Orcs: Bad Blood

by Stan Nicholls

  “We’ve done that,” Coilla informed him.

  Pepperdyne and Standeven watched Coilla and Stryke go.

  When they were far enough away, Standeven’s expression hardened. “What were you hoping to achieve with that bullshit you just fed them?”

  “Only saving our lives, that’s all. And giving them a reason for letting us stick around.”

  “But shipments of gems? And this Jennesta woman, who we’ve only heard about in tall tales? You’re digging us in deeper here.”

  “They can’t disprove any of it.”

  “The thing about lies is that you have to build other lies to support them. Believe me, I know.”

  “As you’re such an expert on the subject it shouldn’t be too hard for you to keep up, should it?”

  “Tall tales need to be thought through. They have to be plausible. When we overheard those Unis planning the attack, when we hid there listening, we should have formulated a plan. A watertight lie.”

  “We didn’t have the time; we had to grab the opportunity. We knew these orcs were rumoured to have the instrumentalities. Now we’re sure.”

  “Oh, yes, we’re sure now,” Standeven replied, the trauma of the crossing etched on his face. “But what good does it do us?”

  “Do you want those artefacts or not?”

  “Do I need them now?”

  Pepperdyne gave an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been slavering at the prospect of getting your hands on them! If you’ve bent my ears once about their value, you’ve done it a hundred times.”

  “Watch your tongue!” Standeven retorted, haughtily puffing himself up. “Remember who’s master here.”

  “Or you’ll do what? Circumstances have changed. It’s about survival now.”

  Standeven seethed, but didn’t push the issue.

  “I’ll tell you why you need the instrumentalities,” Pepperdyne said. “Kantor Hammrik. He’ll never give up until he’s found you, and they’re the only thing you can barter with.”

  “How could he find us here?”

  “I intend getting back. Don’t you? And it’s my neck as well as yours.”

  “I still don’t think —”

  “I can’t fight our way out of this like I did with Hammrik’s escort. It’d be insane to square up to an orc warband. We have to use stealth, and bide our time. Or do you have a better idea?”

  If Standeven had an answer there was no chance to give it. A clamour broke out further along the riverbank, where most of the band was concentrated. Two of the scouts were back, and they had someone with them.

  “Let’s see what’s happening,” Pepperdyne said.

  Standeven held out a hand. Pepperdyne hoisted him to his feet.

  As they approached, they saw that the scouts had brought back another orc. He looked mature, perhaps old, as far as the humans could tell. His garb consisted of a sleeveless lambskin jerkin, baggy cloth trews and stout leather ankle boots. He was nearly as tall as the wooden crook he carried, which he used to help him walk.

  They took him to Stryke. The prisoner’s anxious eyes darted from face to face as the band gathered round.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Stryke assured him. “Understand?”

  The shepherd nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Yelbra.” He spoke hesitantly.

  “Are you alone out here?”

  He nodded again.

  “We didn’t see anybody else,” one of the scouts confirmed.

  “Where’s the nearest town, Yelbra?” Stryke asked.

  The shepherd ignored him. He was staring at Jup and Spurral. “What are… they?” he exclaimed, pointing at them.

  “You’ve not seen dwarfs before?”

  He shook his head, much more vigorously than he’d nodded.

  “They’re with us. Don’t worry about them, they won’t harm you. The nearest town?”

  “You don’t know?” he said, his confusion mounting.

  “We wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Haskeer rumbled.

  “It’ s —” His attention had shifted again, and his eyes widened. He let out something between a gasp and a groan.

  The cause of his alarm was Standeven and Pepperdyne, who were pushing their way through the crowd.

  Visibly shaking, Yelbra sank to his arthritic knees and uttered, “Masters.” His manner was one of complete obeisance.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Haskeer wanted to know.

  The shepherd gazed up at him with something close to terror distorting his features. “Get down,” he hissed. “Show respect!”

  “To them?” Haskeer sneered. “Humans? They can kiss my scaly arse!”

  Yelbra seemed profoundly shocked. His mouth hung open and all trace of colour left his face.

  “Since when did orcs prostrate themselves in front of humans?” Coilla said.

  The shepherd looked as though the question made no sense to him.

  “Serapheim said humans had the upper hand here,” Stryke reflected. “Seems he was right. Get up,” he told Yelbra.

  He stayed where he was, eyes fixed on Pepperdyne and Standeven.

  Stryke nodded at the scouts. They heaved the shepherd to a standing position. He clutched his crook as if it was all that kept him upright.

  “I’m asking the questions,” Stryke reminded him in a harsher tone, “not them. What’s the name of this land?”

  Still he remained under the spell of the humans, staring their way and trembling. He said nothing.

  Stryke beckoned Pepperdyne. “Here.”

  The human hesitated for a second, then came forward.

  “You ask him,” Stryke said.

  “Me?”

  “He’s more in thrall of you two than us. Do it.”

  A little awkwardly, Pepperdyne cleared his throat. “Er, Yelbra. What’s this land called?”

  Even with his head bent to avoid Pepperdyne’s gaze, it was apparent he was taken aback at them not knowing. “If it pleases you, master; Acurial.”

  “It does please me. But I’m not your master. Do you hear me?”

  The shepherd shot him a glance suffused with bewilderment, and a hint of what might have been pity for someone self-evidently insane. “Yes, mas — Yes, I hear you.”

  “Good. What’s the name of the nearest settlement?”

  “Taress.”

  “And there are orcs there?”

  “Of course. Many.”

  “Where is it? How far?”

  “Due south. On foot, it can be reached by sundown.”

  “Thank you, Yelbra.” Pepperdyne looked to Stryke, and was about to step back when the shepherd spoke again.

  “Begging your pardon, my… You pardon, but I’m at a loss to understand why you don’t know these things. Is it a test?”

  “No. We’re… from a far country.”

  “It must be very far from here.”

  “More than you can guess,” Stryke put in. He waved Pepperdyne away. “I meant what I said, Yelbra; we won’t harm you. But I want your word that you’ll tell nobody about seeing us. Or do you need to hear that from him, too?” He jabbed a thumb Pepperdyne’s way.

  “No one would believe me if I told this story. Anyway, I see few others out here. Tending sheep is a solitary business.”

  “What kind of job is that for an orc?” Haskeer said with contempt.

  Once more the question seemed irrelevant to the shepherd. In any event something else had caught his eye. “You bear arms,” he whispered, as though noticing for the first time. There was wonder and fear in his voice.

  “That’s unusual in these parts?” Coilla asked.

  “You are indeed from a distant land. It’s forbidden by law.”

  “We’ve spent enough time here,” Stryke decided, turning away from Yelbra.

  Clear of the others he went into a huddle with his officers.

  “We’ll get ourselves over to this Taress,” he told them. “And it looks like we’d do well to conceal our weap
ons.”

  “Are we all going?” Coilla said. “What about a base camp?”

  “Not this time. If we have to use the stars again in a hurry I want us all together.”

  Jup glanced over at the humans. “How do we deal with them?”

  “They’d better come along. From what we’ve just seen they might be the only way anyone’s going to talk to us.”

  “I don’t like it,” Haskeer grumbled.

  “Me neither. But we can be rid of them as soon as they stop being an asset. Now get the band organised for a march.”

  As they scattered to their duties, the shepherd called out to them.

  “What about me? I’ve my animals to tend to.”

  “You can go,” Stryke shouted back.

  “Yeah,” Coilla added. “Get the flock out of here.”

  14

  In sharp contrast to the ruined land of Maras-Dantia, Acurial was fair.

  Its jade-coloured fields and lush pastures washed against the rims of dense forests. The streams ran crystal clear. An abundance of wildlife roamed the woods, and smaller creatures burrowed in the undergrowth. Birds of many hues wheeled in the cloudless skies.

  The river flowed southward, so the Wolverines marched beside it for several hours. When it curved to the west, they found a trail running in the direction they sought, and took that. They met no other travellers.

  As the day lengthened the earlier warmth began to abate.

  Stryke was at the head of the column, with Jup at his side.

  The dwarf looked back at the band. “They’re starting to flag a bit. Can we spare time for a break? They haven’t eaten properly since yesterday, and that was a world away.”

  Stryke nodded. “But we’ll keep it short, and no fires. And we eat the rations we’re carrying; I don’t want anybody off hunting.”

  The band left the trail and made for a stand of trees. Lookouts were posted, and hardtack and water was distributed.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, Stryke allowed them a brief rest. Perched on fallen tree trunks, some of the band reflected on how Acurial differed from the world they recently left.

  “Compared to this place,” Jup was saying, “Maras-Dantia’s completely bust. Failing harvests, barren livestock, fouled rivers; you know the score.”

  “Yet there are humans in Acurial too,” Coilla replied, “and they don’t seem to have screwed things up here.”

  More than one pair of stern eyes turned to Standeven and Pepperdyne.

  “So far,” Jup amended. “We don’t know how long they’ve been here. It took them a generation or more to devastate Maras-Dantia, and maybe longer before the magic started to bleed away.”

  “I wonder if magic works in this world,” Coilla mused.

  “That hadn’t occurred to me. But… why shouldn’t it? Unless Maras-Dantia was special in some way, maybe all worlds have magic. Or at least the energy to make it work.”

  “Find out,” Stryke suggested. “Your skill could be useful to us.”

  “All right.” Jup got to his feet and surveyed the area. “I’ll try over there.”

  As everyone watched, he set off for a gully thirty or forty paces away. A small stream trickled along it, and it was shaded by a couple of mature trees. Jup took out a knife and squatted by the stream. He gouged a hole in the earth, and when he judged it deep enough, wormed his hand into it.

  “What’s he doing?” Wheam asked.

  “Magic shows itself in different ways for different races,” Stryke explained. “With dwarfs, it’s farsight.”

  Wheam was puzzled. “Farsight?”

  “Being able to sense things beyond what can be picked up with eyes or ears.”

  “Which is handy for tracking,” Coilla added.

  “There’s energy in the earth that governs the magic,” Stryke said. “It’s most powerful near water. I don’t know why. But dwarfs with farsight can feel the energy’s strength, and how it flows.”

  “How does magic show itself with orcs?” Pepperdyne said.

  “It doesn’t. We’ve no command of magic, and neither do humans.”

  “So if this world has only orcs and humans, nobody practises magic?”

  “Right.” Stryke didn’t mention the likes of Serapheim, who was an exception among humans anyway. Or the possibility that Jennesta was in this world. He saw no reason to tell Pepperdyne and his master any more than he had to.

  Jup came back, slapping the dirt from his hands. “I was right. There’s energy here, and it’s strong. Pure. I’d say there’s a big concentration of it not far away, and the flow’s southward.”

  “Taress?” Stryke wondered.

  “Suppose it must be.”

  “We should be moving then.”

  Wheam popped up. Somehow his beloved lute had survived intact, and he brandished it. “Time for a song before we go? To put a spring in our step?” He saw their expressions. “A tune then? A rousing air to send us on our —”

  “If you do,” Haskeer told him, “I’ll kill you.”

  “On your feet, Wolverines!” Stryke barked. “We’re marching!”

  The old shepherd was right about them arriving at sundown.

  Standing on the crest of a steep hill, the band looked down at the settlement. They were surprised at how big it was. The fringes of the city consisted of acres of dwellings, shot through with alleys, lanes and crooked streets. Nearer the centre there were taller structures, with a dotting of towers and spires, and what could have been fortifications. Although it was dusk, few lights were visible.

  Weapons concealed, they began their descent.

  They arrived at the outskirts without seeing anyone, and came to a wide cobbled road leading into the city. Halfway along its length stood the first houses. They looked shabby, and there was no sign of the inhabitants.

  “Orcs live here?” Coilla said.

  “It looks as though nobody lives here,” Stryke replied.

  They entered the maze of streets. Every door was closed, all windows were shuttered. There were no lights.

  “Where is everybody?” Spurral wondered.

  Jup pointed. “Here’s somebody.”

  On the opposite side of the road, a lone figure was sprinting in their direction.

  “Get out of sight, all of you,” Stryke ordered.

  The band quickly retreated into the shadowy mouth of an adjacent alley.

  As the running figure drew level, Stryke saw that it was a young orc, wrapped in a grey cloak.

  “What’s going on?” he shouted over to him.

  The orc slowed and looked Stryke’s way. He was obviously puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Don’t you know what hour it is?”

  “What’s that got to do with —”

  “It’s almost dark! Get off the streets! They’ll be here soon!”

  “Who?”

  The orc didn’t answer. He ran on and disappeared round a corner.

  Coilla emerged from the alley. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Perhaps we found the only crazy orc in town,” Jup ventured.

  “What now?” Haskeer wanted to know.

  “We push on,” Stryke decided, “and keep alert.”

  They moved deeper into the silent, deserted metropolis. In street after street it was the same story; bolted doors, barred windows and unlit dwellings. They didn’t encounter so much as a stray dog or prowling cat.

  At length they came to a public square, bordered by houses on all sides and fed by a street at each corner. In its centre was a large patch of muddy grass, and in the middle of that was a tall wooden structure.

  “Do you see what that is?” Coilla said.

  Stryke blinked in the gloom. “No, what?”

  “It’s a gallows.”

  “So they go in for public executions here.”

  “Yeah, but of who?”

  “Stryke,” Haskeer said, looking restless, “what’s our aim? Where we h
eading?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t expect a ghost town.”

  “Great. So we’ve gone into this halfarsed.”

  “Think you could have done better?”

  “I’d at least have a plan.”

  “Gods protect us from any plan of yours.”

  “I wouldn’t have us wandering like tits in a trance.”

  “Hold your tongue, Sergeant. Unless you want me to take that helmet and shove it up —”

  Coilla put a finger to her lips. “Sssshh!”

  “Stay out of this, Corporal.”

  “No! I mean listen.”

  Everyone froze.

  Although a way off, the sound was unmistakable, and it was swiftly growing louder.

  “Marching,” Jup whispered.

  “Where’s it coming from?” Stryke said.

  “Can’t tell.”

  The sound was swelling, and close to hand.

  “Take cover!” Stryke ordered.

  The band began to move

  None of them got more than ten paces before a group of humans entered the square at the next turning. They were about forty in number, and wore uniforms that in the half light could have been black or dark blue. All were heavily armed, and perhaps a third of them held shaded lanterns

  At their head was the unit’s commander, and it was he who bellowed, “Halt!”

  His troop spread out to either side of him as they advanced, so that they approached almost in a line.

  The Wolverines stopped in their tracks and looked to Stryke.

  He knew they might have made a run for it, but he didn’t want to risk scattering the band. In any event, running wasn’t their way. He signalled for them to stay put.

  He caught a glance from Coilla and mouthed, “Maybe we can bluff our way out of this.”

  She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  The human commander was short and thickset. He had a bushy black moustache that perched beneath his nostrils and didn’t reach either end of his sneer. His raven hair was longish and slicked back.

  When the line of humans were close enough to spit at, he barked an order and they halted. The commander himself continued walking, and two subordinates dogged him, one on each side, a pace or two to his rear. There was a practised air to the manoeuvre, an exhibition of military precision that was almost comical.

  The trio stopped when they came to Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla, who were foremost.