Orcs (33 page)

There was no movement. That wasn’t a surprise. She didn’t expect any results yet.

Anything was better than going back to the tedium below, so she decided to kill a few more minutes up there. She got to wondering whether Stryke hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew this time. With a shudder, her mind went to that pit of darkness her fellow warriors had climbed into.

Then something heavy smashed into the back of her head and she fell into a black pit of her own.

Coilla returned to consciousness and a sea of pain.

There was the most gods-awful ache running from the back of her head and down her neck. She gingerly reached for the source of agony and her fingers came away bloody.

Realisation hit. She quickly sat up. Too quickly. She gasped, her head throbbed and spun.

There must have been an attack. The trolls! She got unsteadily to her feet and surveyed the surroundings. There was no sign of anybody in any direction, and their base camp looked deserted.

Groaning with the effort, she scrambled down from the rock and headed back as fast as she could. It crossed her mind to wonder how long she’d been lying on the rock. It could have been hours, though a glance at the sky indicated that was unlikely. She dabbed at the back of her head again. It was still bleeding but not profusely. She’d been lucky.

At that point it occurred to her that if her attacker had been a troll she wouldn’t be alive now. That led to a second, far more dreadful thought. Her hand went to her belt pouch.

It was open. The stars were gone.

She cursed aloud and started running, the pain be damned.

When she reached camp there was no sign of Haskeer or Reafdaw. She called out their names. Nothing.

She called again. This time she was answered by groans coming from the direction of the horses. She sped that way.

Reafdaw was spread out on the ground, dangerously near the tethered mounts. Which explained why she hadn’t seen him earlier. She knelt at his side. He too had a bloodied head. His complexion was chalky white.

“Reafdaw!” she said, shaking him violently.

He groaned again.

“Reafdaw!”
Her shaking grew even more insistent. “What happened?”

“I . . . he . . .”

“Where’s Haskeer? What’s going on?”

The grunt seemed to gather a little strength.
“Haskeer. Bastard . . .”

“What do you mean?” She was afraid she already knew the answer to that.

“Just . . . just after you left he came . . . over to . . . me. Didn’t say . . . much. Then he went . . . berserk. Near . . . near stove my head . . . in.”

“He did the same to me, the swine.” She looked at the trooper’s wound. “It could be a lot worse,” she told him. “Reafdaw, I know you feel like shit, but this is important. What happened then? Where did he go?”

The grunt swallowed, the pain clear in his eyes. “He went . . . off. I was out . . . for a . . . while. Came round. He was back. Thought . . . thought he was going to finish . . . me. But no. Took . . . a horse.”

“
Damn!
He got the stars.”

“Gods,” Reafdaw responded weakly.

“Which way? Did you see which way he went?”

“North. I think . . . it was . . . north.”

She had to make a decision, and fast.

“I’ve got to go after him. You’ll have to look to yourself until the others get back. Can you do that?”

“Yes . . . Go.”

“You’ll be all right.” She got up, her head blazing, and snatched a water sack from the nearest horse. She laid it in his hands. “Here. I’m sorry, Reafdaw, I have to do this.”

She staggered to the fastest-looking horse and unhitched it. Clambering on to its back, she spurred it hard.

And headed north.

25

Jup and the remainder of the band hadn’t been able to dig through to Stryke and Alfray. They weren’t even sure if they’d escaped the collapse of the tunnel roof.

The only thing they could do was turn around and head back the way they’d come.

Having rendezvoused with Liffin and Bhose, standing guard beneath the shaft, they had their first disappointment. The slim hope that Stryke and Alfray might have found a way round the blocked tunnel and back to the entrance was dashed.

Jup’s next thought was to try to reach them another way. The only possibility was the smaller of the two tunnels. He led the band into it. But after a long and uneventful walk, during which they found only empty side chambers and cul-de-sacs, they reached its end.

With heavy hearts they returned to the starting point.

There seemed little point in waiting. The only remaining hope was that the pair might have discovered another way out of the labyrinth and to the surface. Jup ordered a retreat. They all climbed back up the shaft and headed for camp at speed.

On arrival, the further crushing disappointment of not finding their comrades had returned was overlaid with disaster when they came across Reafdaw.

He’d managed to rise to a sitting position, and nursed his head as they stood around him, horrified at the tale he had to tell.

“So that was it,” the grunt concluded. “Haskeer attacked me and Coilla like a madman and he got the stars. She went haring after him. That’s all I can tell you.”

Jup ordered that his injuries be dressed.

The band set up a clamour about what they should do.

“Shut up!”
the dwarf yelled, and they quietened. “Trying to get Stryke and Alfray out of that labyrinth should be the priority. We know they’re living on borrowed time down there. On the other hand, we can’t let Haskeer get away with the stars, and it sounds as though Coilla might not be in a fit state to stop him.”

“Why not split the band and try both?” somebody shouted.

“We’d be slicing our forces too finely. A rescue bid down below needs all we’ve got, and more. Scouring the countryside for Haskeer could easily take all of us.”

Another voice was raised. “So what
are
we going to do?” it demanded. Then added “Sergeant” as a far from respectful after-thought.

There was an unmistakable edge of hostility in the question, and on more than one of the anxious faces surrounding him. The simmering resentment some felt about his race and rank was in danger of breaking surface.

But he didn’t know what to say. He had to make a choice and make it now, and it would be so easy to get it wrong.

He stared at them, saw the expectation in their eyes, and in a few, something more menacing.

Jup had always been ambitious for command. But not this way.

Coilla had a stroke of luck about half an hour after setting out on her search.

She was beginning to think she’d never find him, and have to return in shame, when she caught a glimpse of a distant rider, galloping across the skyline along a ridge of hills further north.

She wasn’t certain, but it looked like Haskeer.

Digging in her heels, she urged her mount to greater effort.

The horse was foaming by the time she made the hills, and she allowed it no rest in climbing. Once at the top she paused, raising herself in the saddle to scan the land in the direction of distant Taklakameer. She couldn’t see the rider. But it was a mixed terrain and there were endless places that might conceal him. Having no other option, she galloped onward.

The route she followed took her into a shallow, verdant valley, with clumps of trees on either side and others scattered in her path. She didn’t allow that to slow her speed, though now she began to fear that the horse wouldn’t be able to sustain the pace much longer.

Then she caught another glimpse of the rider, far off at the valley’s end. She bore down and rode like fury.

Suddenly she wasn’t alone.

Two riders came in from the trees at her right, another appeared on her left. They seemed to be humans.

She was so taken by surprise that when the one on her left quickly moved in and sideswiped her mount with a leather whip, she lost control. The reins flew from her hands. Her horse stumbled and went down. The world tilted at a crazy angle.

Coilla thudded into the ground, rolled several times and came to a stop, the wind knocked out of her.

Head swimming, she tried to rise, but only got as far as her knees.

The trio of humans had pulled up and dismounted. She looked at them, her vision clearing.

One was tall and guileful-eyed. He had a mean, pinched face disfigured by a scar. The second was short and lithe. He worried at a black eye-patch and grimaced at her through rotten teeth. The last had the build of a mountain bear and it was all muscle. He was completely hairless and had an oft-broken nose.

The tall one grinned and it wasn’t friendly. “Now what do we have here?” he said, his voice oily and laden with menace.

Coilla shook her head, trying to clear the pain away. She wanted to stand but couldn’t manage it.

The three humans moved forward, reaching for their weapons.

For something like an hour, Stryke and Alfray walked the tunnel they had no choice but to follow. They were no side-shoots or chambers leading off from it, and it altered only in descending at an ever-increasing rate.

Finally they came to another chamber, by far the biggest they’d seen so far. They knew it to be untenanted because, unlike the others, it was brightly lit by scores of flaming brands. Its jagged ceiling was far overhead, prickling with stalactites, and at least six tunnels ran off from it in different directions.

The chamber housed just one object, a vast block of fashioned stone resembling a lidded sarcophagus. Mysterious symbols were carved on its sides and top.

They walked to it, their footsteps echoing in the great hollow space.

“What do you suppose this might be?” Alfray wondered.

“Who can say?” Stryke replied. “It’s said these denizens of the lower world worship dark and terrible gods. This has the look of ritual about it.” He laid his hand on the time-smoothed surface. “We’ll probably never know.”

“You are wrong!”

They spun to the source of the voice.

A troll, clothed in robes of spun gold and with a silver crown upon his head, had entered the chamber unseen behind them. He was of mightier build than any they had slain, and he held an ornate crook almost equal to his height.

Stryke and Alfray brought up their swords, ready to take on the unexpected visitation. But as they did so, a multitude of trolls poured into the chamber from all the other tunnels. They numbered scores, and all were armed, many with spears bearing barbed tips.

The orcs glanced at each other.

“I’m for taking as many as we can,” Stryke hissed.

“Well said,” Alfray agreed.

“That would be foolish indeed,” the troll boomed, sending forward his troops with a flick of his hand.

A forest of spears was aimed at the orcs, and now they saw that the second ranks bore notched bows with arrows aimed at them. They couldn’t reach their foes, let alone set about killing them.

“Lay down your arms,” the troll demanded.

“That’s not something an orc’s used to doing,” Stryke told him contemptuously.

“The choice is yours,” the creature returned. “Surrender them or die.”

The mass of spears edged closer. The archers’ strings were made more taut.

Alfray and Stryke exchanged a look. An unspoken agreement passed between them.

They threw down their swords.

The trolls rushed forward and seized them. But if the orcs expected instant death, they were wrong.

“I am Tannar,” the troll headman informed them, “king of the inner realm. Monarch and high priest in one, servant of the gods that protect our domain from such as you.”

Neither orc replied, but showed him a proud demeanour.

“You’ll pay for your intrusion,” Tannar went on, “and pay for it in a way most beneficial to our gods.”

The troll soldiers forced Stryke and Alfray back to the stone slab. And then they knew beyond a doubt what function it served.

It was a sacrificial altar.

Rough hands bound them. The troll army parted to allow their king through.

As he slowly approached, he produced something from the folds of his cloak. The vile keenness of its curved steel caught glints of light. Deep and sinister, the assembled trolls began to chant in an outlandish tongue.

Moving towards the orcs at a funereal pace, Tannar raised the sacrificial blade.

“The knife,” Alfray whispered. “Stryke,
the knife!
”

Stryke looked at it and understood.

To have tasted freedom and then have it snatched away like this was as cruel a jest as any the darkest gods could devise. That all had come to nought was bad enough. But what Stryke saw was the bitterest blow imaginable.

The richly ornamented knife the troll king held aloft was further decorated with a very particular addition. Attached to its hilt was an instantly recognisable object.

They had found the star they sought.

BOOK 2

LEGION OF THUNDER

1

Death moved sinuously through the water.

Grim purpose set her face like stone. She dived deep, impelling herself with powerful strokes from splayed, webbed hands. Her ebony hair flowed free, an inky squid cloud billowing in her wake. Tiny threads of bubbles streamed from her palpitating gills.

She looked back. Her nyadd raiding swarm, massed ranks swimming in formation, was wreathed in an eerie green glow from the phosphorescent brands they carried to light their way. They held jagged-edged coral pikes. Bowed adamantine daggers were sheathed in reed halters criss-crossing their scaly chests.

The murk started to clear, allowing glimpses of the sandy ocean floor, peppered with jutting rocks and swaying foliage. Soon the beginnings of a reef came into view, white and craggy, smothered with purple-tinged fungus. She swept over it, her warriors in tow. They followed the reef’s outline, moving fast just above its surface, and this close the corruption was plain to see. Diseased vegetation, and the scarcity of fish, bore witness to the creeping taint. Scraps of dead things floated past, and the unseasonable cold, near freezing the water, was greater at such a depth.