ORCS: Army of Shadows (6 page)

“No, I haven’t. But I still think we should let Pepperdyne in on this.” Haskeer let out a loud groan. Coilla ignored him.
“He’s an asset. He could help us.”

“And he’d keep it a secret from Standeven?” Stryke said.

“I don’t think that’d be hard for him.”

“I don’t trust ’em,” Haskeer stated.

“
So you said
,” Coilla responded ominously.

Stryke shook his head. “No. We won’t need Pepperdyne. Not the way I’m thinking of doing it.”

“What if he and Standeven get wind of it?” Spurral wondered. “Could happen, with all of us cooped up together.”

“If they do, we’ll kill ’em.”

Coilla frowned at that, but said nothing.

“So it’s settled,” Stryke said. “We’ll work on a plan. Meantime, we fight with the resistance. Pepperdyne can help with
that
. They’ll need all the blades they can get with a rebellion coming.”

“
If
it comes,” Haskeer muttered.

“Have faith.”

“I leave that to the temple priests.” He drew his sword and held it up to catch the light, turning its glistening length fiery.
“I put my faith in this.” He gazed at it almost reverently.

Stryke smiled. “ ’Course you do. You’re an orc.”

“We can’t be sure a rebellion’s going to work,” Coilla reminded them. “This is such a different world. Most of the orcs here
are like sheep, and the humans have
magic
. Not to mention the odds we’d be —”

“It’s simple,” Stryke interrupted. “We fight, they die.”

The grunts gave a ragged cheer at that.

“Hope you’re right,” she said. “But trouble has a habit of popping up in this place.”

He shrugged. “I reckon we’ll be fine as long as humans are all we have to cope with.”

Not too far away, outside the city limits in one of the sparsely populated, less fruitful areas, stood an abandoned, semi-derelict
water mill. The wheel itself was broken, and the watercourse that fed it had dwindled to a weed-choked trickle. Even an astute
observer would see the place as desolate and forsaken.

Except perhaps for those possessing the skills of sorcery, or the gods-given power of farsight. These rare individuals might
have detected the coppery taste and faintly sulphurous odour of magic cloaking the place. If they were particularly gifted
they might have sensed a certain prickling in the atmosphere, a galvanic quality that made the hairs on the back of their
necks stand up, signifying an enchantment intended to deceive.

The mill
was
nearly a ruin, but it wasn’t uninhabited. Behind the magically generated facade a special operations unit of the multispecies
Gateway Corps had commandeered it.

The group’s leader was another deception, in a way. Pelli Madayar, a youthful female of the elfin folk, had a petite frame
and looks of such delicacy that she could have been mistaken for frail. It was a false impression. Her energy and strength
were prodigious, her determination inexhaustible.

She was in consultation with a lieutenant, a short, stocky individual with the sour expression habitual to the race of gnomes.
All about them, the rest of the unit busied themselves with various chores. Gremlins, centaurs, goblins and a satyr were present,
along with pairs of brownies and harpies. A small band of pixies and several trolls laboured beside entities that might have
been considered exotic even in such diverse company, including a chimera and a wendigo, creatures normally preferring solitude.
It was testament to the Corps’ mission that so various a collection of races had chosen to put aside their natural inclinations,
and their differences, to join in a common purpose.

Mid-sentence, Pelli Madayar broke off, closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her brow. Then she excused herself and hurried
away. Her subordinate understood, having seen her do the same thing many times before.

She climbed the slats of a rickety staircase to the mill’s upper level. In one corner stood a barrel, larger than she could
have got her arms around, its metal bands red with rust. It was full of rainwater from a breach in the roof, and there was
a rainbow film on its oily surface. The water was filthy and foul-smelling, but that didn’t concern her; it was still a suitable
medium. In any event she had no option if this was the way her leader chose to get through to her.

Hands on the barrel’s edge, she gazed down at it. The water immediately became agitated and began to gently bubble as though
coming to the boil. Then it changed its nature. It became something other than simply water: a kaleidoscopic eddy of churning
matter suffused with radiance. Shortly it settled and an image came into focus.

She was looking at Karrell Revers, supreme commander of the Gateway Corps, his likeness projected across an infinity of worlds.
He was in late middle age, his close-trimmed beard and hair turning silver. But he was still enormously energetic, and acuity
lit his eyes. Revers was exceptional among humans in being a possessor of magical abilities.

“Pelli,” he said, “there’s been a development.” His voice had an echoing, ethereal quality.

Even though they were separated by an unimaginable void, she could see he was troubled. “What is it?” she urged.

“I told you we thought there could be another player in the little drama you have unfolding there, and that there are indications
someone other than the orcs has the instrumentalities. Now we’ve detected a further anomaly, making for a new possibility.”

“Yes?”

“There could be another set.”

“
Another? Here?
How likely is that?”

“The odds are… incalculable. But I should sound a note of caution. Because this is unprecedented we could be misinterpreting
the signs. Though I have to say it’s hard to reach any other conclusion.”

“So now we’ve got two sets to track down.”

“Yes. Well… perhaps.”

“Please, Karrell, help me on this. I can’t operate properly if I don’t know what —”

“I’m sorry. The thing is, it isn’t clear. We’re getting different magical signatures from what
might
be two sources. Their characteristics vary in a way we’ve never seen before.”

“All right. So what do we do?”

“We’re working hard on resolving this. But you can see this makes your mission even more vital.”

“Yes, but what’s my brief now?”

“Essentially, it remains the same. If you can recover the instrumentalities we know exist, those held by the orcs, or that
were held by them, we can eliminate them from our search. The important thing is that you act quickly.”

“I can see that.”

“And I have to say, Pelli, I’m concerned that you haven’t acted already.”

“Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted, you know that. Also we’ve had to be sure that no innocents get caught up in
this. Trouble’s brewing here. Relations between the native population and their oppressors look as though they’re coming to
a head, and —”

“We don’t concern ourselves with local affairs. It’s one of the Corps’ primary rules, as you’re fully aware. I just hope it
isn’t some element of sympathy you feel for the orcs that’s staying your hand.”

“It’s true I think they’ve blundered into something they don’t understand, and in that sense perhaps they’re not to be blamed.
That’s why I hope to use persuasion to get the instrumentalities back before taking the ultimate step.”

“I’ve told you before that your compassion is understandable, and it reflects well on you.” His tone came across as a mite
petulant. “But these are
orcs
we’re talking about. Some races are beyond the pale, even for the Corps. Your sympathy could well be misplaced. The outcome
of your mission is more important than mere individuals. You must use
all
means to achieve our objective. Is that understood?”

“Yes, it is.” She mulled things over for a second and added, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You gave me
no orders about what would become of the warband once we’ve taken the instrumentalities from them.”

“Assuming they survive their encounter with you and your superior weaponry.”

“Yes, assuming that. Am I to return them to their home world?”

If she didn’t know him better, Pelli would have thought the look Revers gave her was unduly hard. “You have no such orders,”
he told her.

Without further word he broke their connection.

Like a chunk of ordure floating in the middle of a cesspit, the great fortress at Taress never failed to draw the eye.

Its baleful walls and haughty towers subjugated the city as surely as the human invaders who had annexed it. Built long ago,
by orcs when they were warlike, the pile had been turned from defensive to offensive by recent events. From a place of sanctuary
to a place of dread. It stood as a perpetual reminder of the native population’s loss of independence and dignity.

There was a great deal of bustle in its spacious central courtyard. A detachment of uniformed men, and some women, were square-bashing.
Others were paired off in mock combat. Weapons were being issued, horses groomed, wagons loaded.

From the balcony of his quarters high above, the stern figure of Kapple Hacher surveyed the activity. His aide and probably
closest professional confidant, the young officer called Frynt, stood beside him.

“Now we’re training clerks and medics to patrol the streets,” Hacher said.

“I understand more reinforcements are due for despatch from Peczan soon, sir,” Frynt informed him.

“I’m not sure there’ll ever be enough for Jennesta.”

“Sir?”

“Taress is to be entirely purged of subversive elements, to quote our mistress’s own words. How many troops do you think that
would take?”

“With respect, General, you’ve often said that the troublemakers are a minority.”

“I still think that’s so. But it’s a question of definitions. Who
are
the dissidents?”

“Isn’t it our job to weed them out, sir?”

“Good question. But not one that unduly troubles m’lady Jennesta. Her view is that any orcs who arouse suspicion should be
rounded up. And eliminated if they resist. In effect, they’re
all
revolutionaries to her. So we have this ever increasing clampdown.”

“You can’t deny that incidents have increased of late, sir.”

“Yes, they have. What do you expect when you prod a hornet’s nest? I believe the resistance, the actual core, is quite small,
but I’ve never said they weren’t dangerous, and I’m all for coming down on them hard. But I can’t help but feel that Jennesta’s
policy is only making matters worse.”

“Perhaps this comet the orcs are so excited about is what’s really stirring them up, sir.”

“And who’s putting the idea into their heads of linking it with omens and prophecies? No, we should be using a rapier here,
not an axe.”

“Regrettably, sir, your counsel is unlikely to sway the lady Jennesta.”

“You’re telling me.” Hacher grew thoughtful. “Though there is one weapon in our armoury that could be useful in winkling out
the real insurrectionists.”

“Your… source,” Frynt said knowingly.

The general nodded. “Although it isn’t entirely certain that I can keep that channel open, it might prove invaluable.”

“But surely, sir, all this talk of rebellion is somewhat academic in light of the nature of the orcs we’re governing. The
majority are passive.”

“Jennesta doesn’t think so. She maintains the entire race is capable of something like savagery. Though what experience she
might have had with them to reach such a conclusion is open to question.”

“And you, sir? Do you think they have some buried appetite for combat?”

Hacher turned and surveyed the city. “Perhaps we’re about to find out.”

At one of the resistance’s safe houses, hidden in the tangle of the troubled capital’s back streets, Jode Pepperdyne and Micalor
Standeven had found a secluded room.

“How often do I have to tell you?” Standeven angrily protested.

“Try me one more time,” Pepperdyne said.

“I had nothing to do with Coilla’s star going missing!”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“So why do you bother asking me? You know, back where we come from, your badgering would have been seen as gross disobedience.”

Pepperdyne laughed in his face. “But we’re not there, are we?”

“More’s the pity.”

“I don’t like being stuck in this world any more than you do. Assuming you
do
mind.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“If the stars hadn’t gone missing we wouldn’t be here.”

“
And that had nothing to do with me
,” Standeven repeated.

“So you say. But given we are stranded here, why do you keep needling the band? They’re the only allies we’ve got, and they
don’t trust us.”

“They never did.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“They’re
orcs
. Humans aren’t exactly their favourite race, in case you hadn’t noticed what they’re doing to them here.”

“I think they know when somebody’s treating them straight. Most of them, anyway.”

“You’re a fool, Pepperdyne. The only reason we’re still with them, why we’re still
alive
, is because it suits them. Don’t go misplacing your trust.”

“What, I should put it in
you
?”

“You could do worse.”

“Only if I’d gone insane.”

Standeven’s bile was rising again. “You might do well,” he uttered vindictively, “to think about your position if we ever
get back home.”

“Your threats don’t wash here. Or hasn’t that dawned on you yet?”

“I’m just reminding you what our relative positions were, and how they could be that way again. How you behave here’s going
to have a bearing on how I choose to treat you in future.”

“You don’t get it, do you? The way things are going, we might not
have
a future. And if we’re into reminding each other about events, remember that you wouldn’t be here… hell, you wouldn’t
be
at all, if it hadn’t been for me.”

“One of your obligations is to look after your master’s safety. It’s your duty!”