WARLORDS IV – STORY

Chapter Two: The Savage Land

It was only after long hours and hard talk that the bitter truth became apparent. The Dwarves, beset by raids from Orcs and Gnolls alike, could ill afford to dispatch any soldiers to aid in their quest. The last armies of Duernoth would come forth when the hour was at hand, but they could not wander the lands searching for an enemy to face. No, if there was to be a hunt, the hunters would be Kurgen, Daerec, Terrwyn, and Arvad. No more. Arvad's bleak command -- that those few must be enough -- surely echoed in the minds of each of the warriors as they made their way through the tunnel that led from Duernoth to the Dwarven citadel of Khalil. In Khalil, they received no aid save information, for the Dwarves there were hard-pressed with battles of their own against the increasingly active Orcs.

There was a quarry, though what good the hunt would serve they did not yet know. Spies watching the movement of the creatures through the passes had seen that several met with the Orkish tribes in the lands of Kor. A group of Orcs, led by a Goblin shaman, had rendezvoused with one of the Mistress's minions, and then set a southerly course, where scouts from Khalil had monitored their progress.

Though any foray into Kor was dangerous, with stealth, speed, and Arvad's second sight, Kurgen was convinced that they could overtake and destroy the band and learn from the shaman of the Mistress's plans.

When the party had made its way to the ravine down which the Orcs had traveled, Arvad called them to a halt. "Here are the Orcs." He knelt and plucked a small stone from the ground, rubbing his fingers over it and whispering ancient words. The stone abruptly stood upright and seemed to shimmer into the bestial form of an Orc. "Here is the land through which they travel." Now his fingers danced across the dusty ground, scratching here a rune and there a simple picture, a few lines for trees and the twisting curve of a river. These, too, came to life, as dust wended line water through the streams and pebbles rose to form the mounds his fingers had described. "And here are we." Arvad chuckled softly and plucked a gray hair from his beard, dropping it unceremoniously some distance from the Orkish stone.

Kurgen grumbled low in his throat. "Arvad, this is not the time for magician's trick. Our prey moves south even as you entertain us."

"Aye, the Dwarf is right," snapped Terrwyn. "You impress none of us."

Arvad only laughed again and remained crouched beside his map. "Patience, friend Kurgen, Lady Terrwyn. If there is aught a knight of Marthos should know, it is this," he tapped his temple, "and not that," and now he pointed to Daerec's sword, "which has allowed man and Dwarf to stand against the legions of darkness."

Daerec cleared his throat and pointed to one of Arvad's enchanted mounds. "Here." He swallowed and paused and glanced from face to face. "The Orcs will go around this hill by cutting through the pass." He pointed now to a cleft between the pebbles and dust. "But we can get ahead of them by crossing over." He paused again, careful with his words. "If this map is to scale, we will be able to hold the pass just three abreast, and the Orkish band will be able to come at us only, perhaps, two at a time. The advantage will be ours."

Kurgen nodded. "You're right, lad." Daerec glanced up sharply at being called a boy, but the Dwarf did not seem to notice. "With my axe and your swords, and the wizard's fire, we will make short work of them."

Arvad stood and brushed off his robes. "Next time," he said to Daerec, with a smile dancing on his lips, "perhaps you can let this old magician perform his own tricks?"

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Though the way south was difficult, only Arvad spoke of it. Kurgen's race was accustomed to mountain travel, and accustomed as well to hard labor. Daerec had been traveling afoot for so long that his body scarcely knew of rest, and his long, lean legs devoured the distance between their party and the Orcs. As for Terrwyn, who had protested leaving her horse at Duernoth, her silence was a matter of jaw-clenching pride, and though sweat and strain covered her face, she admitted nothing. The wizard, however, seemed to take a perverse pleasure in his own suffering, lamenting the weariness of century-old legs and aches that he had known since before the births of his companions, indeed, before the births of their ancestors.

"I could, of course, assume the form of an eagle, and let these old arms soar as wings through the sky. But no, but no, better to trudge the miles and not leave my friends to work that I will not myself do. Eh, Daerec, is that not the way of things."

The southern warrior paused and helped the wizard up a steep incline. "We would walk, even if you flew." But then, seeing the wizard's playful wink, he added, "Though no doubt the Sirian would protest that you had not transformed into a winged steed for her to ride."

Kurgen gave a deep laugh, but Terrwyn, who had taken the lead gave no reply. They had left Khalil now three days past, and though they had been awake for most of them, still the paladin had spoken few words. And those she had would, more often than not, have been better left unsaid.

"Terrwyn!" Daerec called out, leaping up on a boulder. "Why do you say nothing, my lady?" The honorific's mocking edge was clear to all. "Where are your quick words now, or haven't you the breath for them?"

Terrwyn stopped and turned, her eyes cold and blue as ice upon water, and no less treacherous. "My strength is used for protecting the weak, not quarreling with them."

"And what would a powdered lady of Marthos know of quarreling, Terrwyn?"

The paladin's jaw trembled with rage, but before she could speak, Arvad burst into laughter. "Careful, Lady Terrwyn, for I think our young friend is falling in love."

Terrywn spun and continued on her way, with the wizard's laughter trailing behind her.

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The sixth night since they left the halls of Duernoth was one of clouded, starless skies, and bone-chilling rain. The bolts of lightning that flashed across the sky illuminated a land untouched by civilized hand. Jagged boulders thrust up like daggers into the dark sky, and deep crevasses slashed through the ground. Very little grew save thorny scrub and creeping vines. Daerec and Arvad, keeping watch, sat by a rock warmed by the wizard's art -- the smoke from whatever kindling they could find would have risked too much.

"How long have you lived, Arvad?" Daerec asked, holding his hands up to the dull glow of the stone. "You hint at centuries, but how many?"

"Too many," Arvad answered. "I no longer count the years, or try to remember past friends and lost homes. There is enough for me here and now." Seeing that Daerec was about to ask more, the wizard continued. "I have lived long enough that I watched with eyes already old when the first Claudius crowned himself king in Lysea. Old enough that I was a student when my order left the Moon King Elendor to die in Khazdhul, and heard with pride the news that we had saved Ehlaniel from Sartek's advance."

All of this history, Daerec had learned, but to hear the names spoken like old acquaintances was strange indeed. "And did you have a home then? You are Elven, are you not?"

Arvad smiled sadly and looked away, twining his fingers together. "I have had many homes, young Lysean, and all of them have been lost to me. It is easier now to tie myself to no land, but rather to wander. And when one of my order has lived long enough, the bonds of race seem less important; we are all of us Etherian."

"But when you introduced yourself to Kurgen, at Duernoth, it sounded as if you had come from some tower of wizards, 'where knowledge is guarded close. . .'"

Arvad's smile became wry. "You learn, after the centuries, how to mislead without lying." He sighed and gestured to the bedroll beside Daerec. "Sleep, Daerec. If creatures stir under these accursed skies, I will know it, and give warning."

"And you?" Daerec asked.

"I will be remembering."

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"There!" Kurgen hissed. "See, there, by that bush." He rushed forward and pointed at the muddy ground. The unmistakable print of an Orkish foot could be seen. "And there!" He pointed again. Now, the others saw the trail that Kurgen had insisted he had been spying. It was fresh, for the rain had not ceased and would soon wash the tracks away. "We are close. I can smell them."

Arvad shook his head. "Nay, Kurgen, that is only the muck you smell, though I'll admit, it does have the stink of Orcs to it. They are near, but not close enough for Dwarven noses, no matter how acute their sense of smell."

"We must hurry then," Daerec insisted. "It is still not too late."

For two more days they had given chase, as hard ground turned to churning mud. Terrwyn's shining armor was now no finer than Daerec's tattered cloak, and the poor Dwarven warrior was coated in sludge from his feet to his belt. No matter how hard they marched, they could not close the gap, not with the very elements fighting against them. But now, this find -- perhaps they could still overtake the Orc band before it reached the pass.

"The boy is right," Terrwyn snapped. "Come quickly now. I have had enough of mud and rain, and would rather coat myself in the blood of Orcs." She pressed on ahead. With a groan, Arvad followed, the Dwarf and Daerec close behind.

They pushed themselves harder now, bounding through the mud despite sprays of brackish water. Slips, torn clothes and torn skin, mud and blood mixing together -- despite it all they went on, faster than prudence, but not quite reckless. From time to time the wizard would call out, "They are closer. Faster now, faster!" And it was he, now, not Terrwyn, who took the lead, with leaps and strides that surely had magic behind them.

When Arvad had drawn for them a map of the pass, the hill over which they would climb had been nothing but a small rock. But here, in the pounding rain, it rose mist-shrouded and ominous, large enough to have seemed at home in the mountains near Duernoth. Still, the companions made their way, more carefully now, but with no hesitation. Fairy-fire from the wizard's fingers illumined dangerous paths, and arcane winds aided their leaps from crag to crag. And always, the wizard's voice boomed, "Faster! We must go faster!"

Kurgen's short legs pounded beside Daerec, and the Dwarf, gasping for breath, cursed, "Would that he shared some sorcerous strength with us, eh, lad?" Daerec nodded and smiled grimly, pushing himself faster. Beside him, Terrwyn made her way, and he refused to let her pass him by.

"Well, Sirian, show us your training now!" he shouted over the wind, hurling himself across a ravine and scrambling up a steep climb.

Terrwyn, who had slipped behind, shouted forward, "I will not waste my strength on you!" But she, too, seemed to push herself harder, leaving the Dwarf behind. The two humans dashed side by side, each driving the other on, until their sides heaved and their lungs burned and the wizard's lead began to diminish.

Ahead of them was a ravine wreathed in warning fairy-fire -- a leap that Arvad had deemed to great. Yet the way around was long and slow. Daerec glanced to the paladin, then rushed forward and leapt, pushing himself off the ledge with all his strength. Barely did he make it across, landing in a bone-jarring crash amid the dancing lights. Terrwyn, mere steps behind him, jumped as well.

In a moment that seemed to stretch out with horror, both she and Daerec realized that she would not make it across. Instead, she slammed into the slippery side of the ravine. Her fingers, exhausted from climbing and bloody from sharp rocks, grasped frantically. And as she held desperately on, tears unseen beneath concealing rain, she felt the drag of her armor upon her, inexorable.

"Arvad!" Daerec shouted, but the wizard was too far ahead now to hear. "Kurgen!" But the Dwarf was too far behind. He rushed alone to the cliff edge and stared down at Terrwyn. Her spiteful face was softened with terror, and her cold eyes were wide and bleary.

"Help me, Daerec!" she pleaded. "I can't hold much longer, it's too wet."

As if mocking them, thunder crashed in the skies above.

"Kurgen!" Daerec yelled again, as he dropped to his stomach and inched toward the edge. "Help!" But again there was no response. He slid forward more, until his own body was hanging over. He stretched his arm forth till his hand was beside hers. Fear rattled through his body, until he was shaking as hard as Terrwyn. "Take my hand, Terrwyn!"

"I can't let go," she cried. "Grab my arm."

He did, but even as his fingers closed around the smooth metal bracer, he knew that his grip would not hold. "It won't work, Terrwyn. Your armor's too slippery." He saw her quivering intensify. "Please, grab my hand, it's your only chance."

Her eyes closed and, in a flash, she pulled her right hand from the stone and grabbed his wrist. His grip closed around hers in the same instant. But even that brief moment was too much. Terrwyn's hold on the cliff was lost, and her other hand slid free. For a terrible second, she fell, until her arm was outstretched its full length. Daerec felt himself sliding forward along the ground, dragged toward the pit by her weight.

He pulled then, with all his strength, then with more, the sinews in his arms screaming. His jaw was clenched so hard that his teeth groaned, and his breath came hard through his lips.

But it was not enough. He could not raise her up, and he slid ever closer to the edge, unable to stop his fall. "Kurgen! Arvad!"

"Daerec," Terrwyn whispered. "I can't hold much longer." She had his arm now with both hands. Her eyes were still closed. "Pull me up."

"I can't. I don't have the strength."

And yet he pulled again, with all his strength and all his rage at his weakness, at the weakness of his people, of his race. He pulled until fire coursed up his arm and into his heart, until the frigid air seemed scorching in his throat.
But that, too, was not enough.

Terrwyn was going to die. The only question, then, was whether Daerec would die with her, holding fast as her armor dragged them both down.

He held.

Beneath the din of the howling wind, Terrwyn was whispering, but Daerec could not hear what she said. A final prayer? A plea for him to pull harder? Then, he realized it was neither, as he felt an energy suffuse him such as he had never known. Through all his body, every muscle, every nerve, flowed peace. The wind quieted. His slide stopped. And he began to pull once more. Not now with rage, but with the certainty that he would save her, that her paladin's gift would save them both. And inch by desperate inch, she rose from the pit, until at last she reached with one free hand and grabbed the edge, swinging herself over.

For a silent moment, each stared into the other's eyes. Then, abruptly, Terrwyn looked away and pushed herself to her feet. As she did, Arvad's voice snapped from the hillside. "You fools! I warned you from that path for a reason." Daerec looked up. The wizard and the Dwarf stared from a higher ridge.

As Daerec scrambled to his feet, the Dwarf's gruff voice rolled slowly down. "There is no rush, Daerec. The Orcs are through the pass. We are too late."

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