Reclaiming Honor

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Tovak gave a weary nod.

  “I should still put you on charge,” Thegdol said, “for what you did. It was reckless.”

  “You won’t,” Tovak said wearily.

  “Oh?” Thegdol asked.

  “Don’t you recall? You gave me permission to go, Sergeant. I think most of the section heard that.”

  “You cheeky bastard,” Thegdol growled but looked amused. He sobered and became deadly serious. “Do it again, boy, and I will skin you alive, understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said.

  “Prepare to advance,” the officer in the red cloak called.

  “Who is that?” Tovak asked.

  Thegdol turned a surprised look on him. “You mean you don’t know?”

  Tovak shook his head.

  “That’s Karach, our boss,” Thegdol said.

  Tovak turned a stunned look on Karach, the warband’s commander.

  “He is the finest combat leader amongst the clans,” Thegdol continued with evident pride. “We are lucky to have him.”

  “How?” Tovak asked. “How is he here?” He pointed at the two companies of strikers. “How are they here?”

  “The lieutenant sent Corporal Hilla back to the warband with a report and a request for reinforcement,” Thegdol said. “About an hour after you left, Karach arrived with two full companies. We set out shortly after.”

  “You found my blazes,” Tovak surmised. “That’s how you got here so quickly.”

  “Aye, we did,” Thegdol said. “It helped us find our way.” The sergeant paused and then gestured at the warchief. “I told Karach you went on my orders to track them down and mark the way. If he knew the truth . . . well, let’s just say no matter what brave deeds you accomplished, he’d likely have given you the boot from the warband. Tovak, we do things as a team and follow orders. There is no place for those who think they don’t have to play by the rules. Best you learn that now.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Tovak said, feeling a terrible weariness steal over him.

  The heavy infantry, a few yards from them, gave a massed shout. The orcs replied in kind.

  “Where is the captain?” Tovak asked, realizing he was nowhere to be seen. “The lieutenant?”

  “Captain Struugar and Second Section had not yet arrived by the time we left,” Thegdol said, a concerned note in his tone. “The lieutenant was a little dazed by the blow he took. Still, he wanted to come. Karach ordered him to remain at camp.”

  Tovak gave a weary nod.

  “Oh.” Tovak drew the folded maps from under his armor. He handed them over to Thegdol. “I found these in the enemy camp, after I killed their leader. I thought they might be of some use.”

  Thegdol raised an eyebrow at that. He unfolded the large map. The sergeant studied it for a moment, then sucked in a breath. “Son, I think Karach is going to be very interested in this.”

  “What is it?” Tovak asked. “I couldn’t read it.”

  “Common tongue,” Thegdol said and tapped the map with a finger. “This map seems to indicate enemy positions in this region, garrisons, camps, towns. It should come in very handy. This map will likely save lives in the days to come.”

  There was a sudden massed roar. Both Tovak and Thegdol turned. The orcs had formed up into a boxlike formation. The enemy had begun advancing on the two companies.

  “First and second ranks,” Karach shouted, “ready spears to throw.” There was a pause as the front rank took a step forward and raised their spears. The second rank took a step back and did the same. “First rank, release.”

  A wave of spears arced up into the air. It fell into and around the formation of orcs with a clatter. Several orcs collapsed or fell out, a spear having struck home. The orc formation continued to close the distance.

  “Second rank,” Karach called, having waited a full ten count to allow the enemy to draw nearer. “Release.”

  Another wave of spears arced up into the air, crashing down on the orc formation. This toss was more accurate. There were screams, cries, and roars of rage.

  “Draw swords and prepare to advance,” Karach roared. “Tighten up the line. Ready shields.” The front rank’s shields were brought up, swords held at the ready. “Let’s meet them with Dvergr steel, boys. Advance.”

  The heavy infantry gave a cheer and began moving forward, one measured step at a time. The orc formation, after the two spear tosses, had lost much of its cohesion, but they were still advancing and seemed eager for a fight. An officer followed to their side and seemed to be encouraging them onward.

  The distance closed to twenty yards, then ten. At that point, the officer shouted out an order and the orc formation dissolved as they charged forward, crashing into the Dvergr shield line. It was almost as if the orcs had run into a stone wall, for the strikers held firm.

  This was the first time Tovak had seen a real battle. It was loud, much louder than the raid on the camp, and it beat down on the senses. The strikers fought from behind the protection of their heavy shields, stabbing and slashing outward with their swords at the enemy.

  Karach was moving slowly back and forth behind the line, giving direction where it was needed. The fight seemed rather one-sided to Tovak, for the infantry was heavily armored and they outnumbered the enemy at least two to one.

  “Push them,” Karach shouted. “Throw your shoulders into it. Push them.”

  The shield wall began to move forward, one foot at a time. With a great effort, they forced the enemy back.

  “This won’t last long,” Thegdol said. “The enemy don’t have shields and are lightly armored. They don’t stand a chance. They are likely from a skirmishing unit, like ours. Pride and fear of losing face is what brought them to battle, and they will suffer for it.”

  Sure enough, the enemy broke less than thirty heartbeats later, fleeing back the way they’d come. The strikers broke ranks and pounded after them, killing all they could catch. Many were able to escape, for the strikers were heavily encumbered and the orcs were not. Still, the orcs had left a considerable number of dead and wounded behind. They had paid a steep price for their stand against two line companies.

  As they watched the strikers pursue the fleeing enemy back up the canyon, Tovak suddenly felt the incredible weariness return. His legs unexpectedly gave out. Thegdol caught him before he could fall and helped him over to where Gorabor and Dagmar were resting.

  Corporal Karn hustled over and assisted, helping Thegdol gently lower Tovak to the ground a few feet from Dagmar and Gorabor.

  “Thank you,” Tovak said and felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. He closed his eyes tight, then opened them. The dizziness passed.

  “Thegdol,” Karn said, looking at his sergeant, “with Jodin down and likely out of action for the foreseeable future, I’d be honored to have Tovak in my squad. Would you mind if I take him?”

  Tovak looked at Karn, astonished and at a loss for words. He was a Pariah and Karn wanted him in his squad?

  “I’ll take you in, boy,” Karn said, “that is, if you don’t mind joining Third Section and the sergeant agrees.”

  “Can Gorabor come too?” Tovak asked hastily, with a look to his friend.

  “You can have both of them,” Thegdol said. “Try to keep them out of trouble, will you, Karn? Because I can’t seem to do that.”

  “Me too,” Dagmar said and jabbed a thumb at Tovak. “I want to stick with him. I’ll keep him out of trouble for you, Karn.”

  “Are you gonna teach him how to properly shirk duty?” Karn asked.

  “I’ve never shirked a day in my life,” Dagmar said, appearing scandalized.

  “Right,” Karn said. “In my squad, I won’t tolerate your nonsense. Still want in?”

  “Logath won’t be happy losing you,” Thegdol said.

  “Bugger Logath,” Dagmar said. “Tovak came for me and saved my sorry ass. I bet Logath argued against going.”

  “Right then,” Thegdol said and let out a heavy breath, “you can ha
ve all three of these knuckleheads.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Karn said.

  “They’re your headache now.” Thegdol stepped away towards the officers, one of whom was beckoning him over.

  “Welcome to Third Section,” Karn said, looking over at the three of them.

  Pleased, relieved, and thoroughly worn out, Tovak laid back on the ground and stared up at the blue sky. Small puffy white clouds floated high above. It was beautiful.

  “Thank you for the blessing of life, Thulla,” Tovak said to himself. He would add a prayer knot of thanks to his beard later. He reached up and drew his Age of Iron ring out from where he wore it about his neck. With a tug, he ripped it free and held the simple band made of rough iron between two fingers. He had been embarrassed of its poor quality. No more. He was done hiding things about himself. He was who he was and that was the end of it. He slipped the ring on his right pinky finger.

  “It turned out to be one fine day,” Dagmar said to Tovak, “didn’t it?”

  “A very fine day,” Tovak agreed.

  EPILOGUE

  General Kenteg gazed down upon the orc messenger, who knelt before him, head pressed to the carpet that covered the grass. The messenger was a young bull, clearly just past the rut. He was dirty from his travels and filled Kenteg’s personal tent with the stale smell of sweat and fear. He was trembling slightly. Kenteg knew the messenger had traveled far and, from the date of the dispatch, had made good time too. Kenteg’s gaze moved to the dispatch in his hand and then back to the messenger.

  “You know the contents?” Kenteg asked, doing his best to control his anger. He handed the message over to his aide, Barick, who immediately began reading. Barick furrowed his heavy brow in clear disbelief before baring his tusks in a grimace of irritation. Kenteg felt like doing the same, but restrained himself.

  “I do, General.” The messenger straightened. He sounded weary, near exhaustion. “I was there when it all happened, sir. It was I who discovered Captain Jarenth’s body.”

  “How many survived the battle that followed?” Kenteg asked.

  “Barely sixty, General,” the messenger said, anger and disdain creeping into his tone. “Lieutenant Mesog ordered us forward. It was a mistake to attack the dwarves. We were outnumbered. They were heavy infantry and chewed us up something quick. There was only one outcome from the moment they emerged from the forest: our defeat.”

  Kenteg flexed a fist in frustration. Mesog had been a fool to attack such strength. Scouts against warriors of the line was an unequal contest. He should have fallen back, but passions amongst his people ran high. Mesog likely feared a losing of face in front of the enemy and so the fool had wasted good warriors and even better scouts.

  The messenger was right. It had all been a mistake, one that had serious potential repercussions for Kenteg personally. The thought drove his anger white-hot. That there was a warband out on the plateau, when there shouldn’t be, was cause for concern and a serious headache. Worse, if the dwarves discovered what he was after, there would be trouble. With effort, he forced his normal studied control to return. Façade back in place, Kenteg ran a finger down his right tusk as he thought the matter over. The silence in the tent dragged out.

  “Lieutenant Mesog died as well?” Kenteg asked, for Mesog had not written the dispatch. Some lowly priest had.

  “No, sir,” the messenger said. “He was badly injured. The priest feels, given time, he will recover.”

  “What is your name?” Kenteg asked, deciding that Mesog’s life would be numbered in days.

  “Legick,” the messenger replied.

  “Legick,” Kenteg said, “you did good bringing me this news.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Legick said. “It was a difficult journey.”

  “I understand,” Kenteg said, softening his tone. “See the camp cooks. Get yourself fed. After you’ve rested, you will be heading back, along with new orders for your company. You may go.”

  “Yes, sir.” The messenger breathed out a barely audible, yet clearly relieved, breath. He stood and saluted, then turned away. Kenteg stepped forward, drawing his dagger. Coming up behind the messenger, he grabbed Legick firmly around the mouth and plunged the blade into the side of the neck, severing the jugular. It was over almost before it began, as Kenteg flexed his powerful muscles and snapped the neck to ensure the death was quick and clean. Legick, as an honorable warrior, deserved nothing less. He went limp in Kenteg’s arms.

  Regretting the necessity of the killing, Kenteg gently, almost reverently, lowered the body to the ground. He straightened, gazed down on the body for a moment, then stepped over to his camp table. His breakfast lay untouched, where he’d left it. The porridge had gone cold. He retrieved a small hand towel.

  Barick was staring at him. There was no reproach or disapproval in his aide’s gaze. He too understood that necessity had required the killing of the messenger. There had been no choice. Legick’s fate had been sealed the moment he entered the tent.

  Kenteg carefully began wiping his blade clean on the towel, a feeling of intense distaste washing over him. Blood had soaked into his rug, ruining it. He eyed it sourly, knowing it would have to be replaced.

  “This is a mess,” Barick said, breaking the silence in the tent.

  “If you are referring to the rug, I can always get another,” Kenteg said. “If by mess you are meaning the matter with Jarenth’s company, then yes, it is a problem for us.”

  “The latter,” Barick said. “I don’t care about your rugs. Your taste in rugs is terrible.”

  “You think so?” Kenteg asked, almost amused. Then the anger returned. “Jarenth and that other fool, Ghitago . . . between them, they attacked not one, but two dwarven camps within miles of one another. Is it too much to ask that my company commanders follow orders?”

  “It is a pity neither survived,” Barick said.

  “Do you think my orders were clear enough?” Kenteg asked.

  “They were very clear, General,” Barick said and set the dispatch down on the table. “Shadow the enemy and avoid all contact. I drafted those orders myself.” Barick paused, looking upon Legick’s body. “Perhaps a few examples need to be made?”

  “That would draw too much attention,” Kenteg said. “This must be kept quiet.”

  “At least we know who we face.” Barick gestured towards the dispatch.

  “The Blood Badgers,” Kenteg said, “not my first choice.”

  “With any luck, the dwarves will think they are facing advance units only and not an entire army.”

  “We have to assume the opposite,” Kenteg said, “but . . . I pray you are correct.”

  Barick said nothing to that, which told Kenteg that he too understood the truth in the matter. The dwarves had been put on notice and now knew there was an army operating nearby. They would take steps to protect and guard themselves against attack.

  Kenteg returned his gaze to the dead messenger, who had ruined his rug.

  “You will take trusted warriors,” Kenteg said, after a brief hesitation, “and find the remains of Jarenth’s company. None are to live to tell their tale. Krix can never know about this debacle. If he discovers the truth, our heads will end up on a pike . . . or worse, he will see us stretched over a priest’s altar.”

  “I understand,” Barick said quietly. “What of the remains of Ghitago’s company?”

  “Those goblins are likely still running for the hills,” Kenteg said. “We will never see them again. With luck, the wild gnomes that inhabit these mountains will get them. With their continual raids, they’ve certainly caused us enough of a hassle.”

  “We are trespassing and the gnomes rightly don’t like it,” Barick said. “By treaty, this is their land.” Barick blew out a breath. “To be certain, I think it would be wise to mount an expedition to hunt down the survivors from Ghitago’s company.”

  Kenteg thought about the suggestion. Knowing the gnomes, it would likely prove to be a costly venture, weakening h
is strength further. “Do it. Spread the word they are deserters who murdered Ghitago.”

  “If you throw in a little gold,” Barick suggested, “I would think that should provide incentive enough to overlook any potentially embarrassing questions.”

  “A gold crown for each head, then,” Kenteg said. “That should also serve to scare the rest of our goblins in line. I wish I’d never been burdened with them. At least the humans are useful in a battle.”

  “Agreed,” Barick said.

  Outside, the sound of beating wings turned both their heads towards the entrance flap of the tent. Kenteg felt a tickle of fear. A wyrm screeched its deafening cry. It was followed by a hard thud as the massive beast landed not too far off. Kenteg knew, without a doubt, who had come to see him.

  “General,” a guard said, holding the tent flap aside. The guard hesitated a moment as he took in the body on the rug. “Lord Krix has arrived.”

  “I will be there shortly,” Kenteg said. He knew it would take time for Krix to unstrap himself from the saddle and dismount.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said and allowed the tent flap to fall back in place.

  “You will leave immediately,” Kenteg said to Barick as he placed the now-clean dagger on the table. He took up the dispatch and crumpled it up before tossing it into a small brazier in the corner. The message flared into brilliant flame then rapidly darkened as the parchment curled in upon itself. “Do not come back until the job is done.”

  “Yes, General,” Barick said, “as you command.”

  Kenteg gave a nod, tightened the belt on his tunic, then strode for the tent entrance and stepped outside. Though the sky had begun to lighten, the first of the two suns had yet to rise. The air was cool, almost crisp.

  His army encampment spread out in all directions, thousands upon thousands of tents. Fires, almost too numerous to count, pushed back against the early morning gloom. Soon those tents would come down and the fires would be extinguished as the army prepared to march.

  With the arrival of the wyrm, the usual cacophony of the early morning camp had gone silent. The massive beast was jet-black, and fearsome-looking. Its head, scarred from battle, swung around to face him. The jaws parted and a tongue of flame licked outward. A massive claw dug into the ground. The dragon should have sent a ripple of fear and apprehension through him, but it did not. What did was the man climbing off the dragon’s back and down from the saddle.