"I've had no orders to that effect."
"I'm ordering you now."
"On what authority?"
"By the authority of my rank. And you'd do well to address a superior officer in the proper fashion."
"Yes, sir," the sergeant replied, but it was cursory, almost insolent. "However, my brief's strict. I'm to take no prisoners here without official say-so. That means a direct order from an immediate superior or written authorisation from — "
Pepperdyne pointed at the crowd. "We have a situation here, Sergeant," he blustered, "in case you hadn't noticed. Sticking to the rules does you credit, but things are moving fast on these streets. These captives are linked to the rebels and they need locking up."
"So why aren't they restrained, sir?"
"Are you implying that I can't control a few females, Sergeant?"
"I wouldn't know about that, sir."
"I'm getting tired of this. Are you going to obey my order and take these prisoners?"
"If I have the proper authority."
"Which I'm giving you."
"Your name and division. Sir."
Pepperdyne stared at the unsmiling pedant. "What?"
"To check your credentials. I'll have to send a runner to HQ and — "
"You should know that I act under the direct mandate of General Hacher himself. I don't envy your position when he hears about this."
"That may be so, sir. But we've had reports of bogus officials. It's my duty to verify the credentials of any… officer presenting themselves at this station." He was maddeningly cool.
"Are you questioning my patriotism?"
"That's not my place, sir."
"Don't you care that apart from your insubordination, your worship of the rulebook's stopping me from carrying out my duties? That's a serious step for somebody in your position, Sergeant."
"My commanding officers would be the best judge of that, sir."
"Of which I'm one!"
"Perhaps it would help if I went through it again, sir. Once you give me your name and — "
Pepperdyne capped his rising tension by maintaining a stern face. He saw that the other soldiers were eyeing him with something close to hostility. He was aware of Coilla shifting uncomfortably behind him.
From their vantage point, Stryke and Brelan were growing restive too.
"What the hell's going on?" Brelan muttered. "He should have got them to open that door by now."
"Maybe we've pulled this trick once too often."
"What do we do?"
"Stick to plan. Be ready to give the signal."
Pepperdyne made a show of listening as the sergeant spouted regulations, but his mind was on contingencies. And his hand was drifting towards his scabbard.
"So if you'd care to give me those details, sir," the sergeant concluded, "we can clear this up."
"Eh?"
"Your details, sir. As I explained."
"Look, if you're going to persist in — "
"Oh for fuck's sake." Coilla came out from behind Pepperdyne and thrust a dagger into the sergeant's midriff.
He looked down at it dumbly, swayed, then fell.
" Shit! " Pepperdyne said. "What the hell, Coilla?"
"Just moving things along." She swiftly drew her hidden sword. The pair of Vixens did the same, and so did Pepperdyne.
The other guards, stunned into immobility for a second, now raised their own weapons and closed in.
"That did it!" Brelan exclaimed from his place at the crowd's edge.
"Signal!" Stryke bellowed.
Any thought of concealment gone, they began frantically gesticulating at their confederates. As the order rapidly spread, Stryke and Brelan started forcibly elbowing their way towards the guardhouse.
Pepperdyne and the females fell into a defensive semicircle, their blades jutting like a predator's fangs. They gambled that their backs were safe. The nearest in the crowd, who had seen what happened, were reacting. So had some of the guards keeping them in check, but they were torn between joining in and holding the line.
The dead sergeant's comrades advanced, spitting rage. Pepperdyne, Coilla and the Vixens braced themselves.
A great roar went up from the crowd.
There were whirlpools of violence in that churning mass. Attacked by well-placed rebels and Wolverines, the scattered groups of militia were already beleaguered. And here and there ordinary orcs, civilians, were taking part. Hastily improvised weapons appeared. Some used their bare hands. The points where the fighting started were like raindrop impacts on the surface of a lake. They sent out ripples of agitation that built to waves.
The soldiers defending the guardhouse froze at the uproar. Pepperdyne didn't. He tore into the nearest trooper. They battered away at each other, blades pealing, and Pepperdyne instantly proved himself the better swordsman. The man's defence crumbled under the onslaught. He took a hit to the groin, and while he was busy with that, Pepperdyne followed through with a chest thrust. Another guard slid into the fallen one's place and the fight carried on seamlessly.
Coilla had already downed her first opponent and was hacking at two more simultaneously. Her speed and agility vexed them, and they struggled to land a blow. She inflicted a wound on one man, putting him on the back foot with a streaming shoulder, then improved the odds by dropping his companion. The next to step in was more seasoned, or at least cannier, and she found herself fencing rather than hacking.
Battling shoulder to shoulder, the duo of Vixens gave a good account of themselves, despite their relative inexperience. They fought with a zeal not far short of savagery, and a sense of ruthlessness that had their foes wary of engaging them at too-close quarters. Glancing from his own labours, Pepperdyne was in awe of the females' aggressiveness. But with at least ten guardsmen still on their feet, and who knew how many more zeroing in, fervour might not be enough.
The crowd was boiling now, with brawls all across the square. Wolverines and rebels were at the centre of nigh on every storm, and the Vixens were fighting with particular resolve. Dead and wounded soldiers were underfoot. To a lesser degree, so were orcs, resistance and civilians alike. But far from sobering the horde, the casualties fuelled their anger.
Haskeer was in the thick of things, cutting a swathe for the bunch of privates in his wake. He favoured an axe, which he swung with abandon, cleaving heads and severing limbs. In another part of the crowd Chillder and a gaggle of Vixens were beating in the brains of several hapless troopers. Not far off, Dallog led a contingent of the Ceragan inductees. Wheam wasn't among them. It had been thought better to confine him to lookout duties beyond the fighting.
Joined by hand-picked rebels and Wolverines, as planned, Stryke and Brelan were a spit away from the guardhouse. By the time they arrived the crowd had become a mob. But the sentries holding the line against it weren't a problem. There was no line. The whole area was one seething mass of fighting orcs and humans, and they gave off a deafening roar.
The arrival of Stryke's crew was timely. Pepperdyne and the three females were holding their own, although several sentries from the broken line had attached themselves to the guardhouse defence, upping their numbers. Pepperdyne was dragging his blade from a guard's guts. The toll was starting to show. His movements were growing leaden and his sword arm was cramping. One of the Vixens nursed a wound, but kept fighting. Coilla was covered in foes' blood. She was smiling.
Stryke, Brelan and their backup came in like steel surf. The balance was tipped, and after a brief flurry of bloody confrontation the remaining guardsmen were overcome.
"Took your time," Coilla said.
"We were picking wildflowers," Stryke told her, deadpan.
"Come on," Brelan urged. "Time's running low."
They searched the dead sergeant's pockets and found a bunch of keys. While most of the group kept watch, Brelan made for the door and began trying them. On the third attempt the lock turned.
Brelan gave the door a shove. "It's not the way we though
t it'd go," he said, shooting a glance at Pepperdyne, "but — "
" Look out! " Coilla yelled, pushing him aside.
An arrow flew out of the open door, barely missing him. It zinged into the crowd and struck a gesticulating protestor, piercing his raised arm.
Stryke rushed through the door, with Coilla, Brelan and Pepperdyne close behind. Inside, a sentry was groping in his scabbard for another arrow. Stryke got to the man first and thrust a blade into his chest.
" To your left! " Pepperdyne shouted.
Stryke spun just fast enough to block a sword swipe. Its wielder had come from the only blind corner, and he attacked with an ardour born of desperation. His frantic state suited Stryke. A panic-stricken opponent rarely had sound judgement; and so it quickly proved. After a couple more of his blows were deflected, the human looked spent, and his defence was sloppy. Stryke reaped the benefit by puncturing his heart.
There were no other humans in the building. At its far end were two cells, essentially cages, and the seven resistance members were crammed in one of them. None of the sergeant's keys undid the cell's robust lock, and it didn't succumb to a battering. But a hasty search turned up another ring and they got the door open. The prisoners had obviously been maltreated. They had black eyes, cuts and bruises, but no worse injuries. Their rescuers gave them weapons, some brought, some taken from the dead guards.
If anything, the riot outside had stepped up.
"That was sweet," Brelan said, leading his freed comrades.
"We're not out of here yet," Stryke reminded him. He turned to Pepperdyne. "Ready?"
"This bit I don't like," the human told him.
"You can't just walk away with us," Coilla said. "This mob would go wild. Wilder."
"They'd kill you," Stryke summarised. "But if they think you're our prisoner — "
"Right, right. I get it." He looked unhappy.
They surrounded Pepperdyne as though escorting him, and started off. Their route would keep them close to the frontage of the square's buildings, skirting the edge of the crowd, until they came to a side street and waiting transport. The rioters who noticed the human officer in the group's midst assumed he was being taken hostage. Some cheered.
Stryke and the others had hardly set out when there was a series of brilliant flashes.
They erupted in the heart of the crowd: scintillating bursts of red, green and violet that scarred the eye.
"The Helix!" Brelan exclaimed.
"The more reason not to linger," Stryke said. "Keep moving."
There was another vivid flash in the crowd. A rioter collapsed with a smouldering hole in his chest. The odour of charred flesh permeated the air as those around backed off in dread. Robed men were discharging the magical beams almost wantonly, targeting anyone in their way.
Close by, Haskeer was tangling with a trooper. The man was armed with sword and shield, and had proved stubborn in preventing the orc from killing him. Haskeer relished the challenge. He rained boneshaker blows on the trooper, forcing him into a purely defensive mode. The man was flagging when a particularly intense bolt of magical energy went off near to hand. Dazzled by the light, Haskeer and the trooper stilled, blinking.
Haskeer snapped out of it first and resumed his assault. The militiaman, still in a daze, managed only a confused resistance. Several hefty jolts from Haskeer's axe were enough to throw him completely. A meaty strike to his head had him first on his knees, then keeling over.
There was another flash, as brilliant as the last, and a further victim succumbed to a fiery bolt. As Haskeer's vision seeped back he could just make out the figure of a Helix member no more than twenty paces away. He had seen Haskeer and was raising his power wand. Haskeer dived. A searing beam swept over him, close enough for its heat to be felt. Scrabbling on hands and knees, he made for the fallen trooper as the Helix initiate took aim again. Reaching the corpse, he wrestled the shield from the human's death grip. Then, still kneeling, he flung it with might at the Helix. It skimmed like a discus and struck him squarely in the neck, nearly decapitating him.
Onlookers got the message. Fearsome as their trident weapons might be, the Helix weren't invulnerable. In seconds they were under siege. Haskeer and his troop melted into the throng.
Stryke and the rebel party stayed out of such clashes. They moved as swiftly as they could towards the turning that led out of the square. But when they were almost at the corner, they halted.
"Oh, great," Coilla grumbled. "More shit."
Two wagonloads of troops came along the street they were heading for. When the wagons reached the square they stopped, blocking the road. The troops began getting out.
"Time for these," Brelan said, digging into the canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. He produced a number of earthen cylinders, similar to water bottles, and handed them out.
Coilla grabbed one gleefully. "I love these things."
"What is it?" Pepperdyne asked.
"Acurialian fire," Brelan told him. The human looked blank. Brelan mimed throwing one, then mouthed, " Boom. "
"I've seen similar," Pepperdyne realised.
" Use 'em," Stryke grated.
They stuck sparks against the oil-soaked wads of fabric stuffed into the containers' necks. When the cloth fuses were well alight they started lobbing. The cylinders soared in the direction of the wagons and disembarking soldiers. They shattered on impact, exploding in plumes of orange fire. The burning oil had been mixed with certain compounds that made it viscous. It stuck fast to whatever it touched, igniting the wagons, the walkway and any troopers unlucky enough to be in range. Converted to fireballs, they stumbled aimlessly, yelling and beating at their clothes. The wagons were blazing.
The few soldiers untouched by fire were either making futile efforts to put out the flames or loosing sporadic arrows in the direction of Stryke's group. But panic made their aim wild. And now they had another problem: the crowd was turning on them. Chunks of paving stone rained down on a scene already engulfed by fiery chaos.
"Should keep 'em busy," Coilla remarked with satisfaction.
"Let's go," Stryke said.
With Pepperdyne back in the middle of the scrum, they bypassed the mayhem and charred bodies without challenge. All over the square the other Wolverines, rebels and Vixens were slipping away too. Singly or in small groups they would make for hideouts or the cover of false identities.
Off from the square, in near-empty streets bled clean by the riot, Stryke, Coilla and the rest met up with their transport.
Bumping along in a covered wagon, moving slowly to avoid attention, they allowed themselves to relax a little.
"Looks like the uniform trick's stopped working," Coilla said.
Pepperdyne nodded. "They were bound to catch on eventually. Your Vixens fought like she-devils, by the way. I've not seen them that ferocious before."
"Then you haven't been moon-gazing lately," Coilla told him.
"Moon-gazing?"
"Not well up on the ways of females, are you, Jode."
Comprehension dawned. "Oh. You mean — "
"The time of the moon's cycle when my sex can get a little… cranky."
"From what I just saw I'd have used a slightly stronger word. Like murderous. But how come you all — "
"You really don't know much about females, do you? When any number of us spend time together in the same place it's not unusual for our cycles to tally. That's what happened today."
Pepperdyne grinned. "A whole squad of moon-crazed she-orcs. Gods help the enemy."
"Gods damn 'em," Brelan said. "But the citizens acted well too. I'm proud of them."
"They do seem to be finding their orcish natures a bit more," Stryke agreed. "But are they ready for a full-scale uprising?"
"The tipping point's near. Very soon my mother, as principal, will come out of hiding and make her rallying call. After that, what happened today's going to look like a picnic."
"Let's hope," Coilla remarked cautiously.
&nbs
p; The wagon was arriving at its destination. It pulled through high gates and into the courtyard of an abandoned villa the resistance had occupied. It looked as though none of the other rebels had got back yet.
As they were climbing out, Wheam said, "Today was a great success, wasn't it, Brelan?"
"It was a success. Not sure about great."
"But the sort of thing orcs will be telling tales about for generations. A tipping point, you said."
"If it helps bring about the revolution," Brelan conceded, "it could be remembered as a key day."
"And the wordsmiths will tell tales about it, and the balladeers will sing songs."
Coilla groaned. "I can see where this is going."
"As it happens," Wheam sailed on, "I've already begun composing an epic ballad about this great day." He pointed at his brow. "Here. In my head."
"I'm surprised there's room for it," Coilla observed.
"I don't have my lute with me, of course…"
"Oh, good," Pepperdyne said.
"… But I'm sure I could give you a recital without it."
"Yes, well — " Stryke began.
"But bear in mind that it's a work in progress."
"Aren't they all," Coilla muttered.
They were walking towards the safe house's doors. As Wheam spoke, they all increased their pace.
"I call it 'The Battle of the Square,' " he intoned grandly, and cleared his throat. T'was upon that fateful day we beat the foe to their dismay With blade and axe we thrashed them sound All round the square and into the ground And all who were there, you could hear them say That was the day we made the humans go away
"That bit needs some work. It goes on… Oh let the humans wail, oh let them grieve Oh let their hearts bleed, oh let -
"Oh, let up!" Coilla snapped.
"Wouldn't you like to hear the bit about how — "
"Moon!" she barked threateningly, jabbing a finger at her chest.
Wheam flinched and fell silent, crestfallen.
As they approached the safe house the doors were thrown open. A couple of resistance members came out, and Jup and Spurral were close behind them. Their expressions were grim.
"What's happened?" Stryke said as he pushed his way in.
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