Benthok sucked in an unhappy breath, then turned his gaze back to Greku. “He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, at least anytime soon.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Greku said. “I am a Vass. I go where I will.”
Benthok eyed Greku for a long moment. The lieutenant’s gaze was a hard mask. Greku did not seem to care in the slightest. He returned the lieutenant’s look as if it were a challenge.
“Whether you go or not,” Brund said, “that will be for the warchief to decide.”
“Now that,” Greku growled deeply, “is unacceptable. He gave me his word and I took it on good faith.”
“I don’t care what he promised you, Vass,” Brund said. “Tovak is under our command. He answers to us and ultimately the warchief.”
“Not anymore.” The words slipped out before Tovak could stop them. It was as if he’d almost been compelled to say it. He closed his eyes, knowing the mistake he had just made. When he opened them, he saw Benthok had stiffened and was looking at him, his expression was inscrutable. Brund had turned a hard look to Tovak as well. There was understandable fury there.
“What did you just say?” Brund demanded, taking a step nearer.
Tovak blew out a resigned breath and turned his weary gaze towards the lieutenant from the pioneers. He understood he had made a terrible mistake, but as he thought on it, the words were more than correct. He could no longer be part of the warband. Thulla had made that decision for him, taken away his opportunity to serve any other master. Tovak had thought he had found a family with the Baelix, a home, a place where he belonged. Only, now, that was not to be. The mere thought of it was wrenching, hurtful. But at the same time, he now served a greater purpose.
“I’d say he no longer reports to you,” Greku said, sounding suddenly amused. “There has been a change in command.”
“What does he mean by that?” Brund demanded, taking another almost menacing step closer.
“Look at his armor,” Greku said. “A higher power gave it to him. I was there. I was blessed to have witnessed a miracle. It is not every day I get to see such a thing happen.”
Benthok turned his gaze from the Vass back to Tovak. His eyes slid down to Tovak’s chest and Thulla’s lion. He became very still and then his eyes shifted and locked with Tovak’s.
“Is this true?” the lieutenant asked in a near whisper. Tovak thought he detected a touch of awe in Benthok’s tone, maybe even a sliver of hope. That, for some reason, made him feel uncomfortable.
Tovak suddenly felt deeply moved as he thought back on what had happened, his visit with his god. Standing in Thulla’s presence had been an unbelievable honor, overwhelming even, for he felt undeserving. Not trusting himself to speak, he gave Benthok a simple nod.
Benthok brought his hand to his chin as he considered Tovak. “I knew it was more than just luck.”
The last was whispered so low that only Tovak could hear it.
“I just knew it,” Benthok said, a little louder.
“Is what true? What did you know?” Brund asked, looking between them. The lieutenant seemed highly irritated. “What the blazes are you talking about?”
“It’s more than just luck,” Benthok said. “It is what we talked about. He is gods blessed.”
“Oh,” Brund said, as if suddenly comprehending. “Oh my.”
“What’s going on?” Gorabor asked.
“I think it best that I speak with the warchief,” Tovak said. “Do you think he will see me?”
Benthok ran a hand through his beard. “I believe he will want to make time for you.”
Tovak felt a burden lift from his shoulders that he had not known was weighing him down. He looked down at his feet for a long moment. Then looked back up at Benthok.
“Thank you for believing me, sir.”
“You found him?” a voice demanded harshly.
They turned to see Dagon and Fenton coming their way. The captain looked to be in a thunderous mood as he approached. His gaze went to the Vass and the gnome, and his features hardened even more, if that was possible. Dagon stopped a few feet from Tovak. He studied Greku for a long moment. Fenton was doing the same with a look of what could only be described as horror. Then, the captain’s gaze slid over to Tovak.
“What are you wearing?” Dagon demanded, looking him up and down.
“Armor, sir,” Tovak said plainly.
“Stand when you talk to me,” Dagon hissed.
Tovak eyed the captain for a long moment. He already did not like where things were heading. Resisting a groan, Tovak stood, his tortured muscles protesting the move.
“What happened to the kit you were issued?” Dagon demanded harshly.
“I don’t know, sir,” Tovak admitted, and that was the truth.
“I am told you fell into the underground,” Dagon said, in a tone that made it clear he did not believe it, nor Tovak’s previous statement. “Are you a coward like your father? Are you a shirker? Did you think to avoid the fighting by hiding down there while the rest of us put our lives on the line?” Dagon pointed to the opening of the underground.
Tovak did not know what to say. He was shocked that the captain was accusing him of not doing his duty. For a moment, he just stood there, thoroughly dumbfounded by the turn of events.
“Tovak and I were fighting orcs, sir,” Gorabor said, speaking up in a nervous and hurried voice. “I saw it happen. He killed the orc he was fighting and they both fell into a hole. The body is still hanging in the web. You can see it plain as day if you want to look, sir.”
“I did not ask you,” Dagon said in a harsh tone, shooting Gorabor a look that told him he did not know his place.
“I ordered Tovak, Gorabor, and Dagmar to pursue two of the enemy who got by us, sir,” Benthok said calmly. “They followed them on my orders.”
Dagon spared the lieutenant a stern look.
“There is a burial system under our feet here, sir,” Tovak said and pointed towards the exit they had come out of a short while before. “Dvergr once lived in these parts. The catacombs are quite extensive. I’ve never seen anything like them. I’ve been stuck down there for several hours.” He gestured at Greku and Hess. “They helped lead me out.”
Dagon turned his gaze briefly to Greku and then Hess before returning his attention to Tovak. He did not appear impressed.
“I assume you found that armor down there,” Dagon said, “and that sword strapped to your back.”
“In a manner of speaking, sir,” Tovak said wearily. The exhaustion was becoming worse. It was an effort to keep his eyes open, let alone stand. “I did.”
All Tovak wanted to do was sit back down and rest. He did not see the slap coming. The back of Dagon’s hand hammered into his cheek. The blow brought tears to his eyes and he tasted the tang of copper in his mouth. Tovak staggered back a step. Stumbling over a small granite block, he almost fell.
“You are a disgrace,” Dagon said, spitting with rage. “You disgust me.”
Tovak did not understand the problem.
“Sir,” Benthok said, “I believe you do not have all the information. Perhaps you should listen to what he has to say and then judge.”
Reaching up to his cheek, Tovak felt a cut. He saw the captain wore a silver ring on his index finger. The ring had likely opened his cheek. The wound bled freely down onto his armor. Tovak eyed the captain. His startlement shifted over to heat as his anger mounted, and he straightened up.
“Listen to him? Listen to the pathetic excuse of a Pariah? Lieutenant, are you seriously telling me I don’t have all the information I need?” Dagon asked, looking over at Benthok. “He undoubtedly stole that armor from a crypt, the sword too. Open your eyes and see him for what he is. Desecration, grave robbing, is one of the worst crimes amongst our people. It has never been tolerated.”
“I am not so certain about that, sir,” Benthok said.
Dagon turned his attention back to Tovak as if he had not heard Benthok speak. “I sho
uld have expected nothing better from a Pariah.” Dagon spat at Tovak’s feet.
“He is beginning to bore me,” Greku said to Tovak. “Tell him to go away.”
Dagon turned a disgusted and infuriated look upon the Vass. “I will deal with you soon enough, beast.”
“Good,” Greku growled, “because now you are really beginning to bore me.”
Ignoring the Vass, Dagon instead returned his heated gaze to Tovak. He stood there staring at him. Tovak could feel the captain’s anger radiating outward, as if it were a hot sun.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Dagon demanded. “How do you answer the charges I’ve leveled against you? It better be a good excuse, because if it isn’t, I will see you executed for grave robbing, Stonehammer.”
“I did nothing of the kind,” Tovak said firmly. His own anger was threatening to overcome his reason, and with it, his exhaustion had retreated. He took a step closer to Dagon, meeting the captain’s gaze with firmness of his own. “You are wrong, sir.” Tovak saw the captain smile without warmth. “You judge me too harshly, and I think before you accuse someone of acting without Legend, I suggest you find a mirror first.”
Dagon’s cheeks went red. When the next slap came, Tovak was ready for it. He grabbed Dagon’s wrist in an ironclad grip with a clapping sound. He had stopped the captain’s hand a bare inch from his face. Despite his rage, he suddenly and oddly felt pity for the captain.
Locking eyes with Dagon, Tovak had what he could only describe as an insight into the captain’s soul. Perhaps it was the personal contact and his growing powers or maybe it was just plain intuition. Tovak did not know, but he saw things clearly as he had not seen them before.
Losing his son had been the worst blow of Dagon’s life. Tovak could see it in his eyes, feel it even. The loss had ripped him to his core and almost destroyed him and his sanity. In response, the captain had turned all his energies to his work, the only thing he had left, commanding Second Pioneers.
Tovak could only imagine the wound he had ripped open when he’d shown up at the captain’s tent just weeks ago, looking for a place in Second Pioneers. He could see all that now, as if it were written plainly on a piece of parchment. Dagon was letting his anger at the loss of his son get the better of him, placing the pain and hatred for Barasoom at Tovak’s doorstep.
Tovak’s anger drained away. It was replaced with sadness, pain, and a feeling of terrible, almost incalculable loss. He wanted to weep, but instead, he felt an urge, a need to help Dagon. This all flashed before him in a heartbeat.
“I am truly sorry your son died.” Tovak held the captain’s wrist in an iron grip. “But I had no hand in what happened. Taking out your anger on me will not bring him back. It will not make things better or ease your pain.” Tovak remembered a line from scripture. “‘Revenge is but an empty vessel that, when poured, will never sate one’s thirst.’”
“Unhand me,” Dagon said quietly, his eyes burning with unconcealed hatred and fury. “I will ask you one more time to unhand me, Pariah, or I will kill you where you stand and save the executioner some time.”
Tovak felt the spark within him surge. Time seemed to slow as the power roared. Dagon’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and his pupils dilated. Tovak understood Dagon felt the power as well, Thulla’s direct touch as it poured through him into Dagon. Then, as rapidly as it had come, the power died away. With it, Dagon’s anger went. Tovak could feel it leaving, evaporating on the air, like a morning mist burned away by the newborn sun.
He released his hold on the captain’s wrist. Dagon staggered back two steps, appearing to have been rocked to his core. His gaze was still locked on Tovak. His mouth opened to speak and then closed. He tried again and it came out in a strangled whisper.
“I heard my son. He spoke to me. I felt his—his touch ….” The captain trailed off, looking at his hand and then back at Tovak. “Oh gods. What have I done?”
“Such is Thulla’s will,” Tovak said quietly, understanding what he must do, what his god wanted of him in this moment. Tovak took a step closer to the captain.
“What just happened?” Benthok asked, looking between them.
“Captain,” Brund said with clear concern, “sir, are you alright?”
Tovak ignored the lieutenants. His gaze was on Dagon. He took another step forward, feeling the captain’s deep sadness, the heart-wrenching loss. Tovak did not have any children, but he understood loss and how terrible it could be. He had a flash of his mother’s body, the day she had killed herself, lying there pale and lifeless. The empty cup by her side. He knew pain keenly, as it were an old friend. Knowing one’s pain allowed you to feel another’s suffering and sympathize.
“Your son feasts with Thulla in the ancestral halls.” Tovak held out his hand. Dagon looked at it but did not move. He extended his hand farther. “Take it, take my hand. You son waits for you.”
As if afraid, Dagon swallowed and hesitated.
Tovak could feel Dagon’s son, his soul, the longing for his father’s touch. Tovak had become the connection, the bridge to the other side. That was, if Dagon was willing to take a leap of faith.
“Heghon is waiting for you,” Tovak said quietly, not knowing how he knew Dagon’s son’s name. “Thulla is granting you a chance to say goodbye. I beg you, do not waste it or spurn this opportunity, for it shall not come again.”
“My son,” Dagon whispered, reaching out, tentatively at first, then with a need, almost desperately clasping Tovak’s hand. Again, the spark within him flared. Dagon closed his eyes. The surge lasted only a moment, perhaps not more than two or three heartbeats, but Tovak understood that for Dagon, a significant period of time had passed. Again, how he knew, he was not sure. He just did.
The surge faded, and with it, Dagon almost reluctantly released his hand. The captain of the pioneers took several wooden steps back, then slowly sank to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks and into his beard. He gave a wrenching sob filled with utter agony. No one moved. It was almost as if they were afraid to breathe.
“Though he is no longer in this world,” Tovak said gently, “know your son is never far from your heart, as you are not far from his. Such is the way with souls and love.”
Dagon looked up at Tovak, cheeks wet from his tears. He cleared his throat. “Thank you—thank you for that, for opening the eyes of a bitter old warrior. I can never repay you.”
“It is as Thulla wills,” Tovak said, “nothing more and nothing less. Your gratitude should go to Him.”
Dagon wiped his tears away, then pulled himself to his feet. He cleared his throat. “It will. You have my word on that.”
Tovak gave a nod. He felt no ill will towards Dagon, not anymore, only terrible sadness at the captain’s years of pain and suffering. But with luck, that was in the past now. Tovak fervently hoped he would be able to live again and take some joy from life.
“I regret how I treated you, Tovak Stonehammer.” Dagon said Tovak’s last name without any hint of derision or scorn. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Your faith and devotion in our lord will be forgiveness enough,” Tovak said and meant it. Thulla had given him a mission to spread the faith, and it started here with Dagon.
The captain of the pioneers gave a curt nod, then bowed his head respectfully. “Till the end of my days, He shall have it, Father Stonehammer.”
Tovak sucked in a breath, startled by the title Dagon had given him. It didn’t feel quite right. He felt as if he still had to earn it and was not quite worthy of such a title.
He glanced back towards the entrance to the catacombs and thought of the paladin’s crypt. His quest to reclaim his honor and rise above being a Pariah had become so much more than he could have ever dreamed. He was not a full paladin yet. Tests and trials lay ahead. Thulla had pretty much told him so.
“No,” Tovak said firmly. “Just call me Tovak. I am not ready for that, not yet.”
Dagon gave a nod.
Tovak glanced over. The others were watching him. The priest, Fenton, had fallen to his knees and clasped his hands before his chest. His lips moved with a silent prayer. The sight of the healer caused Tovak to remember Greku’s injury.
“Father Fenton,” Tovak said, “we have need of your services.”
Fenton did not move. “What are you?”
“He is a Lion of Thulla,” Greku huffed, “a paladin, blessed by your god, Thulla, Builder of Worlds. His armor, especially with that lion, should have been your first clue. By the gods, you Dvergr are thick-skulled.”
The priest gasped audibly. Tovak wanted to strangle the Vass, for the others were now looking upon him in what could only be described as awe. Tovak knew he did not want that. He wanted people to see him as he was, who he was, flawed and imperfect like everyone else. He did not deserve their reverence, did not feel he had a right to claim it. Such honors should go to Thulla, for the god had made Tovak who he was.
Greku groaned in pain.
“Father Fenton,” Tovak said, “he has lost a lot of blood. Can you stop the bleeding or bandage the wound?”
Fenton tore his gaze from Tovak and looked at the Vass. Gabbing his bag, he moved over, first with alacrity and then cautiously, as if afraid Greku might attack him.
“I won’t bite you,” Greku said and removed his hand for the priest to examine the wound. When he did, the blood began flowing again, thick and red. “Just bandage it tight. You can’t stop the bleeding. I will seek aid from my own people. They will be able to treat me.”
“I can try to stop the bleeding, maybe sew it shut,” Fenton offered.
“No,” Greku growled, “just bandage it tight. Eventually the bleeding will stop on its own. Only my people can help me after that.”
Fenton looked to Tovak, who gave a nod.
“I need to remove your armor,” Fenton said.
“It’s ruined anyway,” Greku said, gesturing at the hole in it. He lifted his arm and exposed laces down the side. “Untie it if you would.”
The healer did as asked, and after short work, pulled the leather armor off the Vass. The pattern of orange and black fur continued underneath. There was a patchwork of scars along Greku’s chest that looked like old sword wounds. Where there were scars the fur did not grow. Greku looked up at Tovak and shrugged as if he did not care.
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