“Did he?” Theros asked.
“Yes, sir. Permanently, sir.” Uwel looked thoughtful. “I hit him a bit too hard, I think, sir.”
The troops did not know that they were heading out to fight Solamnic Knights, the only organized force that stood between Moorgoth’s army and the towns and villages they planned to plunder. The officers knew, but they weren’t passing on anything to the men and women under their command. It was the soldiers’ job to move and fight when ordered, not to be involved in the discussion of where or why they were moving. They were paid, and that was enough for Dargon Moorgoth. If it wasn’t, Uwel Lors, the senior nonofficer, exacted a swift and punishing discipline.
Yuri wasn’t the only person to feel Uwel’s lash. The man was quite skilled with his whip and livened up an otherwise boring march by snapping it over the heads of the conscripts or licking it at their heels. Any who complained were pulled out of line and dealt with more harshly. Uwel added his fists to his whip for variety. It was sometimes Theros’s job to pick up these unfortunates, who were generally left unconscious by the side of the road until the wagons came along in the rear.
Fear and money-or the hope of it-was what was holding this army together. Theros contrasted that with the minotaurs, who fought for the glory of their country, their clan and their own personal honor. The elation Theros had felt at once more being involved with a fighting unit was rapidly evaporating. He said nothing, however. It wasn’t his place. It wasn’t his army. He would do his job, for which he was being paid-well paid.
After three days of marching, Moorgoth brought the army to a halt. Tents were pitched, but Theros was ordered not to set up the forge and equipment yet. They would be moving again. Theros and Yuri were attending to minor repairs to equipment they could handle with the small forge-fire, when a runner dashed up.
“Sir. Baron Moorgoth requests the pleasure of your attendance at an orders group in thirty minutes. Shall I tell him that you will attend?”
Theros nodded and waved the soldier away. He never quite trusted Moorgoth’s grand way of speaking-Theros always had to sort through the polite nothings to get to the meat-but he was pleased to have a chance to talk to him. The last few days, the rest of the army’s officers had begun to shun him and the two other new men. They stopped talking when Theros or Cheldon or Belhesser joined them. Theros had no idea what he had said or done to offend anyone. He hoped Moorgoth might be able to provide an explanation.
The command tent stood in the center of the small camp. The army standard-a black serpent’s head on a red background-flew from the front tent pole. Four guards stood at the ready in front of the tent. That was double the number of guards in a minotaur army. The guards waved Theros past. Obviously, he was expected. He entered the tent, found the other officers already present.
“I will come right to the point,” Moorgoth stated. His voice was tight, his face flushed. “There is a spy in this camp. And one of you three”-he singled out Theros, Cheldon, and Belhesser-“is responsible.”
The three officers stared at each other. Cheldon shook his head in disbelief. Theros leaned over to whisper to him. “So that’s what’s going on! They think it’s someone from our organizations! We’re the new ones.”
Cheldon nodded. He said nothing, but he looked troubled.
Moorgoth went on. “We have a problem, gentlemen. Every time we move, the Solamnic force moves ahead of us, keeping within striking range, cutting us off from our objective. Our army is a small one. We cannot attack a village and still keep back enough to hold off those damned knights.
“According to our scouts, we easily outnumber the knights, but they are nearly half heavy cavalry. They are highly mobile, and that’s where the problem lies.
“We’re running out of time, gentlemen. We have to take the three villages in this area soon. I need new recruits, money and supplies for my army. Before we attack those villages, we’re going to have to take out that damned Solamnic force!”
Moorgoth looked hard at the three officers, staring at each in turn. Each man met his commander’s gaze and held it, including Theros. Moorgoth appeared satisfied.
“I trust you men. All of you. But one of you is harboring a spy. Find that person, bring him or her to me, and you will be well rewarded. Understood?”
The officers indicated their assent.
After the meeting, Theros, Cheldon and Belhesser held their own meeting in Belhesser’s tent.
“For damned sure, keep your eyes open around your people. You especially, Theros,” Belhesser emphasized. “I know all the people who are working with me. They’ve been with me for years. But you have raw recruits working for you now. Who knows where they came from or who they are?”
Theros had taken on three men to work with him at his smithy. He picked them out of the conscripts because they had the brawn needed to haul about the smith’s heavy equipment. Yuri was still the apprentice to Theros, and the three others did odd jobs. They were hardworking men. Theros really didn’t know them well yet, and he was forced to admit that any one of them could be a spy. His only complaint about the men so far was that, being older, they teased Yuri and mistreated him when they thought Theros wasn’t looking.
Theros had been looking one day. He had started to intervene, but had decided, on second thought, that Yuri should learn to take care of himself. This wasn’t an elven dancing school, after all. This was an army. The life, and the men and women who lived it, were rough.
Theros nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Still, I think the spy is most likely among the camp followers. The women in what I’ve heard called the “Pleasure Platoon” come and go as they please.”
Cheldon Sarger laughed nervously. Everyone was tense, keyed up, kept glancing over his shoulder. “It could be anyone, for Morgion’s sake! We’ve got to watch our backs. No matter what Moorgoth says, the officer found harboring a spy is ruined.”
“Probably dead!” Belhesser corrected grimly.
On this gloomy note, the meeting broke up. Theros walked through the infantry tent lines back to his own tent.
As he passed through the camp, he noticed an unusual bustle. Soldiers who would have been lounging around, dicing or chatting or cooking, were instead polishing their weapons and checking over their armor. Officers ran back and forth from the command tent. Moorgoth had said there would be a fight, but he hadn’t said when. Obviously, everyone else in camp knew something Theros didn’t. The knowledge made him angry. He had as much as been accused of being a traitor. His honor was being called into question. But he couldn’t defend himself. Not until he knew for certain that none of his people were spies.
* * * * *
Theros left orders for Yuri to wake him before sunrise. The sky was gray, and there was enough light to see, but soon the valley would be sun-drenched and hot.
“Bring me some food from the commissary tents, and see if you can’t get some extra bread,” Theros grunted.
“Yes, sir.” Yuri ran off.
Theros watched him leave. “He could be the spy. Any one of them could be the spy! If one is, he will know my wrath!”
He pulled on his breeches and black leather boots. Theros wore the maroon surcoat, and over that a belt with leather shoulder straps attached to form a “Y” in the center of his back. Here he carried a metal holster that held his two-headed battle-axe.
Hran had always maintained that the axe was the perfect weapon for a smith. He could be armed and ready for battle, yet still keep both hands free to do work as needed. The battle-axe was of Theros’s own design and his personal favorite.