Orcs (18 page)

“I didn’t set out to make life harder for us. But now it’s happened, it’s happened. We should make the best of it.”

“By swallowing these stories of myths and legends? They’re tales for the hatcheries, Stryke. You can’t believe this gryphon shit.”

“Whether I do or not isn’t the point. What matters is that Jennesta does. That gives us a powerful bargaining counter. This star could mean the difference between us living or dying. I’m not sure it’s enough, knowing Jennesta. But if we had more than one, even all five . . .”

“So you think it’s better to set off on this brainless quest than go back and throw ourselves on the Queen’s mercy?”

“She
has
no mercy, Haskeer. Can’t you get that through your head? Or does it take my fists to do it?”

“But you want to make this move on the word of an old gremlin.” He jabbed his finger at Mobbs, who flinched. “How do you know he’s telling the truth? Or that he isn’t just plain crazy?”

“I believe him. Even if I didn’t, we can’t go back. Look, if you and the ones who voted with you, Jad, Finje, Breggin, if you want to go, then do it. But there’s safety in numbers.”

“You want to break up the band?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You only got us to vote on the cylinder, Stryke, not turning renegade.”

“Fair point. Though I reckon we’re renegades already. You just haven’t realised it.” He faced the assembled Wolverines. “You’ve heard what’s been said. I want to go after another star, and Trinity looks the best bet. I won’t pretend it’ll be anything but rough. But then we’re orcs, and that’s what we do best. If any of you don’t want to come, if you’d prefer to go back to Cairn-barrow or anywhere else, you’ll be given rations and a horse. Make yourselves known now.”

No one, not even those who had voted with Haskeer, came forward.

“So, are you coming?” Stryke asked him.

After a pause, he replied moodily, “Don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’m coming. But if things go against my liking, I’ll leave.”

“All right. But mark this. We might not be part of Jennesta’s horde any more, but that doesn’t mean discipline isn’t going to hold in this band. It’s what makes everything work. If you’ve got a problem with that, we’ll take another vote. On who’s going to be leader.”

“Keep your leadership, Stryke. I just want to get out of this mess with my head.”

“You have taken the first step of a long and perilous journey,” Mobbs told them all. “You cannot go back. You are outlaws now.”

The sobering atmosphere that brought down was cut into by Stryke. “Let’s get ready to move.”

“To Trinity?” Coilla said.

“To Trinity.”

She smiled and went off.

Alfray left to check his patients. The rest of the band dispersed.

Mobbs looked up at Stryke and asked hesitantly, “What about . . . me?”

Stryke regarded him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t know whether we should thank you for helping us break away or kill you for turning our lives upside down.”

“I think you had already started to do that before you met me, Stryke.”

“I think perhaps we had.”

“What
are
you going to do with me?”

“Let you go.”

The gremlin gave a little bow of gratitude.

“Where will you go?” Stryke said.

“Hecklowe. I still have business to finish.” His eyes took on a shine. “A trunk full of writing tablets was found in a cellar there. Tax records, apparently, from the . . . You don’t find this quite as fascinating as I do, do you, Stryke?”

“Each to his own, Mobbs. Can we escort you part of the way?”

“I am for Hecklowe, you for Trinity. They are in opposite directions.”

“We’ll let you have a horse and some victuals for the journey.”

“That is generous.”

“You may have given us back our freedom, it’s little enough in exchange. Anyway, we have spares, not least Darig’s. He won’t be needing one for a while. Oh, and you might as well keep that.” He nodded at the parchment in Mobbs’s hand.

“Truly?”

“Why not? We have no need of it. Do we?”

“Er, no, indeed not. It has no bearing on the function of the instrumentalities. I thank you for it, Stryke. And for freeing me from the kobolds.” He sighed. “I would love to accompany you, you know. But at my age . . .”

“Of course.”

“But I wish you and your Wolverines all good luck, Stryke. And if you’ll take the counsel of an old gremlin . . . beware. Not only because you have made many enemies on all sides by your recent actions, but also because your search for the instrumentalities may well lead you into conflict with others on the same mission. With so much at stake, your rivals will stop at nothing to gain the prize.”

“We can look after ourselves.”

Mobbs regarded the orc’s massive chest, imposing shoulders, muscular arms and proudly thrusting jaw. He read the determination in the craggy face, the flint in the eyes. “I have no doubt you can.”

Haskeer returned, hefting a saddle one-handed. He dropped it nearby and began arranging his kit.

“What route will you take to Hecklowe?” Stryke wanted to know.

Mobbs cracked a thin smile. “Not through this forest, that is for certain. I will go west, in order to leave it as quickly as possible, then turn north to skirt it. It’s a longer way —”

“But much safer. I understand. We’ll ride to the forest’s edge with you.”

“Thank you. I shall make ready.”

He walked off clutching the parchment.

“That could be a mistake too,” Haskeer commented. “He knows too much. What if he talks?”

“He won’t.”

Before Haskeer could offer any more unwanted advice, Alfray arrived, his face troubled.

Without preamble he announced, “Meklun’s dead. The fever took him.”

“Shit,” Stryke said. “But it’s not a surprise.”

“No. At least his suffering’s over. I hate losing them, Stryke. But I did my best.”

“I know.”

“Question now is, what do we do with him? Given the fix we’re in.”

“A funeral pyre’s going to be like a beacon for kobolds and any other race looking for trouble. We can’t risk it. This once, forget tradition. Bury him.”

“I’ll get it done.”

As Alfray made to leave, he glanced at Haskeer and stopped. “You all right?” he enquired. “You look a bit off-colour.”

“I’m
fine
,” Haskeer replied sharply. “I’m just sick of what’s happening to this band! Now leave me alone!”

He turned his back on them and stormed off.

Jennesta stared at the necklace of snow leopard’s teeth.

It had arrived with an impertinent message from the captain that Kysthan had sent after the Wolverines. Despite his orders, Delorran had taken it upon himself to extend the deadline she had decreed. The necklace was a reminder of how minions would resort to insubordination the moment they were out of sight. And of the punishment she would inflict for the transgression.

She slipped the necklace into the pouch in her cloak and gazed at the sky. The flock of dragons was no more than a distant speckle of black dots now. They were off on yet another patrol, searching for her quarry.

The wind changed and brought the odour of something unpleasant her way. She looked at the gibbet set in the middle of the courtyard.

General Kysthan’s body hung from it, swaying gently.

Decomposition was setting in. Soon birds of prey as well as dragons would be circling above her castle. But she would leave the carcass there for a while yet. It served as an example to others who might fail her. In particular it would be a warning to the one she was about to receive.

She watched as the dragons were completely swallowed by the overcast sky.

Then several of her orc bodyguards approached, escorting another of their kind. He was young, or at least youngish, being perhaps thirty seasons old. His physique spoke of a warrior, rather than the general his abnormally clean and tidy uniform indicated.

Naturally he couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at the suspended corpse.

He clicked his heels smartly and gave a bobbing head bow. “My lady.”

She waved away the guards. “At ease, Mersadion.”

If he relaxed at all, it was imperceptible.

“I’m told you’re ambitious, energetic, and more politically adept than Kysthan was,” she said. “You’ve also risen well in the ranks. Having been a soldier in the field until recently could prove to both our advantages. That you are not still there is due entirely to me. Be sure that, having made you, I can break you.”

“Ma’am.”

“What did you think of Kysthan?”

“He was . . . of an older generation, my lady. One with which I have not a great deal of sympathy.”

“I do hope you’re not going to begin our working relationship with mealy words, General, or it won’t last long. Now try the truth.”

“He was a fool, Your Majesty.”

She smiled. An act which, had Mersadion known her better, would not have reassured him even to the limited extent it did. “I picked you for preferment because I understand foolishness is
not
one of your weaknesses. Do you know the situation concerning the Wolverines?”

“The warband? All I know is that they’ve gone missing, presumed dead or captured.”

“Presumed nothing. They’re absent without leave, and they have an item of great value that belongs to me.”

“Isn’t Captain Delorran searching for them already?”

“Yes, and he’s overdue. You know this Delorran?”

“A little, my lady, yes.”

“What’s your opinion of him?”

“Young, headstrong, and driven by his hatred of the Wolverines’ commander, Stryke. Delorran has long harboured resentments about Stryke. But he’s an orc you’d expect to obey orders.”

“He’s gone beyond the time limit I set for his return. This displeases me greatly.”

“If Delorran’s late returning it must be for a good reason, ma’am. A warm trail left by the Wolverines, for example.”

“He sent a message to that effect. Very well. For the moment I won’t add him and
his
band to those regarded as outlaws. But every day the Wolverines are absent the more it looks as though they’ve gone renegade. Your first assignment, and it’s by far the most important, is to take command of the search for them. It’s vital to get back the artifact they’ve stolen.”

“What is this artifact, ma’am?”

“That you don’t need to know, beyond its description. I have other assignments for you, related to the recovery of this item, but my orders about those will be passed to you in due course.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Serve me well, Mersadion, and I’ll reward you. Further advancement will be yours. Now take a good look at your predecessor.” A note of menace crept into her voice. “Be clear that if you fail me you will share his fate. Understood?”

“Understood, my lady.”

She thought he took that well. He looked respectful of the threat but not overawed by it. Perhaps she could work with this one, and not have to submit him to the kind of death she had in mind for Stryke. And when he finally returned, Delorran.

Delorran surveyed the charred remains of the tiny makeshift village.

Most of the foliage that had hidden the depression where the settlement was located had been destroyed by fire. Only skeletal trees and the stumps of burnt bushes were left.

He sat astride his horse, his sergeant mounted beside him, as the grunts investigated the ruins.

“It seems the Wolverines leave destruction everywhere they go,” Delorran commented.

“That’s their job, isn’t it, sir?” the sergeant replied.

Delorran gave him a disdainful look. “This wasn’t a military target. It looks like a civilian camp.”

“But how do we know the Wolverines had anything to do with it, sir?”

“It would be too great a coincidence if they hadn’t, given that their trail led straight here.”

A trooper ran to them. The sergeant leaned over and heard his report, then dismissed him.

“The bodies in the burnt-out huts, sir,” the sergeant related. “They’re orcs. All women and young ones, apparently.”

“Any signs of what killed them?”

“The bodies are too far gone for that, sir.”

“So, Stryke and his gang have sunk low enough to slay their own kind now, and defenceless ones at that.”

“With respect, sir . . . ,” the sergeant ventured carefully.

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“Well, these deaths could have been due to any number of things. It could have been the fire. We have no proof that the Wolverines —”

“I have the proof of my own eyes. And knowing what Stryke’s capable of, it doesn’t surprise me at all. They’re renegades now. Maybe they’ve even gone over to the Unis.”

“Yes, sir.” It was a muted, less than enthusiastic response.

“Get the company together, Sergeant, we’ve no time to waste. What we’ve seen here gives us even more reason to catch these bandits, and put a stop to them. We’re pushing on.”

They could do no more for Meklun than commend his spirit to the gods of war and bury him too deep for scavenging animals.

Having escorted Mobbs from Black Rock Forest, the Wolverines headed south-west on the first leg of their journey to Trinity. This time, their course would take them between Weaver’s Lea and Quatt, the dwarves’ homeland. The most direct route put Weaver’s Lea directly in their path, but bearing in mind the trouble they’d had with the roadblock near there earlier, Stryke was determined to approach the human settlement with caution. His plan was to bypass it and make for the foothills of the Carascrag Mountains. Then they’d turn due west in the direction of Trinity. That would greatly lengthen the journey, but he thought it a price worth paying.

As the day wore on they sighted a sizeable herd of gryphons. The animals were heading north, travelling at speed with the loping, jerky movement peculiar to their species. An hour or two later a far-off group of dragons was spotted, soaring high above the western horizon. That the beasts enjoyed a freedom threatened by the turmoil engulfing the land somehow made it seem sweeter. The parallel with the Wolverines’ liberation was not lost on Stryke.

Typically, Haskeer failed to appreciate any similarity, and continued to complain as they rode.