Orcs:Bad blood

21

"No, no, no! " Dallog snatched the staff from Wheam and held it correctly. "Like this." He thrust it back. "Try again."

Wheam fumbled with it, and Dallog had to show him one more time. "That's right. Now there's your opponent." He pointed at a straw-filled dummy hanging from a beam. Its painted features depicted an orc's idea of a human face.

Wheam dithered.

"Don't just stand there," Dallog told him. "Attack!"

The youth gingerly approached the mannequin and swung at it feebly.

"You're going at it like a hatchling. This creature's going to kill you if you don't kill it first. Put some back into it!"

Wheam had another go. He summoned a bit more energy, but was no better coordinated. Taking a clumsy swipe with the staff, he missed the dummy and struck a wall-mounted oil lamp, shattering it.

"All right," Dallog said, "take a breather."

Wheam dropped the staff and slumped to the floor. He propped himself against the wall, chin on raised knees. "I'm useless," he sighed.

"Not true."

"So you say."

"You're unskilled, that's all."

"It's not just that. I'm…" He looked around to see if anybody was in earshot, and whispered, " I'm afraid."

"Good."

"What?"

"Nothing wrong with fear. Show me an orc who goes into battle without it and I'll show you a fool."

"I don't understand."

"Fear is a warrior's ally. It's a spur, a dagger to the back. Courage isn't being without fear. It's overcoming fear. If you're wise you'll make it your friend, and turn it on your enemy. Understanding that is what makes our race so skilled at warfare."

"Then why don't the orcs here see it that way?"

"Somehow, I don't why, they've gone wrong."

"Have they? They live in peace. They're not bent on death and destruction the way we are. Maybe I should have been born in Acurial."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Look where their ways have landed them. You should be proud of your heritage."

"You sound like my sire. He was always telling me what I should be, and saying I was a coward."

"It's hard trying to follow in the footsteps of a great orc like your father. But he was wrong to call you a coward."

"You must be the only one around here who believes that. Everybody hates me."

"No they don't."

"They hate me because of who I am. And those Wolverines who died… it was my fault."

"It wasn't. Get that through your head. I know what it's like being an outsider too, and trying to fill somebody else's boots. But if you want the band's respect, don't throw away your birthright. Honour it."

"That's easy said."

"You can start by working on your training. Really working."

Wheam stared at the discarded staff. "I'm not very good at this."

Dallog stooped, took hold of the staff and held it out to him. Wheam grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Look at your foe," Dallog said, nodding at the swaying dummy. "It's everything you feel bitter about. Everything you hate and fear. It's all the bile you've stored up about this warband, about yourself, about… your father."

Wheam let out a piercing yell and rushed at the dummy. He set about beating it, swinging the staff wide and hard, delivering great clouts. After three or four blows straw started to spill from the dummy's split torso. Wheam carried on thrashing it.

"Good!" Dallog exclaimed. "Good!"

The farmhouse door opened. Stryke and Coilla came in.

As they passed, Coilla called out, "Good job, Wheam!"

The youth beamed and continued the battering.

"He could be of some use yet," she said.

"If we ever have to fight dummies," Stryke replied.

They made their way to a large room at the back of the house that had been set aside as a refectory. Hardly any of the benches were occupied. They picked one farthest away from anybody else.

There was a water butt at the end of their table. Coilla ladled herself a cup, then took a swig. "I still can't get over it."

"Jennesta? It should be no surprise; Serapheim said she was here. It's why we came."

"Knowing she's close makes it sort of more real. Back in Maras-Dantia we spent a lot of time trying to get as far away from her as we could. It seems strange doing the opposite."

"I'd like to get near enough to slit her throat."

"Who wouldn't? It'd certainly help bring on the rebellion Sylandya wants."

"But an attack on Jennesta's going to be a suicide mission."

"Is it? The resistance has spies in the fortress. Maybe they could get us in."

"It's a thought. I'll talk to Brelan and Chillder. Though their minds are going to be on other things. Like trying to incite an uprising in thirteen… no, twelve days."

"Surely they'd see how taking out Jennesta would aid that."

"They might see the benefit; I don't think they'd be keen to allot their stretched forces to it."

"They wouldn't have to. If we can get help from the inside it'd take just a couple of us to do the job. I'm thinking stealth rather than storming the place."

"You're counting on Jennesta being that easy to overcome. Blades against sorcery; it'd be a close call."

"I'm willing to try. See if the twins can get us a plan of the fortress. That'd be a start."

"I'll ask."

She raised the cup again and drained it. "Talking of plans, what chance do you think they have with this comet thing?"

"It turns on a lot of maybes. But it's all they've got."

She smiled. "I nearly put my foot in it when they were talking about the waning moon. I didn't even know this world had a moon."

"Me neither."

"There's so much we don't know. I keep thinking I'm going to give us away. Though I wonder how bad that would be."

"If they knew where we were really from? It's too big a risk. Orcs are different here. We don't know how they'd take it."

"They're different all right, and not just in being so timid about fighting. I mean, a state? Cities? It's not what orcs do. If I thought we had no way of getting home again — "

"The star's still safe?"

"Don't look so anxious. Course it is." She slapped the pouch at her waist. "Stop worrying about it."

The farmhouse door slammed loudly. They turned to see Haskeer swaggering in. Pausing only to throw a disparaging remark at Wheam and Dallog, he joined them at the table.

"How's my fellow heroes this morning?" he said.

"Oh, shut up about that," Coilla chided.

"That's not showing much respect for the prophecy."

"Only idiots believe in prophecies."

He ignored the insult and looked about the room. "Anything to drink?"

"Not the kind you want," Stryke told him, nodding at the water barrel.

Haskeer pulled a face. "No alcohol, no crystal, no action. Where's the fun? I thought we were getting a revolution started."

"There'll be fighting enough, and soon."

"Good. I'm keen for a bit of mayhem."

"We all are. How are the new recruits shaping up?"

"All right." He shot Wheam a scornful glance. "Mostly."

"I need to count on them. They have to work as part of the band and — "

"Don't sweat it, Stryke. They're knuckling down."

"I'll hold you to account on that."

Haskeer would have come back, had Jup and Spurral not arrived. He greeted them with, "Ah, the pisspots."

"How'd you like that water butt shoved up your butt?" Spurral asked.

"Ooohhh!" Haskeer lifted his hands in feigned dread. "Call her off, Jup!"

"I'd prefer to help her. Only I'd use your head. It'd improve your looks."

"I'd like to see you try, you little tick."

"Whenever you're ready."

They both stood up, glaring at each other.

" Shut it! " Stryke snapped. "Sit down, the pair of you! We don't need this shit. Save it for the enemy."

"I'll be lucky to see 'em," Jup complained, sinking back into his seat. "Spurral and me are going stir crazy stuck in this place."

"I know it's tough," Stryke said, "but we can't afford letting you be seen."

"So why the hell are we here? What's the point if we can't come out of hiding?"

"You'll have your part. Things are due to hot up over the next twelve days. You two on the streets is going to be the least Taress has to deal with."

"I don't know whether to be flattered by that," Spurral remarked. She looked to Coilla. "We should be moving."

"You're right. Come on."

"Late for your sewing circle?" Haskeer teased.

"Yeah. Want to join us?"

Coilla and Spurral made for a door at the far end of the makeshift mess room.

They stepped out to a plot of land surrounded by a low dry-stone wall. A group of around twenty females were waiting for them. They were dressed for combat, and armed. Chillder stood at their head.

"Good turnout," Coilla said.

"And champing at the bit," Chillder told her.

Coilla faced them, and raised her voice so all could hear. "You've been told the plan. Things are going to turn pretty lively in the days ahead, and we have to get combat ready fast. That means working together as a unit. The best way is to have the sort of set-up my warband has. A military structure, like the humans. I'm the most experienced, so I'm leading this group. If anybody objects to that, spit it out now." Nobody spoke. "All right. Chillder here is second-in-command. We'll be picking other officers if we need them." She indicated the dwarf with a jab of her thumb. "For those who haven't met her, this is Spurral. She's of a race you don't know, and you might see her as… different. But she's a good fighter and loyal to the orc cause. You can trust her." Coilla couldn't tell what they thought about that. She carried on. "We're hoping our first mission's soon. Very soon. So we'll be pushing you hard to get in shape. The resistance needs all the swords it can get, but the males in these parts don't seem to value what we have to offer. Let's show 'em what we can do, Vixens!"

They cheered, and there were catcalls. They waved blades in the air.

"That went down well," Spurral whispered to Coilla.

"I don't think I've had that much to say since… well, I don't know when. But we have to — " Something caught her eye.

Just beyond the stone wall stood a row of stables. One had an open door. A figure was outlined there for a second, then disappeared.

"What is it?" Chillder asked, following her gaze.

Coilla shook her head. "Nothing."

Standeven drew back from the door and retreated into the gloomy stable. "Look at them," he said, his fury barely in check. "They've even got the females involved now."

"What's the problem?" Pepperdyne answered. "They're just practising."

"I should have known you'd take their part."

"In what? They're only training."

"They're getting ready for more trouble."

"It's what they do. They're a warrior race."

"These creatures are fighting against our side. Doesn't that worry you?"

"Our side?"

"Our race, then. Our kind."

"They're fighting oppression. They want their freedom back."

"They're provoking the wrath of the rulers of this place, and we're in the middle."

"What you call the rulers are usurpers. This isn't their land. They took it."

"Trust you to see it that way."

"It's hard not to, given my people's history."

"That's no excuse for going native now."

"You've a short memory. It wasn't me who crossed Hammrik. We're in this situation because of you."

Standeven's complexion turned a deeper scarlet. "There was a time when you wouldn't dare speak to me that way!"

"That time's over. It's not about master and slave now. It's about survival."

"And you think you'll ensure that by throwing in your lot with these creatures?"

"They've grounds for discontent. It's a just cause."

"I wonder how interested they'd be in you as an ally if they knew what I know about you."

"No idea. Maybe they look at these things differently. Why don't you try telling them?"

Standeven said nothing.

"Your threats don't wash here," Pepperdyne told him. "You need me to get through this and you know it. That's what sticks in your craw, isn't it, master?"

Outside, the Vixens had paired off to rehearse swordplay. The clatter of blades filled the air.

"I want to get out of this place," Standeven said, more subdued. "Preferably in one piece."

"So do I. But it's not in our hands."

"Well, it should be. It's only the instrumentalities that stand between us and going home."

"Knowing how to use them might help. And taking them away from Stryke would need a damn sight more than luck."

"Not that he has all of them."

"What do you mean?"

"The female, Coilla; she's carrying one."

"How do you know that?"

"There's a lot to be said for keeping low and using your ears."

"It's called snooping."

"I happened to overhear," Standeven came back huffily. "Seems Stryke wanted to split up the artefacts for some reason. Though we can only wonder why."

Pepperdyne shrugged. "Probably to stop somebody like you getting hold of them."

"I got the impression it was something more than that."

"None of this matters. We're not going to get the instrumentalities away from the orcs. Even if we could, we'd need that amulet Stryke has as well, and to make sense of it."

"But we have to have them. If we do get back to our world we'd never be safe from Hammrik. They're the only thing we could barter with."

"Sell to the highest bidder, more like. I know how you operate."

"Buy off Hammrik with them, or sell them for enough to get us far away from him; either way they're our warranty."

"Our?"

"I'd not be ungrateful to a loyal servant who stuck with me through this mess."

"As I said, it'd take a miracle to get hold of them here. We'd have to try for it once we got home. If we ever do."

"So we'll have to stay on the Wolverines' good side, if they have such a thing, in the hope they'll take us back. I'm not as sure of that as you seem to be."

"What's the alternative?"

Standeven looked him in the eye, and there was a chill in his gaze. "Perhaps there are such things as miracles."