Free Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield by Don Perrin

day.”
    Huluk’s face contorted in rage. This insolent young cub was telling him, a senior officer and a valiant, decorated warrior, about honor. “You! You know nothing of honor! Have you ever been victorious in battle? You …”
    The officer paused. The young minotaur actually had a point about reporting the events of the day. Huluk’s mind was racing. He had witnessed the deaths of many warriors that he knew and respected. He had lost his command to a surprise attack from heavy cavalry. He would be blamed for the failure, that was certain. But perhaps there
was
a chance to regain his shattered honor …
    Nevek brought Huluk back to the here and now. “Sir, theelves are moving this way!”
    Huluk jumped up and peered over the barrels. While he had been sitting and brooding, a column of elf warriors had been slogging its way toward them. They were no more than two hundred yards away.
    Huluk made his decision.
    “You have a point, young warrior. We must get back to warn the village garrison. Now, we’re going to need a few things. It is a four-day trip back. Gather up weapons and anything else that will be useful.”
    Nevek nodded. “I’ll grab as many skins of water as I can find. The water barrels here are full. I’ll try to find some food, too. Hurry, sir, they’re almost here!”
    Huluk nodded. “Right, meet me at the far end of the camp, near the weapons-smith’s tent, or what’s left of it. Go!”
    Nevek ran. Huluk raced back through the burning camp. The broken breastplate banged and chafed against his fur. He stopped just short of the commissary wagons, the flames now beginning to burn low, and gave the armor a good yank. The leather straps disintegrated and the piece fell to the ground.
    “Useless. Damned slave.”
    He bent and picked up his axe from the back harness built into the failed armor. He’d have to find a replacement.
    The commissary area was strewn with bodies, minotaur and human. Several elves with their horses lay on the roadway. At least some enemies had fallen in the short-lived battle. Huluk rooted through the wreckage. Near the wagons were a stack of produce crates. He searched through them. The crates contained mostly raw meat and vegetables, some fish and a case of spices for the preservation of food. The bottom crate held baked hardtack. He rummaged around the tent site and found a cloth sack. He filled the sack halfway with food.
    Weapons were next. He had to carry his axe, but he had nothing to carry it in. A bow would be good. A sword and scabbard would be useful, too. He crossed the commissary area and entered the smithy area. Several metal pegs andan anvil marked the edge where the tent had been. The stone hearth still stood in the middle of the tent area, its coals beginning to cool.
    A movement from the left side caught Huluk’s attention.
    A young human stepped from behind the forge. He was dirty, and blood covered his clothes. Huluk recognized the human as Hran’s slave—the same slave who had done a useless job on his armor.
    Huluk nearly burst a vein. Here, in the middle of the carnage and destruction of an entire army, with everyone dead or gone, the only sentient being he could find was the moron who had ruined his armor.
    The urgency of the situation left him no time for the luxury of expending his anger and fear upon this human slave. “You! Help me here! I need two bows, quarrels of arrows, a sword and anything else you’ve got that I can use. Hurry! I need them now!”
    Theros turned to the nearly burned-out wagon. He picked up a stick, and began to sift through the remnants of the wagon’s load.
    Huluk did the same with his axe. Most of what they sifted through were tools or bits of tools that had been burned, their wooden parts no longer of any use. There was no sight of anything like a bow or an arrow or anything close to being useful.
    “I’m sorry sir, this is all there is left,” said Theros. “We had very few bows to begin with. They must