El-Vador's Travels (46 page)

It would be the last choice Harg would make.

The displacement that Salvarius had felt was palpable as
he made his way through the plains with the rest of the returning
Orcs. Harg had barely acknowledged him when he had finally returned
at the head of the company, as if he were an errant child that he
wished not to focus upon for a time.

It was all winding down in a strange sense of
alienation. Not the natural one he had felt from before but a more
blatant distancing from the Orcs themselves after judging the actions
of their General.

There was nothing more he could do, no distance that he
would not go to in order to save Harg from himself, the rest of these
judgemental green-skins could rot for all he cared.

The explosion of power took them all by surprise, he had
been forced to watch events unfold at a great distance, as Harg had
refused to select him to be part of the scouting group to ride out to
the tree line in the distance. Instead he had been relegated to a
more background role, maintaining vigil over the hopeless restoration
efforts of the remnants that these Orcs once called home.

He knew something had gone horribly wrong the moment the
darkened rent appeared in the skyline and shot outward. As the Orcs
around him gave up a great cry of dismay he squinted at it in the
gloom, trying to discern what it was he was watching.

It gushed upward like a liquid tree, branches stretching
back down into the earth to form strange roots of some description
that seemed to anchor it in place. Only these branches seemed to
vanish after a time, and their doing so caused an increasing
thickness within the strange trunk of night.

Salvarius called for a mount but none of the Orcs heeded
his command, so transfixed were they by this unnatural visage.

Then, as if sensing the terror of its foes, the
blackened arms of the tree surged out across the plain in great ropey
arcs and buried themselves into the chests of the screaming Orcs
surrounding him.

He watched on in horror as the blackness coated them and
sucked all life from them, leaving withered husks to be laid low by
the weight of their own armour.

As swiftly as it had occurred, nothingness now descended
upon the ghostly plains. Salvarius looked about him in disbelief at
the mass of bodies surrounding him and laughed, sinking to his knees.

They were dead, all of them were dead. Every last Orc
from this accursed burrow had lost its life. Somehow, against all
odds, the Elf had done it.

His laughter stilled when he realised where the gout of
power had come from. Harg had ridden off in that direction, demanding
that the Elf be brought back and punished for his crimes.

A chilling feeling began to settle in Salvarius's
stomach as he rushed over to a strangely docile mount and set off in
the direction of the forest at a gallop.

It hadn't been part of the deal, he was to let the Elf
escape and detonate the burrow after Harg had been safely guided away
from this travesty, but not to go back and kill all the remaining
Orcs as a result. Could he really trust the Elf after imprisoning
him? Had the Elf meant to do away with Harg even after receiving aid?

He spurred his mount onward with an increasing panic,
eating up the distance to the border of the forest. So swift was his
steed that he almost flew past the bodies.

Slowing to a canter, Salvarius slipped off and
immediately searched the surroundings. He was a soldier by trade, and
wasn't going to let petty emotion dictate his actions ahead of the
necessities of his training.

Nothing greeted him but silence, if any of the bodies
were alive or any opposition remained then they had long since
vanished from this place. It was too dark for him to discover a
trail, so instead he started picking through the remnants to confirm
what his heart already knew.

He came across the General shortly after. The Orc's
distinctive armour made him easy to spot, and Salvarius knew the
moment he turned the body over that his adoptive father was dead.

He didn't remember when dawn approached, or how his
throat had closed over as if on fire. The tracks were clear now
though, the faint trail of footprints and a cloak returning back into
the forest from whence they came.

The Elf had made his final mistake, in having the
audacity to go against him he had written his own fate. In leaving a
palpable trail with such disdain for care he had invited Salvarius
onward.

Rising with a cool rage growing ever within him, the man
left the bodies for carrion and pursued El-Vador.

There
is always choice. All that clouds us from this certainty is the
illusion of there being any lack of such choice. In my long journeys
I have been in situations far and wide that seem hopeless in their
degree of options available to me. At this point it then becomes
rather a choice of how to face such limited choices rather than the
choices themselves.

E
l-Vador awoke on a short-cropped
grassy plain, he blinked in the sun and roused himself groggily.
There was no instant alertness that he had grown accustomed to and
that in itself filled him with a strange trepidation.

Propped up on his shoulders, he stared out in wonder at
what his eyes informed him couldn't be possible.

The lake was huge beyond comprehension, and seemed to
extend permanently around the ground on which he stood, a large
hillock of unpopulated land that rose out of the water in a fashion
unlike any El-Vador had previously seen.

Was such a huge body of water possible? He had heard
tales from wandering trinket sellers of vast quantities separating
entire masses of land but he had dismissed them as fictitious. Now
that it was staring him in the face he had little choice but to
believe.

'I forgot that your kind were from the mountains, this
must be quite a shock to you.'

El-Vador jumped, reaching for a sword that wasn't there
and finding himself clad in thin robes of scarlet.

The man offered him a warm laugh and stretched a hand
out toward him, presumably to help the Elf to his feet. El-Vador
ignored it, which brought a shrug but no less of a smile.

'Where am I?' he asked, looking about suspiciously but
careful not to take his gaze too far from the man facing him.

'You are in the sanctuary of the Scarlet Brotherhood. My
name is Brother John.'

There was something about this human's genial attitude
that made El-Vador trust him even less, generally he considered
unwarranted joviality as a sign of something to hide. A cheap
mummer's trick to plaster over the cracks through which deception
would show.

'All initiates to our order start upon the grass, in
time they may work their way into the monastery. We do not
discriminate based upon racial identity or previous capabilities. We
would ask that you do the same.'

El-Vador decided to embark upon a different tack, if
this benevolent figure wasn't truly as agreeable as he seemed, he
would be hard-pressed to deny this simple question. 'I would like my
weapons back. Can you provide them for me?'

The Elf watched the face of Brother John very carefully,
yet there was not the slightest of ticks or flickers at the defiance
exhibited by his latest captive. If anything the man's smile had
broadened, as if an unexpected guest had strolled into his life to
rain sunshine and merriment upon him.

'Why of course! It has been some time since we have had
one such as you, by all means you may have your weapons returned to
you.'

The bow appeared from the cover of the man's robes and
was handed over to the Elf without hesitation, the fully loaded
quiver and sword soon followed. El-Vador checked them accordingly and
they seemed real enough, which made him ponder over how much space
was within the voluminous robes of this man.

'What is it that you plan to do with your weaponry now
that it has been bestowed upon you?'

For a time El-Vador considered drawing his sword and
threatening the man, but a warning voice cautioned him, bringing him
back to the forest and the ghastly savaging of the Orcish patrol that
had stumbled upon this being. It may well look like a man but it was
decked in the same colours as the small girl that had so easily
overcome him and presumably dispatched the Orcs.

No, brute force was not the way here, but there were
other avenues available for exploration should his host remain so
malleable.

'I'm going to leave for a time.' the Elf stated to his
robed colleague, studying his face once more for any changes in the
man's demeanour.

The slightest of shrugs was the only indicator he
received. 'Very well then, enjoy your walk. Our lessons can continue
at a later date.'

El-Vador wasn't listening, he had heard enough of this
man's prattle and instead chose to focus on what seemed of paramount
importance; escaping this island and returning to the Orcish lands
where he knew that some of Harg's people still remained.

The strange land was surrounded by stone and water
entirely on one side, and as he followed this broken wreckage of land
that slowly subsided into the blue nothingness the engulfing waters
followed. They somehow curved their way about the chosen path and
obstructed any further movement, lapping constantly against the rock
as if laying the earth before them under siege.

The realisation slowly dawned upon him after the third
such curving had brought him back the way he had come. This vast
watery expanse provided a barrier that prevented any escape on his
part, unless he were to sprout wings he was a captive at the whim of
Brother John and his unseen comrades.

It was as he tracked his way forth to the place he had
met the strange man that his Elven senses realised the totality of
his imprisonment.

The forests were silent, save for the breeze carrying a
strange tang from the huge waters. Not simply the silence of the
sleepy day that all nocturnal creatures share in but a deathly quiet
of an empty space. There was no birdsong and there were no insects
pervading the air, nor were there any woodland creatures of note that
he happened to chance across. This scant forest that separated the
hillock from the rest of the land was completely devoid of life.

He couldn't survive on this small and desolate land and
he now knew that he couldn't depart it, this left only one remaining
option.

Brother John remained where he had previously stood, if
the man had moved at all in the interim he gave no indication of it.

'I have returned.' El-Vador stated as way of gaining the
man's attentions.

'Back so soon, eh? I trust that you had an enjoyable
walk? Are you ready to begin our lessons?'

The man's attitude hadn't changed any, but somewhere
under that geniality the Elf knew that Brother John was entirely
aware of what was happening.

'I am ready. Where is it that you will take me?'

The man continued to smile and clapped twice, his eyes
not breaking contact with El-Vador's.

A rumbling sounded through the earth, cracks fractured
across the thin grass in a vaguely rectangular pattern, which in turn
gave way to a shaft of rock that stretched upward and out into the
sky. A single door stood etched in this impenetrable wall that had
risen, Brother John walked toward it unperturbedly and opened it. 'If
you'll follow me please.' the cloaked man said in a polite tone.

El-Vador wordlessly followed.

Every action,
every word and every sentence through which cohesion forms my
existence is integral in its nature, for a misspoken word here or a
false inflection could have changed the course of history. My time
with Brother John taught me this to a greater degree than any other
lecture.

T
he
stone monument shot down immediately after El-Vador had set foot
within the door of the structure, burying him deep within the earth
once again and out of sight of the sun's cold rays.

They
arrived shortly afterwards, the strange structure opening its doors
once again to an ancient-looking corridor dimly lit and overlooking a
vast stone valley. The cool air sent a shiver up El-Vador's spine,
but after the depths of the Orcish burrow he had grown accustomed to
such places.

From
this high point he could see a series of cowled figures making their
way in a line across the floor of the valley in the distance. He knew
not their purpose or reason but they seemed driven in their
footsteps. Even at this distance he could perceive the eroded rock
and crumbling stone of the giant cave that housed them. Age had not
been kind to this withdrawn and secluded place.

A
second hooded figure greeted them as they stepped clear of the
monument. The figure inclined its head slightly at Brother John and
then continued to walk in the direction of the valley.

Silently
he was led down a flight of rough-cut stone steps and onto the floor
of the valley itself. It took multiple descents to reach the ground
below, with each landing presenting multiple passageways to traverse
that were not taken. El-Vador's keen ears could hear snippets of
sound and conversation echoing from deep within them, though he could
never quite tell what was being said.