Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield Read online

  He hung the ladle back on the side of the barrel. Theros took down the ladle, drank thirstily. He had been in the sun all afternoon, and had not noticed that he was beginning to become dehydrated. He took another long drink, put the ladle back.

  From beneath the forecastle, the captain emerged onto the main deck. He took a few steps forward and began to survey the rigging and masts. His eyes seemed to move in slow motion as he scanned every knot and block of rigging, every bolt of sail.

  The guardsman beside Theros shivered slightly. Nervous hands plucked at his clothing. He climbed down to the main deck. Turning from the ladder, he took two steps forward, putting him only a pace behind the captain. The minotaur did not see or hear the human. Reaching inside his shirt, the man pulled out a knife.

  Later, Theros would often wonder why he did what he did. Perhaps it was because the captain had praised his courage. Perhaps it was that he felt no man—or minotaur—should die from a stab in the back.

  Theros yelled at the top of his lungs. “Captain! Behind you!”

  The captain turned just as the guardsman’s knife plunged down. The natural reflexes of the warrior let Kavas sidestep the attack, and at the same time pull his knife from its scabbard. The human and the minotaur stood facing each other, both in a fighting stance, knives brandished. All work on the ship stopped.

  The warriors on the rear deck of the ship rushed forward to get a better look. The two other officers stood near the forecastle, each armed with a battle-axe. No one interfered with the fight, however. It was the captain’s right to kill this would-be assassin.

  The human and the minotaur circled each other. Passing by the foremast, the man grabbed a three-foot-long shoring peg out of a hole. He now had two weapons. Half a revolution more and the human made his move. He lunged forward with the knife, holding the peg—now a makeshift club—to ward off any blow. The captain dodged the thrust and swung his own weapon. The man batted the knife away, but the swing had been a feint. The captain brought his knee up and smashed it into the man’s chest.

  The man dropped his weapons and crumpled to the deck. He rolled to the side, clutching his chest and gasping for air, and then he stopped moving. The captain stood above him, ready and waiting. Moments passed. The man lay still. Finally, the captain put his knife away. The other two officers walked forward. One turned the human onto his back. He was dead.

  The captain, suddenly remembering the cry that had saved his life, turned to look at Theros. He nodded once to the boy, then marched back into the cabin below the forecastle. The other two officers followed their captain back into the cabin. The dead man was left on the deck.

  Timpan and Heretos scrambled forward from the rigging to where the man lay. They both looked up at Theros, then back to the dead man. Both shook their heads. Theros couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but he saw the other slaves on board glaring at him with hatred. The two foremen lifted the body and shuffled to the port side of the ship. Heretos shut the man’s eyes, then they lifted the body over the side rail and let it fall to the sea below. No one said a word.

  Theros watched as the body bobbed in the sea behind the moving ship, finally losing sight of it as it slipped beneath the waves.

  “What—” Theros said to himself miserably, “what have I done?”

  Chapter 4

  Theros woke with a start. He shook his head and tried to peer into the gloom. He did not recognize his surroundings and could not for the life of him remember how he had gotten to be where he was. The floor refused to stay still. First, he slid to his left, then moments later to his right. Everywhere around him were hushed voices, mumbling in the dark. Suddenly, he remembered the events of the previous two days.

  His eyes began to adjust. It was not as dark as he had first thought. He could make out hammocks slung around, and berths along either side of the cabin. He had been assigned to a berth along the port side. There were more men than sleeping places, but that worked out, because some of the men were always on night watch. When the watches shifted, they would trade places in the berths. No one had to worry about who had what berth or hammock, as they were all functionally identical. As slaves, they owned nothing, and therefore could not claim one over another.

  The voices he had heard weren’t voices at all, he realized. It was the sound of the waves slapping against the side of the ship.

  Theros sat up, trying to recall the noise that had awakened him. He heard the hatch above open, and saw someone slowly climb down the ladder. The figure made no sound at all, which was strange, considering that he wore armor and more weapons than the boy could believe possible. The figure moved directly toward Theros. If anyone else was awake, no one stirred.

  As the figure came closer, Theros could see that this was a minotaur, but no ordinary minotaur. He was massive, with huge horns. He wore leather armor with gold accoutrements hammered into it. Theros had learned his lesson, and did not move or say anything. The minotaur went straight up to Theros’s bunk, and finding that the boy was awake, motioned for Theros to follow him.

  Theros clamored down to the floor, and followed the giant minotaur up the ladder and onto the forecastle. No one was in sight. What had happened to the night crew? The minotaur pointed to a crate for Theros to sit. He sat, looked up expectantly at the huge being. Theros remembered Aldvin’s advice: Don’t let them see you are afraid. He clasped his hands together tightly.

  You do not know who I am, do you? The minotaur spoke, but the words made no sound. They made their impact only in Theros’s mind, and nowhere else.

  Theros shook his head.

  You may speak here with me. I am not a member of the crew of this ship. I am Sargas. I watch over the minotaurs, among others.

  Theros opened his mouth. “I am—”

  Stop, little human. I know who you are, and what you are. You are one of my children. Do you know of the gods, young Theros?

  “There are no gods, sir,” Theros answered. “The man in our village says that the old gods left us after the Cataclysm and that—”

  Enough! The minotaur growled and looked very fierce. I know of men who say such things. They call themselves Seekers in human tongue. They say that they are the only clerics left on Krynn.

  Let me tell you what you need to know of the gods, little Theros. There is only one god you need to concern yourself with. That is the god who rules your life, and that is me. I am Sargas, god of minotaurs, and god of honor, warfare and revenge. Worship me, Theros, as I am your master of masters.

  Theros looked quizzically at the minotaur. “You are not a god, you are a minotaur. I don’t understand.” A thought came to him, something the Seeker had said. “If you’re a god, prove it to me.”

  Rage contorted the giant warrior’s face. His voice thundered, though he never made a sound. You truly do not know anything about gods, do you, little Theros? It is up to mortals to prove themselves to me, to prove that they have the honor to be recognized by me, to prove that they have the warrior skills and the devious mind of tacticians.

  Theros was frightened, but he forced himself to remain calm.

  Sargas, watching him, actually smiled. You are brave. I like that. This time, I will swallow my pride and prove to you that I am a god of unparalleled power.

  As he spoke, the minotaur grew larger and larger, until his form straddled the entire ship. There was still no actual sound, but the words pounded inside Theros’s head. Suddenly, the minotaur’s arms grew longer, and sprouted feathers. Theros could not believe his eyes. Within seconds, the colossal minotaur had changed into a giant black crow. It took to the air, a red glow outlining its form. It flew above the ship, and then, claws extended, it dove down toward Theros at a terrifying speed.

  The gigantic bird would tear Theros apart. He couldn’t move, not because he was courageous, but because he was frozen with terror. The crow hurtled toward the very spot where the minotaur had stood, then, at the last instant, changed back to the minotaur. Sargas stood before Theros, and smile
d.

  Theros could not believe, could not comprehend what he had just seen. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself (to ensure that he was awake). Still the minotaur stood there before him.

  Sargas bent at the waist, stared straight into the boy’s eyes. Two days ago, Theros, you stood on the beach, a boy in a village whose destiny it was to be a fisherman. You had sense enough to detest such a life. You threw your lot in with the minotaur warriors. That pleased me a great deal and I began to keep my eye on you.

  Yesterday, you revealed yourself to be a champion of honor. You could have let the human warrior plunge his knife into the back of the minotaur, who was—after all—your enemy. Instead, you saw the cowardly act for what it was, and warned the captain in time. Again, you pleased me.

  You are a human whose life is promising. I am here now, revealing myself to you, in order to guide you on the correct path.

  Theros looked up into the pools of darkness that were Sargas’s eyes. His mind fell into the pools, diving into the center, seeing everything and nothing.

  Theros believed. “What am I to do, Lord Sargas?”

  Sargas straightened. You must at all times remember honor. Bring honor to me by bringing honor to yourself, and recognize honor for the true virtue that it is. Learn the art and skills of warfare, and be aware that you are a human of destiny. Do not cast away your life, but take it and use it, and bend it to your will, as you did on the beach two days ago, and as you did yesterday on this ship.

  I will come to you three times in your life, Theros, this being the first. You will have no warning of these visits, but they will come at moments of crisis, so that I can help you learn the path I wish you to take.

  Without warning, the minotaur once again turned into the black crow, whose wings seemed to be made of fire. It flew into the air. Theros followed the glowing bird as it rose higher and higher into the night sky, until it became just a speck, replacing one of the stars.

  Theros made his way back to his berth below the deck. He intended to stay awake and go over the events of the past day in his head, to make some sense and order of it all. Instead, he slid into a deep, deep sleep.

  When he awoke, he found the minotaur crew marveling over a black crow’s feather they’d discovered on the deck. They were too far from land, they said, for crows to be flying over the ship.

  Book Two

  Chapter 5

  “A good morning to you, Master Smith.”

  “Bah! Why is it that you humans must always try to grow flowers out of crap? It is a horrible day. The rain does not cease, and the mud does not cease, so why do you say the morning is good, Theros?”

  The minotaur glared at the young man, who was tall and sturdy for his eighteen years. His arms were well developed, his hands large and capable. He kept his curly hair short, his face clean-shaven, as was the custom for humans in minotaur servitude.

  “It is a good morning because it is a day of battle, Master Smith,” Theros said.

  The smith shook his horned head and snorted. “I doubt that the elves will attack today. It does not seem to be weather to their liking. I’d wager on battle tomorrow. That means we have an immense amount of work to do. I will work on the arrowheads. You work on the spearheads. We can never have too many. Warriors use them as if they were rocks lying at their feet. They never seem to notice how long it takes to make them!”

  Theros grimaced. “You spoil me, Hran. You know I hate to do arrowheads. They require such detailed work! But you have a harder time with them than I do. Your hands are far too big. Let me do the arrowheads. You do the spears.”

  “You see, you are learning. Knowing who is good for what job is how you get the work done. Now stop talking and start working. You humans are always talking.…”

  Theros turned to stoke the fire. The battlefield forge had been set up the day before, but this was the first day they could use it. The fire took almost a day to build up enough heat to be useful.

  The minotaur Hran was the master weapons-smith and armorer to the Third Minotaur Army. The army had campaigned most of the summer months, waging war against the elves in the forests of Silvanesti. A year ago, a group of minotaurs had decided that the coastal area would be ideal for minotaur settlements. Led by a sea pirate named Klaf, these minotaurs had built a walled village on the coast.

  It was the first minotaur settlement on the continent since the Cataclysm had removed the land links between the minotaur homeland and the rest of Ansalon. The plan was to have the village grow into a town and later into a coastal fortress. Once entrenched, the minotaurs would be impossible to uproot, and home territory advantage would be granted to the minotaurs in any defense. The elves would have to strike while the minotaurs were still establishing their new colony on Ansalon.

  The elves had done just that. Acknowledging that the minotaurs were masters of the sea, the elves were building up their strength, preparing for an all-out attempt to retake the coastal area using inland armies. The minotaurs would have to fight for this ground.

  Klaf, the minotaur in command, petitioned the Supreme Circle for an army to conquer the elves. If the elves could be defeated, then the coast and sea were the minotaurs’ for the taking. From there, the minotaurs could conveniently raid most of Ansalon.

  The Emperor, through the Supreme Circle, awarded Klaf the command of the minotaur army and ordered him to remove the threat of elves from the site of the colony. It was stressed that the honor of Klaf’s entire clan rested on the success of this campaign. There was only one small problem. No combat-ready minotaur army could be spared. The Third Army was a ceremonial and parade ground army, normally housed at the capital in Lacynes. The Third Army had never seen battle. It would take a monumental effort for Klaf to turn the Third Army into battle-ready warriors.

  During the last year, Klaf had done just that. For seven months now, the force had campaigned against the elf units in the area, slowly and inexorably pushing them back inland. Klaf had seen victory in the offing and then, two weeks ago, his spies brought him word that a new force had arrived—an elven army of eight thousand that threatened to challenge the minotaurs in open battle. Although weaker in infantry than the minotaurs, the elves possessed excellent archers and their light cavalry could wreak havoc among the slow-moving minotaurs.

  Klaf was firm in the belief that only amateur soldiers plotted strategy and tactics. Professionals studied logistics. He knew that archers were his army’s weakness. The booty taken from the first few battles enabled Klaf to hire mercenaries—human archers—to round out his force.

  By keeping his supply lines from the sea open, he had ensured that his army was well fed and well equipped. Hundreds of artisans, cooks, skilled woodworkers and taskmasters had been taken from the ships in the minotaur fleets, and put to work in the coastal village. One of these had been Theros, who had served on board a minotaur ship for the past eight years, since the age of ten.

  The job of sharpening weapons, which Theros had picked up almost by accident, had proven to be one in which he was highly skilled. Theros had been so successful at his work of repairing leather and maintaining the ship’s complement of weapons that his reputation spread far beyond the war barge on which he served.

  The warriors of the Blatvos Kemas had done well in battle. They credited themselves, to be sure, but the captain had also done Theros the rare honor of including him in the reports. The captain claimed that the quality of armor and weapons was such that a warrior could rely on them to enable him to rise to his true potential. Unfortunately for the captain, this praise of Theros caught the eye of a wealthy Supreme Circle member. The captain lost Theros in a wager on a sea battle with the council member, much to the regret of the crew and warriors.

  Theros was not the only valuable object won by the Supreme Circle member. Several ships, with their complement of slaves, crew, warriors and supplies, went to the high-ranking minotaur. He sent most of his winnings to the revitalized army of Klaf, as a show of support.

  T
heros was assigned to the chief armorer of Klaf’s forces. Hran was wise, powerful, with legendary skills when it came to bladed weapons. His axes were much prized and widely sought after. At first, Hran had been skeptical of working with a human. He assigned the young man the job of making arrows and spears. These were not the weapons of any fabled warrior, yet they were the daily tools of an army. They could be made in abundance, and an army would run short of them in two days of fighting. When Theros proved skilled in this task, Hran began to think that the human might make a fairly decent smith.

  Hran took care never to tell Theros that, however.

  The new elven army posed a great threat to the minotaur army. The elves had to be defeated or there could be no consolidation of the coastline. The place of battle was not a hospitable one, and the clouds had not stopped raining for the past week. The ground was soaked through, and wherever the large wagons of the baggage train moved, mud churned in their wake. The ground around the smithy was the only dry ground for a league in any direction. A huge tent had been set up, with the center post being the chimney for the forge. The heat of the fire under the tent baked the ground to a hard clay.

  The fire was finally hot enough to melt metal after a day of feeding the flames. Theros took blocks of steel and bronze and melted them in a large cauldron. Under the watchful eye of Hran, he tossed in small amounts of different powders to add special properties to the metal soup. White powder ensured that the metal would not crack when cooled. Gray powder helped the two different metals mix together to form a stronger alloy.

  The cauldron bubbled and boiled. Using a small knife, Theros cleaned the mold for the arrowheads. Very carefully, he peeled away any remnants of previous castings. When he was satisfied, he arranged the wooden plates around the fire. With a huge pair of tongs, he lifted the cauldron and poured molten metal into the first mold. The metal flowed into the arrow-shaped crevices carved into the wooden block and began to congeal. The wood burst into flame from the intense heat. Theros moved on to the second mold, and repeated the pouring. He did the same again and again until all of the ten molds were filled, all were on fire.