Shrike, working by the fire, glanced in his direction briefly as Tovak passed. “You win?”
“Yes,” Tovak said over his shoulder as he made his way over to his pack. His hands had started to shake violently.
“I was hoping you would.”
Tovak sat down hard and leaned on his pack. He felt drained, exhausted, more so than he’d ever felt in his entire life. He ached and hurt something fierce. He placed a hand on his pack and felt where Thulla’s Blessed Word lay, tucked away. The feel of it brought him some comfort.
Grabbing his waterskin, he took a few gulps and then poured the rest over his face. He fingered the cut on his cheek. It had just been reopened, was all.
“That was a heck of a fight,” Thegdol said.
Tovak looked up to see his corporal standing before him. Behind him, the rest of the section was streaming back into camp.
“You did well,” Thegdol said.
“Thank you, Corporal,” Tovak replied. He wasn’t sure what Thegdol intended.
“Let me see that cut on your cheek.”
Tovak saw Thegdol was carrying a stopped jar and rag. He opened the jar and soaked the cloth with vinegar. Tovak could smell the pungent scent.
“That’s an order, son,” Thegdol said as he knelt before Tovak. Thegdol inspected the cut, probing it gently with his fingers, prompting a wince out of Tovak.
“Was that your first Circle?”
“It was.”
Thegdol probed the wound again.
“Hurts,” Tovak said.
“It should, though it’s not too bad,” he said. “You don’t need any stitches.” He dabbed at the wound with the rag. The vinegar burned like fire, but Tovak held still, taking the pain. Thegdol wiped the blood from Tovak’s face and then handed him the rag. “It should stop bleeding soon. Make sure you keep that wound clean. I don’t want it spoiling. You may end up with a bit of scar from this. If you do, consider it a badge of honor.”
“Yes, Corporal,” Tovak replied.
“Are you injured anywhere else?” Thegdol asked. “How are your ribs?”
Tovak felt his ribs. “I hurt, but I seem to be whole.”
“If the pain gets worse,” Thegdol said, “you let me know straightaway.”
“Yes, Corporal.”
“I want you to swear on your Legend you will tell me if the pain worsens,” Thegdol said.
“I swear,” Tovak said.
That seemed to satisfy the corporal, for he gave a nod.
“Clean yourself up, attend to your kit, and then get some rest, all right?” Thegdol stood, patting him on the shoulder. “It was a good fight, honestly won.”
“I will, and thank you.”
Thegdol was about to turn away and then stopped. “Eat something before you turn in, even if you’re not hungry. After today and that fight, you need food.”
Tovak nodded.
“Corporal?” Tovak asked, his thoughts shifting to Jodin. “Did I injure Jodin badly?”
“Corporal Logath is seeing to him,” Thegdol said. “You might have broken his nose, but I believe that is the worst of his injuries.”
With that, Thegdol walked off, leaving him alone. Tovak lay back on his bedroll and closed his eyes.
He blinked as someone nudged his leg. Tovak realized that he’d fallen asleep. He sat up and pain lanced through his side, snapping him fully awake. He groaned. Then looked around. The section was lined up and receiving their dinner from Shrike. Then memory returned in a rush. He’d won the Circle. Had that really happened?
“Tovak?”
He looked up and over to his left to see Gorabor holding out a steaming bowl. He held another one in his other hand. “I brought you some food. Shrike gave you a double portion. He said you’d need it.”
Tovak was moved by the gesture, not only from Shrike but from Gorabor getting him food. He accepted the bowl and was surprised to find it was his own mess bowl.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Gorabor said. “I did not want to wake you. I went in your pack and got your bowl.”
“I don’t mind,” Tovak said and then cleared his throat. He no longer had anything to hide. He looked down at the steaming meat, which smelled delicious, then back at Gorabor, who sat down next to him.
“I wanted you to win . . . and . . . .” Gorabor bit at his lip, almost embarrassed by his own words. “And I’m sorry for . . . well, for my part in all this, turning my back on you. You did not deserve that. I never imagined what it must be like as a . . . .” He hesitated, a shameful look on his face. “As a Pariah.”
Tovak did not know what to say. He had not expected this, so he remained silent.
“For what it’s worth,” Gorabor rushed on, “I don’t care who your father was. From here on out, you’re just another member of my squad, my section, and my company. I swear on my Legend, I will treat you as you deserve.”
Part of him wanted to think this was just some trick. There had been so many over the years. But then, he recalled Gorabor’s words before the fight—good luck—and he realized that Gorabor meant it. There was no deception on his face. An unexpected warm feeling washed over him, a feeling he hadn’t felt for a very long time.
Tovak cleared his throat. “Thanks.” It sounded rather lame to him.
“I would consider you a friend,” Gorabor said, “that is, if you will have me.”
“A friend?” Tovak asked. “Are you sure about this? Befriending a Pariah won’t make you very popular. There’s no need for it. It’ll be easier on you, if you leave me alone.”
“I don’t care what they think, any of them,” he said. “You showed true Legend today. I would consider it an honor if you’d name me friend again.”
“I—” He couldn’t continue. He swallowed as he became choked up.
Gorabor seemed to understand. He gave a nod.
“Rest and eat,” Gorabor said. “I think you need it. You took a beating out there.”
Tovak could not disagree. Jodin had hammered him something fierce.
“I have to hurry and eat,” Gorabor said. “I’m on first watch, so we can talk later, all right?”
Tovak nodded and realized just how much he was starting to hurt.
Gorabor rose to his feet and moved to his pack a few yards away, sitting down to eat.
Tovak pulled out his knife, speared some of the hopper meat, and took a bite. He immediately winced. His jaw hurt something terrible.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tovak dropped the heratta onto the growing pile and straightened up stiffly. A gust of wind worked its way through the trees, causing the leaves and pine needles to rustle. As if they were old men freshly risen from bed, the tree limbs creaked and complained as they swayed overhead. He glanced up at the sky, watching the canopy above shift with the wind.
The first of the two suns was almost directly overhead, the brightness causing him to squint. The sky was a perfect blue, without even the wisp of a cloud. Under the shade of the canopy and with the wind, the temperature was quite comfortable. Tovak thought it almost the perfect day, as it was not too hot and not too cold.
“How much longer do you think we will be hunting?” Gorabor asked as he dropped a hopper next to the one Tovak had just dragged over.
“Do you have somewhere else to be?” Tovak asked, amused by his friend’s impatience. He grinned at his joke and almost instantly regretted it, as his jaw and cheek hurt terribly from his fight with Jodin the previous evening.
“Funny,” Gorabor said, then kicked his kill lightly with his boot. “Seriously, I’ve had my fill of hunting bugs. So, when do you think we will pack up and head back to the warband?”
Tovak glanced over at Thegdol as he considered Gorabor’s question. The corporal was several yards away and had just brought down a hopper with his sling. He decided there was no telling when they would head back. He turned his gaze back to Gorabor. “I’m the new guy here, remember? You tell me.”
“Whenever the lieutenant says, I guess,” G
orabor said, answering his own question. “I suppose I could ask Thegdol. He might tell me.”
“You could.” Tovak ran a hand through his beard and glanced back towards the corporal. The rest of the squad, Lok, Staggen, and Morda, were just beyond. Benthok had assigned Jodin some special duty, which had kept him from joining the day’s hunt. Tovak suspected the lieutenant’s motivation was more to keep the two of them apart for a time, to allow for tempers to cool. Not for the first time, Tovak wondered how Jodin would take the loss in the Circle.
Besides Gorabor, there had been almost no conversation amongst his squad mates as they left the camp and marched up to the where they would spend the day hunting. It was as if they were uncomfortable around him, not quite sure how to deal with his victory in the Circle. Even Thegdol had seemed standoffish, almost cold.
Tovak cracked his neck. His entire body was one big hurt. Not only had the fight left him in serious discomfort, but he’d woken up incredibly stiff. It had taken more than a little effort to drag himself out of his bedroll. At first, he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to make it through the day. But with each passing hour, it got a little easier and he felt less stiff, though he still hurt.
He glanced down at the knuckles on his left hand. They were red and bruised. He clenched his hurt hand and flexed it a few times, trying not to wince at the pain.
“With that cut on your cheek and those two shiners,” Gorabor said, “you look a right mess.”
“I feel a right mess,” Tovak said and then stretched out his back. His side was terribly sore but stretching seemed to help a bit.
“If I ran into you in a back alley,” Gorabor said, “I might fear for my life. Heck, after what you did to Jodin, who needs a back alley? I’d just run at the sight of you.”
Tovak laughed and then winced as pain flared not only in his jaw, but his side too. He held out a hand, palm outward. “Don’t make me laugh, please, I beg you.”
Gorabor grinned and wagged a finger at him. “That’s what you get for accepting a challenge.”
“I think I might have learned my lesson,” Tovak said.
“Only time will tell if that’s true,” Gorabor said, thoroughly amused.
A horn blared from the direction of the camp, two short blasts. Tovak’s head came up, his pain and discomfort forgotten.
“That’s the recall,” Gorabor said as the horn blew a second time.
“The recall?” Tovak asked. “They want us back?”
“Something must be wrong,” Gorabor said. “They’re not supposed to use the horn while out in the field, unless it is important. At least, that’s what Jodin told me.”
“Gather ‘round,” Thegdol called from behind them.
Tovak and Gorabor jogged over, as did Staggen, Morda, and Lok.
“What do you think is wrong?” Staggen asked.
Tovak saw the worry in the veteran’s eyes and that concerned him more than a little bit.
“We’ll find out when we get there,” Thegdol said in an even tone that betrayed no emotion whatsoever. “The camp is only a short distance off. Until we know what’s going on, we leave the kills here. We can always come back for them.” The corporal turned his gaze to Gorabor, who had rested his hand on his sword hilt. He looked ready to draw the weapon. “There’s no need for swords. Keep it sheathed, lad, until I say.”
Gorabor colored and removed his hand from the hilt.
“We go quietly, but with eyes open and in teams of two. I want five feet of spacing between each team. Staggen and Lok will go first, then Gorabor and Tovak. Me and Morda will bring up the rear. Staggen, you’re on point. No need to rush, keep it a slow and steady pace. Understand?”
“Got it,” Staggen said.
Tovak felt there was something calming in being given direction. The corporal’s manner was full of confidence too, and that helped.
“Listen, if the camp had fallen under attack,” Thegdol said, “the horn call would have been different. They would have sounded the call to arms. We don’t know why we’ve been recalled. It could just be the section’s been ordered to break camp early, or it could be something more serious. Stay calm but keep your eyes open. Any questions?”
Thegdol looked around. There were none.
The corporal clapped his hands softly together. “Right then, let’s get moving.”
Splitting up into teams, they made their way through the trees, moving in the direction of camp. Staggen led, with Lok a couple steps behind. No one spoke, but with each step, heads swiveled and eyes scanned the forest. Tovak kept expecting orcs or goblins to rush them. With every gust of wind, the forest made noise and Tovak found his hand often straying to his sword hilt.
Then, as they neared the edge for the tree line, Staggen came to an abrupt halt. He looked back around and motioned for the rest of them to come up. As they gazed outward across the field, Tovak saw the section’s camp was full of skirmishers. It appeared as if they had been reinforced.
“That can’t be good,” Staggen said, glancing over at the corporal.
“No, it’s not,” Thegdol agreed. “The nearest section is Third, and their camp is two miles to the south. No one else is supposed to be out this way but us.” The corporal heaved a sigh. “So I’m guessing that’s them.”
“You’re probably right,” Staggen said.
“No sense wasting daylight,” Thegdol said.
Grass whispering about their feet, the corporal led them across the field. As they neared the camp, they saw a line of bodies on the ground by the entrance. There were eight of them upon makeshift litters; their faces were covered in blankets.
“Gods,” Lok breathed, in evident horror.
Staggen approached the nearest body, knelt, and lifted the blanket to look at the warrior underneath. He let out a long hissing breath through his teeth and set the blanket carefully back, then patted the chest of the deceased. He looked up at Thegdol, sorrow in his gaze.
“Angor from Third Section,” Staggen said.
“Aye,” Thegdol said, glancing towards the camp. “All of Third’s in camp, though I don’t see Sergeant Kelloth.”
Tovak looked towards camp. The sentries on watch had been doubled. They gazed outward and seemed more vigilant than before. Then his gaze traveled back to the bodies. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the dead. These were Dvergr who, the previous day, he’d handed dodders to. They had treated him poorly. Still, gazing upon their remains, Tovak felt nothing but a deep sadness wash over him for their passing. He said a silent prayer, asking Thulla to help them cross over to the ancestral feasting halls in the great beyond.
Thegdol spat on the ground, turned away, and started for the bridge. The squad followed after him. At the bridge, the corporal motioned Dagmar over. “What happened?”
“Third was ambushed this morning by a band of goblins,” Dagmar said. “They managed to fight them off and kill most of ’em. Third took some casualties in the process.” Dagmar paused and glanced towards the lieutenant. “Your squad is the last one in. The lieutenant’s been waiting for you.”
Thegdol took the hint and made his way over the bridge, once again closely followed by his squad. The lieutenant spotted him almost immediately.
“Corporal Thegdol, join us, if you would.”
The lieutenant, looking grim, was standing with the other corporals from First Section and one from Third, Corporal Karn. Most of the section, clearly having just come in, were gathered in a loose group around them. Benthok held a dispatch in his hand.
Third Section sat scattered around the inside of the camp, leaning against their packs or the dirt of the berm. The sight of the Third was alarming. They appeared exhausted and thoroughly worn out. The shock was evident in their vacant and hollow expressions. To Tovak’s horror, some were covered head to toe in blood, both goblin green and Dvergr red. A number were asleep, having clearly just laid down and passed out. One, sitting on the ground, was rocking back and forth as he wept into his hands. Another crouched down n
ext to him and patted him gently on the back, while saying something into his ear.
“A bad business, this,” Benthok said, glancing around before fixing his attention on Corporal Thegdol.
“Yes, sir,” Thegdol said. “A terrible loss.”
“Thegdol, you’re being promoted.”
“Promoted?” Thegdol asked. “To sergeant?”
“Sergeant Kelloth’s been killed,” Benthok said. “You are now the senior sergeant for the company.”
“Bloody gods,” Thegdol breathed in dismay, his eyes moving in the direction of the bodies. “Kelloth’s dead? I don’t believe it, sir.”
“He’s gone,” Benthok said in a gruff tone that almost suggested he was having difficulty believing it too. “He died as a warrior should, sword in hand and leading from the front.”
“What of Bahr?” Thegdol said. “He’s senior to me, sir.”
“Sergeant Bahr is not here,” Benthok said and then shook the dispatch. “You are. The captain has made you Sergeant Thegdol.”
There was some shifting of feet from the other corporals. Tovak noticed that Logath looked distinctly unhappy. Whether that was because of what had happened or Thegdol’s promotion was unclear.
“Yes, sir,” Thegdol said, then softened his tone. “I’m sorry for Kelloth’s loss, sir.”
“He was a good warrior.” The lieutenant cleared his throat, clearly moved by Kelloth’s loss. Then his tone became firm. “You have big boots to fill, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” Thegdol said. “I know I do.”
“The captain . . . .” Benthok said, becoming all business. He ran his gaze around the gathered corporals and skirmishers from First Section. “The captain sent Third Section to us and the wounded back to the encampment. He’s taken Second Section to pursue the goblins.”
“By themselves?” Logath asked, seeming surprised by that. “Is that wise, sir?”
“Before his death, Sergeant Kelloth was able to rally Third Section and counter-attack. They killed most of the attackers,” Benthok said. “The captain believes the goblins to be from an isolated tribe and is following them back to their den to be certain. You all know Struugar. They won’t even know he’s coming.” Benthok paused to suck in a breath. “The captain, with Second Section, will join us come morning.”
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