Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

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.”