Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

“Sir! Over here, sir.” The sergeant motioned for the baron to join him. The first scout continued to lead the rest of the force through the forest.

The sergeant held out a map, drawn with charcoal on a piece of smooth tree bark. “Here’s the layout, sir. Tell me if you want anything changed.”

The crudely and hastily sketched map showed the town and the edge of the tree line. The road entered the town about a thousand yards past its exit from the trees. The first and second brigades of infantry were to move into line in the woods, with the archers deployed forward, at the edge of the trees. The command group was shown in the middle.

“Yes, this is fine, Sergeant. When you’ve finished moving the troops into position, assemble your men, and set up near the road. When our cavalry comes through, stop them and have them form on the other side of the forest, near the road. I want them ready to dash back up that road in a hurry. Send Captain Jamaar to me. Carry on, Sergeant.”

The troops were still moving through the woods and into position. Everyone was quiet, too tired to talk. The last run had taken its toll. Now, at least, they had time to catch their breath. Moorgoth returned their salutes as the soldiers moved past him.

Finally, the rear guard advanced. They were the last company of the second brigade. The company commander saluted as he came up to the baron.

“Sir, we’re the last of them. We left sixty-one soldiers behind on the road today. Most dropped from exhaustion. They should be picked up by the wagons. We didn’t see nobody followin’ us, sir.”

Sixty-one people hadn’t been able to take the killing pace, had fallen out of ranks. Still, that wasn’t bad for an infantry force this size. Not bad at all. Any comparably sized army would have lost three times that number, or more. Nevertheless, Moorgoth would ensure that those sixty-one people were flogged and lost pay. He wasn’t paying for soldiers who couldn’t keep up.

The baron followed the last company through the woods, and turned off to find his command group. They would be facing the town.

The fluttering red flag indicated his tent.

The baron, spotting it, was highly displeased.

“Berenek, get that flag under wraps. I don’t want someone from that town seeing a red flag in these woods. Don’t bring it out again until I order a move. Now, pass the word down the lines, right and left. I want to see senior officers here in ten minutes.”

The waiting game was on. The trap was set. Would the Solamnics take the bait?

The wagon train moved forward slowly. With the wagons as heavily loaded as they were, speed was impossible. Theros and Belhesser walked along in front of the lead wagon.

The road wound through a series of hills and forests. The going was difficult. The road was sometimes hard-packed and smooth, other times rutted and bumpy. Sometimes it was wide, sometimes so narrow that tree branches scraped the sides of the wagons.

The baggage train rolled to the site Moorgoth had chosen. The place was nearly a mile from the battle site, behind a series of hills that separated the army’s position from their own.

“Belhesser, any word of our spy?” Theros asked quietly.

“No, nothing. I think our problem will go away if Moorgoth wins this next fight. If there is a spy, whoever it is will have failed in his task and will want nothing more than to get the Abyss out of here. And nothing cheers the baron like a victory. He’ll forgive and forget. Watch your back if we lose, though.”

Theros agreed. He could well imagine that the baron would be in a foul mood if his army had to skulk back to Sanction with its tail between its legs. He looked behind to see the progress of the column. Two of his soldiers walked together, talking, followed by the third, driving the wagon with the smithy’s equipment and supplies. Yuri was nowhere in sight.

“Where in Sargas’s name has he gone?” Theros muttered.

He hung back and let the wagons containing his equipment roll past him. No sign of Yuri. Theros joined the commissary group, which was far larger than Theros’s little band of metal workers.

Searching among the workers, Theros found the woman who was in charge of making the bread.

“Have you seen Yuri, my apprentice?”

The woman wore a white cotton man’s shirt, the same as issued to the soldiers, tucked into a long buff skirt. Below that, high-laced black boots. Her head was covered with a handkerchief, to keep the dust out of her hair and face. She was in her forties and was, by her weather-beaten face, an old campaigner. She looked at Theros and laughed.

“Of course, he’s here! You know that.”

Theros scowled. “No, I don’t know that. Why should I? Does he come back here often?”

“Morgion bless us, yes! You can’t tell me you don’t notice that! He’s back here every time we’re on the march. He even comes over when he’s done working in the smithy for you for the day. But then, it’s only natural, ain’t it, Master Smith?” The woman winked and leered. “Young blood is hot blood, they say.”

Reaching out her hand, she playfully tickled Theros on his massive chest. “But there’s a lot to be said for experience, my man. Come by my tent tonight.…”

Theros was growing embarrassed and angry. He could see some of the men, standing around, laughing and nudging each other.

“Where is he?” Theros demanded, ignoring the woman’s offer.

“He’s back behind the second wagon. He’ll be with Telera, my assistant.”

Theros turned and hurried back past the wagons to investigate.

Just as the woman had described, Yuri was walking with a young woman. She wore the same clothes as the first woman. Her long blond hair was braided and put up to keep out the dust and sweat. She probably was not more than eighteen. But now that Theros took a good look at her, he could see that she was different from most of the women who either fought in this army or served it.

Her fair skin was reddened from the sun, as if she were not accustomed to being outdoors much. There was an air of delicacy and daintiness about her that made the shabby clothes she wore seem much more attractive than they really were. No wonder Yuri was drawn to her.

Theros stood directly in front of the two, blocking their path. At the sight of him, the young woman blanched and shied like a skittish colt. Yuri went bright red and opened his mouth to speak.

Before either could say anything, Theros pounced on Yuri and grabbed him by the arm.

“Damn you! What in Sargas’s name do you think you’re doing? Your place is up with our wagon, not back here flirting with the women.”

Yuri protested. “But, sir! I haven’t done anything wrong! I only-”

Theros couldn’t believe it. The boy honestly had no idea how much danger he was in. He smacked Yuri hard on the back of his head, making him stumble.

“Shut up and get back there, or I’ll whip you for insubordination!”

Yuri looked over quickly at Telera. She was pale and frightened.

“Go!” she mouthed.

Yuri looked back to Theros, and then ran forward at a sprint.

Theros glanced over at the woman. She cringed away from him. He saw in her eyes the same fear that he had seen in soldiers’ eyes when they were about to be whipped or beaten.

“Don’t beat Yuri, sir!” she begged, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. “It was my fault. You”-she swallowed, then said bravely-“you can take your anger out on me, if you want, sir.”

Theros stared. He couldn’t believe it. This young woman actually thought he was capable of beating her!

“Great Sargas! Where is my honor?” Theros asked himself. “I’m turning into one of those bastards who uses threats and whips to maintain a show of respect that is, in reality, no respect at all. It’s just fear. This is no way to lead men.”