standards. They were just there to provide distraction so the catapults could get their shots in. Brutal, but efficient. Without Tarlak’s help, we’d have lost hundreds of men.”
The three fell silent, thinking over what they’d seen. Antonil in particular looked ashen in the face, taking the ambush far worse than the others.
“What do we know of their commander?” he asked. “What orc outsmarted us so easily?”
“Far as I know, Trummug still rules the bulk of the orcs, and has since Veldaren fell,” Tarlak said. “But our news from the east is pretty sparse. If Dieredon were around I’d ask him, but he’s never mentioned any major upheaval, at least not to me.”
“I checked all the flags and banners,” Sergan said. “Plenty of drawings written in blood, and most carry the same sign. It’s not Trummug’s, I know that. Instead, they all show this…”
He picked up a rolled piece of leather beside him and unfurled it. It was a flag, half the size of a man. On its dull brown surface was a symbol drawn with blood, though faded by the sun: two triangles adjacent each other, both pointed upward.
“What are they supposed to be?” Antonil asked. “Teeth? Eyes?”
“Normally I’d suggest the standard lack of artistic skill in orcs,” Tarlak said. “But I saw that drawn on the walls of the city as well as many of the buildings. Whatever it is, it’s the symbol of their new warlord. Sadly, your men were so eager for a fight they didn’t leave any orcs alive for us to question. Hopefully next time you might order them to be more careful.”
“I’ll make sure we get prisoners,” Sergan said. “My gut says we’ll be encountering raiding parties from here on out. This new commander was biding his time, waiting until the right moment to hit…and with us out of food and supplies, now is definitely the right time.”
“Enough of this orc,” Antonil said. “We’ll find him in time, and when we meet on the battlefield, we’ll crush him. For now, we have larger problems to deal with, specifically the fate of our campaign. What are our options?”
“Options?” Tarlak asked. “Just one. We turn back toward Ker and march as fast as our feet can carry us. We don’t have the food for a campaign. They slaughtered our livestock, torched our wagons, and then ran for the hills.”
“The orcs fled here in a hurry,” Sergan said, shaking his head. “It’s not quite that bad, but close. We’ve discovered various stockpiles left behind, and while I doubt anyone here will enjoy the mystery meats, nor want to know what they are, at least it’s still food. No one will be starving for a few weeks, not if we tighten our belts.”
“A few weeks?” Tarlak rolled his eyes. “Where exactly will we go in a few weeks? If Veldaren is guarded at all, we won’t be able to siege it. If we’re harassed on our way east, given even a slight delay, we’ll start leaving a trail of bodies. We can’t do this.”
“We can,” Antonil said. “We don’t go to Veldaren. We go to Angelport instead.”
Tarlak rubbed his eyes.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes,” Antonil said, glaring. “Their boats and walls have kept them safe. We can liberate their surrounding fields, barter for food, and given time, restock with supplies from the west until we’re ready to march north.”
Tarlak could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“Antonil, my king, you have to understand…this campaign is lost. Those orcs hit us exactly where it hurt the most, and if you think a besieged holdout of a city will be able to support thirty thousand additional men…”
“This campaign is not lost!”
Antonil stood, jaw trembling. Immediately he looked away, as if embarrassed for his outburst.
“It’s not,” he said quietly. “I won’t turn us around. I won’t retreat back to Mordan as such a colossal failure again. Thirty thousand men, outsmarted by brute thugs, and sent running with a mere thousand dead runties to our names? No, we strip Kinamn of every shred of supplies, then hurry toward the coast.”
“And if anyone tries to stop us?” Tarlak dared ask.
“I hope they do,” Sergan said, drumming his fingers atop the handle of his ax. “Because anyone trying to stop us will have food on them. We can make it to Angelport, I’m certain of that. Our men haven’t given up yet. To many, this was still a victory, and I have no intention of convincing them otherwise. Tarlak, you’ve summoned food before. That’s why we didn’t starve when we fled Veldaren ages ago. Can’t you do the same now?”
Tarlak sighed, felt in one of his hidden pockets of his robes.
“I don’t have enough topaz,” he said. “Not for thirty thousand. I can maybe feed our entire army for a day, maybe two.”
“That’s two days more than we had before,” Antonil said. “Don’t lose faith on me, Tarlak. Without you, we’re lost.”
Tarlak chuckled, and despite it all, he put a smile on his face and tipped his tall yellow hat.
“I guess compared to what we’ve dealt with before, this is only a minor inconvenience,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like there’s going to be flying demons and an angry war god chasing after us.”
“Always looking on the bright side,” Sergan said, and he laughed.
Tarlak laughed with him, though it was entirely forced.
16
Jessilynn waited in the dark, hating that she’d been left behind. It reminded her of her earliest days after entering the Citadel, friendless and alone because of her sex. She’d only been eleven, unable to fully understand why the other boys looked at her like she was a different species. The days had been long, and that first year she’d cried herself to sleep more times than she could count. But through it all, she’d endured. Jerico in particular had done everything he could to make her feel welcome, accepted. In time she’d finally felt like she belonged.
Belonging, though, still didn’t mean she was like the others. Getting dressed, keeping herself clean during her monthlies, even taking a piss meant going off on her own. It was like a sore on the roof of her mouth that refused to go away. Most of the time she could easily ignore it, pretend it didn’t bother her, but sometimes…
Without a fire to warm her, or even provide mild entertainment, she sat huddled and did her best to pray to Ashhur. She begged for patience, for calm. Most of all, she asked her god for bravery, because no matter what Dieredon decided, she knew it would not involve running away, not from such a massive gathering of forces.
After far too long, she heard the sound of wings, and then Sonowin softly landed in the flat yellow grass nearby. Dieredon hopped off, and though Jessilynn had stood at his arrival, he only sat down beside her. He said nothing, staring up at the stars in thought. It made Jessilynn uncomfortable, and she crossed her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“I wish you’d bring me with you,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Your armor is too loud. It would give us away.”
“Weren’t you going to teach me to make new armor?”
Dieredon finally looked her way.
“Indeed,” he said. “But it seems we won’t have time for such lessons, will we?”
She deserved that, she knew, but at least he was talking to her now.
“What did you learn?” she asked, sitting back down and facing him.
Dieredon looked to the west, where the creatures of the Wedge had gathered in the ravine.
“There does appear to be some sort of ruling council,” he said. “The various races on the whole do not interact with one another, but I’ve seen lone members go into the wolf-men side, or at least close to it. There’s a large pile of bones nearby, and it isn’t just refuse like I first thought. They’re meeting there, discussing. Right now, it appears there is a wolf-man strong enough to frighten not only his kind, but the rest of the creatures as well.”
“Then our task is simple,” Jessilynn said. “We kill that wolf-man, and the alliance collapses in his absence.”
Dieredon nodded.
