergeant Bahr check you out,” Benthok said. “He will decide if you need to be sent to the doctors.”

  “But, sir,” Logath protested, with a glance thrown to Tovak. “I’ll be fine in a moment. I’ve had worse.”

  “No doubt, but that’s an order,” the lieutenant said.

  “Yes, sir,” Logath said.

  “I’ll come find you later to talk about what just happened.”

  Logath blinked and then looked sharply at his lieutenant. He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  Logath offered a salute, which Benthok returned. Without looking back, Logath pushed through the line, brushing by Tovak. Staggering slightly, he made his way out of the training area. The entire section’s eyes were upon his back.

  “For the rest of you,” Benthok said, raising his voice with an edge in it, and took several steps away from Tovak. “This is zjain training, not a bloody spectator sport. Eyes front.”

  Thegdol stepped over to Tovak. “You’re bleeding.”

  Tovak was surprised to see concern in the corporal’s eyes.

  “It’s just a cut, Corporal,” Tovak said, feeling it.

  “Are you injured anywhere else?”

  “My thigh hurts something fierce and I have a headache”—Tovak tapped his helmet—“but I think I will live.”

  “I believe so, too.” Benthok turned back to them. “Tovak, go grab two more training weapons.”

  “Two, sir?” Tovak asked.

  “Yes,” Benthok said. “You will need a new sparring partner. I will step in for Logath.”

  Great, Tovak thought. Now Benthok wanted to beat on him too.

  Tovak wasn’t sure he could take much more, but as ordered, he started off to the supply tent for two training swords. Behind him, Benthok barked out an order to the rest of the section. The sparring resumed.

  “That was some fight,” the one-armed supply sergeant said as he handed over the weapons. Tovak took them and returned to Benthok.

  “Corporal Thegdol,” Benthok called.

  “Sir?”

  “Oversee the section’s drill while I work with Tovak.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Benthok took Tovak aside, well behind the drill line.

  “Every night, after your duty for the day is done, you will seek me out for extra training,” Benthok said. “If I am unavailable, Corporal Thegdol will fill in. Is that understood?”

  Tovak blinked, surprised. Was this a punishment?

  “I asked if you understood me, soldier.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said. “I do.”

  “You must become as proficient with the zjain as you claim to be with the volzjain. Judging from what you did to Corporal Logath, I’d say you are good with a two-handed weapon. However, in this warband, every skirmisher must master the zjain. Had you been proficient at it, Corporal Logath would not have been able to handle you so roughly.” Benthok held up the training blade. “This is the weapon of the skirmisher and a fine one at that. It’s deadly in the right hands, lightweight, and easily carried all day. Heavier weapons and gear tend to not just slow us down, but add to fatigue. That’s why we’re not issued plate armor and heavier gear, like shields. You can move quickly with this weapon over rough ground and through the forest, without worrying about it becoming a hindrance. As a skirmisher, it is well-suited to our needs and skirmishing with the enemy out beyond the protection of the main line. If you don’t master it, you will end up dead and might just get someone else killed in the process. If you are dead, you are no good to me. So, you will master it, before some orc on the battlefield cuts you down for lack of skill.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “I will work with you to improve your skill with this weapon,” Benthok said. “Only then we will go on to other weapons.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Now, assume the fighting stance for the zjain.”

  Tovak did as ordered.

  Benthok stepped forward, walking around him, eyes on his stance.

  “Elbow in towards your body more,” Benthok said. Tovak made the adjustment. “Back hand lowered slightly, and keep it loose. Don’t make a fist.” Tovak did that too, and then Benthok stepped in and adjusted his back arm a little more. “There,” the lieutenant said firmly. “That’s right. Do it that way every time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said as Benthok took a position opposite of him.

  “When I say ‘begin,’ I want you to attack me.”

  Tovak nodded.

  “Begin,” Benthok ordered.

  Despite being spent, Tovak attacked, lunging forward. With lightning fast reflexes, Benthok parried the strike easily, raised his elbow, and thrust forward, jamming the point of his blade into the center of Tovak’s chest. He moved quicker than Logath and the force of the blow had not been particularly hard, just enough to stop his forward momentum. The lieutenant was not seeking to hurt him, but instead instruct. Why?

  “Use of the zjain requires that your wrist, elbow, and shoulder become fluid, like a snake,” Benthok said, stepping back and lowering the training weapon, “and for every attack, there is a parry and a counter. If you master weapons you are not comfortable with, when you face an opponent using one, you will find yourself better armed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Over time, you will learn to become proficient,” the lieutenant said. “I do not like to waste my time, so make sure you listen and learn.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said. “I will.”

  “Let’s begin again.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A hobnailed boot nudged Tovak firmly out of a deep sleep. Groaning, he rolled over from his side onto his back and opened his eyes to pre-dawn darkness, accented by the pale light of the moon. The fires and torches had gone out. Above him stood Benthok. An insect chirped somewhere nearby, and
the smell of woodsmoke lay heavy on the air. Tovak felt stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. He was also cold.

  “It’s almost four horns.” In the near darkness, the lieutenant’s face was like shadowed granite. “Wake Gorabor and get yourself organized for the day. Then go and fetch the company’s dodder rations. The captain wants to be well into our march before the first of the suns comes up.”

  Tovak tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes and failed. He yawned deeply as he sat up and wondered how long he had slept. It clearly had not been enough.

  “You do remember the way?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I do.”

  Tovak yawned again, hoping he did indeed remember the way to the cook tents. His entire body ached something fierce, especially his thigh where Logath had landed a particularly hard blow. Raising his arms to stretch, he winced at the burn that shot down from his shoulders to his fingers, a result of his training with Benthok. It had proved not only instructional, but also demanding. He climbed to his feet. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt in some fashion.

  “Don’t worry,” Benthok said, seeming to understand how he felt. “Once the march begins, you will loosen up and it won’t feel so bad.”

  “I hope so, sir,” Tovak said, “because I ache something fierce.”

  “Stretching helps. You might want to try it.” With that, Benthok turned on his heel and walked away towards the supply tent. Tovak watched him go, disappearing back into the night a few yards off.

  The rest of the company slumbered away, as did much of the encampment. Tovak envied them. In the distance, he could hear some activity and the occasional shout. A dog barked and then another one answered. He glanced down at his bedroll with longing. He needed more sleep but he knew he would not get it.

  As was his custom, he knelt down and placed his hand upon his pack, feeling for the lump that was Thulla’s Blessed Word.

  He whispered, “Thank you, Thulla, for the opportunities of a new day. Blessed are those who follow Your word. Blessed are they who will carry the light to Your people with every breath. I am and ever will be Your humble servant, ‘til that solemn day when I return to Your breast and stand in the glory of Your magnificence.”

  His morning prayer complete, he stood again, groaning softly as he did it. He stretched out his arms, back, and legs as the lieutenant had suggested. It hurt, but at the same time, when he was done, Tovak felt a little looser.

  He grabbed one of his waterskins and took a swig to wash the foul taste from his mouth. A gust blew by, ruffling the fabric of the tents and causing him to shiver. Tovak grabbed his cloak, which he had used as a pillow, and shook it out before wrapping it around his shoulders.

  He turned towards the tent, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, and found himself hesitating. Tovak let out a long breath and then slapped the tent flap.

  “Gorabor?” he called out quietly, not wanting to wake the rest of the company. “Gorabor, time to get moving.”

  He heard a rustling inside, but there was no reply.

  “Gorabor?” he said again, raising his voice. He slapped his palm against the tent three times. “Wake up.”

  “Hmmph?” Gorabor mumbled, and Tovak heard him shifting about inside.

  Tovak pulled the tent flap back and poked his head in. The interior of the tent was dark. He could just barely make out Gorabor wrapped up in his blanket.

  “Get up,” Tovak said. “The lieutenant wants us to get the dodders.”

  “Right,” Gorabor replied, a bit sleepily. “I’ll be out shortly.”

  Tovak let the flap fall back into place. He felt the sudden intense need to empty his bladder. He had drunk his entire ration of wine the night before and now it demanded to be released. The cold air did not help either. He made his way to the latrine, which stank terribly. He relieved himself and then returned. The fire next to where he’d bedded down had long since gone out. He held his hands out and could still feel some heat radiating from the ashes, but it wasn’t enough to warm him much. He settled for rubbing his hands together.

  He rolled up his bedroll, secured it to his pack, and began putting his armor on. Gorabor emerged from the tent and stretched, yawning powerfully. He spared a quick, but unhappy look at Tovak and then without a word headed off to the latrines.

  Tovak let out a melancholic breath. He filled his waterskins from the tapped water barrel by the supply tent. The barrel had been placed on top of an old crate. Inside the supply tent, a single lamp burned, the glow of which filtered out through the flap. Tovak could hear someone, likely Sergeant Bahr, moving about inside. He returned to his pack to find Gorabor putting his armor on just outside the tent. Gorabor’s pack and spear lay by his feet. Tovak secured the waterskins to his pack.

  “Bloody armor,” Gorabor groused.

  Tovak looked up to see Gorabor struggling with a strap on his left side. He was trying to tie it one-handed, and the darkness made the effort more difficult.

  “Let me help you with that.” Tovak moved to assist.

  “I can manage, thank you,” Gorabor said brusquely, turning away from him. “I don’t need help from you.”

  “Okay,” Tovak said and backed off.

  “All right, ladies,” Thegdol called out from behind them.

  The corporal walked down the middle of the encampment, slapping the sides of several tents roughly with a stick as he went. “Beauty sleep isn’t going to help a single one of ya. You’re all beauties in my eyes. Get up and get ready. It’s gonna be a fine day, my beauties, I can just tell. We’ve got another fine day ahead of us.”

  “How is he always so cheerful in the morning?” Gorabor asked. “I swear I don’t think Thegdol ever sleeps.”

  Warriors emerged from their tents, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. There were several more calls from the other corporals as they rousted the company. Tovak heard the clatter of gear, armor, and weapons as the company readied themselves for the day. Thegdol spotted Tovak. For a moment, the corporal’s expression hardened, then he turned away and walked back the way he’d come, stopping to speak briefly with Jodin, who had just emerged from one of the tents.

  “You ready?” Gorabor asked from behind him.

  Gorabor had his armor on and had managed to secure it. His spear rested on the ground, next to his pack. The sight of the spear reminded Tovak he needed to speak with Sergeant Bahr to get issued a new one. He met Gorabor’s eyes for a moment and hesitated, wanting to say something, but he knew it would not matter. He was a Pariah. There was nothing he could do to change that.

  “Well?” Gorabor looked impatient.

  “Yeah,” Tovak said. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s get this done, then,” Gorabor said.

  Grabbing their packs, they made their way towards the supply tent. Before they’d gone ten feet, Logath stepped out from a tent, saw Tovak, and blocked his path, forcing him to stop short. Gorabor came to a halt as well.

  “You got lucky last night,” Logath said, leaning in close enough for Tovak to smell his foul breath. “I assure you, that won’t be happening again.”

  “We have to get the dodders,” Tovak said, not wanting any trouble with the corporal. “You are holding us up.”

  “Fetching our breakfast, like a good dog, eh? When you’re done with that, you can fill my squad’s waterskins. Perhaps then, I’ll pat your head, like a good dog. Would you like that, boy?”

  “Did you just call him a dog?” Dolan asked, stepping out of the same tent.

  “I think he did,” Bane said, coming over and joining them.

  “Logath,” Bane said, “I think you’re on the right path. We should put him to work. Save us the trouble of some grunt work.”

  “I think I might just do that,” Logath said. “Well, boy, how would you like me to put you to work?”

  “If Corporal Thegdol instructs me to assist you, then I will,” Tovak said. “He’s my squad leader. You are not. Now, get out of my way. I have a job to do.”
>
  Gorabor looked over sharply at Tovak, clearly shocked.

  “Got brass balls, do you?” Logath said, eyes narrowing dangerously.

  “He’s got balls, that’s for sure,” Bane said with a nasty chuckle. “I think it will be fun snipping them.”

  “What was Struugar thinking?” Dolan asked, looking over to Logath. “Pariahs are just plain, old-fashioned bad luck. Everyone knows that. Why would he accept him into the company?”

  “The captain likely felt sorry for this little piece of teska shit.” Logath glanced at Bane, then turned his gaze back to Tovak, fingering the hilt of the dagger at his belt. “You better watch yourself, boy. There was a Pariah over in Third Company a few years back. He was uppity too, just like you . . . didn’t know his place. He didn’t last long. His squad let the orcs have their way with him. The same can happen to you, if you’re not careful with your betters.”

  Tovak’s anger surged and he balled his fists, taking a step forward. He’d had enough of bullies.

  “What’s going on over there?” a sharp voice barked out. Benthok was standing a few feet away, a stern look upon his face. “I told you to get the dodders, Tovak. Stop wasting time and snap to it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said. He looked at Logath one last time and shot him a wink. Then, without saying a word, stepped around him and continued on for the supply tent, with Gorabor following. Benthok’s unhappy gaze flicked to him for a moment, then turned to Logath and the others.

  “There’s plenty to do,” Benthok said. “Don’t make me find work for you, Corporal.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Logath said. The three quickly dispersed, going their separate ways.

  Tovak’s anger simmered as he set his pack on the ground by the supply tent. Gorabor did the same, then met his gaze, and for a moment, it appeared as if he was going to say something. Whatever it was, Tovak wasn’t sure he could bear any pity from his former friend.

  “Let’s get moving,” Tovak said, speaking first. “Hopefully we can find our way there and back without the lieutenant’s help.”