Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

“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!”

Hirinthas was smart enough to understand that what Theros had said was logical. If Theros was in league with these humans, Hirinthas would be dead by now. He could also see that his comrade was in very bad shape.

“Very well, Ironfeld, but if I return and find you have betrayed me, the world of Krynn itself will not be a large enough place for you to hide. I would follow you even into the Abyss.”

Hirinthas stood and sprinted off into the night.

The four who remained sat by the fire and waited for morning.

No one talked much.

The sun rose strong and warm the next day. Not a cloud was in the sky. Vermala lay huddled near the fire, shaking so much that his teeth rattled. Theros leaned over him, bathed his burning face in cold water, did what he could to make him more comfortable.

Fever was setting in. The elf had lost a lot of blood, and would not survive much longer.

The two prisoners were fast asleep, still tied together. At one point during the night, they had thought that Theros had fallen asleep. They had rolled to one side and began working on the knots that bound them together. A kick to the head informed the prisoners that they’d made a slight miscalculation.

“Wake up,” Theros said to Vermala, afraid that perhaps the elf had fallen into the strange sleep trance from which one never awakens. “Keep awake, if you can.”

Vermala opened his eyes. “I’m thirsty,” he whispered.

He spoke the words in elven, his knowledge of the Common language lost in his pain. Theros didn’t understand the words, but he guessed the intent.

The big man was relieved that Vermala was awake and worried at the same time. The waterskin was empty. He was wondering if he dared risk leaving and going to fill it, when the trees around him seemed to come alive. He sprang up, his axe in the ready position.

Elves burst out from the trees and ran into the glade. Hirinthas was in the lead. More elves were running out of the woods and joining them.

Hirinthas hurried forward and knelt beside Vermala, who was fluttering back and forth from consciousness to unconsciousness. A second elf sat down beside his injured comrade. He started to hum a strange tune. Removing a bag from his belt, he began laying out all manner of herbs, potions and concoctions.

“Will he live?” Theros asked in Common.

The healer elf ignored him for a moment, continuing to apply ointments to the wound. He then forced a potion down Vermala’s throat that must have tasted terrible, judging by the expression on the elf’s face. The healer spoke something in elven.

Hirinthas translated. “The next few minutes will tell all.”

Hirinthas turned to the rest of the elves, now numbering around twenty, who had gathered in the glade. He issued instructions rapidly, in elven, then, glancing at Theros, translated. “I have told them to encircle the area. I want this area secure until we are ready to move out.”

“Good idea,” Theros said.

The elves disappeared into the woods, sliding among the trees more quietly than the wind. The wind rustled a leaf now and then. The elves never did. One elf was detailed to remain with the two prisoners, to ensure that they did not attempt escape. The prisoners were now wide awake and not looking terribly pleased at this turn of events.

Theros kept an anxious watch on the injured elf. The healer continued singing softly. Although Theros couldn’t understand the words, he felt the music soothe him, ease away his troubles. He had not slept at all during the night and was starting to drift off when a voice spoke next to him, startling him to wakefulness.

Hirinthas was saying his name. “Master Ironfeld.”

Theros blinked, turned. “Sorry, I must have dozed off.”

Hirinthas looked ill at ease. The words were obviously not coming easily. “I want to … extend my thanks to you for remaining with my cousin. Not only that, but you saved our lives yesterday. I was … ungracious.” The elf straightened. “I wish to apologize.”

Theros smiled, shrugged. “Sure. I understand. I guess you haven’t had much cause to trust humans lately.”

Hirinthas gave a short nod and then went to sit beside his cousin.

Vermala suddenly gasped and lurched over sideways, the brown potion he’d drunk spewing from the side of his mouth. The wounded elf began to convulse. The healer elf inserted a stick in Vermala’s mouth, so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue, and tried to hold the elf down. The tremors were too violent. Theros knelt in front of Vermala. As gently as he could, he held the elf’s shoulders pinned to the ground.