Orcs (11 page)

“Very mysterious, Jennesta. Why are you telling me this?”

“The thought occurred that you might have . . . heard word of its whereabouts.”

“You still haven’t said what it is.”

“It’s an item of no value to anyone but me.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“Look, Adpar, either you know what I’m talking about or you don’t.”

“I can see your difficulty. If I know nothing of this
artifact,
you don’t want to run the risk of giving details lest it whet my interest. If I do know, it must be because I had a hand in taking it from you. Is that what I’m accused of?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“That’s just as well, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jennesta wasn’t sure if this was the truth, or whether Adpar was playing a familiar game. It aggravated her that she still couldn’t tell after all these years. “All right,” she said. “Leave it be.”

“Of course, if this . . . whatever it is is something you want so badly, perhaps I should take an interest in it . . .”

“You’d be well advised to stay out of my affairs, Adpar. And if I find you had anything to do with what I’ve lost —”

“You know, you look peaky, dear. Are you suffering from a morbidity?”

“No I am not!”

“I expect it’s the drain of energy in your part of the country. There isn’t anything like as much of a problem here. I wonder if there could be a connection? Between the thing you’ve lost and your need to make up for the missing energy, I mean. Could it be a magical totem of some kind? Or —”

“Don’t play the innocent, Adpar, it’s so bloody infuriating!”

“No more than being suspected of theft!”

“Oh, for the gods’ sake go and —”

A little undulation started up the side of the conjured face. From a pinpoint epicentre, tiny waves moved indolently across the surface, distorting the face and lapping against the tub’s wall.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Adpar complained.

“Me?
You
, more like it!”

A miniature sparkling whirlpool curled into existence, turning lethargically. The eddies calmed down and an oval silhouette appeared. Gradually it became more distinct.

Another face appeared on the soupy crimson surface.

It, too, had eyes that were striking, but for the opposite reason that Jennesta’s and Adpar’s were. Of the three, it had features most resembling a human’s.

Jennesta adopted an expression of distaste.
“You,”
she said, making the word sound like a profanity.

“I should have known,”
Adpar sighed.

“You’re disturbing the ether with your bickering,”
the new arrival told them.

“And you’re disturbing us with your presence,” Jennesta retorted.

“Why can’t we ever communicate without you butting in, Sanara?”
Adpar asked.

“You know why; the link is too strong. I can’t avoid being drawn in. Our heritage binds us together.”

“One of the gods’ crueller tricks,” Jennesta muttered.

Adpar piped up with,
“Why don’t you ask Sanara about your precious bauble?”

“Very funny.”

“What are you talking about?”
Sanara wanted to know.

“Jennesta’s lost something she’s desperate to get back.”

“Leave it, Adpar.”

“But surely, of us all Sanara is in a location where a boost to magic is most needed.”

“Stop trying to stir trouble!” Jennesta snapped. “And I never said the artifact had to do with magic.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to be involved with something you’ve lost, Jennesta,”
Sanara remarked.
“It’s likely to be troublesome, or dangerous.”

“Oh, shut up, you self-righteous prig!”

“That’s very unkind,”
Adpar said with transparently false sympathy.
“Sanara has some terrible problems at the moment.”

“Good!”

Relishing Jennesta’s exasperation, Adpar burst into derisive laughter. And Sanara looked on the point of mouthing some piece of wholesome advice Jennesta was bound to find nauseating.

“You can both go to hell!” she raged, bringing her fists down hard on the pair of smug faces.

Their images fragmented and dissolved. Her pummelling split the gory crust. The blood was cool now, almost cold, and it splashed as she rained wrathful blows, showering her face and clothing.

Fury vented, Jennesta slumped, panting, by the side of the tub.

She berated herself. When would she learn that contact with Adpar, and inevitably Sanara, never did anything to improve her temper? The day was fast approaching, she decided for the hundredth time, when the link between them all would have to be severed. Permanently.

Sensing a titbit, in the way of cats, Sapphire arrived and rubbed sensuously against her mistress’s leg. A scab of congealed blood had stuck to Jennesta’s forearm. She peeled it off and dangled it in front of the animal. Sapphire sniffed it, whiskers quivering, then sank her teeth into the scummy treat. She made wet, mushy sounds as she chewed.

Jennesta thought of the cylinder, and of the wretched warband she had been foolish enough to send for it. More than half the time she had granted for the item’s return was used up. She would have to make contingency plans in the event of Kysthan’s emissary failing to recover her prize. Though even the gods wouldn’t be able to help him if he hadn’t.

But she would have what was hers. The warband would be hunted down like dogs and delivered to her justice, whatever it took.

She idly licked the blood from her hands and dreamed of torments to inflict on the Wolverines.

9

“You must feel bad,” Stryke said.

Alfray touched his bare neck and nodded. “I took my first tooth at thirteen seasons. Haven’t been parted from the necklace since. Till now.”

“Lost in the ambush?”

“Had to be. So used to wearing it, I didn’t even notice. Coilla pointed it out today.”

“But you won the trophies, Alfray. Nobody can take that away. You’ll replace them, given time.”

“Time I haven’t got. Not enough to gain another three, anyway. Oldest in the band, Stryke. Besting snow leopards unarmed is a sport for young orcs.”

Alfray fell into a brooding silence. Stryke let him be. He knew what a blow to his pride it was to lose the emblems of courage, the symbols that testified to full orchood.

They rode on at the head of the convoy.

None spoke of it, but what they had seen at the orc encampment, and their perilous situation, hung heavy on the entire band. Alfray’s melancholy chimed with the Wolverines’ generally gloomy mood.

With horses for all, they made better progress, though Meklun, unable to ride and still on his litter, continued to slow them. Several hours earlier they had veered south-east, cutting across the Great Plains toward Black Rock. Before the day was out they should have reached a point midway between Scratch and Weaver’s Lea.

Stryke’s hope was that they’d pass through the corridor without meeting trouble from either disputatious trolls to the north or zealous humans in the south.

The terrain had begun to change. Plains were giving way to hilly country, with shallow valleys and winding trails. Scrub was more prevalent. Pastures shaded into heathlands. They were nearing an area dotted with human settlements. Stryke decided it was safer to treat them all as hostile, whether Uni or Mani.

A commotion down the line broke his train of thought. He looked back. Haskeer and Jup were squabbling loudly.

Stryke sighed. “Keep our heading,” he told Alfray, and swung his horse out.

In the moment it took to gallop to them, the sergeants had come close to blows. They quietened on seeing him.

“You two my joint seconds or spoilt hatchlings?”

“It’s his fault,” Haskeer complained. “He—”

“
My
fault?” Jup snapped. “You bastard! I should—”

“Shut it!”
Stryke ordered. “You’re supposed to be our chief scout, Jup; earn your keep. Prooq and Gleadeg need relieving. Take Calthmon, and leave your shares of crystal with Alfray.”

Jup shot his antagonist a parting scowl and spurred off.

Stryke turned his attention to Haskeer. “You’re pushing me,” he said. “Much more and I’ll have the skin off your back.”

“Shouldn’t have his kind in the band,” Haskeer muttered.

“This isn’t a debate, Sergeant. Work with him or make your own way home. Your choice.” He headed back to the column’s prow.

Haskeer noticed that the grunts within hearing distance of the dressing-down were staring at him. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if we were properly led,” he grumbled sourly.

The troopers looked away.

When Stryke reached Alfray, Coilla came forward to join them.

“On this bearing we’ll be passing nearer Weaver’s Lea than Scratch. What’s our plan if we meet trouble?” she asked.

“Weaver’s Lea’s one of the older Uni settlements, and one of the most fanatical,” Stryke said. “That makes them unpredictable. Just bear that in mind.”

“Uni, Mani, who cares?” Alfray put in. “They’re all
humans
, aren’t they?”

“We’re supposed to be helping the Manis,” Coilla reminded him.

“Only because we’ve no choice. What choice did we
ever
have?”

“All we wanted, once,” Stryke told him. “Anyway, it makes sense to support the Manis. They’re less hostile to the elder races. More important, it helps us to have the humans divided. Think how much worse it’d be if they were united.”

“Or if one side won,” Coilla added.

Ahead of the column, and out of its sight, Jup and Calthmon took over as pathfinders. Jup watched as the pair of troopers they had relieved, Prooq and Gleadeg, rode back towards the main party.

Only now was he beginning to calm down from his latest tangle with Haskeer. He goaded his mount, a mite harder than necessary, and concentrated on trail-blazing.

The landscape grew more cluttered. Hillocks and clumps of trees were increasingly common, taller grass made the track less certain.

“Know these parts, Sergeant?” Calthmon asked. He spoke quietly, as though a raised voice might betray their presence, despite the wilderness in all directions.

“A little. From here on we can expect the terrain to alter quite a bit.”

As though on cue, the track they followed dipped and started to curve. The undergrowth on either side thickened. They began to round a blind bend.

“But if the band keeps to its present path,” Jup continued, “we shouldn’t have anything . . .”

A roadblock stretched across the trail.

“. . . to worry about.”

The barricade was made up of a side-on farm wagon and a wall of sturdy tree trunks. It was guarded by humans dressed uniformly in black. They numbered at least a score and were heavily armed.

Jup and Calthmon pulled back on their reins just as the humans spotted them.

“Oh
shit
,” Jup groaned.

A great yell went up from the roadblock. Waving swords, axes and clubs, all but a handful of the humans rushed to mount their horses. Dwarf and orc fought to turn their own steeds.

Then they were racing away, pursued by a howling posse baying for blood.

“One day a member of the United Expeditionary Force, the next bartered into Jennesta’s service,” Stryke recalled. “You know how it was.”

“I do,” Coilla replied, “and I expect you felt the same way I did.”

“How so?”

“Weren’t
you
angry at having no say in the matter?”

Again, he was confounded by her frankness. And by her accurate reading of his feelings. “Perhaps,” he conceded.

“You’re at war with your upbringing, Stryke. You can’t bring yourself to admit it was an injustice.”

The way she had of gauging his innermost thoughts was discomforting for Stryke. He answered in a roundabout fashion. “It was hardest on the likes of Alfray.” A jab of his thumb indicated their field surgeon, down the line, riding next to Meklun’s litter. “Change isn’t easy at his age.”

“It’s you we were talking about.”

His response was deferred by the sight of Prooq and Gleadeg appearing on the trail ahead. They galloped to him.

“Advance scouts reporting, sir,” Prooq recited crisply. “Sergeant Jup’s taken over.”

“Anything we should look out for?”

“No, sir. The way forward seemed clear.”

“All right. Join the column.”

The troopers left.

“You were saying,” Coilla prompted. “About the change.”

Are you just naturally single-minded
, Stryke thought,
or is there a reason for all these questions?
“Well, things didn’t change that much for me under our new mistress,” he said. “Not at first. I kept my rank, and I could still fight the real enemy, if only one faction of them.”

“And you were given command of the Wolverines.”

“Eventually. Though not everybody liked it.”

“What did you think about finding yourself serving a part-human ruler?”

“It was . . . unusual,” he responded cautiously.

“You resented it, you mean. Like the rest of us.”

“I wasn’t happy,” he admitted. “As you said yourself, we’re in a tough spot. Victory for either Manis or Unis can only strengthen the human side.” He shrugged. “But it’s an orc’s lot to obey orders.”

She looked at him long and hard. “Yes. That’s what it’s come to.” There was no misreading her bitterness.

He felt an affinity, and wanted to take the conversation further.

A nearby grunt shouted something. Stryke couldn’t make it out. The rest of the band started yelling.

Jup and Calthmon were returning, riding all-out.

Stryke raised himself in his stirrups. “What the —?”

Then he saw the mob of humans chasing them. They were black-garbed, in long frock coats and breeches of coarsely woven cloth, with high leather boots. He reckoned their number matched the Wolverines’. There was no time to charge.

“Close ranks!”
he roared.
“To me! Close up!”

The band surged forward, rallying to their commander. Swiftly the horses were formed into a defensive semicircle facing the enemy, with Meklun’s litter behind them. The company drew their weapons.