The door opened. Jup, Haskeer and Stryke came in, along with several of the others.
“All clear?” Stryke asked.
“Is now,” Coilla replied.
They checked the place, to be sure.
“Look at this,” Jup said, kneeling by an open chest.
The others gathered round. Somebody snatched a lantern and held it above the chest. It was neatly packed with military sabres, oiled and wrapped in muslin.
“New issue,” Stryke said, “and nice pieces by the look of them. We’ll take what we can carry.”
They lifted four boxes and hauled them outside. The door and attendant corpse slammed shut behind them.
“Do we torch the place?” Coilla asked.
Stryke looked to the sky. It was lightening. “No. The sun will be up soon. We should be moving.” He turned to Jup. “Feeling better?”
The dwarf smiled. “A bit of bloodletting always blows away the cobwebs. It makes for a good —”
There was a commotion from the tethered horses. They shied and pawed the ground. A figure scrambled into the saddle of one and pulled away. As he galloped off, Coilla pitched a throwing knife at him. It fell short, clattering on the cobbled street. A couple of the grunts began chasing the rider.
“Let him be!” Stryke ordered, waving them back.
“He looked wounded to me,” Jup said.
Haskeer nodded. “Reckon he was playing dead ’til he got his chance.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” Stryke told them. “We did what we set out to do. Let’s get out of here.”
The rider wore no tunic, and his white combat blouse was stained with blood. Leaning forward in the saddle, in obvious discomfort, he rode hard to get away from the guardhouse.
The streets were still deserted. But dawn was breaking, and soon the curfew would lift.
Without knowing it, the wounded trooper careered past something incongruous. At the side of the road there was a small portion of space at odds with reality. A sachet of non-actuality that denied light.
Pelli Madayar was concealed in the anomaly’s embrace. She had something like a crystal in her hand. It was the size of an egg, with markings that made it look like the abstract representation of an open eye, flecked with a mingling of colours resembling oil on water. She held it at arm’s length and slowly panned across the scene several blocks distant, where the Wolverines were stealing into the dying night with their crates of plunder.
“You see?” she said, seemingly addressing no one but herself.
“I see,” came the reply. It emanated from the not quite crystal, oddly distorted by its passage across innumerable worlds. Warped, but recognisably the voice of Karrell Revers. “And it further confirms that the orcs are interfering dangerously in the affairs of that plain,” he went on. “But we knew this, Pelli. You must act.”
“I’m aware of what should be done. My fear is that, in trying to prevent any damage the warband may do, we further aggravate the situation. Things are complex here. We have to choose our time with care.”
“You’re facing the inherent paradox the Corps has to deal with: to prevent interference, we must interfere.”
“So how do I deal with it?”
“You use your judgement. If I didn’t believe you were capable of coping with the present irregularity you wouldn’t be in charge of this mission. But be warned, Pelli. The longer you leave intervening, the more events will fester; and when you strike, it has to be decisively.”
“I understand.”
“Keep one thing in mind. The Wolverines have to be stopped, by whatever means you need to employ.”
“I can’t help feeling that fate is about to deal them too harsh a punishment. They’re starting to seem like no more than pawns in this drama.”
“That may well be so. But they are a martial race, and walk with death as a matter of routine. I say again that you must put aside any feelings of consideration you may have for these creatures. Don’t go soft on me, Pelli. Because forces of great destruction have been set in motion, and they’re on course for a collision.”
As the sun rose, there was a bustle of activity around Taress’ fortress.
Orc labourers were toiling in the empty moat, clearing out debris that had taken years to accumulate, preparatory to it being flooded again. Crews were beefing up the other defences. New bars of thick metal were being affixed across lower windows. The main gate was reinforced with sheets of iron.
Kapple Hacher stood on the access road, watching the work progress. His aide, Frynt, was beside him, ticking items on a parchment list.
“It’s a crying shame,” Hacher stated, “that this place was allowed to fall into such a sorry state by the former regime. The defences are a joke.”
“They’re not a warlike race, sir. I expect they didn’t see the need.”
“But they saw fit to build the fortress in the first place, whoever long ago that was.” He grew thoughtful. “Which makes me think…”
“Sir?”
“Nothing. Will the work be completed on schedule, do you think?”
“It should be if we have them working day and night.”
“Bring in more labour if you have to. I want it finished as soon as possible.”
“Do you really think the fortress could come under attack, sir?”
“The way things are going, anything’s possible. And I don’t want to leave us open to the Envoy’s displeasure.”
“Ah, yes, sir. But is this enough to satisfy the lady Jennesta?”
“In itself, no. I wouldn’t expect it to. It’s just one measure. The crackdown I’m planning should mollify her to some extent. At least for a while.”
“Yes, sir. Let’s hope so.”
“In that respect…” Hacher looked about, as though spying for eavesdroppers, and his voice dropped. “In that respect there’s been something of a breakthrough.”
“General?”
“Breathe a word of this and I’ll have your tongue. Understood?”
Frynt looked offended at the idea of him being loose with the organ in question. “Of course, sir.”
“We’ve got an informer. Not one of your usual low level turncoats either. This is somebody within the resistance itself. Close to the leadership, in fact.”
“Really, sir? May I ask who?”
If Hacher was going to answer the question, it wasn’t to be at that moment.
There was a chorus of shouts from the guard detail supervising the workers.
A soldier had arrived on horseback. His shirt was bloodstained and he was yelling. The sentries rushed to him, and he fell into their arms.
25
“Will you stop that bloody row!” Haskeer barked.
Wheam cringed and quit plucking his lute. “I was only —”
“You were only driving me crazy. Now stow the damn thing and follow me.”
“Where?”
“Stryke wants you in on something. Fuck knows why. Now move your arse.”
Haskeer led him to the rear of the safe house and a closed door. Typically, he ignored niceties and barged in.
The room was the largest in the building, and crowded. It looked as though all the Wolverines were present, along with a number of resistance members and a smattering of Vixens.
Stryke was standing near the door.
“Here he is,” Haskeer said. “Though why the hell you’d want him involved —”
“All right, Sergeant. Plant yourself somewhere.”
Grumbling, Haskeer went and lounged against a wall, arms folded.
Wheam looked up at Stryke and swallowed. “What do you want me for, Captain?”
“A mission’s being planned. We need everybody we can get. That includes you.”
“Me? But —”
“My band carries no dead weight. It’s time you proved yourself.”
“I… I wouldn’t want to let you down.”
“Then see you don’t. Now shut up and find a place to perch.” He jabbed a thu
mb.
Wheam spotted Dallog. He weaved meekly through the throng and settled on a patch of floor next to him.
There was a lot of low level muttering. Whatever was going to happen hadn’t started yet.
Brelan went to the head of the room and they quietened down. “Everybody here? Good. As you all know, Grilan-Zeat’s due to show itself soon. In not too many days’ time it’ll be at its most visible. When that happens, my mother’s going to address the citizenry and the uprising begins. At least, that’s what we’re hoping. Before that, we need to soften up the enemy, and rattle ’em enough that they’ll hit back and rile the populace. We want the pot boiling when the Primary makes her appearance. This is one of the ways we’ll do it.” There was a crudely drawn map affixed to the wall behind him. He pointed to an area circled in red.
“What is it?” Coilla asked.
“Army camp. A small fort.”
“Where?”
“A bit beyond the city limits, to the west. Most of the likely targets here in Taress are better protected since our campaign started, so we’re looking further afield.”
“What’s that wavy line next to it?”
“A river. Fast flowing. And here,” he tapped a point near the river’s end, “there’s a waterfall.”
“It might not be as secure as places here in the city,” Jup said, “but it’s still a fort. Won’t it be a tough nut?”
“Which is why we need to muster as big a force as we can.”
“So the Vixens will play their part,” Chillder explained, “and you too, Jup and Spurral, if you’re willing.”
The dwarfs nodded. “But what about us being seen?” Jup asked.
“The way we intend going about this, it won’t matter. Besides, we’ll keep you hidden until we’re out of the city.”
From the back of the room, Pepperdyne raised a hand. “What can we…” He glanced at Standeven, slumped beside him. “What can I do?”
“Lend your sword arm,” Stryke told him. “But we can’t pull the uniform stunt again.”
“No,” Brelan confirmed, “they’ll be wise to that by now. Though what we have in mind doesn’t call for it. But there’s something else you all need to know about the raid. It’ll be tomorrow.”
“That’s one hell of a short notice,” Coilla remarked. “Why so soon?”
“Two reasons. First, security. The longer between hatching a plan and carrying it out, the more chance it’ll leak.”
“You’ve got turncoats in your ranks?”
“No,” Brelan came back huffily. “But it’s a rare orc who won’t break in one of Peczan’s torture chambers.”
“What’s the second reason?” Stryke said.
“We’ve learnt there’s going to be a changing of the guard at the fort. The new contingent’s drawn from the reinforcements we welcomed with the stampede, and they’re due to relieve the outgoing company today. Tomorrow’s their first full day in a new camp. We’ll know the layout better than they do. It’s a good time to hit them.”
“Makes sense. But you still haven’t said how we’re going to get in there.”
Chillder smiled. “We have a way.”
“Think it’ll work?” Coilla said.
Stryke shrugged. “What do you think? You’re our mistress of strategy.”
“It’s a smart plan, but it’s complex. The more parts to a scheme, the more to go wrong.”
“What would you change?”
“I’d like us to have a good fallback. You know, a better escape route. Maybe more than one.”
“Any ideas on that?”
She nodded. “But it’d take a few fighters out of the front line, and mean some hard work for us overnight.”
“Sort out the details soon as you can. I’ll talk to Brelan about it.”
They were sitting on a weathered, low stone wall in a small inner courtyard of the house the resistance had commandeered. It was one of the few places they were able to find a little privacy.
“Are you sure about Wheam?” Coilla said. “Him coming on the raid, I mean.”
“No, I’m not. But we need to make a good show of numbers. Brelan reckons they’ll be a couple of hundred humans in that fort. We’ll be lucky to scrape together as many on our side. Besides, he’s never going to shape up if we don’t put him in the field.”
“Unsupervised?”
“I’ll get somebody to keep an eye on him.”
“And tie up a fighter.”
“Then I’ll put him in some support role.”
“Is it worth the risk?”
“Look, if Wheam gets himself killed… well, too bad.”
“You mean that? Despite what his father said?”
“Fuck it, Coilla, I won’t be cowed by threats from Quoll or anybody else. I thought we got away from all that shit when we left Maras-Dantia. If Quoll ends up with a beef we can settle it with blades. Nobody stops me getting back to Thirzarr and the hatchlings.”
“I’d go along with that. But you’re being too hard on Wheam. It’s not his fault he’s in this fix.”
“Maybe.” He sighed. “Guess I’m feeling a bit snappy.”
“Reason?”
“I didn’t think things would be this knotty. I want to cut through it all and get to Jennesta.”
“You’re not alone in that, Stryke. We all want it. But meantime we can help some fellow orcs. That’s not bad, is it?”
“Suppose not.”
“Tell me something. You’ve been uneasy about Pepperdyne, but now he’s in on this raid. Why?”
“I could say I prefer to have him where I can see him. Truth is, I’m not sure about him. But we need his skills, so…”
“I think you can trust him.”
“So you keep saying. I reckon you’re a bit partial there.”
“’Cos he’s saved my life a couple of times? You bet I am.”
“Don’t forget he’s a human, Coilla. Blood will out.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t judge others the way we’ve been judged.”
“And maybe some should be. Or would you prefer trying to reason with Peczan’s army?”
She smiled. “Looking out for tyros and humans you don’t trust. You’re going to have your hands full tomorrow.”
Several hours later, with most resistance members away preparing for the morrow and the shadows lengthening, a human furtively approached the safe house. Despite the clement weather he was bundled in a cloak, and wore an expansive hat with its brim pulled well down to hide his features. Looking to the right and left, he pushed open the door and slipped inside.
There was a room close by the entrance, its door half open. As the intruder crept past, Pepperdyne leapt out of it. They crashed into the opposite wall and a struggle ensued. The man’s hat was ripped from his head.
“You!” Pepperdyne exclaimed.
“Take your hands off me!” Standeven demanded.
“In here!” Pepperdyne growled, dragging his master into the empty room. Ignoring his protests, he flung him into a chair. “You’re lucky I happened to be the one on guard duty. Where the hell have you been?”
“I have to account to you for my movements now, do I?”
“You do when you disappear for hours on end without a word. What’s going on?”
Standeven dusted himself off with an exaggerated gesture. “I had to get out.”
“What, for a stroll?”
“You’ve seen something of this place. I’ve only been shunted from one stinking hideout to another.”
“My outings haven’t exactly been pleasure trips.”
“That’s your choice. I needed air, and the sight of other faces. I wanted to get away from these creatures you’re so fond of.”
“So you took a walk in a city full of them.”
“Yes. And how might that imperil this sordid little enterprise?”
“You fool. What if you’d been picked up by the authorities?”
“They’re only interested in orc insurgents. Humans have pri
vileges in this place, I saw that much.”
“They know a human’s working with them!”
“So you can have free run of the outside but I can’t. You’re not my jailer.”
“It seems you need one.”
“If we ever get back home, I’ll…”
“You still haven’t got it through your head, have you? Things are different here. They’re different between you and me.”
“Which might not last forever.”
“You wish.”
“And in the event of things going back to the way they were, your fortunes are going to depend on how you behave now. You’d do well to keep that in mind.”
“I’m doing my best to keep us alive. Isn’t that enough?”
Standeven adopted a conciliatory tone. “And I appreciate it, Jode. I really do.”
“You’ve a strange way of showing it. How do I know what you were up to out there?”
“Wouldn’t I be stupid to do anything that might jeopardise my own safety? My wellbeing’s tied to this ragtag bunch of rebels, same as you.” He spread his hands and added reasonably, “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“You know the thing about you, Standeven? I can never be quite sure if you’re a knave or an idiot.”
“On this occasion, probably the latter. I was foolhardy. I’m sorry.”
Pepperdyne considered his master’s words, and said, “If you ever do anything like this again…”
“I won’t. I give you my word. Now forget my stupidity and save your anger for tomorrow.”
Pepperdyne expelled a breath and relaxed a little. “Yeah, tomorrow. It’s going to be an interesting day.”
“I’m sure of it,” Standeven agreed.
26
The fort was old. It was built in times long forgotten as part of Acurial’s border defences. The pacifistic orcs of the present epoch had allowed it to fall into neglect, and its restoration was undertaken by the human invaders.
It stood on the edge of a rock-face, some thirty to forty feet high, and looked out over an expanse of open land that ran to the distant sea. Below the fort, nestling at the foot of the cliff, was a line of wooden buildings. They were of much more recent vintage, having been erected by orcs of the current era to store grain from nearby farms and to over-winter their cattle. With the coming of the humans these buildings were abandoned and left to rot.
Orcs: Bad Blood Page 25
