Orcs

by Stan Nicholls

  They greeted her, though Haskeer’s welcome was subdued. She seemed in better spirits.

  “I’ve come to tell you that Aidan’s improved,” she told them. “He’s conscious and seems to recognise me. His breathing’s better too.” She moved to Alfray and took his coarse hands in hers. “I have you to thank for this. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “You have no need. I’m glad to hear the boy’s mending. But he still needs doctoring, and will for a week or two yet. I’ll come by and see him again later.”

  “Thank you.” She was smiling. “The gods have favoured my son, and you.”

  “Perhaps Alfray deserves the lion’s share of gratitude on this occasion,” Stryke said dryly.

  “Don’t mock the gods,” Alfray cautioned. “It’s unwise. My efforts would have come to nought without their approval.”

  Stryke nodded at the besieging army. “I wonder if they’re thanking or cursing their deity?”

  “You’re a sceptic, Captain?” Krista asked.

  “I don’t know what I am these days, to be honest. Events tend to turn an orc’s head.”

  None of them knew how to respond to that.

  “I said I could never repay you,” Krista repeated. “But if it’s in my power to grant you something you desire, just tell me.”

  “What about the star?” Haskeer blurted.

  The others gave him murderous looks.

  “Star?” At first, she was mystified. Then her intuitive streak kicked in. “Do you mean the instrumentality?”

  “The . . . what?” Jup replied innocently.

  “Instrumentality. It’s a religious relic. I suppose it does rather look like a simple star. Is that what you meant?”

  They could hardly deny it.

  Coilla quickly stepped in. “He meant, can we see it?”

  “How did you know we had an instrumentality? We make no secret of it, but we don’t boast of the fact either.”

  “A merchant we met on the road told us about it. Katz. A pixie.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember him.”

  “He made it sound so interesting,” Coilla went on, hoping she wasn’t digging an even bigger hole. “We promised ourselves that if we were ever in Ruffetts we’d try to take a look,” she ended lamely.

  “As I recall, Katz expressed a little interest in it. In fact, he abused our hospitality by entering the temple when forbidden. We had to ask him to leave.”

  “We didn’t know that.”

  “The instrumentality is very important to us. It means much to my people, and to the gods. But I’d be glad to show it to you whenever you want. Though with respect I wouldn’t have thought a religious relic would be of interest to a warband.”

  “Oh, it’s not all fighting and mayhem with us,” Jup told her. “We appreciate culture too. I mean, you really should hear Haskeer’s poetry sometime.”

  “Is that so? Well, you obviously have hidden depths. I’d rather like to.”

  Haskeer gaped at her. “What?”

  For an awful moment they thought she meant now.

  “So, the instrumentality and poetry,” she went on. “That’s something we can look forward to.”

  “Yes. It would be . . . pleasant,” Stryke replied unconvincingly.

  “There’s much to be attended to,” the High Priestess said. “I have to go. Thank you again, Alfray. All of you.”

  They watched as she descended and moved off through the streets.

  “You idiot, Haskeer!” Coilla stormed.

  “Well, if you don’t ask you don’t get.”

  Jup put in his oar too. “You really are a prize fuckhead, Haskeer.”

  “Go and suck a rock. And why did you have to tell her I write poetry, you little snot?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “Well, at least we know what she thinks about parting with the star,” Alfray said.

  “Yes,” Coilla agreed. “But thanks to gnat brain here —” she indicated Haskeer “—we might have shown our hand.”

  “That bloody Katz could have told us he was kicked out,” Jup complained. “Now what do we do?”

  “Sleep, if you’ve got any sense,” Stryke advised. “I’m going to. You should all do the same while you can.”

  “And make the most of it,” Jup added sourly. “It might be the last time.”

  17

  He was aware of her standing by his side. Together, they gazed out at the ocean.

  A playful wind lightly whipped their clothes and faces. The sun was high and the day hot. Flocks of pure white birds winged above the distant islands. They gathered, too, at the tip of the peninsula to the south.

  He felt no need to speak, and she seemed to feel the same. They simply let the vast, calm body of shining water cleanse and pacify their spirits.

  At length, although their appetite for the scene had not been sated, and probably never could be, they turned away. Leaving behind their vantage point on the chalky cliffs, they began the gentle descent into rolling pastures. Soon, the grass was ankle-deep, its vivid emerald splashed here and there with clusters of flowers like golden nuggets.

  “Is this not a fine place?” the female said.

  “It outdoes any I’ve known,” he replied, “and I’ve travelled far.”

  “Then you must have seen many regions to match its charm. Our land is hardly bereft of nature’s wonders.”

  “Not where I come from.”

  “You’ve said that before. I confess myself puzzled as to where that might be.”

  “At times like this,” he admitted, “so am I.”

  “Ever the riddler,” she teased, her eyes flashing, amusement lighting her strong face.

  “I don’t mean to be.”

  “No, I truly think you don’t. But you have the power to remove yourself from the mystery that seems to dog you.”

  “How?”

  “Come and make a life here.”

  As with the first time she mooted the notion, he felt a shiver of excitement and longing. It was partly the richness of the land, partly her and the implied role she would play in a new life. “I’m sore tempted.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “The two things that always stand in my way.”

  “And they are?”

  “The task I would leave undone in my . . . own land.”

  “The other?”

  “Perhaps the hardest to overcome. I have no understanding of how I come and go from this place. Nor control of it.”

  “Accomplish the first and you will conquer the second. You have the power. Your will can triumph, if you just let it.”

  “I can’t see how.”

  “But not for want of looking, I’ll wager. Be minded of the ocean back there. Were you to fill your palm with water from it and dwell upon that, would it mean the rest of the ocean had ceased to exist? Sometimes we cannot see because we look too closely.”

  “As ever, your words touch something in me, yet I can’t quite grasp its shape.”

  “You will. Honour your obligations, as a good orc should, and a way will open from your land to mine. Trust me.”

  “I do.” He laughed. “I don’t know why, but you have my trust.”

  She joined in the laughter. “Is that so bad a thing?”

  “No. Far from it.”

  They fell silent again.

  Now the pastures were on a keener slope, and he saw that they were making their way down into a valley, surrounded by gentle hills, although one fell at a more acute angle.

  Nestled in the middle of the lush depths was a small encampment. It consisted of perhaps a dozen thatched round dwellings and half again that number of longhouses, along with stockpens. There were no defensive fortifications, fire ditches or any other protective barriers. Orcs could be seen, and horses and livestock.

  He couldn’t remember ever seeing the camp before, but somehow it stirred a recollection that wouldn’t quite be brought to mind.

  As they approached, he asked, “Did
this place ever have an outer wall?”

  She seemed almost amused by the question. “No. There has never been the need. Why do you ask?”

  “I just felt . . . I don’t know. Is it named?”

  “Yes. They call it Galletons Outlook.”

  “You’re sure? Has it ever been called something else?”

  “Of course I’m sure! What else could it be called?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  The mention of names diverted his thoughts from the enigma for a moment. “There’s something I’m determined to know this time,” he told her resolutely.

  “And what might that be?”

  “Your name. You know mine. I’ve never discovered yours.”

  “How did we allow that to happen?” She smiled. “I am Thirzarr.”

  He repeated it several times under his breath, then declared, “I like it. It has strength, and attends your character well.”

  “As does your own, Stryke. I’m glad you approve.”

  That felt like some kind of victory to him, despite its seeming smallness, and for a moment he relished the feat. But when he glanced again at the valley floor and its settlement, something was once more roused in the recesses of his mind. He still couldn’t bring it into focus.

  They were on the level now and nearing the encampment. The feeling he couldn’t name grew stronger. Before long they were entering the modest township. Nobody paid heed, except for one or two orcs who waved greetings at his female companion. At Thirzarr, he corrected himself.

  Without let, they passed through the clearing, skirting huts and pens. Then, near the camp’s southern end, Thirzarr stopped and pointed. He looked and saw she was indicating a pool, near perfectly round and filled with sparkling water. She went to it, and he followed.

  They sat side by side on its rim. She ran her hand through the water, delighting in the liquid’s sensuous caress. He was occupied with whatever it was that wouldn’t yield to his recall.

  “This pool . . . ,” he said.

  “Isn’t it lovely. It was why they founded this settlement.”

  “There’s something familiar about it. About all this.”

  “You could make it more familiar still if you were to come here and settle. If you were to come to me.”

  It should have been a moment of delight. Yet it was soured. For the first time in her company, he was troubled. Each element he had seen, could see now, tumbled through his mind. The ocean and peninsula. The valley with its hills. This pool. The steep bank yonder that should have been decorated with chalk figures.

  Realisation hit him like a storm.

  He leapt to his feet and cried, “I know this place!”

  He sat upright, instantly awake.

  A few seconds passed before he adjusted to his surroundings. Slowly it dawned that he was in a shack in Ruffetts View, alone, waiting for a besieging army’s next assault.

  Half a dozen deep breaths were needed to shake off the dream and bring him back to reality.

  What he couldn’t free himself of was knowing where he had just visited, if visited was the right word.

  It was here.

  The sun crept wearily above the horizon but there was no birdsong to greet it.

  Pale, chill light threw long shadows from the eastern hills but nothing could hide Hobrow’s vast encampment. From tents and picket-lines rose the murmur of purposeful activity. Surgeons were still labouring over yesterday’s wounded but the Unis were readying themselves for another assault, spurred on by the black-garbed custodians. They were everywhere, urging riders and foot-soldiers into formation. Never mind that many bore blood-soaked bandages and half of them had found no chance to eat.

  Hobrow himself had no desire for food. He stood on a lightly wooded slope, well beyond bowshot of the heathens in Ruffetts. Though the breeze wafted delicious scents from the cook-fires, the only hunger he had was for the Lord’s work.

  Beside him, Mercy knelt, fervently whispering, “Amen!”

  Hobrow reached the end of his prayer and laid one hand on her shoulder. “You see, my dear? See how fragile their defences are? How thinly their defenders are stretched? Today the Lord will give them into our grasp and they shall fall before our blades like wheat before a scythe.”

  For a moment they stood side by side, ignoring the bustle of his thousands of soldiers. From here the Mani settlement seemed no more than a toy, the houses mere blocky shapes with threads of smoke from their chimneys drawing charcoal lines against the azure light of morning.

  “They must know they’re doomed, Father,” Mercy said. “How can they possibly hold out against us?”

  “They are blinded by their wickedness. See how that cesspool of evil throws its hideous vapours into the air?”

  She could hardly avoid seeing. In the centre of the settlement the half-built dome of the temple glinted beneath its scaffolding, but she scarcely noticed the structure. Beside it, fountaining high above the little colony, the vent of earth power shimmered brightly with every colour Mercy could imagine.

  Greatly daring, she answered, “How fair the face of evil seems. I could almost believe that such beauty can only come from the Lord.”

  “The Lord of Lies, perhaps. Do not be taken in, child. The Manis are a corruption before God and man. And today God will send them to the Hell they deserve.”

  In the settlement they were scarcely holding chaos at bay.

  The last flames were almost out now, though the stink of burning was heavy and soot stained the exhausted firefighters. They’d worked all night to keep dozens of blazes under control as time and again the Unis had rained fire canisters down on the town. The pool in the square by the northern gate had shrunk under the assault of the bucket brigade. Now it was slowly filling again, its surface mirroring the dying fires in crimson and black. Manic hammering rang out from the stockade where new timbers were filling gaps. The clang of the blacksmiths answered as weapons were mended at the forge. Children were dashing about, their arms full of arrows for the watchmen on the walkway.

  Still preoccupied with what he thought of as the revelation in his dream, Stryke trudged tiredly across a square to meet Rellston. He saw a family of humans standing, holding hands around a funeral pyre. The tiniest infant was bawling at the pain of her burnt and blistered face and the eldest lad, who couldn’t have been more than ten seasons old, had his mouth set in a grim line though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the tracks of tears cutting through the dirt on his face. An old woman beside the widow couldn’t stop coughing as the smoke eddied around the square.

  Stryke saw Rellston, as weary as himself, jump aside as a cart rumbled around a corner. It was heaped high with more bodies for the pyre. He stopped for a word with a man who had a bloodied rag tied around his shoulder, then came straight towards the Wolverines’ leader. “Join me for a drink, Stryke?” he asked, in an unusual show of openness. He didn’t wait for an answer.

  Stryke fell in beside him. “Where are we going?”

  “The seaward wall. I want to see how the repairs are going.” The human strode on, pushing his way through the crowded streets. He kept glancing at the orc then looking away as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

  Stryke wasn’t about to help him.

  Finally the man said awkwardly, “You made the difference, you know. You and the rest of your band. We’re just not used to warfare on this scale. If it hadn’t been for you we wouldn’t have made it this far. Thank you.”

  Stryke nodded acknowledgement. “But you’re still wondering if the Unis would have attacked at all if we hadn’t been here.”

  “By the look of them they’d have come against us anyway sooner or later. That Hobrow’s a fanatic.”

  The sun was a finger’s breadth above the horizon now, a malevolent orange orb. Rellston squinted at it through the drifts of smoke. “How soon before they attack, d’you reckon?”

  “Soon as they finish praying, I suppose. What plans have you got?”

  They had reached t
he seaward wall now. The Mani commander ducked under a blanket hung across a blackened doorway. The door itself was a heap of ashes that squelched underfoot. He shrugged. “Keep doing what we’re doing. And pray ourselves.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Stryke said thoughtfully, “but we have to do more than that. In the long run besiegers always have the advantage over the besieged.”

  Rellston stepped over three or four of his command, who were sleeping on the floor, and helped himself to a bottle from a cupboard. Not bothering to look for glasses, he took a swig of the fiery liquor and passed the bottle to the orc.

  “We have our own wells here. So long as we can keep from being overrun we’ll make it.”

  “Except you can’t possibly have enough food to last forever.” The orc slumped on a chair and nodded at the wall of the stockade, just visible through a window. “They do.”

  The Uni commander couldn’t hide his desperation. “The gods know we can’t keep taking losses like yesterday’s! And they have enough men to come at us every night. What can we do?”

  “I don’t know yet. But something has to give. In the meantime, mind if I make a suggestion?”

  “Help yourself. I don’t have to follow your advice.”

  “Have you got bucket brigades sorted for the next attack?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then get a team collecting cooking oil, axle grease, anything that’ll burn. Put it in a pot with a rag for a wick and we can get our own back.”

  Rellston grinned, his teeth white in the sooty stubble of his face. “Fight fire with fire, you mean?”

  “Exactly. After what they did to your township last night I don’t think your people will have any moral objection. When they come again we can lob firepots of our own at the bastards.”

  “Trouble is,” Rellston said, not grinning anymore, “their fighters still outnumber ours. They don’t have women and children eating their supplies either.” The commander hauled himself to his feet. “Better get in position. They’ll be here again soon enough.”

  Stryke climbed the wall facing Hobrow’s main encampment. He could see the Unis on their knees. Hobrow himself could be made out standing on a knoll, his arms upraised. But the light, salty breeze carried the man’s words away and Stryke couldn’t make out what he said. He knew it meant nothing good for orcs or Manis though.