Orcs:Bad blood

22

"Well, here we go," Coilla said, adding a hatchet to her other concealed weapons. She wrapped a shawl about her shoulders.

"Think this is going to work?" Pepperdyne asked.

"A human and a bunch of orc females? We can't fail to get in."

"Never did get the stain completely out of this." He licked his fingers and rubbed at the front of his stolen uniform tunic.

"Stop fussing, it's all right."

"We've pulled this trick once before. Are they going to fall for it again?"

"I'm counting on them thinking we wouldn't try it twice."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then they'll find they've got more than feeble menials to deal with."

His expression turned sombre. "You're trusting me with a lot, you know."

"You've shown yourself as upright before. You going to change now?"

"I'm one of their kind, when all's said and done. The enemy."

"Don't sweat it. If I think you're up to anything, I'll kill you." She smiled pleasantly.

"Let's move," he said.

The Vixens occupied two open wagons. Coilla and Pepperdyne climbed aboard the first, he taking the driver's seat. Spurral sat at the back, near the centre, wedged between a pair of females, a generous headscarf hiding her features. Like all the Vixens, she wore drab workers' clothing. Brelan drove the second wagon.

For a settlement founded by orcs, Taress was arranged along surprisingly organised lines, at least at its heart. Most of what a city needed to function — the storage and distribution of supplies, the provision of drinking water, the housing of livestock and so on — had its own quarter. Since the invasion, the humans had added another, to direct the running of their colony. It was to this sector that the wagons headed.

Orc labourers were still repairing damage caused by the stampede. Under the cold watchfulness of human overseers, trees were being hauled away and walls rebuilt. Gangs of workers shovelled debris into fleets of drays.

The Vixens' journey was short, but not without risks. There were roadblocks to negotiate. The first, at the main thoroughfare leading into the administrative sector, was the most formidable. A guard-post stood on one side, and the road was sealed with a timber blockade. Sentries were out in strength.

The pair of wagons joined a queue of vehicles waiting to be let in. A couple were orc merchants' carts. There were several carriages bearing humans with an officious look; and a gig occupied by a woman who could have been an officer's wife, riding next to a beefy driver. The line was made up with a handful of men on horseback, mostly uniformed.

"They seem to be waving the humans through quicker," Pepperdyne whispered.

" Course they are," Coilla replied. "What'd you expect? But don't count on it being the same for us."

They finally reached the head of the queue. A sergeant stepped forward, saw Pepperdyne's rank insignia and saluted. If he noticed the ominous stain on the phoney officer's jacket, he gave no sign.

He held out a calloused hand. "Your papers, sir?"

Pepperdyne gave him a folded sheet of parchment.

The sergeant studied it, paying particular attention to the seal. He nodded at the wagons' passengers. "Who are they?"

"Clean-up detail," Pepperdyne said.

"For where, sir?"

"Bureau of Tallies."

The sergeant moved along the side of the wagon and looked in. All the females kept their heads bowed submissively. Several held wooden pails on their laps. Brooms, scrubbing brushes and other tools were laid on the deck. He walked to the second wagon and gave that a cursory once-over too. Then he sauntered back to Pepperdyne.

Coilla eyed the sergeant's jugular and fingered a concealed knife, just in case. He caught her look, read it as simple impertinence and glared at her. She dropped her gaze and tried for passive.

"Need any help keeping 'em in order, sir?" the sergeant asked Pepperdyne. "I could spare a couple of troopers to go with you."

"To mind these bitches? Waste of manpower. This lot are meek as cows."

The sergeant glanced at the orcs and grinned. "Take your point." He handed back the parchment, then waved them on.

A safe distance later, Coilla turned to Pepperdyne and hissed, "Bitches? Cows? "

"It's what they expected to hear."

"You could have put a bit less bile into it."

"Just playing my part." He stuffed the parchment into his pocket.

"You humans have a high regard for your pieces of paper."

"Too much, if that sergeant's anything to go by. It's not a very good forgery."

"Good enough. It got us through."

"Don't relax yet. We'll have to show it again soon."

The second roadblock was less imposing. It consisted of a farm cart barring the way and a small company of troopers. Perhaps because the wagons had already passed the first checkpoint, scrutiny was casual. The counterfeit papers were given a token examination, and once a lone guard had made a lacklustre inspection of the passengers, the Vixens were let through.

They didn't have to do more than slow down at the third and final roadblock. An apathetic soldier barely looked up from his dice game to signal for them to keep moving.

"That went sweetly," Coilla said.

"Let's hope it's as easy getting out. Assuming we live long enough."

Coilla glanced over her shoulder to see how Brelan was doing on the second wagon. He gave her a cautious nod, working to keep a neutral expression on his face.

Being a restricted quarter, the streets were less crowded than the rest of Taress, and there were more uniforms about. Knots of troopers stood at crossroads and patrols walked the footpaths. Guardposts decorated the roadside.

As they passed, the occupants of the wagons drew stares. Most were dutiful, or idly curious, but it was attention they could have done without.

"This is uncomfortable," Pepperdyne complained.

"Just look as though you've a right to be here. It's not far now."

There were new buildings in the neighbourhood, erected by the invaders at the expense of older structures they requisitioned and tore down. It was to one of these that the wagons were bound.

They saw their goal as they turned into the district's core. In common with many of the buildings put up by the conquerors, hurriedly assembled in the early days of the occupation, it was functional rather than attractive. Standing back from the road, behind a tall iron fence, it was fashioned from plain stone slabs with few windows, set high. It looked robust enough to withstand an all-out assault.

The wagons halted at the gate. While they waited for a pair of guards to amble over to them, Pepperdyne beckoned Brelan. He climbed down.

"You're sure you've stopped the cleaning squad they're expecting?" Pepperdyne asked.

Brelan nodded. "They're being delayed by a fake accident a dozen blocks from here."

"Won't these humans be able to tell the difference when a new lot of faces turn up?" Coilla wondered.

"They can't tell us apart. Any more than we can them."

"What about him?" Coilla jabbed her thumb at Pepperdyne. "They'll know he's different."

"These details don't always have the same escort." He sounded a little exasperated. "We've been over this a thousand — "

" Quiet," Pepperdyne warned. "They're here,"

The guards opened the gates sufficient to squeeze through, and approached.

They were brisk and moderately wary. The false papers came out again. There was the obligatory going over of the wagons, carried out indolently. The guards recited routine questions. Finally they nodded, parted the gates and guided the wagons through.

At the substantial doors of the building itself, the Vixens disembarked, pails in hand. There were worries that Spurral's height would attract attention, but no eyebrows were raised. As the resistance had explained, children were not unusual in work details. Coilla had the uncomfortable thought that the group might be subjected to a body search. But again the fear proved groundless. The humans seemed to have no conception that females could present a threat.

One of the guards rapped on the door with the hilt of his sword. A panel slid aside and he spoke with someone. Then the door opened and everybody filed in.

The interior was a little grander than the outside. Cool grey marble faced the walls, and there were mosaics. The lofty ceiling had ornate carvings. But the embellishments were unfinished, a work in progress.

"They live a damn sight better than the rest of us," Chillder whispered.

"Surprise," Coilla said.

One of the guards leading the group turned his head and gave them a sour look. They fell silent.

The building was large. Brooms over their shoulders, and clutching their buckets, the Vixens tramped a seemingly endless passageway. They passed a number of doors. Some were open, affording glimpses of humans poring over benches strewn with paper and ledgers; or orcs hauling boxes. One room, bigger than most, held scores of artefacts. Under human supervision, orc servants packed straw-filled crates with gold statuettes, carved wooden relics and ornamental weapons.

" Damn! " Brelan muttered under his breath.

"What?" Coilla mouthed.

"Our birthright," he hissed. "Looted to decorate the parlours of empire quill-pushers."

" Hey! " the guard yelled. "This ain't a pleasure trip! Cut the mumbling!"

"Too right," Pepperdyne said, stepping in. "Button your lips! And don't dawdle!"

He underlined the point with a hard shove to Brelan and Coilla's backs. When Coilla turned, glowering, he gave her a wink. She didn't return it.

At length they came to a tall pair of double doors. Beyond lay a spacious, hall-like chamber. It contained rows of writing tables with high stalls. The walls were shelved from floor to elevated ceiling, and there were ladders for the upper reaches. Scroll cylinders, bound volumes and document boxes filled the shelves. Little light entered through the slit windows. Despite being broad day outside, the room was lit by a series of wooden chandeliers, each bearing scores of stout candles, and by a plentiful scattering of lamps.

There were perhaps a dozen humans present, mostly clerks, seated at the tables. Two or three orc lackeys fetched and carried for them.

A stick-thin, gangly human approached. From his dress and bearing he could only be an overseer. The harassed look he wore strengthened the impression.

He clapped his hands like a prissy schoolmarm, his bony palms producing a strangely brittle sound. "Listen to me!" he announced, his tone almost shrill. "You orcs couldn't possibly understand what goes on here in the Bureau of Tallies. All you need to know is that it's much more important than the sum of your miserable lives. Sloppy work will not be tolerated. If you damage so much as a sheet of parchment, you'll be whipped. Is that understood?" He didn't wait for an answer. Which was just as well, given that the Vixens were in no mood for compliance.

Coilla and Spurral caught each other's eye. Coilla nodded, very faintly.

The overseer began issuing orders. Jabbing a lean finger at the ersatz cleaners, he dispensed chores. "And you, you and you," he decided, pointing at Coilla, "can take care of the latrines."

"I don't think so," Coilla told him.

The overseer stopped short. He looked to Pepperdyne. "Did that creature address me?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?"

" What did you say?"

"Tell him, Coilla."

"Clean your own fucking shithouse," Coilla said.

The overseer turned scarlet. "How dare you talk to your betters like that!"

"I just open my mouth and it comes out."

A vein began pulsing in the overseer's forehead. "This is gross disobedience!" He turned to Pepperdyne again. "Have you no control over this creature?"

Pepperdyne shrugged. "Looks like she doesn't want to clean your latrines."

"I don't believe you're taking the brute's part. Are you drunk?"

"Chance would be a fine thing."

"If this is some kind of joke — "

"Then the laugh's on you," Coilla said. "We might not understand what goes on here, but we sure as hell can stop it."

Alarmed, the overseer backed away and started yelling, "Guards! Guards! "

The pair of sentries who accompanied the group on the way in had been watching bemused as the scene unfolded. Now they stirred. The nearest made a grab for Coilla. She deftly swung the bucket she was clutching and struck him square to the forehead. He tottered. She swung again, landing another hard blow, then a third. The guard collapsed. His companion went down under a flurry of punches and kicks from a bevy of Vixens.

The overseer's crimson complexion gave way to pallid. Coilla turned to him. "Now keep your mouth shut and do as you're told."

She bawled an order. The Vixens produced their concealed weapons, and Pepperdyne drew his sword.

"Traitor!" the overseer spat.

Pepperdyne showed him the tip of his blade. "She told you to shut up!"

The Vixens were levering out the false bottoms of their pails and retrieving sealed pots of oil.

"Splash that stuff around as widely as possible," Coilla ordered.

The overseer's eyes widened. " Louts! " he shouted. "Animals! How dare — "

Pepperdyne drove his fist into the man's jaw. He went out like a snuffed candle.

Coilla nodded approvingly. To the Vixens, she said, "Let's have the tithe detail." Ten females stepped forward. "You know your job. Sniff out the taxes these bloodsuckers have wrung from the citizens. Remember, every coin you find puts another sword in the hands of the resistance. Now get moving."

The group went off.

Coilla looked around the room and saw that the human clerks and their orc menials stood frozen and gaping. She beckoned a trio of Vixens. "Get the civilians clear, and don't let them out of your sight until we're done here."

The onlookers were rounded up and led away, a couple of them dragging the overseer by his heels. As the orcs passed, heads bowed, Coilla needled them with, "We wouldn't have to do this if you had guts!"

"Don't be too hard on them," Chillder said. "They've known no other way."

Coilla shrugged.

"What about the treasures?" Brelan asked.

"What?" Coilla replied.

"Our birthright. The artworks they were — "

"Yeah. What about 'em?"

"We can't leave them here."

"The plan was to grab the loot and torch this place. Nobody said anything about — "

"We can't leave them here," Chillder echoed her brother. "It'd be profane."

"We barely have enough hands as it is."

"We don't need your permission when it comes to our heritage," Brelan stated flatly.

Coilla sighed. "All right. You two take care of it." She looked to her depleting forces. "But we can't spare more than four to go with you. We'll meet up on the way out. And if anybody tries to stop you — "

"We know what to do."

The twins quickly picked their helpers and made for the door.

"This we could do without," Coilla grumbled.

Spurral nodded. "It does spread us a bit thin."

"So let's get on with it," Pepperdyne urged.

The Vixens set to trashing the room. Files were torn from the shelves and papers scattered. Furniture was smashed and strewn around. They splattered oil over the debris.

"Right," Coilla said. "As soon as the others get back — "

There was movement farther along the room. A door they hadn't seen, set flush to the wall, sprang open. Three robed men came through it. Coilla recognised the trident-shaped weapons they clutched.

She exclaimed, " Shit."

One of the robed figures pointed his trident.

Pepperdyne yelled, " Get down! "

The Vixens hit the deck.

A violet beam cut the air. They felt its heat above their heads. Its glow was so intense it pained their eyes. The bolt struck the shelving behind them, splintering wood and liberating a cloud of fluttering paper. Another blast came instantly. It glanced off a pillar, showering marble chips. A pungent, sulphurous odour perfumed the room.

The Vixens scuttled for shelter. Coilla and Spurral crouched behind an overturned table. Pepperdyne used a nearby heap of wrecked furniture.

As one, the robed humans advanced, tridents raised. A further purple energy shaft crackled past. It punched a wall, exploding plaster and fragments of stone.

"We have to take them out, Coilla," Spurral said. "Fast."

"Tell me about it."

"Why the hell didn't we bring a couple of bows?"

"I've got these." Coilla pushed up the baggy sleeve of her shirt, revealing an arm sheath of throwing knives. She plucked one and handed it to her. "Don't use this 'til I tell you." Coilla turned and attracted Pepperdyne's attention. She tossed him a knife. He caught it deftly. Then she mimed an order, holding up one, two, then three fingers, and indicated the approaching sorcerers. " Together," she mouthed. He understood and nodded.

The robed figures kept coming, unleashing beams of dazzling vigour, ravaging wood, stone and glass.

As the trio passed a tangle of wreckage, one of the Vixens popped up from her hiding place brandishing a sword.

Coilla shouted, "No!"

The Vixen made to swipe at the nearest sorcerer. He swung, aiming his trident at her. There was a blinding flash. The Vixen's blade took the brunt and instantly turned as red as a heated poker. She squealed and dropped the searing weapon. The sorcerer made to finish her.

" Now! " Coilla bellowed.

She, Spurral and Pepperdyne leapt up and tossed their knives. Coilla's throw was true. The sorcerer who blasted the Vixen's sword took it directly in the chest. Spurral's pitch was good too, though it incapacitated rather than killed her target. The blade struck his face and put him out of the running. Pepperdyne's shot was an honourable miss, but a miss nonetheless. It flew past his mark's left ear and embedded itself in the spine of a tome.

The sorcerer left standing reacted with a wild spray of energy bolts. Grabbed by her comrades, the Vixen who tried attacking was pulled out of sight as the rays demolished desks and gouged walls. The orcs resumed hugging the floor.

"To hell with this," Coilla muttered. She gathered up her rough peasant skirt, revealing the hatchet in a scabbard strapped to her thigh. Tugging it free, she rose from her hiding place, arm back, ready to throw.

The remaining sorcerer was a dozen paces away. He saw her, and levelled his trident. There was a kind of stasis. It lasted no more than a split second, but seemed to stretch to eternity. His eyes narrowed as he took aim. Her arm came up and over, muscles straining. The axe left her hand.

It tumbled as it flew, end over end, its blade glinting reflected light. The sorcerer followed its path, his head going back, puzzled at the hatchet's unexpected trajectory. Not towards him, but upwards.

Above the sorcerer, and a little ahead of him, hung one of the massive chandeliers.

The hatchet's razor sharp edge sliced through the rope supporting it.

With a tremendous crash the whole affair plunged to the floor, smashing to pieces on impact. Lit candles bounced in all directions. The scattered oil ignited instantly.

A sheet of yellow-white flame sprang up. It engulfed the sorcerer. His wounded companion, on hands and knees, the throwing knife protruding from his gory cheek, was caught too. Their robes blazing, the shrieking men blundered about, spreading the flames.

The fire swiftly followed the trails of oil, probing the length and breadth of the room. It streaked to the shelved walls and began to climb. Where strewn candles came to rest, fresh gouts of flame broke out. Red tendrils snaked to heaps of furniture, setting them ablaze. A pall of smoke rapidly filled the room.

" Get out! " Coilla yelled. "All of you! Out now!"

Coughing and wheezing, sleeves pressed to their mouths, the Vixens groped for the door.

" Come on, come on! " Coilla urged, and with Pepperdyne's help shepherded the group out.

In the smoky corridor she undertook a quick head count and judged all present.

"Shouldn't we shut these doors?" Spurral asked, indicating the inferno raging in the chamber behind them.

"No," Coilla said, "let it spread."

There was movement at the other end of the corridor. The Vixens went for their weapons.

"Easy," Pepperdyne cautioned. "They're ours."

The unit Coilla sent to search for the chancellery were returning, along with the three who took away the prisoners. They were carrying four or five wooden chests.

The Vixen in the lead, a pleasingly muscular example of orc femininity, nodded at the fire. "Thought you weren't going to set that off yet."

"Change of plan," Coilla told her. "Any trouble?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle."

"What'd you get?"

They lifted the lid on one of the chests. Gold and silver coins shone in the fire's glow.

"Good." Coilla turned to another of the females. "What about the prisoners?"

"We found a courtyard back there. Shoved 'em into it, barred the door."

"All right. Now let's find Brelan and Chillder and get out of here."

She took the lead, with Pepperdyne close behind.

The corridors grew hazy with smoke as they retraced their steps to the room where the looted art was stored. There seemed to be nobody about. That changed when Coilla, jogging ahead, passed a half-open door.

It was thrown wide, and a sword-wielding human leapt out. Alerted by cries from the Vixens, Coilla spun round while fumbling for her sheathed blade. The man lunged at her, sword raised.

He stopped dead in his tracks. The centre of his chest burst in a shower of blood, the tip of a blade protruding. The stunned human looked down at the flowing wound. Then his eyes rolled to white and he toppled, landing at Coilla's feet.

Pepperdyne stooped and wiped his gory blade on the dead man's tunic.

"Owe you again," Coilla said.

"Forget it."

They carried on, their mood warier, but met no one else until they reached their destination.

Bodies of several humans littered the storeroom floor. Chillder, Brelan and their helpers were placing artefacts in crates.

"Come on," Coilla insisted, "we've got to move!"

"Nearly there," Chillder replied. She was ramming a figurine into a box.

"We can't take it all."

"We know," Brelan said. "More's the pity. We've picked the best pieces."

"Well hurry it up."

Three more chests added to their spoils, the group made for the exit. By the time they got to it, the smoke was a lot thicker.

Checking that the street was clear, they quickly loaded the crates on to the wagons, and covered them with sacking. They slammed shut the entrance doors, and once the outer gate had been negotiated, set off.

Pepperdyne, again at the reins of the lead wagon, looked grim. "If that fire's spotted before we get clear — "

"We'll have to hope it's not," Coilla told him. "So let's play it calm and innocent."

"And if it is spotted?"

"You know the odds. We'll fight our way out."

It was all they could do to stop themselves from constantly looking back. In their mind's eye a towering column of black smoke formed an accusing finger, pointing their way.

They approached the first checkpoint with trepidation, but in good order. It proved as slipshod as when they entered, and they were scarcely acknowledged, let alone stopped. The second was no different. Jaded sentries allowed them through with hardly a second glance.

At the third and most substantial roadblock there was less laxity. There was no queue to get out, as on the way in, but they were obliged to stop.

The same sergeant they dealt with earlier was still on duty. On sight of them his expression turned chary.

"I wasn't expecting to see you back here so soon, sir."

"No?" Pepperdyne answered.

"The clean-up crews usually take twice as long."

"Do they?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, this is a particularly hard-working bunch."

"That makes a change for these lazy devils, sir." He fixed Pepperdyne with a hard stare. "What's your secret?"

"Secret?"

"How do you make 'em move their arses?"

"No secret, Sergeant. Just a generous application of the whip."

The sergeant grinned approvingly. "Yes, sir." He glanced at Coilla. She avoided his gaze.

He looked into the back of the wagon. His interest was held long enough to have Coilla suspecting he'd spotted the booty. She began slipping a hand into her folds of clothing in search of a blade.

The sergeant returned his attention to Pepperdyne. "Thank you, sir. You can move out."

Pepperdyne nodded and cracked the reins.

He and Brelan resisted the impulse to speed up. They kept to a steady pace even when the distant sounds of tumult rose behind them in the restricted zone.

Coilla and Pepperdyne exchanged brief smiles.

The wagons trundled past a patch of wasteland on one side of the road, an area where a house had stood before it was destroyed by the incomers. Now the lot was scrubby and overgrown.

An especially eagle-eyed passer-by, or someone particularly receptive to the ambience of magic, might have sensed an anomaly there. A pocket of nothingness slightly out of sympathy with the air around it. Like a transparent bubble which light was not quite capable of passing through. But so muted, so elusive, that an onlooker would likely dismiss it as a mote in their eye.

Wrapped in her cloak of sorcery, the elfin figure of Pelli Madayar observed the Vixens' exploits, and was troubled. There was no doubt that the renegade orc warband was seriously violating the Gateway Corps' precepts. They were playing with fire.

And she knew they had to be stopped.