Orcs: Bad Blood

by Stan Nicholls

  “We’re counting on it.” She held his gaze. “I know that sounds harsh. But it’s no more than the harm humans will do us in the long run. If it lights the kindling of revolt, it’s worth it.”

  “You said two things.”

  “At the critical point I’ll call on the citizenry to rise up, and do my best to lead them.”

  “And they’ll heed you?”

  “I’m hoping they’ll heed Grilan-Zeat.”

  “Who?”

  “Not who, what,” Chillder said.

  “Look about you.” Sylandya indicated the profusion of books littering the room.

  “Books,” Haskeer muttered contemptuously. “Never read one.” It was a proud declaration.

  Coilla gave him a sceptical glance. “You can read?”

  “I’ve filled the many hours of my internal exile with these tomes,” Sylandya went on, “looking for some clue from our past that might hold the key to our present. I may have found it in Grilan-Zeat.”

  “You’ll have to explain,” Stryke said.

  “We have a history, for all the invaders have done to wipe it out. Had they not been rescued by patriots, these books would have been burned. We pored over their pages for anything that could aid us in our plight. It was ironic that we should find it in something as celebrated as the story of Grilan and Zeat.” She eyed him astutely. “A story I would have expected you to know.”

  “We’re cut off from things in the north. Remind us.”

  “A century and more ago, Acurial faced a crisis. Our leadership was still drawn from the clan chieftains in those days. It was hereditary, and two lines laid claim. Grilan was one contender, Zeat the other. The land was divided. Civil war threatened.”

  “Between orcs who don’t fight?”

  “But they very nearly did. Passions were inflamed. It was the last time we came so close to warfare.”

  “What stopped it?”

  “A portent. A light appeared in the sky, and grew to fill it. As priests had been petitioning the gods to resolve the deadlock, many chose to see it as a sign. Not least Grilan and Zeat, who made peace and agreed to rule in harness. Well, as it turned out. They laid the foundation of our modern state. Before the comet faded from view it had already been named after them.”

  “What’s this got to do with now?” Coilla wanted to know.

  “As we dug deeper into the chronicles we unearthed a curious fact. The comet had come before. It appeared more than a century prior to the days of Grilan and Zeat. And over a century before that. In all, we found records of four visitations, and mention of even earlier ones. We don’t know if great events attended those past visits, as with Grilan and Zeat. But one thing we do know. The time between each arrival was exactly the same. It returns at precise intervals, and if it sticks to this pattern, it’s due back. Soon.”

  “Let’s get this straight,” Stryke said. “A comet stopped your ancestors taking up arms. Now you’re hoping it’ll come again and do the opposite.”

  “And be seen as an augury,” Coilla added.

  “There’s a prophecy to do with the comet,” Brelan told them. “It’s said to arrive in times of most need, to light the way to salvation.”

  “Oh, please. Prophecies are as common as horse shit, and less useful.”

  “Maybe. But it’s what the citizenry believes that’s important.”

  “The prophecy said something else,” Chillder explained. “It spoke of the comet being escorted by a bodyguard of warriors. A band of hero liberators.”

  Stryke stared at her. “You can’t mean —”

  “If the helm fits.”

  “Bullshit. That’s laying too much on us.”

  Haskeer gave a low whistle. “Fuck me, we’re heroes.”

  “We shouldn’t have brought him,” Coilla repeated.

  “Old prophecies are one thing,” Stryke declared, “but don’t drag us into your fancies. We’re fighters, yes, but we’re just ordinary.”

  “Hardly,” Sylandya replied. “You came here at our time of crisis, didn’t you? You’re helping our cause, aren’t you? And you have a taste for combat our own folk have lost. Whether you believe it or not, it gives us heart. The gods know we’ve little else to sustain us.”

  Stryke was about to rebuff her. Then he looked at their faces and checked himself. Instead he said, “When’s this comet due?”

  “We don’t know exactly, not to the hour. But if it’s true to form it should start to be seen around the time of the waning moon.”

  “That’s… when?”

  “In thirteen days,” Brelan said.

  “And you want to stir up a rebellion by then.”

  “We have to,” Sylandya declared. “Unless you have qualms about going against the humans.”

  That puzzled Stryke. “Why should we?”

  “I’ve heard you consort with them.”

  “Ah. You mean Pepperdyne and Standeven. I’ll vouch for them.”

  “You’d stand by humans?”

  “These… yes.”

  “I wonder if they’d stand by you.”

  “They already have. One of them, anyway.”

  “Run with humans and you invite trouble.”

  “They’re different,” Coilla interjected. “They’re not like the ones here. They’ve sympathy for the orcs’ plight.”

  “Sympathetic humans. I’ve seen many strange things in my life. I never thought to hear of that.”

  “You’ll have to take our word,” Stryke said, hoping Haskeer would keep his mouth shut.

  “Part of me would like to meet these singular humans. But I have no taste for that just yet. I’d feel too much like a lamb seeking the company of a wolf. I would like to have met your other companions though, the…”

  “The dwarfs, Mother,” Brelan supplied.

  “But it wouldn’t have been wise to bring them here. Some other time, perhaps.” Her eyes were on Stryke, and they were sharp. “Compassionate humans and an unknown race of little creatures. So many riddles surround you.” She eased, and managed a slight smile. “But I don’t care, as long as you help us.”

  “The two humans could be useful to us,” Brelan said. “And the gods know we need all the allies we can get. Particularly with the arrival of this new Emissary.”

  “Have you learnt any more about them?” Stryke asked.

  “What we’re hearing doesn’t bode well. It seems we’re up against a ruthlessness that makes even Hacher’s governance seem kindly.”

  “You can tell that already? The Emissary’s only been here a couple of days.”

  “But long enough for acts of cruelty and a vicious purge at the humans’ headquarters. That’s what our spies tell us, anyway. And what we did yesterday can’t have gone well for Hacher. So score one for our side.”

  “Can we get to this Emissary?” Coilla wondered. “Their assassination would land a heavy blow.”

  “Doubt it. They’re bound to be well guarded, and by all accounts we’d be up against a fearsome target. They say there’s something very strange about her.”

  Stryke and Coilla exchanged glances.

  “Her?” Stryke said.

  “Didn’t I say? They’ve sent us a sorceress.”

  21

  “No, no, no!” Dallog snatched the staff from Wheam and held it correctly. “Like this.” He thrust it back. “Try again.”

  Wheam fumbled with it, and Dallog had to show him one more time. “That’s right. Now there’s your opponent.” He pointed at a straw-filled dummy hanging from a beam. Its painted features depicted an orc’s idea of a human face.

  Wheam dithered.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Dallog told him. “Attack!”

  The youth gingerly approached the mannequin and swung at it feebly.

  “You’re going at it like a hatchling. This creature’s going to kill you if you don’t kill it first. Put some back into it!”

  Wheam had another go. He summoned a bit more energy, but was no better coordinated.
Taking a clumsy swipe with the staff, he missed the dummy and struck a wall-mounted oil lamp, shattering it.

  “All right,” Dallog said, “take a breather.”

  Wheam dropped the staff and slumped to the floor. He propped himself against the wall, chin on raised knees. “I’m useless,” he sighed.

  “Not true.”

  “So you say.”

  “You’re unskilled, that’s all.”

  “It’s not just that. I’m…” He looked around to see if anybody was in earshot, and whispered, “I’m afraid.”

  “Good.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing wrong with fear. Show me an orc who goes into battle without it and I’ll show you a fool.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Fear is a warrior’s ally. It’s a spur, a dagger to the back. Courage isn’t being without fear. It’s overcoming fear. If you’re wise you’ll make it your friend, and turn it on your enemy. Understanding that is what makes our race so skilled at warfare.”

  “Then why don’t the orcs here see it that way?”

  “Somehow, I don’t why, they’ve gone wrong.”

  “Have they? They live in peace. They’re not bent on death and destruction the way we are. Maybe I should have been born in Acurial.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Look where their ways have landed them. You should be proud of your heritage.”

  “You sound like my sire. He was always telling me what I should be, and saying I was a coward.”

  “It’s hard trying to follow in the footsteps of a great orc like your father. But he was wrong to call you a coward.”

  “You must be the only one around here who believes that. Everybody hates me.”

  “No they don’t.”

  “They hate me because of who I am. And those Wolverines who died… it was my fault.”

  “It wasn’t. Get that through your head. I know what it’s like being an outsider too, and trying to fill somebody else’s boots. But if you want the band’s respect, don’t throw away your birthright. Honour it.”

  “That’s easy said.”

  “You can start by working on your training. Really working.”

  Wheam stared at the discarded staff. “I’m not very good at this.”

  Dallog stooped, took hold of the staff and held it out to him. Wheam grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

  “Look at your foe,” Dallog said, nodding at the swaying dummy. “It’s everything you feel bitter about. Everything you hate and fear. It’s all the bile you’ve stored up about this warband, about yourself, about… your father.”

  Wheam let out a piercing yell and rushed at the dummy. He set about beating it, swinging the staff wide and hard, delivering great clouts. After three or four blows straw started to spill from the dummy’s split torso. Wheam carried on thrashing it.

  “Good!” Dallog exclaimed. “Good!”

  The farmhouse door opened. Stryke and Coilla came in.

  As they passed, Coilla called out, “Good job, Wheam!”

  The youth beamed and continued the battering.

  “He could be of some use yet,” she said.

  “If we ever have to fight dummies,” Stryke replied.

  They made their way to a large room at the back of the house that had been set aside as a refectory. Hardly any of the benches were occupied. They picked one farthest away from anybody else.

  There was a water butt at the end of their table. Coilla ladled herself a cup, then took a swig. “I still can’t get over it.”

  “Jennesta? It should be no surprise; Serapheim said she was here. It’s why we came.”

  “Knowing she’s close makes it sort of more real. Back in Maras-Dantia we spent a lot of time trying to get as far away from her as we could. It seems strange doing the opposite.”

  “I’d like to get near enough to slit her throat.”

  “Who wouldn’t? It’d certainly help bring on the rebellion Sylandya wants.”

  “But an attack on Jennesta’s going to be a suicide mission.”

  “Is it? The resistance has spies in the fortress. Maybe they could get us in.”

  “It’s a thought. I’ll talk to Brelan and Chillder. Though their minds are going to be on other things. Like trying to incite an uprising in thirteen… no, twelve days.”

  “Surely they’d see how taking out Jennesta would aid that.”

  “They might see the benefit; I don’t think they’d be keen to allot their stretched forces to it.”

  “They wouldn’t have to. If we can get help from the inside it’d take just a couple of us to do the job. I’m thinking stealth rather than storming the place.”

  “You’re counting on Jennesta being that easy to overcome. Blades against sorcery; it’d be a close call.”

  “I’m willing to try. See if the twins can get us a plan of the fortress. That’d be a start.”

  “I’ll ask.”

  She raised the cup again and drained it. “Talking of plans, what chance do you think they have with this comet thing?”

  “It turns on a lot of maybes. But it’s all they’ve got.”

  She smiled. “I nearly put my foot in it when they were talking about the waning moon. I didn’t even know this world had a moon.”

  “Me neither.”

  “There’s so much we don’t know. I keep thinking I’m going to give us away. Though I wonder how bad that would be.”

  “If they knew where we were really from? It’s too big a risk. Orcs are different here. We don’t know how they’d take it.”

  “They’re different all right, and not just in being so timid about fighting. I mean, a state? Cities? It’s not what orcs do. If I thought we had no way of getting home again —”

  “The star’s still safe?”

  “Don’t look so anxious. Course it is.” She slapped the pouch at her waist. “Stop worrying about it.”

  The farmhouse door slammed loudly. They turned to see Haskeer swaggering in. Pausing only to throw a disparaging remark at Wheam and Dallog, he joined them at the table.

  “How’s my fellow heroes this morning?” he said.

  “Oh, shut up about that,” Coilla chided.

  “That’s not showing much respect for the prophecy.”

  “Only idiots believe in prophecies.”

  He ignored the insult and looked about the room. “Anything to drink?”

  “Not the kind you want,” Stryke told him, nodding at the water barrel.

  Haskeer pulled a face. “No alcohol, no crystal, no action. Where’s the fun? I thought we were getting a revolution started.”

  “There’ll be fighting enough, and soon.”

  “Good. I’m keen for a bit of mayhem.”

  “We all are. How are the new recruits shaping up?”

  “All right.” He shot Wheam a scornful glance. “Mostly.”

  “I need to count on them. They have to work as part of the band and —”

  “Don’t sweat it, Stryke. They’re knuckling down.”

  “I’ll hold you to account on that.”

  Haskeer would have come back, had Jup and Spurral not arrived. He greeted them with, “Ah, the pisspots.”

  “How’d you like that water butt shoved up your butt?” Spurral asked.

  “Ooohhh!” Haskeer lifted his hands in feigned dread. “Call her off, Jup!”

  “I’d prefer to help her. Only I’d use your head. It’d improve your looks.”

  “I’d like to see you try, you little tick.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  They both stood up, glaring at each other.

  “Shut it!” Stryke snapped. “Sit down, the pair of you! We don’t need this shit. Save it for the enemy.”

  “I’ll be lucky to see ’em,” Jup complained, sinking back into his seat. “Spurral and me are going stir crazy stuck in this place.”

  “I know it’s tough,” Stryke said, “but we can’t afford letting you be seen.”
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  “So why the hell are we here? What’s the point if we can’t come out of hiding?”

  “You’ll have your part. Things are due to hot up over the next twelve days. You two on the streets is going to be the least Taress has to deal with.”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered by that,” Spurral remarked. She looked to Coilla. “We should be moving.”

  “You’re right. Come on.”

  “Late for your sewing circle?” Haskeer teased.

  “Yeah. Want to join us?”

  Coilla and Spurral made for a door at the far end of the makeshift mess room.

  They stepped out to a plot of land surrounded by a low dry-stone wall. A group of around twenty females were waiting for them. They were dressed for combat, and armed. Chillder stood at their head.

  “Good turnout,” Coilla said.

  “And champing at the bit,” Chillder told her.

  Coilla faced them, and raised her voice so all could hear. “You’ve been told the plan. Things are going to turn pretty lively in the days ahead, and we have to get combat ready fast. That means working together as a unit. The best way is to have the sort of set-up my warband has. A military structure, like the humans. I’m the most experienced, so I’m leading this group. If anybody objects to that, spit it out now.” Nobody spoke. “All right. Chillder here is second-in-command. We’ll be picking other officers if we need them.” She indicated the dwarf with a jab of her thumb. “For those who haven’t met her, this is Spurral. She’s of a race you don’t know, and you might see her as… different. But she’s a good fighter and loyal to the orc cause. You can trust her.” Coilla couldn’t tell what they thought about that. She carried on. “We’re hoping our first mission’s soon. Very soon. So we’ll be pushing you hard to get in shape. The resistance needs all the swords it can get, but the males in these parts don’t seem to value what we have to offer. Let’s show ’em what we can do, Vixens!”

  They cheered, and there were catcalls. They waved blades in the air.

  “That went down well,” Spurral whispered to Coilla.

  “I don’t think I’ve had that much to say since… well, I don’t know when. But we have to —” Something caught her eye.

  Just beyond the stone wall stood a row of stables. One had an open door. A figure was outlined there for a second, then disappeared.