Theros climbed down the hill and walked to the road. He had to give Moorgoth credit for one thing-his insistence on good boots for his officers and men. Those boots were becoming invaluable right now.
He continued walking south.
The hills were no less steep, but the road made it easier to travel and Theros made better time. The sun dropped below the tree level, casting great shadows across the road. He was just beginning to congratulate himself on the ease of his escape, and to think that he might be able to take time to rest, when he heard hoofbeats.
He turned to see a mounted rider far back down the road, heading south, toward him.
“Maybe he hasn’t seen me yet,” Theros muttered.
He dashed to the side of the road and dove into the huge fir trees. He crouched down amid the shadows and waited.
The rider took his time coming up the road. When he was near enough for Theros to get a good look, he reigned in his mount for a moment and gazed around.
Theros recognized the rider’s uniform-maroon surcoat with a black design on the front. Another of Moorgoth’s scouts. The only reason for this scout to be this far away from the army was that he must be looking for deserters.
The scout leaned over the horse, searching the ground for footprints in the dirt. Theros thanked Sargas that the dirt was hard-packed-there’d been no rain for a week. The scout shook his head and rode on. He had not seen Theros.
Still, Theros thought, I can’t go back to the road. This is proof that they’re searching for me. Where there was one, there will be others.
He started to stand up, almost fell, and realized that he could walk no farther without sleep. Yet it was too dangerous to sleep out in the open, with Moorgoth’s men on his trail. Theros turned his back on the road, made his way into the stand of fir trees. He crossed the forest, came up on a makeshift wooden fence surrounding a small field. On the opposite side of the field was a barn.
Theros hunkered down in the shadow of the trees and watched.
The barn appeared to be deserted. Perhaps its owner had fled the approaching army. He saw no one coming or going. Theros took out his axe. He crossed the field, hugging the tree line, and crept up on the barn. He walked around the entire exterior of the barn. He opened the door and peered inside. It was dark and empty. He took a chance.
Theros entered into the building and shut the door behind him. There was just enough light to still see the general shape of the walls inside.
Hay was piled up in a corner. It looked extremely inviting, more inviting-right now-than the finest bed in Sanction.
Theros was desperately tired. He had been on the move since early the night before, and hadn’t stopped. He needed sleep. He would stay here.
He burrowed into the hay, covering himself, just in case. He was slipping off to sleep, when he heard the barn door creak. It opened and a bright light shone inside. Theros jumped up out of the hay, scrambled for his axe.
A huge minotaur walked through the door, ducking so that his giant horns wouldn’t hit the frame. Theros had been a child the last time he saw this minotaur, but he recognized the minotaur instantly.
“Sargas!”
The minotaur seemed to grow in size even as he stood there. I am Sargas. You are wise to recognize your god. You do me honor.
Theros dropped the axe to his side on the floor, and fell to his knees. “Oh, great Sargas! You do me honor in appearing before me.”
Great honor indeed, human.
As before, Sargas’s words did not come from his mouth. They materialized inside Theros’s mind, as bright and as booming as lightning. More than you deserve!
Theros stared, astounded.
“What have I done to displease you, great Sargas?” Theros asked.
You have proven yourself a weakling! Admittedly, you have shown that you have honor, but you do not seek vengeance and retribution against those who besmirch your honor. That half-goblin Lors as much as denounced you for a traitor! You did not even refute him, let alone strike him down in his own blood, as you should have!
Theros did not know what to say in his own defense. He remained silent.
Sargas continued. Your assistant, Yuri. He is a spy, a creature of dishonor. You should have killed him! Instead, you let him escape. And now this! You run from your place of duty!
“How can you tell me to serve a dishonorable man like Moorgoth, Oh, great Sargas?” Theros demanded.
If you thought Moorgoth’s leadership was so bad, then you should have challenged him to mortal combat! Take over his command. Lead the men yourself. That is what a follower of mine would do!
Theros ventured to argue. “He would have refused and simply ordered his men to kill me-”
Then you die with honor for the glory of my name, Sargas intoned. The stain of dishonor is upon him, not you.
Yes, but I can’t very well appreciate it if I’m dead, Theros thought, but didn’t say.
It didn’t matter. Sargas heard his thoughts.
Bah! That is the human blood in you talking! I had hoped for better things from you, Theros Ironfeld. You are not the man of destiny I foresaw in your youth. From now on, you must work hard to regain my good will.
You will atone for your sins! You will improve your ways! You will obey me or you will see me no more!
The words boomed like thunder inside Theros’s head. He looked up, fearful of retribution.
The minotaur changed into a giant black bird with flaming wings. It took flight, shooting straight up through the roof of the barn and disappearing into the night.
Theros remained on his knees for a long time, long enough for his body to stiffen. Finally, he lifted his head, expecting to see a hole in the roof, the wood ablaze.
The roof was intact. Nothing.
He thought back to Sargas’s accusations. They were true and he felt ashamed. He should have challenged Moorgoth. He should have spoken out, made some attempt to stop the torture. There had been others who had been sickened by it. Perhaps they would have joined him and forced Moorgoth to put an end to it.
Theros snorted. “Be realistic. No one would have backed me. I’d be dead, like those wretched knights. I am not a man of destiny, Sargas. You were mistaken in me. I want only to be a good weapons-smith.”
He pitched forward, exhausted, into the hay.
* * * * *
Theros awoke the next morning, the sun streaming in from the east. He thought back to the previous day, wondered if it had all been a dream. No, he knew it wasn’t. Sargas had come to him again. He remembered the first visit. He had been only eight. Sargas had said that he would appear three times. This had been the second. There would be another time-perhaps. The thought made him shiver.
His empty stomach brought him back to reality. He was dizzy and light-headed from lack of food. He needed clothing, too. He couldn’t run around the countryside half-naked. Theros peered cautiously outside. The barn was near an old garden on the edge of a cornfield. In the center of the field stood a scarecrow, its shirt sleeves flapping in the wind.
Seeing no one around, Theros left his hiding place, went to investigate the scarecrow. The pants were ripped, but the shirt was in reasonable condition. He took the shirt from the scarecrow and shook out the straw. Taking off his harness, he put the shirt on. One seam immediately gave way on his arm, but at least the shirt provided some warmth. The brown color would make it easier to hide in the woods, too. Still, he would need warmer clothing for the mountain pass.
He went back to the garden. It had not been tended for years. All manner of wild vegetation grew in the patch, including a good many weeds. But he found carrots and a line of potatoes, too. He dug up several and wolfed them down raw. When he could eat no more, he pulled a few more out of the ground, and stuffed them in his pockets. He would need them later.