El-Vador's Travels (34 page)

He
had spent the evening slowly following the road from afar as it wound
its way through this largely barren stretch of earth. The paltry
remnants of rations and wine skins he had pilfered from the corpses
had been typical Orcish fare, and only served to fuel his anger
further as he recalled having to survive the harsh winter on their
charity.

Later
that evening a steed tore down the dusty road and was distant long
before he could ready his weapon and take aim. Aside from the same
rider racing back and again eluding him, he had no further encounters
with any Orcs that day.

The
nights were cool but no worse than any he had suffered through
before, and the rise of the morning sun signalled the resumption of
his following the road to the first of many Orcish burrows.

He
had overheard talk of them in what seemed like another life back in
the mountains, by Orcs who knew not that he was fluent in both
understanding their language and eavesdropping. Their longing to
return home was at sharp odds with how he had pictured them, as lusty
conquerors and pillagers of all that was pure in this world. As a
result he soon stopped listening, but not before he learnt of what
these beasts considered their homes. He knew what to expect, but had
no clue as to how to breach such a formidable defence without
immediately alerting the sentries.

He
would deal with that problem when it arose, first he needed to find
the damn thing. The road seemed endless and his labouring feet were
growing tired as hunger gnawed away at him once again.

The
distant creaking of wheels and clopping of hooves over the ground
indicated that a second convoy was arriving. It made practical sense
to waylay this one and replenish his non-existent stores of food, for
he may well not see another soul along this road for the rest of the
day given his previous traipsing alongside it. El-Vador's mind was
not thinking of practicality as he loosened his bow from his back and
reached into his quiver, all was clarity now as he spied the contents
of the cart to be Orcish in nature.

There
were more of them this time, and they were clearly scouting for
trouble having seen the fate of the previous suppliers. El-Vador
ducked under a nearby rocky outcrop in response and considered his
options, as the contents were more than likely sporting bows of their
own.

It
would not be the first day he had gone hungry, nor would it be the
last by his reckoning. He could simply let them pass and keep out of
their line of sight, if they were headed for the Orcish burrow then
he would inevitably end them at a later time.

Yes,
he could sit here and cower amongst the rocks like a dog as the
people he had declared imminently extinct passed their great
destroyer by unmolested. He ground his teeth at the thought and a
faint voice of warning sounded in his head as the rage began to build
once again. Never again would he cower like a stricken animal before
these beasts, he had come to take his vengeance and that was exactly
what he had planned.

Yet
what purpose would his death serve to that cause? He could not well
enact it if he was dead, much as he would long to chase them even
after perishing by their hand.

No,
these were the killers of his people. They had killed all of his kin
and they must pay the price with brutal immediacy, no matter the risk
or cost to himself. He was destined to do this, he could not fail or
be struck down by a mere Orc in defiance of his will.

He
knew dimly that it was not his own voice that was thinking these
things prior to his previous wishes, but in his own way a strange
trust had formed about the deeper grinding sound inside his head that
urged him in directions he would not have taken before. It had saved
him several times on his journey from Sarvacts' fortress from being
devoured by any number of night predators, rousing him in time to
evade a killing blow and then taking control long enough for him to
fend off the assault. It was a begrudging acknowledgement of the
being that pervaded his mind, but it had been rooted in sense that
had been demonstrative thus far.

Now
it was telling him to attack this armed cart with seven guards.

He
readied his bow and sighted out of habit before turning and rising to
peer over the edge of the outcrop.

An
arrow impacted upon the shale and sent dust into his eyes, narrowly
missing his ear as it spun off, he had been spotted and the cries
from those in the wagon confirmed it.

Blinking
furiously he shuffled across several paces before rising again and
letting the darker part of his mind guide his shaking hands.

The
shot was true and floored an Orc that had come racing toward his
hiding place, then he felt the surge within him and almost broke into
a laugh. The death seemed to ring an odd note in his ears and his
limbs in turn were revitalised, it was no longer a chance occurrence
brought about by the voice but an empowerment for him to wield
accordingly.

With
renewed confidence he quickly nocked another arrow and side-stepped
an attempt to pin him with a missile. Some kind of spear perhaps, it
seemed to arc ponderously toward him through the air, he was almost
tempted to reach out and bat such an insolent attempt on his life
away.

He
responded by burying the arrow into the Orc's chest to the fletching,
and the gurgle of fear that came from his punctured foe galvanised
his resolve.

The
ground seemed to slide underneath him as he vaulted over his cover,
ducking low to avoid the hiss of arrows and breaking out into a
sprint. A quarrel flew past him as he rolled, missing him by inches
and embedding itself in the ground with a spray of dust. The sound of
cranking signalled his next move, a sprinting leap that took him
clear from the sight of the archers by concealing him with the side
of the cart. Rolling under the wheels, he let his bow slip and drew
his sword in a fluid motion, hacking at the legs of the victims he
was about to greet.

The
target went down screaming with spurts of blood covering him in a
coppery green as the Elf emerged, kicking the shin of a defiant
driver as it stabbed at him with a crude spear. The Orc went down
with a groan and the temporary shielding the extra body offered
ceased. El-Vador rushed forward inside the hapless foe's defences and
gripped the throat in a clawed hand, desperately hauling him up in
time for the two arrows to greet the fleshy back with a thud.

He
leapt up onto the cart now, letting his sword hang loose but ready in
his hands as the two remaining Orcs discarded the bows and made for
their own weapons.

El-Vador
felt the darkness leaving him, his limbs became heavy with exertion
and a mild panic set in as he faced well-armed foes that outnumbered
him.

The
darkness had left him...

The
Orc tore through the armour of his compatriot with a single chilling
thrust, the glazed look of confusion in his eyes met by the shock of
his unexpected target. With arm trembling, the sword was pulled free
and set against the Orc's throat by his own hand.

Now
El-Vador knew what was happening, and yet he was not sorry at the
measures even as they shocked him.

'Where
are the Orcish burrows located? Tell me and I swear I shall leave you
unharmed.'

The
Orc's eyes were as wild as a trapped animal staring a hungry predator
in the face, sweat streaked its brow and dripped into its unblinking
eyes that now seemed entirely lucid. 'It is but a few miles further
on this path, it cannot be missed, the road winds right to it.'

El-Vador
nodded in acknowledgement at the creature's sincerity as it begged
and blubbed for its life.

'Please,
let me go. I told you what you wanted to know.' it finally whined at
him piteously.

'I
did not say I would let you go.' El-Vador stated plainly as the steel
of the blade started to bite into the flesh of the panicked Orc's
throat.

'You
said that you would leave me unharmed!' it finally screamed at him.

El-Vador
raised an eyebrow. 'I am not the one who is harming you.'

The
Orc had but a split second to look confused before the blade slashed
through the willing flesh, splattering blood everywhere and cutting
short his shriek.

The
darkness returned, and the Elf continued down the dusty path.

Often I have found that the best way to defeat
my opponents is to sink to depths they never would have envisaged.

I
t had been a tirade unlike any that
Salvarius had seen before from the General, upon the Orc learning of
the supply wagons and their continued destruction. Harg had seemed
crazed and kept rambling on about a vision and how the eyes were
coming for him, of which his subordinate could make no sense.

As a result he had been sent out to survey the wreckage,
and it was clear as soon as he saw the damage that no prowling cat
had caught these latest lost souls. The wounds were clinically and
efficiently dealt by the slashing of a sword, those bodies that
weren't punctured with arrows of an unknown origin.

They spent some time searching the nearby area for
tracks but none could be found, it was as if the attacker had simply
ghosted away into nothingness. Salvarius prided himself on always
being able to do the job required of him, he'd hunt this phantom
endlessly should his General require it of him. In spite of the
recent instability Harg was a warrior worth following and an Orc of
honour, of which there were precious few these days.

The noise of a nearby bird caused him to raise his head,
none of the other Orcs that comprised his party had noticed it. There
was something distinctly off with its call, as if being forced down
an unfamiliar throat. They were being watched.

Motioning two of his hunters toward him, he sent them
around a rocky outcrop to report what they could see, hoping to get a
pinpoint on the elusive cause of the wagon's destruction.

The harsh sun beat down upon his armour, slowly cooking
him as he peered out of the slit of his helm and searched the horizon
for signs that he knew he wouldn't find. Why would anyone attack an
Orcish supply wagon so close to a burrow? What gain was there in
provoking neighbours with such sharp and ready axes?

After a time he called out to his forces, their search
had been fruitless otherwise they would have reported back to him
already. The growing irritation in his gut continued to mount as they
failed to respond, he nodded at two more hunters to scout the area
and watched them cautiously slip off beyond the rocky outcrop.

To the average Orcish Commander, lives were a temporary
expenditure toward a greater goal at best, but he had been hired by
General Harg because he was one of the few who didn't believe that.
The apparent loss of his outlying scouts rattled him in ways he
didn't make obvious to the troops under his control, a lapse of which
would cause too many questions to be asked of his credentials.

They weren't a large hunting group, comprising of
himself and six professionals tasked with smoking out the location of
whatever had been waylaying the wagons. Too many losses and the
situation could become very dangerous indeed.

He heard the mocking cry of a few circling vultures,
enjoying the heat much more than he and the company's mounts, who
were whickering nervously in response.

The silence seemed to grow louder in his ear, punctuated
by the pounding of blood in this tight helm. The slit obscured vision
but he refused to remove it, knowing exactly what the heat would do
to his skin if he exposed it for too long. There were no caves nearby
and seclusion was a hopeless task, so at least the bandits he was
tracking would also be suffering.

'I don't like this, boss.' grumbled the one remaining
Orc, shifting nervously from foot to foot and echoing his Commander's
unspoken sentiments. At least Salvarius wasn't alone in thinking
that.

'If they do not return we shall take the horses and
retreat to the burrow, if we know not what attacked the wagons at
least we can report its general whereabouts.'

The Orc didn't question the man, possibly out of fear of
reprisal. Salvarius knew that such bickering against commands was
common place, it was refreshing not to be challenged in a tactical
retreat, but also spoke to the gravity of this unknown situation.

One of the hunters crested the rocks and waved at them,
beckoning them over.

'Looks like I was wrong, boss.' the Orc replied, setting
off in the direction of his comrade.

Perhaps they had found something then, Salvarius
couldn't shake a feeling of wrongness about the entire situation.
Then he noticed the slightly limp gait of the Orc as he swayed upon
the rocks, and warning signs shot through his head.

'Get down!' he roared at the advancing Orc, who turned
with a confused expression on his face and flopped dead with an arrow
in his throat.

Salvarius paid no further heed to the thing on the
rocks, he sprinted toward the horses and was brought short by their
terrified screams as they collapsed upon the floor with shafts in
their bellies.

The fool had killed the horses, knowing that his
remaining target couldn't outrun him in a suit of armour. He shifted
his gaze back up to the rock face, ignoring the dying squeals of the
mounts and trying to pick out just what was shooting at them.

There was nothing there, the rocks seemed as barren as
before. A stillness descended upon the scene of the murder as the
final horse stilled with a bubbling gasp. Salvarius stood there,
waiting for an arrow that didn't come.