Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

The junior officer nodded his head slightly. He was the one now carrying Huluk’s axe. “Yes, sir. Well, not exactly, sir. Surely no one could expect me to send part of my patrol back to the village to report on the warrior’s wild story of the Third Army being completely wiped out, and to ask us to believe that a human slave who is not a slave was helping you to escape the elves?”

If Huluk had been well, he would have bashed the young officer across the jaw and sent him sprawling. Instead, he growled in high displeasure. “All of what Nevek has told you is true. And take those manacles off of my officer!”

The other minotaurs grunted and shook their horned heads. One removed Nevek’s manacles. All looked incredulous.

“No, listen,” Huluk continued, “I believe that Nevek and I, along with this human, are the only survivors of the army. The elves tricked us, routed us completely. Send your best runner back to the village to update the garrison commander. Tell Blevros that I am alive and not as well as I could be, but better than the elves had planned. Tell him that the army has been defeated, and to make whatever preparations he has been ordered to make by the Supreme Circle in this contingency. Further, tell …”

Huluk wavered, sagged, collapsed. The young officer yelled for two of the large warriors to aid the senior officer. Theros, standing to the side, was forgotten. He quietly cleared his throat to get the officer’s attention.

“Sir, I think that we should make a carrying seat from two strong branches and take Commander Huluk back to the village. He is not well, and I think his fever is returning.”

The officer clearly did not want to take advice from a human-slave or no slave. “Fetch branches,” he ordered his men. “We will make a carrying seat for the commander.” He glared at Theros, daring him to say something.

Theros kept a straight face, did what he could to make Huluk more comfortable.

The minotaurs returned with two straight branches, each about six feet long and about six inches wide. They had cleared off the attached branches and twigs with their axes. They held the poles like a stretcher, then lowered the poles to permit Huluk to straddle them. The minotaurs lifted the poles, allowing the commander to sit on them with only mild discomfort. Theros found a small branch to use as a crossbeam and asked for some rope. One of the warriors produced a length. He cut it in two, and the two of them secured it across the two beams, forming a backrest.

They were once again mobile. Huluk barked at the junior officer. “Don’t you damned well drop my axe! It’s been in my family for more than ten generations. Lose it or damage it and you will face me in battle! I’ve already lost a valuable breastplate.” He glanced at Theros and winked. It was the nearest the minotaur would ever come to an apology or to thanks.

Theros, understanding, smiled and nodded.

The officer grunted, obviously not understanding. He fastened his own axe to the holster on his back. He carried Huluk’s axe with the sort of reverence usually reserved for religious objects.

They headed for the village on the run.

It was good to be back on board a ship. For seven years, Theros had lived on or around ships like this, a long galley-one of many evacuating the minotaurs from their failed colony on the coast.

Once Huluk had been safely transported to the village, the governor had met with him. It was confirmed that the Third Army was indeed destroyed, and that the elves were planning to eradicate the minotaur encampment from “their” land. The governor immediately sent a swift corsair to the Supreme Circle with a request for aid.

It had been an extremely orderly evacuation. The governor had ordered the defenses strengthened, and used his small force effectively to stall the elves on their march to the village and harbor. They had laid traps and ambushes, forcing the elves to abandon their heavy cavalry in the dense woods. The elves were forced to fight in ways in which the minotaurs were superior.

Those minotaurs not capable of fighting had been ordered to dismantle parts of the encampment. Tools, stores, war machines and personal belongings were all crated up and stacked by the pier, waiting for transport.

Ships stationed at the harbor were loaded and sent back to the minotaur homelands. All of the necessary equipment and belongings were put aboard, as were the females, children, slaves and wounded. Both Theros and Huluk were among the passengers. Nevek, now a junior officer in the garrison, stayed behind to aid in the defense. Huluk had personally recommended him for the field promotion. The governor agreed. Nevek’s horns seemed to grow almost a full inch overnight.

The ship rocked gently from side to side. Its sails were completely unfurled, catching the breath of the sea. Theros watched the minotaurs crawl among the rigging, wondered if he himself still had the knack. He longed to try, but his skill was needed in weapon-making. Standing on deck, he recalled old Heretos, his first master.

“I am not a slave. I am an honored member of the crew,” Heretos had stated proudly.

Now Theros could say the same. He was sought after to sharpen and re-hone the edges of weapons, to refit axes with broken handles. He was skilled in carving the intricate designs that the minotaur warriors placed on their weapons. Through the years, he had become skilled in leatherwork and knew the secrets of fastening metal to leather to form well-made armor.

And he had Hran to thank for it.

Memories of the smith returned to Theros, including the first time they had ever met.

Theros had been one of fifty slaves ceded to the commander of the Third Army. The commander had been informed of Theros’s skill as a smith, but the minotaur had not believed that a human could do such exacting work. Theros had been put to work in the commissary section of the rear guard. But instead of peeling and slicing for preparation of food, Theros was usually found out back of the tents, sharpening the kitchen knives or sewing and repairing the tents.

One day, right before the army shipped off to Silvanesti, a large minotaur, dressed in the leather apron that marked him as a blacksmith, watched Theros as he sharpened knives.

“Don’t you work in the commissary section, slave?” Hran asked.

Theros stood up respectfully. “Yes, sir. But the cook says I am more useful sharpening and sewing than I am preparing a meal. This is what I used to do on board ship.”

Hran grunted. Grabbing the young man by the arm, the smith dragged Theros inside the commissary tent. He found the minotaur in charge. “Perjaf, this slave tells me he sharpens knives and sews cloth for you. Is he lying?”

Perjaf wiped his hands on his apron. He had just finished slaughtering a pig. “No, the slave tells the truth. Why, was he not doing as he was told? Was he snooping around your shop? If he was, I’ll beat some manners-”

“You have the brains of a goat, Perjaf. This slave is much too valuable to waste sharpening knives to cut onions. I want him to work for me.”

Perjaf scowled. “He is quite valuable. He does leatherwork, too.”

“What do you want in return?” Hran was older, senior to Perjaf, but they held comparable positions, so they had to barter.

Perjaf hesitated a moment. Hran had been good to him, had provided him with excellent knives and other implements over the years. He could not, however, just hand over the slave to him. It would demean him in Hran’s eyes.

“Have your new slave make me a leather harness for my battle-axe. My old one is worn through, and will split before too long. Do we have an exchange, Hran?”

Hran nodded, grinned broadly. “Done. Come along, slave.”