Orcs:Bad blood

23

There was a gathering in the grand hall at the fortress in Taress.

The room was crowded. Military top brass were present, along with representatives of the lower ranks. Robed members of the Order of the Helix were in attendance. Bureaucrats, administrators and legislators rubbed shoulders. They had stood waiting long enough to bring on a spate of shuffling feet and stifled sighs.

General Hacher was at the forefront. His aide, Frynt, and Helix luminary Brother Grentor flanked him.

"How much longer?" Grentor whispered. "It's intolerable being treated like supplicants."

"Perhaps you'd care to express that to the Envoy in person when she arrives," Hacher suggested. "She is, after all, the titular head of your order."

Grentor shot him a poisonous look and returned to morose silence.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought on an involuntary stiffening of spines.

With a crash the doors to the hall were thrown open. Two elite guardsmen came in and positioned themselves on either side of the entrance.

Jennesta followed. The hem of her cloak, fashioned from the jet-black, glossy pelt of a beast that could only be guessed at, brushed the timber floor. The clack of her precariously high stiletto-heeled boots echoed throughout the hall.

She swept to the head of the room and climbed the steps to a dais. Then she discarded the cloak, letting it fall from her shoulders in a careless motion. Hacher wasn't alone in thinking of a snake shedding its skin.

Facing her audience, Jennesta spoke without preamble.

"I've been here only a short time," she began, "but long enough to see how this province is run. More importantly, I've seen who runs it. Is it the might of Peczan's armed forces? The empire's commissioners, or its lawmakers? The brotherhood of the Helix?" She scanned them coldly. "No. Acurial's true rulers are the very creatures you are supposed to suppress. Rebels. Terrorists. Orc scum. How else can it be when the so called resistance strikes at will? When cattle stampede through the streets of the capital, patrols are ambushed and buildings torched. And when humans are reported to be aiding the insurgents." She let that soak in for a second. "Discipline is woefully lacking in this colony. Examples need to be set, and not only among the native population." She nodded to the guards at the entrance.

They opened the doors. A pair of Jennesta's undead bodyguards shuffled in. Between them was a terrified looking soldier, his hands chained and his feet in shackles. The bodyguards' appearance, and unsavoury odour, had the crowd willingly parting to allow them through. They looked on in silence as the zombies shoved their prisoner to the front of the room and up to the dais, where he stood trembling before the sorceress.

"The outrage yesterday was the responsibility of many in this administration," Jennesta announced, "but let this man represent all who fail in their duty." She turned her baleful gaze on the accused. He did his best to hold himself erect. "You are a sergeant in charge of a roadblock barring access to the quarter housing the Tithes Bureau?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you allowed a gang of orc terrorists to pass your checkpoint and stage an attack?"

"They were accompanied by a human officer, my Lady. I — "

" Answer the question! Did you let them through?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then you admit your dereliction and stand condemned. Negligence on such a scale demands punishment equal to the offence. Prepare to pay the penalty."

The sergeant tensed, expecting perhaps to be hauled away and thrown in a dungeon, or even to be struck down by one of his undead captors. Neither happened.

Instead, Jennesta closed her eyes. The keen sighted might have noticed that her lips moved silently, and that her hands made several small gestures.

The accused looked on in troubled bafflement; the audience exchanged mystified glances.

"There," Jennesta said, her singular eyes popping open. She sounded almost amiable.

For a moment, nothing occurred. Then the sergeant let out a groan. He lifted his hands and pressed the palms to his forehead. One of the bodyguards jerked the chain binding his wrists, pulling the man's hands back down. The prisoner moaned, gutturally, and his eyes rolled. He swayed as though about to fall. The groaning became constant and higher pitched.

The area of his temples and up into his hairline rapidly took on a purplish discoloration, as though bruised. His skull visibly swelled, and in the deathly silence a crackling could be heard as the expansion began to split his scalp. Writhing in agony, the sergeant screamed. Just once.

Like an overripe melon dropped from a castle battlement, his head exploded. The discharge scattered blood-matted chunks of hairy flesh, skull fragments and portions of brain. Headless, the stump gushing torrid crimson, his corpse took a faltering step before crashing to the floor. It lay twitching, its life essence pumping out into a spreading, sticky pool.

Many in the front row had their ashen faces and smart dress uniforms splattered by the eruption. An objectionable reek hung in the air.

One of the zombie bodyguards, noticing dully that blood and brain matter covered his bare forearm, started to lick it off with noisy relish.

"Note this well!" Jennesta intoned sternly. "As this man confessed his guilt I chose to deal with him mercifully. Any others who transgress will not be treated with such lenience." She touched a hand lightly to her brow. "The effort has tired me. Go. All of you. Except you, Hacher. You stay."

The spectators began to file out, several dabbing themselves with handkerchiefs. Some hurried, looking as though they sought the nearest privy.

Hacher was wiping the gore from his own face when Jennesta approached, her brace of undead hobbling a few steps behind.

"I trust the import of what you've just seen was not lost on you, General," she said.

He glanced at the sergeant's corpse. Blood was dripping from the edge of the dais. "Hardly."

"Good. Then I expect to see change, profound change, in the governance of this colony. Otherwise your administration is going to become acquainted with my less compassionate side. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Envoy. Perfectly."

"I know orcs. And I know the only thing they respect is force. If they raise a seditious hand, cut it off. If they slaughter a single trooper, send ten orcs to the charnel house. If they dare to rise up, grind their bones to dust. Leave them in no doubt who's master. Any less and you imperil our plans for this dependency."

"Which are?"

"Exploiting the land's riches. And in particular, the most valuable resource of all."

"I fear you may be disappointed in that regard. The few deposits of gold and silver we've found are hardly — "

"What I have in mind is worth more than mere gold."

"I don't follow."

"The greatest asset Acurial has to offer isn't to be found under the ground but walking upon it."

"You mean… the natives themselves?"

"Precisely. The orcs have the potential to be the greatest fighting force this world has ever seen."

"But these creatures are meek. Or at least most of them are. The ones who've taken up arms against us are the exception."

"As I said, I know their true natures. I know what they're capable of. All of them."

"Even if they do have an inborn aggression, and it could be brought out, why would they fight for us?"

Jennesta indicated her zombie retinue. "They'd have no choice. Subject to my will, their obedience would be beyond question. Imagine it. A slave army, incomparably ferocious and totally subservient."

"And this has the backing of Peczan?"

"As far as you're concerned, Hacher, I am Peczan. So why don't you leave the thinking to me and concentrate on instilling some terror in the population?"

Another meeting was taking place in the capital, not far from the fortress, in one of the resistance's many boltholes.

Making a rare excursion from her current hiding place, and having been brought under heavy guard by an elaborate route, Primary Sylandya was present. She sat at the centre of the small gathering, a goblet of brandy and water to hand.

"You pulled off a great feat yesterday," she said, toasting her offspring and Coilla. "The Vixens acquitted themselves well on their first outing."

"It's time the females got their chance," Coilla replied.

"As I say, the raid was a triumph. The tithes you brought back have swelled our coffers, and I was especially pleased that you recovered those looted treasures."

"Saving trinkets ain't going to win this fight," Haskeer stated.

"Don't undervalue that act as a symbol," Sylandya told him. "It shows the citizenry that their heritage means something."

"And that there are orcs who stand against our oppressors," Brelan added.

Sylandya nodded. "We need to deliver more blows like yesterday's. Who knows? Perhaps if the occupation here is seen to be failing, Peczan's enemies in the east and south will be emboldened."

"The eastern and southern lands are a long way off, Mother," Brelan reminded her, "and they're human realms too. Barbarous tribes, most of them. There's little hope of our enemy's enemy doing anything that might aid our cause."

"I think that's right," Stryke agreed. "You can't rely on help from outside."

"Shouldn't that be we?" Sylandya said. "Or do you northern orcs see yourselves as apart from this struggle?"

"We see it as a fight for all orcs," Stryke returned sternly. "It's why we're here."

"Can we get back to the issue at hand?" Chillder asked. "Grilan-Zeat's due in not much more than a week and — "

" If it comes," Haskeer said.

"We have to believe it will," Chillder said. "It's a thin hope, but it's all we've got. The question is, what more can we do to hasten an uprising?"

"Take out Jennesta," Coilla replied. "That'd strike one hell of a blow."

"It'd also bring down some heavy reprisals."

"Isn't that what we want? A kick that wakes up the populace and rallies them?"

"We've talked over the assassination idea," Brelan explained, "and we're agreed it should go ahead."

Coilla smiled. "Good."

"But not right away."

"Why wait?" Haskeer grumbled. "Kill her now, I say."

"Our contacts inside the fortress need time to prepare and make us a map of the place. Meantime we carry on harrying the humans. We've got a particular mission in mind that should rock them."

"What is it?" Stryke asked.

"Don't worry, we'll keep you posted. But right now we need to get Mother out of here. She's too rich a prize for the authorities; we have to keep her out of their reach."

"A new hiding place?" Coilla said.

"Yes. But I'm not saying where. What you don't know they can't get out of you."

Brelan and Chillder left, accompanying Sylandya. The couple of other resistance members present went with them.

No sooner had they gone than Spurral and Dallog turned up. Shortly after, Pepperdyne arrived, still sweating from a training session. He had Standeven in tow.

"News," Stryke announced. "They've agreed to us targeting Jennesta."

Pepperdyne was scooping a ladle of water from a barrel. "Really?" He gulped the drink.

"You don't seem too excited about it."

"Just cautious. It's bound to be a dangerous mission, isn't it?"

"That doesn't seem to have worried you up to now."

"We still want revenge on Jennesta," Standeven hastily interjected. "But she's dangerous."

"You're telling us," Coilla said.

Stryke fixed the humans with a steady gaze. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you two. When we ran into you, you said you were seeking Jennesta because she stole your consignment of… gems, was it?"

"That's right," Standeven confirmed.

"But we know she hadn't been in Maras-Dantia for years. Why'd it take you so long to go after her?"

"It's a big world," Pepperdyne replied. "Well, the one we came from was." He shook his head, as though clearing it. "You know what I mean. It takes time to mount an expedition, and money. My master here had to recruit a small private army, then we travelled across continents and — "

"Seems to me you do a lot of talking for an aide, or servant or whatever you are. Why can't your master speak for himself?"

"He always had a silver tongue," Standeven explained awkwardly. "I often said he was capable of striking a better deal than I could myself. The words come more naturally to him."

Haskeer eyed Pepperdyne suspiciously. "You weren't a bloody wordsmith, were you? I hate the bastards. Making up stupid stories about us, branding us villains. According to them we're built like brick privies and hate the light. They say we eat babies, and everybody knows we only take human flesh when there's nothing else."

"No, I'm not a storyteller."

"Don't go spreading that talk outside the band, Haskeer," Stryke warned. "The orcs in these parts wouldn't understand it. Let's not give them more reasons to see us as different." He turned back to the humans. "I don't know about you pair. But just don't make the mistake of thinking we're fools."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Pepperdyne replied coolly.

"You're being too hard, Stryke," Coilla protested. "I owe Pepperdyne my life. He's proved himself." It wasn't lost on any of them that she left Standeven out of her reckoning.

"Maybe," Stryke said. "We'll see."

"Now do you mind if we eat?" Pepperdyne asked. Without waiting for an answer he headed for the door, Standeven at his heels.

Once it slammed, Coilla tackled Stryke with, "Why are you so hostile to them all of a sudden?"

"I got to thinking about their story, and it doesn't stack up. Pepperdyne might be straight, but the other one…"

"Yeah, well, no argument there. But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Jode."

"Jode?"

"You tend to feel pally to somebody who saves your neck."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd count a human as a friend."

"Just go easy on him, all right? He's been useful to us."

Stryke looked to the others present, and Jup caught his eye. "You've not said much, Sergeant."

"About the humans? I've no opinion, beyond not trusting the race much."

"More than that's ailing you," Spurral said, slipping an arm round his waist. "You've been morose for days. Spit it out."

"Well… I'm not likely to play a part in the assassination, am I? Or anything else going on for that matter. It's not as though I can go out dressed as a female."

"Why not?" Haskeer ribbed. "It'd suit you."

"Shut it, Haskeer," Jup retorted. "I'm not in the mood."

"I know it's hard on you," Stryke told him, "but your time will come."

"And when's that going to be?"

"There's something you could do tonight."

Jup perked up. "There is?"

"How about a little after hours mission? Part of the harrying."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I thought we might pick a fight. Are you game?"