Orcs Read online

  “What the hell?” Coilla exclaimed.

  They gathered around him.

  “What’s the matter?” Stryke asked. “Has he taken a wound?”

  After a quick examination, Alfray replied, “No, he hasn’t.” He laid a hand on Haskeer’s forehead, then checked his pulse.

  “So what’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s got a fever. Know what I think, Stryke? I reckon he’s got the same thing Meklun had.”

  Several of the grunts backed away.

  “He’s been hiding this, the fool,” Alfray added.

  “He’s not been himself for the last couple of days, has he?” Coilla remarked.

  “No. All the signs were there. And here’s another thought, and it’s not a pleasant one.”

  “Go on,” Stryke urged.

  “I was suspicious of what it was that killed Meklun,” Alfray admitted. “Because although his wounds were bad, he could have recovered. I think he picked up something at that encampment we torched.”

  “He didn’t go near the place,” Jup reminded him. “He couldn’t.”

  “No. But Haskeer did.”

  “Gods,” Stryke whispered. “He said he didn’t touch any of the bodies. He must have lied.”

  Coilla said, “If Haskeer got the disease there, and passed it on to Meklun, couldn’t he have given it to the rest of us too?”

  There was a murmur of unease from the band.

  “Not necessarily,” Alfray told her. “Meklun was already weakened by his wounds, and open to the infection. As for the rest of us, if we were infected, you’d expect to see the signs by now. Does anybody feel unwell?”

  The band chorused no or shook their heads.

  “From what little we know about these human diseases,” Alfray went on, “the greatest risk of infection seems to be in the first forty-eight hours or so.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” Stryke said. He looked down at Haskeer. “Think he’ll pull through?”

  “He’s young and strong. That helps.”

  “What can we do for him?”

  “Not much beyond trying to keep his fever down and waiting for it to break.”

  “Another problem,” Coilla sighed.

  “Yes,” Stryke agreed, “and we don’t need it.”

  “It’s a good thing for him we don’t follow his own suggestion about what to do with the wounded. Remember his idea about Meklun?”

  “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What now, chief?” Jup wondered.

  “We stick to the plan.” He indicated the dragons circling above. “As soon as they’ve gone, assuming they do go, we push on to Trinity.”

  It was several hours before the coast was clear.

  The dragons, having flown over the wood numerous times, finally headed north and disappeared. Stryke ordered Haskeer to be put over a horse and tied in place. A grunt was assigned to lead it. Cautiously, the band set out in the direction of Trinity. Stryke estimated the journey would take about a day and a half, assuming no obstacles.

  With Weaver’s Lea behind them, they were free to take a more or less direct route. But now that they were in the south, that part of Maras-Dantia where humans had established themselves in greatest numbers, they had to be even more cautious. Wherever possible they sought the shelter of timberland, blind valleys and other naturally protective areas. Though the further south they travelled, the more evidence they saw of human habitation, and of despoliation.

  On the morning of the second day, they came to what had been a small forest, now almost completely felled. Much of the wood had been removed, but large amounts had simply been left to rot. The severed stumps were overgrown with mosses or brown with fungi. Which meant the felling was at least several months old.

  They marvelled at the destruction, and the amount of effort needed to achieve it. And they grew more wary, knowing that such devastation required many hands to accomplish.

  Several hours later they discovered the use the wood had been put to.

  They reached a river, its course running south-west toward the Carascrag mountain range. As rivers were the most reliable navigational aids, they followed it. Soon they noticed that the water flowed deep and was turning sluggish.

  Rounding a bend, they found out why.

  The river became an enormous, shimmering lake, covering many acres of previously open country. It had been created by a massive wooden dam, constructed they felt sure with trunks taken from the denuded forest. The dam both appalled and impressed them. Standing higher than the tallest pine, it consisted of a barrier six trunks in depth, running a distance a good archer would be sore put to match with an arrow’s flight. The timbers had been fitted with a high standard of precision, then lashed with what must have been miles of cable-thick twine. Mortar sealed the joins. On either bank, and emerging from several places in the river itself, were vast angled props, adding to the dam’s stability.

  Despite the great structure, scouting parties found no sign that humans were present. There having been no let-up in their journey since the previous day, Stryke ordered a halt and posted lookouts.

  Once Alfray attended Haskeer’s fever, which had grown worse, he joined the other officers to discuss their next move.

  “This capturing of the water means we must be near Trinity,” Stryke reasoned. “They’d need that much to serve a large population.”

  “It represents power, too,” Alfray suggested. “The power that controlling the water supply brings.”

  “Not to mention the power it represents in terms of the number of hands needed to build such a thing,” Stryke said. “The humans of Trinity must be highly organised as well as numerous.”

  “Yet they ignore the magical power they damaged by perverting the river’s course,” Jup told them. “Even I can sense the negative energy here.”

  “And I sense a major problem,” Coilla said, bringing the conversation to more immediate matters. “Trinity’s a fanatical Uni stronghold. Word is they aren’t exactly crazy about elder races there. How the hell are we going to get in to try for the star? Or are you planning a suicide mission, Stryke?”

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do. But we’ll follow basic military strategy: get as near as we can, try to find ourselves a hiding place and assess the situation. There has to be a way, we just don’t know what it is yet.”

  “What if there isn’t?” Alfray asked. “What if we can’t get near the place?”

  “Then we’ll have to rethink everything. Maybe we’ll negotiate with Jennesta for the one star we have, in exchange for some kind of amnesty.”

  “Oh yes, of course,” Coilla remarked cynically.

  “Or it could be that this is the beginning of a new life for us, as outlaws. Which, let’s face it, is what we are anyway.”

  Jup looked troubled. “That doesn’t sound an appetising prospect, chief.”

  “Then we’ll have to do our best to avoid it, won’t we? Now get some rest, all of you. I want us back on the road to Trinity in no more than an hour.”

  17

  They spotted Trinity in late afternoon.

  Hidden by the cover of vegetation, eyes peeled for patrols, the Wolverines took in the distant settlement. The town was an enclave, completely surrounded by a high timber wall, with lookout towers.

  The Carascrag Mountains loomed above and beyond it, steely blue with saw-jagged peaks. Shimmering air played over the mountains, heated by thermals rising from the Kirgizil Desert on the far side of the range.

  A well-used road led to a pair of huge gates that served as Trinity’s main entrance. They were closed. The township was surrounded by fields of crops so extensive they almost reached the band’s hiding place. But the yield looked frail and stunted.

  “Now we know what they need all that water for,” Coilla said.

  “For all the good it does them,” Jup replied. “Look at how mean the crops are. These humans are stupid. They can’t see that messing with the earth magic affects them a
s well as us.”

  “How in damnation are we going to approach the place, Stryke?” Alfray wanted to know. “Let alone get in?”

  “We might have one piece of luck on our side. We haven’t seen any humans yet. Most of them were probably drawn to the battle at Weaver’s Lea.”

  “But they wouldn’t have left the settlement undefended, would they?” Coilla reminded him. “And if most of the population is there, they’ll be back at some point.”

  “I meant it might help, not that it solved our problem.”

  “So what to do?” Jup wondered.

  “We scout for somewhere to hide and make a base camp. Coilla, take three grunts and work your way on foot around the township left to right. Jup, pick your three and do the same the other way. Note anything that’ll do as a hiding place, and remember it has to be suitable for the horses as well as us. Got that?”

  They nodded and moved off to obey their orders.

  Stryke looked to Alfray. “How’s Haskeer?”

  “About the same.”

  “Trust the bastard to make a nuisance of himself even when he’s unconscious. Do what you can for him.” He turned to the remainder of the band. “The rest of you keep yourselves alert and combat-ready.”

  They settled down to watch and wait.

  “I’m not sure about this,” Jup whispered.

  Concealed by bushes, they stared over at the yawning tunnel mouth cut into the bluff.

  “What worries me is that there’s only the one entrance,” Alfray said, “and I don’t know how spooked the horses might be in there.”

  “It’s all we could come up with,” Coilla repeated, a little exasperated.

  “Coilla’s right,” Stryke decided. “We’ll have to make the best of it. Are you sure it’s disused?”

  She nodded. “A couple of the grunts went quite a way in. It’s been abandoned.”

  “We’d be rats in a trap if the humans knew we were hiding there,” Jup opined.

  “That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Stryke told him. He checked that the way was clear. “Right, get in there fast. Horses first.”

  The band swept over to the mine-shaft entrance. Not all the horses went into the black maw willingly and had to be forced the last few yards.

  Inside it was dank and much cooler than the open air.

  The daylight let them see dimly perhaps thirty paces along the tunnel, at which point it became lower and narrower. After that, all was pitch darkness.

  “We stay away from the mouth,” Stryke decreed, “and I want no lights used unless absolutely necessary.”

  Coilla shivered. “I won’t be going far enough in to need one. Give me open skies any time.”

  Jup touched the rough-hewn wall. “What do you think they dug this for?”

  Bent over applying a damp cloth to Haskeer’s forehead, Alfray ventured, “Gold, probably. Or some other of the earth’s booty they think precious.”

  “I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” Jup said, tapping some stones with the tip of his boot. “I reckon they were going for the black rocks they burn as fuel. Wonder how long it took them to exhaust the seam?”

  “Not very, knowing humans,” Coilla suggested. “And I think you’re right, Jup. I’d heard that Trinity was founded here because there’s so much of the black rock to be dug in these parts.”

  “Again the land is raped,” Jup muttered. “We should have breached that dam and given them something to think about.”

  “We would have had a job doing it,” Stryke told him. “An army would be hard put to bring it down. But that’s not our concern at the moment. What we need to do is find Trinity’s weak point.”

  “If it has one.”

  “We won’t find out sitting here, Jup.”

  “So what’s your plan?” Coilla asked.

  “One thing we need to avoid is having too big a group of us out there, particularly in daylight. So I want to take a look around myself, along with you and Jup.”

  Coilla nodded. “Suits me fine. I’m not keen on living like a troglodyte.”

  “The rest will stay here, out of sight,” Stryke ordered. “Post a couple of guards, Alfray, and one or two more out there in the undergrowth, to warn of anyone approaching. And try to keep those horses quiet. Come on, you two.”

  Coilla and Jup followed him from the shaft.

  They darted for the first available cover and headed in the direction of the township. Moving cautiously for perhaps half a mile, keeping low, they were going through one of the cultivated fields when Coilla grabbed Stryke’s arm. “Down!” she hissed, tugging him groundward.

  The trio burrowed into the corn. Twenty yards away stood the first humans they’d seen at Trinity. A small group of women, dressed simply and mostly in black, were working in an adjacent field. They were picking a crop of some kind, loading the harvest into baskets borne by mules. Two armed men, bearded and also black-garbed, stood guard as the women worked.

  A finger to his lips, Stryke motioned Coilla and Jup to follow him. Their route took them quietly around the toilers. Several more detours then proved necessary to avoid other heads they spotted bobbing above the crops.

  Crawling on their hands and knees, they came unexpectedly to a track of compacted earth with a shingle surface. Peeping out from the shelter of the corn, they realised it was the road leading to Trinity’s gates. As there were no humans in sight in the fields opposite, they prepared to cross. Coilla was about to lead off when they heard the rumble of approaching wagons. They ducked back and watched.

  A procession of vehicles came into view. The first was an open carriage, drawn by a pair of fine white mares. In the front sat the driver and another human, both heavily armed, both dressed in black. There were two other people in the back. Again, both wore black. One was obviously another guard, this time armed with a bow. But the man sitting next to him, on a higher seat, was the most arresting.

  He was the only one wearing a hat, a tall, black piece of headgear that Stryke thought was called a stovepipe. Even seated it was obvious that the man was tall, and his build was thin and wiry. He had a weathered face ending in a pointed chin adorned with greying whiskers. The mouth was a thin, featureless slit, the eyes dark and intense. It was a forceful face, unaccustomed to smiling.

  The carriage passed.

  It was followed by three wagons drawn by teams of oxen. Each wagon was steered by a black-garbed human, with an accompanying guard. The wagons carried passengers, so crammed there was standing room only. All were dwarves.

  Stryke noticed Jup’s preoccupied reaction to this as the wagons trundled on toward the township’s gates.

  Jup let out a breath. “Imagine what Haskeer would have made of that.”

  “They weren’t prisoners, were they?” Coilla said.

  Stryke shook his head. “I’d say they were working parties. What interests me more is that human in the back of the carriage.”

  “Hobrow?”

  “He certainly had the bearing of a leader, Coilla.”

  “And dead-fish eyes,” Jup added.

  They watched the convoy’s procession to the gates. Guards appeared at the top of the township’s wall. The gates swung slowly open, affording a brief glimpse of the scene within as the carriage and wagons entered. Then the gates were pushed shut again. They heard the sound of a weighty crossbar being dropped into place.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Jup announced. “Our way in.”

  Stryke missed his point. “What do you mean?”

  “Do I have to spell it out? They’re using dwarves in there. I’m a dwarf.”

  “That’s a risky plan, Jup,” Coilla responded.

  “Can you think of a better one?”

  “Even if we could get you in,” Stryke said, “what would you expect to achieve?”

  “I’d gather information. Check the layout and defences. Maybe even get some idea where they keep the star.”

  “Assuming Mobbs was right about them having one,” Coilla rem
inded him.

  “We’ll never find out unless we get somebody in there.”

  “We don’t know what kind of security they have,” Stryke pointed out. “Suppose all the dwarf workers are known to them?”

  “Or known to each other,” Coilla put in. “How would they react to a stranger in their ranks?”

  “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Jup stated. “But I think it’s fair to assume that the humans are unlikely to know the dwarves by name. Everything I’ve heard about this place, and everything we know about humans, tells me they’ve nothing but contempt for the elder races. I can’t see them bothering to learn names.”

  Coilla frowned. “That’s a big assumption.”

  “It’s a chance to be taken. The other thing, about the dwarves themselves noticing a stranger, might not be such a problem. You see, those dwarves were from at least four different tribes.”

  “How do you know?” Stryke wondered.

  “The way they dress, mostly. Neckerchiefs of certain colours, a particular cut of jerkin, and so on. They all indicate a tribal origin.”

  “What are the signs you wear to indicate your tribe?” Coilla said.

  “I don’t. You have to get rid of them when you go into Jennesta’s service. That’s so there’s no problem identifying our allegiance. But I can easily put that right.”

  Stryke was still doubtful. “It’s an awful lot of if’s and maybe’s, Jup.”

  “Sure, and I haven’t mentioned the toughest problem yet. They must have some kind of security here as far as workers coming and going is concerned. Probably a simple head-count.”

  “Which means we couldn’t just mix you in with the other dwarves. Assuming we could find a way of doing it.”

  “Right. I’d have to be swapped for one of them.”

  Coilla gave him a quizzical look. “How the hell are we going to do that?”

  “Offhand, I don’t know. But if we can, there are a couple of things in our favour. First, I don’t think a new face would arouse too much suspicion as far as the other dwarves are concerned, because they’re being drawn from different tribes. Second, the humans can’t tell us apart anyway. They usually can’t when it comes to elder races, you know that.”