It didn't feel like he'd broken any of his bones in the landing, he picked his sword up off the snowy floor and began to advance groggily toward the beast once more. Yes, he had to end this thing before it tore the priest apart, that's what he had been trying to do before he landed heavily.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand without getting himself killed. Picking up the pace toward the creature's back he let out a shout in the hopes of gaining its attention.
The beast spun, another thick arm came flying out as if to swat El-Vador away once more, this time the Elf was ready for it. He ducked under the limb and lashed out with his blade, hoping to find his way inside the creature's defences without being crushed.
The blade scoured the side of the yeti's head, slicing clear what looked like a piece of its ear but nothing more. It bellowed in fury as the priest's sword opportunely struck it from behind, leaving it confused in its pain and not knowing which of them to lash out at first.
The moment's pause was all El-Vador needed, he brought his blade up and tore through the tough hide of the beast with a thrust that elicited a groan from its maw.
The monster coughed blood and blew it out over the Elf's face, then stared at him in confusion. El-Vador felt a stinging on his face and bare arms, but also couldn't help but notice that same sadness in the creature's eyes that he had witnessed before.
The yeti stared down at the blade and stumbled, Harlven shouted at the Elf to get to cover and he duly obliged.
The yeti toppled, sending up a pile of snow, it twitched reflexively as the blood pooled out of it then stilled, dead.
The young Elf stared at the dead beast with mixed emotions. He was used to slaying animals, the Orcs he had killed were sentient yet he felt no remorse over their deaths. These frozen mountains were this strange creature's home, he was the foreign invader who had brought steel and suffering. The tinge of guilt he felt at having to put the thing down was niggling at him in a most uncomfortable manner. The appearance of this monster did not seem new to Harlven, who knew of this beast. Why were the priests here in this great fort if it was surrounded by such dangerous creatures?
XIII
Throughout my long travels across the land I have often found help unasked for, it is that reality that has kept me fighting for the freedoms and peace that you now take for granted. I dare not ponder about what my impact may have been had I not met such charitable figures along the way. Or the potential atrocities I would have undoubtedly wrought.
'Drop and roll!' Harlven yelled.
El-Vador stared at the priest. What was the man talking about? He scanned the battlefield for more potential threats but he didn't see anything.
'Get the blood off your arms and face.' Harlven shouted. 'quickly, before it burns into you.'
At first El-Vador felt a prickling sensation across his cheeks, that turned into burning and he dutifully buried his face into the snow in the hopes of washing clear the blood. The feeling passed as he wiped clear the pinkish slush from his arms and shivered as it stole what little remained of his body heat. It looked like his priest friend had saved his life once again.
He scrubbed at his face until he was certain it was clean of any blood and hoped that the substance wouldn't eat through his furs.
Harlven gave them a once over and seemed satisfied that they weren't going to be eaten alive.
'We should be fit enough to make the keep now,' he said. 'I was not expecting a yeti this close to our church, my apologies. I should have warned you.'
El-Vador couldn't help but agree with the man, forewarned is forearmed and he was still woefully ignorant of everything around him. 'why do you have such a remote church when these monsters are about?'
Harlven smiled as he cleaned his sword in the snow. 'It is a test of the faithful, that we be pitted against such hardship.'
El-Vador did not return the grin. Harlven hadn't answered his question directly, that was reason enough to be more suspicious of this strange man. Was he risking his life for El-Vador out of the goodness of his own heart or did he have an ulterior motive?
'So we are unlikely to encounter another of these beasts so close to your church then?' El-Vador asked, staring back at the corpse they had left behind.
'No, they tend to hunt alone and rarely this far from their mountain homes.'
'How do you receive new initiates? Do they really risk their lives to seek you out in this desolate place?' El-Vador asked as they continued their walk up to the keep.
'Many are brought here by wandering priests such as I.' Harlven replied. 'though there are a few that know of us by reputation and set out alone to discover enlightenment.'
El-Vador imagined that a number of them found things much worse than enlightenment through these mountain passes, undoubtedly another test of the faithful.
The closer they got to the keep the larger it grew, more so than any town or settlement that El-Vador had yet seen. It would appear that the priests lived here rather than congregated, it still raised questions as to why a religious group would need such lofty defences.
The priest led the Elf up to the huge gateway and signalled to unseen guards with his hand. A grinding noise split the large doors open and they were allowed admittance into the bowels of the structure.
The rich smells of people, animals and cooking flowed out to greet them. It was as if the place were not a church at all but a small city contained within these great walls. The sensations reminded El-Vador just how long he had spent sleeping in the cold away from such things.
A high roof appeared above them, as if they had stepped into a great hall that dwarfed all others in stature. Inside it were streets and large buildings that stood within, all encased under the rafters of this great room.
Harlven let his companion drink in the sight, clearly he was used to the awe that such grandeur inspired and was more than happy to let the immensity of the place sink in.
As the two passed a bustling marketplace, El-Vador noticed that none of these humans paid his features any heed. Had they all seen Elven kin before or did they simply not care about his appearance and strange attire?
Harlven led El-Vador to a building cut and assembled from rock similar to that of the keep's outer wall. To his surprise there was a large pool of water inside, presumably for bathing. He always felt vulnerable when surrounded by water, and was loathe to relinquish his weapons in this strange place.
'Long have been your journeys,' the priest said. 'would you care to cleanse yourself in our waters?'
El-Vador shook his head. 'No, you have offered me courtesy thus far but I must decline your generosity. I will not bathe without a weapon to hand.'
'That is an acceptable compromise,' the priest replied. 'You will be left alone and you may do with your weapons as you wish.'
El-Vador eyed the priest with suspicion, was he really right in suspecting a trap? If he could keep his sword by his side then what danger was there in soaking for a while?
He laid his blade by the edge of the waters and within clear reach, making sure that the priest observed the gesture before departing.
As he sank into the lapping warmth he let out a contented sigh. Never had he experienced such pleasure in a tub before now, nor such freedom of space. His ablutions were largely carried out in the icy cold and to linger too long in such waters would spell trouble. Here the steaming heat invited him, somehow retaining its temperature from the stone beneath it. El-Vador knew not how this was accomplished but it was a marvel that he finally decided to take full advantage of.
It was his Elven senses that pricked up in caution, something was watching him in this vulnerable state. He reached out and touched the assuring pommel of his sword and opening his eyes once more to scan the room. There seemed no possible method of viewing him from this place, the walls surrounding him offered no cracks or crevices from which to peer through. The feeling still remained, a primal instinct he had cultivated through his years of hunting. Something was amiss he
re and he couldn't determine what had caused such a feeling.
The entrance to the pool opened silently behind him and El-Vador waited for his assailant to enter, the soft padded feet spoke of one who was used to stealth. Had Harlven sent an assassin to rid his companion for him? As the figure drew close El-Vador's arm shot out and gripped the sword, spinning round in the pool and leaping out at his attacker in the hopes of catching him off guard.
They boy screamed and dropped the clothing, tears of panic running down his face as he fell to the ground. El-Vador looked down at the unarmed child and sighed, this was not the killer he had expected.
After calming him somewhat, an awkward action for one such as he, the Elf discovered that the child had simply been tasked with bringing clothing to the enclosed pool. They were good clothes too and fit his form well. He thanked the child, who was still shaking, and bid him hurry off to whatever duties he had left to do. The boy did not need telling twice and rushed away with a servile nod.
As he fitted his final boot, Harlven returned. He nodded at the Elf, then de-robed without any sense of shame and slipped into the heated waters that El-Vador had just occupied with a sigh of relief.
'If you can allow your guide but a few minutes of peace in these heavenly waters I shall soon be able to provide you with a sumptuous feast.'
El-Vador's stomach groaned at the mention of sustenance. Though game had been plentiful in his travels thus far, it was poor substitute for the multitudinous fare that flashed before his eyes.
The priest laughed. 'You look hungry, friend. I would be a poor host if I spent more than a minute longer in this tub while my guest's guts grumbled in complaint.'
He hauled himself out of the waters and threw his robe over him once more. 'Come, I shall show you a feast that will abate any further qualms you may have of my hospitality.'
El-Vador followed his chatty host, but kept his blade loose just in case.
XIV
My dealings with the Orcish occupation had left me distrustful and suspicious of all I came into contact with in my youth. The influence of a few good men did not change that but rather tempered it. To live in constant fear of reprisal for previous actions can wear down even the hardest of hearts, but to abandon focus entirely by trusting in the good nature of those around you is foolishness.
He was led by Harlven into a large hall filled with robed priests. At least, that's what he thought they were, it seemed their crimson garb was a universal dress code inside the keep.
He felt refreshed and recovered from his long journey after the soak and unexpected hospitality. All that remained was to enjoy the forthcoming sumptuous banquet, so why did he remain on edge? Could it not have just been the boy that had been watching over him as he bathed? Something irrational in his gut made El-Vador find that unlikely.
Harlven offered El-Vador a seat at the long bench and watched as the Elf lay his sword across his lap. If there was danger imminent he planned not to be caught out. His sharp eyes scanned the room for potential threats but the indistinguishable robes these people wore made it impossible to tell. They could all be armed to the teeth without him knowing, and any one of them could have been watching over his bathing.
A large decanter was placed before him and Harlven started pouring the wine. He offered a cup to El-Vador which was begrudgingly accepted. He couldn't afford to get too merry given the potentially fatal circumstances.
The food was brought before them now, great steaming bowls of potatoes and cooked fish the likes of which the Elf had never seen. Harlven had been modest in his praise of the food they would be eating, it truly was the best meal he'd tasted.
The feast seemed never-ending in its sumptuous courses. Finally El-Vador simply stopped eating, not caring whether his host took offence or not. He retired to bed shortly after and slept well, feeling no foreign gaze upon him in this place.
He awoke in darkness. The quarters he had been settled in were luxurious by his standards and his tired body had taken full advantage of that.
He stretched out in bed, still feeling the impact that the yeti had wrought upon him. The pain would dull in time, much faster given the ministrations of Harlven and his people. He made his way back down to the great hall he had feasted in and found that breakfast had already been laid out before him.
El-Vador helped himself, washing down his meal with another cup of wine. So far this detour had been worthwhile, soon he would set out for the cities south of here and then on to the Orcs.
It was as if thinking their name brought the purpose back into him. He had been slacking in his duties to his people, who knows what the enemy had planned in retaliation for their loss? His drinking and merriment had cost him time that he didn't have. He finished up the breakfast and made his way out of the hall to search for the large exit of this keep.
Harlven met El-Vador in the corridors, a big smile upon the priest's face at seeing his companion awake. 'Ah, El-Vador! I see you slept well, enjoying your walk?'
'I'm looking for the exit to this place, I need to continue my venturing south.'
'Yes, I suspected that you might want to be departing soon. Are you sure that you cannot take the time to watch members of our order spar in combat? You may learn a thing or two from our masters.'
El-Vador thought about this. He had no experience of combat outside of hunting and while he could reach the Orcs sooner if he left now, the things he could learn here may aid him better against them. 'Very well then, bring me to these masters and teach me your ways.'
Harlven nodded cheerfully and led him further into the bowels of the keep.
The hallways grew in width to accommodate the people passing through them, all clad in crimson robes that shadowed their form from sight. El-Vador let his eyes focus instead upon the opening they were venturing toward.
It was a giant oval that seemed carved into the stone floor, within which several robed figures practised with sticks under the tutelage of an older man. He stared up and beckoned them down upon a wave and cry from Harlven. El-Vador had a suspicion as to what was set to happen next.
The man he inevitably faced off against certainly looked like a master. He had white hair and a creased face that bore many years upon it. In spite of this he seemed hale and his movements did not indicate any impediment from age. They had been equipped with wooden practice swords and El-Vador had been urged by the man to attack him.
El-Vador gripped the sword with a degree of trepidation, the wooden blade feeling unfamiliar in his hands. He moved to the man's left and then right, dodging in and out of his reach in the hopes of provoking him into making an attack. None was forthcoming, the master stayed in his place, his eyes observing every stroke of his opposition's blade.
Gradually the Elf grew closer and bolder in his goading, swatting at the man with his sword mere inches away from the elder's face, yet still there was no provocation great enough to make the man act.
El-Vador finally wearied of taunting the man and sent a cut that would surely land, the man moved just enough to avoid the swing and nothing more. So he was not a statue after all, interesting.
He leaped forward, raising his training sword overheard and aiming directly for the man's head, if he didn't dodge this it would undoubtedly cause damage.
The old man shifted his body slightly to the right, somehow keeping just out of reach of El-Vador's angling blade.
His opponent's sword swept out and caught him in the side, sending him sprawling to the floor. As El-Vador moved to recover his footing he found the wooden blade pressed against his throat. The master offered him an apologetic smile.
'Clearly you have much to learn, young Elf.' Harlven said, laughing at El-Vador's misfortune but not unkindly. 'perhaps you would be better off facing against this man's apprentice. Are you game?'
El-Vador shrugged. 'I will not learn if I do not try. Bring the next opponent on.'
A young boy called Syvembile, looking barely into manhood, approached from behind the master and n
odded to him in deference. He took the man's sword and squared off against El-Vador.
He watched this new opponent with wary eyes. The boy danced about the arena in a manner most unlike that of his master's economy of movement. Would he also be the first to strike?
El-Vador stood in a relaxed stance, patiently waiting for his opponent.
The movements of the master he had just fought flashed back in his head with the suddenness that disorientated him. He opened his eyes and discovered he knew exactly what to do.
The apprentice must have also seen the moment, leaping forward at El-Vador and swinging his sword at him in the hopes of catching him off guard. El-Vador responded by stepping into his attacker and blocking the blow with the flat of his sword before twisting and disarming his foe.
The look of puzzlement on the apprentice's face gave way to a smile, he had clearly impressed the boy. He looked over at the master and noticed that he was frowning, whether it was at him or his apprentice El-Vador did not know.
As El-Vador left the training yard with a chatty Harlven in tow, he could feel the gaze of the master upon his back. Clearly the man was wondering how the young Elf had picked up on his technique so quickly as to defeat his best student.
El-Vador found he was wondering the same thing.
XV
I have learnt many things in my venturing across the lands that you now call your homes. People long dead and places that are but memories, or the scant foundation for your blossoming cities used to contain knowledge that has long since been lost to all but an equally scant few.
The memory of all that I have learnt continues to propel me forward, nothing will cease my march into eternity now.
In the deeper parts of Sarvacts' fortress was a place unlike any other. As dark as any of the chambers before it, this one contained a large blackened spike. The top of it was stained crimson with the dried blood of previous sacrifices, those whom Sarvacts had hated beyond compare. Their sacrifice maintained his power longer than any other, fuelled by his feelings. He longed to capture this Elven boy and plant him upon it, watch him squirm and moan and then still. He knew not how much power such hatred could generate, but at last here was a figure of revilement that he could capture and force upon its point.
El-Vador's Travels Page 13