The crowd was cheering him on.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Coilla warned.
“I don’t take advice from grotesques,” Krake informed her, “least of all a female.” He laughed derisively. Most of the crowd joined in.
Haskeer snatched his spear, upended it deftly and plunged it into the dwarf’s foot.
There was a crimson geyser. Krake shrieked. He hobbled a couple of steps before falling into the arms of his fellows. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
“Oh, great,” Jup groaned.
The enraged mob surged forward, weapons raised, and the orcs primed themselves to meet them.
“I don’t want you fighting our people, Stryke!” Spurral pleaded.
“No, we don’t need this,” Jup added, one eye on his advancing countrymen.
“Pull back, Wolverines!” Stryke barked. “All of you!”
The band withdrew. Soon they were clustering in front of a large wooden hut.
“In here!” Stryke bellowed, kicking open the door.
Everyone piled through. Furniture was dragged over to barricade the entrance, and the lone window was blocked. Outside, the roar of the mob grew louder.
Coilla glowered at Haskeer. “So much for not goading them!”
“The little shit asked for it. He was lucky I didn’ t — What are they doing here?” He thrust a finger at Pepperdyne and Standeven.
“They warned us, remember?”
“So what?”
“So there’s not much we can do about it now, is there?”
“I could,” Haskeer replied menacingly.
Stryke stepped between them. “You going to disobey another order?”
“I don’t remember one about them.”
“There is now: leave it. I’m no happier with humans around than you are, but we’ve more pressing worries.”
A grunt jogged from the back of the building. “That’s the only door, chief. No other way out.”
Stryke looked up to the distant rafters. “We couldn’t reach the roof either.”
As soon as he said it, they heard the sound of movement overhead.
“But they can,” Coilla said.
There was a battering at the door. It shook in its hinges. Several grunts rushed forward and threw their weight against the barricade.
“Can’t fight, can’t run,” Haskeer grumbled. “What do we do, Stryke?”
“We’ll try smashing our way through that back wall and —”
“Can you smell something?” Spurral exclaimed.
The hammering had stopped.
“Shit.” Coilla pointed towards the door. Thick black smoke was seeping through the cracks. “They’ve torched the place.”
Smoke was coming in through some of the wall planks too, and it began to billow up above, over the rafters.
“They want us so badly they’d burn one of their own buildings?” Stryke said.
“They’re pretty pissed off,” Jup confirmed.
“Now what?” Haskeer wanted to know.
Stryke held out a hand. “Coilla, the star. You’ve got it?”
“Course. I check the damn thing every ten breaths.” She dug it out and passed it to him.
He moved to a crude table and placed the instrumentality on it. Then he added the others from his belt pouch. He consulted the amulet about his neck then, brow taut with concentration, began slotting the stars together.
The smoke grew denser. Coughing broke out and eyes were stinging. Dallog was ripping up portions of cloth, dunking them in a water butt he’d found and passing them out to the grunts to cover their mouths with.
The ceiling was on fire. Sparks drifted and embers fell. The stink was acrid.
Still Stryke fiddled with the stars.
Everyone had gathered round him now, watching intently. Only Pepperdyne and Standeven, silent and forgotten, stood further back.
Stryke had just the final piece to fit in.
“I don’t like this bit,” Wheam snivelled.
“Oh, shut up,” Haskeer chided.
Stryke began easing the last star into place.
“Hold tight, everybody!” Coilla yelled.
Pepperdyne grabbed Standeven’s wrist, dragging him closer to the scrum.
There was an implosion of non-light.
And the bottom fell out of the world.
13
Only tender sounds disturbed the calm. A tinkling brook flowed down a mild rocky incline to join a lazy river. The distant baas of sheep mingled with the soothing drone of honeybees.
Green fields and softly undulating meadows extended from the banks of the river. Trees in full blossom dotted the landscape. Gentle hillocks marked the horizon, crowned with leafy copses. High above, languid birds flapped across a perfectly blue sky.
The day was still and warm. All was bucolic tranquillity.
There was a subtle change in the quality of the air. At a point just above the ground it wavered, like heat over stone on a summer afternoon. Soon, a spot of dull milky radiance appeared, and grew. It became a vortex, spinning frantically, and coloured pinpoints swirled in the mix. The whirlpool birthed a breeze, which swiftly built to a wind. Then a gale. Grass bowed under its force, and plants and trees.
It climaxed in a blinding white flash that rivalled the noontime sun.
The gaping maw of the churning radiance spewed out its load. A mass of shapes tumbled on to the sward.
Instantly, the wind vanished and the vortex snapped out of existence.
A sulphurous odour hung in the air.
Thirty and more figures were strewn along the riverbank. For some minutes none of them moved. Slowly, they began to rouse. A few groaned. Several vomited.
Stryke and Coilla were among the first to get to their feet.
“Gods, it’s no easier the second time, is it?” Coilla said, shaking her muzzy head. She took in the scene. “You brought us home? To Ceragan?”
“No. Though it looks a lot like it. I set the stars for the place Serapheim told us about.”
“This is supposed to be a land oppressed, is it? And there are orcs here?”
He scanned the landscape. “Somewhere.”
“If we’ve wound up where we’re supposed to.”
“That we’ll find out.” Stryke realised he was still clutching the assemblage of stars. He plucked one free and offered it to her. It was green, with five spikes. “Are you still willing to —?”
“Sure.” She took it. “It’s not the same one. The one I had was blue and it only had four —”
“Does it matter?” He was pulling the others apart and putting them in his pouch.
“No, course not. I’m being stupid. Still dazed from getting here. Wherever here is.”
Jup and Spurral joined them. They were pale, and looked mildly shocked.
“That’s a hell of a way to travel,” Jup said.
“Where are we?” Spurral asked.
“Don’t know,” Stryke told her. “But it’s where our mission is.”
Haskeer had been haranguing the band. Now he strode over.
“Everybody all right?” Stryke wanted to know.
“More or less. No thanks to his lot.” He glowered at Jup.
“My people were out of order,” Jup conceded. “But they felt they had cause.”
“Cause? That’s one word for it.”
“What are you saying?”
“You dwarfs know which way the wind blows.”
“Meaning?”
“What happened back there, turning on us, you’re well known for that.”
“Oh, that old song again.”
“And it’s got a name.” Haskeer leaned and put his face close to Jup’s. “Treachery.”
Jup made an effort to keep his temper in check. “Some of my folk… some… escaped the poverty we’ve been pushed into by working as soldiers of fortune. You could say I did myself, when I joined Jennesta’s horde. The same army you served in.”
“You had a choice. We didn
’t. Pisspot.” He drove his forefinger hard into the dwarf’s chest.
“You want to settle this?” Jup flared, balling his fists.
“Jup, please!” Spurral begged. “This is no time to —”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Haskeer growled. He raised his own ham-like knuckles.
Stryke barged in and flung them apart. “Cut it out!” he roared. “We’re a disciplined band, not a rabble!”
“He started it,” Jup mumbled.
“That’s enough! I won’t have disorder, and I’ll back that with a whipping if I have to!”
Unable to meet his gaze, Haskeer and Jup resumed glaring at each other.
“Just like old times, eh?” Coilla observed, breaking the impasse. “Your memory’s short, Haskeer. When did Jup ever let us down? And Spurral fought righteously today.”
“Well, that’s fine, ain’t it?” Haskeer replied with a hint of mockery. “And now you’ve got another female to play with.”
“Yeah, we can press flowers together.”
Spurral stifled a grin.
“Waifs and strays,” Haskeer muttered disgustedly. “Bloody circus.”
“Haskeer,” Stryke intoned menacingly.
“All right, all right. But what about them?” He pointed along the riverbank, to Pepperdyne and Standeven. “If they’re not deadweight then I don’t know —”
“The younger one helped me out of a tight fix,” Coilla reminded him.
“Ask yourself why,” Haskeer came back. “What’re they after?”
“You’re right,” Stryke agreed. “For once. I want some answers from those two before we move on.”
“About time.” Haskeer started to move.
“Not you, Sergeant. You posted guards? Sent out scouts? No. Do it. Now.”
Haskeer departed, grumbling.
“Is it always like this in the band?” Spurral asked.
“Just about,” Coilla replied.
“Particularly when Haskeer’s got a wasp up his backside about something,” Jup added.
“I don’t want to tackle those two mob-handed and make this look like a grilling,” Stryke decided. “They’re bound to clam up.”
“We could beat it out of ’em,” Jup suggested, half seriously.
“I will if I have to. But they get a chance to talk first. We owe them that much for the warning, and for aiding Coilla. So help out with the band, Jup. And stay away from Haskeer. Hear me?”
Jup nodded and left. Spurral went with him.
“What about me?” Coilla said.
“We’ll see the humans together. You get on with them.”
“Whoa. I don’t count humans as friends.”
He turned without answering and headed along the riverbank. She followed.
The band was recovering. Those who didn’t have a chance earlier were cleaning the gore from their blades. Others were having wounds tended. Haskeer was working off his temper by barking orders.
They found the two men by the water’s edge. Pepperdyne stood looking down at Standeven, who sat on the grass, clutching his knees to his chest. He was sweaty and trembling.
“What’s the matter with him?” Stryke said.
“You might have noticed that getting here was quite a ride,” Pepperdyne replied.
“You seem all right.”
He shrugged. “Where the hell are we?”
“We’re asking the questions. Who are you?”
“Like I said. I’m Jode Pepperdyne and —”
“I mean what are you.”
“Merchants,” Standeven said, a little too quickly. He glanced up at them and shuddered. “That was hellish. I never believed them. I never thought it was true.”
“What you talking about?”
“Those… objects that got us here.”
“So you knew about them? Before you came to us, I mean.”
The pair of humans exchanged the briefest of glances.
It was Pepperdyne who answered. “There’ve been rumours about instrumentalities for as long as I can remember.”
“We knew no such stories,” Stryke said. “Not until recently.”
“You hear all sorts of tales in our business. Including things outsiders aren’t privy to.”
“You say you’re merchants.”
“Yes,” Standeven replied. “That is, I am. He’s my aide.”
“He fights pretty well for a merchant’s lackey,” Coilla remarked.
“His duties include guarding me. You attract the attention of brigands in our line of work.”
She addressed Pepperdyne directly. “You didn’t pick up your skills from traders.”
“I’ve been around,” he told her.
“Military service?”
“Some.”
“You Manis?” Stryke wanted to know.
Standeven looked surprised. “What?”
“You tipped us off about them Unis.”
“No, we’re not. Not all humans support religious factions. Besides, we’re not from Centrasia. Things are different in our part of the world.”
Coilla bridled. “It’s called Maras-Dantia. Centrasia’s the name foisted on us by you outsiders.”
Pepperdyne spoke for his flustered master. “Sorry,” he offered.
“I don’t get it,” Stryke said, frowning. “You’re not Manis, yet you helped us against other humans. Why?”
“You’re after something, aren’t you?” Coilla added.
“Yes,” Pepperdyne admitted.
Standeven looked shocked, and opened his mouth to speak.
Pepperdyne got in first. “We need your help.”
Stryke stared hard at him. “Explain.”
“We didn’t warn you because those Unis were our enemies. We warned you because of someone who is. Your enemy and ours.”
“That’s clear as mud.”
“The sorcerer queen,” Pepperdyne said. “Jennesta.”
A cold chill took hold of Stryke’s spine, and he knew Coilla felt the same way. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“She owes us. And we heard she’s in debt to you too, in a manner of speaking.”
“What do you know about Jennesta? Be plain, or this ends here and now. The hard way.” Stryke’s expression left no doubt as to what he meant.
“My employer here lost a valuable consignment. It turned out to be her doing.”
“What was it?”
“Gems. Along with not a few good men. Including some of my master’s kin.”
“This happened where?”
“On the edge of the wastelands. That’s what we call it anyway. The wilderness separating the wider world from Cen —. . . from Maras-Dantia.”
“So you went to Maras-Dantia yourselves.”
“To seek recompense, yes.”
Coilla was sceptical. “Just the two of you? And only one with the guts for a fight?” She glanced at Standeven.
“We weren’t alone. We had a group of fighters with us. But when we got here… there, rather, we found the place in chaos. Unis ambushed us and most of our men were killed. Some of us were caught and held for a while. That’s how we knew about the attack, and where we learnt your story.”
“The Unis told you about us?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know the Wolverines are a legend in those parts? Anyway, we escaped and —”
“How?” Stryke said.
Pepperdyne shrugged glibly. “Nothing very heroic. They were more interested in attacking you and the dwarfs. We were lightly guarded.”
“And you thought that by helping us…”
“We hoped you’d aid us in exacting revenge on Jennesta.”
“Jennesta’s thought dead. Didn’t the Unis tell you that?”
“They said she hadn’t been seen for quite a while. That’s not the same, is it? Unless you know different.”
Stryke and Coilla stayed tight-lipped.
“So you reckoned we’d be so grateful that we’d join your little mission,” Stryke summed up.
“And if gratitude wasn’t enough?”
“A reward, maybe. If the gems were recovered, my master would be willing to share them with you.”
“We kill what we eat and take what we need. We’ve no use for riches.”
“Where does that leave us?” Standeven asked uneasily.
“Where you’re not wanted.”
“What do you intend doing?” Pepperdyne said.
“I’ll think on it,” Stryke replied. “Stay out of the band’s way. I’ll deal with you later.”
He turned on his heel and strode away, Coilla in tow.
When they were out of earshot, she remarked wryly, “So, how does it feel to be a legend?”
“Did you believe any of that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Sounded like horse shit to me.”
“Notice how the servant had more to say than the master? That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say.”
“Perhaps he’s the better liar. And I think it was a slip when they said they knew about the stars. We didn’t ourselves until a few years ago.”
“There might be no mystery in that. We lived closed-off lives when we were in the horde. A lot was kept from us.”
“That didn’t stop us picking up hearsay. I don’t buy it. And why would Jennesta hijack shipments of jewels? She had whatever she wanted nearer to home.”
“I don’t know; I wouldn’t put anything past her. But, Stryke… I owe Pepperdyne. I might not be here if he hadn’ t —”
“I know. And they did warn us about the attack, whatever their motive. That’s why I didn’t just have their throats cut and done with it.”
“Would you?”
“If I thought they were set on betrayal, sure I would.”
“But they could be telling the truth. What do we do about them?”
“Dump ’em as soon as we can.”
They came to where Dallog had planted the band’s standard. It fluttered feebly in the light wind. The corporal was busying himself with the wounded, though he still seemed queasy after the transference.
Wheam looked a lot worse. He lay on his side, presumably to avoid putting weight on his earlier injury. Propped on one elbow, he stared into a wooden bowl he’d been filling.
Dallog rose when he saw Stryke and Coilla.
He indicated the landscape with a sweep of his hand and said, “You know, this could be Ceragan.”
Orcs: Bad Blood Page 13