ORCS: Army of Shadows

by Stan Nicholls

  Mid-sentence, Pelli Madayar broke off, closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her brow. Then she excused herself and hurried away. Her subordinate understood, having seen her do the same thing many times before.

  She climbed the slats of a rickety staircase to the mill’s upper level. In one corner stood a barrel, larger than she could have got her arms around, its metal bands red with rust. It was full of rainwater from a breach in the roof, and there was a rainbow film on its oily surface. The water was filthy and foul-smelling, but that didn’t concern her; it was still a suitable medium. In any event she had no option if this was the way her leader chose to get through to her.

  Hands on the barrel’s edge, she gazed down at it. The water immediately became agitated and began to gently bubble as though coming to the boil. Then it changed its nature. It became something other than simply water: a kaleidoscopic eddy of churning matter suffused with radiance. Shortly it settled and an image came into focus.

  She was looking at Karrell Revers, supreme commander of the Gateway Corps, his likeness projected across an infinity of worlds. He was in late middle age, his close-trimmed beard and hair turning silver. But he was still enormously energetic, and acuity lit his eyes. Revers was exceptional among humans in being a possessor of magical abilities.

  “Pelli,” he said, “there’s been a development.” His voice had an echoing, ethereal quality.

  Even though they were separated by an unimaginable void, she could see he was troubled. “What is it?” she urged.

  “I told you we thought there could be another player in the little drama you have unfolding there, and that there are indications someone other than the orcs has the instrumentalities. Now we’ve detected a further anomaly, making for a new possibility.”

  “Yes?”

  “There could be another set.”

  “Another? Here? How likely is that?”

  “The odds are… incalculable. But I should sound a note of caution. Because this is unprecedented we could be misinterpreting the signs. Though I have to say it’s hard to reach any other conclusion.”

  “So now we’ve got two sets to track down.”

  “Yes. Well… perhaps.”

  “Please, Karrell, help me on this. I can’t operate properly if I don’t know what —”

  “I’m sorry. The thing is, it isn’t clear. We’re getting different magical signatures from what might be two sources. Their characteristics vary in a way we’ve never seen before.”

  “All right. So what do we do?”

  “We’re working hard on resolving this. But you can see this makes your mission even more vital.”

  “Yes, but what’s my brief now?”

  “Essentially, it remains the same. If you can recover the instrumentalities we know exist, those held by the orcs, or that were held by them, we can eliminate them from our search. The important thing is that you act quickly.”

  “I can see that.”

  “And I have to say, Pelli, I’m concerned that you haven’t acted already.”

  “Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted, you know that. Also we’ve had to be sure that no innocents get caught up in this. Trouble’s brewing here. Relations between the native population and their oppressors look as though they’re coming to a head, and —”

  “We don’t concern ourselves with local affairs. It’s one of the Corps’ primary rules, as you’re fully aware. I just hope it isn’t some element of sympathy you feel for the orcs that’s staying your hand.”

  “It’s true I think they’ve blundered into something they don’t understand, and in that sense perhaps they’re not to be blamed. That’s why I hope to use persuasion to get the instrumentalities back before taking the ultimate step.”

  “I’ve told you before that your compassion is understandable, and it reflects well on you.” His tone came across as a mite petulant. “But these are orcs we’re talking about. Some races are beyond the pale, even for the Corps. Your sympathy could well be misplaced. The outcome of your mission is more important than mere individuals. You must use all means to achieve our objective. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, it is.” She mulled things over for a second and added, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You gave me no orders about what would become of the warband once we’ve taken the instrumentalities from them.”

  “Assuming they survive their encounter with you and your superior weaponry.”

  “Yes, assuming that. Am I to return them to their home world?”

  If she didn’t know him better, Pelli would have thought the look Revers gave her was unduly hard. “You have no such orders,” he told her.

  Without further word he broke their connection.

  5

  Like a chunk of ordure floating in the middle of a cesspit, the great fortress at Taress never failed to draw the eye.

  Its baleful walls and haughty towers subjugated the city as surely as the human invaders who had annexed it. Built long ago, by orcs when they were warlike, the pile had been turned from defensive to offensive by recent events. From a place of sanctuary to a place of dread. It stood as a perpetual reminder of the native population’s loss of independence and dignity.

  There was a great deal of bustle in its spacious central courtyard. A detachment of uniformed men, and some women, were square-bashing. Others were paired off in mock combat. Weapons were being issued, horses groomed, wagons loaded.

  From the balcony of his quarters high above, the stern figure of Kapple Hacher surveyed the activity. His aide and probably closest professional confidant, the young officer called Frynt, stood beside him.

  “Now we’re training clerks and medics to patrol the streets,” Hacher said.

  “I understand more reinforcements are due for despatch from Peczan soon, sir,” Frynt informed him.

  “I’m not sure there’ll ever be enough for Jennesta.”

  “Sir?”

  “Taress is to be entirely purged of subversive elements, to quote our mistress’s own words. How many troops do you think that would take?”

  “With respect, General, you’ve often said that the troublemakers are a minority.”

  “I still think that’s so. But it’s a question of definitions. Who are the dissidents?”

  “Isn’t it our job to weed them out, sir?”

  “Good question. But not one that unduly troubles m’lady Jennesta. Her view is that any orcs who arouse suspicion should be rounded up. And eliminated if they resist. In effect, they’re all revolutionaries to her. So we have this ever increasing clampdown.”

  “You can’t deny that incidents have increased of late, sir.”

  “Yes, they have. What do you expect when you prod a hornet’s nest? I believe the resistance, the actual core, is quite small, but I’ve never said they weren’t dangerous, and I’m all for coming down on them hard. But I can’t help but feel that Jennesta’s policy is only making matters worse.”

  “Perhaps this comet the orcs are so excited about is what’s really stirring them up, sir.”

  “And who’s putting the idea into their heads of linking it with omens and prophecies? No, we should be using a rapier here, not an axe.”

  “Regrettably, sir, your counsel is unlikely to sway the lady Jennesta.”

  “You’re telling me.” Hacher grew thoughtful. “Though there is one weapon in our armoury that could be useful in winkling out the real insurrectionists.”

  “Your… source,” Frynt said knowingly.

  The general nodded. “Although it isn’t entirely certain that I can keep that channel open, it might prove invaluable.”

  “But surely, sir, all this talk of rebellion is somewhat academic in light of the nature of the orcs we’re governing. The majority are passive.”

  “Jennesta doesn’t think so. She maintains the entire race is capable of something like savagery. Though what experience she might have had with them to reach such a conclusion is open to question.”

  “
And you, sir? Do you think they have some buried appetite for combat?”

  Hacher turned and surveyed the city. “Perhaps we’re about to find out.”

  At one of the resistance’s safe houses, hidden in the tangle of the troubled capital’s back streets, Jode Pepperdyne and Micalor Standeven had found a secluded room.

  “How often do I have to tell you?” Standeven angrily protested.

  “Try me one more time,” Pepperdyne said.

  “I had nothing to do with Coilla’s star going missing!”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “So why do you bother asking me? You know, back where we come from, your badgering would have been seen as gross disobedience.”

  Pepperdyne laughed in his face. “But we’re not there, are we?”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “I don’t like being stuck in this world any more than you do. Assuming you do mind.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If the stars hadn’t gone missing we wouldn’t be here.”

  “And that had nothing to do with me,” Standeven repeated.

  “So you say. But given we are stranded here, why do you keep needling the band? They’re the only allies we’ve got, and they don’t trust us.”

  “They never did.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “They’re orcs. Humans aren’t exactly their favourite race, in case you hadn’t noticed what they’re doing to them here.”

  “I think they know when somebody’s treating them straight. Most of them, anyway.”

  “You’re a fool, Pepperdyne. The only reason we’re still with them, why we’re still alive, is because it suits them. Don’t go misplacing your trust.”

  “What, I should put it in you?”

  “You could do worse.”

  “Only if I’d gone insane.”

  Standeven’s bile was rising again. “You might do well,” he uttered vindictively, “to think about your position if we ever get back home.”

  “Your threats don’t wash here. Or hasn’t that dawned on you yet?”

  “I’m just reminding you what our relative positions were, and how they could be that way again. How you behave here’s going to have a bearing on how I choose to treat you in future.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? The way things are going, we might not have a future. And if we’re into reminding each other about events, remember that you wouldn’t be here… hell, you wouldn’t be at all, if it hadn’t been for me.”

  “One of your obligations is to look after your master’s safety. It’s your duty!”

  Pepperdyne lunged and grabbed him by the scruff. “If you think you don’t owe me your life, maybe I’ll take it back.”

  “Take your filthy hands off me, you —”

  The door opened.

  Pepperdyne let go of Standeven.

  Coilla came in. “Jode? Are you —Oh.”

  Standeven transferred his red-faced glare from Pepperdyne to her. “Don’t mind me,” he snarled. Shoving past her, he left.

  “Let him go,” Pepperdyne said.

  “I wasn’t thinking of stopping him,” Coilla replied. She closed the door. “You were arguing.”

  “Very perceptive.”

  “If you want to be let alone I can —”

  “Sorry.” His tone was conciliatory. “It’s just that he gets under my skin.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  He nodded. “What was it you wanted, Coilla?”

  “Well, first off, I thought you could use some of this.” She handed him a brandy flask.

  He accepted it, took a swig and gave it back. “And second?”

  “You two left in such a hurry, I just wanted you to know that not everybody in the band thinks badly of you.”

  “What, both of us? Me and… him?” He nodded at the door.

  “I was thinking of you.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled. “But I reckon you’re in a minority of one.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I reckon Stryke has some regard for you. Maybe a couple of the others.”

  “They’ve a funny way of showing it.”

  “You’ve got to understand how it is between orcs and humans. And not just in this world. We’ve got… history.”

  “Maybe that’s something I can understand.”

  “Can you?”

  “You think orcs were the only downtrodden race on our world?”

  “You’re a human. Your kind does the treading.”

  “There are humans and humans.”

  “Isn’t it time you came clean about yourself?”

  “What’s to tell?” he came back stiffly.

  “Don’t close up on me.”

  “Would knowing my past change anything? I mean, haven’t I proven myself yet?”

  “You have to me. But most of the others…”

  “I give you my word that I had nothing to do with the theft of the star.”

  “And what would your partner say if I asked him about it?”

  “Standeven’s not my partner,” he returned sharply. “And he’d give you his word too.”

  “What value could I put on that?”

  “As much as I do.”

  “How much is that?”

  “If Standeven says he didn’t —”

  “Why are you so loyal to him, Jode?”

  He sighed. “Habit, I suppose. And not wanting to believe certain things even of him.”

  “What is the bond between you two?”

  “Complicated.”

  “Not enough. Tell me more.”

  He had to grin. “You’re persistent, Coilla, I’ll give you that.”

  “So reward me. Open up a bit. I’d like to know something about the man I owe my life to.”

  “How about that flask again?”

  She dug it out. He took another draught. Coilla had one too.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I’m a Trougathian.”

  “You’re a what?”

  “A Trougathian. After Trougath, the place we come from.”

  “Never heard of it.” There was a chair by her, and she sat.

  He followed her lead and perched on a barrel of nails. “The world you and I come from is much bigger than the part you call Maras-Dantia.”

  “And your race renamed Centrasia,” she replied with a trace of bitterness.

  “Some humans did. My sort didn’t get to name places.”

  “So what sort are they?”

  “A little like you orcs.”

  “Yeah?” She couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice.

  “Well, I said a little like. But there’s a couple of similarities. One is that my race has a martial tradition too.”

  “That explains your skill with a blade. So your race fights as a living, like we do?”

  “No. It’s not inborn with us; it’s learnt. Though over so long a time it practically is inborn now. But we’re not fighters by inclination, or even choice. It was just practical. Most of my race would prefer untroubled lives.”

  “If you didn’t choose to fight, you must have something to defend.”

  “Ourselves. And our land.”

  “The first I understand. But dying for land, that seems odd to me. Maybe because orcs never had any.”

  “They did here.”

  “And your race took it from them.” She raised her hands. “Sorry. Tell me about your land.”

  “Trougath’s an island off… well, it doesn’t really matter where it is. It’s large enough for us and the soil’s good. So’s the fish harvest. We’re islanders, we have an understanding with the sea. Most of all, it’s our homeland. But it’s got one flaw.”

  “Its location.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “For an orc, you mean?”

  “No, just smart.”

  “Stands to reason you’d only have enemies if there’s something you’ve got they want, or if you’re in the wrong place.”<
br />
  “I can see why you’re the band’s mistress of strategy. But you’re right; a very wrong place. At least, that’s what it became. Trougath stands at a point where it could threaten free passage for its several neighbours, had we wanted to do that, which we didn’t. So we sat in the middle of a wheel, each spoke sharpened and pointing at us. All the neighbouring states had a lustful eye on such a favourably placed island. Whoever took it could cow the others. That’s why my people embraced warfare, and kept them out.”

  “How come, if those nearby states were so strong?”

  “My people had been there since long before the rise of the powers that came to surround us. We were numerous and well established. We knew the terrain. And we fought well, as people will when they’re protecting all they’ve got. We were always on alert, and often under actual siege. We did without enough arms; we did without salt. Even water, at times.”

  “How long did that last?”

  “Generations. Eventually it dawned on them that they couldn’t conquer us, so they took to flattering us. So in addition to the skills of combat, we learnt the black art of politics. The game became playing one off against the other. That, and occasional wars, kept us sovereign for a long time.”

  “But I’m guessing your luck ran out. Otherwise you’d be there now.”

  He nodded. “Our leaders sided with the wrong tyrant. Not through any liking of him, but by necessity. That caused a schism among my people. Not a civil war exactly, though that came close, but enough of a distraction for us to drop our guard. The very warlord our leaders befriended was the one who took advantage.”

  “There’s a surprise.”

  “It seemed like treachery to us. Hell, that’s what it was. Those were dark days, and we all did things we weren’t especially proud of, in the name of patriotism. None less than me. I won’t bore you with the ins and outs. The upshot was that our nation was smashed and what survived of the population scattered. We became drifters, peasants in foreign lands, impoverished merchants, even mercenaries. Some were enslaved.” The latter came out with particular vitriol.

  Coilla kept her peace for a moment, then, “You said there was more than one way your race was like mine.”