X
Zivadin's gales of laughter echoed off the mountains around them, as it had for the last hour and more.
"Parley!" he exclaimed, shouting to the earth and the heavens. Vratislav looked back over his shoulder as the exile stopped once again to speak to a large boulder along the downhill slope they now traversed. "We will speak to them, and they will not cut us down with arrows and blades!"
"Stealth will be out of the question with that one," Suljo grumbled from the front of the group, picking his way down a steep section of the rock face. Vratislav, for once, wished he was the scout; at least he would not be the last in line before the raucous lunatic. Suljo, almost a dozen yards ahead, still seemed disgusted by the spectacle. "The elves will hear him coming from miles away."
"That may work out in our favor, considering our leader's plan," Zdeno offered, a note of sarcasm to his voice as he spoke over Libor's head to the scout. The chieftain turned a scowl on his trusted companion, but Zivadin's continued conversation with the earth overrode anything he might say to the berserker.
"They call me mad and yet they are the ones that wish to speak to elves!" the exile cackled, slapping the stone exuberantly. "And I am the lunatic!"
"It pains me to say this, but I find myself agreeing with the lunatic," Zdeno said, sparing one last glance over his shoulder at the strange orc before following Libor down the steep hillside. "They will not stop to speak to us. Their arrows will do their talking for them."
"If that happens, then you are free to kill them in defense," Libor acknowledged, following Suljo as the scout continued to blaze their trail to the northeast. "But until then, you are not to attack them, weak and unscarred though they may be."
"They'll certainly know we're coming," Vratislav noted, raising his voice to be heard over a fresh round of laughter from the exile. The younger orc turned back in frustration. "Zivadin! We know what you think of Libor's idea! You can stop now!"
"Oh, commanded by the whelp!" Zivadin exclaimed, finding new humor in the warrior's exasperation. Again he turned to the boulder. "I'll have to watch my step now, or the boy will bring me down like a deer! Although he obviously does the chasing while more adept orcs bring the prey down!"
Vratislav's knuckles whitened on the haft of his spear, but before he could turn back to the exile, Libor pushed back up the hill to confront the mad orc. Zivadin was just turning away from the stone when the chieftain seized him by the throat, slamming him back against the rough surface of the boulder.
"You have made your dissatisfaction with my plan known, exile," Libor growled, bearing down over Zivadin. "We are aware of your opinion on the matter. The earth has also come to know your opinion. Although the earth whispers to me that Zivadin the Exile should learn to control his laughter. Understood?"
Zivadin nodded simply, stunned to inaction by the chieftain's sudden move. Satisfied with his warning, Libor released him and started again after Suljo. Slowly the exile stood up again, leveling an outraged and shocked look on the chieftain's back.
"The earth does not speak to you, Bloody Fist!" Zivadin shouted. Libor turned back to him.
"Do you truly think yourself that unique?" the chieftain inquired. He stopped, cocking his head to listen for a moment, then picked up a nearby stone. "I agree," Libor said, casting a sidelong glance to the exile. Then he gently replaced the stone on the ground, walking away without another word. Zivadin stared at the stone for a moment, then rushed after the leader.
"What?" he demanded. "What did the earth tell you?"
"You speak to the earth, ask it yourself," Libor countered, not slowing.
"You try to trick me!" Zivadin accused, pushing past Vratislav in his hurry to catch up to the chieftain. The younger warrior was too surprised, amused, and concerned by the display to take umbrage at the rough treatment. "You do not speak to the earth! Only I speak to the earth, Bloody Fist!"
"As you say," Libor conceded, a definite note of sarcasm in his voice. As Vratislav watched, the exile stopped in his tracks, glaring after Libor for only a moment before turning back to the stone that the chieftain had spoken to before. As Vratislav continued forward, he caught up with Zdeno, who had stopped and was leaning on his great axe to watch the bizarre spectacle.
"Has Libor gone mad as well?" the young warrior asked cautiously. Zdeno paused for a moment before turning to his companion.
"You're only asking that now?" the berserker inquired, a quizzical expression on his face. Then he turned and followed the group. Zivadin, in a show of panicked frustration, raced back to the stone Libor had picked up, demanding to be told what secrets it might have given up to the chieftain. Finally, Vratislav looked up to the clear, cold sky above him.
"Strength, fury," the young orc intoned. He paused for a moment, then added, "Sanity."
"We are in elven territory?"
"We have been for most of the day," Suljo confirmed, his bow strung and loosely held in his hand as he made his way through the thick pine and bare oaks. He turned back to the others, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun where it pierced the thick pines. "We have left the mountains behind. This is their forest, Argent."
"How can you tell?" Zdeno asked, looking around. Suljo smirked as he continued to make his way through the forest.
"You did not notice?" the scout asked. "The hemlocks are gone. The pines begin to give way to oaks. And the land here is not as rocky or sloping."
"That is a scout's job, not mine, to notice," Zdeno said easily, shouldering through the underbrush and snapping aside a particularly large pine branch in his way. The berserker stopped for a moment, considering the terrain. "I would have expected a half dozen arrows to be sticking out of me by now."
"Like us, they do not venture as far in the winter," Suljo explained, turning back to the other orcs. Zdeno shrugged an agreement as he absently searched for something to wipe the sap from his hands, finally coming up with Vratislav's cloak as the younger orc drew even with him.
"Hey!" Vratislav exclaimed, pulling his garment away from the larger orc.
"It was you or Zivadin," Zdeno pointed out. "And Zivadin has no cloak."
"The earth keeps me warm," Zivadin proclaimed, puffing out his bare chest as he followed the group. Suljo had considered telling the lunatic to pack more than the great sword and single sleeping fur he had strapped to his back, but decided against it in the face of the exile's rapid, unpredictable mood swings. Over the past four days, even with light snow, Zivadin never seemed to show even the slightest discomfort as they tracked northeast.
"So use his hair, then," Vratislav grumbled, brushing past the berserker. Zdeno chuckled faintly as he followed the younger warrior.
"How far until we reach the elves themselves?" Libor asked, drawing the scout's attention from the other orcs. Suljo shrugged.
"I have only rarely come here, and never this late in the year," he answered. "It could be hours. It could be days. We will continue northeast. There is a river that we will find, probably tomorrow. We can follow it east, and it will take us into the very heart of their territory."
"And we still plan on trying to speak to them," Zdeno assumed, falling into step behind his leader. Libor nodded without looking back.
"We do," he said simply. Suljo only half listened to the berserker's concerns, his eyes fixed on the rapidly thinning forest before him.
Although it was dusted in places by a thin film of snow, the forest ahead of the scout was blackened and charred. The trees as they began to appear through the healthy pines were twisted skeletons of scorched wood, while the underbrush cleared almost immediately to nothing. Acres ahead of them had been deforested by what could only have been a massive fire. As the scout stopped, Libor and the others took notice of the devastation.
"What has happened here?" the chieftain asked quietly.
"I don't know," Suljo admitted. The scout started forward, into the massive dead zone, carefully picking his way through the remains. "It was a massive fire, that much is obvious. It must have happened during the spring."
"How can you tell?" Zdeno asked, splitting out to the scout's left. Suljo knelt and examined a tuft of pine growing up through the ashes.
"This tree has taken root during the summer," he explained. "The druids have likely been here, healing their forest. But much of their magic, especially on such a scale, takes time."
"What caused it?" Libor asked. "Did it just happen, or did someone set it?"
"This was no natural fire," Zivadin said, speaking before Suljo could answer. The exile knelt with his palm flat against the ashes and the earth. "We must be careful, for the elves will seek vengeance for their forest."
"He is right," Suljo said. "The spring was far too wet for such a large fire to occur naturally."
"They will be even more likely to attack us on sight," Vratislav concluded. Libor turned to the northeast, a grim set to his broad face.
"A chance we must take," the chieftain decided. "Be on guard. We will travel through the burnt areas. It will give us some advantage in seeing them before they can attack us."
"You expect them to attack us, then," Suljo assumed, stopping to regard the chieftain.
"I expect difficulties," Libor replied. "But we must make an effort to speak to them without combat."
Suljo paused a moment longer, considering the chieftain and his statements. Finally, without another word, the scout returned his attention to the charred remains before him, growing suddenly uncomfortable in the relatively open area of the burned zone.
"Are we waiting for something?" Vratislav asked impatiently, moving up behind the scout. Suljo said nothing, his hand slowly drifting down to the newly made arrows in the quiver on his hip.
"What is wrong?" Libor asked, noticing the scout's sudden apprehension.
"They are here," Zivadin said quietly from behind the chieftain. Suljo nodded faintly, his eyes straining to see through the heavy shadows cast by the sun as it reached the crest of the ridges behind them.
"They will wait until cover of darkness to show themselves," Suljo concluded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then they will either attack us, or…"
"Or what?" Vratislav inquired nervously. The scout glanced back to the younger warrior.
"Or I don't know what they'll do," he finished. "What orc has ever tried to speak to an elf?"
"Let them come," Zdeno hissed, raising his axe as he prepared for battle. "I prefer a fight to this parley."
"Remain here," Libor said, breaking the tension as he pushed roughly past Suljo. As the scout watched in barely concealed amazement, the chieftain strode into the charred skeletons of the trees, purposefully finding branches beneath his feet to break or frail saplings to snap in his hands.
"Hobgoblins did this?"
"It is what I was told," Kinain said, creeping through the devastation wrought by the spring fires that had ravaged the west. All around them, woodland that he had once known had been reduced to charred skeletons. Behind him, Collamair wound his way through the trees, carefully following the more experienced ranger.
"The bastards should pay for this," the younger elf said, his voice rising slightly as the pair continued their circuit of the destruction. Kinain did not like his patrols of this area, stepped up since the incursion during the spring, but knew it was of vital importance. Too much had been lost during the spring to allow the hobgoblins a chance to repeat their assault.
"At least the druids have begun to heal the area," the older elf said, slowing for a moment to consider the area. Collamair moved up next to him, surveying the damage.
"It will take a long time to recover," he said bitterly. Kinain chuckled.
"Not as long as you think," the older ranger said, focusing on his student. "Look around you. See the shoots of the pines growing up through the ash?"
"Yes, a few," Collamair admitted. Kinain's chuckle grew into a more pronounced laugh as he shook his head.
"If you wish to be a steward of the land, you must know it better," the ranger said. He gestured ahead of them with his long bow. While the younger elf only saw ashes and death, Kinain could already see renewal through the green tufts poking out of the destruction. "Although this fire was deliberate, fires sometimes break out here. It is part of nature's cycle, to clear old, dead growth."
"We fight to keep the land from burning," Collamair countered. Kinain nodded.
"Yes, to keep it from being destroyed by hobgoblins or orcs, humans or dwarves," Kinain agreed. "But even this devastation is the beginning of something new. Seeds and roots still live under the ash, and within a decade will turn this land verdant and green. The druids' magic only coaxes slightly faster growth from them, to help replace it that much faster."
"That doesn't make it right," Collamair decided, reluctantly conceding the point. "And it doesn't replace Druce or Fife."
"No, no it doesn't," Kinain answered, growing quiet. The spring battles had only seen a dozen or so elven casualties, but they had included Fife, one of Argent's best rangers, and Druce, the esteemed Caretaker of the Grove. Kinain shook his head, pushing onward. "But even without them, we must push ahead. We will not find a way to bring them back here."
"But perhaps we can find a goblin or two, to take our vengeance," Collamair offered. Kinain shook his head once more, ready to tell his student to put such thoughts aside, but ahead of him, something caught his attention.
Kinain dropped down into the charred remains of the forest quickly, swiftly drawing and nocking an arrow. Although he was young and likely had never seen a battle, Collamair did likewise, ducking behind a large, fallen tree. For a long moment the forest remained still, but finally a few words drifted to the rangers.
Ahead of them, barely visible in the distance, a group of orcs had stopped on the edge of the burned forest, talking between themselves until one of their number, wielding a bow, stopped them. The others seemed confused, but the bow wielding orc silenced them without moving a muscle. Taut and with his hand only an inch from his arrows, the apparent scout of this small war party remained still as the trees around him, his eyes on the forest ahead.
"Orcs," Collamair whispered, keeping his voice down despite his nervous excitement. "Kinain!"
"I see them!" the ranger retorted, keeping his voice as low as possible. Orcs, this far from their homeland so close to winter? The ranger tried to think of anything that could drive a war party, especially one consisting of only five of the brutal creatures, so far from their winter camps, but could come up with no rational answer.
"We can take them!" Collamair pressed, trying to angle himself slightly better to bring his bow in line.
"No!" Kinain warned, snapping a harsh glare to his student. Something about these orcs made the ranger uneasy, beyond their simple appearance in the forest. The bow wielding orc, for sure, knew they were present, or at least that someone was watching them, and the elf's eyes were drawn to the hulking, spear wielding orc standing just behind his wary scout.
"We can hit them from here and fall back before they know what happened!" Collamair tried again, beginning to draw his bowstring taut.
"Don't you dare fire!" Kinain ordered, nearly standing in his rush to keep the younger orc from revealing their presence. Collamair turned to his mentor, a disbelieving and furious expression on his face, but a crashing sound forced the pair's attention immediately back to the orcs.
The monstrous, spear wielding orc had suddenly moved forward, making no attempt to hide himself as he strode into the burned forest. His footfalls, purposefully heavy and finding anything underfoot to crack, echoed throughout the devastation. As he moved, he reached out and snapped a charred sapling in his hands, the break echoing through the trees.
"The bastard!" Collamair hissed, drawing his bow once more.
"Collamair!" Kinain barked, almost loud enough for the orcs to hear him.
"He's completing the destruction the goblins started!" Collamair snapped, his voice growing dangerously loud.
"He's trying to get our attention!" Kinain countered. It was what it seemed like, but the elf was at a loss as to why the orcs would want to gain the elves' attention.
"He has my attention," Collamair stated. Before Kinain could do anything, the younger elf loosed his arrow.
The shaft whistled in on the orc, barely missing as the brute skipped backward and to the side. Kinain did not know if he should be happy or concerned about the miss, but he would worry about that later. Even as the shaft slammed into a burned out tree trunk behind the orc, Kinain shot up and knocked Collamair to the ground, snatching the bow from the younger elf's hands.
"What are you doing?" Collamair demanded, scrambling back to his feet. "Give me my bow!"
"I gave you an order!" Kinain exclaimed furiously. "And you…"
The ranger's voice trailed off. The orc had shouted a single word. A single, unbelievable word.
"Give me my bow before they descend on us and kill us!" Collamair snapped, trying to reach his weapon.
"Shut up!" Kinain commanded, pushing the other elf away as he listened. Again, that one word rang out through the trees.
"Peace!"
"Impossible," Kinain breathed. Collamair stopped, confused by his mentor's remark.
"What is it?" the younger elf inquired. Kinain held up a hand for silence, turning back to the orc.
"Peace!" the brute shouted again, his word undeniably elven. Collamair finally stopped as well, looking to the orc that was speaking their language.
"It is a trick," the younger elf decided. He was trembling visibly, the adrenaline of the moment coursing through him. "It has to be a trick."
"To what purpose?" Kinain asked, his eyes still on the orc. As he watched, the brute turned his spear down and rammed the tip into the ground, then left the weapon standing in the ashes as he took another four steps forward.
"Peace!" he shouted again.
"Stay here," Kinain directed. Collamair grabbed his arm.
"You're not going out there!" he protested.
"I have to find out what is going on," Kinain explained. "If something happens to me, run back to Ceallai. Don't stop until you reach it. Understood?"
"Kinain!" Collamair tried.
"Do what I tell you," the older ranger said. Collamair seemed ready to protest again, but a stern glare stopped him. Finally, before he could find an excuse not to do so, Kinain broke cover, his bow held at the ready but his string not yet taut.
The orc's eyes went almost immediately to him, but instead of searching for a weapon or calling to his companions, the brute simply folded his massive arms across his powerful chest. Behind him, almost a dozen yards away, the other orcs of his war party watched tensely, as though they expected him to attack at any moment.
"This is stupid," Kinain muttered under his breath. Nonetheless, he was now committed. Slowly he approached the orc, ready to fight or flee at any moment. Still, none of the orcs moved to attack him, until he was within a few feet of the massive brute.
"Who are you?" Kinain demanded, still ready to draw and fire if it came to that.
"I am Libor, the Bloody Fist, chieftain of the Bloody Fist orcs," the brute answered. The reply was well rehearsed, but it still did not cover up his difficulty with the elven language. Kinain hesitated before his next question.
"Why are you in Argent?" he asked. The question seemed to throw Libor off slightly, but the self-proclaimed chieftain recovered quickly.
"Take me to your chieftain," the orc declared, still fighting for control of the language. Kinain opened his mouth, but as the statement registered he could only stare in shock. For a long moment the two stared into each other's eyes as the ranger tried to formulate an answer.
"Follow… follow me," the elf stammered. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing, but he had never even heard of an orc demanding to see an elven leader. The only conclusion he could make was that the orcs had encountered something that had scared them. And he had never heard of an orc being afraid of anything.
"Are your mothers the lowest of the whores in your camp?"
Kinain and his younger charge, Collamair glanced to each other in confusion. The simple, offensive inquiry, phrased almost nonchalantly and in his own language, would have garnered some reaction from the two elves if they had understood it. Behind the chieftain, Zdeno snorted out a surprised laugh as he sat on the opposite side of the small fire they shared with the elves.
"You'll… have to speak to me in Argent," Kinain requested, holding up his hands helplessly. Libor nodded, steeling himself to wrestle with the elven language again.
"Is… there long… time to chieftain?" the orc asked, hoping that the question was coherent enough for the elves. Kinain considered his words for a moment.
"You wish to know how much longer we must travel?" the ranger concluded. Libor nodded, growling faintly in frustration. He wished that he had taken more time to learn the elven tongue more extensively before he had undertaken his quest.
"Yes," the orc answered slowly, fairly certain that he had understood the scout correctly. Kinain looked to the forest for a moment as he deliberated.
"It will take us most of the next day to reach Ceallai," he answered. Libor was fairly certain that he understood the elf, but the problems he was having with the language was making things far too difficult. Libor gazed out into the forest for a moment, then turned back to the elf.
"You… talk… Tourant?" the chieftain asked. Kinain wrinkled his brow for a moment, but then shook his head.
"No," the ranger replied. Libor nodded. "Do you speak Mardanian?"
"No," Libor answered. Kinain let out a frustrated chuckle, but Libor continued. "You speak Trzebin?"
"Yes," the elf replied with a nod. "Not well, but yes."
"We will try," Libor said, switching to the language of the goblins. "You say that we will reach Ceallai at the end of tomorrow?"
"I do," Kinain said with a nod. He seemed uncomfortable with Trzebin, but his mastery of that language seemed far better than Libor's weak grasp of Argent.
"And this… Ceallai, it is your home?" Libor inquired. "The home of your chieftain?"
"It is the nearest elven town," Kinain explained. "It is not the home of our… chieftain, but you will meet other elves there."
"I wish to meet your chieftain, not a mere war party leader," Libor said, growing faintly stern. Instead of backing down, Kinain instead stepped closer to the hulking orc, meeting Libor's uncompromising glare with his emerald colored eyes.
"You have come this far," Kinain said, his words growing faintly cold. "Do not snub what hospitality we have shown you so far."
Libor nodded, a trace of respect showing through his features. The elf was brave, if nothing else. Kinain appraised the other orcs for a moment, a bit uncomfortably, before turning back to the chieftain.
"As you wish," Libor said, deciding on tact rather than brute force. The elf locked eyes with him a moment more, but then relaxed somewhat. The elf took a step back, slowly sinking down to his seat beside the fire.
"Why have you come to Argent?" Kinain inquired at last, looking back to the orc.
"To speak to your chieftain," Libor answered simply.
"Why should I believe you are not here to kill our chieftain?" Kinain asked evenly.
"I have come with you peacefully," Libor explained. "To kill your chieftain in such a way would be without honor or courage. Such is the way of the unscarred, not of a warrior."
"Perhaps I do not believe you," Kinain said. "How will you prove your intentions to me?"
"I have proven my intentions by not killing you when you fired an arrow at me," Libor countered. The elf shifted uncomfortably. For a long moment the two locked eyes, until Kinain finally nodded.
"We will reach Ceallai tomorrow," the ranger said, reluctantly accepting his logic. Libor nodded once again, but finally turned to the opposite side of the fire, where his orcs were settling in for the night. As the chieftain sat down next to the fire, Suljo edged closer to him.
"Three languages," the scout noted, picking up a branch from next to the fire. "You continue to surprise me, Bloody Fist."
"I wish they had spoken our language," Zdeno said with a grin. "I would have liked to know the answer to your question."
"It was only to be sure that they could not understand us," Libor said, finding no humor in the situation. Suljo smirked faintly as he considered the stick in his hand.
"You do not tell them why we're here," the scout observed, speaking quietly as he turned to the chieftain.
"I do not," Libor agreed simply. Suljo paused, regarding the two elves across the fire, before drawing a knife from his belt with a quick flourish. The move nearly sent the two elves scrambling for weapons, but the scout turned his blade on the stick in his hand.
"You do not trust them?" the scout queried, smiling across the fire to the elves as they settled back. Libor said nothing. "They do not trust us."
"I will speak to their chieftain," Libor stated at last. Suljo smirked at the reply. "They do not need to know why we are here."
"You don't think they will take us to their chieftain, if they know why we are here," Suljo concluded.
"Let them form their own assumptions," Libor decided quietly. Suljo snickered under his breath as he went back to work. "As you say, they do not trust us."
"No, they do not," Suljo agreed, looking to the elves. They talked quietly to each other, sparing occasional glances to their guests. Their hushed tones and his weakness in the language kept him from understanding what they were saying, but Suljo breathed out another chuckle.
"What are they saying?" Libor asked.
"They're planning on killing us during the night, no doubt," Vratislav guessed.
"The younger one wants to kill us," Suljo admitted. "But the older one seems to think that we are scared of something. He thinks something has chased us to the elves."
"A silly idea," Zdeno said. "Only a coward would think that."
"Let them think that," Libor said. "It will give them more reason to bring us to their chieftain."
"Cunning, as well as pragmatic," Suljo remarked with a smirk. The scout stood slowly, tossing his whittled stick into the fire, then turned back to his furs and his pack on the edge of the fire's light. "It will be a shame to kill you after all of this, Bloody Fist."
"I don't like this."
"If they attack us, you can take the females, Vratislav," Zdeno offered, trying to inject a tone of mirth into his voice despite the obvious tension among the orcs. Zdeno's great axe still rested on his shoulder, but a simple glance over his shoulder told Libor that the berserker was ready to turn on the elves around them in an instant. Vratislav made no allusions in his words or in his stance; his spear was leveled and his eyes darted from elf to elf, waiting for the first move against him. Even Suljo, likely more trusting of Libor's plan than the others, kept his bow in one hand and his other hand resting on his quiver. Only Zivadin seemed unperturbed; he continued to lag behind the group, trying to take his place behind the elf trailing them, but a rather disturbing smile had come to the exile's face as he kept even with the elven rearguard.
Libor, truth be told, did not like the situation, either. Since they had set out in the first lights of dawn, four more elves had joined the orcs and Kinain, carefully watching from the forest at first but quickly moving to bracket the warriors. Among the six elves, two were female, including one that Kinain seemed to defer to as his better. Together, the orcs and elves had traveled for the entire morning, stopping only around midday for a brief rest that saw the two groups sit and eat entirely separate from each other, trading few words but many cold, distrusting glances.
"It will not come to fighting," Libor stated, holding confident in his plan.
"I will fight one of the females," Zivadin offered, continuing to lag behind with the last elf in line, a tiny member of her race carrying a bow that seemed far too large for her. His tawny eyes lit with a carnal interest as he watched the diminutive girl next to him, an obvious display of which the female was painfully aware. "To the victor goes the spoils, is that not the way?"
"You are a sick orc, Zivadin," Vratislav said, barely casting a look behind him as he continued. His wary, overtly threatening stance had caused the elf nearest to him to practically walk sideways, showing his own readiness for battle. Zivadin laughed at the younger orc's remark. "She is tiny, weak, and frail. Nothing like my Ksenija."
"Does the Single Tusk know that you refer to his daughter as yours?" Zdeno inquired, looking back over his shoulder. Vratislav scowled in embarrassment and a hint of anger at the berserker. Zivadin, however, did not even notice the exchange; he was still focused entirely on the small female that had now drawn even with him, her eyes on the exile as much as on the road ahead.
"Easy to take, and easy to break," Zivadin noted, his foul grin growing wider as he continued to leer at the diminutive elf. She turned away uncomfortably, soliciting a lecherous chuckle from the orc. "Isn't that right, my delicate little flower?" he inquired, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand suddenly.
"Ná teagmháil liom!" the young elf shrieked, jumping back from Zivadin and drawing an arrow to her cheek. Zivadin's sword flew free of its scabbard in an instant as the exile's demeanor went quickly to rage.
The sudden action at the rear sent the entire group into chaos. Vratislav and his counterpart turned on each other, weapons drawn and leveled. Zdeno's axe whistled off of his shoulder as he confronted a pair of the elves, one with his bow suddenly nocked and the other drawing a pair of swords. Suljo and Collamair turned their loaded bows on each other, ready to fire into each other at point blank range. Kinain turned back on the chieftain, ready to fight if need be, but Libor had already turned back on Zivadin.
"Enough!" the chieftain bellowed, freezing the group before they could attack. The exile advanced half a step on his quarry. "Zivadin!"
"She will be mine!" the exile roared, his determined glare still on the frightened girl.
"Faigh amach ó dom!" she exclaimed fearfully.
"Control your disgusting companion, chieftain, or we will kill you here," Kinain warned, his bow nocked and an arrow ready to fly into Libor's back. The orc growled audibly, his tusks locked into a snarl. Zivadin, his sword still pulled back to swing, sneered as he began to move on the girl.
Libor's spear was suddenly in the air, slamming into Zivadin's shoulder before the exile could complete his attempt. The sudden movement sent the girl scrambling backward, loosing her arrow at the spot where Zivadin's head had been. Before the shaft could even impact into the tree, Vratislav and his opponent had charged forward, while Zdeno's axe slammed into a tree, barely missing the elf armed with swords even as the archer fired an arrow of his own that skimmed over the berserker's shoulder. Suljo somehow retained his composure, neatly rolling under Collamair's shot and coming up with his arrow ready to fly directly under the elf's chin.
"No!" Libor bellowed, his voice echoing through the forest. Behind him, Kinain had managed to shout nearly as loud to his elven companions. As suddenly as it had started the battle ended. Libor glanced around quickly, but fortunately no elf or orc had been injured, save Zivadin. As the exile began to stand, Libor rushed to the orc and grabbed him by the throat.
"Never do that again!" the chieftain roared, lifting him just clear of the ground. Zivadin gasped for breath, desperately trying to pry Libor loose with his good arm. "I have traveled far to find Krvavi Puet, and you will not lose it because you cannot control your base desires!"
Zivadin gasped out something unintelligible. Libor hurled him to the ground, just in front of the elven girl.
"Look at her!" the chieftain ordered, grabbing the orc by his thick black hair and lifting his eyes to the frightened elf. "She is tiny, weak, frail! Are you so little an orc that you cannot handle something more than this… this infant before you? You are a disgusting, sick, pathetic excuse for an orc! One more attempt like this and you will leave my war party, back to that pathetic mountain you call home!"
Zivadin growled, but before he could do anything more Libor slammed his face into the ground beneath him. Terrified and confused, the scout's large green eyes darted between Libor, Zdeno, and her superiors, seeking some kind of direction. Satisfied with his effort, Libor snatched his bloodied spear from the ground and turned back to the front of the small group. Zivadin stumbled to his feet, beginning to draw his great sword back as he glared after the chieftain, but even as he began to take a step to follow the broad blade of a monstrous axe found its way under his chin.
"Disgusting," Zdeno sneered with a nod to the petrified girl. "My youngest son could break her in half."
Zivadin glared at the larger berserker for a long moment, a snarl seeping through his locked tusks.
"I'll remember this," the exile promised. Zdeno's lips curled into an icy, menacing smile.
"Do so," the berserker urged. Without another word he turned away from the exile, his tone growing notably brighter. "I grow hungry, Libor. When do these elves give us something resembling food?"