Page 24 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
But something about their formation triggers recognition from my years in Liiandor. These aren't routine border guards or even military scouts. The precise spacing, the way they move with weapons already partially drawn, the systematic pattern of their advance—these are hunters, not explorers.
"Grimna," I breathe, barely audible even to enhanced orc hearing. "They're tracking something. This isn't a patrol."
His scarred face turns toward me, eyebrows raised in silent question. I point to the lead scout's posture, the way his head tilts as if following a scent trail, the deliberate pace that suggests pursuit rather than reconnaissance.
"What are they hunting?" he asks.
The answer crystallizes with horrible clarity as I study their equipment more carefully. Specialized restraint magic focuses hang from their belts alongside weapons designed for capture rather than killing. Tracking stones pulse with subdued magical energy, following trails invisible to normal senses.
"Us," I whisper. "They're hunting the patrol."
Grimna's eyes widen as understanding hits. This isn't a chance encounter—it's a trap, carefully planned and expertly executed. The dark elves have somehow learned about our scouting mission and positioned themselves to intercept us.
But how? Our route was decided less than an hour ago, shared only among the patrol members and senior leadership. Either we have a traitor within the clan, or dark elf intelligence gathering has reached terrifying levels of sophistication.
The tactical situation deteriorates rapidly as more figures emerge from concealment along our intended path. Not six scouts, but dozens of warriors moving with coordinated precision. They've positioned themselves to cut off every escape route, turning the canyon approaches into a killing ground.
"Withdrawal," Grimna signals, but even as the hand gestures pass between patrol members, I can see the futility. We're outnumbered at least three to one, caught in terrain that favors the ambush force. Traditional tactical doctrine would call for immediate retreat, but retreat leads directly into more enemy positions.
"There," I point to a narrow defile between two rock formations. "Secondary route, angle southeast toward the old river bed."
"That leads away from the settlement," Vex protests.
"It also leads away from the main ambush force." I'm already moving, trusting the others to follow. "They've blocked the direct routes home, but they can't cover every game trail and water course."
Grimna hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding agreement. "Move. Silent formation, watch for pursuit."
We slip through the defile like ghosts, using every scrap of cover the landscape provides. Behind us, shouts echo through the canyon as the dark elves realize their prey has escaped the initial trap. The hunt is on, but now it's become a contest of local knowledge against superior numbers.
The old river bed offers concealment and multiple branching paths, but it also channels us toward more open ground where our advantages evaporate. I rack my memory for alternatives, drawing on years of listening to smugglers and refugees discuss secret routes through dangerous territory.
"The mining tunnels," I say as we pause at a junction between dry stream channels. "There's an abandoned complex about two miles northeast. Multiple entrances, easy to defend, connects to the underground water systems."
"I know the place," Grimna confirms. "But if they trap us there, we'll be sealed in with no escape."
"Better than being run down in open ground." The sound of pursuit grows closer, boots on stone and the distinctive hum of tracking magic. "At least the tunnels limit their numerical advantage."
We push harder, sacrificing stealth for speed as the chase intensifies. The dark elves have committed significant resources to this ambush, suggesting either desperation or the conviction that eliminating this particular patrol serves strategic purposes.
The mining complex appears ahead like a promise of sanctuary—stone structures carved into the canyon wall, connected by a network of tunnels that honeycomb the rock. Most entrances have been sealed or collapsed, but local knowledge reveals hidden passages that offer access to the underground maze.
"There," I point to a crack in the rock face that looks like natural erosion but actually conceals a deliberately disguised entrance. "Smugglers' route. Connects to the main tunnel system but can be defended by a single warrior."
Grimna nods approval and signals the patrol toward the hidden passage. We slip inside just as the first dark elf scouts round the bend behind us, their tracking spells illuminating our position like beacons in the darkness.
The tunnels beyond offer both opportunity and peril. The narrow passages neutralize enemy numerical advantages while providing multiple options for movement and escape. But they also trap us underground with limited supplies and no easy way to call for reinforcement.
"How well do you know this complex?" Grimna asks as we navigate deeper into the maze.
"Well enough. Smugglers used these routes to move contraband between dark elf territories. I helped guide some of their operations before..." Before my capture and enslavement, before the long years of serving in Liiandor's hierarchy.
"Can you get us home?"
"Yes, but not quickly. The tunnels connect to the underground river system, but reaching navigable water requires several hours of careful movement."
Behind us, the sounds of pursuit echo through stone passages as dark elf forces spread through the complex. They're being methodical, sealing exits and establishing checkpoints to prevent escape. Professional work that speaks of extensive planning.
"Grimna," Vex calls from a side passage, his voice tight with concern. "You need to see this."
