Forging Destiny

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  There was a slight shifting in the ranks at that.

  “My scouts have been there,” Dagon continued. “The only access to the valley for the warband is a narrow, twisting pass, roughly four miles long. The pass is blocked by a fortified wall. We believe the wall is held by two to three hundred orcs and goblins.”

  Dagon paused.

  “The main force of the Blood Badgers will be assaulting the wall directly. Captain Struugar will be personally leading that attack.” This caused a slight stir of surprise that was barely perceptible. “To us falls the difficult task of keeping the enemy from reinforcing their position on the wall, but also, potentially, striking at it from behind. That’s the good news.” Dagon paused. “Now for the bad news. We have reason to believe there is a sizable enemy presence nearby and possibly in the valley itself. Clearly, our work is cut out for us.” Dagon paused once again. “Right, then. I’ve done enough talking. We have a long way to go today and I want to get started.”

  Dagon’s gaze abruptly returned to Tovak, for only the briefest of moments, before he looked away. Tovak got that same old sinking feeling in his heart. His company had mostly embraced him, but there would always be Dvergr like Dagon who would not.

  So be it, he thought. He would prove them all wrong. He would show them his worth, and no matter how many stood in his way, or how pettily they behaved, he would push forward and forge his own destiny, one worthy of great Legend.

  “Officers, on me,” Dagon called and stepped away.

  The march began a short while later, after the officers had conferred. Greng’s company was first in the line of march, Second Pioneers came next, and the Baelix followed, bringing up the rear.

  The night air was cool, and Tovak thought it a refreshing break from the persistent heat of the last few days. He decided he much preferred marching when it wasn’t too hot out.

  After the column had gone a mile and passed beyond immediate sight of the warband’s encampment, the line of march had spread out and become more relaxed. Talking amongst the ranks had been granted.

  Gorabor looked over at him. He appeared troubled, almost hesitant to speak. He knew his friend was working himself up to ask an uncomfortable question. Tovak half suspected what was coming.

  Dagmar, Bettoth, Torimar, and Karn were just behind them, having a spirited conversation amongst themselves about noseball and who the best runners and blockers were in the warband. Noseball was a sport Tovak enjoyed watching, but as a Pariah, he’d never been permitted to play.

  “What was up with Dagon?” Gorabor asked, in a low tone. “It seemed like it was more than you being a Pariah.”

  “Saw that, did you?” Tovak asked, looking back over.

  “I don’t think he likes you very much,” Gorabor said. “At least, that’s the impression I got.”

  Tovak shrugged his shoulders, which, given the fact that he was wearing a heavy pack, was more difficult than it sounded. He looked over and gave his friend a weary expression.

  “Did I mention that his eldest son was at Barasoom?” Tovak asked.

  Gorabor did not seem to understand at first, then his eyebrows went up. “He was killed while under your father’s command?”

  Tovak nodded.

  “That explains a lot,” Gorabor said unhappily.

  “‘With every moment of suffering,” Tovak said quietly, so that only his friend could hear and not those behind, “we are made more whole. With each pain, and hurt, we draw nearer to Thulla’s heart and can tap more fully upon His bountiful and limitless might, until, finally, we become a mountain of strength for others to draw upon.’”

  “You’re getting religious on me,” Gorabor said with a chuckle.

  Tovak felt suddenly embarrassed. He’d grown comfortable around Gorabor, perhaps too much. He’d forgotten for a moment that most of his people shunned Thulla.

  “It’s … it’s from Thulla’s Blessed Word.”

  “An idiot could tell that,” Gorabor said, looking over at him with an amused expression. “I knew you were faithful. By now, you should know, there’s no need to hide it, at least with me.”

  “Does it bother you?” Tovak asked, worried that he might have crossed a line somehow by preaching.

  “Not a bit,” Gorabor smiled. “Belief is a personal thing. You either follow Thulla’s teachings or you don’t. It’s not my place to tell you or others what to believe in. That said, I did enjoy the passage.”

  “Tovak?” a deep voice said from behind him. “You’re Tovak, correct?”

  Tovak turned to see a lieutenant approaching, walking up the column as it continued to march. He was the one Dagon had been speaking with earlier. From his cloak, Tovak saw he was one of Dagon’s officers.

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak replied uneasily and on guard.

  “I am Lieutenant Brund.” The lieutenant fell in beside him. “You’ve been the talk of the warband.”

  Brund appeared to be only a few years older than Tovak. There was a youthful exuberance about him, an extra bounce in his step that spoke of energy and enthusiasm for his work.

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said neutrally, unsure how to take that, especially coming from one of Dagon’s officers.

  “Benthok speaks quite highly of you,” Brund continued, “and he hardly ever speaks highly of anyone. Your lieutenant has always been rather taciturn around the officers’ mess.”

  Tovak glanced in Benthok’s direction. The lieutenant was marching at the head of the Baelix Guard, with Thegdol. The two were deep in conversation. Tovak almost missed a step. With them was a priest. He had not seen the priest before they had marched.

  “If you say so, sir,” Tovak said, still unsure where the conversation was headed. Those nearest had stopped talking and he sensed they were actively listening.

  “Aye,” Brund said, “after I’d heard about what you did, I wanted to meet you. It took a lot of guts to sneak into an enemy camp to rescue your comrades.” He looked at Tovak, studying him for several heartbeats. “Either you are very good at what you do, or fortune favors you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said, deciding the neutral approach was best.

  “Karn.” Brund looked back at the corporal. “I see you survived again. I guess there’s no killing bastards like you. At least the enemy can’t do a proper job of it.”

  A slight, almost mocking smile tugged on the lieutenant’s beard.

  “No, sir,” Karn said. “So nice to see you again too, sir. Your presence just brightens my day, sir.”

  “And you’re still a bloody liar,” Brund said with a laugh.

  “Lieutenant Brund,” Dagon called back from ahead. “If you would join me.”

  “Gotta go. Duty calls.” The lieutenant looked back over at Tovak. “When we have a moment, I would like to hear about the rescue of your comrades.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  With that, Brund picked up his pace and left them.

  “Lieutenant Benthok,” Dagon called a moment later. “Join me as well, would you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Benthok said and hurried forward.

  Tovak had expected dislike and coldness from Dagon’s officers. Brund had been friendly. He didn’t know what to make of it all.

  “Brund’s got too much enthusiasm,” Dagmar said, “He’s too eager to do his job, but I’ll readily admit, he’s one of the better officers.”

  “He is,” Karn agreed. “He’s fair and knows what he’s doing, which is more than I can say for a number of officers I’ve had the sad pleasure to meet.”

  “At least he doesn’t lord it over us,” Torimar added. “He’s a bit easier going than Benthok and less intense too.”

  Tovak found his gaze going back to the priest, who was now walking beside Thegdol.

  “Why is there a priest with us?” Tovak asked and gestured ahead.

  “Oh,” Karn said, “that’s just Fenton. He’s a surgeon too.”

  “A surgeon,” Tovak said, surprised.

  “That means Dagon and
Greng expect casualties,” Torimar said. “He’s along to save lives.”

  “Save lives?” Dagmar scoffed. “He’s a sawbones. They’re all the same. He just hides it better beneath his priestly robes.”

  “Fenton’s not that bad,” Torimar said. “He doesn’t throw his religion in your face all the time. Nor does he beg for money and donations to the church, like the other priests.”

  “He sewed me up once,” Dagmar said. “Hurt something awful.”

  “Was it your ass?” Torimar asked.

  Dagmar shot Torimar an unhappy look.

  “I like Fenton,” Bettoth said. “He’s not afraid to go out into the field with us and share the dangers. You know, I once saw him pick up a sword and stick a goblin clean through with it.”

  “Really?” Gorabor asked. “He sounds like no priest I’ve ever heard of.”

  “I remember that,” Karn said, looking over at Bettoth. “What was the name of that gods forsaken village?”

  “Delanthus,” Bettoth said. “We lost a lot of good mates there.”

  “We did,” Karn said. “It was a bitch of a fight.”

  They fell silent for a time, the grass crunching under their feet.

  “Tovak,” Karn said, “why was Dagon interested in you? I saw him glance your way when he addressed us.”

  Tovak suppressed a sigh. He knew he should have expected others besides Gorabor to notice too. He sucked in a breath and let it out through his teeth.

  “When I first tried to get an appointment with the Blood Badgers, I spoke to Dagon. He—he rejected me.” Tovak looked back at Karn with pained eyes. He was done hiding who he was. They deserved the truth. “Dagon’s son was killed at Barasoom.”

  “Oh shit,” Karn said. “Dagon’s son was there?”

  “That’s just bloody unlucky for you,” Dagmar said.

  “Yes,” Tovak agreed, “it is.”

  “Dagon’s not the kind to forgive easily,” Karn said. “He is known for holding grudges.”

  “Well,” Dagmar said, “I guess when it rains it pours.”

  “Dagmar.” Karn glanced up at the dark sky. “Let’s not tempt Fortuna, shall we? I don’t think we want to be rained on.”

  “No, Corporal,” Dagmar said. “We don’t need no rain.”

  “How about putting that flute of yours to some good?” Karn said. “Play us a marching tune, something to make our steps and hearts a tad lighter.”

  Dagmar, not needing any further encouragement, pulled out his stone flute. Within moments, he was playing a tune. Shortly, more flutes joined in.

  For a while, Tovak’s steps seemed lighter. But his thoughts took a troubled turn. As Tovak continued to march, his eyes kept shifting towards the northeast, where Keelbooth lay. He wondered about the Dvergr who had settled these lands and all that had been revealed to him the previous night. Who had they been? Where had they gone? What had happened to them?

  He thought on trials and tests to come, what lay ahead. More fighting undoubtedly lay in his future. He was certain of it. What of Dagon? How would the captain of the pioneers complicate his life? He had so many questions, and so few answers. Still, Tovak had the feeling he was marching towards destiny, being inexorably pulled towards something. What that was, he knew not, and that troubled him something fierce.

  Chapter Eight

  They marched for two hours before a break was called. By that time, both suns had cleared the eastern wall of mountains and with them the heat had increased dramatically. Tovak had grown warm in his armor, to the point where he was perspiring heavily. They had only been allowed a short break, to drink, eat, and relieve themselves. Then the order had come to don packs and the march had resumed.

  It was clear to Tovak that Dagon and Greng wanted to get them off the plateau and up into the hills as soon as possible, for they were marching directly east. The distance passed rapidly, and before Tovak knew it, they were nearing the edge of the foothills, with the steep ridges just beyond. Though Tovak was excited about their mission, he was not so eager to go back up into the highlands, which rose ominously ahead. He felt some trepidation at the thought of what waited.

  “I wonder when I’ll get to see Gulda again,” Gorabor lamented. He marched a few paces off to Tovak’s left. They were nearly at the end of the skirmishers’ line of march. Karn, Torimar, Bettoth, and Dagmar followed behind them.

  “Awww …” Dagmar chided with amusement, “missing the little lady, are we?”

  “I am, Dagmar,” Gorabor replied, without any venom or hint that he understood Dagmar was being sarcastic. Gorabor flashed a grin at Dagmar. “I understand. You’re just jealous because you don’t have a sweetheart of your own, that’s all. It’s okay to admit it.”

  “You know, Gorabor, you may be onto something. It has been a while since I’ve spent time with a good, honest, loving lass, and she was a fine one too now that I recollect.”

  Bettoth barked out a laugh. “An honest lass? Who are you kidding? Then again, I guess we’re really talking about the quality of the lady who’s willing to share her love with you, eh?”

  “Alright, less than honest, then.” Dagmar looked over at his squad mates and held his hands out to his sides. “I ask you … why tie myself down to one, when there are so many to love?”

  “For a price, you buy that love,” Bettoth said.

  Dagmar just shrugged. “The lasses that accept my coin don’t judge.”

  “I can see how that’s important to you,” Karn said, “especially with your looks.”

  “Besides,” Dagmar said, as if he’d not heard, “if I was to marry, I’d end up paying more just to keep her happy.” He raised a finger in the air dramatically, as if making an important point. “And don’t forget, a wife would spend all my money before I even had the opportunity. She’d probably want to join the camp followers and be first in line when the paymaster brings out his chest. Now, tell me, where’s the sense in that?”

  “Your logic, as always, is impeccable,” Karn said, with irony dripping heavily from his voice, “flawlessly so.”

  “My wife likes to spend my money,” Torimar said, sourly. “She makes sure we go together to the paymaster when the quarterly payday rolls around.”

  Amused, Tovak shook his head and listened as the banter continued. Such talk helped to pass the time, along with the miles, and before he knew it, the column of march reached the edge of the grasslands and began climbing up into the hills and ridges. The hills were at first brush-covered, with only a smattering of trees. They climbed one hill after another, each rise seemingly taller than the last, the slopes becoming steeper, more rugged.

  Though he was breathing heavily, Tovak’s aches and pains had lessened with the passing of the miles. In truth, he found it invigorating to be back out in the field again. And yet, he also found himself once again missing the freedom of scouting. He daydreamed of blazing ahead, searching for threats and the enemy.

  A little after noon, around one horn, the march entered a small, narrow canyon, with only a scattering of mountain grasses and small pines nestled in the nooks and crannies of the rock worn by time and weather. To either side, the walls of the canyon were steep and seemed to close in on them. A small stream ran through the base of the canyon, which was barely wide enough for the formation to move through in single file.

  The canyon seemed a lonely place to Tovak, primal and unexplored. He itched to explore the entirety of it. However, the march soon left the canyon, following a feeder stream up a steep slope and onto yet another ridge.

  “Column, halt,” came the call from ahead once the tail end of the march had reached the summit. The column ground to a stop. Tovak was tired. The climb had left him winded.

  Lieutenant Brund, along with Benthok, moved down the line from the front, speaking to each corporal and sergeant as they went.

  “We’re taking a short break,” Benthok said to Karn before returning the way they’d come. “See that your boys get something in their bellies.”

&nbs
p; “Right,” Karn said. “Packs off. Make sure you eat and drink. When you’re done, avail yourself of the stream. Fill your skins. There’s no telling when we might see more fresh water, and it’s already bloody hot out. I don’t want any of you boffers bumming a drink from my waterskin.”

  Tovak unhooked his pack and set it down by his side, under the shade of a tree. With a groan, he sat next to it. Gorabor took a seat at his side and leaned his back against a small granite boulder.

  Dagmar glanced around the area, which was scattered with brush and trees. “’Bout time we got a break.” Rather gingerly, he sat down across from them. Dagmar grimaced, shifted slightly, and then seemed to find a comfortable spot. He let out a sigh.

  “Backside still hurts, eh?” Torimar was sitting a few feet away. He shot a grin at Dagmar. “You’ve literally become a pain in the ass to yourself. What a nice change for everyone else.”

  Dagmar shot Torimar an unhappy look that promised murder in the near future.

  Untying his pack, Tovak pulled out his haversack, which was stuffed full, almost bursting with rations. He peeked inside. When the rations had been issued, there had not been much time to see what he’d been given. It had also been dark. Tovak had simply packed it away in the rush to get ready.

  He found a cloth-wrapped bundle of dried heratta, some pork, and a clay jar stopped with a cork and filled with fat for cooking. There were also a number of hardtack biscuits and a dozen dodders. Tovak felt one of dodders. It wasn’t hot, or even warm for that matter, but it seemed relatively fresh.

  He picked up the dodder and sniffed at it before leaning back against his pack. Taking a healthy bite, he was unsurprised to find it contained chunks of heratta meat. Tovak was hungry and the dodder tasted good. Though he was fast growing tired of heratta, he was grateful for the food and, at the end of each day, a full belly. It hadn’t been all that long ago when food had frequently been scarce for him, and even heratta would have been an unaffordable luxury.