Orcs

by Stan Nicholls

  The bounty hunters found a stable run by a gremlin, and for a few coins housed their mounts. They continued on foot, Aulay still close to Coilla.

  At one point she thought she glimpsed a couple of orcs, crossing a distant intersection. But a kirgizil dragon and its mean-faced kobold rider blocked her view and she couldn’t be sure.

  Aulay, she noticed, was fidgeting with his eye-patch. He obviously hadn’t seen what she had, but for a moment she wondered if there might not be something in his “orc sense” after all.

  She knew there was no reason orcs shouldn’t be here, although they were less likely because most of the orc nation was under arms, fighting others’ causes. As was their lot. If there were any they could be deserters, which wasn’t unknown, or on official business. That might mean they were searching for the renegade Wolverines. The other possibility, of course, was that the two she glimpsed were Wolverines. It was too fleeting for her to tell. She decided to be positive and allow herself some small hope.

  “This’ll do,” Lekmann decided.

  He pointed to an inn. A coarsely painted wooden sign hung over the door. It read: The Werebeast and Broadsword.

  The place was jammed with boisterous drinkers.

  “Get in there and find us somewhere to sit, Jabeez,” Lekmann instructed.

  Blaan scanned the interior, then used his mass to barge through the press, the other three in his wake. With the innate instinct of a bully, he zeroed in on a group of pixies and turfed them out.

  As soon as the bounty hunters and Coilla sat, an elf serving wench arrived. Lekmann opened his mouth to order. She plonked four pewter tankards of mead down on the table, reciting, “Take it or leave it.”

  Blaan contemptuously tossed her some coins. She scooped them up and left.

  The three humans’ heads came together for a hushed, conspiratorial discourse. Coilla leaned back in her chair with folded arms.

  “The way I see it, we’ve got a small problem,” Lekmann whispered. “The ideal thing would be to get rid of this bitch first and be done with watching her. But if she’s sold we won’t have her to pick out the other orcs.”

  “I told you,” Coilla said, “I’m not doing that.”

  Lekmann bared his teeth and hissed, “We’ll make you.”

  “How?”

  “Leave it to me, Micah,” Aulay offered. “I’ll get her to do it.”

  “Eat shit, one-eye,” she responded.

  Aulay seethed.

  “Look, let’s assume this crazy freak ain’t gonna help us,” Lekmann argued. “Which case it might be best if we split up. Me and Jabeez will look for somebody to buy her. You, Greever, can start searching for orcs.”

  “Then what?”

  “We meet back here in a couple of hours and pool stories.”

  “Fine by me,” Aulay said, glaring at Coilla. “I’ll be glad to see the back of it.”

  She took a deep draught of her ale and wiped the back of a hand across her mouth. “Couldn’t put it better myself.” She slammed her tankard down on Aulay’s hand. Hard. There was a loud crack. His face convulsed and he let out an agonised yell.

  He stared at his little finger. His face was ashen, his eyes watered. “She . . . broke . . . it . . . ,” he whined through trembling lips. Fury twisting his face, he reached for a boot with his other hand. “I’m gonna . . . kill you . . . ,” he promised.

  “Shut up, Greever!” Lekmann snapped. “There’s beings watching! You ain’t doing nothing to her, she’s valuable.”

  “But she broke my little . . .”

  “Stop being such a baby. Here.” He tossed over a rag. “Wrap this round it and close your trap.”

  Coilla treated them all to a warm smile. “Well, let’s get me sold, shall we?” she purred sweetly.

  “It’s more of them, isn’t it?” Stryke said.

  “No doubt of it,” Jup confirmed. “Same as at Trinity, and that hunting party.”

  They were concealed in a thicket, stretched flat and looking down at a camp in a hollow. It was occupied by a party of humans. The rest of the band had been ordered to stay back, out of sight, and from their position Stryke and Jup couldn’t see them.

  The black-garbed humans undertaking various chores below were all males and numbered around twenty. They were conspicuously and heavily armed. A makeshift corral had been built for their horses, and near the centre of the camp a covered wagon was parked.

  “Shit, that’s all we need,” Stryke sighed. “Hobrow’s custodians.”

  “Well, we knew they were likely to be somewhere in the area. We couldn’t expect them to give up trying to get back the star we took.”

  “We could do without it, though. There’s enough to worry about.”

  “Do you reckon they might have Coilla or Haskeer?”

  “Who knows? Do you think your farsight might help?”

  “It hasn’t aided us much so far. But I’ll give it a try.”

  He gouged a hole in the earth with his fingers and wormed a hand into it. Then he concentrated, eyes closed. Stryke held his peace and continued studying the camp.

  Eventually Jup opened his eyes and let out a long breath.

  “Well?”

  “I picked up a faint orc presence, but I’d say it wasn’t as close as down there. It’s not too far away, though.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Just about. Couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Nor the direction. If those bastard humans weren’t so keen on eating our magic —”

  “Look.”

  Down in the camp, a figure was climbing from the back of the covered wagon. It was a human female. She was of an age where childhood had been left behind but womanhood had yet to blossom. The lingering puppy fat of youth, along with honey-coloured hair and china blue eyes, should have made her comely. But she wore a sullen, ill-tempered scowl and her mouth was mean.

  “Oh, no,” Jup groaned.

  “What?”

  “Mercy Hobrow. The preacher’s daughter I told you about.”

  She moved around the camp with a cavalier gait, yelling at the custodians. They jumped to obey her.

  “She’s not much more than a hatchling,” Stryke said. “Yet she’s obviously issuing orders.”

  “Tyrants are often distrustful. They’d prefer to use a member of their family rather than rely on outsiders. And it looks like he’s groomed his spawn well.”

  “Yes, but leaving a . . . child in command?”

  “Humans are all fucking mad, Stryke, you know that.”

  Now the girl was laying about the custodians with a swish.

  “Have those men no pride?” Stryke wondered.

  “No doubt fear of her father is the stronger emotion. But you’re right about the error of giving her authority; they haven’t even put out any guards.”

  Stryke whispered, “Don’t speak too soon.”

  Jup made to say something. Stryke clamped a hand over his mouth and moved the dwarf’s head to face to their right. Two custodians were walking slowly toward their hiding place, swords drawn. Stryke removed his hand.

  “They haven’t seen us,” Jup said.

  “No. But if they carry on this way they will, or they’ll see the band.”

  “We’ve got to take them out.”

  “Right, and without alerting the others. Feel like being bait?”

  Jup smiled wryly. “Do I have a choice?”

  Stryke glanced at the approaching sentries. “Just give me enough time to get in position.” He snaked into the bushes, moving in the direction of the nearing sentries.

  Jup counted to fifty in his head. Then he stood up and stepped out into the path of the sentries.

  They froze, surprise on their faces.

  He moved their way, hands well out from his sides, clear of his weapons. He added to their confusion by smiling.

  One of the custodians barked, “Stay where you are!”

  Jup kept coming and kept smiling.

  The sentries raised their swords.
Behind them, Stryke quietly emerged from the undergrowth, a dagger in his hand.

  The custodian bellowed again. “Identify yourself!”

  “I’m a dwarf,” Jup replied.

  Stryke piled into them from the rear. Jup ran forward, drawing his own knife.

  The four of them went down in a scrum of twisting limbs and flying fists. A few seconds of struggling sorted them into two separate fights. But the custodian’s swords were second-best at close quarters. Armed with knives, Jup and Stryke had the advantage.

  Jup’s kill was quick. He saw the way clear to his opponent’s heart and took it. One blow was enough.

  Stryke had more of a task. In the clash he lost his knife. Then his rival managed to get himself on top. He clutched his sword two-handed and made to bring it down like a dagger to Stryke’s chest. Stryke had hold of his forearms and pushed back. The stalemate was broken when he somehow found the strength to topple the human. A brief tussle for the sword was won by Stryke. He planted it in the custodian’s guts.

  “Quick, let’s get their bodies out of sight,” Stryke ordered.

  They were pulling the corpses into the undergrowth when three more sentries appeared from the opposite direction.

  Jup swiftly whipped up his knife and lobbed it at one of them. The human took it in the midriff and hit the ground. His companions charged.

  Orc and dwarf met them with drawn swords and they paired off to fence.

  Aware of drawing attention from the camp, Stryke tried to end his foe as fast as possible. He went at the human furiously, pouring blows on him, and ducked and weaved to find an opening. The sheer force of his assault reduced the man’s defence to tatters. With a hefty swing, Stryke cleaved his neck.

  Adopting similar tactics, Jup’s style was unsubtle frenzy. The custodian he faced parried the first half dozen blows, then flagged. Backing off, he started shouting. Jup moved in quickly and whacked him in the mouth with the flat of his blade. That put a stop to both the yelling and the human’s guard. A follow-through to his stomach settled the issue.

  Stryke padded to the bushes and peered down at the camp. His fear that the shouts might have been heard proved unfounded. With Jup’s help, the bodies were concealed.

  “What happens when they don’t report back?” the dwarf panted.

  “Let’s not be here to find out.”

  “So where to?”

  “The only direction we haven’t tried—due east.”

  “That takes us dangerously near to Cairnbarrow.”

  “I know. Got a better plan?”

  Jup slowly shook his head.

  “Then let’s do it.”

  It was half a day of hard riding before Jup said it. “Stryke, this is useless. There’s just too much land to cover.”

  “We don’t give up on our comrades. We’re orcs.”

  “Well, not all of us,” the dwarf reminded him, “but I’ll take being included as a compliment.”

  His captain gave a tired smile. “You’re a Wolverine. I tend to forget your race.”

  “It might be better for Maras-Dantia if more of us had such a poor memory in that respect.”

  “Perhaps. But like I said, one thing we can’t forget is members of our band, whoever they are, whatever they’ve done.”

  “I’m not saying we should abandon them, for the gods’ sake. It just seems so futile going about it this way.”

  “You’ve come up with another plan?”

  “You know I haven’t.”

  “Then whinging serves little purpose.” It was said harshly. Stryke moderated his tone when adding, “We’ll keep looking.”

  “What about Cairnbarrow? We’re getting nearer all the time.”

  “And we’ll get closer yet before I think of giving up.”

  A pall of silence fell over them as they continued their east-ward trek.

  Eventually they saw a rider galloping toward them from the direction they were heading.

  Jup identified him. “It’s Seafe.”

  Stryke halted the column.

  Seafe arrived, pulling hard on the reins of his lathering horse. “Forward scout reporting, sir!”

  Stryke nodded.

  “We’ve found him, Captain! Sergeant Haskeer!”

  “What? Where?”

  “Mile or two north. But he’s not alone.”

  “Don’t tell me. Hobrow’s men.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many of them?” Jup said.

  “Hard to tell, Sergeant. Twenty, thirty.”

  “And Hobrow himself?” Stryke asked.

  “He’s there.”

  “Any sign of Coilla?”

  “Not that we could see. I left Talag keeping an eye on them.”

  “All right. Well done, Seafe.” He turned and waved in the band. “Seems we’ve found Sergeant Haskeer,” he relayed. “But he’s being held by Hobrow’s Unis. Seafe’s going to lead us there. Be ready, and approach with stealth. Let’s go, Seafe.”

  In due course they came to a ridge beyond which, Seafe explained, the terrain swept into a dip.

  “I reckon it’d be better to dismount here and lead the horses, sir,” he suggested.

  Stryke agreed and issued the order. They climbed quietly to an arrow’s shot away from the top of the rise.

  “Guards?” Stryke said.

  “A few,” Seafe confirmed.

  “That’s our first priority, then.” What went through Stryke’s mind was how much harder it was operating with half a band. He summoned Hystykk, Calthmon, Gant and Finje. “Find the sentries and deal with them,” he ordered. “Then get yourselves back here.”

  As they moved off, Jup said, “Think four’s enough?”

  “I hope so. It’s all we can spare.” He collared a trooper. “Stay here with the horses, Reafdaw. When the others have finished with the guards, send them up.”

  “We’ll be at the foot of that,” Seafe told Reafdaw, pointing to a particularly tall, gaunt tree that could just be seen above the rise. Reafdaw nodded.

  Seafe led Stryke, Jup, Breggin, Toche and Jad up the rise. A pitiably small crew, Stryke reflected.

  They reached the crest and found themselves looking down into a lightly wooded area. Keeping low they got to Talag, stretched out beneath the tall tree. He signed for them to focus on a gap in the greenery.

  Through it, they saw a clearing where trees were dotted much more sparsely. A temporary camp had been set up, with two dozen or more custodians moving about it. To one side stood a horseless buggy. Its shafts rested on a couple of downed tree trunks.

  “Where’s Haskeer?” Stryke whispered.

  “Yonder,” Talag replied, indicating an area to the left where trees blinded the view.

  They stayed in position for a good ten minutes, waiting for something significant to happen below. Then the other orcs returned. Gant gave the thumbs-up sign.

  “Sure you got them all?” Stryke said.

  “We covered the whole circuit, sir. If there were others, they were well hidden.”

  “Well, they won’t be missed for long. Anything we do has to be soon. Are you sure you saw Haskeer down there, Seafe?”

  “I’m sure, chief. Couldn’t mistake his ugly puss.” Hurriedly he added, “No offence, sir.”

  Stryke smiled thinly. “That’s all right, trooper. I think we know what you mean.”

  More empty time passed. They were starting to get jumpy when there was a commotion below. Some kind of movement could be seen through the trees. The orcs tensed.

  Kimball Hobrow appeared, straight-backed, striding purposefully. He was shouting, but they couldn’t make out the words. Following him was a jeering mob of his black-costumed custodians.

  They were frog-marching Haskeer.

  His hands were tied behind his back and he staggered more than walked. Even from a distance it was obvious he’d been ill treated.

  They took him to the middle of the clearing, by a high tree. A horse was brought over. The crowd hoisted him on to it.r />
  Jup was puzzled. “They’re not going to let him go, surely?”

  Stryke shook his head. “No way.”

  One of the humans produced a noosed rope and slipped it over Haskeer’s head. The rope was secured around his neck and the other end tossed over a projecting bough. Eager hands pulled it taut.

  “If we leave it another minute,” Jup whispered, “we’ll be watching a lynching.”

  11

  Stryke watched as the braying mob prepared for Haskeer’s hanging.

  “I wouldn’t have your job at a time like this, chief,” Jup told him.

  Down below, Hobrow climbed on to his buggy and stood on the seat. He raised his arms. The mob fell silent. “The Supreme Creator has seen fit to return our holy relic!” he boomed. “More than that, He has gifted us another!”

  “They’ve got the stars,” Stryke said.

  “And in His boundless wisdom, the Lord has also delivered to our justice one of the ungodly creatures who stole our birthright!” Hobrow pointed an accusing finger at Haskeer. “And today we have the sacred task of putting the sub-human to death!”

  “Fuck that!” Stryke exclaimed. “If anybody’s going to kill Haskeer, it’s me.” As Hobrow ranted on, he beckoned over one of the grunts. “You’re the best archer we’ve got, Breggin. Could you hit that rope from here?”

  Breggin squinted and studied the target. He sucked a finger and held it up. His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. Frowning, he considered the wind speed, angle of trajectory and force required to loose the shaft.

  “No,” he said.

  “. . . as we shall smite all our enemies with the aid of the Lord God Almighty, and . . .”

  Stryke took another tack. “All right, Breggin. Take Seafe, Gant and Calthmon and get Reafdaw up here with the horses. On the double!”

  The grunt scurried off.

  “We’re going in?” Jup asked.

  “We’ve no choice.” He nodded toward the clearing. “Assuming they don’t kill Haskeer first.”

  “If they’re waiting for that windbag to stop talking we might have time yet.”

  “. . . to His everlasting glory! Behold the Lord’s bounty!” Hobrow produced a small hessian sack and brought the stars out of it. He held them aloft and his followers roared.