El-Vador's Travels (33 page)

He
moved to within touching distance of the Orc's ear now. 'You deserve
this.' he whispered hoarsely.

Collecting his bow and sword from the cracked floor of the chamber,
the Elf left Sarvacts to his torment and inevitable demise.

It
was over. I may not have had the satisfaction of watching Sarvacts
die, but even if he did not I can rest safe in the knowledge that he
is still buried deep within a collapsed mountain and in constant,
maddening torment.

One
would think that with this came a sense of freedom and prosperity,
that I could return to what was left of my people in peace having
avenged them. I knew in my heart that the voice which had facilitated
my previous efforts would not allow this.

No,
I cannot rest until every Orc lays dead by my hand. Perhaps then I
shall finally go back underneath the ruins of that mountain and
declare to Sarvacts all I have done before ending him.

'
C
ollecting his
bow and sword from the cracked floor of the chamber, the Elf left
Sarvacts to his torment and inevitable demise.'
the
Elf said, then was silent.

Upon his stilled tongue came the inevitable hush over
the room, with his second tale complete and no sign of the
Arch-Inquisitor, it appeared that none of the gathered spectators
knew what to do next.
'After all that you had been through to hunt
him down, you just let him live?' Sykes finally asked, growing
irritated by the lack of command. He'd risk the Inquisitor's wrath if
it meant taking the initiative and keeping the Elf talking.
El-Vador
shrugged at Sykes, 'The Orc wiped out my entire family with his
destructive ways, I believe it was fair to leave him in agony for all
he had perpetrated upon my people.'

'How do you know that he didn't somehow survive to come
after you?'

The Elf smiled at him enigmatically, infuriating Sykes
further. 'I know. Perhaps I shall tell you in time.'

The guard captain looked around him, the Magi were still
tense. Apparently the willingness of the creature to weave his
stories had not eased their caution any.

'Your tale took many an hour to recite, where is the
Arch-Inquisitor?'

'I have prevented your Arch-Inquisitor from arriving
until a much later time. Had you a proficient means with which to
analyse it at your disposal you would discover why this is so.'

'What have you done with the Arch-Inquisitor?' bellowed
one of the Magi, losing his patience entirely with the Elf.

The conical structure encasing the creature blazed with
a violent and blinding blue, then settled. 'Do not test my patience,
wizard. Your paltry conjurer's tricks will not encase me permanently,
of that I assure you. For every demand and every goading remark, I
will enact my own special variety of retribution.'

A shiver passed up the spine of Sykes, even wrapped in
energies and powerless to hurt them, the thought of future
retribution from a seemingly ageless being seemed a curse that would
forever dog them.

'Have you another tale that you are placing in order as
you speak to us?' he probed, hoping to take the Elf's mind away from
unleashing his power upon the Magi present.

'Have you ever considered a career in diplomacy, Sykes?
It is much like your current position, with the need to whisper the
right silken words in the ear holes of those few that can provide the
correct outcome.'

Sykes controlled his anger this time, refusing to be
baited by the creature any longer and hoping to diffuse the
situation. 'I am a soldier, sir. I will remain a soldier, as silken
words are designed for those who are apt at wielding them. Judging
from the quality of your previous tale your own words have left much
to be desired. I have yet to see the malevolent force that sits
before me.' He couldn't believe he had taunted the creature so. It
was almost as if they weren't his words, that they had been wrenched
from him purposefully in order to incriminate him.

El-Vador responded accordingly, baring his teeth in
something that seemed to alternate at will between snarl and smile.
'So be it, my humble diplomat. You want a tale of bloodthirsty power
unleashed? I shall tell you a third tale of my travels, when I ceased
wandering powerlessly through the frozen tundra of the north and
finally came upon my first Orcish settlement. I would urge the
scribes to ready themselves but undoubtedly they stand poised as I
speak.'

As if he had given the order, the sound of parchment and
quills filled the room.

'My third tale is not of Sarvacts, but of one of his
minions. Blood flows thicker than both water and wine, and no skein
could wash away the memory that I had forever ingrained upon him.'

For the third time of asking, El-Vador began to speak.

In
terms of an intriguing narrative, it is troublesome attempting to
construct one based on the endless white-wash of snowy peaks that the
harsh north consisted of. Few readers would wish to hear of my
endless lonesome trek through the barren stretches with nothing but
the voice from the cave for company.

The
first two volumes were of a youth being torn from his familiar
surroundings and placed gradually into a life of cynicism and
disconnection. Where there are no room for bonds of loyalty and trust
and love between companions and everything is permeated with the cold
and alien confusion of the displaced shivering his way through a
series of uncontrollable situations.

I
am a believer in destiny, I would have been driven to insanity long
ago were I not, and this volume is the first in which I really begin
to take control over matters surrounding me.

T
he sun burnt a faded orange as it melted
across the skyline, evaporating the effects of winter's frost before
slowly collapsing behind the hills that dotted the horizon. General
Harg watched it crawl patiently through the cloudless evening, as
unchanging in its permanence as the inevitable stack of sheets he
knew he must return to.

Life was much simpler but a year before, when he was a
willing subordinate in the Orcish army that invaded the north. Your
orders were given and you carried them out, there were no further
concerns beyond what the next meal would be and whether the pickings
of the corpses would be slim.

He knew in a sense that it was a romanticized vision
that he taunted himself with, now that he was trapped deep in the
earth in a place he had vowed never to return to. That one false
stroke and it could well be his corpse being looted and sent back to
the muck from which it had been spawned. Or worse, he could have been
left a cauterized cripple like many he had seen before, not dead
enough to appease family honour yet not capable of enjoying what was
left of an honourable discharge from the forces.

After the massacre in the north he had been forced to
recover the body of his young cousin, Gurgash. The boy's first outing
and he'd joined the muck, while Harg with nearly twenty more years of
service under his belt had survived.

He had searched for survivors then, in an attempt to
wring information out of the events surrounding the boy's death. What
was usually a perfunctory exercise turned out to defy all belief, he
had searched for many a mile for news from the others that had fled
and had found none. As far as he knew, he was the only one to return
from the north.

There had been rumours that Sarvacts had somehow made it
out of the blinding explosion Harg had narrowly avoided, but they
were suspect at best. They painted the Orc as a recluse who had been
haunted by failure and had taken up residence in an old fortress
overlooking a human village. These were not the actions of the
General he once knew and little more than a fantasy that he easily
dismissed.

He had been called to stand witness to the failure of
Sarvacts' efforts before the great leaders in their commune and he
had given them his complete report. That he knew not how the Elves
had swarmed down from the north was irrelevant, it was not the place
of a simple grunt to know such things. The retreat had been sounded
in his mind and none left living could gain-say him. It had been
assumed that the Elven armies had hit them on the counter and
destroyed their forces with unforeseen numbers, that the information
Sarvacts had received of the northern assault's success had been
written under duress. They couldn't explain the newly-formed crater
where their stronghold had once been, Harg had seen it with his own
eyes when he returned for his cousin's body.

Some force had destroyed everything that had once lived
in those northern reaches, and the entire area had been abandoned.
The bodies lay where they fell, the frozen wasteland covering and
entombing them. Harg refused to believe that there had been Elves
riding to their people's rescue.

If it had not been an army then, what was it?

He kept thinking back to the murderous light blazing in
the eyes of the child that Sarvacts had taken an inordinate interest
in, had this subjugated people possessed powers beyond their
reckoning? Why then had none of them survived?

Instead of raising questions he had kept his mouth shut,
he'd taken his promotion and he'd been shipped out to the quiet front
of the Orcish mounds that lay deep inside the earth. A comfortable
job for a sedentary life, paper-pushing his way into retirement with
all the honours of being the sole survivor. Scant consolation for the
memories that remained and the questions that ate away at him to this
day.

It was then that he noticed the encroaching darkness and
the chill that had seeped into his bones. For all his gripes about
wanting to be in the open air, he did not miss the cold nights they
had spent huddled together. The deep-heated stone held some
advantages in spite of its lack of freedom, and in his advancing
years he was forced to admit that a warm bed was a welcome sight.

Except when had passed through the tunnels and returned
to his quarters he was forced to delay his preparations for sleep.

A new guard that had been a recent appointment stood
rigidly to attention and snapped off a sharp salute in the dimly-lit
room, clutching papers to his chest so tightly that it seemed to Harg
as if he had trapped an errant bird and feared it taking flight.

'What tidings do you bring to me at this late hour?' he
asked, settling himself behind his desk but not offering the soldier
a seat for disturbing him at this forsaken time.

'I bring tidings from the north, General. The attacks on
our supply wagons have increased to the point that it now warrants
your attention sir. All efforts at protecting the cargo have failed,
we suspect a rogue group of bandits but none of our scouts can flush
out their location.'

Harg sighed, and pinched his ridges of his nose between
finger and thumb, briefly closing his eyes and cursing the
small-minded bureaucrat who lumped this nonsense upon him. 'Double
the protection surrounding the cargo and tell those scouts to keep
looking.'

The orders clearly didn't appease the soldier, who still
stood there awaiting dismissal. 'Sir, the scouts have informed me
that there are no tracks for them to follow and that finding such an
elusive target is all but impossible to them.'

Harg shrugged, wearying of this. 'Have the scouts join
the escort for the travelling convoy then, overwhelm these bandits
with sheer numbers. You're dismissed.'

He turned to make his way to bed and didn't bother
watching the man leave him in peace. He could feel the ominous tower
of papers that still remained on his desk, had this really become his
greatest enemy?

Harg's mind wouldn't let him rest as he settled into
bed, there was something about the attacks on the convoys that didn't
sit right with him. What bandits would dare encroach so deeply into
Orcish lands?

He finally slept, and all he dreamt of was the fury in
the young Elven boy's eyes.

This is no game, and the measures I have
employed are well-recognised by the desensitised minds of today's
youth. To them it is mere entertainment, a chronicle woven to
pleasure them vicariously as they sit in their hovels and beg for
more. This is no game, it is my life, my soul and my destiny poured
out for all to imbibe.

T
he
bow tightened, creaking slightly as he pulled the string back to his
ear and sighted the target. It was enough, the elusive deer bounded
off to safety at the sound and El-Vador muttered a curse under his
breath.

These
lands were much sparser than the frozen north, and showed signs of
civilisation without his catching sight of any housing or people to
corroborate his observations. That was until yesterday.

It
had been his first sighting of an Orc since Sarvacts, he hadn't known
how he would feel about such an encounter. Their corpses lay in stark
testament to the white hot rage that had taken over him as he killed,
leaving them rotting in the hot morning sun.

More
importantly they had rations with which to nourish his famished body,
their cargo was of little interest but clearly it indicated that an
Orcish settlement was nearby.

While
he may have overcome this ragged crew of merchants he was under no
illusions that he couldn't simply walk his way into one of the vast
burrows he had heard of and hope to live.