IX
"Your wound pains you?"
"Does yours?" Vratislav asked defensively, looking ahead to Suljo. The enemy scout, leaning on his bow, had stopped to appraise the younger orc's progress as they made their way up the craggy slopes of the Khairathi Mountains. Although he refused to show it, Vratislav was grateful for the pause. The wounds Suljo had inflicted upon him still dripped blood faintly, but he was determined to show no pain or weakness in the face of this rival.
"Yes, my wound pains me," Suljo admitted, the ghost of a smirk on his face. He nodded to the bloodstained bandages covering Vratislav's side. "It bleeds again. We will stop."
"We do not stop," Vratislav ordered, moving again despite the pain in his flank. He shouldered past the scout, until Suljo shoved his hand into the younger orc's wound. Vratislav howled in pain and dropped to the ground as the scout dug his thumb into the worst of the injury, nearly blacking out. By the time he had regained his senses, Suljo was kneeling on his arm, holding him still as he opened the bandages.
"Your wound is open again," the scout observed, speaking calmly despite ducking a wild punch from Vratislav's free hand. "This must be addressed, or you will bleed out as surely as a stuck boar."
"Get off of me, female!" Vratislav snarled, trying to kick the opposing orc from him. Suljo laughed at the remark rather than flying into a rage.
"I have been called far worse, whelp," the scout said. "But I know more about healing wounds than you know about causing them. Now lie still, and I will make certain that you are ready to fight!"
"My next battle will see the end of your unscarred ways, woman!" Vratislav snarled. Behind the two of them, Libor and Zdeno had paused, but made no move to aid him.
"I am certain I would make a good, child bearing wife, and all of those insults," Suljo guessed, opening the pouch at his side and taking some herbs from it. "This would be over already without your thrashing, boy. Hold still!"
"Listen to the woman, Vratislav," Zdeno offered with a broad grin. Vratislav growled out a curse to the berserker, but the futility of fighting further against his opponent finally outweighed his humiliation at the situation. With the younger orc finally still, Suljo was true to his word, and he quickly wrapped Vratislav's wound once more. As Vratislav remained on the ground, the scout slowly dragged himself to his feet, taking a moment to check his own injury before he turned to Libor.
"Has it opened?" the chieftain inquired. Suljo shook his head.
"For now, it appears that I am fine," he answered. He looked back to Vratislav. "But we should take some rest, or the boy will be of no use to you in battle."
"I thought that would make you happy," Zdeno put in, leaning on his axe. Suljo turned a scornful smile on the berserker.
"I have agreed to lead you away from the Flayed Skull, and so I have," the scout stated, turning to Libor. "You will not see my tribe here. Not this close to winter, at any rate."
"Whose territory is this?" Libor asked, glancing around the craggy ridges. The trees had thinned slightly in the rocky, uneven terrain, while the slope now turned far steeper, running uphill to their west, into the heart of the range.
"This is Zivadin's territory," Suljo said, sitting down against a thick, old hemlock. He chuckled faintly as his gaze swept out over the inhospitable land. "No one else would want this place, anyway."
"Who is Zivadin?" Libor asked, curious. Suljo paused for a moment, looking to the chieftain, before breaking into a half smile.
"Zivadin, the hermit," the scout explained. "Several years ago he was part of the Spine Breaker tribe. We defeated them in a battle not far from here, two years ago now. It was only my second large battle, but I did well that day. Six orcs fell to my arrows before they had even realized battle was joined."
"A coward's way of fighting," Vratislav grumbled, gingerly feeling his injury. Suljo turned a grin to the younger orc.
"Six more fell to my axes, just as you did," the scout continued. "Only, their chieftain was not there to rescue them that day."
"I'll finish you right now!" Vratislav roared, jumping to his feet and grabbing at his spear. The younger orc only barely reached his feet when the pain of his wound forced him to stop, clutching at his side even as he tried to straighten.
"Enough, Vratislav," Libor growled, warning off the younger orc. Vratislav backed down, trying to keep the pain of his injuries from showing through as he slumped back to the ground. Suljo, who had barely moved, turned back to the chieftain. "So this Zivadin did not die in battle?"
"No," Suljo replied. He shrugged. "Some say he is tainted. That he channels the earth itself into his attacks, striking with unnatural strength and shrugging off blows that should have felled him. Some even said that he could command the earth around him to do his bidding, driving down a hail of stone or calling the earth to attack his enemies."
"Many are the tales of warriors favored by their tribes," Zdeno said, scoffing at the idea. "The Cruel Blades had much to say about Dainis' strength and fury, until Ondrej defeated him."
"I had heard that it was a summoned elemental, and not an orc, that finished Dainis," Suljo noted. Zdeno scowled at the scout.
"Ondrej defeated Dainis in single combat," the berserker explained coldly. "Not some mound of rocks. And that was the end of the so called strongest orc in the Khairathis."
"I see," Suljo said, nodding faintly. He turned to Libor. "And Ondrej did not think Krvavi Puet was worth finding?"
"Ondrej leads the Bloody Fist while I am gone," Libor replied. Suljo nodded.
"A loyal friend," the scout observed. "Especially if he is to give up his power once you return. I know of few orcs that would give up such a position once it was attained."
"What of this Zivadin?" Libor pressed, leading the conversation away from the issue of leadership.
"I have not seen him in well over a year," Suljo answered. He shrugged. "Maybe he has starved to death."
"Do you know where his camp is?" Libor asked. Suljo turned back to the chieftain, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"Perhaps," he replied. "It is to our west, on a craggy ridge. Why?"
"I would like to meet this Zivadin," Libor answered, looking off to the west.
They had made camp well before the sun set. With the terrain becoming tougher and Vratislav and Suljo both wounded, Libor had decided not to press the march.
Suljo, without a word, had undertaken most of the chores of making camp, either understanding his position as a prisoner or due to the fact that his skills were suited for such a task. He had quickly chosen a tiny clearing shielded on most sides by heavy hemlocks, gathered kindling and some fuel wood, and started their fire before the sun had reached the horizon. Now, in the last lights of the day, the scout sat apart from the others, leaving Zdeno and Libor alone with the fire while Vratislav, exhausted from his wounds and the march, had already fallen asleep in his furs.
"He is an odd one," Zdeno remarked idly, chewing on a tough piece of salted venison as he watched the scout. Against the last rays of the sun, Suljo had cut down a thin hemlock sapling, chopping it into equal lengths that he had measured with one of his arrows. Now he painstakingly cleared each one of its thin bark with a light knife, occasionally sighting along its length for any blemishes. "What do you think he's doing?" the berserker inquired, watching as the scout tossed one of his branches aside unhappily.
"I don't know," Libor said quietly. He watched the scout for a moment longer, before finally standing and walking to the rocky outcropping. Suljo glanced up as he approached, but then went back to work as the chieftain watched. "When will we reach Zivadin?" he finally asked.
"Another day, maybe slightly longer," the scout answered, barely looking up from his work. He sighted down a new length of wood, then went back to work with his knife. "Not all that far, if we could fly."
Libor smiled faintly at the remark, watching as the scout rolled the branch in his hand.
"What are you doing?" the chieftain asked, curiosity getting the better of him at last.
"Making some new arrows," Suljo answered. "Hunting and fighting had cost me several already, and Zdeno broke another two in his hurry to finish my tribesmen."
"You make your own arrows?" Libor asked, surprised. Suljo nodded with a sardonic smile.
"Yes, I do," he answered, taking a copper arrowhead from his small pack. Libor watched as the scout carefully split the tip of the branch, just enough to fit the flat end of the arrowhead into it, then set it aside. "These won't be perfect, but they'll do for the time being."
"I would have thought you would have your bogalj do such a thing," Libor concluded, watching as the scout took a small length of sinew from his pack. Suljo looked up with a smirk.
"I did that once," he explained. "My arrows flew in every direction except where I aimed. Never again. I only allow old Milan to make my arrowheads now." He paused for a moment. "The poor bastard is almost blind now, anyway. Soon killing him would be the merciful thing to do."
"Most orcs would consider this beneath them," Libor observed. Suljo put down his work, his attention fully focused on the chieftain.
"Perhaps I am too pragmatic for you, chieftain," he stated, a defensive note in his voice. He gestured to the wilderness around them. "Besides, old Milan could not make the trip to do this for me. I need some way of making new arrows."
"You are very self sufficient," Libor noted.
"It is why I am a scout, not a warrior," Suljo explained. He shrugged. "Orcs will always need scouts. And I happen to be good at it."
"You know this land very well," Libor surmised, looking to the forest.
"I have covered much of it myself," Suljo said. "In the spring I travel alone sometimes, looking for signs of the other tribes."
Libor looked back to the scout, nodding.
"I wish you to journey with us, after we find the elves," the chieftain said quietly. "I will need you, if I am to succeed."
"What makes you think one of these arrows I craft is not for you?" Suljo inquired evenly. Libor snorted out a chuckle.
"Because you are pragmatic," the chieftain replied. "If I find Krvavi Puet, it will mean good fortune for all orcs, not just one tribe."
"Bold words, Bloody Fist," Suljo declared. Libor nodded in agreement.
"Words that none but a pragmatic orc would understand," the chieftain countered. Suljo's lips turned up into a smirk.
"You're rather cunning with your words," Suljo said, standing and dusting the wood shavings from his legs. "I'll remember that in the future. But for now, the hour grows late, and it's time for to recover from the injuries a pragmatic chieftain inflicted upon me."
The journey to Zivadin's home was far more difficult than he would have expected.
Libor paused for a moment, resting against his spear as he looked up the steep slope that led to the tainted orc's domain. Even nursing his injuries, Suljo moved quickly and efficiently up the rocky incline, so steep at times that the orcs could only continue by holding on to small trees or rocky outcroppings. At other times it levels off; here Suljo called for breaks, to catch their breath and to check his and Vratislav's lingering injuries. For the entire day they climbed slowly up into the heart of the Khairathi Mountains, using the incredible vistas offered by the peak they now climbed to search out the boundaries of orcish territories and the distant, oak and pine forest that the Argent elves called home. Below them, the crags and valleys of the eastern edge of the chain, where it butted against the human territory known as Tourant, still held some last traces of autumn colors where the deep greens of pines and hemlocks did not blot out the earth tones of the rocky ground.
"If only you had killed this orc when you had the chance," Zdeno grumbled, a few steps ahead of Libor and directly behind Suljo. "Then we wouldn't have to climb this mountain."
"It is your chieftain's idea to meet this orc, not mine," Suljo stated, calmly picking his way forward to a less severe slope. The scout stopped as he crested a small outcropping of rock, looking back to the others. "We can rest here, if you like."
"How much farther?" Libor inquired, trying to gauge the amount of light left in the day. Suljo looked west for a moment.
"We are very close," the scout answered. "As long as he has not moved his camp."
"How do you know where his camp is?" Vratislav asked, finally joining Libor from the rear of the troupe. Suljo smiled as he took his water skin from his pack.
"I don't, exactly," the scout answered. Vratislav's eyes went wide with rage. "But I do know the best place for a camp here. I had used it once before, when Kazatimiru wanted to kill the ogres that had raided our camp. If Zivadin is here, that would be his camp."
"And what if it isn't?" Vratislav demanded, angrily striding up the slope. Suljo grinned at the younger warrior.
"Zivadin will know we're coming," the scout explained. "The earth whispers to him, or so he claims."
"He's mad," Zdeno concluded, turning back to the chieftain. "We're searching for a lunatic."
"He would fit with this war party," Suljo commented. Vratislav turned on the scout with a snarl.
"We shall see," the chieftain decided, placing a hand on the young warrior's shoulder. Vratislav still seethed with anger at the rival orc, but would do nothing as long as Libor restrained him. "If it is not far, we will continue," he directed. Suljo nodded and stood.
The scout suddenly dove backward, only a heartbeat before a boulder slammed into the outcropping where he had been sitting. Suljo took cover beneath the outcropping, barely avoiding the projectile as it crushed the rocks beneath its impact and rolled down the hill.
"Giant!" Zdeno exclaimed, hefting his axe and rushing forward. The berserker could only be right; no other creature in the Khairathi Mountains could have attacked with such a weapon. The chieftain hefted his spear and rushed forward, but could see no giant even through the relatively thin cover of the trees ahead of them.
Another boulder suddenly appeared, seemingly winking into life in midair before it crashed through the remaining branches. Libor and Zdeno dodged in different directions as the huge rock smashed into the ground between them, hurtling down the slope with the force of the impact.
"Where is it?" Vratislav exclaimed, sprinting forward a few steps before taking cover behind a larger hemlock. "I don't see it!"
Libor strained to see through the dim forest, but finally caught sight of something moving through the trees. It turned quickly, with a throwing motion, and an instant later a third boulder crashed through the branches towards the orcs.
"It's no giant!" the chieftain shouted, pulling a javelin from his sheath and running forward. "It is only one person, just beyond the rise!"
Libor did not wait for his allies, instead scrambling up the incline and onto the flat land beyond. The shadow in the trees did not react with any fear; instead, the foe roared in bloodlust and charged forward, hefting a massive sword over his head as he raced headlong towards his opponent. Carried forward by his rage, Libor lowered his spear and surged forward, ready to meet the enemy head on.
The figure ahead finally came into view as they rapidly closed. Burly and naked to the waist despite the cold, the orc raised his sword over his head, bringing it down in a vicious chop on the ground with a bellow of fury.
Shockwaves ran out from the ground where the sword struck it, sending a great shudder through the earth to Libor. The chieftain was nearly thrown from his feet as the wave of force washed over him, but somehow he managed to keep his feet. Ahead, the strange orc knelt to the ground, placing one palm flat against the earth. As he did so, his skin darkened and hardened, impossibly turning to stone as he watched.
"Zivadin!" Suljo exclaimed suddenly, appearing over the outcropping behind the chieftain. Libor paused, spear raised and ready to attack. The strange, stone skinned orc stopped as well, turning to the speaker. "We are not here to fight, Zivadin," Suljo explained, hurrying to Libor's side. The stone skinned orc regarded him coldly.
"Then you do not belong here," Zivadin stated simply. Behind him, the ground moved faintly; Libor could just make out the outline of what could only be an elemental, albeit one far smaller than the monstrosity that Predrag had summoned during the spring to fight Oleksandr's Cruel Blade orcs. Suljo, for his part, seemed not to notice the thinly veiled threat or the small creature behind the tainted orc.
"This is Libor, the Bloody Fist," the scout said, gesturing to the chieftain. Zdeno and Vratislav joined the pair then, ready to attack but holding for their leader's word. "He wishes to speak to you."
"Many people wish many things," Zivadin said. "Why should I care what this orc desires?"
"Because he is chieftain of the Bloody Fist," Vratislav answered boldly, stepping forward. "The most powerful tribe of all the Khairathi Mountains!"
"I care nothing for them," Zivadin said. "Be gone from my mountain, intruders. Or the strength of the earth shall strike you down where you stand!"
"I'll strike you down, lunatic!" Vratislav threatened, raising his spear. Libor put out an arm to halt the impetuous young warrior.
"Fighting you does not help us, Zivadin," Libor said. "It does not help any orc. I only ask that you listen to what I say, and in the morning, we will leave your mountain."
Zivadin turned a cold glare on the chieftain for a long moment, staring him down. Libor refused to flinch, returning the stony gaze for as long as the odd orc dared to hold it. Finally, Zivadin turned away, striding back up the mountain without another word. As Libor turned back to him, Suljo shrugged.
"Might as well keep up, before we lose him," the scout suggested.
Zivadin led the way, if he was truly leading them, up through the craggy mountain ridges, never slowing or even looking back over his shoulder as Libor and the others followed. His trail wound up through increasingly thinner vegetation, until all that remained were scraggly, wind warped pines and tough underbrush, fighting for land with the increasingly bare, jagged stone of the mountain. The wind seemed to pick up as they gained altitude, its cold lash stinging the orcs' faces as they continued their ascent.
Zivadin finally came to a stop as his trail led to a diminutive plateau in the shadow of a large, jagged face of stone, overlooking the land to the north of his mountain. If not for the harsh weather, the eccentric orc's camp would have made a commanding position; the vista encompassed so much of the land around him that no orc or elf could have approached from east, north, or even much of the west. Without even acknowledging the other orcs, Zivadin entered his tiny encampment, disappearing into a small cave entrance set into the rock face. Libor hesitated a moment as Zdeno caught up to him.
"A gifted voice to rival even the Chosen," the berserker stated dryly. Suljo chuckled behind the pair.
"He has not collapsed the mountain on us," the scout said. He looked up at the sheer stone of the cliff. "Not yet, at least."
"I will speak with him," Libor declared as Vratislav finally reached the others. Without waiting for his allies, the chieftain ducked inside the tiny cave opening, half expecting a rock slide or a sword blade to greet his entry.
The tiny entrance forced Libor to stoop heavily, trying to fit inside the opening, but the cave that opened beyond the tight entrance was anything but small. The cave had been enlarged through tireless work into a chamber nearly twenty feet on a side and more than ten feet high, lit by a half dozen small brass lanterns of Tourant design. The furnishings were an eclectic mix of orcish hide work, human tables, and goblin built benches, topped off by an oversized armoire pushed up against the far side of the strange orc's home. Standing in the center of the chamber, Zivadin glared at Libor and the others as they carefully made their way into the cave.
"I have heard of you, Bloody Fist," the strange orc said. "The earth whispers to me, telling me of the great chieftain to the south. The earth tells me of the madness that overtakes you, Bloody Fist, to leave your tribe with winter upon you."
"Madness?" Suljo repeated, glancing to Libor. The chieftain did not answer the scout, his attention fixed on the orc in front of him.
"And what else has the earth told you?" he asked.
"That you would seek me out, for my aid," Zivadin answered. "You search for something that the earth may yet hide."
"A true seer," Zdeno grumbled, rolling his eyes.
"True enough to hear the earth tell of you, Zdeno the Fat," Zivadin retorted, turning to the berserker. Zdeno began to raise his axe, snarling in anger. Once again Libor held his tribesmen in check. "And of you, Vratislav the Boy. Two scars do not make a true warrior of the tribe, a lesson you shall learn."
"Enough!" Vratislav roared, trying to push past his chieftain. "We do not need this blustering fool and his insults!"
"I will decide what we need!" Libor snapped, pushing the young warrior back. He turned on his inhospitable host. "Be careful what you say of my brave orcs, exile," the chieftain warned. "I cannot and will not hold them back forever in the face of your disrespect."
"Then leave," Zivadin said. "I have no need of your company."
"I would have words with you," Libor countered. "As I said to you earlier."
"Then have words with me, Bloody Fist," Zivadin prompted. "And then begone!"
Libor paused a long moment, studying the strange orc.
"You have heard of Krvavi Puet," the chieftain assumed. Zivadin nodded.
"I was once a whelp, sitting at the feet of the crones," their host said. "Who among us does not know the name of the One Eye's spear?"
"I search for his spear," Libor explained. "I would have you aid me, and bring glory to all orcs."
"What do I care of all orcs?" Zivadin asked. "I am an exile, as you said. My tribe was defeated, and I have lost. Would you dare to bring down the ire of your One Eye for taking in such a dishonored orc?"
"Did it not occur to you that you lived for a reason?" Libor inquired, taking a step forward. Zivadin matched his step, coming within inches of the chieftain's face.
"I survived because of me," the exile hissed. "I survived because I made it so! I took the power of the earth, and I sent his tribe racing away like a bunch of unscarred cowards!"
Suljo bristled faintly at the remark, but kept the majority of his anger hidden beneath a stoic face and crossed arms. Libor nodded approvingly to the scout's restraint, then turned back to Zivadin.
"The One Eye gave you that strength, to wait for me to find you," the chieftain stated boldly. Zivadin roared with laughter.
"The One Eye, he says!" the exile roared in amusement. He turned to the walls of the cave. "Do you hear that? He believes that the One Eye has dominion over the very stones of the earth!" Zivadin turned serious suddenly as he whirled back on his guests. "The One Eye holds no sway here, Bloody Fist. Here, only the earth and the winds hold dominion! I am a slave to no god's whims!"
"If you care nothing for your god, then find the spear for all orcs," Libor said. "Without it, we will die."
Zivadin's anger disappeared as he regarded the chieftain.
"As far as orcs are concerned, I am already dead," the exile said. "Why else do I live here, away from those same orcs you would have me help?"
"As I said," Libor began again, "perhaps you survived for a reason. Be it your own abilities, the shelter of your god, or the protection of the earth, you are still here. Come with me, and I will give you a place of honor among all orcs."
Zivadin stared at the chieftain for a long moment, his face as stony as the cave walls around them. He remained unreadable, studying Libor's face for something. Finally, he cracked a smile.
"Glory to Zivadin the Tainted, the Shamed," the exile finally said. His smile broadened, and his chuckle became a deep, belly shaking laugh. "Do you hear that?" the odd orc shouted, turning to the empty cave. "Zivadin, Lord of Earth and Stone, will once again become a lord of orcs!"
As Libor watched Zivadin's strange performance, Zdeno moved up next to his chieftain.
"At least now we have our lunatic," the berserker noted, leaning on his great axe. Libor smirked faintly as he turned to his companion.
"Yes, we do," the chieftain agreed.
It was near dawn when Libor woke, silently rising in the dark cave that was Zivadin's home. The exile had shoved himself into a small corner, sleeping as close to his beloved earth as he could, while Zdeno's large body rose and fell rhythmically with his snores. Vratislav, barely visible in the fading light of the fire's last embers, was curled up inside his furs.
Suljo's furs, however, were conspicuously empty. At first the chieftain assumed that the scout had simply left in the middle of the night, but his sleeping furs, and indeed his neatly packed pack, remained in the predawn gloom that crept in through the cave entrance. Slowly the chieftain stood, carefully making his way through the dark cave to the entrance and the tiny plateau beyond.
Suljo stood in the first gray lights of dawn, looking out to the north over the dark, silent mountains. In the early morning, a few stray flakes of snow drifted lazily down from the slowly gathering clouds overhead. While Libor doubted that the scout did not hear him leave the cave, Suljo did not acknowledge the newcomer. The chieftain paused, but finally walked quietly to the edge of the plateau to join the scout. For some time the two remained in silence, studying the trees and mountains to the northeast.
"You should have no problems from here," Suljo finally noted, his eyes remaining on the distance. "The Flayed Skull will not venture far from their camp. What few other orcish tribes remain this far north will likewise stay to their tents and fires."
"You plan to return to your tribe," Libor surmised, glancing over to the smaller orc.
"I am no exile," Suljo said quietly. "My place should be with my tribe."
"You can see the importance of this," Libor observed. Suljo finally turned to the chieftain.
"I can see the importance for your tribe," the scout countered. He looked back to the mountains, thinking. "You said we would die, if you did not find the spear. Why?"
"Because each year the unscarred and the flat heads take more from us," Libor explained. "Each year our fury and strength wins us many battles and much glory, but in the end even the unscarred have more than we do. Something must change."
"And Krvavi Puet will help you do that," Suljo concluded. Libor nodded.
"Predrag has shown me a vision," he continued. "A vision of triumphant orcs, united behind the orc that holds Krvavi Puet." Libor stopped, turning fully to the scout. "I do not wish to destroy your tribe, Suljo," he said. "I would rule it, yes, but I would not see your tribe destroyed. In order to see the full glory of the orcs, I need you. I need Kazatimiru. I need all orcs to follow me. And then the unscarred and the flat heads of Trzebin will know our strength and fury."
Suljo said nothing, staring out into the darkness. Finally he turned to the chieftain, uncertainty on his rough features.
"Zivadin called you mad," the scout noted.
"As many have," Libor conceded. "We are too slow to change, Suljo. But some would call you mad for crafting your own arrows. Things must change, Suljo, or we will die. The unscarred will remember us only as villains in the darkness, if they remember us at all. That is no way to find a good death."
Suljo studied the chieftain for a long moment, before he finally looked back to the forests below them.
"You look for elves," the scout said. "It will not be easy to find them. You must travel to the northeast, and under the best of circumstances it will still take several days to reach them."
"A path which must be traveled," Libor said quietly, assuming that Suljo had no intention of leading them. The scout turned back to Libor.
"I know their tactics, and some of their language," Suljo said. "I will lead you to them."
Libor's face brightened ever so slightly as a ghost of a smile crept across his lips.
"Thank you, Suljo," Libor said.