The Soldier's Tale Read Online Free PDF

liquor was not one of
them.

    ###

    Two weeks after that, the Dux himself came
with Sir Primus to speak with us in the courtyard.
    I had a bad, bad headache. It was almost
enough to make me ask Sir Primus for a day of sick leave, but I
kept going. Drinking had not made me abandon my duty, and a damned
headache wasn’t going to do it, either.
    Though I hadn’t drunk anything for three
days. Whatever was wrong with me, it wasn’t a hangover.
    “Optio Camorak,” boomed Dux Kors Durius. He
was a huge man, built like a blacksmith, his face half-hidden
beneath a shaggy gray beard. “How fare the men?”
    “Well enough, my lord,” I said, bowing. The
recruits hastily followed suit. Though they acted less and less
like recruits these days. They had seen firsthand how training and
discipline saved lives in battle, just as old Vegetius had said.
Had they panicked and scattered when facing the wyvern, the beast
would have picked us off one by one. Fear had always made them obey
my orders before, but now a heathy bit of self-preservation
motivated them as well.
    “Splendid,” said Sir Primus, “for the Dux
has a task for us.”
    “The Three Kingdoms of the dwarven kindred
lie beneath the mountains of Kothluusk,” said Kors, “and the King
of Khald Tormen is sending a taalvar – ah, their word for emissary
– to the Prince of Cintarra. To reach Cintarra, the taalvar and his
men must cross the lands of Durandis. Therefore, to uphold the
honor of Durandis, you shall escort the taalvar to Castra Durius
before he continues on his way to Cintarra.”
    “We may face foes,” said Primus. “The
enmity between the dwarves of the Three Kingdoms and the orcs of
Kothluusk is ancient and deep, and predates the foundation of the
High Kingdom by centuries. If the Mhorites learn that a taalvar is
leaving Khald Tormen, they shall almost certainly try to kill him.
Of course, the taalvar shall have his own escort of dwarven
soldiers, but if the Mhorites try to attack him, we shall assist in
his defense.”
    “Hence the escort,” said the Dux. “The
taalvar shall march along the main road from Castra Durius to the
Great Gate of Khald Tormen. Sir Primus, your company will ride out
and meet him along the road.”
    “Optio,” said Primus. “Prepare for
departure. I wish to be on the road within the hour.”
    “Sir,” I said, and I started giving orders,
trying to ignore my unending headache.

    ###

    Just under an hour later, we rode west, Sir
Primus at the head of sixty men-at-arms. For this task, we had a
mix of veterans and new recruits, which was a relief. The new lads
were shaping up, but the Mhorites were vicious fighters, and I
wanted steady men with us. Magistrius Mallister had also been sent,
just in case one a Mhorite shaman decided to show his ugly face. As
bad as the Kothluuskan orcs were, the shamans of the blood god Mhor
were worse, and even the Mhorite warriors were afraid of them.
    We rode west along the broad, wide road the
dwarves had cut from the foothills. Of old, when the High King had
first made alliance with the dwarves, the Three Kingdoms had
constructed the road to Castra Durius as a gesture of friendship.
It had weathered the centuries with the stubborn defiance of
dwarven engineering, and so was still flat and level. The Dux’s men
patrolled it often, so the Mhorites usually avoided it, preferring
instead to creep through the maze of gullies and valleys in the
foothills, even using the caverns of the Deeps to mask their
movements. So it seemed safe enough to assume we would not
encounter any trouble, but I had been a soldier too long to be an
optimist.
     
    The corpses we saw a few hours after
leaving Castra Durius proved that correct.
    Sir Primus called a halt, and we reined up.
A dozen orcish men in leather armor and chain mail lay scattered
across the road, all of them dead from sword or axe wounds. Their
faces had been tattooed red and marked with ritual scars, giving
their features the looks of hideous