Orcs (28 page)

“They’re young, they probably haven’t come across the like before,” Alfray said. “They don’t know it’s an illusion, and that it’s likely to kill them.”

“Literally?” Jup asked.

“Given half a chance those whores will suck the life essences from any stupid enough to fall under their spell.”

Jup eyed the fleshy pageant. “I can think of worse ways to go . . .”

“Jup!”
Coilla scolded.

He blushed.

“What are they doing in a place like this anyway?” Stryke wondered. “It’s hardly an ideal spot for luring the unwary.”

“Either they’ve been driven away from more pleasant parts because they’re such a nuisance,” Alfray speculated, “or they’re getting too ravaged for their usual haunts.”

“The latter by the looks of them,” Coilla sniffed.

“They’re not particularly dangerous in themselves,” Alfray added. “They rely on their victims going to them willingly. They have no fighting skills that I’m aware of.”

The grunts were shouting ribald comments back at the nymphs, and several were edging closer to them.

“It’s a good thing Haskeer isn’t here,” Jup remarked.

Alfray pulled a face. “Perish the thought.”

“We don’t have time for this nonsense,” Stryke decided.

“Just what I was thinking,” Coilla declared, drawing her sword. She strode in the direction of the glade.

“As I said,” Alfray called after her, “there’s no need to fight them!”

She ignored him and kept going. But her target was the grunts. She laid about them with the flat of her sword, singling out their backsides for special attention. Half a dozen whacks and a chorus of yelps later and they were running for the camp.

The would-be nymph seducers jeered in a distinctly unladylike fashion and slunk away.

Coilla marched back to the others. “There’s nothing like a tanned arse to dampen passion,” she proclaimed, re-sheathing her sword. “Though I’m disgusted that any of our troopers should have been interested in the first place.”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Stryke complained. “We can’t kick our heels around here for the rest of our lives. I want a decision on Scratch, and I want us to reach it now.”

They argued the pros and cons, and in the end decided to set out for the trolls’ homeland. Once there, they’d reassess the position.

The route they chose followed an ancient trading trail, north towards the Mani settlement of Ladygrove. Before reaching it they would turn north-east to Scratch. It was a journey not without peril, but any movement in the human-infested south had its dangers. All they could do was proceed with caution and stay alert for trouble.

Haskeer had taken no part in the discussion about travelling to Scratch. On his past record, that was unprecedented. They put his taciturn state down to the illness. But he had recovered enough physically to ride unaided. Certainly his stubbornness was sufficiently restored for him to insist he would.

Stryke made a point of riding with him. After an hour or so of virtual silence, he said, “How you feeling?”

Haskeer stared at him, as though surprised to be asked. Finally he came out with, “I’ve never felt better.”

Stryke couldn’t fail to pick up the strangely subdued edge to Haskeer’s reply, and begged to differ. But he didn’t do it aloud, just responded with a neutral “Good.”

Another wordless moment or two passed before Haskeer said, “Can I see the stars?”

Stryke was a little taken aback at the request, and hesitated. But then he thought,
Why shouldn’t he want to see them? Doesn’t he have a right?
It wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle any problems Haskeer might cause.

Stryke dug into his belt pouch and held the stars out for him to look at.

From the expression on Haskeer’s face he was much more interested in them than he had ever appeared to be before. He stretched out his own hand and waited for Stryke to place them in it. Again Stryke hesitated. Then he laid them on the open palm.

Haskeer stared at the objects, fascinated.

The silence went on long enough, as they rode, for Stryke to start feeling a little restive. Something strange, a look Stryke hadn’t seen there before, burned in Haskeer’s eyes.

At last the sergeant looked up and said, “They’re beautiful.”

It was such an uncharacteristic thing for him to say that Stryke didn’t know how to respond. In the event, he didn’t have to. A forward scout appeared, galloping hard towards him.

“Tidings from the advance,” Stryke said, holding out his hand. “Give ’em back.”

Haskeer continued gazing at the artifacts.

“
Haskeer!
The stars.”

“Eh? Oh, yes. Here.”

He passed them over and Stryke returned them to his pouch.

The scout arrived.

“What is it, Talag?”

“Party of humans coming this way, sir. Twenty or thirty of them, about a mile further along.”

“Hostile?”

“I don’t think they’re a threat, unless it’s a trick. They’re females, children and babes mostly, with some old of both sexes. Look like they’re refugees.”

“Did they see you?”

“Don’t think so. They’re not a fighting unit, Captain. Most of them can hardly walk.”

“Hold on here, I’ll come forward with you.”

Stryke looked at Haskeer. He would have expected him to have something to say about the possibility of an encounter with humans, but he seemed unperturbed. So he ignored him and pulled back to the next rank, where Coilla and Jup were riding abreast.

“Did you hear that?”

They had.

“I’m going ahead. Bring along the column. And, er, keep an eye on things, yes?” He nodded at Haskeer. They got his meaning and nodded back.

“Alfray!” Stryke called. “Follow me!”

Coilla and Jup assumed the lead as he set off with Talag and Alfray. Spurring their horses, they sped ahead of the column. Rounding a curve or two in the track, they came to the group of humans.

They were as Talag had described: mostly women, some with babes in arms, and children. There was a smattering of hobbling ancient ones. The orcs’ arrival sent a ripple of alarm through the ragged company. Children hugged their mothers’ legs, old men did their best to stand defensively.

Stryke saw no threat, nor any reason to alarm them further. He drew up his horse and, in order to seem less intimidating, dismounted. Alfray and Talag did likewise.

A lone woman stepped forward. She seemed quite young under the grime. Her unwashed waist-length blonde hair was plaited down her back, and her clothing was bedraggled. She was obviously frightened, but faced Stryke with a straight back and proud demeanour.

“We’re only women and children,” she said, her voice wavering nervously, “and a few old ones. We’ve no ill-intent, nor could we offer you violence if we did. We only want to pass.”

Stryke thought her little speech was delivered bravely. “We don’t make war on females and young ones,” he replied. “Or on any offering us no threat.”

“I’ve your word none will be harmed?”

“You have.” He scanned their exhausted, worried faces. “Where are you from?”

“Ladygrove.”

“So you’re Manis?”

“Yes. And you orcs have fought on our side, haven’t you?” It was probably said as much to reassure herself as ask a question.

“We have.” Stryke didn’t like to tell her that they had had little choice in the matter.

“That’s as it should be. You elder races, like us, believe in the pantheon of gods.”

Stryke nodded but said nothing on the subject. There were greater differences between orcs and humans than there were similarities. He saw no point in raising them now. Instead he asked, “What’s happened at Ladygrove that’s made you leave it?”

“An onslaught by a Uni army. Most of our menfolk were killed, and we only narrowly escaped.”

“The settlement’s fallen?”

“It hadn’t when we left. A few were holding out, but in truth they stand next to no chance of avoiding being overrun.” Her glum face brightened a little. “Are you on your way to help defend it?”

Stryke had been hoping she wouldn’t ask that. “No. We’re on . . . another mission. To Scratch. I’m sorry.”

The shadow recast itself over her features. “I was hoping you were the answer to our prayers.” She put on a bold and unconvincing smile. “Oh well, the gods will provide.”

“Where are you heading?” Alfray wanted to know.

“Just . . . away. We were hoping to make contact with another of the Mani settlements.”

“Take our advice and don’t stray on to the plains. The area around Weaver’s Lea is especially perilous at the moment.”

“We’d heard as much.”

“Stick to the inlet,” Stryke added. “You won’t need to be told to avoid Trinity.” He agonised about whether to mention Hobrow’s posse. In the event he didn’t.

“Our thought was to make for the west-coast settlements,” she explained. “Hexton, perhaps, or Vermillion. We should have a favourable reception there.”

Stryke took in their pathetic state. “It’s a long march.”
A murderously long march if the truth be known
, he thought.

“With the gods’ help we’ll prevail.”

He had no reason to be well disposed towards humans, but he wanted to believe she was right.

At that moment the rest of the Wolverines came into view and galloped up to join them. There was another stirring of unease among the refugees.

“Don’t be concerned,” Stryke assured them. “Our band won’t hurt you.”

The orcs dismounted and gazed at the raggle-taggle collection of humans facing them.

Most came forward, Coilla and Jup at their head. The sight of a female orc, and a dwarf in orcs’ company, drew many curious looks and whispered comments. Haskeer hung back, but Stryke had no time to think about his eccentricities at the moment.

“We left with little more than the clothes on our back,” the woman told them. “Could you spare us some water?”

“Yes,” Stryke agreed, “and perhaps some rations. Though not a lot; we’re short ourselves.”

“You’re kind. Thank you.”

Stryke set a couple of troopers to the task.

A small child, a female of the species, moved hesitantly forward, eyes wide, a thumb planted firmly in her mouth. She clutched the woman’s skirt and stared at the orcs. The woman looked down at her and smiled.

“You must forgive her. Forgive us all. Few of us have been in the company of orcs before, for all that your race has fought on our behalf.”

The child, blonde like the woman and sharing her features, let go of the skirt and walked the last few steps to the orcs. Her gaze went from Coilla to Stryke to Alfray to Jup and back again.

She removed her thumb and said, “What’s that?” She pointed at Coilla’s face.

Coilla didn’t take her meaning. She was puzzled.

The child added, “Those marks. On your face.”

“Oh, the tattoos. They’re emblems of our rank.”

The girl looked blank.

“They let everyone know who’s in charge.” Coilla saw a stick by the trail and bent to pick it up. Then she crouched next to a patch of denuded earth. “Look, I’ll show you. Our . . . chief is Stryke here.” She indicated him with the stick, then began drawing a crude picture. “You see, he has two stripes like this on each cheek.” She scraped
((
. “That means he’s a captain. The boss, if you like.” She pointed at Jup. “He’s a sergeant, so the marks make his face look like this.” She drew -(- -)-. “Sergeants are second in command to captains. I’m the next one down, a corporal, and my marks go this way.” She scratched
( )
. “Understand?”

Entranced, the child nodded. She smiled at Coilla and reached for the stick, then began scraping her own meaningless designs.

The grunts returned with the water and some rations.

“They’re meagre,” Stryke apologised, “but you’re welcome to them.”

“It’s still more than we had before meeting you,” the woman replied. “May the gods bless you.”

Stryke felt uncomfortable. After all, most of his contacts with humans had been to do with trying to kill as many as he could. At his word, the grunts began moving among the humans and distributing the sparse supplies.

Stryke, Alfray and Jup watched as the troopers were thanked profusely, and Coilla on her hands and knees with the child.

“The twists fate keeps in store are odd, aren’t they?” Jup whispered.

But the woman overheard. “You find this strange? So do we. But in truth we’re not so different to you, or to any of the elder races. At heart, all want peace and despise war.”

“Orcs are born to war,” Stryke replied, a little indignantly. He softened slightly at the look she gave him. “But it must be just. Destruction for its own sake holds no appeal for us.”

“My race has done you many wrongs.”

He was surprised to hear such an admission from a human, but again held his tongue.

A trooper was passing by the child kneeling with Coilla. He held a water sack. The child reached for it. Removing the stopper, the grunt handed it to her. She was raising it to her lips when her face distorted in a peculiar way. Then a terrible sound issued from her.

“Atishoo!”

Coilla scrambled to her feet. She and the trooper quickly backed off.

To Stryke’s horror, the woman smiled. “Poor little thing. She has a chill.”

“Chill?”

“Just a mild one. She’ll be over it in a day or two.” She laid her hand on the child’s brow. “As if she didn’t have enough to put up with. I guess we’ll all have it before long.”

“This . . . chill,” Coilla said. “Is it a disease?”

“Disease? Well, yes; I suppose it is. But it’s just —”

“Back to the horses, all of you!” Stryke barked.

The band rushed for their mounts, abandoning the water sacks and rations.

The woman was baffled. All the humans were.

“I don’t understand. What’s wrong? The child has no more than a cold.”

Stryke’s fear was that the band would lay into the humans and slay them. He saw no benefit in delay. “We have to leave. I’m sorry. I wish you . . . well.”

He turned and made for his own horse.

“Wait!” she called. “Wait! I don’t —”

He ignored her, yelled an order and led the band away.

They galloped off at speed, leaving the humans standing in the road looking totally baffled.