IV
Nestled in the shadows of a small cliff of black stone, the village of Fiume would have been easy to miss. Granite boulders and thick forest surrounded the tiny community, camouflaging the two dozen or so diminutive thatch and stone dwellings set along the largely uneven ground. Towering spruce trees still stood between the homes, and not even a low wall of loose stones surrounded the community. The morning sun had finally broken through the clouds that had obscured it for the last several days, but the vertical crags just east of the village did not allow any light directly onto the village.
"I never would have guessed it was here," Thierry said, turning to Neuville as the two hesitated just outside of Irina's village. Only a faint scent of wood smoke permeated the fresh morning air, further concealing the village's presence.
"Where is everyone?" Neuville asked, looking to Irina. Exhausted from her wounds and still unable to walk, Thierry held the girl cradled in his arms and wrapped in Neuville's blanket. "Shouldn't someone be on guard?"
"The guards stay hidden," Irina answered, pointing to a roughly square chunk of granite flanked by a pair of small spruces. As the ranger looked more closely, he could see another girl, maybe two or three years older than Irina, crouched behind the branches with an arrow nocked in her short bow. As Irina pointed her out, the girl stood warily, still keeping her bowstring taut.
"Who are you?" the girl challenged, pointing her arrow at Neuville.
"We're friends," Thierry replied, taking a step forward. "We found Irina by the river. She's wounded, and needs help."
"Irina?" the girl repeated.
"It's me," Irina confirmed. The sentry slowly lowered her bow.
"Follow me," she said. Without waiting to see if the two rangers would follow, the sentry turned and hurried into the village.
"Well, come on," Thierry said, starting after the disappearing sentry. Neuville fell into step behind his younger companion, but kept his double axe ready in his hands as he scanned Fiume. Something still did not feel right about the tiny village, and the fact that the only sentry that he had seen so far was another girl barely past her fourteenth winter only set him more ill at ease. As the pair made their way around the monstrous spruce that dominated the village's center, the sentry stopped at one of the larger homes and began pounding on the door.
"Oleg!" the sentry shouted through the wood. "Irina is hurt!"
"Who's Oleg?" Thierry asked, looking to Irina. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything the door opened up, and Oleg stepped out of his house.
Neuville nearly brought his axe up in readiness to attack as Oleg came into view. Obviously a half orc, the old man's enormous, once powerful frame had begun to sag with his great age. Stringy white hair framed a heavily scarred face, including the red and black pigmented lines across his cheeks that identified him as a berserker. If Oleg noticed Neuville's taut, ready stance as he turned to Irina, he did not show even the faintest bit of trepidation. Thierry glanced nervously to his companion as the old half orc examined the girl in his arms.
"What happened to her?" Oleg inquired in a gravelly voice, looking to the younger ranger. Even hunched over, the half orc was as tall as Thierry, and only an inch or so shorter than Neuville. Thierry hesitated for a moment, his focus fixed on the badly scarred indentation where his right eye should have been, but snapped back to the present with the question.
"She was hit by a javelin," Thierry answered automatically. The half orc nodded.
"Teodora, find Chessa and tell her that Irina has returned," Oleg directed, gesturing to the young sentry. Teodora nodded and immediately rushed off, but Oleg paid her no heed as he carefully lifted Irina out of Thierry's arms. "You may come inside, if you wish," the half orc offered, turning to bring Irina into his home. Thierry glanced to Neuville for a moment, then shrugged in confusion and followed the old man into the cottage. Finally, still uncertain how to take the appearance of the ancient berserker, Neuville made his way through the door, ready to swing his double axe into action if the need arose.
Although cluttered with all sorts of blankets and old, rough hewn furniture, Oleg's home was not the den of filth that Neuville would have expected. A single lantern standing on the table in the middle of the room, brightly illuminating the tiny shrine to Pelor that had been erected on the right side of the cabin. Neuville stared at the shrine for a long moment, wondering why it had been placed inside the old berserker's home, until Thierry's voice brought his attention back to the present.
"We did what we could for her," the younger ranger said as Oleg gently placed the wounded girl on his oversized bed. "But she needs an experienced healer."
"I see," Oleg muttered, turning Irina on her side to examine the wound. "It is deep, but it is clean. You did not break off the head of the javelin inside the injury, I assume?"
"No, I didn't," Neuville answered, moving slightly closer to the bed. Oleg pulled a small wooden disk from under his coarse gray robes with one hand as he placed his other over Irina's injury. A faint golden light, almost too dim to be noticed, escaped from under the half orc's hand as he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer under his breath. When the old man removed his hand a moment later, all that was left of the girl's wound was a faint, reddish area across her skin.
"You're a priest of Pelor?" Thierry asked, shocked by the old berserker's faith. Oleg turned to him, smiling slightly.
"It would appear so," the half orc said. Oleg turned back to Irina as the girl tried to stand. "Rest easy, child," the priest instructed. "Give your leg some time to finish healing."
"Where is this town's leader?" Neuville asked. "What was she even doing out alone on the Ondava?"
"Sit down," Oleg said simply, ignoring the ranger's question. "Share some mead with me. Chessa will be here soon enough, and she will explain anything you need to know."
There'd better be a damn good reason for someone that young to be out alone," Neuville said, allowing a note of anger to seep into his voice as he gestured to Irina. Oleg smiled in amusement at the ranger's statement, but said nothing more as he set three mugs of mead on his table.
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"We are ready to march, Libor."
"Good," Libor said quietly, looking over his troops. Almost eight hundred orcs were assembled just inside the palisade gates of Bijelo Polje, but the orcish chieftain still held serious reservations about meeting the Cruel Blades along the Ondava. Libor still considered the walls of his town to be a measurable advantage that they were throwing away, but the will of the One Eye stated that he meet Oleksandr on more equal terms.
"You should not fear," Ondrej said, standing next to the chieftain. Libor turned to his lieutenant, studying Ondrej's badly scarred face and thick braids of coal black hair. Ondrej had served Libor as war chief for almost four years, wielding his great axe with wild abandon as he led the Bloody Fist into countless battles against the other tribes and the humans of Tourant. Ondrej smiled as his leader studied him, proudly displaying his sharpened tusks. "I will not let the bastard half breed come to our gates. As Predrag has said, we will turn the Ondava red with their blood."
"But we leave Bijelo Polje unprotected," Libor said, looking back to his town. "If Predrag were not so certain that this is the One Eye's will, I would not give up our defenses."
"We will meet them and crush them before they know what has happened," Ondrej said, patting the chieftain on his mailed shoulder. "By the time the other tribes have realized that we were on the move, they will already know of our glory and the defeat of the Cruel Blade. None would dare attack us then."
"I hope you are right," Libor said, still not entirely convinced. The chieftain pulled his spear from the ground where he had planted the weapon, and started through the ranks of his soldiers. "I want you to send Dobroslav and his raiders ahead. If we are to surprise Oleksandr, we must know where he is first. The main force will follow behind. They will likely try to come along the banks of the Ondava, so we will take the ridges in order to maintain the element of surprise."
"As you wish," the war chief said, turning and starting through the ranks to find the scouts. Libor watched Ondrej disappear for a long moment, then looked through the open gates as his army began to move south.
"The One Eye watch over us in battle," the chieftain whispered. Then he started swiftly to the head of the column.
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Watching Neuville sipping mead across the table from a half orc berserker seemed much like watching a caged wolf stare down a rabbit. Thierry did not know whether to be amused or disturbed by his partner's simmering hatred as the older ranger glared across Oleg's table at the old man, but the half orc seemed to be completely ignorant of the human's bias. It had been no mistake that Neuville put himself directly between Oleg and Irina, now sound asleep on the priest's bed, despite the fact that Oleg had done far more to heal the girl than the older ranger could have managed on his own.
"So, what made you become a priest of Pelor?" Thierry inquired, trying to find some way of breaking the tense silence. Oleg glanced over to the younger ranger, smiling faintly at the question.
"I had a life altering experience," the half orc replied, his one good eye shining with humor. "Put simply, a priest of Pelor healed me, not very long after he and his companions had beaten me near to death."
"Usually, when an orc is left alive, he tries to kill whoever it was that nearly killed him," Neuville said, his blue eyes icy as he stared across the table.
"Then I am the exception to the rule," Oleg said lightly, still acting oblivious to Neuville's prejudice. "Nonetheless, when I was young, and strong, I would have thought the same way. I suspect you already know why I have only one eye."
"To emulate Gruumsh," Neuville concluded darkly. Oleg nodded in agreement.
"Just as you only see the orcish side of me, Neuville, so my tribe only saw my human side," the half orc explained. "I cut out my eye to prove my loyalty to my tribe and to the One Eye himself. In those days, I was a great berserker, known for my strength and destructive frenzies. When I led assaults against villages, ones much like Fiume, no one lived."
"So what happened?" Thierry asked, before Neuville could launch another barbed remark.
"Human soldiers caught up to us," Oleg replied. "I had ventured far into your nation, and laid waste to several villages. People much like you came for us, and in a grand battle we were finally stopped. As I lay on the bloody ground, dying, one of your priests knelt over me. I cursed him and his god, but instead of striking the killing blow with his mace, he healed my wounds the best he could. I will never fully recover from that day, as you may see. My body was far too badly damaged. But as that priest nursed me back to health, I finally saw that life is not about killing. And when I at last understood that, my savior taught me the best he could to venerate Pelor."
"Irina's lucky you found your way," Thierry said, glancing back to the girl. Oleg smiled faintly at the compliment. Neuville simply sat with his arms folded across his chest, unwilling to let his suspicion of the half orc die away just yet. A knock at the door caught their attention then, ending the conversation.
"Come in," Oleg said, not bothering to stand. The door opened swiftly, and a young woman, almost as old as Neuville, stepped into the cottage. Her stern blue eyes turned first to the sleeping Irina, then to Oleg.
"She is all right?" the woman inquired of the old priest.
"She will be fine, Chessa," Oleg answered with a nod. As he heard the name, Neuville stood and turned quickly, confronting the woman before she could open her mouth to speak.
"You sent a child out there alone, and only now you worry about her safety?" the older ranger demanded, coming to within an inch of the woman's pale face. Chessa was nearly as tall as Neuville, and despite the fact that she was far less powerfully built than the man confronting her, she was anything but soft. "She would have been killed if not for us!"
"Do not preach to me, ranger," Chessa snarled back, not intimidated in the least by Neuville's fury. The raven haired woman's voice remained calm despite her obvious anger at being confronted by the stranger. "You have no idea what has happened here. Do not speak until you do."
"Come on, Neuville," Thierry said, trying to wedge himself between the pair. "Why don't you get her story before you try to kill her."
Neuville remained tense for a moment, ready to fight if need be, but finally accepted the younger ranger's suggestion and slowly sank back to his bench. With the confrontation defused for the moment, Thierry turned back to the town's apparent leader. "I apologize, but to find a girl of that age, all alone down by the Ondava, well, it just doesn't seem right."
"Under most circumstances, it would not be," Chessa explained. "You said she was on the river bank?"
"Yes," Thierry confirmed.
"She should not have been there," Chessa said. "She was supposed to stay on the ridges, and make certain that there were no orcs coming towards us. One more attack, and what few people are left here will be killed."
"Where are your men?" Neuville asked, trying not to sound as angry as he felt.
"Dead," Chessa countered simply. "The Flayed Skull Orcs came dangerously close to finding us last autumn. In order to lead them away, most of Fiume's men attacked them and led them west, to the river. Most of them did not come back. What few men were left died fighting a winter wolf only a month ago. We have lost many of our elders to starvation and disease, as well. There are only sixty of us left. That is why Irina, Teodora, and others like them must do the scouting, hunting, and fighting that our men once did."
"You can't stay here," Thierry said. Chessa turned to him. "The Cruel Blades are on the march, coming north along the river. If they come into the forest looking for a village to raid, they'll find you for certain!"
"Where would we go?" Chessa asked. Although she tried not to show it, the younger ranger could see a clear hint of frustration in her voice and her eyes.
"We can guide you back to Tourant," Neuville offered, standing up again and swallowing his pride. "I… I apologize for turning on you before I knew the situation. But Thierry is right. The Cruel Blade will find you if you stay here."
"I wish it was that simple," Chessa said. "But we have almost no food, and these people are not capable of such a trek."
"But you can't just stay here," Neuville said.
"We have to," Chessa explained. "That's why Irina and some others go out as scouts. I do not want to send out children, but we must know where the orcs are around us. Hopefully, they'll stay to the river, and keep going north. If they do, we'll be safe here."
"And if they don't?" Neuville asked. Chessa's eyes dropped to the ground.
"Then we will find out if they can make such a journey east," the young woman answered.
"If you two will stay here, and help us scout, we may be able to turn them away from us again," Oleg said. Thierry and Neuville both turned to the priest. "Will you help us?"
"Think we can manage it?" Thierry inquired, looking to Neuville.
"Who's going to watch the border?" Neuville asked in reply.
"Come on," Thierry said. "We're watching the Cruel Blades, and we're between them and the border, so we'll know if they turn east."
"It'd be a lot easier if we could just get everyone out of here," Neuville grumbled, considering the situation. "Even if they don't find you this time, they could as soon as we leave."
"We can't move, not now at any rate," Chessa repeated. Neuville sighed in resignation.
"Then I guess we'd better make sure the Cruel Blades don't find you," the ranger finally said.
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"We're losing too much time here. What is the problem?"
"The floods have washed out several of our tents and scattered our supplies," Vlastimir said, walking with Oleksandr along the rocky banks of the Ondava. Despite the fact that the sun had finally come out, the muddy, treacherous river was higher than it had been for the previous two days, tearing through the edge of the Cruel Blade encampment and washing away almost a dozen orcs with essential food and weapons. Even as the two leaders made their way through the chaotic encampment, over two dozen orcs were trying to salvage supplies that had been caught against the rocks more than a dozen feet into the raging current. "Our scouts are also delaying along the ridges, taking extra care to search for the humans that killed Radomir's patrol."
"Two or three humans are of no concern to us," Oleksandr snarled, turning on the orcish advisor. "The longer we delay on the river, the more time Libor and Predrag have to discover our plans and prepare for a siege."
We are just about ready to move again," Vlastimir assured the chieftain, shouldering his great axe as the two leaders trudged along the banks. "Ruslan should be back from his scouting detail very soon. Hopefully, the river will have subsided by the time we begin moving again."
"Send Ruslan to me as soon as he returns," Oleksandr said, growing more and more impatient with the continuing delays. A young orcish soldier rushed up to the pair, but stopped short and waited silently until the chieftain addressed him. "In the meantime, I want every orc not directly involved in the salvage operation moving north again." Oleksandr hesitated for a moment, then turned to the soldier. "What do you want?"
"Ruslan has returned, and wants to see you immediately," the soldier answered. Vlastimir and Oleksandr exchanged curious glances, then started off with the soldier to the northern end of the encampment. As the two leaders neared the edge, they could already see Ruslan and Dainis speaking. Judging by Dainis' furious stomp on the ground, the news that Ruslan had given him was not good.
"What is it?" Oleksandr demanded, pushing past a few orcs laboring to gather their lost supplies.
"The river covers the entire bank to our north," Ruslan answered simply. "It will be impossible to continue along the shore, and the river is already threatening to rise further here."
"Gruumsh's eye!" Oleksandr swore.
"Nothing is going right," Vlastimir observed simply. "The winter still haunts us."
"We can take the ridges," Ruslan offered, pointing to the slopes above the Ondava. "It will take us more time, but the forest will provide cover for us, and we will not be flooded out up there."
"It will take us a full day to get up there, and another day to cut back across to Bijelo Polje!" Dainis exclaimed, angrily tossing his thick braid back over his shoulder.
"We will lose more than two days if we are carried halfway down the river by the current," Ruslan countered. "We take the ridges, or we drown in the Ondava. It is as simple as that."
"Then we take the ridges," Oleksandr decided, looking up to the tree line above them.