Legion Of Thunder

by Stan Nicholls

Tannar scowled. 'He was a mighty hero of trollkind. His exploits are still celebrated by the songsmiths. They tell of how he once caught an arrow in flight, of how he downed fifty enemy single-handed and—'

  'You'd do well in an orcs' boasting tourney,' Jup ribbed.

  '. . . and of how he took the star from a tribe of dwarfs after defeating them in combat,' Tannar finished deliberately.

  Jup coloured. 'I find that hard to believe,' he countered with wounded dignity.

  'However you got it,' Stryke intervened, 'what are you trying to say about the stars, Tannar?'

  'That they have only ever brought death and destruction unless properly handled.'

  'By which you mean fed the blood of sacrifices.'

  'You kill too!'

  'In warfare. And we lift our swords against other warriors, not the innocent.'

  'Sacrifice brings my race prosperity. The gods favour it and protect us.'

  'Until now,' Alfray reminded him.

  The king didn't try to conceal his displeasure at the gibe. 'And your hands are unsullied by the blood of sacrifice, are they?'

  'Never higher lifeforms, Tannar. And mostly we sacrifice to our gods by going into battle. The spirits of those we slay are our offerings.'

  'Maybe the fact that you've found more than one star in a short time means the gods favour you too. Or perhaps they're just making you the butt of a jest.'

  'Perhaps,' Stryke conceded. 'But why are you telling us all this?'

  'So that you'll see how important this artifact is to my race. Return it and release me.'

  'Why should we abet you in more slaughter? Forget it, Tannar.'

  'I demand that you return it!'

  'Demand be damned. We didn't gamble our lives in that hole you call a homeland just to hand the star back. We need it.'

  The troll adopted a conspiratorial manner. 'Then consider a trade.'

  'What have you got to bargain with that we could possibly want?'

  'Another star?'

  Stryke, Jup and Alfray traded sceptical glances.

  'You expect us to believe you have such a thing?' Stryke said.

  'I didn't say I had it. But I might know where one could be found.'

  'Where?'

  'There's a price.'

  'Your freedom and the star back.'

  'Of course.'

  'How would you expect such a trade to be carried out?'

  'I reveal the location and you let me go.'

  Stryke pondered that for a moment. 'All right.'

  Jup and Alfray made to object. He silenced them with a slash of his hand.

  'I have heard that a centaur armourer called Keppatawn possesses a star,' Tannar explained, 'and that it's guarded by his clan in Drogan Forest.'

  'Why haven't you trolls tried for it yourselves?'

  'We have no insane ambitions to collect them like you. We are content with one.'

  'How did this Keppatawn get a star?'

  'I don't know. What does it matter?'

  'Drogan's a centaur stronghold,' Jup put in, 'and they can be mean about their territory.'

  'That isn't my problem,' the king announced loftily. 'Now give me the star and set me free.'

  Stryke shook his head. 'We keep the star. And we won't be letting you go just yet.'

  The king was infuriated. 'What? I kept my half of the bargain! You agreed!'

  'No. You just thought I did. You're coming with us, at least until we know you're telling the truth.'

  'You doubt my word? You stinking overlanders, you mercenaries, you . . . scum! You question my word?'

  'Yeah, life's unfair, isn't it?'

  Tannar began raging incoherently.

  'You've had your say,' Stryke told him. He beckoned a grunt. 'Nep. Secure him to that tree again.'

  The trooper grabbed the king's arm and started to guide him away. Tannar complained loudly of betrayal, of the indignity of being held captive, of having an inferior lay hands on him. He cast vivid aspersions on the entire band's parentage. Stryke turned his back on the scene to speak further with his officers.

  A chorus of yells and expletives burst from the grunts. Tannar bellowed, 'No!'

  Stryke spun around.

  Tannar and Nep were facing him, a couple of yards away. The troll had the orc in a neck-lock. He held a knife to the grunt's throat.

  'Shit!' Jup exclaimed. 'Nobody searched him!'

  'No!' the troll repeated. 'I'll not submit to this violation! I am a king!'

  Nep stood stiffly, ashen-faced, eyes wide. 'Sorry, Captain,' he mouthed.

  'Easy,' Stryke called. 'Be calm, Tannar, and nobody gets hurt.'

  The troll tightened his grip and pressed the knife closer to the trooper's jugular. 'To hell with calm! I'm taking the star and my freedom.'

  'Let him go. This serves no sane purpose.'

  'Do as I say or he dies!'

  Nep flinched.

  Jup slowly drew his sword. Alfray took up a bow and shaft. All around, the band armed themselves.

  'Drop your weapons!' Tannar demanded.

  'No way,' Stryke replied. 'Kill our comrade and what do you think happens next?'

  'Don't try bluffing, Stryke. You'll not throw away this one's life.'

  'We look out for each other, you're right. But that's just part of the orcs' creed. The rest of it is one on one, all on one. If we can't protect, we avenge.'

  Alfray notched an arrow and levelled his bow. Several grunts did the same. Nep contorted, trying to make himself less of a target. Tannar grimly hung on to him.

  'You can come out of this alive,' Stryke said, 'and see Scratch again. Just throw down the knife.'

  'And the star?'

  'You've had my answer on that.'

  'Then damn your eyes, all of you!'

  He made to drag the knife's edge across the grunt's neck. Nep twisted violently, his head instinctively moving forward and down. Alfray loosed his shaft. The arrow skimmed the troll's cheek, gouging flesh, and soared onward. Tannar roared and let go of Nep. The grunt dropped and half ran, half scrambled away, hand to streaming neck.

  Two more arrows slammed into Tannar's chest. He staggered under the impact but didn't go down. Slashing the air with his knife and yelling incomprehensibly, he managed to take a few steps in the band's direction.

  Tearing his sword from his scabbard, Stryke rushed in and finished the job with a heavy backhand swipe to the king's vitals. Open-mouthed, the troll monarch collapsed.

  Stryke nudged him with a boot. There was no doubt.

  Alfray was examining Nep's wound. 'You were lucky,' he pronounced, applying a cloth to sop the blood, 'it's superficial. Keep this tight against it.'

  He and Jup went over to Stryke. They regarded the body.

  'How could he be so stupid as to think you'd go for a deal like that?' Jup wondered.

  'I don't know. Arrogance? He was used to absolute rule, having everything he said taken as perfect truth. That's bad for any elder racer. Softens the brain.'

  'You mean he's talked shit all his life with nobody to gainsay him. Maybe he just couldn't get out of the habit with us.'

  'Total power seems to be a kind of insanity in itself.'

  'The more I see of rulers, the more I agree with you. Aren't there any benevolent dictators left?'

  'So now we've added regicide to the list,' Alfray said.

  Stryke glanced at him. 'What?'

  'Murder of a monarch.'

  'It's hardly murder,' Jup suggested. 'More tyranacide, I'd say. That means—'

  'I figured what it means,' Stryke informed him.

  'Now we've made another set of enemies in the trolls,' the dwarf added.

  Stryke sheathed his blade. 'We've made so many another bunch won't make much difference. Get a hole dug for him, will you?'

  Jup nodded. 'Then north?'

  'North.'

  It was unusual to find a dry spot anywhere in Adpar's realm. Given nyadd physiology, a dearth of water made no more sense than an absence of air. For cr
eatures even more liquid-dependent, like merz, a lack of water inevitably led to a lack of life. Albeit slowly.

  The one place in Adpar's citadel where waterless conditions held sway was the holding area for prisoners, which due to the nature of her rule was rarely occupied for long. Not that she saw that fact as a reason to make it any less unpleasant. Particularly when information was required from the occupants.

  Liking to take a hand in such things, she accompanied warders to the cell of two merzmale captives taken after a recent raid. They were spread, chained, upon dusty rock slabs in their arid cells, and had already been given a beating. For the best part of a day moisture had been denied them.

  Adpar dismissed the guards and let herself be seen by the prisoners. Their rheumy eyes widened at sight of her, their flaking lips quivered.

  'You know what it is we want,' she intoned, her voice soft and bordering the seductive. 'Just tell me where the remaining redoubts are to be found and you can put an end to your suffering.'

  Their refusal, croaked from parched throats, was no less than she expected, or in truth hoped for. There had to be a sense of achievement or these visits weren't worth making.

  'Bravery can sometimes be misplaced,' she argued reasonably. 'We'll find what we need to know sooner or later whether you help us or not. Why undergo the torment?'

  One cursed her, rasping; the other shook his head, painfully slow, dehydrated skin flaking.

  Adpar produced the water bottle and turned uncorking it into something like an erotic display. 'Are you sure?' she taunted. She drank, deep and long, allowing the liquid to dribble and gush from either side of her mouth as she did so.

  Again they refused to treat with her, though the longing in their eyes grew ever more rapacious.

  She took up a fluffy sponge, saturated it and squeezed its contents over her head and body, luxuriating sensuously in the drenching. Silver droplets glistened on her scaly skin.

  They ran blackened tongues around barren lips and still refused her.

  Adpar soaked the sponge again.

  It turned out to be two hours well spent, both in terms of the information they gave up and the pleasure she derived from extracting it.

  She made a show of taking the bottle and sponge with her when she left. The despairing expressions they wore added a final frisson to her enjoyment.

  The guards were waiting outside the cell. 'Let them desiccate,' she said.

  6

  The band resumed their journey before first light. They veered northeast, still working on the assumption that Haskeer was making for Cairnbarrow. And they clung to the hope that Coilla was somewhere between him and them.

  They were on the upper great plains now, an area where cover was less plentiful, so even more care had to be taken. But occasionally they encountered copses and other clusters of trees, and the trail they currently followed wound into a wood. Alive to the possibility of danger, Stryke ordered two advance scouts to be sent forward, and a pair were sent out on either side.

  As they entered the trees, Jup said, 'Shouldn't we be thinking about what happens if we haven't found Coilla and Haskeer? By the time we're in sight of Cairnbarrow, I mean. We're hardly going to get a warm reception there, Stryke.'

  'I think it'd be very warm. But I don't know the answer to your question, Jup. To be honest, I've been starting to fear they might have veered off in a totally different direction.'

  Alfray nodded. 'That's in my mind, too. If they have, we could spend our lives looking for them just in these parts. And if they've moved on to somewhere else completely . . .'

  'That doesn't bear dwelling on,' Stryke told him.

  'Well, we'd better. Unless you plan on us chasing our own tails forever.'

  'Look, Alfray, I don't know any more than you do what we're—' There was a disturbance at their right. The greenery shook, branches cracked, leaves fell. Smaller trees were pitched aside. Something bulky began crashing its way out of the wood.

  Stryke pulled back on his reins. The column halted. Swords were drawn.

  A creature emerged. Its grey body resembled that of a horse, but it was bigger even than a war charger, and it walked on clawed feet, not hooves. Powerful muscles rippled beneath its hide. Its neck was elongated like a serpent's, and a woolly black mane ran along the back of it. The head was almost pure griffin, with a feline nose, a yellow, horny beak and upswept fur-trimmed ears.

  They saw too that it was young, nowhere near full-grown, and that one of its sinewy wings was broken and hung limp at its side. Which was why, despite its obvious panic, the animal wasn't flying. Notwithstanding its mass it moved with surprising speed.

  Crossing their path, the hippogryph whipped its head round to look at them. They caught a glimpse of enormous green eyes. Then it plunged into the trees on the opposite side and was gone.

  Several of the orcs' mounts reared and snorted.

  'Look at it go!' Jup exclaimed.

  'Yes, but why?' Alfray cautioned.

  A heartbeat later the two right-flank scouts tore out of the woods. They were yelling but the words were unclear. One of them pointed back the way they'd come.

  Alfray peered into the trees. 'Stryke, I think—'

  Dozens of figures exploded on to the trail. The foremost were mounted, the second rank on foot. They were humans, every one of them dressed in black and heavily armed.

  'Shit,' Jup gasped.

  For an eternal second the two sides gaped at each other.

  Then the spell was broken. Mutual shock evaporated.

  Wheeling about, the humans started yelling and moved in to attack.

  'We're outnumbered two to one!' Alfray cried.

  Stryke raised his sword. 'So let's cut down the odds! No quarter!'

  The black garbed horsemen charged. Stryke dug his mount's flanks and led the band to meet them. Orcs and humans clashed with a roar and the sound of ringing steel.

  Stryke barrelled into the foremost rider. The man flourished a broadsword, slicing the air as he leaned out to engage the orc's blade. Their swords impacted twice before Stryke got under the other's guard and hewed him at the waist. The human pitched to the ground. His empty horse ploughed into the enemy at its rear, adding to the confusion.

  The human who took the fallen man's place confirmed Stryke's suspicion of easy victories. This was a much more formidable opponent. He was armed with a double-headed axe, and handled it with practiced skill. They exchanged one or two blows. After that, Stryke tried to avoid his blade coming into contact with the axe, lest the heavier weapon snap it.

  As they manoeuvred for advantage, Stryke's sword collided with the axe's wooden shank, splintering a notch. It didn't noticeably slow the wielder. But soon the effort of swinging the cumbersome axe did. The man's movements grew leaden, his reactions more prolonged. Not greatly, just enough to give Stryke a precious edge.

  The marginal speed advantage allowed Stryke to send in a low pass. It ripped open the human's thigh. He stayed in the saddle, but the pain served to throw him off his balance mentally. His defence went to pieces. Stryke targeted a stroke at his upper chest and it landed true. The human dropped his axe. His hands went to the gushing wound and he doubled over. Bolting, his horse carried him out of range.

  A third antagonist instantly filled the void. Stryke commenced fencing again.

  Alfray found himself having to deal with a rider on one side and a footsoldier on the other. The human on foot was the greater danger. Alfray took care of him by driving the pointed spar of the Wolverine's banner into his chest. He went down, taking the lance and banner with him. Alfray turned his attention to the horseman. Their swords crossed. On the third strike the human's blade was dashed from his grasp. A length of cold steel to the stomach put an end to him.

  Clutching a short spear, another footsoldier tackled Alfray, who rained blows down on him. The spear was sliced in two, and before he could dodge, his skull was cleaved.

  Individual fights boiled across and along the trail. A number
of humans were trying to get round either side of the band and outflank them. Battling ferociously, the grunts held them back.

  Finishing off a mounted human with a sword thrust, Jup didn't notice a footsoldier arriving at his side. The man reached up, seized the dwarf's leg and pulled him from his horse. Jup hit the ground heavily. Looming over him, the human raised his sword to deliver a death blow. Jup gathered his wits just in time to roll from it. Surprised in his dazed state to find he was still clutching his sword, he used it to chop at the human's legs. Hamstrung and screaming, the man collapsed. Jup buried the sword in his ribcage.

  Being on foot in such a tumult was unwise. Jup looked around frantically for a horse to mount. That ambition was delayed by a rider singling him out as easy prey. Stretching down from his saddle, the man hacked at him. Jup lifted his sword and began parrying blows. As much by chance as design, he hit lucky and knocked away his foe's blade. Leaping to his feet, Jup slashed upwards with all the force he could muster, inflicting a wound in the human's side. The man fell. Jup took his horse and rejoined the fray.

  An arrow whistled past Stryke's shoulder. Its source was one of two human archers further along the trail. Between batting off opponents' advances, he saw the pair of Wolverine forward scouts returning. They galloped up behind the human bowmen and laid about them. Taken unawares, the archers succumbed. Stryke renewed his onslaught.

  With a footsoldier attacking from each side of his mount, Alfray had his work cut out. Fending off one then turning to fight the other was exhausting. But they had hold of his horse's trailing reins and left him no option.

  Jup hastened in to even the odds. He tackled the human on Alfray's left, chopping his blade deep into the man's shoulder. Alfray himself concentrated on the remaining attacker. He was on the point of besting him when the two left flank scouts, alerted by the uproar, rode in to help. They made short work of the chore.

  Stryke parted a human's head from his shoulders with a powerful two-handed swipe. As the lifeless corpse dropped, he looked for his next opponent. But those still alive were retreating. Five or six, on foot and horseback, fled into the woods. Stryke yelled an order and a bunch of grunts rode off after them.

  He went to Alfray, who was pulling the banner lance from the dead human's chest.