DORULL SAGA - BLOOD VENGEANCE
PART ONE
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CHAPTER 3
The repairs on Thirel fort began quite early in the morning, at the same time as the large transport rafts arrived from Nual-Dyluss. Vrink, the old chieftain of the goblin village fulfilled his end of the bargain, by sending the materials necessary to upgrade the palisade. Alongside the ten large carts full of stone blocks, goblins generously included several crates of swamp clay and a few barrels of black resin, from the wild Raond pine, into the shipment.
The three-man crews were the standard for every single raft, with one man at the helm and two on the oar duties. Maneuvering these tight bends and curves required their constant awareness and alert, despite the river Thirel being relatively calm and slow. Especially with them carrying such a heavy load. Just one careless moment, one scrape against the rock, or one sudden jerk from a whirl or a wave, could disrupt the balance of the raft. And as such, it would topple in an instant. But they were all very experienced and exceptionally good at their jobs. They reached the fort without a hitch.
By midday, all six of the rafts were safely docked at the fort’s pier. Forty soldiers immediately begin unloading the cargo on the nearby clearing next to the north wall. They worked till the nightfall, managing to move all of the materials. Quite satisfied with the progress they’ve made, and with the job they’ve done, they retreated to their barracks knowing they are now going for a well deserved rest. And knowing they are going to need one.
The work on the fort commenced early in the morning. And it demanded the presence of every single soldier. Every wall and every guard tower of the fort had to be reinforced. Every single piece of the stone was placed and inlaid with care, before it could be plastered in clay and coated in a thick layer of resin from the Raond pine. It was the undertaking that was going to subduct a significant amount of time and labor.
“Everything in order, boys?” Thorin coughed, approaching the group of soldiers gathered around the pile of stones, laid next to the fort wall “You unloaded the entire cargo?”
“All six rafts.” Gelian answered, carrying the crate filled with clay “How’s your leg?”
For the past several days, Thorin spent most of his days reclined in his bunk. Although the paladin from Issurk healed that dangerous sprain, when he fell from the horse, captain Lutir was still reluctant to put the whole weight on his leg. To be fair to him, this was an unusually peaceful period, so he could afford a couple of days of rest. Beside the regular patrols, he had no special duties for his soldiers. And his lieutenants, Gelian and Bagtur, were more than capable of taking care of scouting reports.
Thorin was approaching a certain age, in which he knew he could no longer maintain the same work habits as before. Any other man would perhaps even consider retirement. But not him. He was still not ready to give in. Despite refusing to acknowledge that some aspects of leading the fort were becoming much harder with age. So by sharing the tasks, Thorin figured, he could even prolong the stay in the active service. At least until he is to find the suitable replacement.
His young lieutenants, Gelian and Bagtur, were certainly in the consideration for leading the Thirel post in the near future. Both were brave and great fighters. Soldiers respected them. And at the same time, they were like brothers. Knowing they could count on each other. Knowing they had each other’s backs. Unfortunately, Thorin was well aware, that alone, wasn’t enough to assume the command of the fort. His young officers still had a lot to learn. Captain Lutir hoped he would have the time to teach them everything he knew.
“It’s better.” Thorin nodded, shifting the full weight of his body, onto his still weak leg “Anything new in the scout reports?”
“This morning’s patrol came across one quite large group of goblins. Mostly women, children and elderly folks.”
“They are leaving Nual-Deu.” Thorin said “Where to?”
“My guess is Dyluss.” Gelian answered.
“Did you meet with Vrink?”
“Yes. He led the delivery of the materials. But we didn’t talk much.” Gelian frowned “Come to think of it, he seemed in a hurry. He was hiding something.”
“Can’t blame him, if he decided to offer refuge for that group.” Thorin retorted “He needs to think on covering his own ass, before anything else. The decision to accept the goblins from the Nual-Deu might not be looked upon with favor in Vallsynk and Issurk.”
“Goblins reaped what they sowed.” Gelian stated “They are to blame for provoking the conflict.”
“Is that so?” Thorin whispered “Because, since that day, I’ve been asking myself, could we proceed differently.”
“We had to stop them. They were probably preparing for more attacks.”
“Were they?” Thorin shook his head “Decades of peace suddenly broken, with the occurrence of the new chieftain, who blindly pushed them into a war.”
“But they couldn’t be that clueless.” Gelian was persistent.
“I can almost guarantee that the majority of them had no idea why they were attacked in the first place.” Thorin said “How else to explain the poor defences in and around their city?”
“That was a bit strange, I must admit.” Gelian said “But all of our reports suggested otherwise.”
“Reports, on which we jumped upon too fast to my liking.” Thorin retorted “We were all hot-headed. We allowed our emotions to take over. Simply said, we acted out of vengeance.”
“Might be.” Gelian nodded “But what are we supposed to do now?”
“Try and repair our relations with the goblins and hope Moorg won’t make any more trouble.” Captain Lutir answered “Remember laddie, never judge the entire race, because of the wrongdoings of a few.”
Thorin turned on his heel, slowly heading back towards the gate. Strong, alluring smell of the fish stew, effusing all over the courtyard, made him suddenly realize he was quite hungry. Inciting him to pick up the pace, as he went around the corner of a small, ground-floor, storage building, adjacent to the southern wall of the fort. Right next to it, was a mess hall and a kitchen with the pantry. It was one and only masonry building in Thirel post.
Thick column of white smoke rose above the rooftops. Despite being some thirty paces away, Thorin could feel the extreme heat, coming through the open windows and doors of a stone kitchen shack. Stew was boiling inside the four, fifty gallon, iron cast cauldrons, hoisted on a set of massive, steel hooks, above the large hearth. Intense flames and fierce heat from the burning wood and coal, drove out even the fort’s main chef, Doct Kaprandt.
Leaning over the top stair of a small well, he wiped his neck and forehead, with the piece of an old, wet cloth. He puffed and moaned, all sweaty and red, trying to cool himself down. Kaprandt sighed loudly, as he stretched his hand towards the round, wooden platter, taking a piece of thinly sliced, dried venison. Salted just to his liking, it almost melted in his mouth. He took another slice of meat, before sipping some sweet, red wine. At the same time, with his other hand, he soaked the cloth in the bucket of water. He would repeat the same thing, every twenty seconds or so. Like some kind of ritual.
Nothing could interrupt this little routine, not even the sudden visitation from the captain. Kaprandt nodded, offering Thorin a place to sit, alongside with some complementary venison and wine. Captain gladly accepted the invitation. Truth to be told, he was hoping for one. He would be a fool to refuse. Venison was delicious. A perfect blend of sweet, salt and savory. It alone justified Kaprandt’s request for the cellar space, which was dug down, some twenty feet under the kitchen pantry.
“What’s cooking Doct?” Thorin asked between two bites.
“I’ve seen better days.” the cook's forehead frowned “It’s hot, I’m tired and my back is killing me.”
Thorin nodded, commiserating with him. They were about the same age. He knew very well that sometimes, with morning, sudden pain can sneak upon, reminding him that he isn’t young anymore. And he didn’t have to hide that, in front of the chef, because Kaprandt felt the same. They needn't say a thing. In silent, mutual understanding, they would probably remain there until nightfall, if it weren’t for the chef’s assistant Jhar, who stumbled out of the kitchen at that moment.
It was unbelievably surreal, somewhat comical, how much Jhar resembled the chef. He was chubby, bald and with quite healthy, red cheeks, just like Kaprandt’s. Only, he was twice younger. Beside the obvious desire to learn all of his culinary secrets, Jhar was seemingly turning into the exact duplicate of chef.
“What's the boiling mark at?” Kaprandt asked.
“Hour and a half.” Jhar retorted.
“Choke the flames out and stir it once again in about ten minutes.”
Because of the extreme heat radiating from the hearth, it would become difficult, almost insufferable, to stay inside of the kitchen, after just a couple of minutes. But there was no other way around it. In order, to prepare the meals for the entire fort, he had to cook in four large cauldron pots at the same time. He couldn’t do that amount of work, all by himself. He had to share the load with his young apprentice. It was much too demanding and exhausting for him alone. It was the sole reason they were trading places in that small, cramped, brickstone house.
A few minutes later, Jhar was ready to go back to the kitchen, as he filled two buckets of water, right to the brim. He knew that they should be enough to douse the flames.
“Don’t forget to cover the pots, before you empty the buckets.” Kaprandt yelled after him, despite knowing very well, his apprentice would do just the same.
Loud, hissing noise not long afterwards, ment that Jhar began emptying the bucket. Huge, thick, bright cloud of steam and vapor came gushing out through the doors and windows, as the cold water made a sudden contact with hot embers. Chef’s apprentice hastily poured out the second bucket, relieved he could at last leave the kitchen. The heat was a tad too much for him, as he faltered out coughing, and gasping for breath. And at the same time, he flailed his arms, in an attempt to clear the steam cloud surrounding him. Just one sight at Jhar was enough to cheer Thorin up. Even almost always serious Kaprandt, allowed himself a smile.
“Caravan at the horizon!” one of the soldiers, standing in the watchtower above the main gate, suddenly yelled.
“What are you rambling about, boy?!” A couple of seconds had passed, before Thorin found himself marching across the yard, towards the lookout.
At the same time, Kaprandt waved his apprentice to meet him in the pantry. Soldiers will get their lunch, if they somehow manage to make something for their surprising guests. There simply wasn’t enough food for all of them.
Thorin hastily climbed the ladders, leading to the top of the thirty foot tall tower. The guards were staring towards the north, as if they still weren’t quite sure what they saw. But, there was no mistake. Several large, heavy carts moved slowly over the narrow, winding road, crossing the swamplands. Miners had to be desperate by deciding to send another caravan towards Vallsynk, only a couple of weeks after that unfortunate event with goblins. Thorin was sure of one thing, the merchants from the south would greet them with open arms.
