V
"I still think we might have wasted too much time there."
"We didn't even spend half a day," Thierry chided, turning back to Neuville as the two paused for a moment to scan their surroundings. The bright, sunny spring day was quickly giving way to darkness, and the failing light that filtered through the thick trees began to throw heavy shadows across the forest between Fiume and the Ondava valley. "Besides," Thierry continued with a bit of a smirk, "were you planning on having us stay up for three or four days straight? We needed the sleep."
"Yeah, but I got a bad feeling about this," Neuville said. "We left Oleksandr alone for too long."
"He's got a whole army with him," Thierry reminded the older ranger. "Even half a day won't allow them to get too far ahead of us."
"I hope you're right," Neuville said. Satisfied that there were no orcs ahead of the pair, the older ranger pushed forward again, moving from tree to tree in the dying light. Thierry stayed a half dozen yards behind his partner as the two dodged forward another hundred feet. Thierry dropped to a crouch next to Neuville as the two stopped behind a fallen spruce, scanning once again for their enemy.
"So, what'd you think of Chessa?" Thierry inquired, nudging his partner slightly.
"Keep your mind on the job," Neuville snapped.
"She put you in your place," Thierry continued, stifling a chuckle. "I think you need a take charge woman like that. She'd be real pretty if not for that stern glare all the time."
"Keep your mouth shut, Thierry," Neuville ordered. "If you get us spotted, you'll be the first person I kill."
"I thought you said the orcs would stay to the river," Thierry remarked with a grin. Neuville inhaled deeply, reigning in his anger.
"Your turn to go first," the older ranger growled.
"You won't bury that axe in my back, will you?" Thierry inquired, smirking faintly. Neuville turned a furious glare on his partner. "Just checking."
Neuville hesitated for a moment as Thierry dodged through the trees, then started off again himself. The younger ranger stole forward another twenty yards or so, but then stopped and dropped to the ground behind a jumble of rocks. Neuville made his way up to a tree a few paces behind the ranger, waiting tensely as his partner raised his head ever so slightly to peer over the rocks that he used as cover.
The dense forest ended only a quarter of a mile away, where it opened up again on the steep slopes down to the River Ondava. But as the last rays of sunlight disappeared, Neuville could just make out fires being lit. A faint smell of smoke drifted away from the ridge line, carrying with it harsh orcish voices complaining about the back breaking labor they had been forced into during the day. Thierry peered through the trees for a long moment, then turned back to Neuville with a silent, questioning expression. The older ranger gestured quickly to his partner, signaling that they should make their way north. Thierry nodded in agreement, and slowly drew himself up to his knees as he kept his eyes on the distant camp. The younger ranger hurried through the darkening trees, moving north a few yards before he stopped again and waited for Neuville to catch up to him. Neuville rushed past his partner's position, stopping when he had covered a few yards past Thierry and dropping into a small, rocky ditch. Again Thierry hurried past, leapfrogging Neuville's position and dropping down behind a bizarrely bent pine. Neuville got to one knee and prepared to move again, but a sharp gesture from Thierry had him back down on the ground in an instant.
Stuck in the shallow ditch, Neuville could see nothing around him. Ahead, Thierry stayed low to the ground behind the pine, watching intently for a moment. With a careful, slow motion the younger ranger shifted slightly to face Neuville, first pointing to his eyes, then holding up three fingers, then pointing to the forest just beyond the older ranger, and finally holding up his hands and moving them slowly together. Three orcs, moving toward him. Neuville's grip tightened on his double axe as a branch snapped just over the lip of the ditch. Thierry carefully drew an arrow from his quiver, but did not dare draw his bowstring for fear the motion would give him away.
"How come we have to get the firewood?" one dismal voice complained, only a few feet at best from the ditch. "We spent all day hauling supplies up that damned hill."
"So did everyone, Wieclaw," a second voice grumbled. "Shut your mouth and find some wood."
"It ain't fair," Wieclaw continued. Neuville shifted ever so slightly, trying both to push himself farther out of sight and to ready himself for an attack. "We do all the work. Ruslan's scouts do nothing. They should be out here doing this."
"Ruslan's scouts are far more important than us," the third orc put in, a clear note of disgusted sarcasm in his voice. "They need their rest, so they can sneak around in the woods like a pack of goblin thieves. After all, we could never beat Libor without them."
"If Ruslan could hear you, Lazar, he would gut you on the spot," the second orc said. Looking straight up, Neuville could see the back of the speaker's studded leather tunic and thick, unkempt hair. One step backward, and the orc would be standing on his chest. Thierry carefully raised his bow, silently drawing the string taut. "Wieclaw! What are you doing?"
"Help me drag this log back!" Wieclaw shouted. The orc standing over Neuville disappeared from sight, and soon the three foragers could be heard straining to drag their wood back to their encampment. As the sounds of the orcs' complaints faded back towards the ridge, Neuville finally made his way to Thierry.
"Sure they'll stay on the river," the younger ranger said sarcastically, keeping his voice to a whisper as Neuville dropped down behind the pine.
"They all must have come up," Neuville said, ignoring Thierry's comment for the moment. "From the way they talk, they've been hauling their supplies up all day. One thing, though. They're definitely after Libor. They said it themselves."
"Yeah, I heard," Thierry said quietly. "Hopefully they keep heading north."
"They wouldn't have given up the river bed unless they had to," Neuville said, glancing back through the dark forest. The orcs' campfires were barely visible in the distance. "We can try to get ahead of them again, and see what's wrong. Maybe we can steer them back down."
"Whatever it is, if an entire army can't deal with it, I really doubt we'll have much success," Thierry said dubiously. Neuville scowled back at the younger ranger for a moment, then disappeared into the gathering gloom.
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They moved swiftly and silently, covering vast distances without leaving a trace of their passage. The murky darkness of the forests that stretched across the ridges above the River Ondava only aided their cause, hiding them from any sentries or patrols that the Orcs of the Cruel Blade might have sent out. They had covered nearly twenty miles since morning through rugged forest and steep ridges, but if the Cruel Blades wanted a fight in the darkness, they would be sure to make the half breed's forces pay.
Dobroslav dropped low behind a leaning spruce, his dark eyes peering ahead into the inky night as he pushed his coarse mop of hair back from the recently healed scars on his face. For a long moment the orcish scout watched the darkness ahead, searching for any signs of Oleksandr's tribe or his own men. All around him, faint rustles denoted the positions of his troops, almost forty orcs nearly invisible in the night. The orcish war leader put two fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply once, a quick, piercing note that cut through the darkness. Immediately the rustling around him stopped as the others took up defensive posture around their leader. A second whistle, this one lower and less insistent in pitch, summoned a pair of orcs from the gloom.
"Where are they?" Dobroslav demanded quietly as his point men came to his side.
"Almost a quarter mile ahead of us," the larger of the two replied, leaning on his spear as he knelt next to his leader. The scout pointed back behind him as he spoke, keeping his voice to a whisper "The entire tribe. They've come up from the water."
"Perhaps the river forced them to higher ground," Dobroslav surmised, glancing past his men into the darkness. "Does it look like they have food?"
"For the moment, yes," the first orc answered. "They are still well supplied, for the moment."
"Then delaying them for a day or two will not help," Dobroslav concluded. The war leader hesitated for a moment, then gestured with his serrated battle axe to the smaller of the two orcs. "Malomir, you are the fastest runner. Return to Libor and the main column. Give him a full report on the half breed's position and the condition of his forces."
"As you wish," the smaller orc said, his filthy brown hair falling down across his dark eyes and pierced nose. "I will return to Libor before the dawn."
"Also tell him that we will flank to the east," Dobroslav said, grabbing Malomir by the arm before he could begin his run. "We will take cover in the crags there and rest until morning, then follow the half breed's forces until Libor attacks. We will hit from the side as he strikes from the front."
"I will tell him," Malomir said. Dobroslav nodded, and the orc turned north to start his run back to the main column. As he departed, Dobroslav turned back to the other orc. "Pass the word," the war leader said. "We move east. One mile away we should find all the cover we need."
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"With the river flooded, they're going to stay to the ridges. She has to move them now."
"Maybe they'll stay along the edge," Thierry managed between gasps, trying to get air back into his lungs after a quarter mile sprint away from the ridgeline above the Ondava. The forest was nearly pitch black from the moonless night and the thick canopy, but the two rangers had managed to steer clear of most of the obstacles in their way. "If they're heading for the Bloody Fist, it'd be easier for them to stay near the river."
"Do you really want to gamble on that when there's about forty children in that village?" Neuville panted, leaning against an old, dead pine. Thierry hesitated for a moment. "I didn't think so," the older ranger concluded.
"Do you want to gamble with their lives by marching them into Tourant?" Thierry inquired. "You heard what Chessa said. They don't have the supplies for it."
"It's only a day or two," Neuville argued, turning back to his partner.
"For us, maybe," Thierry said. "But for a column of women and children, it's twice that long. Longer, if the orcs notice us on the move."
"We're in a bad spot," Neuville grumbled, dropping into a squat as he tried to regain his breath.
Two javelins slammed into the dead trunk only inches above his head.
Neuville and Thierry were moving in an instant, desperately trying to outrun a sudden hail of javelins. One bounced off of Neuville's back as his chain shirt deflected the impact, but another sank into his shoulder for a moment before its own weight pulled the projectile out. A third javelin tore a ragged gash along Thierry's temple as the weapon missed impaling his head by the slimmest margin, nearly spinning him around with the shock of the impact. Still the two rangers raced through the trees, hearing the calls of over a dozen orcs in the inky darkness behind them, gaining ground with every step.
Neuville turned suddenly, breaking off his retreat as soon as the javelins stopped slamming into the ground around them. The older ranger whirled and charged back into the oncoming orcs, catching three of them off guard with the sheer ferocity and lunatic courage of his attack. The lead orc screamed a war cry of his own and barreled forward, swinging his great axe in a wild chop, but Neuville spun left and slammed first one head, then the other, of his double axe into the warrior's exposed chest. As that one fell to the ground with a last squeal of pain, the ranger hurtled past him to the second orc, spinning the double axe quickly and crashing down on that one with a brutal overhead chop. The orc threw up his shield to deflect the assault, but as the top head bounced off of the wooden defense Neuville reversed momentum and brought the bottom head of the axe tearing up into his enemy's throat. A third orc rushed in from the side, taking the ranger by surprise, but the hammer wielding fighter dropped to his knees before he could launch his assault with two arrows sticking out of his side. The next orcs were still barging through the underbrush, giving the two rangers a precious moment to flee into the darkness, but Neuville simply kicked one of the raiders' corpses to the side as he prepared to face the renewed assault.
"What the hell are you doing?" Thierry shouted, on one knee only a few yards behind the ranger. Neuville twirled his axe once, ignoring his partner as four more orcs pushed their way into view. "They'll tear us apart if we stay here any longer!"
Neuville glanced back to his partner for only a moment, but it was already too late. Three of the orcs slammed into him head on, two of them hacking away with axes while the third jabbed between his allies with his spear. The younger ranger had no time to worry about his comrade, however, as the last orc, wielding a serrated battle axe and a carrying a heavy wooden shield, stormed past Neuville in his hurry to slay the archer. Thierry let two quick shots fly as the orc bore down on him, but the warrior simply angled his shield to catch the two shafts in the thick wood. With a final leap the orc was on him, chopping down with his axe as Thierry desperately threw his bow up to parry the attack.
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"Why do we have to patrol? We went out for firewood."
"If you'd stop complaining, Wieclaw, maybe we wouldn't be out here," Lazar grumbled, walking a few paces behind the irritable Wieclaw in the middle of a fourteen orc patrol. "Next time, keep your mouth shut when you're anywhere near Ruslan."
"I thought his scouts were supposed to be out looking for the Bloody Fist," Wieclaw said, his voice holding a hint of belligerence as he turned back to his companion. "I thought that's all his scouts were good for, anyway."
"You want a fight, Wieclaw?" Lazar inquired menacingly, pulling his heavy, flanged mace from his belt. "I'll give you one, runt."
"Both of you, stop it!" Lekomir snarled, turning from his position at point and coming back to the two orcs. The patrol leader poked at each one of the orcs with his broad bladed spear, pushing them back a step. "We're out here looking for Bloody Fists, and you two are going to fight each other?"
"He called me out," Lazar growled, pointing at Wieclaw with his mace.
"He started," Wieclaw countered angrily. "I want right of combat."
"I'll kill you both if you don't shut your mouths!" Lekomir hissed. The patrol leader opened his mouth to berate his subordinates further, but a loud war cry from somewhere ahead cut him off. All fourteen orcs turned to the direction of the sound, listening intently for a moment as the sounds of combat reached their ears.
"The Bloody Fist?" one of the orcs guessed, listening as another war cry split the sounds of steel on steel.
"Who are they fighting?" another orc asked.
"Shut up and let's go," Lekomir ordered, quickly moving back to the point. Wieclaw and Lazar turned icy glares on each other for a moment, but each one put their differences aside as the patrol stole forward towards the sounds of battle.
Lekomir stopped behind a small pine as the combat came into view ahead of him. Almost a dozen orcs, none of them from the Cruel Blade, were locked in bloody combat with a pair of humans. The larger of the two humans was quickly being surrounded, but still he fought with admirable ferocity against his attackers. The second human fired a quick pair of shots at an orc wielding a vicious, serrated battle axe and heavy shield, but the orc masterfully deflected the shots as he closed in on the archer.
"What should we do?" Lazar asked, coming up next to the patrol leader. Lekomir glanced to his men. All of them were eager to join in the battle raging before them.
"We take one of the orcs for questioning," Lekomir said simply. "No one else survives."
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The long bow splintered under the force of the orc's blow, but the finely wrought weapon was of little concern to Thierry for the moment as he tried desperately to keep out of reach of his opponent's axe. The younger ranger drew his long and short swords with all the speed he could muster, but could barely get them in line to deflect yet another crushing assault from the orc before him. The axe wielding barbarian fought with a berserker's rage as he continued to force Thierry back, his axe striking sparks each time it connected with one of the younger ranger's blades or tearing bark from tree trunks when it missed. Praying for a lucky hit, Thierry lunged forward with his short sword as he slid to one side, barely drawing blood along the orc's chest as he beat the shield to the mark. Instead of drawing back in pain, however, the orc slammed his axe home in Thierry's gut, ripping through the ranger's chain shirt and opening a deep gash just above his belt. The younger ranger was thrown backwards by the sheer force of the blow, slamming squarely into a tree as his tunic and pants soaked with blood almost instantly. Sliding down the rough bark of the tree, Thierry could barely manage to hold his weapons in front of him as the orc hurtled toward him with his bloodstained axe poised to strike the killing blow.
The last thing Thierry had expected was to be saved by an orc, but that was, in essence, exactly what happened. The younger ranger's opponent was suddenly blindsided by a much taller orc, impaled on the newcomer's spear as the two were driven left by the momentum. Through the trees on Thierry's left, a second group of orcs charged out into the battle, ripping through the first group with devastating speed. Two of Neuville's opponents were dead before they had even realized the new threat, and within seconds the first group of orcs was rushing back in the direction they had come. Through the chaos, Thierry could see Neuville dodging between orcs as reinforcements suddenly appeared for both sides, landing only a few wild swings of his double axe as he tried to escape the confused melee. The older ranger slid to the ground next to his partner, ducking beneath a stray javelin that someone had hurled into the fray.
"Are you all right?" Neuville asked urgently, pulling Thierry's hands away from the jagged wound to his chest.
"I don't know," the younger ranger answered numbly as he stared at the blood covering his hands. "Should I be in pain?"
"You'll feel it soon enough," Neuville said, quickly sheathing Thierry's weapons in their scabbards. "Can you walk?"
"I can't even stand up," Thierry replied with a weak grin. Without wasting any more time on words, Neuville hoisted his wounded companion onto his shoulder and sprinted off into the darkness, leaving the orcs and the frenzied battle behind.