Orcs:Bad blood

9

Stryke dragged his blade from the human's gizzard and let him drop. Spinning, he slashed the throat of another man-thing, unleashing a scarlet gush. Then he bowled into a third, thrashing at his sword with brutal, ringing blows.

To left and right, the Wolverines were joined in fierce hand-to-hand combat. Coilla and Haskeer dispatched two adversaries, she with a pair of daggers worked in harmony, he wielding a lacerating hatchet. Dallog impaled an opponent with the spar the band used to fly its standard. Underfoot, the withered sward was slick with blood.

It was dawn, and they fought in a makeshift campsite set in a hollow, screened from the trail by a thick copse. A covered wagon was parked, with over a score of horses tethered nearby. The same number of humans battled to defend it.

The conflict was intense but short-lived. With more than half of their strength downed, somebody on the human side yelled an order. They pulled back and fled.

"Let 'em go!" Stryke barked. "They're leaving us what we want."

Coilla glimpsed one of the retreating humans. It was a woman, and she had long, straw-blonde hair.

"See that?"

"What?" Haskeer said.

"Those humans riding off. One of them was a female. Young, barely adult."

"So?"

"I think I've seen her before. Though I'm damned if I can remember where."

"Humans all look the same to me."

"That's true." She shrugged. "Don't suppose it's important."

Stryke joined them. He was wiping the gore from his blade with a cloth. "Well, that was a lucky meeting. For us."

"Who do you think they were?" Coilla asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Notice how many of them were dressed alike? Could have been Unis."

"So humans are still divided amongst themselves. Surprise. Let's get on with it, shall we? That wagon should have drinking water and victuals. And now there's enough horses for everybody. If we move ourselves we can reach Quatt today."

For all that they were travelling south, and into supposedly milder climes, the terrain grew even more bleak. The trees were bereft of greenery, and a brook they passed ran yellow with filth.

"You sure we're on the right path?" Coilla asked.

Riding alongside, Stryke cast her a wry look. "For the tenth time, yes."

"Doesn't look much like the way I remember it, that's all."

"This place's had four more years of being broken by humans. That takes a toll on the land. And they've spoilt the magic. Those bloodsuckers were one upshot of that."

"At least Wheam seems to be on the mend." She turned and looked back down the line to where Wheam and Dallog were riding abreast. The youth wore a miserable expression, as usual, and his neck was bound, but some of his natural olive-grey colour was back.

"What's this?" Stryke said.

Coilla returned her attention to the road. A small group of figures was approaching. Some rode a rickety wagon, most were walking.

Haskeer galloped to the front of the line. "Trouble, Stryke?"

"I don't know. They don't seem too threatening."

"Could be a trap."

" Stay alert! " Stryke warned the column.

Coilla shaded her eyes and squinted at the newcomers. "They're elves."

"And a mangy looking lot," Haskeer added.

The party consisted of no more than a dozen. Those on foot trudged wearily. The wagon carried three or four old-timers, along with a couple of youngsters. All appeared fatigued and ill-nourished. They didn't react to the orcs in any noticeable way, or slow their somnolent plodding.

Leading them was a male. He was mature, although it was always hard to determine exactly how old an elf might be. His once fine clothes were shabby and he bore grime from too many days on the road.

When he reached the orcs he raised a painfully thin hand and his entourage ground to a halt.

"We have nothing," he declared by way of greeting.

"We've no need of anything from you," Stryke replied.

"Does that include our lives? It's all we have left." There was only fatalism in his voice.

"We don't harm those who show us no threat." Stryke eyed their sorry state. "You're a long way from home."

"What's brought a noble race like the elves down to this state?" Coilla said.

"I could ask the same of orcs."

"We're doing all right," Haskeer informed him gruffly.

"Then you're rare among your kind," the elf returned. "No race prospers in this land anymore. Except one."

"You mean humans," Stryke said.

"Who else? They are in the ascendancy and the elder races are being pushed back to ever remoter enclaves. Soon, our kind will retreat into myth as far as humans are concerned."

Stryke could have told him that this was the humans' world by birthright, let alone conquest. Instead he asked, "Where are you headed?"

"Few havens remain, and all in distant parts. We decided on the far north."

"That's a bleak region to choose."

"It will be no more bitter than life here has become."

"You can't be all that's left of the elf nation, surely?" Coilla remarked.

"No. Our numbers are greatly decreased, but not to this extent. We are merely the remnants of one clan."

"And the rest of your race?"

"Those who aren't dead are enslaved or scattered. We seem destined to be a diaspora. If we survive at all."

"Why run?" Haskeer growled. "Stand up to 'em. Fight the human bastards."

"We don't possess the superior combat skills of orcs, or have as strong a taste for bloodshed. Magic was our only real weapon. But that's so depleted as to be near useless. It's come to one thing only for us: the hope that we may continue to exist."

"Is there any way we can aid you?" Stryke asked.

"You've spared our lives. That's aid enough in these troubled times. Now if you'll permit us to pass…"

Stryke brought out his water pouch and offered it to him. "You can probably use this. And we can spare a little in the way of food."

The elf hesitated for a moment, then took the pouch. He nodded his thanks. Then Stryke had a couple of the privates load some provisions on the wagon.

As the elves were about to depart, their leader paused. "Let me repay your benevolence with a word of caution, though you should know what I'm about to say well enough. Maras-Dantia holds nothing but misery and peril, even for orcs. It's become a wheel that breaks the hardiest spirit. You'd be well advised to find yourselves a fastness and try to weather the storm, as we are." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.

The Wolverines watched the little troupe make its way along the north-bound trail.

When they were out of earshot, Haskeer said, "What do you think of that?"

"I'll tell you what I think," Coilla replied. "Why won't you males ever ask for directions?"

Riding hard, they arrived at Quatt three hours later.

What was a particularly verdant district now looked as if it had been in the grip of an endless winter. In common with every other part of the land they'd seen, the terrain had an exhausted, washed-out quality.

They looked down on the wooded heart of the dwarfs' homeland from the crest of a hill.

"I feel a bit uneasy," Coilla admitted.

"Why?" Stryke said. "Think they won't welcome us?"

"We're orcs, Stryke; when is anybody ever pleased to see us? But it's not that so much. I'm more worried they might have moved on, like those elves. Or that Jup's dead."

"Or maybe the unfriendly ones have taken over down there," Haskeer put in.

Stryke stared at him. "Unfriendly?"

"The ones who sided with the humans for coin."

Coilla rolled her eyes. "Aah, not that again!"

"Dwarfs can't be trusted, you know that."

"Jup could," Stryke reminded him. "And his tribe didn't go over."

"I'm just — "

"You want to turn back?"

"No. I'm only saying — "

" What? What are you saying?"

"Fuck me, Stryke, I'm just saying what we all know. Dwarfs are treacherous. They're notorious for it."

"Keep that opinion to yourself. The band's got enough problems without your beef. Now get yourself back in line, Sergeant."

"We should be alert, that's all," Haskeer grumbled as he wheeled and spurred his horse.

Stryke caught Coilla's expression. "Was I too hard on him?"

" Can you be too hard on Haskeer? All right, maybe you were. A little."

"Well, it takes a lot to get through his thick skull. And I'd rather parley with Jup's folk than brawl with them."

"If Jup's still alive, do you reckon we'll be able to persuade him?"

"I don't know. He turned down the chance of leaving Maras-Dantia once before. We should be ready for a knock-back on this. But we're not going to find out sitting here. Come on." He gestured for the band to follow.

Quatt nestled in a great valley, wide enough that its far side was barely visible through the misty air. The trees surrounding its core were sorry things compared to the fecundity the band remembered. But the foliage was still abundant enough to make a dense barrier.

They followed a snaking, overhung path that filtered the dreary day's mean light even further. The odour of the forest was far from summery; its acrid smell of decay was more autumnal. There was no sound save the thud of their horses' hooves on mulch. They kept one hand on their sword hilts as they weaved their way to the interior.

Gloom gave over to watery daylight as they entered a sizeable clearing. At its centre was a large rock pool, fed by an underground spring, the sulphurous water gently bubbling. Garlands of withered flowers were heaped around it. Tracks branched off from the clearing in three different directions.

"Which way?" Coilla asked.

Stryke looked from one path to another. "Hold on, I've lost my bearings."

"Oh, good."

"Long time since I was last here. It all looks different."

"Should we send scouts out?"

"I'm not splitting the band. We'll find our way to the dwarfs together."

"Er, I think they've found us, Stryke."

Scores of stocky men poured into the clearing via the paths and through the undergrowth. They were armed with staffs and short-bladed swords, and outnumbered the Wolverines by at least four to one. Swiftly, they surrounded the orcs' column.

" Steady! " Stryke warned the band.

A burly dwarf stepped forward. "Who are you?" he demanded, scowling. "What are you doing in our forest?"

"We're here in peace," Stryke told him. "We mean you no hurt."

"Since when did orcs go anywhere in peace?"

"We do when we're seeking an ally."

"You've no allies here." The dwarf pointed to the rock pool. "This is a holy place. The presence of any but dwarfs offends our gods."

"Live underwater, do they, these gods of yours?" Haskeer piped up.

The dwarf gave him a murderous look, and his companions tensed.

" Haskeer," Stryke hissed ominously.

"The gods dwell in all parts of the forest," the dwarf replied, swelling his barrel chest. "They are in the trees, and in the spirit of the woodland animals. They inhabit the very soil itself."

"Oh, right. Having a bath, are they?"

" Haskeer! " Stryke snapped. He turned to the dwarf. "Ignore my subordinate. He's… ignorant of your ways."

"Stupidity is no excuse for blasphemy."

Haskeer glared. "Who you calling — "

" Shut up, Sergeant! " Stryke bellowed. "Look," he told the dwarf, "if you'd just let me explain — "

"You can have your hearing. We're not unreasonable in Quatt. But give up your weapons first."

"That is unreasonable for an orc," Coilla said.

"She's right," Stryke agreed. "We don't do that."

"You want 'em, you take 'em," Haskeer added.

"If you won't disarm," the dwarf stated coldly, "then you're hostile. I'm giving you one last chance to throw down your blades."

Haskeer hawked noisily and spat, narrowly missing the dwarf's boots. "You can kiss my scaly arse, sawn-off."

Weapons raised, the dwarfs began advancing. The orcs drew their swords.

A figure elbowed through the crowd.

"Well fuck me slowly with a barbed pike."

"Only if you insist," Coilla said. She smiled. "Hello, Jup."