El-Vador's Travels (18 page)

Harlven
let his companion drink in the sight, clearly he was used to the awe
that such grandeur inspired and was more than happy to let the
immensity of the place sink in.

As
the two passed a bustling marketplace, El-Vador noticed that none of
these humans paid his features any heed. Had they all seen Elven kin
before or did they simply not care about his appearance and strange
attire?

Harlven
led El-Vador to a building cut and assembled from rock similar to
that of the keep's outer wall. To his surprise there was a large pool
of water inside, presumably for bathing. He always felt vulnerable
when surrounded by water, and was loathe to relinquish his weapons in
this strange place.

'Long
have been your journeys,' the priest said. 'would you care to cleanse
yourself in our waters?'

El-Vador
shook his head. 'No, you have offered me courtesy thus far but I must
decline your generosity. I will not bathe without a weapon to hand.'

'That
is an acceptable compromise,' the priest replied. 'You will be left
alone and you may do with your weapons as you wish.'

El-Vador
eyed the priest with suspicion, was he really right in suspecting a
trap? If he could keep his sword by his side then what danger was
there in soaking for a while?

He
laid his blade by the edge of the waters and within clear reach,
making sure that the priest observed the gesture before departing.

As
he sank into the lapping warmth he let out a contented sigh. Never
had he experienced such pleasure in a tub before now, nor such
freedom of space. His ablutions were largely carried out in the icy
cold and to linger too long in such waters would spell trouble. Here
the steaming heat invited him, somehow retaining its temperature from
the stone beneath it. El-Vador knew not how this was accomplished but
it was a marvel that he finally decided to take full advantage of.

It
was his Elven senses that pricked up in caution, something was
watching him in this vulnerable state. He reached out and touched the
assuring pommel of his sword and opening his eyes once more to scan
the room. There seemed no possible method of viewing him from this
place, the walls surrounding him offered no cracks or crevices from
which to peer through. The feeling still remained, a primal instinct
he had cultivated through his years of hunting. Something was amiss
here and he couldn't determine what had caused such a feeling.

The
entrance to the pool opened silently behind him and El-Vador waited
for his assailant to enter, the soft padded feet spoke of one who was
used to stealth. Had Harlven sent an assassin to rid his companion
for him? As the figure drew close El-Vador's arm shot out and gripped
the sword, spinning round in the pool and leaping out at his attacker
in the hopes of catching him off guard.

They
boy screamed and dropped the clothing, tears of panic running down
his face as he fell to the ground. El-Vador looked down at the
unarmed child and sighed, this was not the killer he had expected.

After
calming him somewhat, an awkward action for one such as he, the Elf
discovered that the child had simply been tasked with bringing
clothing to the enclosed pool. They were good clothes too and fit his
form well. He thanked the child, who was still shaking, and bid him
hurry off to whatever duties he had left to do. The boy did not need
telling twice and rushed away with a servile nod.

As
he fitted his final boot, Harlven returned. He nodded at the Elf,
then de-robed without any sense of shame and slipped into the heated
waters that El-Vador had just occupied with a sigh of relief.

'If
you can allow your guide but a few minutes of peace in these heavenly
waters I shall soon be able to provide you with a sumptuous feast.'

El-Vador's
stomach groaned at the mention of sustenance. Though game had been
plentiful in his travels thus far, it was poor substitute for the
multitudinous fare that flashed before his eyes.

The
priest laughed. 'You look hungry, friend. I would be a poor host if I
spent more than a minute longer in this tub while my guest's guts
grumbled in complaint.'

He
hauled himself out of the waters and threw his robe over him once
more. 'Come, I shall show you a feast that will abate any further
qualms you may have of my hospitality.'

El-Vador
followed his chatty host, but kept his blade loose just in case.

My dealings with the Orcish occupation had left me distrustful and
suspicious of all I came into contact with in my youth. The influence
of a few good men did not change that but rather tempered it. To live
in constant fear of reprisal for previous actions can wear down even
the hardest of hearts, but to abandon focus entirely by trusting in
the good nature of those around you is foolishness.

H
e
was led by Harlven into a large hall filled with robed priests. At
least, that's what he thought they were, it seemed their crimson garb
was a universal dress code inside the keep.

He
felt refreshed and recovered from his long journey after the soak and
unexpected hospitality. All that remained was to enjoy the
forthcoming sumptuous banquet, so why did he remain on edge? Could it
not have just been the boy that had been watching over him as he
bathed? Something irrational in his gut made El-Vador find that
unlikely.

Harlven
offered El-Vador a seat at the long bench and watched as the Elf lay
his sword across his lap. If there was danger imminent he planned not
to be caught out. His sharp eyes scanned the room for potential
threats but the indistinguishable robes these people wore made it
impossible to tell. They could all be armed to the teeth without him
knowing, and any one of them could have been watching over his
bathing.

A
large decanter was placed before him and Harlven started pouring the
wine. He offered a cup to El-Vador which was begrudgingly accepted.
He couldn't afford to get too merry given the potentially fatal
circumstances.

The
food was brought before them now, great steaming bowls of potatoes
and cooked fish the likes of which the Elf had never seen. Harlven
had been modest in his praise of the food they would be eating, it
truly was the best meal he'd tasted.

The
feast seemed never-ending in its sumptuous courses. Finally El-Vador
simply stopped eating, not caring whether his host took offence or
not. He retired to bed shortly after and slept well, feeling no
foreign gaze upon him in this place.

He
awoke in darkness. The quarters he had been settled in were luxurious
by his standards and his tired body had taken full advantage of that.

He
stretched out in bed, still feeling the impact that the yeti had
wrought upon him. The pain would dull in time, much faster given the
ministrations of Harlven and his people. He made his way back down to
the great hall he had feasted in and found that breakfast had already
been laid out before him.

El-Vador
helped himself, washing down his meal with another cup of wine. So
far this detour had been worthwhile, soon he would set out for the
cities south of here and then on to the Orcs.

It
was as if thinking their name brought the purpose back into him. He
had been slacking in his duties to his people, who knows what the
enemy had planned in retaliation for their loss? His drinking and
merriment had cost him time that he didn't have. He finished up the
breakfast and made his way out of the hall to search for the large
exit of this keep.

Harlven
met El-Vador in the corridors, a big smile upon the priest's face at
seeing his companion awake. 'Ah, El-Vador! I see you slept well,
enjoying your walk?'

'I'm
looking for the exit to this place, I need to continue my venturing
south.'

'Yes,
I suspected that you might want to be departing soon. Are you sure
that you cannot take the time to watch members of our order spar in
combat? You may learn a thing or two from our masters.'

El-Vador
thought about this. He had no experience of combat outside of hunting
and while he could reach the Orcs sooner if he left now, the things
he could learn here may aid him better against them. 'Very well then,
bring me to these masters and teach me your ways.'

Harlven
nodded cheerfully and led him further into the bowels of the keep.

The
hallways grew in width to accommodate the people passing through
them, all clad in crimson robes that shadowed their form from sight.
El-Vador let his eyes focus instead upon the opening they were
venturing toward.

It
was a giant oval that seemed carved into the stone floor, within
which several robed figures practised with sticks under the tutelage
of an older man. He stared up and beckoned them down upon a wave and
cry from Harlven. El-Vador had a suspicion as to what was set to
happen next.

The
man he inevitably faced off against certainly looked like a master.
He had white hair and a creased face that bore many years upon it. In
spite of this he seemed hale and his movements did not indicate any
impediment from age. They had been equipped with wooden practice
swords and El-Vador had been urged by the man to attack him.

El-Vador
gripped the sword with a degree of trepidation, the wooden blade
feeling unfamiliar in his hands. He moved to the man's left and then
right, dodging in and out of his reach in the hopes of provoking him
into making an attack. None was forthcoming, the master stayed in his
place, his eyes observing every stroke of his opposition's blade.

Gradually
the Elf grew closer and bolder in his goading, swatting at the man
with his sword mere inches away from the elder's face, yet still
there was no provocation great enough to make the man act.

El-Vador
finally wearied of taunting the man and sent a cut that would surely
land, the man moved just enough to avoid the swing and nothing more.
So he was not a statue after all, interesting.

He
leaped forward, raising his training sword overheard and aiming
directly for the man's head, if he didn't dodge this it would
undoubtedly cause damage.

The
old man shifted his body slightly to the right, somehow keeping just
out of reach of El-Vador's angling blade.

His
opponent's sword swept out and caught him in the side, sending him
sprawling to the floor. As El-Vador moved to recover his footing he
found the wooden blade pressed against his throat. The master offered
him an apologetic smile.

'Clearly
you have much to learn, young Elf.' Harlven said, laughing at
El-Vador's misfortune but not unkindly. 'perhaps you would be better
off facing against this man's apprentice. Are you game?'

El-Vador
shrugged. 'I will not learn if I do not try. Bring the next opponent
on.'

A
young boy called Syvembile, looking barely into manhood, approached
from behind the master and nodded to him in deference. He took the
man's sword and squared off against El-Vador.

He
watched this new opponent with wary eyes. The boy danced about the
arena in a manner most unlike that of his master's economy of
movement. Would he also be the first to strike?

El-Vador
stood in a relaxed stance, patiently waiting for his opponent.

The
movements of the master he had just fought flashed back in his head
with the suddenness that disorientated him. He opened his eyes and
discovered he knew exactly what to do.

The
apprentice must have also seen the moment, leaping forward at
El-Vador and swinging his sword at him in the hopes of catching him
off guard. El-Vador responded by stepping into his attacker and
blocking the blow with the flat of his sword before twisting and
disarming his foe.

The
look of puzzlement on the apprentice's face gave way to a smile, he
had clearly impressed the boy. He looked over at the master and
noticed that he was frowning, whether it was at him or his apprentice
El-Vador did not know.

As
El-Vador left the training yard with a chatty Harlven in tow, he
could feel the gaze of the master upon his back. Clearly the man was
wondering how the young Elf had picked up on his technique so quickly
as to defeat his best student.

El-Vador
found he was wondering the same thing.

I have learnt many things in my venturing across the lands that
you now call your homes. People long dead and places that are but
memories, or the scant foundation for your blossoming cities used to
contain knowledge that has long since been lost to all but an equally
scant few.

The memory of all that I have learnt continues to propel me
forward, nothing will cease my march into eternity now.

I
n
the deeper parts of Sarvacts' fortress was a place unlike any other.
As dark as any of the chambers before it, this one contained a large
blackened spike. The top of it was stained crimson with the dried
blood of previous sacrifices, those whom Sarvacts had hated beyond
compare. Their sacrifice maintained his power longer than any other,
fuelled by his feelings. He longed to capture this Elven boy and
plant him upon it, watch him squirm and moan and then still. He knew
not how much power such hatred could generate, but at last here was a
figure of revilement that he could capture and force upon its point.

Sarvacts
strode into the chamber and observed the spike. The room existed as a
focus for the vengeance he sought; when El-Vador was planted upon it
his blood would become the catalyst from which his power would spring
forth. Power enough perhaps to overthrow the very Orcs that had
exiled him from their lands.

He
smiled at the thought. While he was considered more powerful now than
most of his former clan, he still would not be able to force his
dominion upon them. Once bathed in the energies that sacrificing this
Elven boy would produce, he would have the force to take out whatever
opposition his former home could present. He would swarm the place
with his forces and demand the execution of all who had wronged him,
then he would proclaim himself ruler over all that was once destined
to be his.