El-Vador's Travels (14 page)

Now
that they were in close quarters, El-Vador robbed a blade from his
latest victim and set forth into the Orcs. Joined by his Elven
brethren he cut his way into the heart of the stronghold, Orc after
Orc. The arrows that archers from beyond had unleashed all seemed to
miss him, snapping into wood and stone or Elves beyond him. In the
noise of battle all the screams of death seemed similar to him. Had
he not been pitched in battle he may have found this disconcerting.

For
all their bravery in defence of the stronghold, the carnage that
El-Vador and his kin wrought could not help but daunt the Orcs.

The
initial assault had given them a decent charge into the stronghold,
the Orcs had not expected their champions to fall with such ease and
had been unnerved. Now they had regrouped to some degree and the
fighting had become much tougher. El-Vador had also begun to feel the
exhaustion start to set into his limbs, he couldn't afford to make a
mistake now or his youthful reflexes wouldn't be enough to save him.

In
defiance of his weary spirit, he sounded a charge and remarkably his
comrades seemed to obey. Energised by his storming of the stronghold
and with no commanding officer around, they had taken El-Vador as
their leader.

An
arrow smote him, his left thigh briefly gave way and it was enough to
send him toppling to the floor.

He
lay there for a moment as the battle milled about him, a surprised
look on his face. Then the realisation dawned that if he didn't move
now he'd be either trampled to death or stuck by an Orc.

Gritting
his teeth, he snatched up a spear and forced himself to his feet,
expecting a blade in his ribs now that he was momentarily vulnerable.

It
never came, the Elves had pushed on and he was no longer at the
forefront of the battle. Jerking the arrow out of his leg with a
howl, he limped on toward the invaders with death on his mind.

Silence
greeted him, no Elven warriors and nothing but corpses strewn about
the corridors of the stronghold. He pushed open the door ahead of him
and entered a huge building with a long table and a high chair at the
end.

Sarvacts
was sat upon that chair, he seemed deep in thought. A king loitering
upon his throne having seen his lands torn from him and awaiting the
inevitable regicide. Standing wordlessly the Orcish chieftain drew
his axe and advanced.

Conclusions
can rush forward, as is the case with this brief narrative. Like a
careful construction that is bereft of its support, the ending comes
much swifter than the making.

S
arvacts
moved quickly considering his size, with a grace that told El-Vador
that this was an accomplished fighter as well as a leader. His eyes
were in constant motion too, assessing his opponent's threat
potential and mapping out moves ahead of the initial collision.

The
axe whistled through the air at great speed, leaving El-Vador no
choice but to leap to the side, abandoning his attempts to put
distance between them and shoot the Orc.

As
he found his feet a second blow came from the right, this time he
ducked under it and attempted to get within the defences of the Orc
and bury his knife.

Sarvacts
was having none of it. Without any shouting or bluster he sunk his
head into El-Vador's chest, shoving the Elf back and knocking the
wind from him.

Wasting
no time, El-Vador flung himself once more to avoid the downward
stroke of the chieftain's axe.

He
feigned being dazed by the activity and stabbed forward with his
blade, Sarvacts was aware of the plot and slapped it away.

El-Vador's
weight sent a throbbing agony up his leg that he couldn't ignore.
There was no way he was going to be mobile enough to continue evading
Sarvacts' attacks. He needed to end this quickly before the chieftain
took advantage of that.

He
did the last thing Sarvacts could have expected after his ducking and
weaving, he dropped his knife and rushed straight for him. The Orc
hesitated briefly, he hadn't considered that the Elf would be so
stupid as to charge him, unarmed and defenceless. He swung the axe at
him in a manner that was both lethal and precautionary. But El-Vador
had anticipated this, he dived under the head of the axe and grasped
the handle with both hands.

He
heaved and twisted, using his momentum and positioning to counteract
the Orc's brute strength. Sarvacts attempted to jerk the axe free,
surprise melting away into contempt upon his craggy features.

On
the third attempt to pull the axe clear of his grasp, El-Vador let
go. His strength was beginning to fail and he knew he couldn't hold
off the chieftain forever. The unexpected relinquishing of the axe
caused Sarvacts to be unbalanced for the briefest of moments, that
was when El-Vador brought out the phial and threw it at the Orc's
head.

The
glass shattered and the viscous fluid coated the face of the Orc, he
looked at that broken pieces in bemusement and blinked several times.
Then El-Vador watched as the chieftain slowly began to shake as if
palsied, he saw the thick green skin start to smoke and the Orc's
jaws open wide and emit an ear-piercing screech of the soon to be
dead.

Realising
what would come next, he turned his back on the ghastly spectacle and
began to sprint away from the Orcish Chief.

'No!' the Orc screeched at him through the flames racing over his
skin, he was slapping wildly at his face in an attempt to put them
out but they continued to grow. 'No!' he screamed once more, this
time it seemed more urgent, as if aimed at El-Vador rather than
denial of his circumstances.

'You
must save her!' Sarvacts wailed, his final words echoing across the
hall as the fires cooked his body. What was left of him slumped to
the floor and said no more.

The
thought of Sarvacts showing any degree of compassion baffled him, the
growing heat of the flames didn't allow for any triumphant feeling of
justice served either. It was then he remembered that Sarvacts had a
hostage somewhere in this stronghold, he had taken a Pixie to his
bed, quite possibly the same one that El-Vador had saved previously
in the woods.

Feeling
decidedly foolish, El-Vador continued into the great hall and passed
through to the chambers beyond.

A
thought struck him and causing an increase in his pace. The phial's
previous victims had caught fire and exploded when they came into
contact with a slight coating of the liquid within, what would happen
to Sarvacts' body having been exposed to the entire contents? He
found he didn't want to be around to know the answer and started
frantically searching the room.

He
found her tied spread-eagle to the posts of a huge double bed, for
someone that Sarvacts seemed to care about he had an odd way of
showing it. Perhaps this was the only sort of intimacy the Orc could
have had, foisted upon another unwilling participant. It reinforced
El-Vador's view that the creature was an unfeeling monster in spite
of his pleas.

The
Pixie looked up at him with startled eyes of recognition, it was the
same one he had rescued before in the woods that had eluded him. She
probably thought he was coming here to steal her away from Sarvacts
and rape her, hopefully his cutting of her bonds would stop her from
immediately fleeing.

His
head was still buzzing from the battle, he had completely forgotten
that he had no implement with which to slice the ropes that bound
her. Cursing his own forgetfulness he limped back into the hall.

The
table had been engulfed in flames, they dripped off it and onto the
floors which were also set alight in treacherous patches. El-Vador
searched hurriedly for his knife or any cutting implement that would
lease the Pixie of her bonds. A blanket of heavy smoke was descending
upon him from high, they would choke to death long before the fires
took them, the explosion would take them even sooner than that.

He
spied his knife lying wreathed in flames upon the floor. Limping
toward it on the tips of his toes, he evaded the flames as best he
could to prevent them singeing his clothes. His thigh gave way under
him and he rolled as he went down, desperately trying to avoid
contact with the liquid fire that dripped across the floor. Feeling
the bite of the heat upon his back he tore his shirt clear and flung
it into the blaze, he then crawled forward and placed his hand on the
pommel of the hunting knife.

He
stifled a yell as his hand shot back, the entire pommel felt as if it
were coated in fire. Through watering eyes he vaguely saw the heat
generated from it distorting the air in waves, yet the only
alternative to wielding it was to let Sarvacts' former hostage perish
in smoke and fire.

Cursing
his own stupidity, he gripped the knife once more and clenched his
teeth as he felt it sear into him.

His
limping back to the room beyond carried the urgency that scalded
flesh provided, he needed to cut her bonds before his hand was
rendered a useless smouldering stump.

He
did not remember making it back to the room, or the words that the
Pixie shouted at him as he approached, only the strange hiss that
emanated from the blade as it sliced through the thick cords with
ease.

He
moved to drop the knife as he severed the final bond, yet he couldn't
feel the heat any more. Cautiously gripping it tighter, he stared
down at his hand in disbelief, there were no markings of any kind. No
scarring or steam hissing from cauterised flesh, nothing.

'What
are you waiting for you idiot, we have to get out of here!'

The
burning room and the Pixie came back into focus, the urgency that had
driven him to this point returned. They needed to exit this place
before the smoke, falling rafters or the growing blaze took their
lives.

Wordlessly
he nodded and limped back into the furnace beyond, there was no way
of reaching the door through the broken rafters and lake of fire that
the floor had become. He shielded his eyes from a growing patch of
light and searched vainly for another exit from the large room they
were trapped in.

Coughing
as the smoke swirled around him, his sight was impeded by the
thickening black clouds. A cracking from above signalled the roof
beginning to cave in around them, the piercing light from the other
side of the room continued to reach his eyes even through the haze.
He froze, not knowing where to go or what to do, then he felt her
hand grip his arm intently.

'The
roof!' she shouted at him over the crackling flames. 'We need to make
it through the roof, it's the only way out.'

He
looked at her dumbfounded, then it dawned on him that she had a pair
of wings. Could she really support his weight and fly them to safety?
There was only one way to find out.

'What
are you waiting for?' she asked, almost frenzied with urgency. 'Grab
hold of me and I'll try and get us out of here.'

Placing
his hands on her hips and trying not to grip too tightly, he waited
impatiently to be lifted off his feet and carried out of the hole in
the ceiling.

The
strange wings of the Pixie began to unfurl and vibrate at a great
speed, sending an odd sensation up his arms and through his
shoulders. Then before he could observe any further they had taken
off and were being propelled through the air at great speed. They cut
through the smoke and left the flames and light behind, or so he
thought. They had arced up the sides of the walls and nestled in the
rafters of the building, chewing away at the wood hungrily as if
possessed, a small gap had appeared in the structure and smoke
billowed out of it. His would-be saviour angled toward it and a
blanket of dark smoke hit them like a wall.

Then
they were clear of the building and soaring into the clouds like a
bird of prey in the apex of flight. He felt his fingers gripping bone
in the desire not to slide free into the thin air below, then they
were angling their flight down beyond the palisade wall. El-Vador
gazed down, unaffected by vertigo, and saw the sprawled corpses of
hundreds of dead Orcs carpeting the pock-marked lands that were
blackened in parts by flame like a patchwork. The stronghold had been
routed, yet there was no sign of the Elven forces that had
slaughtered the Orcish horde.

Then
he recalled the entirety of the phial shattering over the chieftain's
face.

'We
need to go further!' El-Vador cried through the breeze to the Pixie.
'The whole stronghold will explode in a matter of moments, we need to
get to a safe distance.'

'Explode?'
she asked, confused at his insistent tone. 'Is there something
volatile inside?'

'Just
trust me.' El-Vador replied, not knowing if he had time to explain
why they had to alter their course.

She
banked to the right and away from the palisade, trying to gain
further altitude while making for a large hill overlooking the
stronghold.

El-Vador's
urgency had been misplaced, they reached the top of the hill without
any further commotion. They had both been silently waiting for the
explosion to follow them as they soared toward the hill, instead
there was nothing.

Setting
him down, the Pixie offered him a glare of askance, he had rushed her
and she was visibly shaken from the effort of carrying his dead
weight through the sky at such a speed. 'Where's your explosion? All
I see are flames and smoke.' She softened slightly, as if catching
herself. 'I'm sorry, I just saw you approaching me with your shirt
off and assumed the worst. I should probably thank you for saving my
life, I don't owe you anything further though. A life for a life, we
are even.'

El-Vador
nodded, in return for his saving her she had undoubtedly saved him,
there had been no other way out of that stronghold that he could have
found before suffocating or worse.