Orcs:Bad blood

11

"If you're going to do it, get it over with," Coilla said, the blade tight against her throat.

"We don't want to hurt you."

"We?"

"I'm not alone."

Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of someone else skulking in the shadows.

"We're just trying to help you," the human added.

"You've a funny way of showing it." Coilla's fingers snaked towards her own knife.

"I didn't want you bawling the place down and bringing the others in here." He grabbed her hand, then wrenched her knife from its sheath and tossed it aside. "Or getting any bright ideas."

"Who are you?"

"Long story."

"Why would your kind help an orc?"

"Another long story."

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's no time. This place's about to be attacked. But you might be able to do something about it if you can get your forces mustered."

"Why should I believe that?"

"We've seen what's massing out there. Take my word."

"A human's word?"

"How could warning you be a trap? Look, if I take this knife away are you going to behave?"

Coilla nodded.

He removed the blade and backed off.

She lay still. "At least let me see you."

The human fumbled for a moment before sparks were struck and a candle lit.

As far as Coilla could tell with humans, he seemed in his prime. He certainly looked fit. His mass of hair was blond, but he had none of the facial growth many of his race favoured.

He moved the candle. The circle of flickering light showed the other man's features. He was older, and had the build of someone used to sloth. There was grey in his thinning black hair and tightly trimmed beard. His pallid skin had a sheen of sweat, despite the early morning chill.

"You have names?" she said.

"I'm Jode Pepperdyne," the younger man replied. "This is my… This is Micalor Standeven. You?"

She got up. "Coilla."

The older man spoke. "We're wasting time. A small army of religious fanatics are going to be here any minute." He was noticeably more nervous than his companion.

"Unis?" Coilla asked.

"Does it matter?" Pepperdyne said. "All you need know is that they're hell-bent on mayhem."

"We're well guarded."

"Really? We got in easily enough."

"I don't understand why you'd side with us against your own."

"They're nothing to do with us," Standeven insisted.

"Let's just say we have mutual interests," Pepperdyne offered. "And we'll be mutually dead if you don't start mounting a defence now. Trust me."

"That's asking a lot."

"What have you got to lose? If we're lying, all you've done is put everybody on alert. If we're telling the truth, you've a chance to hold off the attack."

"But decide now," Standeven added. "Because if your answer's no we can try getting out of here ourselves."

"Will you do it, Coilla?" Pepperdyne said.

"I'll do it. But if this is a trick," she vowed, "you'll both pay."

He smiled his gratitude. "Do it quietly. We don't want to warn the raiders."

"Oh really? I never would have thought of that." She gave him a withering look, then headed for the door. "You two stick by me. Many here would bring you down soon as look at you."

She led them to the adjoining hut and barged straight in.

Haskeer still slept, snoring loudly. Stryke stood on the far side of the room, stropping a blade. He spun around.

Coilla held up her hands. "Easy."

He glared at the humans. "What the hell's this?"

"They're… friends. Or at least not hostile."

"What?"

"Listen, Stryke. There might be an attack coming."

"Says who?"

"They do." She jabbed a thumb at Pepperdyne and Standeven. "And I don't think we can risk ignoring them."

"But — "

"If they're right, there's no time to waste, and — Can't you stop that fucking noise?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He turned and gave his snoring sergeant a kick.

Haskeer leapt up, tangled in his blanket. "Uhh? Fuck! Humans! " He whipped out a knife.

"Calm down," Stryke told him. "We know."

"But what — ?"

"There could be trouble."

"Trouble?" Haskeer was still negotiating wakefulness.

"Yes. According to them."

"According to them?" he replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "They're nothing but lousy — "

"We appreciate you don't know who we are," Pepperdyne said.

"We know what you are," Haskeer rumbled.

"And you've no reason to trust us. But brush us off and you'll have a crowd of lunatics down on you."

"Makes sense, Stryke," Coilla said. "We upset Mercy Hobrow and her Unis. If they tracked us here…"

Stryke looked from her to the humans. "What's your interest in this?"

"You don't have time for our life stories," Pepperdyne replied.

Several long seconds passed while Stryke studied their faces and thought things over. "All right, we'll sound the alarm." Haskeer started to object. Stryke waved him away. "Better prepared than caught unawares."

Haskeer gave a resigned sigh. "So what do we do with them?" He nodded at the two men.

"Lock 'em up somewhere."

Pepperdyne tensed. "Nobody locks us away. We're part of this."

"We can't have 'em running around armed," Haskeer objected.

"I don't carry a weapon," Standeven said. As proof, he held open his jerkin.

Haskeer was appalled. "No weapon? Humans are crazy."

"This one has a blade," Coilla said.

"And if anybody wants it," Pepperdyne came back defiantly, "they'll have to take it."

Coilla appreciated the sentiment. "We can respect that."

"But if this is some kind of ploy," Stryke promised, "being armed won't stop us taking it out of your hides. Now let's move."

They left the hut. Stryke ordered the humans to wait, with Coilla keeping an eye on them. Then he and Haskeer set off stealthily to rouse the others, creeping from door to door. In their wake, orcs and dwarfs emerged, bearing arms and treading softly.

Tousle-haired, Jup and Spurral made their way across the clearing to Stryke.

Spurral looked indignant. "What are they doing here?" she demanded, pointing at Coilla's charges.

"Warning us. They say. And before you ask, I haven't a clue who they are."

"You believe them?"

"Best not to take chances." He turned to Jup. "Can your people get into a defensive pattern?"

"In their sleep. What are we facing?"

"Don't know. Or if. But could be big."

"You've seen the state of our tribe. Not a lot of prime fighters."

"You've got us."

Jup nodded and moved off. Spurral glowered one last time at the pair of humans and went after him.

Haskeer arrived. "The band's ready, Stryke. How do we deploy?"

"We need to be mobile. We'll split into five units, headed by me, you, Coilla, Jup and Dallog."

"Dallog?"

"I'm not debating it. Get those squads sorted, and make sure you spread around the new recruits."

He left Haskeer to it and jogged to where Coilla stood with the humans.

"I'm splitting the band into groups," he told her. "You're leading one. There'll be a hideaway for non-combatants. These two can go there."

"Fine by me," Standeven responded eagerly.

Pepperdyne gave him a contemptuous look. "But not me."

"You've no say in it."

"I can fight, and you need every sword arm you can get."

"Your place is at my side!" Standeven retorted.

His tone had Stryke and Coilla exchanging curious glances.

Pepperdyne ignored his master's petulance. "I can be more use out here."

"Do as you please," Stryke decided. "We've no time for squabbles."

"You'd better stay with my unit," Coilla said. "Unless you want to be mistaken for an enemy."

Pepperdyne nodded. "Right."

"Haskeer's forming the groups," Stryke explained. "Get over there, and take him with you." He indicated Standeven. "He can cower with the old ones and sucklings." He thrust a finger in Pepperdyne's chest. "And you. Make a wrong move, or get in our way, and you're dead."

Practised at repelling intruders, the dwarfs were swift to take up positions. They occupied defensive trenches. Lookouts climbed tall trees. Archers were placed on the roofs of buildings. The five teams of orcs were stationed at strategic points across the clearing.

Those who couldn't fight, along with Standeven, took shelter in the sturdiest barn.

Wheam was assigned the job of guarding them. A meaningless role, given that if the enemy reached it, everything would already be lost.

The bout of furtive activity over, everyone settled in to wait. Nothing, not even birdsong, disturbed the early morning quiet.

Coilla's group sheltered behind a small cluster of bushes, ready to fire-fight where needed. Pepperdyne knelt beside her, his breeches moist with dew. Half a dozen privates under her command eyed him charily.

The minutes seemed unusually reluctant to pass.

"You'd better be right about this," she whispered, scanning the tree-line.

"I am."

"Sure? They're taking long enough showing themselves."

"They'll come." He twisted to face her. "Do you know what you're going to be up against?"

"We've tangled with Unis before."

"Lately?"

"Few years back."

"Word in these parts is that they're even more ruthless now."

"You're not from these parts then?"

He turned wary. "Not really."

"Then maybe you don't know about orcs."

"These fanatics are savage. They're a death cult."

She smiled. "So are we."

There was a shriek. Across the way, a dwarf plunged from the upper branches of a tree, his body peppered with arrows. Bolts winged through the greenery, slashing leaves and splintering bark; clearing the way for black-clad figures emerging from the forest.

Coilla snatched her sword. "Time to show what you're made of, pink skin."

Stryke's group was well away from Coilla's, and sharing one of the dwarfs' trenches. Jup's was stationed behind several hay wagons parked in the middle of the clearing. Dallog's had hidden themselves in and around an outlying barn. But it was Haskeer's group, concealed in undergrowth not far from the forest's edge, that took the first brunt.

The humans rolled in softly, like a wave on an ocean of pitch.

From their hiding places, defending archers loosed a hail of barbed shafts. A score of the raiders dropped. Then thirty or forty dwarfs broke cover and rushed forward to take issue, wielding short-bladed swords and staffs. That left Haskeer's troop with no option but to wade in.

The first few minutes of combat stretch time and overwhelm the senses. Movement, clamour and the stink of fear are all-pervasive. The only counter is bloodlust.

Haskeer plunged into the human deluge, cutting down two men in short order. The shield of a third took the full force of his broadsword. But its bearer was knocked off kilter. He yielded his guard and let in Haskeer's cleaving blade. Blood gushed and the man fell. Haskeer spun to face another.

The air was filled with the natter of quarrelling steel, bellowed curses and anguished screams. All around, Haskeer's unit fought to stem the tide of flesh, toiling like harvesters scything corn.

Though the dwarfs fought with passion, few races possessed the martial skills of orcs. So dwarfs were the first to fall.

One, his head split, collapsed across Haskeer's path. He stepped over the corpse to face its killer. Muscular, and of impressive girth, the human brandished a pair of axes that looked toy-like in his massive fists. And he moved with a swiftness that ignored his size.

Haskeer dropped, spurning a wild axe swing. Then dodged again when its partner came close to dismembering him. Lunging from all-fours, he scurried clear, turned and engaged for a second time. Slicing and ducking in equal measure, he searched for an opening. But the human handled his axes with practised agility, and appeared tireless. It was all Haskeer could do to keep clear.

Knowing that any one of the humans in the surrounding melee could elect to stab his back, he put on a spurt. Powering forward, he tried simply battering through. The human drove him off. Haskeer rallied and went in again. There was a moment of stasis, with fierce blows exchanged but no give on either side. Finally the man faltered and took a step in retreat. Haskeer upped the pace. He thrashed metal, his blade whipping a squall.

Then it was through, and cut deep. The man's arm was laid open crook to wrist.

Blood surged and he dropped an axe. Haskeer didn't loiter. A crisp flip of his blade had it homing in for another bite. He struck flesh again. The human cried out, an oblique wound reddening his chest. Grievous, but not fatal, though enough to let the other axe slip from his sweaty grasp. He staggered.

Haskeer rushed in, grabbed one of the axes and swung it solidly. The human's head bounced off into the melee. His body briefly stood, a crimson fountain, before buckling.

Nearby, Seafe was coming off second best in a scrap with a burly swordsman. Haskeer lobbed the axe. It struck the human square in his back. Arms flailing, he collapsed. Seafe gave his sergeant a thumbs-up and picked another foe.

Raiders were still coming out of the trees, and the struggle boiled on every side. Turning his sword on the next pallid human, Haskeer was beginning to think Quatt would be overrun.

A tight-knit group powered through the crowd. They travelled with purpose, hacking down any opposition. In minutes they reached Haskeer's team and joined the slaughter.

"Took your time!" Haskeer grumbled, batting at a human's probing spear.

"You're lucky we came!" Coilla retorted.

She whacked the sword from a Uni's hand and punctured his skull. His fellow took the edge of her blade across his belly. Coilla had enough wrath left over to run through the next human in line.

She stood panting as two more Unis approached warily. Weighing up whether to spend her precious throwing knives on them, she noticed Pepperdyne.

The human moved among the enemy like a fish in limpid water. He was master of his blade and used it as a veteran would. Weaving and turning, he stayed clear of whistling steel with an almost contemptuous ease. When he struck, it was as quick as thought, and always to the true.

He killed two men in rapid succession. Neither so much as engaged him. As they fell he sought more flesh, wielding his sword with the skill of a surgeon. In seconds, his sinuous dance brought death to another black-clad human.

Haskeer saw it too. Then he tugged his blade from the spearman's guts and let him drop.

The attack was coming from all directions. There was no point on the clearing's boundary where there wasn't conflict. In places the line had broken and the defenders were falling back. Dwarfs were suffering casualties, and some lay dead, but so far, orc injuries were light. Stryke doubted that would last.

Using a sword and dagger combination, he reaped the flood of invaders. A twin thrust took down a pair as one. The swiftness of his blades caught three more in as many heartbeats. Still the enemy came.

Stryke found himself facing a studded mace. Its handler showed little finesse employing it, but his wild, two-handed swipes were no less dangerous for that. For a full minute Stryke managed nothing more than avoiding it. Then he got his opponent's measure. Holding back until the club was in full swing, he dived under the man's outstretched arms and pierced his torso. The Uni crumpled.

Stryke ran the back of a hand across his clammy brow and pushed on.

Despite all the resistance they met, humans were getting through to the settlement. Most stayed in groups, knots of belligerence fuelled by pious zeal, lashing out savagely at all in their reach. The defenders slowed them, but they were hard to stop.

Dallog's troupe, obeying orders by remaining at the barn, had seen no action. What happened next made up for that. A bunch of howling humans, twice their number, sped in to take issue. Half a dozen uneven duels broke out.

Standing to the fore, Dallog was set upon by a trio of enraged fanatics. Their frenzy and number worked to his benefit. Fury made for poor judgement, and fighting as a group had them getting in each other's way. He quickly profited. A scouring blow across the side of a Uni's head put him out of the picture.

The fallen man's companions were less easy to better. One jabbed at Dallog with a shortened spear, its tip wickedly barbed. The other contrived to circle him, for an attack from side or rear. They were working together. Lessening the odds had increased the threat, and the irony wasn't lost on Dallog.

Twisting away from the spear, he lashed out at the circling swordsman. Metal echoed as they pounded each other's broadswords. Deadlock ensued, and might have continued had not the spearman intervened. Losing patience, he rushed in, thrusting the weapon at Dallog, passion outwitting skill. His recklessness was a gift. Dallog spun, brought down his blade hard and knocked the spear from the Uni's hands. Without pause he followed through, delivering a fatal blow.

The swiftness of the kill threw the sword-bearer off his stroke. Before he recovered, Dallog got in close and nasty. He swiped, raking the Uni from armpit to waist. Then he put all he had into a high swing that buried his blade in the human's skull. The man plummeted, so much dead weight.

Dallog leaned on his gory sword, breathing heavily and hoping none of the grunts noticed his fatigue.

The Unis had torched the barn. Thick black smoke belched from its open doors. Flames scaled the wooden exterior and the roof steamed. A screaming human stumbled past, his clothes ablaze. Orcs and Unis fought without let. Havoc reigned.

Something caught Dallog's eye. Towering shapes were emerging from the tree-line. At first he couldn't make out what they were. As they entered the clearing he saw. Black-garbed horsemen, in their dozens.

" Second wave! " he bellowed. " Second wave! "