XI
"Did you get much sleep?"
"Some," Neuville replied quietly, not taking his eyes from the forest below him as he sat on the edge of the boulders. In the dull predawn gray, the trees to their east sat silent and still, but the ranger was still uneasy at the mere thought of crossing that terrain. While they were on the eastern edge of the orcs' battlefield, and safety seemed to be almost within reach, Neuville could see orcish pickets from both sides in easy striking distance of the refugees' path to freedom. Unless the two tribes were directly engaged in combat, the humans would be too easy a target for either side to allow an escape. Neuville took one last glance at the dim forest ahead of them, then turned back to Chessa. "How about you?" the ranger inquired as the woman dropped to one knee next to him.
"I got enough," Chessa replied, carefully placing her short bow on the ground next to her. Only three arrows remained in the young woman's quiver; the refugees would have precious little arrow cover if they did have to make a run for it. The two sat in silence as Neuville returned to his deliberations on how to move the refugees. "Maybe today the battle will move enough to let us escape," Chessa finally suggested, though it sounded far more like an attempt to break the silence than a true hope.
"Maybe," Neuville said, though he truly doubted such a thing would happen. Libor and Oleksandr had already locked themselves into their current battlefield; the only movement would be if one attempted to flank the other, and such moves only seemed to bring the refugees deeper inside the battle lines. Again the pair lapsed into silence, watching the sky as it began to brighten on the eastern horizon.
"We need to find a way out of here," Chessa finally said, voicing what the ranger already knew. "They will not simply ignore us forever. If the battle ends today, we will be dead by nightfall."
"We will take the first opening we see," Neuville promised quietly. The ranger looked at Chessa's bare quiver again. "No arrows unless there is no other way to kill the orc. If Irina has any left, take her arrows from her, as well."
"I'll check with her," Chessa said quietly. She hesitated a moment, looking at the eastern horizon. "Sun's about to rise."
"Then the fight's going to start soon," Neuville commented. "Take the south end again, and have Thierry take the edge between us."
Chessa nodded without a word, then carefully stood and shouldered her short bow. For a moment the woman remained where she was, then turned to Neuville.
"Good luck," she said quietly.
"Stay alive," Neuville said. "Your people are going to need you when we finally get out of here."
Chessa nodded once more, then turned to the southern end of the rocks.
"Everything is ready?"
"Yes, everyone is in place," Vlastimir replied, balancing his huge axe on his shoulder as he followed Oleksandr just behind the battle lines. Spread out through the trees and waiting for the sunrise, every combat capable orc in Oleksandr's tribe waited eagerly for the coming dawn. "The center of the battle line is purposely thin, and will give way under Libor's assault with ease."
"Good," Oleksandr said, scanning the no man's land between the two armies. Hundreds of bodies were still scattered across the previous day's battlefield, but during the night Ruslan's advance force had also crept into place near the Bloody Fist's lines and were now disguised among the dead. "With any luck, the battle will be finished by midday," Oleksandr mused. "Then the way to Bijelo Polje will be clear."
Vlastimir nodded in wordless agreement, hoping only that the fight would begin soon. The Bloody Fist was a smaller tribe, even if not by much, but every second that Oleksandr delayed gave Predrag more time to prepare in the new war chief's eyes. The earth elemental that Dainis had defeated was not the only being the old priest could call upon, and Predrag's lethal capabilities did not end at merely summoning creatures from the ground. The sooner the two tribes rejoined the battle, the happier Vlastimir would be.
The war chief needed only to wait another second for his battle lust to be satisfied, however. As the first rays of sunlight broke over the eastern ridges, the Bloody Fist orcs rose from their lines with a roar, charging forward with their weapons raised. Vlastimir's dark eyes lit with an eager fire as he pulled his axe from his shoulder and strode forward, ready to meet his bloodthirsty enemies head to head at the weakest point of the line.
"Cruel Blades, to your feet!" the war chief bellowed, his voice carrying across the lines. Instantly the orcs around him leapt into fighting crouches, baring tusks and hefting weapons as they braced for the Bloody Fist charge. "Ready javelins!" Vlastimir ordered. The orcs obeyed as one around him, pulling javelins from the groups of weapons jammed point first into the ground. Dozens of arms cocked back as the Bloody Fist's berserkers raced towards them, but not a single shaft was loosed as Vlastimir waited for Libor's forces to close to point blank range. "Release!"
Vlastimir's orcs wasted no time in loosing their javelins. The Bloody Fist orcs threw what shields they had up to try to deflect the worst of the assault, but the first volley took a heavy toll on the berserkers. Even as the Bloody Fist's vanguard fell to the javelin volley, however, the second rank stormed forward with renewed cries of bloodlust as they clambered over their fallen comrades. Eagerly the Cruel Blade orcs drew their hand weapons and surged forward in reply, slamming head on into the Bloody Fist.
Behind the battle, almost three dozen orcs rose from their concealment and turned on the unprotected Bloody Fist leaders.
"The battle goes well. Oleksandr's line already falters."
"Too easy," Libor said quietly, more to himself than to the guard standing next to him. Despite the sentry's confident tone, something bothered the Bloody Fist chieftain as he watched Ondrej lead his orcs into battle. At the fore of his berserkers, Ondrej fought with a rage and brutality that made Libor proud to call the orc his war chief, but even Ondrej's matchless ferocity should not have been enough to cave the Cruel Blade lines so easily. Libor could almost feel some sort of trap closing around his warriors, but for the moment he could not tell the direction of the danger.
"They fight as true warriors in the One Eye's sight," Predrag remarked, standing next to the chieftain. "They will bring great glory to our tribe in his vision."
"Do you see us victorious, Predrag?" Libor asked, turning to the old priest.
"The One Eye favors no orc with such vision," Predrag answered, "but he does smile upon the bravery and strength of your soldiers."
"I hope you're right," Libor said, turning back to the raging battle in front of him. "Something feels wrong about this."
No sooner had Libor finished his statement than cries of alarm went up along the thinly guarded Bloody Fist camp. The chieftain barely had time to react before a pair of javelins had slammed into the sentry standing next to him, dropping the warrior before he could raise his shield to deflect the blows. Seemingly rising from the dead on the battlefield, a cadre of Cruel Blade orcs was suddenly advancing on the Bloody Fist camp, moving with deadly efficiency as they ripped through the first guards. At the Cruel Blades' lead, Libor instantly recognized the heavily scarred orc hacking his way through the stunned Bloody Fist guards with a huge double axe as Oleksandr's own half brother, Ruslan.
"We are under attack!" Libor shouted, quickly trying to rally his remaining soldiers around him. Beyond the immediate threat of Ruslan and his raiders, the Bloody Fist chieftain could see the Cruel Blade tribe quickly beginning to surround his own warriors. "Rally on me and kill the Cruel Blades!"
Libor's orders, however, seemed to come too late. Four guards tried to band together and fall back to their chieftain, but Ruslan and his men overran them and tore them to pieces. Another four raiders loosed javelins on a fifth guard, dropping the orc before he could hurl a javelin of his own. All around him, Libor saw his men falling to the enemy while his main force was quickly being engulfed.
"We are losing!" Libor snapped, turning furiously on Predrag. The old priest simply gave the chieftain a distracted half smile as he studied the field of battle with his one good eye.
"Perhaps," the old priest said, his smile growing faintly. "Perhaps not."
"We have them!"
"Do not slow!" Ruslan ordered, sparing a sideways glance to Mislav as they pressed the attack. The younger orc's face was lit with a broad smile as he raced forward, heading for Libor and Predrag at the center of their crumbling perimeter. Behind them Oleksandr's trap was working to perfection, but the chieftain's half brother was well aware of the hard fight ahead of him and his hand picked team. Libor and Predrag were two of the most dangerous orcs in the Khairathi Mountains, and could still turn the tide of battle if they were given a chance to regroup. Libor was already gathering what was left of his personal guard for a final stand, wearing a look of desperation as he rallied his orcs, but the tracker was far more concerned with the faint smile spreading across Predrag's face. "Take the priest! Take him now!"
Ruslan's orcs moved quickly to obey their leader, but already it was too late. Predrag rammed the tip of his spear into the ground in front of him, sending a line of vermilion flames racing across the ground towards his enemies. The lead orc was engulfed in a pillar of fire as the incendiary line reached him, incinerating the warrior before he could so much as scream in pain. Three more orcs charged past their immolated comrade, but before they could gain a step Predrag bellowed out an order to stop. One orc froze in his tracks, seized by the priest's magical power, but the other two continued to race forward. Ruslan pushed himself forward for all he was worth, praying that his two comrades would reach Predrag before the old priest could cast another spell.
The two orcs did indeed reach Predrag, though they had no chance to attack as a wall of spinning blades appeared directly in front of them. The two warriors were quickly torn to shreds by the impassable blade barrier. Ruslan had no more time to worry about Predrag, however, as he suddenly found Libor bearing down on him.
The Bloody Fist chieftain descended on him with a roar of rage, lunging forward almost recklessly with his broad bladed spear. Ruslan dodged sideways and countered, thinking that his foe had left his entire flank open, but even as the tracker's double axe spun back to take the leader's head from his shoulders Libor ducked low and slammed his shoulder into Ruslan's gut. The tracker stumbled backwards, gasping for breath as he fought to keep his balance in the face of the brutal assault. Libor gave his foe no time to recover; bellowing in bloodlust, the berserk chieftain brought his foot up in a devastating kick that connected squarely with the doubled over Ruslan's jaw, launching the tracker into the air and dropping him flat on his back on the rocky ground. The tracker's double axe dropped out of his grip as swirls of color blinded his sight, leaving Ruslan certain that Libor would strike the killing blow before he could even land a hit of his own.
Blood sprayed out over Ruslan's face, but it was not his own. As the tracker's sight cleared he saw Libor wrenching his spear free of Mislav's shoulder, dropping the body of the younger orc over Ruslan as he whirled on another foe. Forgotten for a moment by the Bloody Fist chieftain, Ruslan quickly tried to appraise the battle. Where his strike team had originally met with amazing success, Ruslan now found his orcs dead or dying all around him, felled by Libor's insane battle frenzy or Predrag's brutal flame strikes and a pair of demonic tigers that now flanked the ancient priest. Only four of Ruslan's orcs were still alive, and they were already retreating before the small band of Bloody Fist warriors that Libor had brought together. Without any other alternatives, Ruslan pulled himself out from under his one time protég's body and hurried back to his own lines, hoping that Predrag would not unleash another flame strike on him as he ran.
"Get them up. Get them up now!"
"I hope they don't look left," Thierry commented, glancing down over the edge of the rocks. "They're not giving us a lot of room."
"It's all the room we can hope for," Neuville said, stepping back from the edge and turning to the refugees. Thierry was right about not being given a lot of room, but the frenzied battle that had moved just south of the boulders was the best shot at escape that Neuville could hope for. Behind him, Chessa and Oleg quickly roused the rest of the villagers, forcing them awake and to the edge of the rocks as the older ranger judged their route of escape. "We have to move now. If the Bloody Fist falls back so much as a few yards we'll be overrun and killed. Oleg, are we ready yet?"
"We are as ready as we will ever be," Oleg replied, holding a little girl in one arm and his great axe in the other.
"Then everyone down the rocks!" Neuville shouted, taking the lead as he moved to the northeastern lip of the boulders. The ranger half ran and half jumped to the base of the jumble, turning back quickly to help the refugees to the ground. Thierry skidded down the rock next to him and quickly moved forward, an arrow ready to fire should the orcs discover their escape and give chase. While the boulders blocked the large majority of the battle from sight, the screams of bloodlust and pain were still extremely close; one shift in the battle could kill everyone. "Come on, hurry!" the ranger shouted, trying to get the refugees to move even faster. Finally Chessa jumped to the ground, and turned to the ranger.
"That's everyone," the woman said. She pointed with the tip of her bow to the east. "Get us out of here."
"Everyone runs," Neuville said. He looked back over the terrified children. "Everyone runs!" he ordered. "You stay right behind me and keep running until I say otherwise!"
Neuville turned and rushed forward without another look back, counting on Thierry, Chessa, and Oleg to keep the children from falling too far behind. To the refugees' right, the main armies of both orcish tribes were engaged in an insanely chaotic battle, ripping each other apart with fiendish efficiency as they remained oblivious to the escaping humans. To Neuville's left the rocks blocked much of his view, but he could see another fight taking place as Libor's command post viciously repulsed a small, rapidly disintegrating cadre of Cruel Blade warriors. Libor Bloody Fist himself stood in plain sight, a true demon of battle as he ripped through the Cruel Blade warriors that had dared to attack him, but Neuville's awe of the tribal leader's devastating rage was tempered by the appearance of a barrier of whirling blades and flashes of malignant vermilion fire erupting out of the rocky ground. Still, Predrag himself, the most likely source of such devastating magic, was not yet in view, and Neuville whispered a silent prayer to Pelor that the ancient and deadly priest would not notice their escape.
The ranger's fears came true before he could even finish his prayer. Standing in the middle of his blade barrier, Predrag turned to the ranger and seemed to look directly into Neuville's eyes, and a smile began to spread across the cleric's hideously scarred face. Neuville forced himself to run even faster as he turned back to the forest, expecting another flame strike or some other spectacular and lethal spell from Predrag, but after several seconds had gone by the ranger was still intact and running. Neuville hazarded another glance over his shoulder, slowing on the faintest bit to keep from tripping, just in time to see Predrag point to something ahead of him with that smile still in place.
"Neuville!" Thierry suddenly shouted. The ranger's eyes snapped back to the path in front of him at his companion's warning shout. Just ahead of the ranger, over a dozen and a half orcs, all bearing fatal wounds and grotesque injuries, lumbered through the trees towards the refugees. Neuville skidded to a halt as he wracked his brains for a plan, trying to find a way around the steadily closing zombies; already children were starting to scream in horror at the abominations ahead of them, and within seconds it seemed as though the tiny band would scatter and be torn apart piecemeal by the battle's victors. Quickly Neuville regained his composure and hefted his double axe, ready to carve a path through the zombies ahead of him.
Oleg suddenly shoved his way past the ranger, his great axe held loosely in one hand as he strode towards the undead orcs. Although the zombies were quickly beginning to converge on the old priest, Oleg did not even slow as he brought a crude wooden disk to bear in his right hand.
"Oleg, get back!" Neuville shouted, certain that the old priest would be torn to pieces by the fallen orcs. Instead of heeding his companion's advice, Oleg increased his pace, practically pushing his way into the middle of the throng of zombies.
"In the name of Lord Pelor the Shining One, I command you to return to your graves!" the old priest boomed out, his powerful voice carrying over the clamor of the battle. Neuville and Thierry started after the priest, but stopped suddenly as a half dozen of the closest zombies burst into brilliant golden flames. The lead zombies' sudden incineration bought the priest and his companions precious moments, but the rest of the undead, ignorant of fear, marched mindlessly on Oleg as he turned to command a second group of the fallen orcs to stay back.
Neuville and Thierry hit the zombies on the right as Oleg forced back the zombies to the left, pushing forward with all their might. Neuville's double axe took one zombie's head from its shoulders as Thierry sliced his way through a second, but suddenly the fallen orcs were fleeing from Oleg's presence as the half orc turned his god's might on the undead berserkers.
"Now, Chessa!" Oleg commanded, glancing back over his shoulder to the village leader and the refugees. "Lead them through now!"
"Great job, Oleg!" Thierry exclaimed, patting the old priest on the shoulder as a broad smile lit his face. Neuville wanted to share his partner's elation, but his view was quickly drawn back to the Bloody Fist's leadership.
He was just in time to see a line of vermilion flames streaking across the ground on a path for Oleg.
"Ruslan has failed!"
"We still hold the advantage," Oleksandr observed calmly as he watched the battle progress before him. Standing with Vlastimir just behind the fray, Oleksandr could not see what had become of his half brother, but Ruslan's failure to remove Predrag and Libor had infuriated the chieftain enough to almost hope that the tracker had been killed. Still, the battle was far from lost; quite the contrary, the Cruel Blades had managed to flank the Bloody Fist warriors on both the right and the left, and were slowly beginning to crush the enemy tribe between the two forces. The precious time that Predrag had been forced to spend fighting off Ruslan's cadre had bought the Cruel Blades' main force enough time to wreak considerable damage against Libor's forces. "Libor will never be able to recover quickly enough. Lead them in, Vlastimir. No one survives."
"As you wish," Vlastimir said, his anxiety at Ruslan's failure replaced by his eagerness to rejoin the battle. The war chief surged forward into the lines with a brutal swing of his great axe, but Oleksandr was already looking back to the wounded Bloody Fist command post. Ruslan's cadre was either dead or retreating to the Cruel Blade lines, but still Predrag seemed preoccupied with something other than the battle at hand. The chieftain followed the old priest's line of sight to the east, and smiled slightly as he saw what had captured his foe's attention. The humans that had been trapped overnight on the rocks were desperately trying to escape, fighting their way through undead orcs that had been meant to flank his warriors.
"It seems you have done your job well, after all," Oleksandr said with a smirk as a blast of flame struck one of the humans. "Keep the old priest distracted while I finish his warriors."
Oleksandr watched a second longer, his smile growing faintly wider as a trio of demonic hounds, another of Predrag's summonings, raced across the rocky ground at the hapless humans. Every spell Predrag wasted on those weaklings was a spell he could not cast against the Cruel Blades, and the chieftain finally found himself appreciating Ruslan's well laid plan to use the humans as a shield.
Oleksandr watched the humans for another moment, taking a moment to admire the demonic hounds as they ripped into one of the refugees, but the chieftain's attention was quickly drawn back to his warriors as screams of pain and terror rose along the lines. Oleksandr's smile disappeared completely as he saw Predrag's latest conjuration, and for a brief instant fear that the battle was lost entered the half orc's heart. Predrag had truly outdone himself this time. Striding into the battle, ripping Cruel Blade orcs apart two and three at a time as it bought Libor's warriors time to retreat, a huge, spidery demon had singlehandedly turned the tide of the battle against the Cruel Blades and their leader.
The blast of flame had ripped out of the ground and exploded around Oleg in a heartbeat, but Thierry could barely spare a glance to the old half orc as the battle suddenly crashed down on the refugees. The younger ranger turned back to the Bloody Fist lines in time to see three terrifying hounds racing towards the refugees, bounding along the air almost a foot over the rocky terrain. Swords drawn, Thierry quickly moved to intercept the hounds, but the first monster's baying howl was enough to freeze his blood in his veins. For a long, horrifying moment the hounds' baying transfixed the ranger, holding him perfectly still in the face of the rapidly closing demons.
"Move it, Thierry!" Neuville snapped, shouldering through the younger ranger on his way to meet the demonic hounds. His partner's order and the rough contact was enough to pull Thierry out of his paralysis, but already the situation was unraveling at a frightening pace. The hounds' baying had sent the refugees into a panic, and already the children were scattering through the forest. Oleg was thankfully staggering back to his feet, but the old half orc would never be in time to meet the new rush of the orcish zombies closing from the east. Even Irina had seemingly disappeared into the mess of panicking villagers. Only Chessa had seemed to maintain any degree of control as she tried desperately to hold her charges together.
"To me! To me! Come to me!" Thierry screamed out, praying that the refugees would hear him and heed the call. The ranger snagged one small boy before he could race headlong into the two orcish tribes still locked in frenzied battle, hurling him towards Chessa and whirling immediately to grab another before the child could throw herself into the path of the hounds. Chessa quickly began to follow the ranger, collecting the children as Thierry rushed through the forest, holding them together by force of will and strong shoves toward a central point. The hounds' baying was now on top of the villagers, but Neuville added a furious roar of his own to the cacophony as his double axe slammed down on the lead demon. The lead demon crumpled to the ground, its bays turning into a pitiful whimper, even as the other two flying canines slammed into Neuville and dragged him to the ground. Already overburdened by the children surrounding him, Thierry would never reach his partner before the hounds tore him to pieces.
Oleg was on them suddenly, his great axe slamming through one of the monsters and throwing it clear of the older ranger, while a shining golden mace, floating alongside the old priest, pushed the final hound away from the badly mauled Neuville. The old priest kept after the two hounds as Neuville dragged himself away from the battle, roaring in berserker rage as he slammed away again and again at the demonic hounds. With the children corralled and once again kept in line by Chessa, Thierry rushed to Neuville's side as the older ranger tried to get back to his feet.
"Neuville, are you all right?" the younger ranger asked as he steadied his partner.
"He's a hell of a warrior," Neuville commented, ignoring his partner's question as he watched Oleg swing his axe in another brutal arc. Even badly burned from Predrag's flame strike, the old half orc was more than a match for the two remaining hounds, driving them back with each sweeping slash of his huge weapon.
"Guess he still remembers how to be a berserker," Thierry remarked, awed by the old man's skill and brute strength.
"Neuville! Thierry!" Chessa suddenly shouted, her voice carrying a clear note of desperation. The village leader and her charges were now surrounded by undead orcs as the zombies pressed mindlessly through them, chopping through the humans in their slow, steady push to the main battle raging to the south. Neuville and Thierry both charged in headlong, their weapons crashing down on the slain berserkers as they fought their way to the battered refugees' side.
A familiar scream caught Thierry's attention. The ranger spun quickly to his right, in time to see Irina quickly losing her fight against two stubborn, hammer wielding zombies that were pushing her inexorably back towards the boulders. Behind Irina, another two children, neither older than five, were already beginning to run back onto the orcish battlefield to escape the undead warriors.
"Neuville!" Thierry shouted, trying to gain his partner's attention as he fought off more of the undead. The older ranger glanced over his shoulder, but was quickly forced to return his attention to his own battle against the zombies threatening the mass of refugees.
"You get them!" Neuville directed sharply. Thierry nodded, and raced off without a moment of hesitation. The younger ranger shouldered his way through one zombie and sprinted into the open field, closing with every ounce of speed he could muster on Irina and her opponents. It only took a second for the ranger to reach the three combatants, charging into one of the two zombies and ramming both of his swords through one zombie's back. Using his momentum, Thierry pivoted and whipped his foe off of his blades, but before he could turn on the second one the zombie finally broke through Irina's faltering defenses. Thierry took the head from the undead orc's shoulder even as its hammer crashed down on the girl's shoulder, dropping her to the ground an instant before it too was slain.
"Irina!" Thierry exclaimed, dropping to the ground next to the battered girl. Irina was conscious, but only barely, and her shoulder had been crushed under the force of the zombie's blow.
"Stannes… Kasia…" Irina murmured, practically delirious from the pain of her injuries. Theirry glanced up quickly, and saw the two children Irina had been protecting stumbling out into the open. Already several orcs were beginning to take notice of the undefended targets.
"You stay here and don't move," Thierry ordered, gently brushing the girl's hair from her eyes. Without another moment to lose Thierry was up and running again, sheathing his swords as he raced out onto the battlefield after the two children.
The first javelin nearly skewered him as he rushed into full sight of the two tribes, but Thierry pushed on stubbornly to the two children. The ranger caught Stannes, the boy, first grabbing him by one arm and dragging him along for almost three paces before he finally lifted the boy's legs clear of the ground. The girl, Kasia, seemed not to recognize Thierry at first, as she screamed in terror and ran even farther out into the battlefield.
"Kasia, get over here!" Thierry bellowed, still racing after the child. Three more javelins slammed into the ground around him and another nearly impaled Kasia, turning the girl left and straight towards the bloodiest part of the battle. Thierry angled quickly and cut her off, snatching the girl only seconds before another javelin hit the ground where she had been standing. Without another second to lose the ranger turned himself back to the refugees and poured the last of his stamina into a dead sprint, trying to get out of the orcs' range before they could throw another volley.
One javelin skipped across the back of his leg, tearing a line of pain along his calf, but Thierry somehow made it back to the refugees with little more than that injury. Oleg was already with Irina, casting a hasty spell to heal the worst of the damage to her shoulder, while Neuville and Chessa fought off the last of the orcish zombies. As the younger ranger stumbled back to the others, Oleg stood and turned to him.
"Are you badly hurt?" the half orc asked, helping Thierry lower the two children to the ground.
"I'll live," Thierry answered, glancing down to the wound on the back of his calf. While it was painful and bled freely, it was barely worth stopping for in the middle of such a battle. "How is Irina?"
"I have done the best I can for now," Oleg replied. "She will survive. We must move now, while we have the opportunity."
Thierry glanced back to the others, and found that Oleg was right. While a handful of orcish zombies still stubbornly fought on against Neuville and Chessa, most of the undead legion was now locked in combat with the Cruel Blade forces to the southwest. Oleksandr, too busy trying to fight back against the demonic monstrosity that had opened huge holes in his ranks, was far too busy with the affair at hand to worry about the humans, while Predrag and Libor had now turned that full rage and might against the reeling Cruel Blades.
"I guess we can thank Pelor that they hate each other more than they hate us," Thierry said, looking back to the old priest. The old priest shrugged, but said nothing as Neuville dropped back to the pair.
"Let's get going, now," the older ranger directed, echoing Oleg's sentiments.
"You mean, you don't want to stick around and see who wins?" Thierry asked, a smirk coming to his face.
"Now," Neuville reiterated curtly, already turning back to the rest of the refugees.
"I was just checking," Thierry called after his partner.