Free Red Sky at Dawn by D. A. Adams Page B

for someone to bring a fresh uniform.
    “We have to get you cleaned up and take you before the masters. You have to be presentable for them.”
    Outside the barracks at a water trough, Suvene washed away the month’s grime, noticing how lean his arms and legs looked from the meager meals the slaves had fed them. Back inside, he dressed in the fresh uniform and then ate the meal that had been brought from the leftovers. Despite still being exhausted, he felt much better and was ready to tell his tale to the masters.
    Toulesche led him through the fortress’s maze of stone walls, beyond many wooden doors that led to foreboding chambers, and into the main hall. There, seated around a massive, oak table polished to a high gloss, were the secondary masters who had reassembled for a special session at the behest of Toulesche. None looked pleased to have been called to a meeting so late in the night. Toulesche guided Suvene to where they should stand at the far end of the table so that all could face them.
    “What is this about, sergeant?” the highest ranking master asked. He was an older orc, at least seventy, and his face was pinched and sinister.
    “There is an army of escaped slaves marching in this direction. My friend, Suvene, risked his life to escape their clutches and warn us of their treachery.”
    “An army of slaves? How could that be?” the elder asked.
    “They are led by a creature not of this world.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “There has been great evil unleashed on our lands,” Suvene interrupted. “We must send out as many troops as possible to stop it.”
    “You were their prisoner?”
    Suvene told the entire story to the secondary masters, who gasped at the details. He told them of the carnage around the big house, of the ransacking of the entire plantation, of the weeks of marching and capturing more plantations. When he finished his story, the eldest master rang for his page and ordered the young orc to call forth the primary masters at once. Only they could send out the troops, and time was of the utmost importance if they had any hope of intercepting this army of evil.
    Suvene was thanked for his service and dismissed from the meeting. Toulesche led him from the chamber and back to the barracks, where a bed had been readied for him. He argued with his friend at first, not wanting to miss the battle, but Toulesche ultimately convinced him otherwise. He was in no shape even for the march, never mind the fight, and the army would have to move swiftly. None would be able to help him if he got too tired. The best place for him was in the fortress, where he could rest and regain his strength.
    “You’ve already done your duty for this one,” Toulesche said. “Leave a little glory for the rest of us.”
    Suvene managed a smile.
    “Don’t worry,” the sergeant continued. “I’ll bring you this phantom’s head.”
    “Be careful,” Suvene returned, wagging his index finger at his friend. “Great evil surrounds it. It won’t die easily.”
    “Like I said, don’t worry.”
    With that, Toulesche turned to his troops and barked for them to prepare to march. At first, a couple groaned their displeasure, but the sergeant silenced them quickly with several short bursts of profanity. The soldiers stopped chattering and focused on preparing their weapons and gear for an extended march. Suvene wanted to help them, but the exhaustion was too much. He stretched out on the bed, a rickety cot from a storage closet that at this moment felt like a feather bed from the big house, and was asleep in seconds.

Chapter 6
    The Battle for Hard Hope
    Crushaw had been gone for five days, and the restlessness of the army was evident as meals took longer and each march covered less ground before the freed slaves demanded a break. Leinjar and Molgheon preserved fragile leadership, and Roskin and Vishghu had grown more and more vocal as they helped maintain order and discipline. In short, the army was near its