Orcs: Bad Blood

by Stan Nicholls

  Stryke stopped himself from sending a hand to the pouch he carried the stars in. He said nothing.

  “But we’re going to put that right at last,” she told him. “We’re going to —”

  Hacher groaned.

  She swung her head to him, furious. “Oh get out, you useless wretch. Go and have that seen to. Though why I don’t let you bleed to death…”

  “Will you be safe with him?” Hacher asked.

  “You certainly weren’t! There’s nothing here that’s beyond me. Now get out!”

  The general climbed to his feet and limped to the door, a hand pressed against his bleeding wound.

  When he left she refocused on Stryke. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the instrumentalities.” Her face screwed with wrath. “They were rightly mine. I searched years for them and you’ve added years more. That’s not something I tolerate.”

  “They’re not for the taking,” Stryke informed her.

  “Oh yes they are. The taking, and a lingering death as reward for your insolence.”

  “Then you won’t mind a condemned orc’s last request. How did you escape? After you —”

  “After my dear father consigned me to the vortex, you mean, in the hope that I’d be torn to pieces? No, I won’t. I don’t grant wishes. You can die wondering.”

  “And you’ve climbed high in the world of humans. I’d like to know how.”

  “Humans are scum. I’ve nothing but contempt for them. They’re just a means. How I rose among them is something else I won’t trouble you with. But it was absurdly easy, I’ll say that.”

  “Ever the conniver.”

  “Realist.” Unexpectedly, her tone became even, almost conversational. “You know, it’s a pity things worked out as they did. You were a good slave once. I might have given you a high position in my service. And when I think about it, we do have something in common, don’t we?”

  “What in hell could that be?”

  “No home. No realm in my case,” she added bitterly. “Neither of us has roots, somewhere we can have allegiance to. But at least you have your own kind. There aren’t many like me.”

  “I believe it. What are you saying, Jennesta?” He felt a little flip in his stomach for using a term other than “Your Majesty.” “That you want me back in your service?”

  “Gracious, no. I was just dangling something you couldn’t have in front of you. No reprieves.”

  Stryke lunged at her, bringing up his sword. She quickly moved her hands in some unfathomable way.

  He froze. Try as he might, not all his strength could make him move. He stood like a statue, sword outstretched, body tensed for the thrust.

  She laughed at him. Then she called out in some guttural, arcane tongue. Half a minute later two of her lumbering zombies shambled in.

  “You know what to do,” she told them without bothering to look their way.

  They shuffled to Stryke and began pawing at his clothes. Their soft, bony fingers probed his pockets. Yellow skeletal hands searched for his belt pouches. This close, the foul smell of the creatures was overpowering. But Stryke was powerless to shift, no matter how hard he struggled.

  Inevitably one of the goons found the pouch of stars. When he upended it and they tumbled to the carpet, Jennesta’s face lit up with an awful fire. She rushed to the spot, clouting aside the zombie who tipped the bag, as though in penalty for his disrespect. Kneeling, she took up the stars with reverence. If she was disappointed at finding only four, she didn’t show it. Which some small part of Stryke’s writhing mind found strange.

  “These will give me a power you can’t imagine,” she boasted, flaunting the stars at Stryke. “I won’t have a mere realm. I’ll have realms. The dominance of not one but many worlds. And it starts with an orc army as obedient as these two.” Jennesta nodded at the undead. “Pity you won’t see it.” She lifted a hand.

  The double doors crashed open. Haskeer charged in, carrying a wooden bench, which he casually tossed to the floor. Coilla was right behind him, sword and dagger in hand.

  The intrusion threw Jennesta, and for an instant her attention wandered, breaking whatever hold she had on Stryke. Freed, he carried through with the suspended thrust, no matter that Jennesta was no longer in front of him, and almost fell. Shaking himself, he made ready to strike again.

  Coilla got there first. As Stryke thawed she sent a knife Jennesta’s way. It struck her, hilt first, on the temple. The sorceress cried out, part in pain, mostly in fury. There was something like blood on her forehead, had it been blood’s colour. Drawing back from what may well have been the only physical blow she had ever received, Jennesta called out in the secret tongue.

  The pair of zombies immediately became animated. Moving surprisingly fast, they obeyed their mistress and attacked. Haskeer ran to meet them, straight off plunging his blade into the nearest one’s chest. The tip erupted from the zombie’s back, but in a plume of dust, not a surge of blood. Haskeer wrenched the sword free. The zombie, still standing, swayed for a second. Then he carried on as though nothing had happened. Haskeer tried again, and this time his sword went well into the belly. The zombie hardly broke step.

  “We can’t kill ’em!” Haskeer roared.

  “Depends how you do it!” Coilla shouted back. Rushing at the next goon she gave a swipe that completely severed his arm. The limb fell uselessly to the floor, the zombie kept coming.

  “Chop ’em into bits?” Haskeer queried.

  He didn’t get an answer. There was a commotion outside the wrecked double doors. Men shouting and running feet, heading their way.

  More of a threat as far as Coilla was concerned, Jennesta seemed to have gathered herself, if the twisted expression she wore and the gestures she was making with her hands meant anything.

  Coilla saw a route out. It was risky, and could have killed them as easily as staying here. But it was a chance. She grabbed Stryke and Haskeer’s arms and drew them to her.

  “Window!” she yelled.

  “Huh?” Haskeer grunted.

  “Window!” she repeated, pointing to the floor-to-ceiling framed glass doors at one end of the room.

  Haskeer got it. “Right!”

  They began to run as shouting guards spilled into the room. Stryke, between Coilla and Haskeer, and as much propelled by them as his own efforts, was still woozy. His head cleared instantly when he saw the windows rushing towards them.

  He managed to yell, “She’s got the sta —”

  A cacophony of breaking glass and snapping wood drowned him out.

  Then they were in silence. Falling. Seeing flashes of stars through cloud in the night sky. Followed by the tops of other buildings and the dark ground.

  They landed in the moat quite close together, all things considered. The fall hurt them, but didn’t irreparably harm them, though the water was cold and foul enough to instantly sober them. They swam to the edge and scrambled out. Eldo and Noskaa were waiting tensely nearby. All five melted into the night.

  They left Jennesta playing with her toys.

  “I can’t believe you left it here!” Stryke grumbled as they were let into the current safe house, their clothes still wringing.

  “I can’t believe you took yours with you!” Coilla snapped back. “Talk about a lion’s den.”

  “I thought carrying the stars was the best way of protecting them. I was wrong. But that doesn’t excuse you putting yours at risk.”

  “Stryke, if I’d had it on me back there she could have got them all. I thought hiding it was the safest.”

  “And didn’t tell me.”

  “You only would have got… the way you are about it now. You need never have known.”

  Moving into the house, they heard a commotion. Resistance orcs were hurrying to and fro, and there was a crowd in a side room.

  “Oh, no,” Coilla groaned.

  “What?” Stryke said, alarm rising.

  “Better find out.” She headed for the crowded room, Stryke right behind her.


  Elbowing in, they found Brelan, Chillder and Jup at the heart of it. They were staring at a small strongbox lying on the floor, its lid wrenched open.

  “How did you fare?” Jup asked expectantly.

  “We didn’t,” Coilla admitted.

  There were groans and words of sympathy from the crowd, which was increasing.

  “What’s going on here?” Stryke said.

  “Oh,” Jup replied, “yes, it’s strange, and disturbing.”

  “What happened?”

  “It seems somebody broke in and cracked open this strong-box.”

  “Got in? In this place? With so many around and all the security?”

  “There’s signs. Stove-in window at the back. Lock broke on this door.” He nodded to the entrance. “What we’re trying to figure out is who the box belongs to.”

  “It’s mine,” Coilla said.

  “Don’t tell me,” Stryke pleaded in an undertone.

  Grim faced, she gave him a tiny nod.

  “Yours?” Chillder said.

  “I had it hidden behind that loose brick over there.” Coilla indicated the spot where the brick had been discarded, next to its empty hollow.

  “Whoever it was, found it,” Brelan said. “But they don’t seem to have taken anything else. Was there something valuable in it?”

  She paused for a moment, then answered, “No, just some keepsakes. Junk mostly, but I was fond of it.”

  “Why should anybody steal junk?” Chillder asked, her gaze fixed on Coilla.

  “More important,” Brelan said, “is how? If somebody can get in here this easily our security needs beefing up. A lot.”

  “If it was somebody from outside,” Stryke offered.

  “What?”

  “There’s another possibility.”

  Brelan frowned as realisation dawned. “Not that again, Stryke. I’ve told you the loyalty of our group is —”

  “I’m just saying it’s possible. So would it hurt to check everybody here?”

  “Search them? Even if that wasn’t repugnant it can’t be done. There’s been a steady stream in and out today, and I would have thought a thief wouldn’t linger. But search them, for what Coilla’s says is junk? Get a grip, Stryke. Making this place secure comes first. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about tonight’s failure, but —”

  “It could have been treachery again,” Stryke told him.

  Brelan gave him a hard look and said, “You might dry yourselves,” as he walked out.

  The onlookers were largely silent now, and craned curiously. Stryke felt like he was in a zoo. He gathered Jup and, along with Coilla and Haskeer, went to find a quiet place. When they found it, round a table at the back of a noisy room, with a fire to steam their wet clothes, Stryke broke the news to Jup.

  “Damn it, Stryke,” the dwarf came back, “that’s a blow.”

  “You must hate my guts, Stryke,” Coilla said.

  He shook his head. “No. I gave you the responsibility, and you acted as best you could. I’m the greater fool for handing her the stars on a plate.”

  “Do you think she’s got the other one, my one?”

  “Amazed if she hasn’t.”

  “Jennesta with all five instrumentalities,” Jup muttered. “Doesn’t bear thinking on.”

  “And us stuck here,” Haskeer put in.

  “It’s going to be fun telling the rest of the band,” Coilla remarked.

  “Oh, no,” Haskeer moaned. “Does it mean we’re stuck with those two humans?”

  Standeven could be seen on the other side of the room, sitting alone and sipping something from a tumbler as more productive work went on around him.

  “I’m getting the stars back,” Stryke vowed darkly. “They’re going to be back in our hands if it kills me.”

  “A good prospect with Jennesta,” Jup reckoned.

  “So we’re fucked,” Haskeer said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Jup replied. “Look at it objectively. This is a fair land, nothing like Maras-Dantia. I don’t know about Ceragan, but is that any better?”

  “It isn’t occupied by humans,” Coilla informed him.

  “That won’t last. There’s a revolution brewing, and we helped fire it. So there’s prospect for fighting, seeing the orcs in these parts right, which is what we set out to do, and a comely home at the end of it. Could be worse.”

  Coilla smiled, not broadly. “Nice try. Though I wonder how you and Spurral would feel in a world of orcs.”

  “I’d be honoured.”

  She raised her cup of wine to toast him for the compliment. “Perhaps you’re right and we’ll have to make the best of it.”

  “We’ll have the stars,” Stryke promised. “I meant it when I said —”

  “Sssshhh!” Coilla had her finger to her lips. She nodded towards the door. Chillder was hurrying their way.

  “It’s here!” she beamed. “Grilan-Zeat. The comet. It’s arrived! Come and look!”

  They got up and followed her. Everybody else in the room was heading for the doors.

  Outside the farmhouse there was a silent, growing crowd of resistance members. All had their heads back, staring at the sky. Stryke and the others followed their gaze. They saw a light in the heavens. It was small, about the size of the smallest coin held out at arm’s length, and had a misty, watery aspect. But it gave out light of a kind unlike anything else in the night sky, and it seemed somehow to have a purpose.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Chillder said, sidling up to them. “Now my mother can issue her call to arms. Then we’ll see what the orcs of Acurial are made of.”

  Stryke feared that might be the case.

  “If they got this right,” Haskeer announced, “maybe the heroes bit’s true, too.” He sounded hopeful.

  Stryke spotted Wheam in the crowd, looking up enraptured. Dallog was nearby, and most of the recruits from Ceragan. Staring. Transfixed by the wonder and mystery of it. He knew orcs all over Taress, all over the land, would be seeing the same, and he wondered what they’d make of it.

  “It’ll grow!” Chillder promised. “The nearer it gets, the bigger.”

  Coilla had drifted apart from the others. She found a stretch of low wall and sat to watch the sky. She felt contrition for her carelessness, but strangely that wasn’t the major thing on her mind. As she gazed at the comet and heard the droned conversations from the crowd, she realised how different this land was. Not in big ways, but in small differences that were enough to throw you off. She felt drained, and very tired.

  Jup had spotted her sitting alone and, guessing she might need cheer, left Spurral and made for her.

  He hauled himself up next to her, his feet not quite scraping the ground, and said, “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

  “No,” Coilla said, “but you can almost see it from here.”

  THE ORCS RETURN IN:

  ORCS: ARMY OF SHADOWS

  Stan Nicholls

  A sojourn in their idyllic homeworld left Stryke and the Wolverines lacking purpose. So when an opportunity for bloodletting arose, Stryke seized it. Utilizing mysterious artifacts, the Wolverines are transported to Acurial, a world where the indigenous orc population is cruelly subjugated by human invaders.

  Upon their arrival, Stryke’s band joins with Acurial’s emerging resistance movement. As the revolution gathers pace, the Wolverines are forced to embark on an odyssey through outlandish parallel dimensions — a chase that would see Stryke and his comrades pursued by both their most ruthless enemy and a mysterious troop hell-bent on their destruction.

  Coming in 2010

  Available wherever good books are sold

  Extras

  Meet the Author

  Peter Coleborn

  STAN NICHOLLS is the author of more than two dozen books, most of them in the fantasy and science fiction genres, for both children and adults. His books have been published in over twenty countries. Before taking up writing full-time in 1981, he co-owned and
managed the West London bookstore Bookends and managed the specialist SF bookshop Dark They Were and Golden Eyed. He was also Forbidden Planet’s first manager and helped establish and run the New York branch. A journalist for national and specialist publications and the Internet, he was the science fiction and fantasy book reviewer for the London listings magazine Time Out for six years and subsequently reviewed popular science titles for the magazine. He received the Le Fantastique Lifetime Achievement Award for Contributions to Literature in April 2007.

  Introducing

  If you enjoyed

  ORCS: BAD BLOOD,

  look out for

  THE DWARVES

  by Markus Heitz

  For countless millennia, the dwarves of the Fifthling Kingdom have defended the stone gateway into Girdlegard. No man or beast has ever succeeded in breaching it. Until now…

  Abandoned as a child, Tungdil the blacksmith labors contentedly in the land of Ionandar, the only dwarf in a kingdom of men. Tungdil has never even set eyes on another dwarf. But all that is about to change.

  Sent out into the world to deliver a message and reacquaint himself with his people, the young foundling finds himself thrust into a battle for which he has not been trained. The life of every man, woman, and child in Girdlegard depends upon his ability to embrace his heritage. Tungdil is certain of one thing: no matter where he was raised, he is a true dwarf.

  And no one has ever questioned the courage of the Dwarves.

  Glandallin’s gaze swept the front line of monstrous beasts, shifting back to survey the second, third, fourth, fifth, and countless other grunting rows, all poised for the attack. He glowered from under his bushy eyebrows, forehead furrowing into a frown.

  Giselbert lost no time in reversing the incantation. At the sound of his voice, the gates submitted to his authority, swinging back across the pathway but moving too slowly to stop the breach. Giselbert strode behind his troops, laying a hand on each shoulder. The gesture was a source of solace as well as strength, calming and rallying the last defenders of the gates.

  Trumpets blaring, the riders ordered the attack. The orcs and ogres brandished their weapons, shouting to drown out their fear, and the army advanced with thundering steps.