Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield (32 page)

Theros sputtered at the insult, but the elf wasn’t listening.

“You said you were from Nordmaar. You were taken aboard a minotaur ship, and you worked aboard it for some years.”

Theros nodded. “Yes, I was a slave for the minotaurs from the age of eight until I was freed. Many of those years, I served aboard one ship. I told you all that.”

“I wanted to confirm it. That is excellent. My people need your help to evacuate Qualinesti. You see”—Gilthanas spread his hands—“we know very little of ships and sailing.”

Theros was astonished. The elves had been in Qualinesti as long as there had
been
a Qualinesti. Maybe longer. “What do you mean, evacuate? Where would you go?”

“Only a small handful of people know of the plan. We are going to remove most of the population to a region of
Southern Ergoth, a place we call Qualimori. We are not a seafaring people. We need your help.”

Theros frowned. “I can’t build ships, if that’s what you’re asking. I sailed on them. I didn’t build them.”

Gilthanas explained. “We have a shipwright from Northern Ergoth who has designed the ships. He already has a team of elves helping him assemble them. He has asked for a metalsmith who can manufacture the necessary metal parts. None of our people possess such skills. I know that you are a weapons-smith, but could you do the job? He would provide all of the specifications. You would be well paid.”

Theros thought it over. “If this Verminaard is winning and I help out the losing side, my life wouldn’t be worth much, now, would it? Not much good making money if I don’t live to spend it.”

“Very true,” Gilthanas said, and he almost smiled. “I promise you that we will keep your work with us secret. We will take you to our camp on the western shores. We will pay you twenty steel pieces a day, plus five hundred to join. I would ask you to aid us for only a few months, after which, if you want to continue on to Solace, we would help you to reach it. Will you join our cause?”

Theros thought this over for a long moment. He didn’t want to have anything to do with other people’s causes. He wanted to start a business for himself. How was it that he kept tumbling into these predicaments? Would he ever in his life have a cause of his own? Still, the pay was good, and he would be away from any fighting. And it would be for only a few months.

“All right, I’ll sign on with you,” he said.

Gilthanas was pleased. “Thank you, Master Ironfeld. I remind you that it is important that you say nothing of this to anyone, even among my own people, until you reach the building site at Quivernost.”

Theros picked up his axe, reseating it in the back holster he wore. He briefly opened his bag, noting that everything appeared to be in order. Downstairs, he met Hirinthas and Vermala, the two elves who had escorted Theros the night before.

“These two are warriors from the Royal Court of Qualinesti. They will ensure you safe passage to Quivernost. You will leave immediately.”

To seal their deal, Gilthanas handed Theros a large felt bag. The bag was heavy. Theros opened it, saw the steel pieces. He did not bother to count them. He attached the bag to his pouch, hoisted his pack over his shoulder. Then the three of them headed off into the forest.

As he walked, his mind went to the making of pulleys and winches and nails.…

* * * * *

Theros and his companions traveled fast through the forest, heading west. Each night they stopped only after dark, and rose just before dawn to begin again. The two elf warriors carried all of the food, as well as their own bedrolls and weapons. Theros, who had thought them delicate, was impressed by their strength and stamina. He also had the feeling that the elves were forced to keep their pace slow because of him, and he was walking as rapidly as he could.

These elves were obviously not accustomed to being around humans, not like Gilthanas. They rarely spoke to Theros, and then only to give him some instructions or to ask if he would like more bread at dinner. They talked between themselves in their own language. Despite being part of a trio, Theros had never felt more alone.

“We will stop here for the night,” Hirinthas announced on the third day.

Theros glanced around. The site was beautiful. A creek bubbled past a meadow surrounded by trees. Beside the creek was a small pit with ashes at the bottom. It had been used as a firepit many times before.

“Why are we stopping here?” Theros asked. It was early afternoon. “We could cover a lot more ground before dark.”

Hirinthas began to unload his pack. “We are an easy day’s walk from Quivernost. We should be safe this far west. This site has been used by travelers for centuries. We will camp here for the night.”

Theros shrugged. He had no say in the matter. If it were up to him, he would have carried on. It was not up to him, however. Though the two elves treated him with respect, he was well aware that they did not trust him. He was never permitted to stand watch. Whenever his hand reached for his axe, an elven hand would always reach for a knife. They watched him constantly. Frankly, he was getting tired of it. Hobgoblins had treated him better than this!

“I’ll go get some wood,” Theros offered, dropping his bag. He headed into the forest, looking for fallen branches. Vermala had informed him earlier that he was not to cut any trees in the forest for firewood. The spirits of the trees would cry out, tortured, if their living limbs were savagely hacked off. Only those branches that had already fallen, dead branches that the tree had sloughed off, were acceptable for use.

Theros grinned to himself. He would have loved to have told that silly tale to old Hran. The minotaur would have laughed his horns off.

Naturally, because the campsite was so much in use, the area around the site was picked clean of any large firewood. Theros ventured farther into the forest. He wasn’t worried about getting lost. The two elves would find him easily enough. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them was tracking him now.

A hundred feet farther, he came across the fallen trunk of an oak tree. The branches lay scattered around, most rotten beyond any use. The trunk was dried out and looked fine for burning. He removed his battle-axe from the holster.

A rustling of leaves in a bush caught his attention. He had just told himself it was nothing but his elf watchdogs, when he caught a flash of color—maroon.

Theros crouched down. There it was again—a patch of maroon behind a tree in the late afternoon sun. Elves wore greens and browns that blended into the forest. Theros kept completely still.

He waited for almost a minute before the maroon color moved again. A man—a human—emerged from behind the tree and cautiously walked forward ten paces, then crouched down. He wore black breeches with a maroon surcoat.

“Sargas take me!” Theros swore to himself. “I’d recognize that uniform anywhere! One of Moorgoth’s men. What is he doing in these parts?”

He gripped the axe tighter. The soldier rose and cautiously padded forward again. This time Theros walked forward, too, keeping behind the soldier.

As he crept along, Theros looked around to see if he could spot any other soldiers about. He was certain that there must be more than one. This man wasn’t a spy or a scout. By his uniform, he was part of a patrol. His comrades would be nearby.

There can be only one explanation, Theros thought. Moorgoth has hooked up with this Verminaard. And these elves and I have walked right into a trap!

Common sense urged him to run. Let the damned elves fend for themselves. He knew Moorgoth well enough to know that he would never forgive, never forget. A vivid picture of the tortured knights came to Theros’s mind. Compared to what Moorgoth would do to him, those men had died easy.

All I ever wanted to do was become a civilian, set up an honest shop in an honest town. Where do I keep going wrong?

Slowly, he crept along behind the soldier. Theros did not recognize the man, but that wasn’t surprising. It had been nearly ten years since he had served in Moorgoth’s army. And he wasn’t surprised at the direction the soldier was taking. He was heading straight for the elven campsite. Another ambush.

Theros stood up, keeping his axe concealed behind his back. “Looking for elves?” he said in a loud voice.

The startled soldier jumped and hit his head on a low tree branch. Wincing, he turned to face Theros.

The soldier stared, then he grinned. “Well, if it isn’t the traitor Ironfeld. We’ve been dogging your steps for days. Moorgoth has offered a fat reward for your hide. I’ll be the one to collect, it seems.”

The soldier drew his sword and lunged straight at Theros.

“I wouldn’t count your money yet!”

Theros brought his axe around and widened his stance. He sidestepped the soldier’s attack and took a swing himself. The axe clanged off the soldier’s sword blade.

The two faced each other, circling. The soldier had the advantage in that his sword could be used for thrusting as well as slashing. He tried to close with Theros.

Theros let him come. The soldier thrust at Theros, who narrowly avoided the blow. Unfortunately, he lost his footing, tripped over a branch, and fell heavily on his side. The soldier raised his sword for the kill. Theros tangled his legs with the soldier’s legs, upended the man, and dumped him on the ground.

Leaving his axe where it lay in the grass, Theros jumped forward. The soldier saw him coming and tried to roll out of the way. Theros missed landing on him in a body blow, but he was able to knock the soldier’s weapon out of his grasp. Now the combat was hand-to-hand.

The soldier went for the dirk at his side. Theros saw the move and smashed the man in the face with his fist. Blood spattered from his broken nose. Theros leapt on top of the man. They both crashed to the ground, Theros pinning the soldier with his weight. He wrapped his huge hands around the soldier’s neck, started to slowly strangle him.

The man panicked. He thrashed for air. His hands tried to beat Theros off, but Theros was too big for him. The man twisted and tried to turn to free himself. His eyes were wild.

At last, Theros released the pressure, but he kept his hands around the man’s neck.

The soldier breathed in a huge gulp of air.

“How many soldiers are with you?” Theros asked.

The soldier began to stutter. Theros squeezed his hands tight again, cutting off the man’s air. His eyes bulged. At the last moment, Theros released the pressure again.

“There are four of us,” the man gasped when he could talk. “Please don’t tell them I told you so. They’d kill me! Please, let me go.”

“And you’ll run off and be a good little boy? Somehow I don’t quite believe that. Are you here to ambush the elves?”

The soldier nodded. “General Moorgoth—”

“So he’s a general now,” Theros grunted.

“General Moorgoth heard that the elves were bringing people in to do some secret project on the western banks by the ocean. We’re to kill or capture anyone going in that direction.”

“You say Moorgoth has a reward out for me?” Theros asked. “How did he find me? And how do you know who I am? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Moorgoth’s been getting reports on you for years. This was the first time he was ever able to act on them. He put out a description of you to all the soldiers. A big man with skin like the night and a voice like rumbling thunder. That’s what he said.”

Theros sighed. He removed the dagger from the man’s belt and then let the man stand up.

“Right, take off your boots and remove the laces. Quickly!”

The man did as he was told.

Theros collected his axe and the soldier’s sword. He tied the soldier to a tree with the bootlaces, both hands and feet. He didn’t bother to gag the man. There was no point. If he cried out, he’d only attract the attention of the elves, and that was probably not the sort of attention he wanted.

The sound of clashing steel reminded Theros that he was not alone in the woods. He thrust his axe back in its holster and charged back to the campsite, sword in hand.

He arrived at the campsite and found Hirinthas and Vermala battling two soldiers. A third soldier lay dead on the ground. Vermala was covered with blood and was obviously faltering. Theros yelled a war cry and leapt into the fray.

The two soldiers were caught in a vice, elves in front, Theros behind. Startled by his yell, they looked back to see their new enemy. Hirinthas took advantage of their distraction to thrust his sword into the man’s rib cage, bringing the first soldier down. The second soldier parried Vermala’s blow and backed up against a tree.

“Surrender,” Theros ordered. “You’re outnumbered three to one.”

The soldier lowered his sword. “All right. Take me prisoner. You won’t get anything out of me.”

Hirinthas removed the man’s sword and forced him to sit down on the ground. Theros took the man’s dagger. Vermala slumped to his knees. He had a wound in his side. Blood had soaked through his clothes.

Hirinthas took a surcoat from one of the dead soldiers and pressed it against Vermala’s wound. Theros bound the soldier fast, then went to retrieve his own captive. He tied them up back-to-back. His prisoners safe, he built a fire.

The sun was starting to set. Vermala was pale and shivering. His wound was serious.

Theros stoked the fire, thought back to another time when he’d watched over another wounded soldier. The only difference was that one had been a minotaur. Remembering Huluk’s orders that day, Theros looked over at Hirinthas. “You said you are within a day’s march of your people. You’ve got to go and get help. Vermala needs medical attention. I’ve done all I can for him. I’ll guard him and keep these two tied up until you get back.”

Hirinthas was not pleased with this suggestion. “No, my job is to protect you through Silvanesti. I cannot leave my charge—”

“Damn you! You don’t care one thing for me,” Theros bellowed. “You don’t trust me! That’s it, isn’t it?”

Hirinthas cast a scathing glance at the two soldiers. “Why should I trust you, human?”

“Because Vermala will die if you don’t! Look, if I was going to kill you, I would have already done it. I could have joined up with these two and their buddies anytime. I swear to you by”—he almost said by Sargas, but thought better of it—“I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I’ll defend Vermala with my life!”