VI
The first lights of dawn were only just beginning to brighten the eastern sky, but the entire Cruel Blade encampment was awake. News of the first battle against the Bloody Fist had energized the entire camp, and now every orc sharpened his weapons or made last prayers to the One Eye for glory in battle as they prepared for the fight to come. Nearly every orc's eyes were lit with an eager glow. The battle would come even sooner than they expected.
The very news that had elated his soldiers, however, brought a worried frown to Oleksandr's face as he leaned on his monstrous, serrated great sword. Dainis and Vlastimir, only a few feet in front of him, took turns kicking the captured Bloody Fist orc that Lekomir, the bloodied but proud patrol leader that had first discovered Libor's scouts, had brought to them, while Ruslan watched with vague disinterest. Lekomir himself still watched the affair with eager eyes, hoping to be allowed a chance to land a few of his own kicks on the unfortunate prisoner.
"Enough," Oleksandr said, raising a hand to stop his generals. Dainis and Vlastimir took a step back from the captured orc, allowing their leader to stand over him. Slowly the mauled prisoner turned his face, swollen and bloodied, to the chieftain.
"I know nothing more, I swear," the captive mumbled, speaking through a mouth full of blood and broken teeth. "I have told you all I know."
"Then it is time for you me to uphold my end of the bargain," Oleksandr concluded. The half orc lifted his monstrous sword slowly, raising it over his head for a decapitating strike. The prisoner dropped his head in resignation, ready to accept the killing blow.
A quick sweep of the blade's sharp side cleanly severed the prisoner's head. Oleksandr leaned down, and picked up the prisoner's head, then tossed it over the ridge to the river below.
"If they flank us from the east, they can pin us against the river," Dainis said, already moving forward with plans for the upcoming battle. "We should move now. Rush forward and strike the killing blow."
"Why would Libor abandon Bijelo Polje?" Oleksandr inquired quietly, more to himself than anyone else. That single piece of information worried the chieftain more than anything else. Libor was too good a tactician to overlook the obvious values of his fort's defenses.
"He must have been trying to ambush us," Vlastimir assumed. "With this knowledge, however, we can ambush him."
"It is possible he was hoping to use the river to trap us, instead of being trapped himself inside his fort," Ruslan pointed out. "Perhaps his food supplies were not enough to see him through a siege. It would be a risky gamble, but not one without its rewards."
"It bothers me," Oleksandr said, turning to his half brother. "I want to know what Libor has. Ruslan, send out a detachment to find his camp. Tell me who is with him, how many there are. He must have some advantage to challenge us in the open."
"As you wish," Ruslan said, nodding slightly to the half orc.
"In the meantime, we will move east, deeper into the forest," Oleksandr continued. "Vlastimir, you will keep half of our force on the ridges, in case Libor sends more patrols. Dainis and I will take the rest into the forest. If he wishes to flank us to the east, then we will outflank him."
"They will be ready to move by dawn," Dainis promised, already turning and starting through the encampment. Vlastimir hesitated for a moment, then kicked lightly at the prisoner's headless corpse lying in the mud.
"What shall we do with this?" the orc inquired simply.
"Crucify it," Oleksandr replied. "Leave it as a warning to those who would defy the Cruel Blades."
"Take care of it," Vlastimir said, turning to Lekomir. The patrol leader moved forward quickly to dispose of the body.
"Lekomir," Oleksandr said. The patrol leader froze for a second, then turned hesitantly to his chieftain. "You are certain that none of Libor's orcs escaped? Only the humans?"
"Certain, my lord," Lekomir replied.
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He was limping badly and nearly certain that he left an obvious trail to follow, but the forest remained still around him.
Dobroslav slumped against a rocky outcropping, his face twisted by a mask of pain as he gave himself a moment to rest. The orc's side was covered in blood, still leaking from the deep wound in his side where the Cruel Blade orc had impaled him on a spear. Each ragged, gasping breath drove a fresh spike of pain through his entire right side. The human ranger's short sword had left a shallow gash along his chest, far less dramatic than his spear wound but still painful. The orc had suffered two other wounds from swords as he had fought his way out of the wild fray, barely escaping with his life from the Cruel Blade ambush. He alone had survived the battle; while his orcs had fought bravely and killed several of Oleksandr's men, his two score soldiers had all died in the end. While it had pained Dobroslav to leave his orcs behind to face their deaths alone, the scout leader knew that he had to report the Cruel Blades' knowledge to Libor. If not, the Bloody Fist could be walking into a trap.
Dobroslav pushed himself to his feet once more, steadying himself against the rocks as he glanced up to the sky. A faint glow had started in the east already, slowly brightening the sky over him and beginning to light the forest ahead of him. Gravely wounded and past the point of exhaustion, the orc nevertheless pushed himself to run once more as he turned north.
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For once, he would have preferred Thierry's constant chatter to the silence.
Neuville paused for a moment as the sun finally broke the horizon, listening for a long moment as he had through the night. Slung over his shoulder, the unconscious Thierry was still breathing, but only barely. The older ranger had managed to staunch his partner's wound, reducing the flow of blood to a slow trickle, but Thierry would die if he did not receive proper attention soon. Thierry's blood had soaked through not only his own clothes, but Neuville's cloak and tunic as well, silent testimony to the grievous injury that the younger ranger had received. The orcs' pursuit through the night had not been terribly determined, but it had forced Neuville to spend nearly three hours trying to evade the Cruel Blade patrols before he could take time to examine his partner. Thierry had drifted in and out of consciousness for some of that time, but as dawn began to light the forest the younger ranger had slipped into a distressingly unresponsive state. Neuville's legs were weak beneath him, both from his exhausting run through the night and blood loss from his own wounds, but the older ranger refused to slow even the slightest bit as he covered the final distance to Fiume.
Finally the village came into sight, silent in the early morning hour. Neuville charged forward with the last of his strength, racing through the cottages to Oleg's home. Irina appeared from somewhere on his right, desperately trying to keep up, but the ranger had no time for the girl as he lowered his shoulder and barreled through the old half orc's door. Instantly roused from his sleep, Oleg shot up in bed, staring in shock at his unexpected guests.
"Get up, priest," Neuville ordered, using his free hand to hastily sweep the previous night's dinner plates and mugs from the stout table. "You have work to do."
"Thierry?" Irina shouted, rushing through the open door behind the ranger. Neuville ignored her as he gently lowered his unconscious partner to the table. Oleg finally pulled himself out of bed, and hobbled over to the unconscious man. The old priest carefully folded back the blood soaked tunic and torn chain shirt from the wound, examining the vicious injury for a moment. "Will will he be all right?" Irina asked quietly, her eyes wide as she saw Thierry's wounds.
"He will live," Oleg replied quietly. He turned to the girl. "Fetch clean water and rags. Quickly."
Irina barely nodded before she bolted through the door. Oleg gingerly ran a finger along the edge of the gash, then looked to Neuville.
"What are you waiting for?" the older ranger demanded. "Cast a spell! Heal him!"
"The force of the blow drove several rings from his armor into the wound," Oleg explained patiently as he turned to find something under his bed. "If I heal him now, they will only injure him further until someone digs them out."
"If he dies, you'll follow," Neuville threatened.
"Yes, I expected such a remark from you," the old priest said, taking a small box from beneath the bed and placing it on the table. Oleg opened the box and removed a small vial of water and two hook shaped instruments, then turned to the wound. "In this state, he likely will not move, but you'll have to hold the wound open for me," the priest directed.
Neuville hesitated for a long moment, but finally did as he was told. Carefully the half orc spread the gash open even wider, narrowing his one eye as he peered into the bloody mess. Irina raced back into the cottage with a full waterskin and several strips of cloth, but stopped as she saw the two men opening Thierry's chest.
"Do not hesitate, girl," Oleg prompted, not looking up from the injury. "Give me the water."
Irina moved forward slowly, a sickened expression coming to her face as she handed the waterskin off to the old half orc. Oleg uncorked the receptacle, and carefully poured a bit of water over the injury.
"Can you see what you're doing?" Neuville asked nervously. Oleg looked up for a moment with a faint smile.
"I only put out my right eye," the priest said with a touch of humor. He turned back to the wound, and began to pull at something deep inside the wound with the hooks. "The left one still works."
"I hope so," Neuville said. The older ranger glanced back to Irina as he heard a nauseous moan, but before he could lift his eyes from the wound the girl had rushed back outside. Oleg chucked slightly at the girl's sudden departure, flicking one broken steel ring aside and diving back into the injury.
"There are two more," the half orc noted, his attention still on the injury. "Once they have been removed, I can close the wound easily."
"He's already lost a lot of blood," Neuville said. Oleg nodded absently as he pulled a second piece of Thierry's chain shirt from the wound. "If he loses any more, he's going to die!"
"Well then, you should probably leave me to my job, rather than distract me," Oleg remarked. The old half orc pulled out a third ring, and tossed it to the side. "There. Now we may close the wound properly."
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The early morning sun was hidden once again by thick banks of clouds, but more than enough light seeped through the leaden shroud and the forest canopy to illuminate the previous night's battlefield. Almost seventy orcs from both the Cruel Blades and the Bloody Fist had fallen in combat, their mangled corpses strewn between the pine and spruce and scattered across rocky embankments. Another two dozen orcs from the Cruel Blades sifted through the battlefield, checking for survivors or looting what they could from the bodies of both their enemies and their fallen allies.
Looting bodies was of little concern to Ruslan, however. The horribly scarred tracker made his way along the northern edge of the battlefield, his eyes shifting constantly from the ground to the forest north of him. While the orcs that had fought during the night were confident that only the two humans had escaped, Ruslan was not nearly so certain. Both orcish and human tracks ranged throughout the forest, making a definite trail difficult to find, but as the orcish leader hesitated beneath the branches of a pine tree, Ruslan came across a fresh and all too obvious trail. Someone had been limping badly, retreating to the north. Several drops of blood marred the bed of needles beneath the pine next to the thick drag marks that indicated the limp. The tracker paused for a long moment, examining the marks, then turned to the orcs searching the bodies.
"Lekomir!" Ruslan shouted. The spear wielding orc stood up quickly as his name was called, and nervously glanced around. Finally, seeing Oleksandr's half brother waiting impatiently beneath the pine tree, the patrol leader made his way across the battlefield. "I thought you said none of them survived," Ruslan stated simply as Lekomir joined him.
"We killed them all," Lekomir said, taking an unconscious step backward as Ruslan turned to him. "I swear it. None of them could have survived."
"Then why are there tracks leading to the north?" Ruslan inquired coldly, gesturing to the ground. Lekomir's eyes dropped to the ground for a moment, but the patrol leader could tell little in the scuff marks and bloodstains that covered the ground where the battle had been fought during the night.
"We did not see where the humans fled," Lekomir said, growing more and more nervous in the face of Oleksandr's half brother. "They maybe they went north."
"The humans fled east," Ruslan said, pointing in that direction. Lekomir swallowed nervously. "These tracks are from an orc."
"We'll find him," Lekomir promised. The orc turned to leave, but Ruslan grabbed his arm.
"You had better find him," the disfigured orc said, holding the patrol leader's eyes with a cruel, threatening gaze. Lekomir nodded swiftly, holding back his fear, then rushed off to collect his men as soon as Ruslan had released him. For a long moment Ruslan watched the patrol leader gather his platoon, but then he started back to the eastern edge of the site. Mislav, the younger orc that had found Radomir's patrol, stood patiently beneath a large spruce, still examining the blood stains and tracks that indicated where the humans had fled.
"What about the humans?" Mislav inquired as Ruslan came to his side. Ruslan considered the question for a moment as he shouldered his double axe.
"If Lekomir is to be believed, at least two of them are worthy fighters," the orcish leader mused. "Perhaps, if they are close enough, they can be of some use to us."
"How could humans be of use to us?" Mislav asked, surprised by Ruslan's statement. The tracker turned to his assistant, a faint smirk barely visible beneath his scars and thick beard.
"We drive them north," Ruslan explained. "We give the Bloody Fist something else to chase. With any luck, they'll be too busy trying to kill a few humans to see us coming."
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"Will he wake up any time soon?"
"He will," Oleg answered simply, looking across the table to Neuville. Sitting between the old priest and Thierry's unconscious form on the bed, the older ranger's eyes constantly shifted from one side to the other as he tried to watch both the priest and his wounded friend. "He has had a long night, and between the rigors of combat and such heavy loss of blood, he'll need time to recover."
"It might be time that we don't have," Neuville warned, glancing up to where Chessa leaned against the doorframe. Outside, the afternoon had brought a steady, miserable rain to the village of Fiume, a rain that Neuville hoped would wash away the pair's tracks and bloodstains. Chessa turned to him as he spoke. "The Cruel Blades and the Bloody Fist will meet soon, and it's not going to be more than a quarter mile to our west."
"Is there any way at all that we can remain hidden here?" Chessa asked, her stern demeanor fading into deep concern. Neuville shook his head.
"I doubt it," the ranger replied. "A simple shift of the battle will bring them right through this glen. Your village is well hidden, but they would have to be blind to miss it."
"Then, we have no choice," Chessa relented, dropping her eyes to the ground. The woman said nothing for a moment, then turned back to Neuville. "Can can you lead us to Tourant?"
"We can," Neuville replied with a nod. Chessa sighed, but it was hardly the sign of relief that the ranger would have expected. "As soon as Thierry is moving again, we have to get out of here."
"I'll inform the others," Chessa said quietly, casting one last glance to Oleg. The woman paused a second longer, than turned and started out through the midday rain.
"I would think she'd be happy," Neuville said, speaking to Oleg as he turned again to Thierry.
"They do not trust you," Oleg said. Neuville turned back to him. "Oh, they know that you will not try to kill them, but they are frightened of your kingdom."
"It's a lot safer than living out here with the orcs," Neuville countered.
"But they lose their freedom," Oleg explained. "Your ways, the ways of your kingdom, are not theirs. They know that your kingdom cares about them as much as they do the orcs we may soon face."
"That's a lie," Neuville snapped, growing rapidly angry.
"Shall I tell you a story?" Oleg inquired, amiable in the face of the incensed ranger. "A story from my youth, when I was no older than your youthful companion?" Neuville's eyes still flashed with rage, but the ranger said nothing. "Very well. Only two weeks before I cut out my eye, I took part in a large raid. There were three hundred of us, all of us more than willing to shed the blood of anything that stood in our way. A small village, not unlike this one, happened to be in our way. Of course, we fell upon it with sadistic fervor. While we raped and pillaged, while we crucified the men and impaled children on spikes, do you know who we saw not half a mile in the distance? Twenty-five of your Tourant Lancers."
"And they did nothing?" Neuville guessed, his tone thoroughly skeptical.
"We were not inside your borders," Oleg explained. "I have no doubt that you wish to help these people, Neuville, but they have seen as much evil from the Kingdom of Tourant as they have the orcs of the Cruel Blade or the Bloody Fist. To them, you are the lesser of two evils, for the moment. Just as you do not trust me for my orcish blood, they do not trust your allegiance to Tourant."
Neuville said nothing for a long moment, unable to argue the point. For a long moment the ranger stared at the ground, trying to find a suitable retort.
"I guess he got you on that one, then," Thierry said quietly from the bed. Neuville spun at the sound, nearly jumping from the bench where he sat.
"Thierry!" he exclaimed, rushing to the side of the bed. Thierry smiled slightly as the older ranger came to his side. "Are you all right?"
"A little weak still, but I think I'll pull through," the younger ranger answered. Neuville's face lit into a broad smile at the statement, but the ranger quickly tried to resume a dour expression.
"Too bad," the older ranger said, though his tone clearly indicated his relief at his companion's health. Oleg chuckled behind the pair.
"I think I'll see how Chessa is doing," the old priest remarked, already halfway to the door. "After all, now that the boy is awake, we'll be leaving shortly."
"Thanks for the healing, Oleg," Thierry called out as the half orc ducked through the door. The old priest simply waved over his shoulder as he left. Thierry turned back to his companion after the priest's exit. "I guess she took your advice about leaving?" the younger ranger surmised.
"They don't have a choice," Neuville replied. Thierry nodded in agreement. "Hopefully, we can get them moving by evening."
"You want to march them in the dark?" Thierry asked.
"As soon as you can walk," Neuville confirmed. The younger ranger dropped back into the priest's bed.
"Think I'll take my time, then," Thierry said with a grin. "After all, for a half orc, he has a really soft bed."
"Don't make me come back here and get you up," Neuville threatened, though he was still having a hard time regaining his normal grumpy mood. Thierry laughed at the warning. "Try to be ready before the sun goes down," the older ranger urged, turning to the door.
"Neuville," Thierry said.
"What is it?" Neuville inquired, stopping in the doorway. Thierry hesitated for a moment.
"We could have outrun those orcs," the younger ranger said evenly. There was no hint of accusation in the voice, just a simple statement of fact.
"They were right on top of us," the older ranger reasoned, growing instantly defensive. Thierry smiled faintly.
"The first three, yes," he conceded. "But you waited too long and let the rest of them catch up to us."
"We didn't have enough time," Neuville countered, trying to convince both his ally and himself. Thierry shook his head.
"You're right," the younger ranger said, graciously dropping the argument. Neuville hesitated a moment longer, almost wanting to argue the point further with his companion, but Thierry refused to take the bait. Finally, frustrated by his ally's remarks, the older ranger turned and ducked out of the cottage.
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"Your friend has recovered?"
"He's fine," Neuville replied curtly, walking past Chessa and starting into the village. "Have everyone ready to move as soon as possible."
"It's already past midday," Chessa observed, gesturing up to the rainy sky with the long bow that she carried.
"The orcs could be here by tomorrow morning," Neuville said, quickening his pace slightly.
"Are you sure you would not rather us dig trenches and prepare a wall?" Chessa inquired, her voice icy as she started after the ranger. Neuville whirled on her, his cheeks flushed with rage.
"What does that mean?" he demanded, glaring down at the shorter woman.
"I heard what Thierry said," Chessa answered. "You risked your friend's life just to kill a few orcs."
"You were listening in on us?" Neuville asked, his face flushing rapidly with anger.
"I was bringing your friend a new bow to replace the one he lost, now that he was awake," Chessa countered, refusing to back down from the ranger's belligerent stance. The woman's voice was thick with disdainful sarcasm as she continued "If you are prepared to use us in the same way you used Thierry, then perhaps we will be better off waiting here for the orcs."
"First off, our conversation was between the two of us," Neuville snarled, looming over the woman in a further effort to forcer her back. Chessa still held her ground, her blue eyes locking unflinchingly with Neuville's glare. "And secondly, you weren't even there! You have no idea what happened out there!"
"I didn't have to be out there," Chessa said. The village leader took a bold step forward, even driving Neuville back a step with a jab of her finger against his chain shirt. "Your friend nearly died last night. He might accept your excuse for what happened, but I won't let you use what's left of my village to fight some kind of vendetta!"
"What the hell would you know about it?" Neuville demanded, shoving her hand aside. "My whole family died from an orcish raid!"
"Where do you think you are?" Chessa asked, dumbfounded by the ranger's accusation. "Look around you! Every single person here has lost friends and family to an orcish blade! My father, my brother, and my husband all died fighting the Flayed Skull! But do you see us charging stupidly into battle with the orcs! No! Stop acting like a child, Neuville! No matter how many orcs you kill, and no matter how many people die because of your immature quest for vengeance, your family will stay dead!"
"The hell with you!" Neuville screamed, turning and storming away through the camp. Tears were welling in the ranger's eyes as he started for the forest. "The hell with all of you!"
"Good riddance," Chessa snarled, watching the man charge blindly into the forest. The woman turned back to Oleg's cottage in time to see Thierry standing in the doorway. The younger ranger watched his companion for a moment, then looked to Chessa.
"Well, that's twice you put him in his place," Thierry said quietly. Chessa expected something more from the younger ranger, but instead he simply turned and disappeared back into the cottage.
Neither one noticed the pair of dark eyes watching them from the cover of a rock formation just outside the village.