Newman’s voice was calm. “I’ll break your nose, knock you down, and stomp on you until you have better sense.” He raised his voice to address the whole group, including a couple just straggling out of the woods. “There aren’t enough of us to trade warm bodies for cold ones. Everyone back at camp needs us for food and protection. We can’t wander off and be picked off one at a time.”
No one answered him. Striped-shirt’s mouth worked but he didn’t say anything.
“Let’s head back and collect the stragglers. Remember who you were hunting with. We need to check if anyone else is missing.”
***
Newman found himself drafted to add his prestige as a hunter to Goldenrod’s effort to recruit weir builders.
Master Chisel came down to the river bank with them. “I can’t put much effort into this. We need a storm shelter. The tents are standing up to the rain we’ve had so far, but if we get one with strong winds . . .”
“I just need your help with the posts,” said Goldenrod. “Once those are in filling in the rest can be unskilled labor.”
She sketched her design in the mud of the bank. Newman kept his spear ready. Some cuttlefish would wrap a tentacle around an ankle to pull someone into the river.
“Every two feet?” blurted Chisel.
“Doing the basket weave needs them close together.”
“You need verticals close together, but they don’t all need to be braced. Seven posts, every four feet.”
Goldenrod opened her mouth, closed it, then said, “Thank you,” with her best smile.
***
Breakfast for House Applesmile was eggs of the local bird-equivalents. They were edible, and probably nutritious, but there were no requests for seconds. Shellbutton waved about a bowl of leftovers. The only suggestion was to take it to the common pavilion.
Master Sweetbread looked up at approaching footsteps. “Good morning, my Lord Autocrat.”
The rest of the table repeated the greeting.
Autocrat Sharpquill nodded in reply. He focused on the two youngest women. “You two. Get back to work on the damn soap.”
“Yes, my lord,” answered Redinkle. She was careful not to smile.
He turned on his heel and stalked off.
“That was quicker than I expected,” said Mistress Tightseam.
Redinkle shrugged. “We spread the word to the well-connected.”
Goldenrod leaned toward Newman. “See? They may not be written down, but our government does have checks and balances.”
***
“I’m amazed you don’t have heat stroke in that junk,” muttered a hunter.
Strongarm laughed. “Sometimes we do. But it happens in sunlight. These woods are nicely shady.”
The trees were dense enough to give cover to orcs as well as deer, which is why Strongarm was accompanying the trio of bowmen. Lone orcs had wounded hunters before. To their relief he’d covered the edges of his armor with strips of cloth or leather so he wouldn’t jingle-jangle all the game away.
Not that he’d gotten to fight an orc yet. Usually his contribution was to help carry the dead deer.
The hunters did appreciate that.
Today the deer were more skittish than usual. They’d seen glimpses of some bucks, but they were running. None stayed in sight long enough for an arrow shot.
Strongarm focused on moving quietly. The sooner they caught some meat, the sooner he could be inside the walls taking his armor off.
They were headed for a thinner patch of forest. Maybe they’d get some shots in there.
A hunter gasped. Strongarm looked up. A band of orcs faced them thirty yards away. Ten—no, twelve of them. Too many to fight.
“Run,” ordered Strongarm. “I’ll hold them off. Run!”
He charged the orcs, finally being the hero he’d always wanted to be. Arrows hissed past him as the hunters each loosed before fleeing.
His shield brushed aside the lead orc’s spear. He swung his sword into the side of its head. The wooden weapon had been made lethal by lining each side of it with nails filed to sharp points. A few nails stayed in the orc’s skull as Strongarm pulled his sword away.
A step and a twist of his hips put Strongarm’s full strength into a backhand blow at the next orc. This time he aimed for the neck. The nails tore through orcflesh in a spray of orange blood.
The third orc thrust a spear at his head. The shield deflected it. The orc dropped his weapon to grab the shield.
His sword parried another spear. The orc kept pressing, binding the weapons together.
Strongarm took a step back to keep his balance. More orcs came up. One grabbed his leg. He landed on his back with a grunt.
The crash freed his sword. He couldn’t swing it but managed to smash a nose with the hilt.
A voice barked commanding syllables. Every orc grabbed a limb. One sat on his chest.
Straining couldn’t break their grip. “Apples, dammit, my safeword is apples!”
The shield and sword were dragged away. Orcs poked at the armor, pinching the flesh underneath as they found gaps. Claws cut straps and tore at his clothing.
Strongarm realized he wasn’t going to be speared through the eyeslit of his helmet. “So it’s to be torture. I can cope with torture.”
The leg armor and codpiece were pulled off first. They weren’t bothering with the helmet or breastplate. He contemplated being eaten alive feet first. “Well, I’ll bleed out before it gets too bad.”
A chill breeze hit him as his pants and underwear were ripped away. “Yeah, look at that dick, boys. Jealous, aren’t you?”
The barking voice issued another command. The orcs flipped him onto his belly. The changing grips gave Strongarm a chance to kick one hard enough to produce a grunt. Then he was immobilized again.
Claws tore at straps and clothes again. His kidney belt was pulled free. Soon his hips were exposed to air again.
The orc sitting on his shoulders got off. He used the freedom to try to pull his arms loose without success.
The biggest orc put his hands on Strongarm’s back and his legs against the man’s.
Strongarm said, “Oh, no. You are not—”
He screamed.
***
Chisel’s apprentices were shaping tree trunks into pointed posts. To Goldenrod they looked like sharpened pencils. The points were driven into the riverbed by hitting the eraser end with sledge hammers.
A sledge-wielder yelped as his feet went out from under him. His partner grabbed an arm, pulling to keep his head above water.
Three royal guards gathered around plunging their spears into the water. One yelled, “Hah!” and levered his spear up.
The cuttlefish impaled on it waved every purple tentacle, trying to find its attacker. Another guard grabbed the spear to heave the beast onto the bank.
The third guard drove a spear through it, pinning it to the ground. Other spearmen stabbed it until it lay still.
“I wish these were edible,” said one. “Must be fifty pounds of meat on it.” Another mimed retching.
Tapping sounded again. The carpenters had found their sledges and gone back to work.
The Autocrat had come to check on the progress. “This had better work,” he said to Goldenrod. “You’ve diverted a lot of labor to this little project.”
“We need the fish, my lord. It’s good protein.”
“I’m not worried about the nutritional value of the fish. Just whether this thing will catch any of them. And if it will last long enough to be worthwhile.”
Goldenrod had evaded the Autocrat’s process for allocating labor to projects. The Court was hesitant to authorize new ideas. But it seemed receiving forgiveness in lieu of permission would have to wait on delivering fish.
***
“We found him! He got free, he was halfway back home. He’s in bad shape though.”
Lady Burnout ignored the brash fighters escorting Strongarm into her tent. She focused on the injured man, assessin
g his injuries. His halting walk indicated more damage than was visible on the surface.
“Help him up on the table,” she ordered.
Strongarm lay on his side, tugging on the borrowed tabard to cover himself.
“Good. Off with you, boys, go kick some ass,” said Lady Burnout.
The fighters clattered out with promises of vengeance. Strongarm didn’t answer them.
“I’m going to start by disinfecting those claw marks. This will sting.”
“’Sokay.” He didn’t look at her.
None of the scratches were deep enough to be dangerous. Bruising was extensive.
He flipped to his other side without protest.
That side was no different.
“We need to talk about the elephant in the room,” she said.
Strongarm hunched his shoulders.
“Look . . . back at my old emergency room we had a patient. Nasty guy. Gangbanger, killed three rivals in drive-bys. One day he got drunk off his home turf and another gang grabbed him. Took him to their clubhouse, raped him for hours, then dropped him on a playground. He came in the ER walking the way you did just now.”
Strongarm took a few deep breaths. “Does anyone else know?”
“Some might guess.” She’d cleaned some orange streaks off his thighs.
“Shit.”
“I need to examine and treat you.”
“I know. Just . . . I don’t want to be on my belly.”
“Can you lift up your knee?”
That gave her access enough. The tears were scabbing over. She applied ointment and, after dithering, the last dose of injectable antibiotic. He didn’t complain.
After washing her hands Lady Burnout walked around to talk face to face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like hell.”
“I figured that. What else?”
Strongarm stayed silent. Burnout bit her tongue and out-waited him.
“Why?” he burst out. “They’re not human, I’m not one of them. Why would they even be interested in doing that to me?”
“Humans fuck other species. How many sheep jokes have you heard?”
“Oh, I’m a sheep. Now I know what they’ll call me.”
“You’re a good fighter. What did you do to the orcs before you went down?”
“Killed two.” He’d seen the bodies when he woke. “Might’ve hurt some more.”
“So they’d be mad. Might have wanted revenge like those gangbangers. Or, yeah, it could be the sheep thing. We’ve never seen one of their females.”
Strongarm was looking past the wall of the tent. “I thought I was dead when I fell down. I was just glad I’d gotten more of them than they were killing in me.”
“We’ll get you back in shape and you can up that score some more.”
***
“What the hell?” said Newman as they came around the bend in the rhino trail.
A pit had been dug in the trail. Dirt covered the bushes on both sides of the trail. The depression was cone shaped, at least six or eight feet down at the deepest point.
All the Wolfheads laughed. “You didn’t hear about that?” asked Husky.
“No,” said Beargut. “Going to share?”
Borzhoi told the story. “The royal guard has to work now. They decided to justify their existence by bringing in some big game. So they came up with a plan to trap a rhino in a pit.”
Footprints of the massive herbivores were visible in the dirt.
“How’d that work out for them?” asked Newman.
“They’d gotten this far when a herd, I mean crash, came down. The bull didn’t even slow down. The cows were fine. The first calf struggled but made it out. The second calf was stuck. Kept trying to get over the edge, couldn’t.” Borzhoi took a sip from his canteen.
“Well?” demanded Beargut.
“Then the cow at the end of the crash put her horns under the little guy’s butt. He flew out, at least three feet off the ground. The royal guard stopped wanting to hunt rhinos.”
***
Today was Strongarm’s first patrol since it happened two weeks ago. There were more patrols than hunting parties now. Autocrat Sharpquill wanted the orcs cleared away, even if doing it frightened the game.
Armoring up wasn’t new. Strongarm had been training new fighters since he’d healed enough to walk smoothly. He hadn’t volunteered for any patrols but Captain Spear needed another experienced fighter for this one.
When Spear asked if he was up for it Strongarm answered “of course” as if he’d been waiting to be asked.
Whether he was actually up for it . . . he wanted to know.
The newbies on the patrol wore the usual mix of borrowed and improvised armor. Strongarm inspected them. The few problems were fixed with duct tape or leather cords. A couple newbies were missing gorgets. They’d just have to hope no orc hit them in the throat.
Crusher was the patrol leader. He ordered the other veteran, Maximus, to take point. “Strongarm, you’re in the middle with me.” The newbies formed a single file before and after them. They marched out the gate.
The cleared zone outside the walls was a little wider. The sun beat down on his helmet, starting a bit of sweat. Some women were out with blades, hacking at any bush that might offer cover to an enemy.
Strongarm could hear the usual forest noises as they walked up to the trees. Wind in the leaves. Birds complaining at each other. Nothing indicating a large animal.
He scanned the trees, checking for anything behind them. Just more trees. He saw an arm in the corner of his eye but when he snapped his head to look it was just a branch.
He followed Crusher past the first tree. There wasn’t anything behind it. He looked left to right to check for orcs. Nothing. At the second tree he stopped. The newbies behind him pulled up to not bump into him.
Crusher kept moving deeper into the woods.
Strongarm tried to follow him. His feet wouldn’t move. He looked down. Willed the right foot to take a step. Nothing. Looked up and around to see if something had snuck up while he stared at his feet.
He heard Crusher order a halt then walk back. “Hey. It’s just a walk in the woods. Last two times we didn’t see anything.”
“Yeah, I know. I just . . .” Maybe if he picked up a foot and put it back down again? No, that wasn’t happening either.
Behind him a newbie muttered, “What’s going on?” Another shushed him.
Talking himself into moving wasn’t working. Nor did ordering himself. Now he was fretting about the anxiety he was feeling over having an anxiety attack. Bad feedback loop.
Crusher said quietly, “Okay, not today then. Go to the gate, ask one of the guards to switch places with you. Go.”
Strongarm turned around and walked briskly back.
Behind him Crusher snarled, “Shut the fuck up, Rivet. He’s killed orcs. I’ve seen the bodies. You haven’t.”
***
Lady Burnout held up the tent flap as Constable and another man carried Belladonna in. “What’s the trouble?”
“She screamed, grabbed her belly, and passed out,” grunted Constable. “I’d guess the baby’s coming.”
“I hope not. She’s six months along at most.” Burnout hadn’t noticed any sign of pregnancy when doing the rape exam almost four months ago. Belladonna had avoided the chiurgeon since, but camp gossip had passed word of her swollen belly.
“Looks overdue to me,” said Constable
Apprentice Elderberry helped him lay her on the exam table. Lying flat showed her belly’s true size.
“Damn. My wife didn’t get that big with either of hers,” said the other man.
“Give me room, please.” They stepped out of Lady Burnout’s way as she pulled up Belladonna’s dress. The pregnant belly stretched as the baby kicked and pushed. “Not having a contraction.” She paused. “That looks . . . wrong somehow.”
She turned her attention to the patient’s vitals. Pulse weak and fast. Skin very pale. Fingernail
s stayed white when pressed. If she had internal bleeding there wasn’t much chance of saving her. Checking the underwear showed no blood stains so not a miscarriage. Yet.
“I’m going to have to wake her up so I can talk to her. Hand me the smelling salts.”
Elderberry held the vial out to the chiurgeon, who waved it under the unconscious woman’s nose.
Belladonna opened her eyes and screamed.
Lady Burnout grabbed her shoulders and tried to calm her. The patient just turned away, still screaming. Burnout kept talking until something wet splashed her arm. She turned to look at the swollen belly.
A black claw poked out just below the sternum. Blood sprayed from the hole. The claw sliced through skin to the belly button, letting more blood flow.
Belladonna choked and went silent.
A green-skinned head poked out of the slit. A wide grin displayed dozens of shark teeth.
The creature sprang free of Belladonna’s body like a carnivorous frog. It slid underneath the tent wall and vanished.
“Get it! Kill it!” cried Constable. He led the other man out of the tent at a sprint.
Elderberry had her finger on Belladonna’s neck. “No pulse,” she said.
“Damn. Start compressions,” said Burnout.
As the apprentice started CPR the doctor opened up the wound to check how bad the bleeding was. Then she stepped back. “Never mind. She’s gone.”
When the men returned Burnout was making notes on the extent of the damage.
“Goddamned thing was faster than a cat,” reported Constable. “It went over the fence into the woods. What the hell happened here?”
Burnout pulled open the collapsed belly skin. “Clearly some kind of parasite was growing inside her. It must have been feeding on her internally. There’s whole organs missing. Womb and ovaries. Most of the small intestine. Half the liver. One kidney.”
She wiped her hands. “There isn’t nearly as much blood as there should be for this damage. It must have spread a coagulant. All the blood is from the skin cuts.”
“What was it?” he asked. “Where did it come from?”
The Lost War Page 14
