Orcs (17 page)

“Explain.”

“We spoke of symbiotes, those rare hybrids produced from unions between elder races and humans.”

“Like Jennesta.”

“Indeed. And her sisters, Adpar and Sanara.”

“They’re mythical, aren’t they?” remarked Jup.

“They are thought to exist. Though where they are, I have no idea. It is said that while Jennesta is a balance of the two races, Adpar is more purely nyadd. No one knows much about Sanara.”

“Real or not, what have they to do with the cylinder, beyond Jennesta laying claim to it?” Stryke asked.

“Directly, nothing that I know of. It is their mother, Vermegram, of whom I am thinking. You know the stories of how mighty a sorceress she was, of course.”

“But not as great as the one said to have slain her,” Stryke commented.

“The legendary Tentarr Arngrim, yes. Though little is known of him either. Why, even his race is in doubt.”

Haskeer sighed theatrically. “You repeat stories made up to frighten hatchlings, gremlin.”

“Perhaps. I think not. But what I am saying is that I believe this artifact dates from ancient times, the golden age when Vermegram and Tentarr Arngrim were at the height of their powers.”

Jup was puzzled. “I never understood how Vermegram, if she did exist, could possibly have been the mother of Jennesta and her sisters. Having lived so long ago, I mean.”

“It is said that Vermegram’s life was of incredible longevity.”

“What?” Haskeer said.

“She was
long-lived
, blockhead,” Coilla informed him. “So Jennesta and her sisters are also incredibly old. Is that it, Mobbs?”

“Not necessarily. In fact, I think Jennesta is probably no older than she appears to be. Remember, Vermegram’s death and whatever fate befell Arngrim occurred not that long ago.”

“That must mean Vermegram was an ancient crone when she birthed her brood. Are you saying she stayed fertile into her dotage? That’s insane!”

“I don’t know. All I
would
say is that scholars are agreed she possessed magic of remarkable potency. Given that, anything is possible.”

Stryke slipped the cylinder free of his belt and laid it at his feet. “What had she to do with this thing?”

“The earliest annals that mention Tentarr Arngrim and Vermegram contain hints about what I believe to be this cylinder. Or rather, what it contained: knowledge. And knowledge means power. A power many have given their lives to possess.”

“What kind of power?”

“The stories are vague. As best as I can grasp it, it is a . . . key, let us call it. A key to understanding. If I am right, it will throw light on many things, not least the origin of the elder races, including orcs. All of us.”

Jup stared at the cylinder. “Whatever’s inside this little thing would tell us all that?”

“No. It would
begin
to tell you. If my reasoning is correct, it would set you on that path. Such knowledge does not come easy.”

“This is horse shit,” Haskeer complained. “Why don’t he talk in plain language?”

“All right,” Stryke intervened. “What you’re saying, Mobbs, is that the cylinder contains something important. Given how much Jennesta wants it, that hardly comes as a surprise. What are you getting at?”

“Knowledge is neutral. It is generally neither good nor bad. It becomes a force for enlightenment or evil depending on who controls it.”

“So?”

“If Jennesta has command of this knowledge it’s likely no good will come of it, you must know that. It could be better used.”

“You’re saying we shouldn’t return the cylinder to her?” Coilla asked.

Mobbs didn’t answer.

“You
are
, aren’t you?” she persisted.

“I have lived for many seasons and seen many things. I would die content if I thought my one cherished wish might come true.”

“Which is?”

“You do not know, even in your heart? My dearest wish is that our land be returned to us. That we could go back to the way things were. The power of this artifact is the nearest we may ever get to a chance of that. But just a
chance
. It would be the first step in a long journey.”

The passion of his words quietened them all for a moment.

“Let’s open it,” Coilla said.

“What?”
Haskeer exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

“Aren’t you curious about what we might find inside? Don’t you wish, too, for a power that might free our land?”

“Like fuck I do, you crazy bitch. Do you want to get us all killed?”

“Face it, Haskeer; we’re as good as dead anyway. If we go back to Cairnbarrow, that cylinder and the pellucid will count for nothing as far as Jennesta’s concerned. Any of you think otherwise and you’re fooling yourselves.”

Haskeer turned to the other officers. “You’ve more sense than she has. Tell her she’s wrong.”

“I’m not sure she is,” Alfray replied. “I think the minute we screwed up our mission we signed our own death warrants.”

“What have we got to lose?” Jup added. “We have no home now.”

“I’d expect that of
you
,” Haskeer gibed. “Your place was never with orcs anyway. What do you care if we live or die?” He looked to Stryke. “That’s right, isn’t it, Captain? We know better than a female, a has-been and a dwarf, don’t we? Tell them.”

Every eye was on Stryke. He said nothing.

“
Tell
them,” Haskeer repeated.

“I agree with Coilla,” Stryke said.

“You . . . you can’t be
serious!
”

Stryke ignored him. What he saw was Coilla smiling, and few faces in the band showing disapproval.

“Have you all gone fucking
mad?
” Haskeer demanded. “You, Stryke, of all orcs; I didn’t expect this of you. You’re asking us to throw everything away!”

“I’m asking that we open this cylinder. Everything else we’ve thrown away already.”

“Stryke’s just saying we should look,” Jup said. “We can reseal it, can’t we?”

“And if the Queen discovers we’ve tampered with it? Can you imagine her wrath?”

“I’ve no need to imagine it,” Stryke told him. “That’s one reason we should seize any chance to change things for ourselves. Or perhaps you’re happy with the way they are?”

“I
accept
the way things are, because I know we
can’t
change anything. At least we’ve got our lives, and now you want to waste them.”

“We want to
find
them,” Coilla said.

Stryke addressed the whole band. “For something this important, something that touches all of us, we’re going to do what we’ve never done before. We’re going to have a show of hands. All right?”

Nobody objected.

He held up the cylinder. “Those who think we should leave this be and return to Cairnbarrow, raise your hand.”

Haskeer did. Three grunts joined him.

“Those who say we should open it?”

Every other hand went up.

“You’re outvoted,” Stryke declared.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Haskeer muttered grimly.

“You’re doing the right thing, Stryke,” Coilla assured him.

Right or not, the relief he felt was almost physical. It was as though he was doing something honest for the first time in as long as he could remember.

But that didn’t stop the icy tingle of fear that caressed his spine as he looked at the cylinder.

14

As the band looked on in silence, Stryke took a knife to the cylinder’s seal. Having cut through it, he prised off the cap. There was a faint whiff of mustiness.

He pushed his fingers inside. Their clumsiness made for a moment of awkward fumbling before he slipped out a rolled parchment. It was fragile and yellowing with age. This he handed to Mobbs. The gremlin accepted it with a mixture of eagerness and reverence.

Stryke shook the cylinder. It rattled. He held it up and looked into it.

“There’s something else in here,” he said, half to himself.

He patted the tube’s open end on his palm. An object slid out.

It consisted of a small central sphere with seven tiny radiating spikes of variable lengths. It was sandy-coloured, similar to a light, polished wood. It was heavier than it looked.

Stryke held it up and examined it.

“It’s like a star,” Coilla decided. “Or a hatchling’s toy of one.”

He thought she was right. The object did resemble a crude representation of a star.

Mobbs had the parchment unrolled on his lap, but was ignoring it. He stared awestruck at the object.

“What’s it made of?” Alfray wondered.

Stryke passed it to him.

“It’s no material I know,” the field surgeon pronounced. “It’s not wood, nor bone.”

Jup took it. “Could it be fashioned from some kind of stone?” he asked.

“Something precious?” Haskeer ventured, interest overtaking his resentment. “Carved from a gem, maybe?”

Stryke reached for it. “I don’t think so.” He squeezed it in his fist, gently at first, then applying all his strength. “Whatever it is, it’s tough.”

“How tough can it be?” Haskeer grunted. “Give it here.”

He raised the object to his mouth and bit it. There was a crack. A spasm of pain creased his face and he spat out a bloody tooth.
“Vuckk!”
he cursed.

Stryke snatched the star and wiped it on his breeches. He inspected it. There wasn’t a mark. “
Very
tough then, if your fangs can’t make an impression.”

Several band members sniggered. Haskeer glared at them.

Mobbs’s attention was torn between the object and the parchment. His expression was intense, excited, as his gaze went from one to the other.

“What do you make of it, scholar?” Stryke asked.

“I think . . . I think this is . . . it.” The gremlin’s hands were shaking. “What I hoped for . . .”

“Don’t keep us in the dark,” Coilla demanded impatiently. “Tell us!”

Mobbs indicated the parchment. “This is written in a language so old, so . . . obscure, that even I have difficulty understanding it.”

“What
can
you make out?” she persisted.

“At this stage, merely fragments. But I believe they confirm my suspicions.” He was jubilant, in a Mobbs kind of way. “That object . . .” he pointed to the star in Stryke’s hand, “. . . is an instrumentality.”

“A
what?
” Haskeer said, dabbing at his mouth with a grubby sleeve.

Stryke gave the thing to Mobbs. He accepted it gingerly. “An instrumentality, in the old tongue. This is tangible proof of an ancient story hitherto thought a myth. If the legends are true, it could have been handled by Vermegram herself. It may even have been created by her.”

“For what purpose?” Jup asked.

“As a totem of great magical power, and of great truth, in that it hints at a mystery concerning the elder races.”

“How so?” Stryke demanded.

“All I really know is that each instrumentality is part of a larger whole. One fifth, to be precise. When this is united with its four fellows, the truth will be revealed. I have no idea what that means, to be honest. But I would stake my life on this being the most significant object any of us has ever seen.”

He spoke with such conviction that all were held by his words.

Jup pricked the bubble. “How could it be united with the others? What happens if they are?
Where
are they?”

“Mysteries within mysteries and unanswered questions. It has always been so for any student of these matters.” Mobbs sniffed, matter-of-factly. “I have no answers to your first two questions, but something I overheard from my captors might be a clue to the location of another instrumentality.
Might
, I say.”

“What was it?” Stryke asked.

“The kobolds were not aware that I have a rudimentary grasp of their language. I thought it useful not to reveal the fact. Consequently they spoke freely in my presence, and several times referred to the Uni stronghold called Trinity. They were convinced that the sect holding sway there had incorporated the legend of the instrumentalities into their religion.”

“Trinity? That’s Kimball Hobrow’s redoubt, isn’t it?” Coilla remarked.

“Yes,” Alfray confirmed, “and he’s notorious for being a fanatic. Rules his followers with a rod of iron. Hates elder races, by all accounts.”

“You think they might have one of these . . . stars at Trinity, Mobbs?” Stryke said.

“I do not know. But the odds are fair. Why else would the kobolds be interested in the place? If they are gathering the instrumentalities, either for themselves or somebody else, it would be logical.”

“Just a minute,” Jup interrupted. “If these instrumentalities are so powerful—”

“
Potentially
powerful,” Mobbs corrected him.

“All right, they promise power. That being the case, why isn’t Hobrow searching for them? Why aren’t others?”

“Quite likely they don’t know the legends of their power. Or perhaps they know enough of the legends to realise an instrumentality is a revered object, but don’t know that it’s necessary to unite them. Then again, who is to say that Hobrow or others are
not
looking? Such an aim is best served by secrecy.”

“What about Jennesta?” Coilla said. “Is she likely to know about the legend of the five stars, Mobbs?”

“I cannot say. But if she is so anxious to get this one, quite possibly she does.”

“So she could have searches under way too?”

“It is what I would do in her position. But remember, orcs, that I told you the power the instrumentalities offer would not be easily gained. That does not mean you should give up.”

“Give up?” Haskeer blustered. “Give up
what?
You’re not going on this insane quest, are you, Stryke?”

“I’m thinking about several ways we could jump.”

“You know what chasing another of these star things means, don’t you? Desertion!”

“We must be listed as deserters already, Haskeer. It’s been over a week since we should have returned to Cairnbarrow.”

“And whose fault was
that?
”

For a brace of heartbeats, those looking on didn’t know how Stryke would take the accusation. He surprised them.

“All right, blame me. I can’t argue with that.”

Haskeer pressed a little further. “I wonder how much you
wanted
to put us in this position. Particularly as now you’re trying to push us into making things worse.”