Orcs

by Stan Nicholls

  Her comeback was a rain of heavy blows that had him swirling his staff like a juggler’s club to avoid them. A second’s let-up allowed him to seize the offensive again but hammering at her with a will only saw his blows fended off with swift dexterity.

  They skipped apart.

  He was enjoying it. The exhilaration of combat coursed through him, quickening his mind and springing his step. As to the female, she was a dazzling combatant, all an orc could hope for in a sparring partner.

  They set to again. He swiped. She dodged and spun. Their staffs clacked with blow and counter blow. He weaved, attacked, withdrew. She melted from his sorties like liquid, then gave back as good as she got. Up and down the jetty they fought, rapping their woods, powering forward, being forced back.

  Then she put out a downward stroke to his shoulder. He veered. Her staff smashed onto one of the jetty’s timber uprights and snapped.

  He caught her wrist and they laughed.

  She cast her broken staff aside. It clattered on the boards. “Shall we call it a stand-off?”

  He nodded, discarding his own weapon.

  “You’re a master in the profession of arms,” she panted.

  He returned the tribute. “And you’re well versed in the way of the warrior.”

  They regarded each other with heightened respect. He found her glistening muscles, her moist sweatiness, particularly fetching.

  The moment went by. She asked, “Have you yet achieved your goal? The task you spoke of, that means so much?”

  “No. There are many blocks on my path. Too many, I think.”

  “You can get round them.”

  He didn’t see it like that. “The orc way is to go through them.”

  “True. But sometimes a feather outweighs a sword.”

  His confusion was obvious.

  There was a tiny splash close by. A fish, orange and gold with black whiskers, swam into view. It nosed at the reeds growing from under the jetty.

  She nodded at it. “There’s a creature that doesn’t know the limits of its world, and in its ignorance has happiness of a sort.” She knelt and skimmed her hand through the water. The fish darted away. “Be like a fish, and what stands in your way will be no more than water.”

  “I can’t swim.”

  She laughed aloud, but there was no trace of derision in it. “I mean only this: think on how much better you are than a fish.” While he pondered that, she stood and added, “Why is it that when we meet I feel there’s something almost . . . ethereal about you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Other-worldly. As though you’re here but not quite. I remember our encounters as being more like dreams than reality.”

  He wanted to know what she meant, and to tell her that’s how it was for him, literally.

  But he fell back into the void.

  He came round with a start.

  There were reins in his hands. He was riding with the band on the trail to Ruffetts View.

  It was mid-morning. The day was overcast and drizzly.

  He shook his head, then rubbed the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb.

  “You all right, Stryke?”

  Coilla rode beside him. She looked concerned.

  “Yes. Just a bit —”

  “Another dream?”

  He nodded.

  “But you only closed your eyes for half a minute.”

  He was confounded. “You’re sure?”

  “Maybe less than that. Just a few seconds.”

  “It seemed . . . so much longer.”

  “What was it about?” she asked tentatively.

  “The female was . . . there.” He was still muzzy-headed. “She told me things I sort of understood, but . . . not quite.” He caught her eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  She held up her hands to mollify him. “Just a little puzzled, that’s all. What else?”

  Stryke creased his brow, perplexed by the memory. “She said I seemed kind of . . . unreal to her.”

  For want of anything better to say, Coilla replied, “Well, why shouldn’t a dream have dreams?”

  That was too deep for him. “And we had a mock duel,” he added.

  She raised an eyebrow, aware that in certain circumstances a mock duel could be the orc equivalent of flirting.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But this is somebody in a dream!”

  “Maybe,” Coilla ventured cautiously, “you’ve created your perfect female. In your mind.”

  “Oh, that makes me sound really sane,” he came back sarcastically.

  “No, no, no, I didn’t mean that. It’s understandable, in a way. You’ve never mated. Few of us have, given the life we lead. But you can’t deny your . . . natural urges forever. So it comes out in dreams.”

  “How can I think about having an alliance with somebody who doesn’t exist? Unless I really am halfway to madness.”

  “You’re not, trust me. I mean, perhaps this dream female is what you want, not what you can have.”

  “It doesn’t feel like that. Then again . . .” He couldn’t explain. “I’ll tell you one thing that really pisses me off though. I never get to learn her damn name.”

  Several hours passed uneventfully.

  By the afternoon Stryke had to order another halt to replenish their food and water before the final push to Ruffetts. Groups were sent off to hunt and fish. Others were assigned to gather wood, roots and berries.

  Stryke left Coilla out of the foraging parties. He steered her well away from the others, and they settled by a thicket on the inlet’s ocean side.

  “What is it?” she asked, thinking that perhaps he wanted to talk about his troubling dreams again.

  “Something I noticed earlier. I don’t know what to make of it.” He reached into his belt pouch and brought out the stars, then laid them next to each other on the grass between them. “I was looking at these and . . . Well, let’s see if I can do it again.”

  She was puzzled, and not a little intrigued.

  He selected the sandy-coloured seven-spiked star they got from Homefield, followed by the dark blue one with four spikes from Scratch. An intense look on his face, he brought the two artifacts together. A minute or two’s fiddling ensued. “I don’t know if . . .” There was a dull click. “Ah! There.”

  The stars had melded together, held fast by several of their spikes, although it was hard to see how they could.

  “How did you do that?” she said.

  “I’m not really sure, to be honest.” He passed the coupled stars to her.

  Even close up she couldn’t quite grasp what the mechanism was that united the two objects. Yet they fitted together so perfectly they now looked like they were designed as a single piece. “This can’t be right,” she muttered, turning the thing over in her hands.

  “I know. It’s almost as though it shouldn’t be possible, isn’t it?”

  She nodded abstractly, engrossed by the mystery. “I guess whoever made them was very clever.” That didn’t convince even her. She had never come across a craftsbeing this smart. Tugging at them, she asked, “Do they come apart again as easily?”

  “Takes a bit of jiggling and some force. But maybe that’s because I’m not doing it quite right.” He held out his hand and she gave them back. “Thing is, they look right, don’t they? As though they were meant to do this. It’s not just a fluke, is it?”

  “No, I don’t think it is.” She couldn’t take her eyes off them. “You found this out by chance?”

  “Sort of. Like I said, I was looking at them, and suddenly I . . . knew. It seemed obvious somehow.”

  “You’ve hidden talents. It never would have occurred to me.” Her gaze was still on the linked stars. There was something about their union that seemed to defy logic. “But what does it mean?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course, you’ve realised that if two go together —”

  “The others might as w
ell, yes. There was no time to try it.”

  “There is now.”

  He reached for one of the other stars. Then checked himself. What stopped him was a rustling in the undergrowth beside them. They stood up.

  Bushes parted and a figure stepped out, no more than two yards away.

  “You!” Coilla exclaimed, hand flying to her sword.

  “What the hell?” Stryke thundered.

  “I promised we’d see each other again,” Micah Lekmann reminded them.

  “Good,” Coilla seethed, regaining her poise. “Now I can finish the job properly.”

  The bounty hunter disregarded her threat and looked down at the stars. “Very considerate of you, having these ready for me.”

  “You want them, you come and take them,” Stryke replied coldly.

  “Hear that, Greever?” Lekmann called out.

  A second human emerged from the thicket on Stryke and Coilla’s other side. His false hand had a saw-toothed blade projecting from it; his real hand held a knife.

  “What is this,” Coilla sneered, “an assembly of bastards?”

  Aulay glared at her, radiating pure hatred.

  “See, Greever?” Lekmann said. “Divide and conquer.”

  Pointing his sword attachment at Coilla, Aulay growled, “It’s time for payback, bitch.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, one-eye. Or should that be one-hand? Or ear?”

  His face boiled with rage.

  “Where’s the stupid one?” Stryke wondered.

  “The other stupid one,” she corrected.

  Another clump of scrub was breached and Blaan erupted in a shower of leaves. He carried a hefty club of seasoned wood, topped with sharpened studs.

  There was no sign of any of the other Wolverines.

  “All we want is your heads,” Lekmann stated matter-of-factly, “and them.” He indicated the scattered stars. “So let’s not make too much of a fuss, eh?”

  “In your wildest dreams, poxbag,” Coilla told him.

  Weapons slid from greased sheaths.

  Stryke and Coilla moved back-to-back. She faced Aulay, by preference. He took Lekmann and Blaan.

  The bounty hunters moved in.

  Stryke hit out at Lekmann’s probing sword. Once, twice, three times their blades met, briskly clattering. A small retreat by Lekmann gave Stryke the chance to turn swiftly and kick Blaan hard in the stomach. The big man half doubled and almost stopped coming. Stryke returned to beating metal with the leader.

  On Coilla’s side a four-bladed storm raged. To match her adversary she had armed herself with sword and knife. Now she engaged in a blurring round of strokes and counterstrokes. Swipes glided over heads and just short of guts. Jabs were sidestepped, chops deflected. Their blades locked and she booted his shin like a mule to part them. He hobbled back, fury bursting. His quick recovery almost had her throat, but she swatted aside his pass and repaid it with her own.

  Blaan was crowding Stryke again. Dodging Lekmann’s blade, Stryke spun and whipped his sword the big man’s way. It was a close miss, but enough to repel him for a moment. Then it was back to hacking at the swordsman.

  Aulay braved Coilla’s flashing blades and got himself through. A backhand swipe of his dagger barely missed her face, and she was lucky to escape a thrust to her chest. Rallying, she sent out a combination of blows that forced him to retreat. While he was still off-balance she leapt forward and took a swing with her sword that by rights should have split his trunk. Instead it glanced off his artificial hand, striking blue sparks and adding to his frenzy.

  Stryke had to make a choice. Both his opponents were near enough to cause real grief, and it was a question of who to deal with first. Blaan decided it. His club came down in an arc that would have crushed Stryke’s skull if his footwork hadn’t defied it. Stryke’s blade whipped out like a viper and laid open Blaan’s arm. The human roared, rage outweighing his pain.

  Coilla and Aulay had fought to something like a stand-off. They fell into pure slog, each battering away to breach the other’s guard, both possessed by stubborn bloodlust.

  Taking advantage of Stryke’s diversion with Blaan, Lekmann charged in, speed hazing his blade. Stryke stood his ground, repulsing every stroke. Then he went on the attack, powering into the human, driving him back pace by pace. The chance of a kill was good. Blaan spoilt it. Blood streaming from his wound, club swinging, he barged into the fray again. Stryke directed a side-sweep at him. It didn’t strike home, but it did send him reeling back to crash against the bushes.

  Blaan was about to rejoin the fight when a great shudder ran through him. He moved away from the bushes, walking stiffly, eyes glazed. A further step revealed his fate.

  He had an axe buried in his back.

  The spectacle stopped the duellists in their tracks. Coilla and Aulay, Stryke and Lekmann, backed off and gaped as Blaan shambled, the club still in his hand.

  Haskeer exploding from the thicket broke the spell. Jup and two or three grunts were close behind.

  Lekmann and Aulay turned and fled, plunging into the copse several yards distant. Jup and the grunts belted after them. Coilla joined the chase.

  Stryke and Haskeer stayed where they were, mesmerised by Blaan. The axe head was sunk deep between his shoulder blades, with rivulets of blood running down his back, yet he kept on walking. His ire was aimed at Haskeer. Somehow he lifted his club. Lurching forward, he made to brain the orc with it.

  Haskeer and Stryke acted simultaneously. One planted his sword in Blaan’s chest, the other in his side. Tugging their blades free they watched the giant sway, then fall heavily, face first. The ground shook.

  There was a commotion in the thicket. Mounted on horses, Aulay and Lekmann tore out, swiping at the orcs chasing them on foot. Stryke and Haskeer threw themselves aside and the riders thundered through. Coilla ran up and lobbed a knife. It whistled over Aulay’s shoulder. The bounty hunters put on a burst and rode hell for leather along the inlet.

  “Do we go after them?” Coilla said. She was panting.

  “By the time we got to our horses there’d be no point,” Stryke judged. “Let ’em go. There’ll be another time.”

  “Bet on it,” she replied.

  Stryke gathered the stars, then turned to Haskeer. “Good work, Sergeant.”

  “My pleasure. Anyway, I owed him.” He walked to Blaan’s corpse, put his foot on its back and pulled out the axe. Stooping, he began to wipe its head with handfuls of grass.

  Jup wandered over and stared down at the mountainous body. “Well, at least the carrion eaters are going to feed well today.”

  “This is getting to be one hell of a crowded inlet,” Coilla complained.

  “Yes,” Stryke agreed, “we do seem to have a lot of unwanted suitors at the moment.”

  “Don’t expect it to get any better,” Jup told them.

  11

  It was early evening when the band arrived at Ruffetts View.

  Their first sign of the settlement came when they spotted a hillside with an acutely angled slope. Chalk figures had been cut into the surface: a stylised dragon, an eagle with spread wings and a simple representation of a building fronted with pillars. The markings were fresh, their lines almost luminously bright in the gathering dusk.

  The settlement was in a small valley close to the shore. A tributary snaked past it, and a wooden landing-stage had been built on the encampment-side bank. Several canoes and dugouts were tied up by it.

  A vigilant approach took the band to a hill overlooking the colony. Stryke assigned a couple of grunts to tend the horses, then led the rest of the Wolverines to the hill’s peak.

  Ruffetts View had grown over the years to occupy a fair portion of the valley. It was a walled settlement. Tall timber uprights surrounded the whole sprawling community. Here and there, watchtowers poked above the walls, like modest cabins elevated beyond their status. There were several pairs of gates, and they were open.

  “They don’t seem to think they’re und
er any threat,” Coilla remarked, indicating the gates.

  “But it’s obviously designed to be defended,” Stryke said. “They’re not complete fools.”

  “That’s one hell of a weird-looking place,” Jup decided.

  What they saw inside the perimeter bore out his opinion. A track of compacted shard ran just inside the walls, following their lines. On the other side of that was a jumble of shacks and humble lodges, mostly built of wood, though some were stone, slate and even wattle-walled. Others seemed to be dwellings, but on a finer scale than those in the outer rim.

  The centre of the settlement held the most bizarre sights. It was made up of three enormous adjoining clearings. In the one on the left stood Ruffetts’ second-highest structure, a stone pyramid taller than the outer walls. Rather than having a pointed tip, it was crowned with a plateau and low ramparts. Recent light rain had made its surfaces shine.

  In the levelled space on the right stood a building still under construction. Through scaffolding, the upper part of its timber skeleton could be seen. The area below had been faced with what might have been grey and white marble. Pillars were being erected. It was obvious that the chalk etching they had seen earlier was a crude likeness of this structure. They took it to be the temple mentioned by Katz.

  But what was in the centre clearing, by far the biggest, awed them most.

  This area was surrounded by a circle of huge, blue-tinted standing stones. Most were in pairs, tall as houses, supporting a third, horizontal stone. The impression was of a series of high, narrow arches.

  “The amount of work that must have taken,” Alfray marvelled.

  “Humans are mad,” Haskeer stated. “What a waste.”

  Other lower stones, equally massive, were scattered within the circle in no obvious pattern.

  Coilla gazed at what was in the circle’s core. “That’s amazing,” she whispered.

  “You’ve not seen one before?” Alfray asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Me neither,” Jup added.