Orcs:Bad blood

10

"So you have control of the instrumentalities?" Jup said.

"Some," Stryke replied. "Only because of this." He brought out the amulet.

"Can I see it?"

Stryke looped the chain over his head and handed it to him.

Jup examined it, absently tugging at his beard. "I've never come across anything quite like this script before."

"Nor me. But it's what got us here."

Jup gave the amulet back. "What about the influence the stars have? You know, the way they… What's the word? The way they captivated you, and Haskeer. Doesn't that worry you?"

"What's life without a few risks?"

"You can't brush it off, Stryke."

"No. Coilla's looking after one. I thought breaking them up might weaken their power."

" You, loosening your grip?" He smiled. "But no, it's a good idea."

They glanced to where she was standing, further along the row of oak benches.

The tables were set out in tiers in an even larger clearing than the one they first entered. It held a village of thatched huts, storage sheds and livestock pens. Fires had been lit in several shallow pits, to keep the unseasonable chill at bay and to roast meat.

Hospitality had been extended to the orcs once Jup insisted they were honoured guests. But many of the dwarfs appeared grudging. Now most sat apart, eyeing the Wolverines suspiciously.

Haskeer came and plonked himself down next to Stryke and Jup.

"And how are you, you old bastard?" Jup said.

"Hungry." He fidgeted. "And these seats are too small."

"They weren't made for a massive rear end like yours. Ah, how I've missed that scowl. You know, I can't get used to you all without your tattoos of rank. Looks odd. How'd you get rid of them?"

"A sawbones back in Ceragan," Stryke explained. "He used some kind of vitriol. Stung like fury, took an age to heal."

"Then itched like buggery for a month," Haskeer added. "Worth it though. Shows we're nobody's slaves." He stared at the struck-through crescents high on Jup's cheeks that indicated his one-time status as sergeant. "You should lose yours, too. Like me to cut 'em out for you?" He made to reach for his knife.

"Don't think I'll bother, thanks. They give me a certain distinction around here."

"Really?" Stryke said. "I'd have thought being in Jennesta's horde wasn't something to brag about."

"Not everybody saw her as the evil bitch we knew and hated. And that's something else I can't get my head around: her surviving that… vortex thing."

"Seems she did. If Serapheim's to be believed."

"Big if."

A dwarf arrived with tankards and deposited them on the bench without a word. Haskeer snatched one and gulped a long draught.

Stryke took a drink himself. "Strange to think," he reflected, lowering his tankard, "that if it hadn't been for Jennesta we'd never have known about Ceragan. I wouldn't have met Thirzarr and sired young."

"You have hatchlings?" Jup said.

"Two. Boys."

"Things have changed."

"And like I said, if Jennesta hadn't sent us after that first star — "

Haskeer slammed down his tankard. "We don't owe her a fucking thing. Whatever we got was our due."

Jup nodded. "Much as I hate to agree with latrine breath here, that's how I see it, too. It seems a fair exchange for all the grief she doled out. Talking of Ceragan…" He looked about the clearing. "I see some new faces, and the absence of others."

"The two are linked," Haskeer muttered darkly. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Wheam and Dallog.

"Take no notice of him," Coilla said, arriving to claim a seat.

"When did I ever?"

She lifted a tankard. "Hmm. Potent stuff."

"We pride ourselves on our brew."

Coilla had another mouthful, then remarked in a lower tone, "Your folk take their gods a bit seriously, don't they?"

"Some do. More so since things really started to fall apart. Religious zeal's got even stronger in Maras-Dantia while you were away, and not just among humans."

"We met a bunch of elves on the way here. They reckoned humans are going to be the end of the elder races."

"I might have argued against that once. I'm not so sure they're wrong now fanatics have the whip hand."

Coilla snapped her fingers. "Fanatics. Of course. It was her!"

"Who?"

"The female I saw when we took those humans' horses."

"What about her?" Stryke said.

"I thought she looked familiar. It was Mercy Hobrow. That lunatic Kimball Hobrow's daughter. Grown up now, but still recognisable."

Jup expelled a low whistle. "You had a lucky escape then. She's as crazy as her old man, and she's carried on his work. Her group's a rallying point for Unis, and she's got an army of followers even bigger than her father's. They're a scourge in these parts."

"And we've given her another grudge against us," Stryke observed.

"You'd be well advised to steer clear of her in future."

"We don't intend being here that long. But talking of fathers and daughters, Jup, I meant to ask; last we saw of you, you were getting Sanara out of the palace in Illex. What happened to her?"

"Good question. Jennesta's army was in chaos, and these helped us get through." He pointed at his tattoos. "Then we were days crossing the ice fields. The woman was tough, I can tell you that. When we got down to the plains… well, I didn't lose her, exactly. But she went. Don't ask me how. She was there one minute, gone the next."

"Fucking magic-mongers," Haskeer grumbled. "Slippery as spilt guts."

"Anyway," Jup finished, "I gave up looking for her and made my way here. Haven't seen her since."

"Quite a family, eh?" Coilla said. "Serapheim and his brood."

Dwarfs were heading their way carrying wooden trenchers heaped with steaming meat.

Stryke nudged Haskeer. "Looks like your belly's about to stop rumbling."

"Sorry if it's less than a feast," Jup stated apologetically. "The forest doesn't bring the yield it once did, and game's scarce."

Wheam and Dallog wandered over.

"Mind if we join you?" Dallog asked.

"If you must," Haskeer grated.

Coilla shot him a hard look. "Course. Park yourselves."

Platters of spiced roast meat were set down on the table, along with baskets of warm bread. There were dishes of berries and nuts.

"You don't know how welcome this is after field rations," Stryke said.

"Hmmph," Wheam agreed, mouth full. "Food good."

"We're grateful," Coilla put in, "especially with hunting so poor." She jabbed Haskeer's ribs with her elbow. " Aren't we?"

He glared at her and dragged a sleeve across his mouth. "It's all right. Could be more of it."

"Is this usual dwarf fare?" Dallog intervened diplomatically.

"More or less," Jup replied. "Though we'd prefer a greater quantity." He aimed that at Haskeer, who stayed oblivious.

"Those of us from Ceragan have never seen dwarfs before," Dallog said, "so don't take my ignorance for a lack of courtesy."

"No offence taken. I remember how I felt when I first saw an orc."

"You didn't think we were as revolting as humans, did you?" Wheam piped up.

Jup smiled. "Nowhere near. Though the storytellers would have us believe you ate the flesh of your own kind, among other things."

" I'm a balladeer," Wheam declared proudly.

"I noticed the lute."

"That's putting it a bit grandly," Stryke said. " Hoping to be would give a better account."

"I can prove it," Wheam protested. "I could sing something."

"Oh gods," Haskeer groaned. He upended his empty tankard. "More drink."

"That we do have," Jup told him, beckoning a female dwarf carrying a laden tray.

She was fair of form, as far as the orcs could judge. Her skin was smooth as ceramic, and her long auburn hair was woven in plaits. She was hale, and though powerfully built she moved with graceful ease, for a dwarf.

Putting down the tray, she leaned over and kissed Jup. The clinch was lingering.

"Now that's what I call service," Coilla remarked.

The pair disentangled themselves.

"Sorry," Jup said. "This is Spurral."

"Somebody… special?" Stryke asked.

"She's my cohort." He saw they didn't grasp what he was saying. "My other half. Perpetual companion, mate, partner. Spouse."

"You were right," Stryke said, "things really have changed."

Coilla smiled. "Good on you both."

Haskeer lowered his tankard. "Hell, I never thought you'd let yourself be tied down, Jup. Hard luck."

"You must be Coilla." Spurral smiled at her. "And you're Stryke."

"Good guess."

"Oh, I've heard a lot about you all." The smile faded. "And you just have to be Haskeer."

Haskeer bobbed his tankard at her and downed more ale.

"Spurral and me have known each other since we were kids," Jup explained. "When I got back here it just seemed right that we made it kind of official."

"So two proud dwarf families were joined," Spurral added. "Me being a Gorbulew and Jup a Pinchpot."

Haskeer choked on his beer. "You're right about that!" he spluttered.

"Pinchpot," Jup repeated through grated teeth. " Pinch pot."

Haskeer rocked with mirth. "So you," he pointed at a stony-faced Spurral, "… you stopped being a… Gorbulew and… became a pis — "

" Haskeer," Jup growled ominously.

"Talk about learning something new every day," Haskeer ploughed on, hugely amused and insensible to their sour expressions. "You never told us you were a… Pinchpot."

"I wonder why," Spurral remarked dryly.

"That's enough, Haskeer," Stryke cautioned, a note of menace in his voice.

"Come on. I know getting hitched can kill your sense of humour, but — "

"We're guests here. Be mindful of it."

Haskeer sobered. "Seems to me there was no point in our coming."

"How's that again?" Jup said.

"Can't see you joining us, what with you having a mate and all. It was a wasted journey."

Jup and Spurral exchanged glances.

"Not necessarily," Jup said.

Coilla swept her arm to indicate the throng of dwarfs in the clearing. "I thought you stayed here because of them."

"Given the choice of spending your life with another race or your own, wouldn't you?"

"You could have been sent to the dwarfs' home world. Serapheim offered."

"I wouldn't have known anybody there either."

"So why the change of heart?"

"I never thought I'd say it, but I want to get away from here. The time's come."

"You can see this land's dying," Spurral said, "and our folk along with it. Did you get a close look at our tribe? Almost all are old, lame or infirm."

Jup shrugged. "We don't want to leave, but — "

"We?" Stryke said.

"There's no way I'm going without Spurral."

"That complicates things, Jup."

"Why should it? Unless you've got a problem with dwarfs in the band."

"You know it's not that. But we've no idea what we're going into, except it'll be dangerous."

"I can look after myself," Spurral protested. "Or is it taking females along that you don't like?"

"In case you hadn't noticed," Coilla told her, "I'm a female myself. What's important is being able to fight."

More than one pair of eyes flashed to Wheam.

"Spurral's a good fighter," Jup replied. "She's had to be."

"You're not going to shift on this, are you?" Stryke said.

"Nope. It's both or neither."

"I'm running this band just like I did in the old days, as a tight unit. Everybody in it takes orders."

"We've no gripes with that."

"Don't say you're going along with this, Stryke," Haskeer complained.

"I make decisions about the band, not you."

"Then don't make a bad one. We're carrying enough dead wood as it is, and — "

"Didn't Stryke just say you all obey orders?" Spurral interrupted. "Doesn't sound like it to me."

"Stay out of this."

"This is about me!"

"Call her off, Jup," Haskeer snarled.

"She can fight her own battles."

"Yeah," Spurral confirmed, squaring up to Haskeer. "Want to put your fists where your mouth is?"

"I don't hit females."

Coilla laughed. "Since when?"

" That's enough," Stryke decided. "Haskeer, shut your mouth. Jup, Spurral; back off. Everybody, sit down." They settled. "That's better. I'll think about Spurral, Jup. All right?"

"That's all we're asking for."

"So let it rest."

"Yes. This should be a celebration. More drinks." He reached for a jug and topped up their cups. "And we have a little pellucid if anybody's — "

"Oh, no. Not after the last time. Mission first, pleasure later."

Haskeer mumbled, "Shit."

"What about that song then?" Jup suggested. "Wheam?"

Coilla rolled her eyes. "Gods, must we?"

But Wheam had his lute in his hands. "This might be a little rough. I'm still polishing it." He began strumming. "The Wolverines, that dauntless band, Fought their way across the land They beat a path through rain and mud And left their rivals in pools of blood They met rank fiends in battles dire And sent them to eternal fire No demons grim or human waves Could overcome the Wolverines' blades They came to where the dwarfs did dwell And saw that they had not fared well But still their welcome was quite fulsome And hospitality was truly awesome."

"Shall I kill him or will you?" Spurral asked Jup.

"Here's the chorus," Wheam declared, upping the tempo of his discordant plucking. "We are the Wolverines! Marching to foil evil schemes! Fleet of foot and strong of arm! We — "

"Well, it's getting late," Stryke announced loudly.

Wheam came to a grating halt. "But I haven' t — "

"Been a long day," Coilla added, stretching.

"Sure has," Jup agreed, "and a big day tomorrow."

Wheam's face dropped. "You never let me fin — "

"Turn in or I'll break that fucking string box over your head," Haskeer promised.

"Time we all hit the sack then," Dallog said, taking Wheam's arm.

"We set off in the morning," Stryke told them. "Early."

They dispersed to their various billets, with most of the privates making for a couple of long houses. Jup and Spurral led Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla to a pair of much smaller huts.

"Stryke," Jup said, "you and Haskeer are going to have to share this one." He pushed open the door.

Striding in, Haskeer cracked his head on the top of the door frame. He let out a stream of curses.

Spurral covered her mouth to stifle her glee.

"Don't forget everything's dwarf scale," Jup added.

"Thanks for reminding me," Haskeer retorted. He looked around the poky room and noticed the cots. "That goes for the beds too, does it? These are only fit for hatchlings."

"We'll sleep on the floor," Stryke told him. "And if you snore I'll kill you."

"We'll leave you to it," Jup said. "You'll let us know about Spurral, Stryke?"

"In the morning."

Coilla was taken to the adjoining hut.

Spurral ushered her in. "You get this one all to yourself. Though the bed's no bigger."

"I don't care. I could sleep on a rack of knives."

They left her stripping blankets and tossing them on the floor.

Coilla was so tired she didn't even bother taking off her boots. As soon as she stretched out, she was asleep.

There was only the black velvet of oblivion. Mindless, timeless. All embracing.

The first frail light of dawn seeped in through the cracks around the door and window shutters.

She stirred.

Instantly, she knew she wasn't alone. A figure loomed over her. She tried to move.

The cold edge of a steel blade pressed against her flesh.

And an unmistakably human voice whispered, "Don't make me cut your throat."