'We have gone too far out for the Elf to have escaped if he were hiding his trail.' Harg observed bitterly to his second in command. 'Spread word to cease the search and head back to the burrow, we shall see if any of the other groups succeeded in locating him.'
Salvarius opened his mouth to confirm the orders, but his words were drowned out by a thunderous blast in the distance from whence they had came.
Harg's mount panicked at the sound and it took some time before any of his fellow warriors could get their beasts under control, when finally he was able to turn he saw it and knew what had happened.
The plain was littered with the figures of his force in various states of disbelief, some of them sunk to their knees and weeping like babes and others stock still as if the blast had rid them of their souls.
The huge cloud of smoke differed greatly from the blinding explosion that Harg had witnessed in the mountains, that traumatic event seemed a lifetime ago. To think that it could happen again on Orcish soil under his very watch beggared belief.
Many would have broken down at the thought of their home being destroyed, at their livelihood being taken from them in one cruel blast and the consequences of such a failure with the council terrifying them into inaction. Harg was not one to be intimidated by consequences, if anything the sight of this blast differed in one great detail from the previous one. This time he had a choice, he was not fleeing an army, he was part of one. He was not escaping foreign lands with his life barely intact, he was riding at the head of an Orcish horde. This time he would not run from such a sound, this time he would do no such thing.
'To your feet, dogs!' he bellowed at the men, startling them out of their grief-stricken stupor. 'The creature is within our very burrow, ride with me now and we shall slay it so brutally that its ancestors shall shiver in their graves!'
Not looking to see if any of his men followed, Harg wheeled his mount with a roar and charged off toward what remained of the burrow.
Salvarius watched as his commanding officer galloped off at full speed with what few mounted forces could follow in his wake. He knew that he should find a mount, or that he should even risk one of the spares that had not fully rested in order to keep up with his General. Something stopped him, the inner turmoil had come to a head in their previous conversation, and much like the Orcs surrounding him he had eyes only for the great gout of smoke that stained the horizon.
The difference was the cold smile of pleasure that had snaked across his lips involuntarily, the Elf had done it. Somehow, in spite of his previous double cross and imprisonment of his only capable ally, Salvarius' plan had worked.
His ears rang as his frantic fingers tried to claw a way out of the rubble and detritus that had smothered him. As far as he could tell he was still whole, and the billowing gale of laughter inside his head from the moment he had set light to the trail had ceased.
As he sprinted clear of the strange powder he had wondered if his efforts had been precise enough, or whether it would fizzle out before reaching the cache that Salvarius had inexplicably shown him. He had been considering slowing his departure from the sewers and re-checking his efforts when the first explosion hit and sent him sprawling.
There was no flash of blinding light from the subterranean depths of the burrow, all the damage was hidden from his sight as the muffled thunderclap stole his hearing. Then as if the earth itself had fractured, the plains were torn apart and caved inward like the crunching of bone from a hammer blow.
El-Vador had stupidly watched, thinking himself immune to the process at such a distance. Only to gaze wide-eyed as great hunks of earth and stone were propelled into the air from this belching orifice of smoke and crackling land.
Try as he might, he could not evade every projectile, clods of earth and rock finally sent him sprawling into the cracked remnants of the plains he had traversed over. Crawling forward with his elbows, he tried his best to shield his head from the incoming debris and hoped that nothing heavier landed his way.
Eventually the weight of the accumulated rock and earth was too much to fight against, instead he simply flopped down and allowed himself to be buried. Occasionally he listened to a thud as one of the larger rocks impacted upon the inadvertent protection the soil offered him, after a time, the patter of impacts slowed and then ceased. With the ringing in his ears, the Elf could not tell whether it had been his own hearing that had failed him entirely, the packed accumulation above him that had rendered him senseless or the eruption of the earth's innards that had finally stopped.
All was darkness, and as he pushed up there was no give from the weight of the land that had shifted atop his form.
Shifting within the cramped space, it was with a rising panic that El-Vador realised he could run out of air before breaching the surface. Spurred on by this, he started clawing away at the rock and soil that had encased him, trying to force his way from horizontal to vertical and writhe out of the ground.
The blood ran freely from his torn hands as he alternated between shoving rock aside and digging through the dirt that constricted his passage. The air was thinning and his breaths grew increasingly laboured, although the corded muscle in his arms was used to exertion his limbs had begun to shake with the exhaustion of his efforts.
He was blinded by the light as he finally came up gasping for air, it arrived with an immediacy that startled him. Surveying the scene around him at a squint, it seemed as if he had tunnelled his way to another land entirely.
The rock he heaved clear was coated in his own blood, as it went tumbling down the slope with a crash that caused El-Vador to realise that his hearing was returning to him in spite of the incessant whine.
It was then that he strained his ears, and heard the drumming of approaching hooves.
XLV
Deception. That's all it comes down to when the scales of power are so finely balanced. Not the use and abuse of force to create an intended goal, but instead the manipulation of the individual through lies and subtle suggestions so that they may defeat themselves.
He drew clear of the pile of rubble that had once been part of the Orcish burrow and crept down one of the ravines that had been formed from the explosion and subsequent caving in of the home of his enemies. The lay of the land had been sufficiently disrupted around this area that it now served as much better cover than the flat plains of before, his first instinct was to crawl away from the sound of the incoming hooves. He chose to make his way toward it instead, a voice that was not his own subconsciously told him that he was going to witness something important here.
A roar tore a rent through the air nearby, it drew out for an indeterminable length of time and ended in a crack of grief that broke it. El-Vador peered over the edge of the ravine and spotted his former jailer slumped to his knees and fingering the rocks slipping through his hands.
Harg seemed beaten, his drooping head slowly edging its way closer and closer to the shattered remains of the burrow he had been in charge of as if he wanted to lie down and crumble with the rest of the detritus from the blast.
It was then that he stopped, and his nostrils flared some of the dirt and dust clear of his resting place.
'I can smell the traitor's scent.' he growled, his voice carrying far. 'I can smell his pestilence upon the stones of our home!'
A tingling sensation crept down El-Vador's spine as the Orc raised his head, there was blood lust and fury written in those eyes. A madness of an unchained beast coached into violence, it struck him still and sent goose flesh tingling down his arms. He was almost overcome by the burning need to flee from this creature before it spotted him, so close to the site of destruction.
'Inform the elders of what has happened here,' he said to one of the other mounted figures behind him. 'Tell them that I shall not be joining them until I drag the perpetrator's head with me.'
With a silent nod, one of the riders set off in the opposite direction.
'What of the people trapped within, General?' aske
d another Orc, dismounting and joining the fuming leader's side.
A gauntlet struck out faster than El-Vador's eyes could see and snapped back the head of the subordinate with a crack.
'Fool!' Harg roared. 'Look at the land surrounding you! There are no survivors here!'
El-Vador watched as the Orcish General took several steadying breaths before continuing to speak, clearly he wanted to kill anyone and anything in his path, Elf or not.
'You will wait here and rendezvous with Salvarius and the remaining scout parties as planned. The Elf was clearly hidden near the burrow before we even set off. This means that he cannot evade a second sweep.'
The man nodded, then ventured a tentative question. 'What will you be doing, my General?'
Harg offered him a crazed smile. 'I shall be following the scent while it is fresh.'
El-Vador had heard enough, he felt no great influx of power within him that suggested he was to strike out at Harg and his forces. That left him with one possibility beyond capture and death.
He felt the net closing as he proceeded cautiously through the torn plains, knowing that while the treacherous conditions would hinder his progress away from the remnants of the burrow, they would hide him from Orcish eyes on the horizon.
It was clear now that the scouting parties El-Vador had avoided by sheer chance were all intending to come back this way, and unless he buried himself under the earth again one of them would catch his scent and proceed to find him. The only solution was to punch through at a weak point in these returning forces and hope that the powers given to him by the voice would come to his aid once again. That is, if they weren't entirely depleted from his previous efforts.
Fear threatened to grip the Elf as he made his way over the vast wreckage of stone, what if all the Orcs travelled in large numbers? What if there was no weak spot and no power to aid him? There was no way he was going to overcome a vast crowd of them, all keening for his blood.
Whether it was the voice or some other mental device, El-Vador felt his fears slowly wash away. In their absence was a certitude founded upon all the deaths he had seen in the mountains, all the destruction that these green-skinned enemies had wrought upon his people. To turn tail and run from them now would be a betrayal of his entire kin, it would spit in the face of everything that had got him to this point. He simply couldn't allow that to happen.
Steeling himself for whatever future trials awaited, he continued to climb over the remnants of the Orcish burrow and toward the closing search parties.
It did not take him long to come into contact with the first search group, the ground was in his favour in this matter being rocky and easy to hide upon in his area but levelling out into the more familiar plains where the Orcs were.
Then in the middle distance, far from the wreckage of the burrow, the Elf spotted something that almost made him laugh up at the skies in disbelief.
It was a swathe of brown trees, extending for some distance and not so different from his own forests back home. The perfect place to hide until the power returned to him. Then again, perhaps the Orcs thought so as well, would making his way toward this leafy haven be his undoing?
After a short space of time deliberating over his choices he realised that he didn't really have one. The Orcs would be returning to the wreckage of the burrow across the flat plains, and his attempts to traverse them without being seen were non-existent when walking directly into the face of his hated enemy.
Shouldering his bow, he quickened his pace even further and attempted to put as much of the plains behind him as possible before pursuit caught his scent or emerged from the forest. He knew that he was pinned on all sides by the eyes of his opposition, all he could do was keep going and hope that his woodsmanship would suffice in dispatching of the scout group that was sent out in that direction.
His brain warned him against such violence, Harg was expecting at least one of his groups never to return. A faint whiff of a scent and a group not returning from the forests would give away El-Vador's position immediately.
Realising he had to make the cover of the woods before either party discovered him, the Elf broke out into a sustainable sprint. His lithe legs ate up the barrens that surrounded him and were hindered not by any inconsistencies in the harsh terrain, leaving neither print nor mark wherever he fled. This slowly degenerated into a limp over time as his wounds caught up with his actions, but not before he had made the distance required of him.
The woods slowly grew before his sight, their shady gloom offering him a shelter from hostile eyes and a respite from the constant staggering run, as he willed and hoped that his power slowly recovered.
He rested under the bole of a tree, stretching his senses out into the rest of the wood and slowing his labouring heart from the final sprint. His ears heard nothing and his eyes tracked back over the plains, incapable of sighting pursuit. Even as he watched the vast emptiness, his faithful nose caught scent of the Orcs which in turn sent him sniffing at the air like a wild jungle cat. El-Vador surmised that they had arrived only recently and while they had proceeded deeper into the forest they were most likely only doing a perfunctory scan of the area. He need just remove himself from sight and await their departure for his escape to be entirely successful.
Except that to his growing concern, the expedition into the woods did not return to the plains from which they had set out. Furthermore there was no sign of their searching through the woods, and from personal experience El-Vador knew that even the best of the Orcish scouts were no woodsmen. He should have detected them long ago in his roaming through the trees, instead he had found nothing in spite of being hot on their scent.
Irrespective of what had come of them, the Elf knew that their not reporting back to Harg would point in his direction, damning him entirely unintentionally. The Orcs may not be friendly with the trees but a concerted effort to smoke him out would work. Having seen the eyes of Harg, El-Vador fully expected the man to tear every tree from its roots in order to find him.
He needed to sink deeper into these woods and uncover what had happened to the ill-fated scout party before evading Harg's inevitable sweep of the land. He knew that while he cared not for the scouts sent to discover him, their fate could well be his own if he did not uncover their deaths and discern the cause.
Up ahead, as if the woods had anticipated his questions, came a high-pitched sobbing noise made from the throat of something sentient.
Choosing caution above curiosity, El-Vador slinked forward as silently as a shadow and came upon a small clearing in the trees. The horror within was enough to make him retch.
The bodies were strewn haphazardly amongst the branches, barely recognisable as Orcish in origin such were the rents that had been torn in them. A few reddened remnants seemed congealed together in blood to form a torso, others suggested that they had once been heads or bits of face.
When he finally swallowed down the reflexive gagging, El-Vador's keen sight pin-pointed the form from which the sobbing issued.
She was a slight figure, bent over on her knees upon the forest floor and weeping into the earth. She had not noticed his arrival, and in spite of the terrifying display that surrounded him, El-Vador's weapon dipped slightly upon sighting such a helpless victim.
He did not know how this Orc had come to be a part of the frontal scouting party, or if there was indeed other circumstances surrounding her mysterious presence. There was only one way to discover the answers he required, and that was the question the eye witness to this brutalisation.
As he called out to her she spun suddenly, as if the voice of another human being had jolted her out of the transfixion upon the massacre.
'Hello?' she called back tentatively, her hair twisted nervously in bloodied hands.
El-Vador emerged from the trees and the girl's eyes widened, clearly she had been expecting an Orc to rescue her.
'You are not of my kin.' she stated factually with the impetuosity of youth.
The
Elf did not drop the bow, but it was no longer sighted upon her. 'I am not of your kin. How came you about this massacre? Why is one so young so far from her home?'
It was a strange feeling then, almost a pang of regret in the knowledge that it had been he who had destroyed her home, and quite possibly her family in the process.
'I live here in the woods.' she smiled at him, completely unafraid at the prospect of an armed stranger appearing before her.
It would seem that El-Vador had not destroyed her home. Yet.
'You came upon these Orcs by chance then? Know you what became of them?' the Elf asked.
The girl nodded vigorously at him, all sign of previous tears strangely absent now that she had someone to keep her company.
'The beast of the woods got them, I could hear it from my house, oh the screams were horrid!'
'Beast of the woods?'
The girl's nodding continued unrelentingly. 'He lives out in the great cave and gobbles up any strangers that stray too far into his domain. I witnessed the last of them being torn asunder, it was such a terrible thing to behold. It is not the first time I have seen the beast though.'
'What does this beast look like? Should I have any fear of it striking me if I venture deeper?'
The girl shook her head now, as if unwilling to describe the depravity of the beast's visage. Given the gruesome display she had witnessed the ending of, El-Vador couldn't blame her.
'The beast will not harm you.' the girl finally replied. 'It has been sated by the blood of strong soldiers and need not feed any further.'
A pang of warning shot into El-Vador's head. 'How do you know the habits of such a beast?'
The girl shrugged. 'My father told me, he knows how to keep the beast away from our home.'
'Then perhaps your home is where you should be heading. Other Orcs shall find the remnants of these and afford them burial rites, as is their wont. I must venture deeper into the woods now.' he offered her a smile. 'You will be seeing me again though.'
El-Vador's Travels Page 32