“Gold to burn?” asked one of the corporals.
“What’s an Ertakan doing in Valdo?” asked the other.
The sergeant raised his eyes from the table to look at the two corporals. He smiled thinly at their comments.
“Valdo has always had the best ale,” he commented. “Besides, the gold is not mine. Why shouldn’t I enjoy the best?”
The serving girl returned with the pitcher of special ale and set it down on the table. The sergeant filled his mug and casually waved towards the pitcher.
“You are welcome to share my ale if you wish,” he offered.
The two corporals looked at each another with skeptical expressions.
“What’s the catch?” one of the corporals asked.
“No catch,” smiled the sergeant. “I travel frequently from Farmin to Despair, and the colonel gives me a generous travel allowance. I always try to stop in Valdo on the way through. Drink up and enjoy yourselves.”
Both of the corporals smiled broadly and filled their mugs.
“We don’t often meet friendly Ertakans,” offered one of the corporals. “Be careful or you will spoil your country’s reputation.”
The sergeant laughed and nodded. “Truth be told, I was born in the Bloodwood. It might have been on the Ertak side of the border, but not by much. I probably have more in common with the men of Spino than my own countrymen. Ertakans actually think the Dark Forest is beautiful. They have never enjoyed a good romp in the Bloodwood.”
“Here, here,” one of the corporals heartily agreed.
“What takes you to Despair so often?” asked the other corporal.
“Intelligence,” the sergeant answered. “General Montero wants to be kept up-to-date on the Alceans. He doesn’t like surprises in the field.”
“Really?” the corporal responded with interest. “So you know a lot about Alcea and what it is like? Can you share what Despair has told you?”
The sergeant frowned heavily and hesitated to answer.
“You can’t be asking the sergeant things like that,” scolded the other corporal. “You’ll get him in trouble. Drink his ale and be happy.”
The sergeant sighed and smiled slightly. “The truth is, Despair has little to offer about Alcea. I carry a lot of information about troop strength and matters concerning the disposition of the 15th Corps, and I cannot speak of that, but they say little about Alcea.”
“Perhaps they don’t know much about it,” suggested one of the corporals. “I heard they sent some colonels there just a little while ago.”
“That is true,” replied the sergeant, “but they were not the first scouts we sent to Alcea. I spent over a year in Alcea, and that was two years ago. We have been planning this invasion for some time.”
“Really?” one of the corporals asked excitedly. “Tell us about it.”
Again the sergeant hesitated, but this time the other corporal did not interrupt with any admonishments about the need for secrecy. When the sergeant still hesitated, the first corporal pushed further.
“Two years ago is a long time. Surely, there can be no reason for secrecy at this point. Tell us about Alcea. What are their armies like?”
“And their women?” chuckled the other corporal. “What are they like?”
The sergeant made a point of glancing around the room to see if anyone else was listening to the conversation. While there was no one else listening, his gesture accomplished what he had desired. Both corporals were suddenly aware that they were about to become privy to something secret.
“Their armies are small, but formidable,” the sergeant said softly. “Our generals will stress the small part of that, but we are in for a fight when we get there. The Alceans are a warlike people. Remember, Alcea is about the same size as all of Zara, and it is a single country. That didn’t happen peacefully. Think about the years of warfare something like that would require right here in Zara.”
“The Federation almost covers the entire continent,” frowned one of the corporals. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Hardly,” scoffed the sergeant. “The rulers here in Zara are meek compared to the Alceans. They fought bloody wars over there for years. About four years ago, they ended the last war. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers from all over the continent were pitted against one another. Say what you will about the Alceans, but they know how to fight. Even if we do outnumber them, they will give us a decent challenge.”
“Well, we are up for any challenge,” boasted one of the corporals. “The world has never seen an army the size of the Federation. Nothing can stand in our way.”
“I would agree with that,” sighed the sergeant, “if it were not for…”
The sergeant suddenly stopped talking and looked around the room again. He returned his eyes to his mug of ale and stared into it. Several long moments passed by in silence. Eventually, the corporals could not stand the silence.
“Were not for what?” probed one of the corporals.
The sergeant looked up and stared blankly into the face of the questioning corporal. He did not speak.
“Yeah, what is it that you fear to talk about?” pushed the other corporal.
The sergeant’s eyes flicked towards the questioning corporal and then glanced around the room again.
“You will not repeat what I am about to say,” the sergeant said in a soft, but stern voice. “If the officers hear you repeat my words, they will take steps to punish you severely. There are some things about Alcea that they do not want the soldiers to know.”
“We will keep your words to ourselves,” promised one of the soldiers.
The sergeant sighed and hesitated again, but eventually he leaned towards the corporals and spoke softly.
“Beware the dwarves!
One of the corporals blinked as if not believing his ears. “What? What are you talking about? There are no dwarves. There haven’t been any for hundreds of years.”
“He’s playing with us,” the other corporal offered, his voice wavering between humor and fear.
“No one in Zara has seen dwarves for hundreds of years,” the sergeant continued, “but in Alcea it is different. There the dwarves have flourished, and they are the most ferocious of opponents. If you learn nothing else from our chance meeting, learn this. Beware the dwarves!”
“How bad can they be?” asked one of the corporals. “There are only so many things you can do with a sword, and the 21st Corps has many a good swordsman. I don’t think we need to fear dwarf or man. We will have the numbers to overpower anything they can throw at us.”
“Dwarves do not fight with swords,” corrected the sergeant. “They throw axes that will split your armored head in two, but their main weapon is the battleaxe, and most humans couldn’t even lift one. It is a fearsome weapon that can cleave a horse in two, but even worse is their armor. Dwarven armor is magically enchanted to withstand the mightiest blows. Try as you might, you just can’t harm the dwarves. They wade into your ranks, swinging those huge battleaxes around, and there is nothing you can do but run.”
“Surely, that is an exaggeration?” posed one of the corporals.
“I do not think so,” the sergeant replied with a slight shaking of his head. “The stories told in Alcean cities are that King Arik counted each of his dwarves as one hundred men. I didn’t believe those stories at first, but they were repeated in every major city in Alcea. Still skeptical, I visited one of the war burial grounds and asked to see a dwarven tomb. The groundskeeper laughed at me as if I was making a joke. When I assured him that I was serious, he explained to me that not a single dwarf had died during the Great War.”