Unlike the other Orcs he had slain in a red haze, he had the time to recognise their faces. One was the Orc he saw regularly on sentry duty near the settlement, the other his feet had deliberately guided him to.
'I told you to leave.' El-Vador said. 'Instead it has come to this.'
They were speechless, seemingly waiting for him to say more and decide their fate.
'You are a stubborn Orc, Mugrab. I have given you many opportunities to flee this place and you have taken none of them.'
He turned to the sentry. 'As for you, of all the Orcs I have seen on watch you never gave me a bad look, never said a bad word and always stayed out of my way. I appreciated that even as I planned to kill you.
'If you try to harm this simple farmer, I'll kill you if I can,' the Orc replied.
El-Vador shot him through the heart as he advanced on the farm.
Mugrab was transformed by the incident. 'Come then, foul wolf!'' he snarled. 'Slay me in cold blood and be done with it.'
'You did not lift a hand to attack my settlement. I offer you this one chance to leave with your life spared. Take it now or I shall end your life.'
Mugrab sighed 'Have it your way lad, and pray you will never see my face again.' said Mugrab. 'For if you ever do I swear on my ancestors that I shall end you for what you have done this day.'
El-Vador wished they could have parted on better circumstances, yet he knew that this man was an intruder into his lands and it had always been destined to end this way. 'Go,' he said. 'Lest I change my mind.'
The farmer grabbed a bundle of possessions and hauled them off to the south, to the stronghold that El-Vador had yet to sack.
As evening greeted the mountain skies El-Vador crested a final hill and stared ahead.
The stronghold was a vast collation of rocky surfaces and dark panels. It was not that which made him pause though, the town that had grown around it was the issue. Below him Orcs swarmed in an endless green sea, completely oblivious to their fate.
Vengeance was the only thing that burned in him, yet vengeance would do him no good if he had no practical plan to exact it. Knowing that, he hunkered down low, hugging the surface of the hill so that the sentries wouldn't spot him.
He lay there for a time, not knowing what to do that wouldn't result in getting himself killed. The Orcs he had seen looked vigilant, as if they were expecting an army rather than one person assaulting their defences.
His thoughts were interrupted by a horn blaring from one of the hills beyond. It was greeted by a chorus of roaring voices and then the first of the Elves crested the hills and started charging down into the town below. El-Vador couldn't believe his eyes. Here was a force of Elven warriors that had come to liberate his people, but from where? They came at the Orcs from all sides, surrounding them and pouring down in great numbers. Spurred on by his people's unexpected charge, El-Vador slipped out of hiding and made his way down the hill and into the town.
Arrows arced out from the town toward the attackers. Some of them landed true, cutting an Elf off mid-spring with devastating efficacy. They did little to thin the ranks of the assault and it wasn't long before the Elves had reached the centre of the town. That was when the true fighting began. On they came, roaring out their hatred of the Orcs that had tried to take their land, feeling exactly as El-Vador had and nothing like the docile Elves he had lived with under occupation for so long.
Steel met steel in a horrifying clash while archers kept shooting from inside the Orcish buildings in the hope of thinning the numbers. The Orcs had expected an assault and their response was swift and effective, more Elven bodies fell to their arrows and blades and as El-Vador fought his way through the town he began to wonder if the tide had turned.
He kept his distance from the majority of the close combatants, preferring instead to exhaust his supply of Goblin arrows that he had acquired from his assault of the fort.
It was nothing like the hunting he had previous experience of, it was all a surreal blur of motion and passion that took a toll on his body that he didn't dare to think about.
An Orc sprang forward too close for El-Vador's bow to be of much use, he discarded it briefly and parried a thrust from the Orc's spear with his hunting knife. He came inside the creature's defences and slit its throat as he would have any animal. Hot blood gushed out to greet him, splattering his face and momentarily blinding him.
The heat seemed to grow and when El-Vador cleared his sight he realised it wasn't from the blood. The Elven warriors had taken it upon themselves to set the town ablaze, now the Orcs were fighting a war on two fronts. Either they died defending their homes or died from the flames that consumed them.
Smoke quickly thickened the air, El-Vador momentarily forgot about fighting in the struggle to breathe.
He found himself in an open space that was relatively clear of smoke then, before him stood the vast stronghold of the Orcish occupation. He knew that Sarvacts would be in there somewhere, as would his captive Pixie. It was the first time he had considered her since hearing of her capture, more of an afterthought in the heat of battle.
The stronghold doors were shut and guarded by Goblin archers on a walkway above who shot at any intruders, Orcish or otherwise. Apparently Sarvacts was planning to outlast the Elves by forcing them into a siege. His people were not a warring race and would struggle in that situation, they had not accounted for his phial though.
As he drew back a coated arrow, the gates of the stronghold groaned open and out charged the Orcish champions on their horses.
In an instant of clarity, El-Vador knew what he must do. He loosed an arrow at the legs of the charging beasts, which sent out a horrible squeal as it buckled and tossed the rider before being run down by its companions.
This in turn gave El-Vador the chance to ready another arrow and send it flying into the flank of another horse. Already skittish after hearing the screams of one of its kind, the horses were absolutely terrified by the panic of another.
That was when the explosion hit.
Great chunks of armoured Orcish flesh and horse were flung up into the air beyond the gate, all pretence of a charge was abandoned by the champions as a third arrow calmly thudded itself into another steed, the retreat was sounded as El-Vador had suspected. That was when they galloped straight back into the second explosion.
Fighting down the urge to retch, he waited for the final combustion and then watched as the hungry flames consumed the flesh of the former champions and their mounts.
Stepping through the dying embers, El-Vador made his way into the stronghold in search of Sarvacts.
Soldiers rushed toward him as he entered the gates, they were too slow. An arrow pierced the arm of one and as he staggered on, El-Vador kept his distance. His companions had strayed too close to the blast and soon they were corpses being lapped in fire.
An archer spotted him from a distance, El-Vador rushed toward him before he could draw aim. Like a striking serpent's fang his hunting knife shot in and out of the Goblin's beady eye.
Now other Elven warriors began to storm the stronghold, seeing that the gates were wide open and not caring about how the champions had been dispatched.
As they had outside the stronghold, the Orcs fought with desperate bravery. An Orc led the rallying cry and stabbed at him viciously with a spear. El-Vador side-stepped the attack and lunged in with his hunting knife, gutting the opponent.
Now that they were in close quarters, El-Vador robbed a blade from his latest victim and set forth into the Orcs. Joined by his Elven brethren he cut his way into the heart of the stronghold, Orc after Orc. The arrows that archers from beyond had unleashed all seemed to miss him, snapping into wood and stone or Elves beyond him. In the noise of battle all the screams of death seemed similar to him. Had he not been pitched in battle he may have found this disconcerting.
For all their bravery in defence of the stronghold, the carnage that El-Vador and his kin wrought could not help but daunt the Orcs.
> The initial assault had given them a decent charge into the stronghold, the Orcs had not expected their champions to fall with such ease and had been unnerved. Now they had regrouped to some degree and the fighting had become much tougher. El-Vador had also begun to feel the exhaustion start to set into his limbs, he couldn't afford to make a mistake now or his youthful reflexes wouldn't be enough to save him.
In defiance of his weary spirit, he sounded a charge and remarkably his comrades seemed to obey. Energised by his storming of the stronghold and with no commanding officer around, they had taken El-Vador as their leader.
An arrow smote him, his left thigh briefly gave way and it was enough to send him toppling to the floor.
He lay there for a moment as the battle milled about him, a surprised look on his face. Then the realisation dawned that if he didn't move now he'd be either trampled to death or stuck by an Orc.
Gritting his teeth, he snatched up a spear and forced himself to his feet, expecting a blade in his ribs now that he was momentarily vulnerable.
It never came, the Elves had pushed on and he was no longer at the forefront of the battle. Jerking the arrow out of his leg with a howl, he limped on toward the invaders with death on his mind.
Silence greeted him, no Elven warriors and nothing but corpses strewn about the corridors of the stronghold. He pushed open the door ahead of him and entered a huge building with a long table and a high chair at the end.
Sarvacts was sat upon that chair, he seemed deep in thought. A king loitering upon his throne having seen his lands torn from him and awaiting the inevitable regicide. Standing wordlessly the Orcish chieftain drew his axe and advanced.
X
Conclusions can rush forward, as is the case with this brief narrative. Like a careful construction that is bereft of its support, the ending comes much swifter than the making.
Sarvacts moved quickly considering his size, with a grace that told El-Vador that this was an accomplished fighter as well as a leader. His eyes were in constant motion too, assessing his opponent's threat potential and mapping out moves ahead of the initial collision.
The axe whistled through the air at great speed, leaving El-Vador no choice but to leap to the side, abandoning his attempts to put distance between them and shoot the Orc.
As he found his feet a second blow came from the right, this time he ducked under it and attempted to get within the defences of the Orc and bury his knife.
Sarvacts was having none of it. Without any shouting or bluster he sunk his head into El-Vador's chest, shoving the Elf back and knocking the wind from him.
Wasting no time, El-Vador flung himself once more to avoid the downward stroke of the chieftain's axe.
He feigned being dazed by the activity and stabbed forward with his blade, Sarvacts was aware of the plot and slapped it away.
El-Vador's weight sent a throbbing agony up his leg that he couldn't ignore. There was no way he was going to be mobile enough to continue evading Sarvacts' attacks. He needed to end this quickly before the chieftain took advantage of that.
He did the last thing Sarvacts could have expected after his ducking and weaving, he dropped his knife and rushed straight for him. The Orc hesitated briefly, he hadn't considered that the Elf would be so stupid as to charge him, unarmed and defenceless. He swung the axe at him in a manner that was both lethal and precautionary. But El-Vador had anticipated this, he dived under the head of the axe and grasped the handle with both hands.
He heaved and twisted, using his momentum and positioning to counteract the Orc's brute strength. Sarvacts attempted to jerk the axe free, surprise melting away into contempt upon his craggy features.
On the third attempt to pull the axe clear of his grasp, El-Vador let go. His strength was beginning to fail and he knew he couldn't hold off the chieftain forever. The unexpected relinquishing of the axe caused Sarvacts to be unbalanced for the briefest of moments, that was when El-Vador brought out the phial and threw it at the Orc's head.
The glass shattered and the viscous fluid coated the face of the Orc, he looked at that broken pieces in bemusement and blinked several times. Then El-Vador watched as the chieftain slowly began to shake as if palsied, he saw the thick green skin start to smoke and the Orc's jaws open wide and emit an ear-piercing screech of the soon to be dead.
Realising what would come next, he turned his back on the ghastly spectacle and began to sprint away from the Orcish Chief.
'No!' the Orc screeched at him through the flames racing over his skin, he was slapping wildly at his face in an attempt to put them out but they continued to grow. 'No!' he screamed once more, this time it seemed more urgent, as if aimed at El-Vador rather than denial of his circumstances.
'You must save her!' Sarvacts wailed, his final words echoing across the hall as the fires cooked his body. What was left of him slumped to the floor and said no more.
The thought of Sarvacts showing any degree of compassion baffled him, the growing heat of the flames didn't allow for any triumphant feeling of justice served either. It was then he remembered that Sarvacts had a hostage somewhere in this stronghold, he had taken a Pixie to his bed, quite possibly the same one that El-Vador had saved previously in the woods.
Feeling decidedly foolish, El-Vador continued into the great hall and passed through to the chambers beyond.
A thought struck him and causing an increase in his pace. The phial's previous victims had caught fire and exploded when they came into contact with a slight coating of the liquid within, what would happen to Sarvacts' body having been exposed to the entire contents? He found he didn't want to be around to know the answer and started frantically searching the room.
He found her tied spread-eagle to the posts of a huge double bed, for someone that Sarvacts seemed to care about he had an odd way of showing it. Perhaps this was the only sort of intimacy the Orc could have had, foisted upon another unwilling participant. It reinforced El-Vador's view that the creature was an unfeeling monster in spite of his pleas.
The Pixie looked up at him with startled eyes of recognition, it was the same one he had rescued before in the woods that had eluded him. She probably thought he was coming here to steal her away from Sarvacts and rape her, hopefully his cutting of her bonds would stop her from immediately fleeing.
His head was still buzzing from the battle, he had completely forgotten that he had no implement with which to slice the ropes that bound her. Cursing his own forgetfulness he limped back into the hall.
The table had been engulfed in flames, they dripped off it and onto the floors which were also set alight in treacherous patches. El-Vador searched hurriedly for his knife or any cutting implement that would lease the Pixie of her bonds. A blanket of heavy smoke was descending upon him from high, they would choke to death long before the fires took them, the explosion would take them even sooner than that.
He spied his knife lying wreathed in flames upon the floor. Limping toward it on the tips of his toes, he evaded the flames as best he could to prevent them singeing his clothes. His thigh gave way under him and he rolled as he went down, desperately trying to avoid contact with the liquid fire that dripped across the floor. Feeling the bite of the heat upon his back he tore his shirt clear and flung it into the blaze, he then crawled forward and placed his hand on the pommel of the hunting knife.
He stifled a yell as his hand shot back, the entire pommel felt as if it were coated in fire. Through watering eyes he vaguely saw the heat generated from it distorting the air in waves, yet the only alternative to wielding it was to let Sarvacts' former hostage perish in smoke and fire.
Cursing his own stupidity, he gripped the knife once more and clenched his teeth as he felt it sear into him.
His limping back to the room beyond carried the urgency that scalded flesh provided, he needed to cut her bonds before his hand was rendered a useless smouldering stump.
He did not remember making it back to the room, or the words that the Pixie shouted at him
as he approached, only the strange hiss that emanated from the blade as it sliced through the thick cords with ease.
He moved to drop the knife as he severed the final bond, yet he couldn't feel the heat any more. Cautiously gripping it tighter, he stared down at his hand in disbelief, there were no markings of any kind. No scarring or steam hissing from cauterised flesh, nothing.
'What are you waiting for you idiot, we have to get out of here!'
The burning room and the Pixie came back into focus, the urgency that had driven him to this point returned. They needed to exit this place before the smoke, falling rafters or the growing blaze took their lives.
Wordlessly he nodded and limped back into the furnace beyond, there was no way of reaching the door through the broken rafters and lake of fire that the floor had become. He shielded his eyes from a growing patch of light and searched vainly for another exit from the large room they were trapped in.
Coughing as the smoke swirled around him, his sight was impeded by the thickening black clouds. A cracking from above signalled the roof beginning to cave in around them, the piercing light from the other side of the room continued to reach his eyes even through the haze. He froze, not knowing where to go or what to do, then he felt her hand grip his arm intently.
'The roof!' she shouted at him over the crackling flames. 'We need to make it through the roof, it's the only way out.'
He looked at her dumbfounded, then it dawned on him that she had a pair of wings. Could she really support his weight and fly them to safety? There was only one way to find out.
'What are you waiting for?' she asked, almost frenzied with urgency. 'Grab hold of me and I'll try and get us out of here.'
Placing his hands on her hips and trying not to grip too tightly, he waited impatiently to be lifted off his feet and carried out of the hole in the ceiling.
The strange wings of the Pixie began to unfurl and vibrate at a great speed, sending an odd sensation up his arms and through his shoulders. Then before he could observe any further they had taken off and were being propelled through the air at great speed. They cut through the smoke and left the flames and light behind, or so he thought. They had arced up the sides of the walls and nestled in the rafters of the building, chewing away at the wood hungrily as if possessed, a small gap had appeared in the structure and smoke billowed out of it. His would-be saviour angled toward it and a blanket of dark smoke hit them like a wall.
El-Vador's Travels Page 10
