VIII
The terrain was anything but easy. The sharp slopes of the valley were punctuated by boulders and rocky outcroppings, its heavy expanse shrouded in laurel and hemlock. Above, at the edges of the ravine, large oaks, their dead leaves still clinging to the branches, were overshadowed by pines reaching into the slowly brightening sky, while below a small torrent of water pushed its way through the rocky creek bed that made up the base of the tiny valley.
The narrow confines made the sounds of his pursuit echo through the valley, each snapping twig and loosened stone amplified in its sound as he pushed his way through the thickets and the thick branches of the hemlocks. Each time he paused, he could still hear the rustling of vegetation ahead of him, evidence that his quarry had not gotten away yet.
"Gruumsh's eye!" Vratislav cursed, taking up his spear and pushing ahead once more. The racket of his movement was of no concern to him; indeed, he purposely broke branches and rustled the laurel as he moved, forcing the deer ahead of him even further. He had done this many times before; the youngest orcs involved in a hunt were given the unenviable position of flushing the game to the older hunters, a vital but thankless task devoid of any glory at all. His position was made even more difficult because he was the sole orc flushing the game; only the confines of the ravine, picked by Libor ostensibly for this very reason, kept the deer ahead of him from running in every direction and escaping the closing trap. Vratislav had not even seen the deer; the only way he could tell that he was still pursuing them was the constant rustle of the hemlock and laurel ahead of him. Four times he had flushed game for Libor and Zdeno to fell; four times the deer had escaped around the sides of the lone orc flushing them. This time, the ravine had to keep them contained. Another night of going to sleep hungry would likely drive the orcs mad.
"It will drive me mad, at the least," Vratislav grumbled under his breath. Libor and Zdeno ate first; it was their right as older orcs, more glorious warriors, and better hunters. It made no difference that he was only one orc trying to hold the deer ahead. If the hunt was unsuccessful, his rations were forfeit to the stronger. To accentuate his point, and to keep the deer ahead of him, the young orc snatched up a large stone and hurled it ahead of him, up the ravine, before continuing his pursuit.
A sudden cry went up ahead of the orc, familiar enough as Zdeno's voice. The cry made Vratislav hurry, the thought of feasting on a fresh kill renewing his energy. He raced down into the creek itself, rushing forward until the tiny stream widened into a shallow, rocky brook that rose up to his knees as he followed his prey. The brook widened to the point that a tiny, rocky island, covered in a stand of white birch, split the waterway. Just before the creek widened at the island, Libor and Zdeno had already broken cover, the chieftain cocking his arm back to hurl a second javelin at their prey.
Vratislav cried out in victory as well as he saw their quarry. Two does were springing away down the river, their white tails bobbing as they ran, but the third, a large buck with a wide spread of antlers, had turned erratically into the birch on the island. One javelin was still in its side, and its neck bled from a second wound where another shaft had likely been torn out of the flesh. Libor rushed into the river, the water coming up to his thighs, before he loosed his javelin, striking the stag in its hind leg.
"Don't let him go!" Vratislav shouted, grabbing for one of his own javelins as he closed in on the wounded deer. Zdeno hurled himself forward at his prey with a large knife in his hand, pulling the injured beast down by its antlers and lunging for the throat with his blade. Vratislav hurried, hoping against hope for the killing blow, but Libor was far too close to outrun. With Zdeno already holding the animal down, Libor's spear struck true, piercing its heart and stopping its struggles almost instantly.
"We eat well tonight!" Zdeno declared, standing and wiping the water from his face. "Well done, boy!"
"Finally," Vratislav said. Then he turned to the warrior. "Next time, you flush the game, and I'll bring it down."
"When you earn the right, whelp," Zdeno growled. Vratislav snarled faintly, but remembered his place and lowered his head.
"Be proud of what you've done," Libor said, quickly coming between the two. "You are young, Vratislav. Soon it will be your turn to lead the hunt."
"I apologize," Vratislav said quietly. "It is frustrating to work alone, that is all."
"I know," Libor said. "That is why we will hunt in ravines, to give you the aid of the land."
Vratislav nodded, still not quite pleased with the situation.
"Now butcher the animal," Zdeno ordered, tossing his knife to the younger orc. Vratislav batted the blade aside, his fury growing, before Libor stopped him.
"Remember your place," the chieftain ordered, growing stern himself. "You are youngest. You have the least glory, the least trophies, and the fewest wives. You know our ways."
Vratislav growled for a moment, baring his tusks, but finally backed down.
"I know our ways," the younger orc conceded. He looked past Libor to Zdeno. "But I am still a warrior of the tribe."
"Yes, you are," Zdeno agreed. "Now do your job as a young warrior."
Vratislav growled again, but turned and angrily addressed the work at hand. Wishing that it was Zdeno's neck under his blade, the warrior drew his knife and slit the deer's throat, letting the blood wash out into the creek. Next he wrestled the deer up against one of the birches, but found himself helped in his endeavor by Libor himself. As the chieftain and the young warrior worked together to tie the deer over a low branch, the chieftain nodded to him.
"You are a warrior of the tribe," he agreed. "And you will have plenty to occupy you in days to come as our youngest warrior."
"Thank you," Vratislav said, grinning in appreciation of the chieftain's aid. As the two fought to bring the deer up, Zdeno grumbled under his breath, finally moving to help the others.
"We may as well all do the work of women," the berserker muttered. "After all, we are all warriors of the tribe."
"How much farther will we have to travel?"
"As long as we must," Libor answered absently, chewing on one of the ribs he had taken from their cooking fire. Zdeno snorted faintly in amusement, but said nothing as he sliced another chunk of meat from the roasting deer and began to devour it.
"I mean, how much longer until we find the elves?" Vratislav clarified, leaning back slightly from their meager circle of light. The younger orc wiped his hands on his pants before taking a cut of the deer for himself. Libor thought for a moment, considering the answer.
"They are to the north, along the river," the chieftain said. "I do not think we will be more than a few days away."
"Good," Zdeno said, his voice muffled by a large piece of venison. "Then we can kill them and get the spear back."
"And what if they don't have the spear?" Libor asked. Zdeno stopped chewing, considering the possibility.
"Then… why are we going to the elves?" the berserker asked. Libor turned to him.
"They were the last ones to have Krvavi Puet," the chieftain explained. "It does not mean that they still have it."
Zdeno paused for a long moment before spitting out a chunk of bone on the ground.
"And I thought this would be a simple raid," the berserker grumbled.
"So we take a prisoner and beat the information from him," Vratislav assumed. "And then we will know where the spear is."
"I do not think just any elf will know the location of Krvavi Puet," Libor said, examining the meat left on his rib. He took a bite as Zdeno and Vratislav looked to each other uneasily.
"Then… what are we to do?" the younger warrior finally asked.
"We parley," Libor said. He examined the rib in his hands one more time before tossing it into the fire. Again Zdeno and Vratislav exchanged apprehensive glances.
"And the elves will just help us?" Zdeno finally asked skeptically.
"No elf would help strengthen the orcs," Vratislav added. "They will kill us before they aid us in any way."
"We will parley," Libor reiterated. "The elves are cowardly, hiding in trees and shooting with bows, but they will not attack until we do."
"They will descend on us in waves and shoot at us until we bristle with their arrows!" Zdeno corrected. "We must have a better plan than this, Libor!"
"We will parley," Libor stated a third time. His amber eyes, stern and commanding, silenced Zdeno before he could voice any further opposition. "We will find the elves and show them that we come in peace."
Zdeno paused for a long moment, his eyes locked onto his leader as he mulled the plan over in his mind. Finally he stood, throwing aside his unfinished meal as he strode off into the darkness beyond the fire's light.
"Just walk into their territory and speak to them," the berserker said to the trees and he disappeared from view. "Of course. Why not?"
As Zdeno vanished, Vratislav turned back to Libor as the chieftain removed another hunk of meat from the roasting carcass.
"Do you think they will let us live long enough to parley?" the young warrior asked. The idea of speaking to, rather than attacking, the elves was simply something he had never considered since their departure from Bijelo Polje. Libor shrugged.
"I know that killing them will bring us no closer to Krvavi Puet," the chieftain explained, carefully slicing the meat in his hands to neat ribbons. "We can slaughter every elf in their forest and come no closer to finding it. We must discover what they know, and doing so will not be accomplished through combat."
"Zdeno does not agree with you," Vratislav pointed out, looking to the darkness. The berserker was still grumbling under his breath as he stomped through the underbrush. Libor smirked faintly.
"Zdeno is dramatic," the chieftain said. "He will be back before long."
Vratislav nodded hesitantly, taking a final cut of the roasting deer for himself as he watched the darkness. Zdeno, still hidden in the night, could nonetheless be heard grumbling curses and snapping the underbrush under his bulk. After a moment Vratislav looked back to the chieftain.
"Do you think they will help us?" the young warrior inquired.
"I do not know," Libor answered with a shrug. "But fighting with them will gain us nothing."
Vratislav hesitated for a long moment, considering the words. All orcs knew instinctively that any problem could be solved through combat. It was the very basis of their society.
But then again, elves were not orcs.
"How far have we traveled?"
"We are far north of the Bloody Fist's territory," Libor answered, looking up at the mountains to the northwest. A week of travel had brought the trio through heavy forest; taking time to forage and hunt had cost them dearly in time, slowing their progress with trial and error. Hunting in the future would be easier; with only three orcs, hunting was slow, time consuming, and, as they had discovered, required the use of the terrain to herd the deer effectively into the hunters' trap. Time, however, was something that they did not have in plentiful supply; even now the weather grew colder at night, forcing the orcs to huddle close together against the brutal winds of the coming winter.
"We have crossed into Flayed Skull territory," Zdeno assumed, taking stock of the terrain. "If they find us, they will wish the glory of killing the chieftain of the Bloody Fist."
"They will not stop us," Libor stated, shouldering his heavy spear once more as he led the way down a rocky slope. At the bottom, a tiny creek, its edges already covered by fragile patches of ice, wound through the rocks.
"I didn't say we would," Zdeno agreed, a trace of amusement in his voice. "But the time it will take us to kill all the warriors of their tribe will detract from our time with the elves."
"Perhaps we should have avoided their lands altogether," Vratislav offered, hoping he did not sound at all frightened of the upstart Flayed Skull. "Battle will cost us time we do not have."
"As would detours," Libor explained, slowing for a moment as he studied a small, rocky rise ahead of them. "We will not provoke them, but we will not back down from them."
"At least there will be some glory to be had," Zdeno chuckled, shouldering his axe as he took the lead from the chieftain. Libor started up behind him. For a moment Vratislav simply rested on his spear, taking the moment to recover from the long march. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, looking back over the long road they had already traveled.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.
"Chieftain!" the young warrior hissed, crouching slightly and readying his spear. Behind them, almost a hundred yards through the thinning cover of the trees and laurels, other orcs made their way across the trail Libor had followed. There were no less than six, the first in line carrying a long, curved bow that could only be a trophy from a battle against elves. They were not on guard, bunched up and talking just loud enough to be heard, but any sudden movement could easily grab the small party's notice. Behind him, Zdeno slid back down the slope, painfully loud to Vratislav on the damp fallen leaves.
"We're not alone," the berserker noted, a faintly enthusiastic tone to his voice. "I did not think Kazatimiru's warriors were so brave to travel in such a small group."
"We are not here to attack them," Libor admonished him, watching the group from Vratislav's right. "We do not need-"
The chieftain fell silent as the bow wielding orc stopped suddenly, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"What is it now, Suljo?" one of the orcs demanded behind the bow wielder.
"He's found the entire Bloody Fist," another of the orcs sniped, leaning on his spear. Vratislav crouched down lower, carefully taking cover behind a clump of bare shrubs. The bow wielder said something that Vratislav could not hear, but he could assume that the orc had somehow spotted their tracks in the damp earth.
"They've discovered us," Zdeno whispered, eager for battle.
"They have not yet," Libor countered, taking cover himself. Zdeno dropped slightly lower, but by the time he reluctantly glanced around him for a place to hide, the bow wielder had already turned in their direction.
"There!" the archer exclaimed. The other five turned as their comrade pointed, easily seeing Zdeno.
"Now they have seen us!" Zdeno snarled, standing and raising his axe.
"Kill him!" one of the orcs exclaimed, lowering his spear and charging. With a roar of battle lust, four of his companions joined him, crashing through the brush after their apparent lone target. Behind them, the archer drew an arrow and fired, catching Zdeno in the shoulder just as the massive berserker roared his own war cry and charged forward.
"Vratislav! The archer!" Libor commanded. Vratislav's eyes went wide in rage, but before he could protest his mission the chieftain bellowed in rage and stormed out of his concealment, bearing down on the five charging enemies even as the archer drew and fired a second time.
Vratislav hurried through the underbrush, cursing his status as the least among the orcs and having to deal with the cowardly threat of an archer. He was certain that such a fore would throw his bow down and flee as soon as he saw the enemy upon him, refusing to fight in glorious hand to hand combat. His arrows, however, struck true, two sticking in Zdeno and another ripping a jagged line of blood across Libor's face as the pair met the charge of the other orcs.
Vratislav broke cover and howled in a battle cry of his own, letting his fury take him as he drove in on his craven enemy. The archer threw down his bow, but to his surprise the orc drew a pair of axes from his belt, throwing his long hair back as he rushed forward to meet his fate. Vratislav lowered his spear and surged forward, ready to impale the surprisingly brave archer and get rid of him before Libor and Zdeno could finish with the rest of the combatants.
To his surprise, the archer dropped low under his spear and slashed up with both axes, nearly tearing the young warrior open with a double strike of his weapons. Vratislav drove past him and spun quickly, ignoring the gouges in his leather jerkin, keeping with the axe wielder as he spun and continued his attack. Vratislav knocked one axe away only to catch the other in his side, but the pain of the wound only spurred him to more vicious assaults. Ramming forward with his spear, he scored a wound through the studs of his enemy's blackened leather armor, but the warrior paid dearly for his move as the archer spun and slammed one axe back into the same wound he had inflicted a moment earlier before spinning away and once again trying to slide behind the warrior. Again Vratislav turned, and again he managed to strike a minor wound to his foe, but each thrust of his spear opened his already wounded flank to the archer's axe. The same spin around his spear crushed ribs this time and opened his wound further. With blood now soaking his side and pain shooting through him with each step, the young warrior drove forward in a rage, slamming away at his enemy's defenses. Each spear thrust aggravated his wound, but Vratislav continued nonetheless, scoring only the most minor of hits against his enemy as his life poured away through his side.
A second roar of fury entered his fight. Libor was suddenly on the devious archer, his spear tearing through the foe's armor and flesh alike. The archer roared in pain and tried to turn on his new attacker, but Vratislav seized the advantage, driving forward and nearly spinning his enemy around with the force of his blow. The archer collapsed under the combined assault, Vratislav's spear still embedded in his chest as he hit the ground. Vratislav tore his spear free, ready to strike the killing blow, but Libor knocked the weapon aside before he could finish the orc.
"Enough!" the chieftain declared. "He is defeated!"
"He is still alive!" Vratislav challenged, raising his spear to strike again. Libor's weapon was suddenly at the younger warrior's throat, its bloodied tip ready to tear out his throat.
"As were you, when I left you alive," the chieftain pointed out. Vratislav glared in rage at his leader. Zdeno, shouldering his axe, looked past the pair.
"Then what do we do with him?" the burly warrior asked. Libor ignored the question, taking stock of the badly wounded orc.
"A scout," the chieftain said. "And a good one."
"He was mine," Vratislav growled, looking past the chieftain. The prisoner spat out a derisive chuckle.
"You would be dead, boy, if not for your chieftain," he retorted. Vratislav raised his spear with an indignant growl, but Libor raised a hand.
"Let the boy send him off to the feast halls," Zdeno said. "We cannot take a prisoner, and we do not want any!"
"No," Libor said. He turned to the berserker. "Zdeno, chop wood for a travail. Vratislav, find cord or vines to bind him."
"We don't need him!" Zdeno tried again. Vratislav opened his mouth to speak, but Libor's cold glare stopped him.
"Do what I say," the chieftain ordered. Neither orc moved to obey. "Now!"
Vratislav looked to Zdeno. The berserker scowled heavily, but finally moved to find wood for a travail. Without any further recourse, the younger orc moved to follow his own orders.
As they left, Libor turned back to the badly wounded orc on the ground.
"When the first opportunity presents itself," the prisoner began, "I will kill you, Bloody Fist."
Libor leaned down over the orc, his spear held at the captive's throat.
"We shall see."
For over an hour they had dragged him, bouncing painfully along the ground. His legs past his thighs hung off the end of the crude travail they had constructed, while his hands were bound to the top of the wooden litter. The trip was humiliating as well as painful; no matter the threats or insults, Libor Bloody Fist refused to grant him the honor of a warrior's death.
Suljo glared across their campsite as Zdeno and Vratislav settled down, their fire crackling before the last lights of day disappeared from the horizon. Neither one spoke as they settled in, breaking out salted and dried venison for a meager dinner around the fire's warmth. Forced to lie down by his bindings, Suljo simply glared off into the darkening forest, refusing to beg for food after the indignities he had already suffered at the hands of the Bloody Fist.
"What is your name?" Libor asked. The scout looked back, a cold glare in his amber eyes as he met the chieftain's gaze.
"I would answer you, after what you have done to me," Suljo countered. He spit weakly on the ground at the rival chieftain's feet, although he doubted the insult would push the odd orc over the edge.
"You are hungry?" Libor inquired. "Perhaps food and a little water will loosen your tongue."
Suljo simply turned away from the chieftain, searching the trees for some method of escape, or at least a way of dying in combat against one of the most feared orcs of the Khairathi Mountains.
A sharp blade bit into his wrist. Suljo flinched, but his grunt was borne more of surprise than pain as he felt the crude bindings around his hands fall away. The scout slowly, painfully lifted himself into a sitting position, rubbing his wrists absently for a moment.
"You wish to let me fight you?" he asked, looking expectantly for his axes.
"No," Libor replied. Behind him, both Vratislav and Zdeno watched the two of them, surprise written across their faces. "You would be no challenge with your wounds. You can barely stand."
"I will stand, to fight one last time," Suljo promised, trying to rise to his feet. Barely he made it, nearly falling back against a tree as he nonetheless tried to assume a fighting stance. "Give me my weapons and I will show you what the Flayed Skull is made of."
"Not much," Zdeno stated simply. "Five of you fell easily enough."
"But not me!" Suljo roared, lurching forward. He would have fallen if Libor had not grabbed him, lowering him down to the ground as spasms of pain rocked him from his wound. "Let me fight, and be done with this humiliation!" the scout wheezed, taking a weak swing at the chieftain. Libor let him go, and he toppled to the ground, further aggravating his injuries.
"You are a scout," Libor assumed, sitting the orc up against a tree.
"I can still fight," Suljo said.
"Yes, you can," Libor agreed. "Better than your fellow tribesmen, it would seem."
"Not well enough to earn me a good death, though," Suljo concluded. Libor smirked at the remark.
"Not yet," the chieftain said. "I need you."
"We don't need him," Zdeno corrected him from the other side of the fire. Libor shot a cold warning glance over his shoulder, to which the larger orc snorted in disgust.
"Why would I help you?" Suljo asked. "You are the Bloody Fist. I would gain much glory from your death."
"But you would gain even more glory standing with me," Libor explained. Suljo let out a scornful laugh.
"I will not betray my tribe for you, or for anyone," the scout declared. "Kill me now, for I will not fight the Flayed Skull for you."
"I do not ask you to fight the Flayed Skull," Libor said. Suljo turned a questioning look to his captor. "I ask you to seek out something far more important than a simple raid against your own tribe."
"And what would that be?" Suljo asked, skeptical. Libor turned away from him for a moment, but the scout could not find the strength, or the initiative at the moment, to leap on the orc's back and strangle him. When the chieftain returned, he held Suljo's long bow in his hands.
"This was made by elven hands," Libor assumed, handing the weapon to Suljo.
"I took it in combat, against a pair of the treacherous little creatures," the scout said. "They tried to hide in the trees and kill me from a distance, but I was able to close and strike them down with my axes before they could kill me." Suljo stopped, gesturing to a trio of scars in his chest, nearly marred by the new spear wound he had taken. "Three arrows, and they still could not stop me."
"You prove yourself a capable fighter and scout," Libor said. Suljo nodded, regaining his suspicion of his captor in the wake of his story.
"As I said, not well enough to earn a good death," the scout stated. Libor chuckled ever so faintly.
"Your chance may yet come," the chieftain said. "I wish you to take me to the elves of Argent."
"And why would you search out the elves?" Suljo inquired. Libor's smirk returned.
"I believe they know where I can find Krvavi Puet," the chieftain answered. Suljo stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he looked past the orc to the others. Vratislav shrugged helplessly. Zdeno gave a halfhearted nod of assent.
"You're mad," the scout finally managed.
"You're not the first to say that," Zdeno remarked.
"I have defeated you in combat," Libor said, ignoring the larger orc. "By rights your life is now mine. Search out Krvavi Puet with me, and see your glory soar to undreamed of heights. Or linger here, bleeding to death slowly, unarmed and helpless, as winter closes in on you."
Suljo could barely formulate a reply to the Bloody Fist's offer. He looked past the chieftain again, to his companions, but neither of them offered any advice in their expressions or gestures.
"What… what makes you think I will not simply take up my bow and axes and kill you?" the scout tried, fumbling for some kind of answer.
"Your honor," Libor answered simply. The reply stung him too much to deny it.
"I will not fight the Flayed Skull," Suljo warned. "I will not turn against my tribe."
"With luck, we will not even see them," Libor said, nodding in agreement to the term.
"When we reach the elves, my debt to you is done," Suljo pressed. Libor smiled.
"We shall see," the chieftain said. Suljo looked to the others one more time.
"I am hungry," the scout said.
"What is your name?" Libor asked.
"Suljo, proud warrior of the Flayed Skull," the orc replied, puffing out his chest faintly in pride.
"Share our fire, Suljo of the Flayed Skull," Libor offered, stepping aside. Suljo hesitated only a moment longer before he staggered to the warmth of the fire and joined the others.
