“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.
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, was
n’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.
“We’ve had an… incident,” Jup replied.
“What?” Brelan demanded.
The dwarfs exchanged glances. “Best to show you,” Spurral said.
The place was in turmoil as they led them through the house and down the steps to the extensive cellars.
Passing through an arch and into one of the smaller rooms, Jup pointed. “There.”
The others crowded in. On the rough flagstones the corpse of an unknown orc lay in a pool of blood. On the other side of the chamber Standeven was held fast by a pair of rebels.
“What the hell have you done?” Pepperdyne said.
7
“Somebody better tell me what happened here,” Brelan demanded.
“This is how we found it,” one of the rebels holding Standeven said. “With him standing over the corpse. And he had this.” He held up a bloody knife.
“Who is he?” Stryke asked, nodding at the dead body.
They all shook their heads.
“He’s a stranger to me,” Brelan confirmed. He turned to Standeven. “Did you do this?”
“Yes.” He was pale, and he was shaking. There were beads of sweat on his pallid brow.
“Have you gone insane?” Pepperdyne exclaimed.
“Let him speak,” Stryke said.
“It was self-defence,” Standeven claimed. “I’d no choice.” He was growing agitated. “I’m not the villain here! You should thank me for —”
“Calm down,” Stryke told him firmly. “Get a grip and tell us what happened. From the start.”
The human swallowed. “I was told this was going to be a storage area, and I was moving boxes of rations in.”
“Seeing as you’re no good for anything else,” Coilla muttered.
“Button it,” Stryke grated. “You were moving stuff.”
Standeven nodded. “When I came in, he was here.” He indicated the body, but avoided looking directly at it.
“Seen him before?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He attacked me.”
“Just like that? He didn’t speak?”
“Not a word.”
“But you had a knife.”
“Er… no. That was his.”
“You took it off him?” There was scepticism in Stryke’s voice.
“I… Yes.”
“You’re no fighter,” Pepperdyne sneered.
“I expect you to back me!” Standeven flared. “You know I’m not the sort to —”
“I know you’d rather run than fight.”
“I couldn’t! I was attacked!”
“And you, no fighter, disarmed a knife carrier and killed him. You expect us to believe that?”
“You find… reserves when your life’s at stake. He pulled the knife and we struggled. It was more luck than anything else that he ended up with the blade in him.”
“Then what?” Stryke asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What did you do after you’d stabbed him?”
“I called for help.”
“Not until then? Not when you were actually fighting him?”
“It all happened so quickly, I —”
“Right. What was he doing when you came in?”
“Doing? Nothing that I could see.”
“What do you think he might be doing?”
“How the hell should I know? He was an intruder; maybe a spy for all I know. I would have thought I’d be congratulated for stopping him.”
“Is there anything to identify him?” Brelan wanted to know.
“No, we looked,” one of the rebels said.
“How did he get in?” Coilla wondered.
“That wouldn’t have been too hard,” Brelan admitted.
“What?”
“We’re fighting humans, not fellow orcs. You must have noticed we have all sorts through here: citizens who might not be actual resistance members but secretly support us. Offering information, donating supplies, bringing messages…”
“Could that be what he was? A messenger?”
“We tend to know them by sight.”
“So by and large,” Stryke summed up, “you let anybody in except humans. Which is fine if you think all orcs support your cause, and can keep their mouths shut.”
“We’re not that sloppy,” Brelan protested. “We take measures. And yes, I do believe the orcs of Acurial support us, at heart.”
“Hope you’re right. But you need to beef up security.”
“We’re off the point,” Brelan came back defensively. “All I know is that a human’s killed an orc, right here in a safe house. And if there wasn’t doubt about why” —he jabbed a finger at Standeven —“he’d be dead now.”
“Why don’t you make sure the intruder wasn’t known to anybody here?” Stryke suggested.
“You bet I will. What do we do with him?” He glared at Standeven again.
“I want to talk to him. Privately.”
There was a hint of suspicion in Brelan’s eyes. “Why?”
“He’s attached to my band. It’s my charge. Just like you discipline your group. You’ve my word that if there’s more to come out about this, you’ll know.”
“And if it turns out to be murder, plain and simple?”
“Why should I?” Standeven protested heatedly. “What could I possibly gain by —”
“Shut it,” Stryke ordered. “If that’s what happened, Brelan, he’ll pay for it. Dearly.”
“He’d better.” He gestured at the rebels holding Standeven to let him go. “We’ll take the body out when you’ve finished here.” Then, grim-faced, he led his comrades from the room. The door slammed behind them.
Stryke turned to Dallog and Wheam. “You too. Out.”
“Aaaahh,” Wheam complained, disap
pointed.
A look from Stryke silenced him. “But stay close, Dallog. I might be needing you.”
They went out, leaving Stryke, Coilla and Pepperdyne with Standeven.
“Right,” Stryke said, confronting him, “what really happened here?”
“I told you. But —”
Stryke grabbed him by the scruff and wrenched him close. “You’re saying that was the whole story?”
“I’m trying to explain! There was… something I didn’t mention.”
“I knew it!” Pepperdyne snarled.
“No, wait, wait!” Standeven pleaded. “I couldn’t say it in front of the others.”
“What?”
“Let go, Stryke, and I’ll show you.”
Stryke hung on to him for a moment, eyes locked on his. Then he let go and pushed him away. “This better be good.”
“It is,” Standeven said. “Least I reckon you’ll think so.”
“Get on with it.”
“After that happened” —he waved a hand at the dead orc — “I didn’t call for help right away. I searched the body.”
“Why?”
“I like to know who’s trying to kill me. I was just curious.”
“Looking for valuables, more like,” Pepperdyne remarked.
“Oh, I found something valuable all right.” Standeven thrust a hand into his pocket. What he brought out filled the palm of his hand. It was a green sphere with five projecting spikes of varying length, made of a material no one had been able to identify.
“The star,” Coilla gasped.
Stryke snatched it and began scrutinising it. “It’s the one stolen from you, Coilla,” he decided at last. He looked to Standeven. “And this was on the body?”
The human nodded. He was still flushed and had a lustre of perspiration.
“You say you found it on the corpse,” Pepperdyne speculated, “but how do we know that’s true?”
“Where else would I have got it? And if I had anything to hide, why would I give it to you?”
“To save your skin?” Coilla put in. “It’s a good bet we might go easier on you after getting a prize like this.”
“For all we know you could have been walking around with it ever since it disappeared,” Pepperdyne added.
“Why would I do that?” Standeven asked. “I know you all think I stole it. But if I had, how come I’ve still got it? Wouldn’t I have sold it or —”
ORCS: Army of Shadows Page 7