“I want a percentage of the take. I’m worth it. You must think so, too. You must have paid that foul wizard a small fortune for his work today.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Moorgoth said. “This was a terrible accident. Still, I imagine that I can agree to the deal. My former smith had a two percent cut. You will receive the same. If you stay past the first three years, I will increase that. Anything else you want, Ironfeld?”
“Nothing for now, Baron,” Theros said. “Where do I join up?”
“Meet us at the center of town.” Moorgoth eyed Theros with new respect. “I think we’re going to get along fine, Ironfeld. Just fine.”
He sauntered off, his men accompanying him. Yuri was looking at Theros with round-eyed wonder.
“What?” Theros demanded, irritated. Bending down, he spread some of the ointment on his leg. Sure enough, the burn immediately ceased to hurt. “Stop gaping at me like that. You look half-witted. Now take some of this money and buy yourself some warm clothes and a blanket. You’ll need them, sleeping out in the open-”
“I … I don’t want to go!” Yuri protested.
“Of course you’re going. Don’t be a fool. You’ll make good money and learn the art of battlefield smithing.”
“But … it’s dangerous, sir. And … and …”
Theros turned his back, looked at what remained of his forge. There might be something left he could salvage. He was ignoring Yuri’s blathering-until Theros heard the words, “I hate you, Theros Ironfeld!”
Theros turned, shocked.
The young man was seething. Fear had given him courage. “I’m not a slave like you used to be! I’m a free man and I have a right to decide if I’ll go with you or not!
Don’t make decisions for me. You treat me like a dog-a dog you don’t like. I work hard with never a word from you except if I get things wrong!”
Theros regarded the young man in silence. A minotaur would have slammed the boy into the ground, taught him how to speak to his elders.
Yuri was spewing out words. They must have been stored up inside him for months. “I can’t believe that you’re going to go with that horrible man! His army’s nothing but thieves and rascals! He burned down your forge, for Gilean’s sake! And you just stand there and take it! Now you expect me to go along? After this? After what he did to you? To us?”
Theros swallowed an anger-filled response. Yuri was young. He couldn’t be expected to understand that sometimes you had to knuckle under to fate.
“The pay is good,” Theros said stiffly. “More than I can afford to pay you. And you are worth it. I want you to go. I need your help.”
Yuri stared, stunned.
“Well?” Theros demanded impatiently. “Are you going with me or not?”
Yuri tried a tentative smile. “Do you mean that, Theros? Do you think I’m worth it?”
“You wouldn’t be hanging around here taking up space if you weren’t,” Theros said curtly. “Now go do as you’re told.”
Yuri, clutching the money, dashed off down the street.
Theros picked up a stick and began to sift through the still-glowing ashes of what once had been his life.
Chapter 17
“Get a crate for these tools,” Theros ordered Yuri. “We’ll need to take them with us. And gather up those leather tools and supplies. Secure what we aren’t taking into crates and nail them shut.”
Theros was standing in the shop of the army’s former weapons-smith, gathering up tools and other supplies.
Yuri did as he was instructed. “Sir, I’ll have to go down to the carpenter for more crates. We have just two left. He’ll want to be paid for them.”
Theros handed over the money. He was busy going through the back stock of weapons, deciding which ones to take. He gazed at most of them in disgust. No wonder Moorgoth had gone to all the trouble to burn down Theros’s forge. The baron needed a good weapons-smith badly. Theros almost felt flattered.
Almost.
Yuri came back an hour later with two men from the carpenter’s shop, each carrying a large crate. They set the crates down in the middle of the smithy. Yuri had just started to load tools into the first crate when Baron Moorgoth entered the shop.
“Good! I see that you are nearly packed. I will send a horse and wagon around in two hours.”
Theros was preoccupied. “Yuri! Hurry up with those weapons!” He glanced at the baron. “Where is the army camped? Outside of town? How many men do you have?”
To Theros’s amazement, Moorgoth flushed in anger.
“You’re asking a lot of damned questions, Ironfeld. From now on, you’re just another officer under my command. You’ll go where I tell you to go and do what I tell you to do. You’ll be told where to go when you report with your wagons.”
Moorgoth left, saying something about meeting the new logistics officer.
Theros stared after the man. It had been a simple question, nothing more. It seemed logical that the weapons-smith should know how many men were in the army he was to be responsible for outfitting. And why shouldn’t he know where the army was camped? Eventually, he returned to his work.
Yuri completed packing the box of tools and extra weapons. The crates were heavy, but they were going to be loaded onto a cart, not carried by hand, so the weight didn’t matter.
“What should I do now, Theros?” Yuri asked.
Theros wouldn’t admit it, but it pleased him to hear a new note of respect in the boy’s voice.
* * * * *
The wagons arrived at precisely the hour Moorgoth had named. Theros was ready. He and Yuri and the wagon’s driver hoisted two of the crates onto the wagon. Theros and Yuri carried two more to the back storage area of the smith for safekeeping. Then came the hard part-time to move the anvil.
Yuri and the driver both stared at the anvil blankly. Neither could even budge the heavy object.
Theros waved them both away. He dragged the anvil from its place in the abandoned forge to the back of the wagon. Once there, Theros paused to rest. Then, flexing his muscles, he bent down in a crouch. With a forceful grunt, he lifted the anvil and, sweating with the exertion, maneuvered it carefully into the back end of the wagon, placing it directly over the axle.
The wagon driver told them that they would meet the rest of the force near the center of town. Yuri hoisted his small bag of personal belongings onto the wagon. Theros carried his somewhat larger sack over his shoulder. Now that he had recovered from the shock of losing his forge, Theros found himself almost looking forward to this new adventure. In his mind, he could already hear the call of the trumpet. He climbed up onto the wagon.
“Roll out,” he ordered.
* * * * *
Four more wagons were assembled in a side street off the plaza. Theros’s wagon joined in at the end of the line. The baron was on hand to make introductions.
“Cheldon Sarger, our quartermaster,” said the baron.
Cheldon Sarger was a middle-aged human with a face that looked as if it had been dipped in his own cooking oil. He was broad, much like Theros, but Cheldon’s girth was made of fat, not muscle. Cheldon’s job was to keep the army supplied. He maintained the food, clothing, uniforms, weapons and armor in stock. The weapons and armor would be provided by Theros. The rest Cheldon would have to acquire from the locals, either by bartering or buying or, as Cheldon said with a wink, stealing.
Theros thought the man was kidding.
Belhesser Vankjad was the new logistics officer, the person in charge of both Cheldon and Theros. Belhesser was a tall, thin man, with a pointed face like a ferret. Belhesser looked like a half-elf, but always declared vehemently that he wasn’t. He had previously worked in the port authority. His job was twofold. He handled supplies, maintenance of weapons and armor, and acquisition of new materials. He was also like Huluk, in that he was responsible for a section of line soldiers who would defend the rear area in case it was overrun. In addition, he was responsible for transport-the wagons and horses that would keep the army rolling.