El-Vador's Travels

by J. R. Karlsson

  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.

  XXXV

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

  It 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 alwa
ys 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.

  Drawing his sword, he eventually walked that same path that his hunters had traversed previously. There was no way that he would make it back alive to the burrows in this heat, so he may as well do his duty in trying to apprehend the creature that killed his fellow hunters. His body would be recovered next to as many foes as he could take, at least he would die in honour rather than being baked to death.

  He encountered the bodies face down in the scrub shortly after, shaded partially by the rock's surface from the increasingly sweltering heat. The blood was already starting to dry into the barren earth, crusting upon the soil and spelling out the clear danger ahead for Salvarius.

  Of which there were no other signs. He had expected a crude encampment or perhaps even a secluded outpost to explain the deaths, instead there was nothing, this only increased Salvarius's concerns.

  He continued slowly across the dusty ground past the bodies and started to pick up signs of a fight, some marks on the ground indicated that there had been some degree of struggle or physical exertion. It wasn't close enough to the deaths to indicate that the fight with them had caused it, so why was there such signs of struggle this far from the...?

  His foot gave way, and he found himself falling and cursing the limited vision from the slit in his helmet, which provided him with nothing but a brownish blur as he scrabbled for purchase vainly in the air.

  The landing jolted his bones but fortunately his armour took the brunt of the fall, driving the wind out of him and leaving him staring up at the sky and the only exit from the hole that he had fallen into.

  There was a figure there, outlined by the sun in such a manner that all its features were concealed from sight. It watched him silently, safe in the knowledge that if Salvarius tried to scale the pit he would get an arrow for his troubles.

  He stared back for a time, waiting for the demands or the goading to begin. If this thing was responsible for the destruction of the wagons then it most likely knew the prize it had captured was more valuable alive than dead.

  If it knew.

  'It would appear that you have been caught in my snare, foul Orc.' the high voice floated down to him, its timbre strange and musical in his ears. His captor had unwittingly revealed that he didn't know who he was. Why then had he trapped him and simply killed the rest?

  He slowly found his feet and checked to see if anything felt broken, the pit was relative shallow but he was under no illusions that he couldn't leap out in time.

  'You are the leader of your insipid group sent to kill me for being a nuisance. I require the location of the nearest burrow.'

  Was the voice being serious? Why was it purposefully waylaying wagons if it didn't even know their destination? There was something entirely off about this, and he'd never heard a voice quite of this quality either. The unknown concerned him, he couldn't prepare for it and now he was trapped in its snare.

  'I cannot reveal that information, torture me all you wish, I shall not break.'

  A silence, as if waiting for him to reveal the location was an inevitability that would come simply with time.

  'What makes you so certain of your position? You are more than likely to die out here without a horse or any provisions, even if I were to leave you whole. I will guarantee both your freedom and your life if you acquiesce to my demands.'

  Salvarius knew that the situation was dire, and that he needed to play his trump card now while he still had his captor's interest. Slowly he placed his hands to his temples and drew the helm off his head, allowing his pale blonde hair to come streaming out into the light.

  'See you now why I am so certain of my position? I am Salvarius, Captain of the Orcish guard and not one that will beg for my life before a cur such as you.'

  The intake of breath from the figure above suggested to him that he had been identified, at least now there would be action, be it fair or ill.
>
  'You are no Orc!' the voice exclaimed, 'how does a man come to ascend the ranks of the Orcish militia?'

  Salvarius blinked up at the stranger in disbelief, to have come this far into these lands and still not know who he was, it was unheard of.

  'You are clearly not from this land if you are so shocked by my demeanour. What say you let me climb out of this pit and speak as men would?'

  The creature let out a harsh laugh. 'You must believe I am a fool to think that I would agree to such terms.'

  'Are you so wary of a single man that you would not allow him sight of your face before you leave him to die?'

  Another pause, it seemed cooler in the pit but not to any degree that Salvarius would find comforting. He would most likely perish as a result of his entrapment, but not before doing his best to find a way out.

  'A worthy attempt at deception, but you fell in there with your sword and I'm not going to allow you anywhere near me so long as it is strapped to you.'

  Salvarius shrugged, he had nothing to lose at this point. Unbuckling the sword from his back, he launched it up the pit and out into the open, careful to avoid the figure so that it landed on the opposite side.

  'Will you parley with me now, man to man? I am unarmed and you may keep your distance and a bead upon me.' as if for emphasis, he slowly stripped himself out of his armour, ignoring the blessed relief that came from peeling away the metal husk. 'I am now both unarmed and unarmoured, will you not allow me exit from this trap and face my fate accordingly?'

  A pause from the creature above indicated further thought. 'Better to die on your knees than in a pit, should you decide to withhold the location of this burrow to me. You may approach, but I have an arrow nocked and I won't miss from here.'

  There was a certainty about the voice that brooked no arguments, Salvarius slowly scaled the pit, making certain to avoid any sudden movements that might cause the creature to relinquish its hold on the taut bowstring above.