Legion Of Thunder

by Stan Nicholls

  Mersadion, recently elevated to commander of Queen Jennesta's army, approached a sturdy oak door in the lower depths of the palace at Cairnbarrow. The orc Imperial Guards standing on either side of it stiffened to attention. He acknowledged them with a curt nod.

  Reflecting on the fate of his predecessor, and on his own comparative youth, the orc General applied an effort of will to control his nerves as he rapped on the door. He took a morsel of comfort from knowing that obeying a summons from her affected everyone this way.

  From within, faintly through the solid door, came a response. It sounded melodious and unmistakably feminine. Mersadion entered.

  The chamber was of stone with a high vaulted ceiling. There were no windows. Drapes and tapestries decorated the walls, some of the latter depicting scenes and practices he preferred not to dwell upon. At one end of the room stood a small altar, and before it a coffin-shaped marble slab. The purpose of these items of furnishing was something else he elected not to think about.

  Jennesta sat at a large table. Scattered about its surface were candles that provided most of the chamber's light. The dim illumination gave her already outré appearance an even more bizarre aspect. There was something almost spectral about her.

  Her half-nyadd, half-human origins meant Jennesta's skin had a shimmery green and silver glitter, as though she was covered in tiny scales. A face a mite too flat and broad was framed by ebony hair with a sheen that made it appear wet. She had an overly sharp chin, somewhat aquiline nose and ample mouth. Her striking, uncommonly long-lashed eyes were oblique, and seemed fathomless.

  She was beautiful. But it was a kind of beauty observers were unlikely to have known existed until seeing her.

  Mersadion stood rigidly just inside the door, not daring to speak.

  She was preoccupied, poring over ancient-looking tomes and yellowing charts. A massive book with metal clasps lay open beside her. He noticed, as he had more than once before, that her fingers were peculiarly long, an impression added to by lengthy nails.

  Without lifting her eyes, she said, 'Be at ease.'

  That was something no one managed in her presence. He relaxed a little, but knew better than to overdo it.

  An awkward silence stretched as she continued studying. He leaned forward slightly to sneak a look. She noticed and her glance flicked up to him. To his surprise, instead of reacting furiously, as he feared, she smiled indulgently. Naturally that made him feel even warier.

  'You are curious, General,' she said. It wasn't a question.

  'Ma'am,' he replied hesitantly, mindful of her unpredictability.

  'As you have many different weapons in your armoury, so do I. This is one.'

  He took in the untidily piled desk. 'Majesty?'

  'I grant it doesn't cut or pierce or slash, but its power is as keen as any blade.'

  She noticed his blank expression, and added with brittle patience, 'As above, so below, Mersadion. The influence of heavenly bodies on our daily occasions.'

  He grasped her meaning. 'Ah, the stars.'

  'The stars,' she confirmed. 'More accurately, the Sun, the Moon and other worlds in their relationship to ours.'

  He was losing her meaning already, but it was unwise to say so. He remained silent and hoped he looked suitably attentive.

  'These,' she went on, tapping one of the charts, 'are a tool in our hunt for the Wolverines.'

  'How so, my lady?'

  'It isn't easy explaining to . . . lowly intelligences.'

  He felt almost relieved at the casual insult. It was more in keeping with her style.

  'The position of the celestial spheres resolves both character and coming events,' she explained. 'Character is moulded at the instant of birth according to which spheres are in the sky. The cosmic wheels turn slow and exceeding fine.' She reached for a scroll. 'I had the birth records of the Wolverines' commanders sought out. Naturally the lower ranks are of no consequence. Now I know the natal marks of the five officers, and thus something of their essential natures.'

  'Natal marks, Majesty?'

  She sighed, and he feared having gone too far. 'You know what natal marks are, Mersadion, even if you've never heard them called that before. Or are you going to tell me that the Viper, the Seagoat or the Archer are unknown to you?'

  'No. No, of course not, ma'am. Sol signs.'

  'As the rabble would have it, yes. But at its heart this discipline is far more profound than the rubbish mouthed by soothsayers in the marketplace. They degrade the art.'

  He nodded, judging it wisest to say nothing.

  'The . . . sol signs of the Wolverine officers give an insight into their personalities,' Jennesta continued, 'and how they might act in certain circumstances.' She weighted the scroll with a couple of candlesticks. 'Pay attention, General. Perhaps you'll learn something.'

  'Ma'am.'

  'The sergeant Haskeer is ruled by the natal mark Longhorn. That makes him bull-headed, stubborn, impetuous, in extreme situations inclined to savagery. The dwarf sergeant, Jup, is a Balladier. The warrior with a soul. He tends to see the mythic element in events. But he is equally blessed with practicality. The corporal Alfray is ruled by the Spanglefish. That means he can be a dreamer. He has a tendency to live in the past, and is probably conservative. He may possess healing powers. The female orc, Corporal Coilla, is a Basilisk. A spitfire, headstrong, given to reckless bravery. But also a loyal comrade.'

  Jennesta paused long enough for Mersadion to venture a prompt. 'And their Captain, Majesty? Stryke?'

  'He is in some ways the most interesting of this ragtag band. A Scarab. It rules the divine, the revelation of things hidden, change and the mystical. It also has strong martial properties.' She removed the candlesticks and let the scroll re-roll itself. 'Of course, these are just thumbnail sketches, and all are tempered, strengthened or weakened, depending on many factors.'

  'You mentioned coming events, your Highness.'

  'Our future paths are mapped out for us. For every action there is a reaction, and this too is pre-ordained.'

  'So all is written beforehand?'

  'No, not all. The gods have given us the wild card of free will. Though I could wish it were not so in every case,' she added darkly.

  Emboldened by her apparent openness, he asked, 'What have your studies revealed of the future, ma'am?'

  'Not enough. And to know more I would need the exact moment and location of their births in order to cast more accurate charts. Such details are not recorded for mere orcs.'

  Mersadion kept to himself his reaction to yet another casually thrown slight.

  'The precision of divination.' she said, 'is only found if your aim is on time.'

  He looked baffled.

  'Don't bother trying to understand. I can't say how the present situation will resolve itself. Not with assurance. But in the matter of the Wolverines I see no let-up in blood and burning, death and war. Their path is fraught with peril. Whatever it is they are trying to achieve, their chances are slim.'

  'Will this help us to find them, your Majesty?'

  'Perhaps.' She slammed shut the huge book. Dust motes swirled in the candlelight. 'To matters at hand. Has there been any word from the bounty hunters?'

  'Not yet, Majesty.'

  'I suppose that was too much to hope for. I trust you have more positive news concerning the divisions I ordered made ready for tomorrow's action.'

  'Three thousand light infantry, fully armed and provisioned, ma'am. They await your word.'

  'Muster them at dawn. I can at least take pleasure in bloodying some Uni noses.'

  'Yes, Majesty.'

  'All right. Dismissed.'

  He bowed and left.

  As he walked away from her chamber he began breathing properly again. In his short time serving as the general of Jennesta's army Mersadion had suffered many insults and humiliations at her hands. He had feared for his life on several occasions. But none of that matched the relief he felt at having survived an exhibition o
f her reasonableness.

  5

  Stryke got the band away from Scratch as fast as possible. He took them north, reasoning that Haskeer would most likely head in the direction of Cairnbarrow.

  At mid-morning they slowed their flight, sufficient distance having been put between them and any trolls that might be in pursuit, even though Stryke was of the opinion that they were very unlikely to follow in daylight. Tannar was no help in verifying this. He refused to do anything but curse.

  The Wolverines continued at a more measured pace throughout the day. All the while they searched for sign of Haskeer or Coilla, with scouts sent out ahead and from the left and right flanks. The lengthening shadows brought by dusk made their task near impossible, and there was a palpable atmosphere of despondency in the band.

  More than an hour of grim silence was broken when Alfray turned in his saddle and said, 'This is hopeless, Stryke. All we're doing is drifting. We need a plan.'

  'And rest,' Jup added. 'None of us has slept for two days now.'

  'We've got a plan; we're looking for Coilla and Haskeer,' Stryke told them, his manner surly. 'This is no time to rest.'

  Jup and Alfray exchanged mournful looks.

  'It's not like you to act without a scheme, Captain,' Alfray responded. 'In a crisis we need a strategy more than ever. You've said that yourself often enough.'

  'Then there's him,' Jup reminded them, jerking a thumb at Tannar, riding further back in the column with a grunt on either side. He remained bound and blindfolded.

  Alfray nodded. 'Yes, are we going to drag that gargoyle around with us everywhere?'

  Stryke glanced back himself and gave a resigned sigh. 'All right, we'll make camp at the first likely place. But we're not stopping long.'

  Jup studied the terrain. 'Why not right here?'

  Stryke checked for himself. 'It'll do.' He pointed to a dip in the landscape, where an easily defendable knoll had formed. 'There. I want double sentries posted. Tell the grunts to keep down the prattle. No fires.'

  Jup relayed the order, minus Stryke's frosty delivery.

  They dismounted. Swearing and cursing, the troll king was taken from his horse and lashed to the trunk of a nearby tree, its greenery turning to Autumn colours, months prematurely. The guards fanned out, but stayed close. Stryke, Alfray and Jup came together, and the remainder of the band gathered around them. With a wave of Stryke's hand they sat, many stretching exhausted on the mean sward.

  Alfray wasted no time getting to the point. 'What the hell we going to do, Stryke?'

  'What can we do that we're not doing already? All we have to go on is that Haskeer headed north. Chances are he's making for Cairnbarrow.'

  'If he thinks Jennesta's going to show him any mercy, he really is crazy,' Jup said.

  'We know that,' Alfray retorted. 'But as to him travelling north, I reckon he's too demented to be that predictable. We can't rely on it. He could be riding around in circles out there somewhere.'

  'When we find him,' Stryke said, 'if we find him, I'm going to be in two minds about killing the swine.'

  'One mad orc's put us back to square one,' Alfray stated gloomily.

  'And Coilla,' Stryke went on. 'Her not coming back's starting to look bad.'

  'You're still blaming yourself,' Jup told him. 'You can't keep—'

  'Of course I am!' Stryke flared. 'That's what leadership's about, taking responsibility, weighing the odds, foreseeing things.'

  Jup snapped his fingers. 'Foreseeing things. Farsight, chief. I haven't tried it for a while. It might be worth a go now, yes?'

  Stryke shrugged. 'Why not? We've nothing to lose.'

  'No promises, mind. You know how low the energy was just about everywhere we've been.'

  'Do your best.'

  The dwarf moved away from the group, found a piece of ground a little more lush than the average and sat cross-legged. He bowed his head, laid his palms flat on the earth and closed his eyes. The rest of them ignored him. Stryke and Alfray carried on discussing their options. A few minutes later he was back. They couldn't tell from his neutral expression if he had anything worth telling them.

  'Well?' Stryke asked.

  'Mixed. The power's definitely waning. But I picked up something. I got a very faint energy pattern I reckon is Haskeer's. Much stronger than that, I felt a female presence, and I figure it's Coilla. Both north of here, her nearer than him.'

  'So maybe they aren't together. That's something we didn't know, I suppose.'

  Jup's face clouded. 'Might not be good, though. Varying distance isn't the only reason you get one pattern stronger than another. Other things can affect it.'

  'Such as?'

  'Such as high emotions.'

  'You're saying that's why Coilla's coming through stronger? 'Cause her feelings are more fierce?'

  'It's a possibility, chief.'

  'Good feelings or bad? Can you tell?'

  'Could be either. But given what she's doing, I think it's less likely to be good, don't you? If the energy lines weren't so fucked up I might be a bit more certain.'

  'Bastard humans, bleeding the magic,' Alfray muttered.

  'This just confirms what we thought,' Stryke decided. 'It doesn't change my mind about pushing on northwards.' He turned it over for a moment, then addressed the grunts. 'We're all in this together. I'm for the north and seeking our comrades. Anybody got any better ideas? I mean it. I'll listen.'

  Apart from some shuffling and blank faces, there was no response.

  'All right,' he said, 'I'll take that as a yes vote. We'll rest a short while before moving. From now on our only priority is finding our comrades, and the stars.'

  'Then all you'll find is your deaths!'

  They all looked to Tannar, who had been more or less forgotten while they talked.

  'That sounds like wishful thinking,' Jup answered.

  'It is a prophecy,' the troll king assured him.

  'Based on what?' Alfray wanted to know.

  'My knowledge of the objects you call stars, which is obviously greater than yours.'

  Stryke went to the tree and crouched beside him. Evening was setting in, so he took off the blindfold. Tannar blinked and scowled.

  'Let's hear it,' Stryke said.

  'Not until I am untied,' the troll demanded with regal arrogance. 'My limbs ache. I'm not used to being treated this way.'

  'I'll bet you're not. But maybe we can manage it.'

  'Have a care, Stryke,' Alfray cautioned.

  'If this warband can't deal with one unarmed tunnel dweller we're in the wrong business.' He drew a knife to cut Tannar's bonds, then stayed his hand. 'Anybody know what kind of magic trolls have?'

  Jup did. 'It's two-fold, chief. One part's to do with night vision. Darker it gets, better they see. The other's a sharpened ability to forage food. Rats, fungus, whatever it is they eat. Can't think either would be a threat. Unless he tries snuffling us to death.'

  A ripple of laughter went through the band.

  'That's what I thought,' Stryke said. He slashed the rope.

  Tannar massaged his furry wrists and glared at his captors. 'I'm parched. Give me water.'

  'Demands, demands,' Jup mocked, tossing over a canteen.

  The troll king downed half the contents, and would have drained it all if Stryke hadn't snatched the bottle away. Tannar coughed, dribbling water.

  'So what is it you know?' Stryke asked.

  'My race has stories and legends concerning these objects. It seems your kind does not. Perhaps because orcs are rare among the elder races in having no magic. I do not know.'

  'What do the legends say?'

  'That these . . . stars are very old, and may have been created at the same time Maras-Dantia itself was fashioned from chaos by the gods.'

  'Is there proof for this?' Alfray wondered.

  'Yours is such a down-to-earth race. How could there be proof! It is a matter of faith.'

  'Go on,' Stryke prompted. 'What else?'

  'Me
mbers of many elder races have died and killed for the power the stars represent, as you are now. All that was long ago. Of late, they have disappeared from the ken of most Maras-Dantians. But they remain a part of this land's secret history, as tales handed down within sects and hidden orders.'

  'So it's all yarns and moonfluff.'

  'You must think it more than that or you wouldn't risk so much to find them.'

  'We seek them because they're important to others with sway over us. That makes them useful in our situation.'

  'They are so much more than bargaining counters. To see them in so lowly a way is to play with fire when blind.'

  'We don't know anything about the stars' power, beyond the hold it has over the beliefs of others.'

  'From what I've heard you say, they've changed your lives,' Tannar replied. 'Isn't that power?'

  'You mentioned a secret history,' Alfray broke in. 'What did you mean by that?'

  'Down through the ages these things you call stars are supposed to have influenced many great Maras-Dantians. They are said to have inspired the making of Azazrels' mighty golden bow, the sublime poetry of Elphame, the fabled Book of Shadows, Kimmen-Ber's celestial harp and much more. You've heard of those, no doubt?'

  'Yes, even we've heard of those,' Stryke came back gruffly. 'Though in truth we're not much given to poetry, books and fancy music. Ours is more of a . . . practical profession.'

  'How did the stars bring about these things?' Alfray persisted.

  'Revelations, visions, prophetic dreams,' Tannar returned. 'The yielding of a small part of their mystery to those with the knowledge to extract it.'

  While Stryke and Alfray were mulling that over, Jup had his own question. 'No one's been able to tell us what the stars are; what they do, what they're for. Can you?'

  'They're a pathway to the gods.'

  'A fine phrase. What does it mean?'

  'The schemes of the deities are beyond the grasp of us mortals.'

  'Another way of saying you don't know.'

  'How did your star come to Scratch?' Stryke wondered.

  'A legacy from one of my predecessors, Rasatenan, who gained it for my race long ago.'

  'Never heard of him,' Jup commented dismissively.