Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

He came out of his tent to get a better look at them. The bodyguards dragged the prisoners to the center of the enclosure made by the wagons and tents. There, they hammered a large stake and tied the chained knights to it.

“Stand at attention, you dogs,” one of the sergeants yelled.

Most of the knights remained standing proudly, but one-wounded, perhaps-slumped to his knees. The sergeant walked over, kicked the man in the face.

The soldiers laughed, jeering and throwing food scraps at the prisoners. Theros was appalled. By all accounts, the knights had fought valiantly. Among the minotaurs, if a foe has fought well in combat, that foe is honored, not tormented and abused.

The knights were trying to assist their fallen comrade. The sergeant started to kick the man again. He found Theros’s huge hand engulfing his arm.

Theros glared at the sergeant. “These men are thirsty. Bring them water.”

The sergeant glowered back. “Those weren’t Moorgoth’s orders, sir.”

“Those are my orders,” Theros returned.

The sergeant didn’t like it, but Theros was a senior officer. Saluting, the sergeant stalked off.

Theros helped the wounded knight to a seated position, assisting him to rest comfortably against the stake. By taking note of which knight the others looked to, Theros determined which one was the senior officer.

Curious to talk with these knights, Theros questioned the man.

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

The knight cast Theros a bitter, hate-filled glance. At first, it seemed the man would not answer, but then-perhaps reflecting that Theros deserved something for having halted the torment of the wounded man-the knight replied.

“Richard Strongmail, Knight of the Order of the Kingfisher of the Knights of Solamnia.” The knight spoke his name and rank proudly, despite the fact that he was a prisoner, in chains.

Memories of another battle, another defeat, were strong in Theros’s mind.

“I am Captain Theros Ironfeld. I am the master smith of this army. Tell me, Knight of Solamnia, why are you here?”

The knight was scornful. “If you are referring to why we fought today, it was because the Solamnic Order had pledged its own in the defense of the town of Neugardj from the attack of Moorgoth and you thieves.”

Theros didn’t relish being called a thief, but he let it pass. He didn’t feel he had much to say in his own defense.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Theros said. “I mean why did you allow yourselves to be made prisoners?” Minotaurs would have died fighting, if they’d had the chance.

“I was bested on the battlefield,” the knight replied, “and I surrendered when it became clear that I would fight only to my death. There is no honor in fighting a lost battle. Vengeance is not a trait of my order.”

Theros rubbed his chin. “So you surrendered yourself. You didn’t get knocked out and wake up a prisoner?”

“On my oath, no! I surrendered, and surrendered what was left of my command.” Sir Richard’s eyes flashed. “I was assured that we would be treated honorably. My men have not eaten nor drunk water since the battle. Are we to be starved to death or made to die of thirst? Is that the way you treat your captives?”

Theros was displeased. Prisoners they were, but they were not animals. Even animals should be given water.

“It is not right,” Theros said. “I will see what I can do.”

Sir Richard eyed Theros with more respect than he’d done at first. “Thank you,” he muttered, and turned back to his men.

Theros left, walked across the field to the commissary tent.

Most of the men and women of the second brigade were through the food line, and the third brigade and the cavalry were beginning to line up.

Theros entered the tent where the food was being served. The smell was wonderful. They had cooked up a hearty stew with lots of meat and vegetables. Loaves of fresh bread were stacked on a table. The soldiers came through, had their bowls filled, then grabbed hunks of bread. They headed out the far side of the tent to eat and drink. The wine had already been distributed. It was a night of celebration.

Theros found Cheldon Sarger standing just outside the tent, keeping an eye on his command.

“Ah, Theros. Good to see you. I’ve set aside a pot of stew and some loaves for the logistics company. We’ll eat in here, away from the flies and bugs. Bring your men over when you’re ready. Oh, I’ve been saving a few bottles of good wine from the barracks in Gargath.” Cheldon winked. “I think we deserve a few to celebrate!”

“Sure, thanks, Cheldon. Say, I’m sorry about losing my temper over that affair with my assistant. I was worried about the boy, that’s all. I’ll bring my men back, but first I was wondering if I could get some food, at least some bread, for the prisoners?”

Cheldon Sarger looked at Theros as if he had suddenly grown three heads. “Food! Prisoners! What for? They sure aren’t going to need food where they’re going!”

Theros didn’t understand. “What do you mean? Aren’t we going to ransom them back to their kin?”

Cheldon laughed. “And get what for them? Those knights are poor as rats, most of them. No, we’ll have some fun tonight. I heard from Captain Ibind that these knights aren’t going to last the night. They’re to be this evening’s after-dinner entertainment! Great fun, eh?”

Theros couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly. Moorgoth was going to torture these prisoners!

“They need water, at least,” Theros growled. “I can’t believe that Baron Moorgoth would allow such a thing. I just can’t.”

But Theros could believe it. That was the problem. Unfortunately, this news about Baron Moorgoth didn’t surprise him all that much.

“Just remember that to the victor go the spoils, and tonight, we’re victorious!” Cheldon spoke loudly. “Bring your lads around in about an hour.” This said, he drew Theros off to one side, continued in a low voice, “Look, I don’t like this ‘entertainment’ business any more than you do. But what can we do to stop it? I say we stay in here and eat and drink ourselves into a pleasant stupor.”

Theros mumbled an agreement, turned and left. Cheldon was right. If Theros protested or tried to protect the prisoners, Moorgoth would suspect the smith of being a traitor. He might even figure that Theros was the spy.

Head bowed, lost in thought, Theros wasn’t watching where he was going. When he fell over a tent peg, he looked around, found himself among the tents of the women. He turned on his heel to make a quick departure, when he heard voices coming from one of the tents.

Theros recognized one of the voices.

“We’ll escape tonight,” a voice said, “when everyone’s drunk …”

Theros walked up to the tent, ripped open the flap.

Frightened eyes stared back at him. Yuri and Telera, seated together inside the tent, shrank back at the sight of Theros’s anger.

“What is the meaning of this?” Theros demanded.

Yuri jumped to his feet, came surging forward, put himself between Theros and Telera.

“I’m the spy, sir. I confess it. Take me away. I’ll-”

“No, don’t, Yuri!” Telera was on her feet, too, clinging to Yuri.

He attempted to say something, to argue. She shook her head, stepped in front of him and faced Theros.

“I am the spy, sir. I’m the one you want. Let Yuri go. He didn’t know anything about it. I’ll swear to that-”

Yuri started protesting. Telera was shaking her head.

“Shut up!” Theros said in a low, impassioned voice.

Both of them, startled, fell silent.

Theros raised the tent flap, peered cautiously back outside. No one was around. He lowered it again, turned-seething-to the two in front of him.