Orcs: Bad Blood (2 page)

On their way to Drogan, the band several times encountered an enigmatic human called Serapheim, who warned them of approaching
perils before disappearing, seemingly impossibly.

Entering Drogan forest, the band made contact with the centaur Keppatawn. A renowned armourer hampered by lameness, Keppatawn
had a star which he stole from Adpar when he was a youth. But a spell cast by her left him crippled, and only the application
of one of her tears could right him. Keppatawn declared that if the Wolverines brought him this bizarre trophy he would trade
the star for it. Stryke agreed.

The orcs made their way to the nyadd’s domain. Nyadds and merz were at war, and Adpar had slipped into a coma as a result
of Jennesta’s magical attack. Fighting their way to her private chambers, the Wolverines found the queen on her deathbed,
abandoned by her courtiers. When the cause looked lost, she shed a single tear of self-pity, which Stryke caught in a phial.
The tear healed Keppatawn’s infirmity, and he gave up the instrumentality.

Stryke’s visions continued, and intensified, and he became preoccupied by the notion that the stars were singing to him.

The final instrumentality was housed in a Mani settlement called Ruffetts View, where a fissure had opened in the earth and
was expelling raw magical energy. Once there, the band became a rallying point for disaffected orcs, many of them deserters
from Jennesta’s horde. Learning that two armies, Jennesta’s and Hobrow Kimball’s, were heading towards Ruffetts View, Stryke
reluctantly allowed the deserters to join him. A siege ensued, and in the chaos of its aftermath the Wolverines made off with
the last star.

When connected, the five artefacts formed a device that magically transported the band to Ilex, an ice-bound region in the
extreme north of Maras-Dantia. In a fantastical ice palace they discovered Sanara, who proved benevolent, unlike her tyrannical
sisters. She was held captive by the Sluagh, a pitiless race of near immortal demons who had pursued the instrumentalities
for centuries. Unable to defeat the Sluagh, the orcs were imprisoned by them.

Their saviour appeared in the form of the mysterious Serapheim, revealed as the legendary sorcerer Tentarr Arngrim, father
of Jennesta, Sanara and Adpar. Through him Stryke learnt that Maras-Dantia was never the orcs’ world, or the natural world
of any of the elder races. Arngrim’s ex-lover turned enemy, the sorceress Vermegram, brought orcs into Maras-Dantia to create
her personal slave army. But the magical portals she opened also swept in members of other races from their own dimensions.
Ironically, Maras-Dantia was and always had been the home world of humans.

Stryke’s visions were not insanity but glimpses of his race’s home world, brought on by contact with the powerful energy generated
by the instrumentalities.

Tentarr Arngrim, trying to make amends for what humans had done, created the instrumentalities as part of a plan to return
the elder races to their home dimensions. But the scheme was dashed and the stars scattered.

The sorcerer helped the Wolverines escape, and they managed to take the instrumentalities back from the Sluagh. A portal was
located in the ice palace’s cellars, and the sorcerer guided the band to it. But as he prepared to send them to the orcs’
dimension Jennesta arrived with her army. A magical battle with Arngrim and Sanara on one side and Jennesta on the other ended
with Jennesta consigned to the portal’s fearsome vortex. The sorcerer queen was either torn apart by its titanic energy or
flung into a parallel dimension.

Jup, the dwarf member of the Wolverines, chose to stay in the world he knew rather than cross to his race’s home dimension.
He and Sanara went off in hope of escaping under cover of the anarchy that engulfed the ice palace. For his part, Tentarr
Arngrim elected to stay in the crumbing fortress and hold the Sluagh at bay while the others got away. Thrusting the instrumentalities
into Stryke’s hands, he set the portal for the orcs’ dimension.

And the Wolverines stepped into the vortex…

Bilkers were the second most dangerous species in Ceragan. They had teeth like knife blades and hides as tough as seasoned
leather. The only thing greater than their fearsome strength was their aggression.

The bilker being stalked by two of
the
most dangerous of Ceragan’s inhabitants reared on its massive hind legs. Its scabby head brushed the crest of a tree that
a flick of its barbed tail would have been powerful enough to fell.

“Think we can take it alone?” Haskeer whispered.

Stryke nodded.

“Looks like a mob-handed job to me.”

“Not if we’re smart.”

“
Shit’s
smarter than a bilker.”

“You should be all right then.”

Haskeer shot him a mystified glance.

They were fine specimens of orc adulthood, with imposing shoulders, expansive chests and a muscular build. Their craggy faces
bore proudly thrusting jaws, and there was flint in their eyes. Both had fading scars on their cheeks where the tattoos signifying
their rank, the marks of enslavement, had been purged.

The bilker thudded down on to four legs. It gave a watery growl and resumed lumbering. Trampling shrubbery, grating bark from
trees it rubbed against, it began moving along the bottom of the valley.

Stryke and Haskeer emerged from the undergrowth, spears in hand, and followed stealthily. They were downwind, catching the
noxious odour the beast exuded.

The orcs and their prey meandered for some distance. Occasionally, the bilker stopped and clumsily turned its head, as if
suspecting their presence, but the orcs took care to stay out of sight. The creature gazed back along its wake, sniffed the
air, then trudged on.

Passing a small copse, the bilker waded a pebbly stream. On its far side was a broad rocky outcrop, dotted with caves. To
carry on the pursuit, Stryke and Haskeer had to break cover. Keeping low, they dashed for the shelter of a lichen-covered
boulder. They were within five paces of it when the bilker swung its head round.

The orcs froze, mesmerised by the beast’s merciless, fist-size eyes.

Hunters and hunted stood transfixed for an age. Then a change came over the creature.

“
It’s bilking!
” Haskeer yelled.

The colour of the animal’s skin started to alter. It took on the hue and mottled appearance of the sandy granite wall behind
it. All except its swaying tail, which aped the green and brown of an adjacent tree. With increasing rapidity the bilker was
blending into the background.

“
Quick!
” Stryke shouted. “
Before we lose it!
”

They ran forward. Stryke lobbed his spear. It struck square in the creature’s flank, drawing a thunderous bellow from the
wounded beast.

Camouflage was a bilker’s principal defence, but far from all it relied on. Its fighting capacity was just as effective. Turning
head on, it charged, the spear jutting from its bloodied side. As it splashed back across the stream, its cloaking ability,
triggered by self-preservation and working overtime, continued to mirror the terrain. But with concealment giving way to attack,
it functioned chaotically. The bilker’s upper body still imitated the rock-face, while its bottom half mimicked the water.
Charge gathering pace, its hide shimmering bizarrely, the creature’s lower quarters seemed almost transparent.

Stryke and Haskeer stood their ground. Haskeer had held on to his spear, preferring to use it as a close range weapon. Stryke
drew his sword.

They stayed put until the last possible second. When the bilker got close enough for them to feel a gust of its rank breath
they dived clear; Haskeer to the left, Stryke to the right. Immediately they commenced harrying the animal from either side.
Haskeer repeatedly thrust his spear, puncturing flesh. Stryke slashed with the blade, his strokes deep and wide.

Roaring, the bilker lashed out at them, spinning from one to the other, its great jaws snapping loudly. It raked the air with
its claws, coming perilously close to shredding orc heads. And it brought its tail into play.

Haskeer felt the brunt. Whipping round shockingly fast, the tail struck him a glancing but potent blow. It knocked him flat
and almost senseless, and parted him from his spear. The bilker moved in to finish the chore.

Stryke darted in and scooped up the spear. With a heave he drove it into one of the animal’s hind legs. That proved enough
of a distraction for Haskeer to be forgotten. The bilker turned about, its drooling jaws wide open, looking to tear its antagonist
apart. Stryke had hastily sheathed his sword before reaching for the spear. Now he groped for it.

A throwing knife zinged into the side of the bilker’s snout and the beast recoiled. It was enough of a sting to hinder the
advance on Stryke. Haskeer was on his knees, plucking another knife. Stryke wrenched his sword free. The bilker came at him
again. He saw inky black orbs floating in jaundice-yellow.

Stryke plunged his blade into the beast’s eye. There was an eruption of viscous liquid and an unholy stink. The bilker mouthed
a piercing shriek and pulled back, writhing in agony.

Haskeer and Stryke moved in and set to hacking at the animal’s neck. They struck alternately, as though hewing the sturdy
trunk of a fallen oak. The bilker thrashed and howled, its hide transmuting through a succession of colours and patterns.
One moment it faked the blueness of the summer sky, the next it copied the grass and earth of its deathbed. It briefly wore
the image of Stryke and Haskeer as they laboured to stifle its life with their blades.

Just before they parted its head it settled for a coat of crimson.

Stryke and Haskeer backed off, panting. The bilker twitched, blood pumping from the stump of its neck.

The orcs slumped on a downed tree trunk and regarded their kill. They breathed the pure air of victory, and relished the way
life seemed brighter, more immediate, after a kill.

They sat silently for some time before Stryke became fully alert to where they were. A stone’s throw away stood the gaping
mouth of the largest cave. Not for the first time he reflected on how often he was drawn to the spot.

Haskeer noticed too, and looked uncomfortable. “This place gives me the creeps,” he confessed.

“I thought nothing spooked you.”

“Tell anybody and I’ll tear your lungs out. But don’t you feel it? Like a foul taste. Or the smell of carrion. And I don’t
mean the bilker.”

“Yet we still come here.”

“
You
do.”

“It reminds me of the Wolverine’s last mission.”

“All it reminds me of is the way we arrived. I’d like to forget that.”

“Granted it was… troubling.” Stryke flashed the memory of their crossing, as he thought of it, and suppressed a shudder.

Haskeer’s eyes were fixed on the cave’s black maw. “I know we came to this land through there. I don’t understand how.”

“Nor me. Except for what Serapheim said about it being like doors. Not to billets, but worlds.”

“How can that be?”

“That’s a question for his sort, for sorcerers.”

“
Magic
.” From Haskeer, it was an expression of contempt. He all but spat the word.

“It got us here. That’s all the proof we need.” Stryke indicated their surroundings with a sweep of his hand. “Unless all
this is a dream. Or the realm of death.”

“You don’t think… ?”

“No.” He reached down and yanked a fistful of grass. Grinding it in his palm, he blew the chaff from his stained fingers.
“This is real enough, isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t like not knowing. It makes me… uneasy.”

“How we came here is a mystery beyond an orc’s grasp. Accept it.”

Haskeer seemed less than pleased with that. “How do we know that thing’s safe? What’s to stop it happening again?”

“It’d need the stars to work. Like a key. It was the
stars
that did it, not this place.”

“You should have destroyed ’em.”

“I’m not sure we could. But they’re kept safe, you know that.”

Haskeer grunted sceptically and continued staring at the cave mouth.

They sat like that for a while, neither speaking.

It was quiet, save for the rustling of small animals and the faint chirruping of insects. Flocks of birds flapped lazily overhead
as they made for their nesting grounds. With the sun going down, the evening was growing cooler, though that didn’t stop a
cloud of flies gathering over the bilker.

Haskeer sat up. “Stryke.”

“What?”

“Do you see… ?” He pointed at the cave.

“I can’t see anything.”

“
Look
.”

“It’s just your fancy. There’s noth —” A movement caught Stryke’s eye. He strained to make out what it was.

There were tiny pinpoints of light inside the cave. They swirled and flickered, and seemed to be getting brighter and more
numerous.

The orcs got to their feet.

“Feel that?” Stryke said.

The ground was shaking.

“Earthquake?” Haskeer wondered.

The vibrations became stronger as a series of tremors rippled the earth, and their source was the cave. In its interior the
specks of luminosity had coalesced into a glowing multicoloured haze that throbbed in unison.

Then there was an intense blast of light. A powerful gust of blistering wind roared from the cave. Stryke and Haskeer turned
their faces from it.

The light died. The trembling ceased.

A shroud of silence descended. No birds sang. The insects quietened.

Something stirred inside the cave.

A figure emerged. It walked stiffly, moving their way.

“I
told
you, Stryke!” Haskeer bellowed.

They drew their blades.

The figure was near enough to reveal itself. They saw what it was, and the recognition hit them like a kick in the teeth.

The creature was quite young, insofar as it was possible to tell with that particular race. Its hair was a shock of red, and
its features were flecked with disgusting auburn spots. It was dressed for genteel work, certainly not for combat. No weapon
could be seen.