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The last faint glow behind the Khairathi Mountains barely illuminated the battlefield. The Cruel Blades and the Bloody Fist had spread out on a line nearly a mile and a half long, but as night descended the combat had fallen off to intermittent skirmishes. Hundreds of orcs had already fallen in battle, littering the rocky forest all along the front, but the surviving barbarians were far too exhausted to collect the fallen.
The moans of the dying on the battlefield, however, barely reached Libor as the orcish chieftain moved back through the lines, his chain shirt and wide bladed spear covered in blood and grime from a day filled with vicious combat. Libor's face remained stony and emotionless, showing no grief despite the loss of many fine warriors from his tribe. They had fought well, and each of the fallen had earned his place in the great feast halls where the One Eye celebrated past bravery and great battles in the afterlife. The orcs that watched Libor pass would no doubt draw on their leader's strength, allowing their own mourning to wait until the Cruel Blades were driven from the battlefield.
The orcish chieftain crossed a low gully behind his tribe's front lines, heading for a crude icon of a one eyed orc holding a spear. While nowhere near as imposing as the Idol of Gruumsh located in the temple at Bijelo Polje, the icon that Predrag's acolytes had constructed once the battle had been joined would be more than acceptable as a place of temporary worship. Already some of the youngest acolytes were lighting a pair of black metal braziers on either side of the icon, providing a dull, reddish glow to the makeshift temple as what little light remained in the sky faded from existence. Slowly Libor stepped in front of the idol, dropping to his knees and bowing before the statue.
"Grant us strength in this time of need," the orcish chieftain prayed, whispering the words to the ground as he kissed the bare stones. "See us victorious in your grand vision, and acknowledge the bravery of those who have fallen. May they feast with you this night in your great halls. Reward them for the courage they have shown, and let their spirits join with their comrades as we continue this battle in your name."
With his simple prayer finished, Libor stood once more and looked slowly around him. Other orcs were filtering back to the icon; upon seeing their leader fall before the icon in prayer, many were emboldened to whisper their own prayers before the One Eye. Some few would likely even cut out their eyes, hoping that imitation of their deity would grant them strength in the days to come. Predrag would oversee the ritual blinding personally, accepting each eye as sacrifice to Gruumsh and invoking his blessing on each warrior. Libor watched the first worshipers approach the idol for a long moment, nodding in quiet approval as one particularly young barbarian glanced to the chieftain. Finally, Libor continued his journey, walking past the idol to a small, black tent set just beyond the statue.
Predrag stepped out of the tent just before Libor reached it, little more than a shadow against the heavy darkness that had fallen across the forest. While, for the first time in many nights, no clouds marred the sky, the moon had not yet risen and the stars were far too weak to penetrate the dense canopy. A whispered word from the old priest, however, conjured up a nimbus of white fire around the leaf shaped tip of the holy man's spear.
"Know that your fallen warriors have joined the One Eye this night," Predrag said quietly, his raspy voice holding a tone of condolence.
"They fought bravely," Libor acknowledged. "They will be remembered here."
"As they should," Predrag said. "But I do not think this is why you came to call on me. A heavy weight rests upon your shoulders."
"I worry that the One Eye has found fault with us," Libor said hesitantly. The chieftain glanced over his shoulder, making certain that no one was nearby. "Ondrej has slain Dainis, but we do not have as many warriors as Oleksandr."
"I knew of this before we left Bijelo Polje," Predrag said. "The One Eye still favors you, Libor. Do not despair. Have your orcs bring me as many bodies as they can from the battlefield. Human or orc, it matters not. Come the dawn, you will have more warriors."
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"How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted," Chessa said quietly, not looking back to Neuville as the ranger joined her. Below her, the western face of the rock formation dropped off sharply to the ground, joining a pile of rocks that had once been the Bloody Fist tribe's earth elemental. In the center of the formation, the rest of the refugees huddled together in the darkness, trying to stay warm in the cold night. Around them, the battlefield remained largely silent, but the occasional moans of pain from badly injured orcs drifted up from the darkness. Neuville hesitated behind her for a moment, perhaps waiting for her to say something more, before continuing.
"You should get some rest," he said. Chessa finally turned back to the ranger, regarding the haggard man for a moment.
"I could say the same to you," the village leader pointed out. Neuville was indeed in bad shape; his face clearly showed his fatigue, and his chain shirt had been damaged or even torn in several places. Blood had dried along the ranger's right arm, evidence of a javelin strike to his shoulder. But despite Neuville's awful condition, Chessa had a feeling that she looked even worse. Every inch of her body ached from the day's exertions, and even now she fought to remain awake to stand guard over her charges.
"Someone has to stay up and make sure no one tries to kill us through the night," Neuville explained, practically answering her thoughts. "I'll wake Thierry in a little while, and then I'll get some sleep."
"I'll stand watch with you, then," Chessa said. "That way, even if one of us falls asleep, another is still awake to stand watch."
"I won't fall asleep," Neuville stated.
"Neither will I," Chessa said. For some time the two kept silent, Neuville watching the inky darkness to their north while Chessa gazed off to the south. Beyond the corpse strewn battlefield and the lines of orcs, the village leader could almost see the silent, dark village of Fiume in her mind, desolate but for the corpses of one old couple in a simple cottage on the northern edge of the tiny hamlet. It had been her family's home for four generations, an isolated island of tranquility struggling to survive in a mountain range full of depraved tribes of humans and orcs. Chessa had no idea how Neuville's Kingdom of Tourant would treat her displaced people, but she held out little hope that they would be treated any better than the orcs which now surrounded them. Her husband and other men of the village had seen the Tourant Lancers more and more as Tourant pushed farther into the mountains. To the Lancers, barbarians were barbarians; the race made no difference.
"I thought maybe we could sneak off of the rocks during the night," Neuville said quietly, breaking the silence. The ranger paused, glancing up to the night sky. A full moon had risen over the forest, its stark light breaking through the canopy in cold, white shafts. "It would be bright enough to keep the children together. But the Bloody Fist is creeping out onto the battlefield."
"Are they going to fight through the night?" Chessa inquired wearily.
"It doesn't look like it," the ranger answered. "I don't know what they're doing, but it doesn't seem like they're looking for a fight. Maybe collecting injured."
"Perhaps the battle will shift tomorrow," Chessa suggested, though her voice held no optimism. As she continued, she tried to push some of the dismal tone from her voice. "Perhaps then we can escape."
"Maybe," Neuville said quietly. Once more the two lapsed into silence, watching the dark forest around them. As she peered down through the trees, though, Chess could see the orcs that Neuville had mentioned. Cautiously small groups of the barbarians were creeping along the battlefield, stopping occasionally over bodies. Occasionally one or two orcs would head back for the Bloody Fist's lines, dragging a body behind them. At other times, moans of pain would abruptly cease, and the orcs would continue forward after silencing the wounded fighter. Finally, Chessa looked back over her shoulder, to the huddled refugees.
"How are they?" the woman asked, unwilling to turn to Neuville.
"Most of them are fine," Neuville answered. From where Chessa sat, she could just make out the five bodies that they had moved away from the rest of the villagers. Javelins, stones, and the occasional arrow had flown over the rocks throughout the day, and Oleg's healing magic had not been enough to save everyone. Three children and two women had died from their wounds before nightfall. The earth elemental had also claimed a life from the refugees. Chessa could still see poor Petr falling from the rocks as the ground beneath his feet had formed the elemental's body. What little was left of the boy lay almost directly below her, mangled beyond recognition by the fall and the elemental's stone fists. Neuville hesitated for a moment as the woman stared at the base of the formation before continuing. "I wish I had seen what they were doing earlier," the ranger said quietly. "I should have known what Oleksandr was up to."
Chessa looked up, silent for a moment as she considered the ranger. Neuville seemed to be looking out into the trees, but his eyes were not focused. The village leader could see traces of guilt in his expression; he likely blamed himself for bringing the children into such a dangerous situation, or at least sought absolution for a questionable course of action. Chessa would have liked nothing more than to pin the blame on him. Part of her mind even clung to the idea that they would have remained safe in Fiume, overlooked by the Cruel Blades as they rushed to war with the Bloody Fist. But Neuville's error in reading Oleksandr's movements had only been compounded by her own stubborn mistrust of the Tourant rangers. If they had left even half a day earlier, they might have been able to slip between the two tribes and escape to the east. Petr and the others that had died might still be alive.
"Maybe maybe we both should have seen it," Chessa finally said. Neuville turned back to her, pausing for a long moment as he picked up on Chessa's own remorse. Twice the ranger opened his mouth, but stopped each time in uncertainty.
"So, you were married?" the ranger asked at last, hesitantly trying to change the subject. Chessa nodded, finally looking away from the battlefield.
"I was," she replied simply. Neuville hesitated a long moment, expecting something more from the woman.
"What was his name?" he finally asked. Chessa looked back to the ranger, smiling faintly.
"Libor," she answered. Neuville's mouth dropped open. "He was named long before Libor Bloody Fist came to power."
"What are the odds?" Neuville said, stifling a laugh. He shook his head, but then quickly grew serious as he looked back to Chessa. "Sorry. About laughing about it."
"It's okay," Chessa said, a bit of a smile still on her own face. "His friends used to joke with him about the name, once we had heard of Libor Bloody Fist. And he would sometimes joke about it himself."
"He sounds like he was a good man," Neuville said.
"He was," Chessa agreed, some of her good cheer fading away at the memory of her fallen husband.
"Look, I" Neuville started awkwardly. The ranger stopped, then shook his head. "Get some rest," he tried. "Come tomorrow, we'll find a way off the rocks."
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"We took the battle today. We should press the attack before the sun even rises, and drive them from the field!"
"Are you so certain of our advantage?" Ruslan asked, taking a step deeper into Oleksandr's command tent as he argued against Vlastimir's assessment. Vlastimir turned away from Oleksandr to face the chieftain's brother, line of anger creasing his already scarred face. "We have already lost Dainis," Ruslan continued, refusing to back down from the incensed orc. "He was arguably our greatest warrior. If Predrag should summon another elemental tomorrow, we may lose even more warriors."
"That is why we must strike as soon as possible!" Vlastimir countered. "Predrag has spent his spells! We must hit them before he regains his strength, or we will be slaughtered!"
"Predrag doesn't just rush off into battle!" Ruslan retorted. "He has the One Eye's vision! He will have been prepared for this!"
"Enough!" Oleksandr shouted, looking up from the maps spread across the rickety table in the center of the tent. Vlastimir and Ruslan both backed up a step in the face of their leader's anger. "The two of you bicker like women!"
"Oleksandr, we must strike before they can prepare," Vlastimir pressed, almost pleading with the chieftain. "We have more warriors, and they are eager to fight!"
"You are too eager, Vlastimir," Oleksandr said simply, glaring at the war chief. "You would send our warriors to their deaths just to rejoin the battle quickly."
Ruslan began to smile in victory, but his smile vanished as Oleksandr spun angrily on his brother.
"And you, Ruslan," the chieftain continued, "would give Predrag all the time he needs to regain his spells and prepare for us. Both of you are wrong!"
"Then what do we do?" Vlastimir asked, frustrated. Oleksandr turned back to the war chief.
"We must strike quickly, but not simply throw ourselves at the Bloody Fist," Oleksandr replied. "Predrag will be ready for us, and we must find a way to counter him.
"We attack in force with the dawn," Vlastimir suggested. "Overwhelm them before they are ready for us."
"Libor will be ready with the same strategy," Oleksandr countered. "Attacking at dawn will gain us nothing. Rather than attack, we must find a way to use Libor's morning assault against him."
"We can hide several of our number among the dead on the battlefield," Ruslan said. "Once they rush past us, we will be able to find Predrag and kill him, breaking their spirit."
"A better strategy," Oleksandr said, mulling over the prospect. "Are your men capable of such self control?"
"I know the ones that are capable," Ruslan said. "And the ones that can defeat Predrag."
"Then that is what we shall do," Oleksandr said. "Vlastimir, you will hold the line, while Ruslan finds and kills the old priest."
"It is cowardice," Vlastimir growled, voicing clear opposition to the course of action.
"It is strategy," Oleksandr countered sternly. For a moment the two orcs glared at each other, but finally Vlastimir bowed slightly.
"As you wish," the war chief said, forcing formality into his voice despite his obvious displeasure. Without another word Vlastimir turned and pushed his way out of the tent.
"He would destroy our tribe for his own glory," Ruslan said, once Vlastimir had vanished. "He is just like Dainis."
"And you," Oleksandr said, turning to his brother, "seem far too willing to run from a fight. Perhaps you would prefer to hide in the rear with the women."
"I merely see the long term," Ruslan explained, remaining calm despite the doubts of his bravery. "We will win this fight, but how we win it is just as important. The Flayed Skull grow more powerful each day, and they too are hungry. A weakened tribe presents a tempting target."
"Kazatimiru and his tribe are inbred, cowardly morons," Oleksandr spat. "They are no threat to us."
"Slava Black Spear said the same of you, not long before we destroyed him," Ruslan pointed out. Oleksandr snarled at the mention of his one time nemesis, but could not dispute his brother's argument.
"Pick your orcs," the chieftain finally said, returning to the matter at hand. "You must make your way out onto the battlefield before it grows light enough to see."
"As you wish," Ruslan said, bowing slightly.
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The moon was just setting, but as far as Thierry could tell several hours of darkness remained. The ranger had drifted in and out of sleep since the day's fighting had ended, too uncomfortable to sleep well but too exhausted to remain awake. A half dozen children were currently sharing Thierry's blankets, and Irina, curled up and pressed against the ranger's side, had claimed much of his heavy woolen cloak to ward off the chilly night. Thierry shifted slightly, trying not to wake Irina with his movement as he attempted to move into a marginally more comfortable position, but the girl's dark eyes fluttered open as the ranger pushed himself up against the rocks behind him.
"Sorry," Thierry said quietly, taking the opportunity to move off of a jagged point that had been sticking in his back for half the night. "You can go back to sleep."
Irina nodded slightly, pulling herself up closer to the ranger's chest and thankfully dragging the cloak with her. For a moment the girl closed her eyes, but then she looked up at the ranger again.
"Thierry?" she asked timidly. "Are are we going to die?"
"Of course not," Thierry said, running a hand along Irina's hair. The ranger could only hope he sounded far more confident than he felt; as long as the two tribes continued to fight each other, the refugees were relatively safe, but whichever tribe won the battle would inevitably turn on the trapped humans. Food and water were also running dangerously short, and they had only been stranded for a day on top of the rock formation. "Neuville and Chessa are already figuring a way out of here, I bet."
"Then, when we get out of here, will you teach me how to be a ranger?" Irina asked. Thierry chuckled slightly.
"You can't be a ranger," he said with a smile. "You're far too pretty for that. To be a ranger, you have to be ugly, like me and Neuville."
"Please teach me," Irina pleaded, completely ignoring the scout's joke. Thierry grew serious as he noticed the intensity in the girl's demeanor.
"How old are you?" Thierry inquired.
"Thirteen," Irina replied. "I was born in the spring."
"Maybe you should wait, just a little bit," Thierry suggested. "Once we get to Tourant, you may be sick and tired of mountains, forests, and especially orcs."
"I want to kill orcs," Irina said, her voice growing cold. Thierry hesitated for a moment as she spoke. "They killed my papa. They made my mama get sick. They always try to kill us."
"Do you see Neuville?" Thierry asked, pointing to the older ranger. Neuville was squatting at the edge of the rock formation, leaning on his double axe as he watched the ground below them intently. Irina watched the older ranger for a moment, before turning back to the younger scout. "You don't want to be like him," Thierry said. "He hasn't smiled in ten years. All he thinks about is killing orcs. Sooner or later, you become no better than they are."
"But you're a ranger," Irina pointed out. Thierry smiled.
"I'm a ranger because I'm too dumb to do anything else," the younger ranger said with a smile. "I was going to be a chandler, but me and wax just don't get along."
"Chandler?" Irina repeated, uncertain of the word.
"A candle maker," Thierry explained. The ranger smiled for a moment as he thought back to his brief apprenticeship. "I used to get wax all over the place. All over me, all over the floor, all over my teacher"
"So they made you become a ranger?" Irina concluded, completely serious. Thierry laughed.
"No," the ranger answered with a broad smile. Irina still looked confused. "I came out west because I wanted to get away from the big city. I wanted to see the mountains. Maybe when we get to Tourant, I'll take you back where I was born. It's a long way off, and I bet it's like nothing you've ever seen."
"Like they say Bijelo Polje looks like?" Irina asked.
"Bigger than Bijelo Polje," Thierry said. "Much, much bigger, and with walls of solid stone. Thousands of people live in Lancoux, where I was born. Maybe, once summer comes, I'll take you there, and show you Rue Airain. That's the street where I was born. Brass workers and bronze workers, dozens of them. And one street over is Rue Tailluer, where you can buy any kind of clothes, of any color you can imagine. I bet we can find you a pretty dress there. What's your favorite color?"
"I like violet," Irina said, already becoming lost in her own image of Lancoux.
"Violet it is," Thierry said with a nod. "Maybe a little bit of gold trim, and a gold necklace too. And of course, you'd need a good cape, something better than these ugly, heavy brown ones."
"I can have a violet cape too?" Irina asked, her eyes lighting up. Thierry opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as he saw Neuville dropping to a crouch next to him.
"Come on," the older ranger said simply.
Thierry hesitated for a moment, but Neuville was already turning to walk away. Slowly the younger ranger unclasped his cloak and gently laid it over Irina.
"Keep my spot warm for me," he said. Irina nodded, but said nothing as the younger ranger turned to follow his ally.
Neuville was waiting for him at the edge of the formation, kneeling at the gouge where the elemental had formed. As Thierry reached him, the older ranger motioned for him to drop low.
"They're on the move," Neuville whispered, pointing to shadows moving through the trees.
"I nearly had her forgetting that she was in a war," Thierry said irritably, keeping his voice low. Neuville turned to him.
"This is a bad time to make them feel safe," he said. "We all need to remember where we are right now."
"They're kids," Thierry pointed out. "We can't treat them like a band of Tourant Lancers that we're leading through the mountains."
"We could use a band of Lancers," Neuville said. Thierry opened his mouth to spit out a retort, but thought better of it and focused on the shapes moving across the battlefield.
"Oleksandr's orcs?" the younger ranger inquired.
"As far as I know," Neuville confirmed. "Libor's troops were out earlier, dragging some bodies back to their lines. I don't know what Oleksandr's up to, though. They don't seem intent on starting a fight, at least not now. I don't even think they're getting as far as Libor's lines. I can't figure out what they're doing."
"Whatever they're doing, they're not bothering us," Thierry said, dropping back from the edge. Neuville nodded, pausing for a long moment as he too moved back from the lip of the formation.
"If we get another night like this tomorrow, we have to make a run for it," the older ranger said. Thierry considered the simple statement, his eyes on the rocks where he sat.
"There's a chance we'll lose some children," Thierry remarked quietly. "Or that they'll see us, and run us down."
"You and I both know that if we stay up here, whichever tribe wins is going to finish us," Neuville said, echoing the younger ranger's unspoken concerns. "If we get a good night, we have to run."
"Then let's hope they wear themselves out fighting come morning," Thierry said grimly.