A set of burning eyes greeted him as they kept the bow aimed and their distance suitable, the guard Captain witnessed the visage of his opponent for the first time.
He was slender in build and shorter than Salvarius in stature, but the cut of his arms were roped with corded muscle that betrayed a skilled marksman. Brown strands of long hair were parted roughly and did little to hide the strangely angular features and pointed ears that betrayed an entirely inhuman nature.
'You are an Elf from the north.' the guard Captain observed, hauling himself to his feet and making sure to keep his palms facing the creature.
A flicker of surprise passed through the bright gaze, as if the recognition was something it hadn't expected. 'That much is true.' it said, not wavering its trained arrow. 'How come you by this information? My kind cannot be commonplace in these lands.'
Salvarius shook his head, 'I have never seen one of your kind prior to this day, but I have heard tales of the crushing defeat the Orcs were dealt from the demons of the mountains they had thought subjugated.'
A faint smile touched the lips of his captor, clearly the image such words conjured up meant something to it. 'Demons of the mountains you say? Answer me this, why is a human working under the yoke of Orcish commands? Like you so little your own people that you surround yourself with these green-skinned devils? What allegiance hold you to they?'
He thought very carefully about his next words, knowing that they could well mean life or death depending on how eager this Elf was to let fly with his bow. 'I owe one of those Orcs my life, my debt to him has yet to be fully paid. I will suffer being a stranger to this foreign land until it is.'
'How could you possibly owe one of those butchers your life?' the Elf demanded, a worrying tone of anger coming through in his strange voice now.
Salvarius sighed, of all the people he'd expected to tell this tale to, an Elf walking straight out of a fairy tale had not been in contention. 'General Harg could have killed me, he was given more than enough opportunity to do so. Instead he was merciful and raised me as his own, then he went north without me and came back...changed. From fighting your people.'
He saw the murderous look on the Elf's features and waited for the arrow to thud home into his unprotected chest or neck. Closing his eyes, he thought of all those he had known who died at the hands of the Orcish mercenaries Harg had been a part of, and how his adopted father had risked life and limb to prevent a scrawny kid from being gutted by a falling axe.
Once more he found himself waiting for something that never came, for some unknown reason the Elf was sparing him.
'You claim that there was a survivor from the north?' the voice asked him as he slowly opened his eyes.
He looked into the Elf's face and saw disbelief there, talking about his native homeland had triggered something within him. Him, not it, the Elf was very much another intelligent being of this world and should be accorded that much respect.
'General Harg, the Orc in charge of the militia in these parts, is the only known survivor from the north. Even he does not claim to know full knowledge of what happened or how the occupation turned sour.'
More silence, and Salvarius began to wonder whether he had just talked himself into an execution again.
'Your General is a liar, there are no survivors from the north.' the Elf replied, but Salvarius could tell that it was the Elf who spoke a lie. It was in that moment of clarity that he realised the look on his captor's face, he knew it well.
'You look to exact vengeance upon those that occupied your lands, you mean to seek out and destroy all the Orcs responsible in the invasion. You thought your task complete, but you were not sure. Now you have come in search of the Orcish lands to uncover whether any yet survive, and in giving you a name I have revealed your final target, now you expect me to betray General Harg, who has been like a father to me.'
The Elf smiled at him unnervingly, it had not been the reaction he had tried to provoke. 'No, my human friend, you are mistaken in your assumptions and now I must address your fate.'
Salvarius closed his eyes and thought of home. 'Make it swift.' he muttered.
Silence.
He opened his eyes after a time and was promptly blinded by the sun, he was flat on his back and hesitantly he patted his body to locate the arrow wound.
Nothing.
Rising slowly, he squinted and searched around him for any sign of his captor, then noticed something dark in his peripheral vision.
It was a small bundle that lay beside him, cautiously opening it up he found that it contained what looked to be enough dried meat to get back to the burrow.
Of the Elf there was no sign.
Hauling his armour out of the dirt of the pit, Salvarius started to march back.
XXXVI
For every successful battle and glorious siege there are lengthy passages of utter tedium. For every journey undertaken in these volumes there remains an omission of the vast swathes of time lost to travel and the necessities of living.
Of this particular time there is no omission, as the ramifications of such a simple reliance echo endlessly through my extended existence.
He had no difficulty in tracking his prey through the dusty and barren land that the Orcs presumably called their home. After initial attempts to locate him the man had simply given up searching and focused all his efforts on returning home, regardless of whether he was leading El-Vador directly to the burrow or not.
He did not doubt the sincerity in the man's words as he mulled over their consequences. That he had been so transparent that a mere human had almost uncovered his purpose was something that worried him, he needed to lock down such obvious signs before they were the cause of his death.
Still he could not shake the niggling feeling that hounded him as swiftly and silently as he in turn stalked after Salvarius. The man was fervent in his belief that this Orc truly had spared him out of mercy, rather than to have another slave to work under him. What if there were a kernel of truth in his tale? After all, the Orcs could have easily slaughtered the people of his village immediately after taking over, they did not.
Instead they had waited until they had supplanted them with their own farmers and killed them then. The Orcs that rose to positions of command were bloodthirsty as any but they weren't stupid, there was a calculation in their actions and they would stay an execution if it served them better. The guard Captain had been groomed and used by this Orc, that he did not know it and most likely could not be convinced of it was the saddest thing. He had no quarrel with these humans, but he had no qualms about killing one should they choose to get in the way of his destiny.
His largest concern was what would happen when he got closer to the burrow, there was only so near he could get to the structure before advanced scouts or guards would spot him. He also had no idea what he was looking for or how well-defended it would be. He cursed himself briefly for not questioning this Salvarius more stringently, but the man had a fervent belief about him that may have made the whole task futile.
'Continue your path, young pawn. I shall not allow for death to come to you so swiftly at the mere border outposts of Orcish territory,' the voice assured him, filling him with a steadying purpose.
The voice had protected him before, in concerto with his own capabilities he had slaughtered the guards on the border with its aid, it would allow him to do so again with these Orcs in their burrow.
He stayed alert throughout the rest of the tracking, keeping a fair distance from the man who lived with the green-skins. The open plains did not allow for much cover beyond the occasional strewn boulder, but when tracking an opponent that did not even look back it presented no difficulty.
Still El-Vador did not relinquish his caution, stalking the man like a mountain cat, his ears ever listening for stray sounds, his eyes scanning the horizon for potential threats.
It wasn't until Salvarius stopped in his tracks that the Elf had any reason for this caution. The man just stood
there in plain sight unmoving, as if waiting for something to happen.
A grinding noise split the air and El-Vador ducked under what meagre cover he could afford, peering out as the ground appeared to rise in plain sight.
It was as if a huge lid had been lifted off the earth, tearing upward and jutting into the sky. He watched as Salvarius approached the structure at a stagger and descended into the very ground itself. With a groan, the earth came crashing back down and settled once more with a brief but resounding thud, had El-Vador not seen the position of it with his own eyes it would have been imperceptible.
For a time, he simply stood staring at the settling dust and earth, uncertain as to how to proceed. He had been fearing that gaining entrance into the secreted burrow would be difficult, even he had not expected the sheer degree until confronted with it.
After a time he skirted the perimeter of where the hatch had shut, there was nothing of note about the surrounding land as far as he could see, aside from a small river that winded its way from downhill.
A river. Streaming water. Surely that had to serve as a source for the burrow, did it not?
He cautiously made his way around the area and over to the flowing water, keeping his senses keen and eyes open for fear of any Orcish sentries patrolling the area. Of that he saw no sign, instead something presented itself that lifted his spirits.
The river disappeared into the mouth of nothingness, a gaping maw of darkness with large steel bars clamping the passage shut. To any other person it would have been a foreboding sight, to El-Vador it was both an opportunity and an entrance.
No guards and no obstacles to his entry urged caution however. Why would the Orcs build such a secretive structure only to create a back entry so blatantly within sight? Something was wrong here, yet he did not hear the other voice in his head warning him against this place.
The large bars did little to impede his form, he slid through easily and found himself in near-pitch blackness only faintly illuminated by the daylight outside. The ground squelched underneath him unstably, a misplaced foot in this treacherous area and he could be in peril, he simply couldn't grope about blindly.
A deep chuckling noise was followed by a searing pain in his eyes, he clutched at them wildly and nearly pitched head first into the water. When next he opened them the world was visible once more.
'What have you done to me?' El-Vador asked the voice in his head, unwilling to turn his head toward the light for fear of the consequences.
'Your eyes can now navigate this darkness.' the booming voice replied, causing a now-familiar feeling of tightness over his skull. 'Is that not what you desired? Proceed with your journey.'
He decided not to question it further, as he knew that doing so would be fruitless. The voice only told him what it wanted him to know and precious little else, once more it had proven useful and he had begrudgingly come to accept that over time.
With the darkness lifted by some strange internal luminescence, El-Vador proceeded to follow the course of the river steadily downward into the depths of the earth. So far there had been no divergence from the straight and steadily sloping path, he simply had to follow its course and stay alert for the inevitable change. It had to be collected by the Orcs somewhere, the green-skins may prefer wine but they needed water to make it.
As he progressed through the now oddly luminescent tunnel he had no further difficulties with his footing or needing to worry about being unable to see potential threats. His newly formed vision in the darkness seemed even better than his sight in plain daylight. Quietly he pondered about whether this would be a permanent addition to his arsenal or simply something that the voice had provided him for this singular journey.
Further clarification was not forthcoming, instead he was left with a strangely hollow feeling in his chest which was dispelled immediately when he heard the first of the noises.
It was a faint scrabbling sound, barely detectable even to his own hearing above the rushing water through the passage. He was no longer alone, of that he was now certain, at least one of the denizens of this strange tunnel was about to make an untimely appearance.
Drawing his sword, he stood poised for a moment, straining his ears over the sound of the water and once again picking up the seemingly random noise as it skittered from place to place. There was nothing about its course that indicated any pattern or logic, what if it were simply vermin?
He caught sight of the first of them and stifled a laugh as it rose to its hind legs, as if inspecting him in kind. He had been right, it was nothing but vermin, albeit slightly larger in stature than the sort that scurried about the forests of his youth.
Sheathing his weapon, he approached the rat and was somewhat surprised that it stood its ground. The mere sight of another creature was enough to send the native rodents of his homeland burrowing into the snow, yet here was one that seemed almost insolent in its boldness.
El-Vador approached the pompous little thing and offered it a kick, sending it scurrying a little further up the tunnel with a cry, only to settle itself on its hind legs once more and observe him with an undimmed curiosity.
Stifling a curse, the Elf drew his blade once more and decided to make quick work of the thing lest it prove an irritation any further when things became difficult, he didn't need animals following ahead of him and announcing his arrival to the Orcs.
A strange keening sound split the air as he approached with weapon drawn, the rat was swaying gently as if it were rooted to the edges of the murky waters and caught in a light breeze.
This gave El-Vador but the briefest of pauses, as much as he couldn't afford creatures following him, for noises to emanate from this tunnel because of his appearance would be even worse. He promptly struck the thing with his blade and silenced its song.
He gave the strange incident no further heed until a few minutes later when he heard the same scurrying sound but this time amplified, whether by his strained senses or some other trickery he could not tell.
Having been forced to live off rodents in his time traversing the mountains, when both game was scarce and the chill winter nights were agonisingly long, El-Vador was not averse to lowering himself to extermination of pests. Back then it was to ward off starvation, now it was to ward off detection. One could easily have been the death of him and the other could yet, the sobering thought negated the triviality of the situation entirely.
The cause of the increasing noise soon became apparent as several of the creatures made appearances in a mimicry of their fallen comrade, standing upon their hind legs and looking at him before breaking into the same strange noise he had heard before.
El-Vador approached with more than a little frustration apparent, sweeping his sword out in a wide arc and beheading two of the creatures and spattering the others in a great gout of blood.
Their strange moaning turned into shrieks which the Elf quickly silenced with his blade, leaving the tunnel quiet once more save for the faint footfalls as he continued following the edges of the current.
The scurrying came again, this time much more fervently than before and amplified to a level that would undoubtedly carry far down the tunnel and reveal that there was a presence within to any Orcish guards patrolling. In response, El-Vador simply readied his blade once more and cursed, knowing full well that the audible noise wouldn't make any difference now.
There were at least sixteen of them to his enhanced vision, no different than the creatures before in both their general size and actions. If this were to continue all the way to the Orcish burrow then he would be caked in blood upon his arrival, a prospect he recalled all too clearly from his previous exploits.
It differed in one crucial way from the past noises of the things, their strange song ran up the scale in pitch until its passed clear of his hearing altogether. This was then followed by a shrieking cry from the lead beast as it flung its way toward the Elf with bloodthirsty abandon. El-Vador responded in kind with a quick cut that decapitated it, b
ut could barely bring his sword back to bear before the next was upon him. He swung the blade out back and forth in a defensive pattern, attempting to keep the full frontal onslaught from clambering over him and forcing him into the water.
There was only so much he could do in the face of such numbers, and instead of leaping within range of his strikes the rats made for his ankles and legs in the attempt to topple him.
It was an unfamiliar method of attack to the Elf, who was much more used to dealing with opposition his own height or scoring wild game from afar with his bow. To deal with a procession of smaller creatures in such close quarters called for El-Vador to improvise with his blade, sweeping it out like a pendulum to ward off any creatures that got too close.
It was only a matter of time before the rats started to flank his position, forcing him to place his back to the wall of this strange corridor. He scored a number of hits while adjusting to compensate for the malicious tactics of these beasts, but it did not stay their assault, which bore a frenzied madness that defied preservation.
As his swinging blade caught the skull of another rat that leapt for his ankles, the creatures started to alternate their tactics. Some of them leaping high to take him in the midriff while others kept attempting to disrupt his vertical base, as if they had somehow divined that his cold steel could not protect both positions at once with any accuracy.
He kicked out at one of the rats that had made a jump for his feet as he swung his blade at another, it was then that a third one finally made it through his defences and scrabbled up his leg. His defences breached, El-Vador tried to shake the thing off and sprint clear of the incensed creatures but it held on with a ferocious tenacity that surprised him. He felt a prick of teeth as it bit through his jerkin and found flesh, instinctively he brained it on the pommel of his sword with a crunch and it fell into the water that his hurried strides splashed through.
A searing pain went up his side, emanating from the wound and causing him to pull up. Turning his head back to survey the pursuit, he strained his hearing for the scurrying feet that spelled trouble and was instead greeted with silence.
El-Vador's Travels Page 26