Orcs:Bad blood o-1 Read online

"Sir?"

  "It's a bad time for all of this to flare up again." His tone had grown sober. "Keep it to yourself, but I've been informed to expect a visit from a higher authority."

  "Is that a problem, sir?"

  "When it comes to this particular superior, that would be putting it lightly." He suddenly appeared weary. "Leave me now, Frynt. I need to rest."

  "Certainly, sir."

  The aide quietly removed himself.

  On the far side of the room there was a pair of doors. The evening being warm, they were wide open. Hacher walked out onto the balcony.

  He was renowned for his unruffled nature. But even he felt a pang of dread as he looked down at the darkened city.

  The gloomy streets the Wolverines were taken through looped and twisted so much that they soon lost their bearings.

  Eventually they were led along a narrow alley to a darkened house that appeared no different to hundreds of others they'd passed. The orc guiding them rapped a signal on the door with the hilt of his sword. Everyone was quickly ushered in. The door guard's eyes widened when he saw the humans and dwarfs, but he said nothing.

  The house looked abandoned. There was no furniture and the bare floors were carpeted with dust. The large group was kept moving until its head reached a small back room. A pile of rotting wooden planks lay on the floor. Swept aside, a trapdoor was revealed. Stryke hesitated for a moment, then stepped onto the ladder. The band filed down after him.

  They found themselves in an extensive cellar. A large number of orcs were present, and their expressions were uniformly wary.

  The orc who brought the Wolverines there was the last one down. In the light thrown by brands and lanterns they got their first clear look at him. He was around four and twenty summers old, and fairly tall, almost rangy, by the standards of his race. His features were strong and his bearing upright. Self-evidently he was robust, and a female might well have seen him as fetching. From the way those present regarded him, it was also plain that he had authority.

  "We should take your weapons," he said.

  "You'd have to prise them from our corpses," Stryke told him.

  "I hoped you'd say that."

  "Why?"

  "It's further proof you're like us. Special."

  "Special?"

  "You fight. That's why you're here."

  "What's so unusual about — "

  "But there's a way you're not like us." He pointed at Standeven, Pepperdyne and the dwarfs, who had been herded together in a corner. "Why are you mixing with humans?" He all but spat the word. "And whatever they are," he added, indicating Jup and Spurral.

  Stryke had no choice but to elaborate on the story he told when they first arrived, and hoped these orcs were as parochial as the shepherd. "We're not from these parts."

  "What?"

  "We're travellers."

  "Where have you travelled from?"

  Stryke took his gamble. "The world's a big place. You know there's a lot more to it than Taress."

  "In what part of the world do orcs consort with humans and…"

  "They're called dwarfs," Stryke supplied.

  "Where do orcs, humans and these dwarfs live together?"

  Stryke had hoped to keep things vague. He was forced to take another stab in the dark. "The north. Far north."

  A murmur went up from the onlookers.

  "The wilderness?" the leader said. He seemed impressed, possibly awed. Or perhaps disbelieving. It was hard to say.

  Stryke nodded.

  "We know little of those climes. Things must be very different there."

  Stryke barely believed his luck. It took an effort not to let out a sigh of relief. "Very."

  "But you fight like a disciplined unit, the way we do. We saw it. If humans and these others are in league with orcs, who do you fight?"

  Yet again, Stryke had to think on his feet. "Humans."

  "Then how — "

  "Some humans, like our comrades here, condemn what their kind have done to our race, and make common cause with us. And the dwarf folk have always sided with us."

  "I've never heard of such a thing. Here, humans treat us like cattle."

  "As you said, you know little of northern climes. Our ways are unlike Taress'."

  "If what you say is true," the leader replied thoughtfully, "I can see benefits in having human allies. Assuming they can be trusted."

  "Some can." Stryke knew that could be the biggest lie of all.

  "What I don't understand is how you came to be fighters at all."

  "Where we come from, all orcs fight."

  There was another, even louder murmur from the onlookers.

  "All?"

  "Why be surprised?" Stryke said. "You fight."

  "I said we were special. Different. The norm in Acurial is that most orcs aren't warlike."

  "It's the other way round with us." He made an effort not to look Wheam's way. "But how did you come to this?"

  "Who knows? Too soft a life for too long, maybe, before the invaders arrived. Some of us, a few, have a taste for blood. The citizens think of us as freaks because of it. We see ourselves as patriots." He gave Stryke a hard look. "So why did your group come south?"

  That almost wrong-footed Stryke. He said the first thing that came into his head. "To recruit fighters."

  "You thought it'd be the same here as in your land? That all orcs fought?"

  "We hoped."

  "You must have felt let down."

  "We just arrived. We're still finding out how things are."

  "There's no cheer in what you're saying. If you come from a land where all orcs fight, yet you still can't overcome the oppressors… You haven't beaten them, have you?"

  "No."

  "Then what chance have we, with hardly any willing to take up arms?"

  "There are far fewer orcs in the north lands."

  The leader sighed. "That's our problem, too. Not enough of us."

  "Who are you?" Stryke asked.

  "I'm Brelan." He beckoned to someone standing in a shadowy part of the cellar. "And this is Chillder."

  A female orc strode into the light. Her resemblance to Brelan was remarkable. Except for obvious gender differences, they were identical.

  "Never seen twins before?" she asked of Stryke, who was staring intently.

  "Rarely."

  "And how are they thought of in your land?"

  "As lucky," he answered truthfully.

  "Then that's another difference. Here we're seen as bringers of ill fortune."

  "Let's hope it's to your enemies."

  Chillder allowed herself a fleeting smile. "We know you're Stryke. But who…?" She waved a hand at the rest of the Wolverines.

  "This is Haskeer, Coilla and Dallog," he replied, "my seconds-in-command." He didn't think they were ready to accept the idea of Jup being an officer. Jabbing a thumb at the grunts, he added pointedly, "The rest you'll get to know later, given a chance."

  "Perhaps," she returned, her expression inscrutable.

  Stryke scanned the watchful faces surrounding them. "So this is the resistance?"

  "Some of it."

  "And you lead them?"

  "Along with my brother."

  "We're outsiders," Coilla said. "Tell us what happened here."

  "It must have been the same as happened to you," Chillder replied. "We had a good life for a long time. Maybe too good, like Brelan said. Then Peczan invaded."

  "Peczan?"

  She eyed Coilla suspiciously. "The human's empire."

  "Oh, right. We tend to think of them as just… filthy, brutal humans." It sounded lame, even to her.

  Chillder let it pass. "When the invaders came, opposition was weak. They overran us between new moon and full."

  "Didn't anybody organise a proper defence?"

  "Sylandya tried. Our Primary." She saw Coilla's quizzical look. "Acurial's leader. She was the only one in power who really strived to mount a defence."

  "What happened to her?"
>
  Chillder paused before answering, "No one really knows. But the upshot is that Taress is under the heel of foreign occupiers. We're a province of Peczan now. They reckon." There was real venom in her voice. "And life gets harsher by the day under Iron Hand."

  "Who?"

  "His name's Kapple Hacher. Calls himself our governor."

  "And the humans use magic?"

  "Too right! Don't say that's different in the north too?"

  "Er… no, course not. Just wondered."

  "It works the same as in your parts, I guess. Magic's in the hands of an elite among the humans, the Order of the Helix. Most just call them the Order."

  Coilla nodded knowingly.

  "Don't know how it was with you," Chillder went on, "but magic was the ploy they used to invade here in the south. Peczan said we had weapons of magical destruction and posed a threat to them. What a joke."

  "Did you?"

  "I wish. If we did, and had the ability to use 'em, things might have been different."

  "We want to help fight the humans," Stryke said.

  "We always need recruits," Brelan told him. "But… We need to confer." As he was turning away he noticed the tattoos on Jup's cheeks. "What's that on his face?"

  "I can speak for myself," Jup informed him.

  "So what are those markings?"

  "A sign of enslavement."

  Chillder scrutinised the faces of several Wolverines and saw their fading scars. "You all had them," she said.

  Stryke nodded. He assumed the twins took it for granted that humans were responsible.

  Chillder and Brelan exchanged glances, then walked away. When they reached the farthest end of the cellar they were joined by several others. A hushed conversation ensued.

  The Wolverines waited, several score pairs of distrustful eyes on them.

  "That was some fine bullshit you fed them, Stryke," Coilla whispered.

  "I don't know. I'm not sure I'd have believed it."

  "The bit about coming from the north seemed to go down well."

  "Pure luck."

  "What do you think they'll do?" Haskeer asked.

  Stryke shrugged. "Could go either way."

  Wheam sidled up. "Are we gonna fight 'em?"

  "That's rich coming from you," Haskeer sneered. "I'd have thought you'd be right at home here with so many cowards around."

  Wheam was about to mouth a retort when Dallog motioned him to silence.

  The twins were coming back, at the head of a small delegation.

  "Well?" Stryke demanded.

  "We said we could use recruits," Brelan told him. "But if you really want to be part of this, you'll have to prove yourselves."

  "You want to set a task, that's all right by us."

  "Let's call it a test. We lost some good orcs tonight helping you out. Nothing can be done about them. But seven of our group were captured, and they face certain death because of you."

  "I could argue with that."

  "Don't bother." He looked to the humans, and pointed at Pepperdyne. "The younger one looks the fittest."

  "For what?" Stryke said.

  "He could be useful on your mission, being one of them. Like a key, you know?"

  "What is this mission?"

  "You're to free our captured comrades. You and your three officers, this human and ten of your band. You can pick which ones."

  "I'd need the full strength to pull off something like that."

  "No. The other human, the dwarfs and the rest of your unit stay here. And if you fail, they die."

  16

  Dawn had yet to break, and the air was chill.

  The compound was a bleak collection of slab-like buildings on the outskirts of Taress. It was surrounded by a high timber wall, and there were several lookout towers. Guards patrolled inside the perimeter, and a small contingent defended the only set of gates.

  In a copse on the side of a nearby hill a number of figures were stretched out on the ground, surveying the scene. Stryke, Coilla, Haskeer and Dallog were there, along with Pepperdyne, ten Wolverine privates and two resistance members. Pepperdyne was wearing a dark blue military uniform.

  "They use this place solely for interrogation and executions," one of the resistance orcs explained. "Prisoners are kept in the biggest block, over there." He pointed. "The smaller ones are the torture and death chambers."

  "Where will your comrades be?" Stryke asked.

  "Could be anywhere."

  "Great," Coilla said.

  The orc pointed again. "See those two buildings? With the thatched roofs? That's the officers' mess and the barracks."

  "They're your remit, Dallog," Stryke said.

  The corporal nodded, and in turn looked to Nep, Zoda, Gant and Reafdaw, who all had bows strapped to their backs. "Think you can manage 'em?" The quartet gave the thumbs up. "Those and the towers are asking a lot, Stryke," Dallog reckoned.

  "This whole mission's asking a lot." He directed that at the resistance members.

  "Curfew's going to end soon," one of them said, "so your timing's gotta be spot on."

  "We kind of knew that," Coilla replied dryly.

  "Least you'll have the element of surprise. They won't be expecting something so bold."

  "You mean you've never tried anything like this before?"

  He shook his head. "Nobody has."

  "This just gets better."

  "Can we count on you two for help?" Stryke wanted to know.

  "We're only here to observe and report back. But we'll be waiting with transport if you get out again."

  Stryke bit off a response and turned to Pepperdyne. "You all right with this?"

  "Do we have a choice?" He wriggled a couple of fingers into the buttoned-up collar of his uniform and tried stretching it. "Damn thing's too tight," he complained.

  "Fidgeting won't make it any bigger," Coilla said.

  "This concerns me more." He pointed at a small, dark red stain on the breast.

  "Guess that was from the last owner. You'll have to hope nobody notices."

  Pepperdyne stared at the compound. "What if they want a password or something?"

  "It's a risk we'll have to take," Stryke told him.

  "That's an officer's uniform," one of the resistance members explained. "High ranking. It should be enough to get you in."

  "What worries me," Haskeer said, "is there'll only be three of us." He glanced at Pepperdyne. "And one a human at that."

  "Any more would be too suspicious," the resistance member pointed out.

  Stryke sighed. "All right, let's do this." To Coilla he added, "Be ready to shift, and fast."

  Keeping low, he moved away. Haskeer and Pepperdyne followed.

  At the foot of the hill, and out of sight of the compound, they came to an open wagon. They clambered on to it.

  "Time to bind you," Pepperdyne said, taking up a coil of rope.

  "I'm not happy about this," Haskeer grumbled ominously.

  "Bit late for that," Stryke commented. "Here, do me first." He turned his back.

  The human bound his wrists. Then Haskeer reluctantly allowed himself to be tied.

  "I've made the knots loose," Pepperdyne assured them. "One good tug and you'll be free. Now sit down."

  He climbed into the driver's seat and flicked the reins over the pair of horses.

  They bumped around the base of the hill and joined the road. A moment later the compound came into view.

  As Pepperdyne steered the wagon on to the slip road, the trio of guards lounging by the gates straightened up. Recognising his rank, but not him, they hesitated for a second before offering salutes. Then the most senior of them came forward.

  "Can I help you, sir?"

  "Two prisoners," Pepperdyne replied crisply.

  The guard glanced at Stryke and Haskeer. "We've had no orders to expect prisoners."

  "What did you say?"

  "I said we've had no — "

  "I was referring to the way you addressed me, Sergean
t! Is that how you talk to all superior officers?"

  "No, I… Sir! No, sir!"

  "Better. There's far too much sloppiness in the ranks. Some might accept it, I don't. Now, you were saying?"

  "Begging your pardon, sir. But we've had no notice that prisoners are due, sir."

  "Well, I had orders to bring them here."

  The sergeant looked uncomfortable. "Sir, our instructions are plain. I'd need to check this with the camp commander, sir."

  "So you're questioning my authority."

  " No sir. I only — "

  "You're saying you don't trust the word of a superior officer. You're adding insolence to insubordination. Perhaps you'd like to see my orders, is that it? Is it? Here." He reached into his tunic pocket. "I'm sure General Hacher would be more than happy to have a sergeant inspect the directive he issued to me personally."

  The sergeant blanched. "General… Hacher, sir?"

  "Don't let that stop you. I'm sure you can explain your actions to him when he has you flogged, Private."

  "I didn't mean… that is, I… Go right in, sir!" He turned to his two companions. "Open up and let the officer through! Move yourselves! "

  The gates were hastily parted and the wagon rolled in.

  Inside, there were two more guards. Much further away, in the compound proper, other soldiers could be seen going about their duties.

  To Stryke and Haskeer, Pepperdyne whispered, " Be ready."

  He brought the wagon to a halt, then glanced at the nearest watchtower. The lookout was paying them no attention. One of the guards approached, and Pepperdyne jumped down to meet him.

  "What can I do for you, sir?" the guard asked.

  "Take a nap."

  "Eh?"

  Pepperdyne gave him a hefty crack to the jaw. The man went down like a felled tree.

  Stryke and Haskeer shed their bonds and leapt from the wagon. They pulled out concealed blades, and Haskeer grabbed the sword of the unconscious guard.

  The other guard stopped gaping and dashed for a wall-mounted alarm bell. Stryke lobbed his knife and hit him squarely between the shoulder-blades. The man fell headlong.

  They hauled up the first guard and brought him round with a couple of slaps.

  A blade was put to his throat.

  "The ones outside," Stryke said. "Get them in here."

  "Go to hell."

  "You first. Now do it."

  Pepperdyne looked to the watchtower. Still the lookout hadn't noticed what was happening. He felt sure their luck wouldn't hold much longer. " Stryke, get a move on!"