Orcs (53 page)

Arms outstretched, moving surprisingly fast for his bulk, Blaan shot forward and encircled Haskeer with his powerful arms. They set to wrestling, faces strained, muscles bulging.

Coilla thought about going for the slaver, but had a more longed-for target. She jumped down from the platform. A goblin came out of the mêlée and engaged her. They crossed swords, the goblin making up for subtlety by powering in with savage swipes. She countered every swing, batting aside the blade with ease. Then she wrong-footed him, shifted her centre of balance and sent her blade point into his eye. The shrieking henchlin dropped.

She headed for the humans.

Lekmann and Stryke were still matching knock for knock. That didn’t interest Coilla. She wanted Aulay.

He and Jup battled on, toe to toe, sweat flecking their brows.

“Mine!”
she yelled.

Jup understood. He pulled back, spun, and connected with a goblin sword. That duel moved him clear.

Coilla took his place and glared at Aulay. “I’ve dreamed of this, you
fucker!
” she spat.

“And I owe
you
, bitch!” He absently touched bandaged ear with wrapped finger.

The jarring impact of their clashing blades rang out. Coilla dodged and weaved, looking for any chance to plant cold steel in his flesh. Aulay fought back with a bravado bordering on panic. The homicidal expression she wore was enough to sustain the energy of his defence. It made his passes wild and not entirely accurate; it also added an element of unpredictability to his style.

For her part, Coilla poured all her resentment and hatred of the bounty hunters into her onslaught. Only blood would assuage the injury they’d done her. She pounded at the one-eyed human’s sword with such frenzy it was a wonder it didn’t snap. He was hard put to fend off the assault. His attacking stance began dissolving into pure self-preservation.

Stryke had found that despite looking dissolute, Lekmann fenced like a demon. Theirs was a duel that demanded every ounce of concentration and strength.

It was an old orc adage that the way an enemy fought betrayed the way they thought. So it befitted his nature that the bounty hunter used feints and deceitful moves as key techniques. Stryke was equally adept at duplicity and replied in kind. Though he would have far preferred the honesty of straight-forward homicide.

They circled, alert for any flaw in each other’s guard, ready to kill. Lekmann vaulted in, whipping his blade at Stryke’s head. Stryke swatted it aside and paid him back with a swipe to the chest. It was short. They kept up their lethal dance.

Razatt-Kheage’s outpourings of rage, frustration and orders continued, spouted in both his native tongue and universal. It stopped when a grunt on the floor below lashed out at his legs. The slaver jumped clear. In lieu of a weapon, he snatched up a bulky cloth sack and swung it down at the orc’s head. He missed and nearly lost his balance. The grunt slashed the sack. A torrent of silver coins, the bounty hunters’ payment, gushed out and bounced in all directions. Orcs and goblins slipped on them as they scattered.

Dozens of coins rolled the way of Stryke and Lekmann. Crunching underfoot, they slowed but didn’t stop their combat. Both were tiring now and the fight was near the point where stamina could be the deciding element. Not that either allowed it to lessen the blows they dealt.

For all their strength, Haskeer and Blaan were hitting the same barrier. Haskeer knew he had to finish their bout quickly while he still had enough in reserve. He and the human were locked in a wrestling hold, Blaan’s clasped hands in the small of Haskeer’s back, one of Haskeer’s arms trapped immovably. Drawing deep from his depleted well of energy, the orc slowly raised his free arm and repeatedly fisted the bounty hunter’s head. Simultaneously he applied outward pressure with his snared arm.

The strain showed on Blaan’s contorted face. He was struggling to contain his foe. Haskeer needed just one more bit of leverage. He found it. With all his might he stamped his boot down on Blaan’s foot, heel first. The human cried out. Haskeer stomped repeatedly. With a great out-rush of breath, Blaan lost control and the hold was shattered.

He half staggered, half limped backwards. Haskeer lurched the few paces separating them and delivered a solid kick to Blaan’s crotch. The human gave an anguished high-pitched scream. Without pause, and giving it all he’d got, Haskeer landed a swift combination of punches—to the chin, to the stomach, then to the chin again. Blaan went down like a felled oak. The wooden platform trembled.

Haskeer moved in and conferred a kicking on him, right foot, left foot, targeting any vulnerable spot that presented itself. Blaan’s hand flashed out, grabbed one of Haskeer’s legs, tugged and downed him. There was a scramble to be the first one up. They made it at the same time. Blaan closed the gap, his enormous face demonic with frenzy, and raised his ham fists. Bloodied and bruised, they were back to sparring.

Coilla was making headway with Aulay. She sent in blows high and low, forcing him to skip and swerve to avoid them. But his movements were leaden-footed, his vigour ebbing. She sensed a kill was close.

Jup and the grunts, working shoulder to shoulder, had thinned out the ranks of goblins. Just three or four were left, and they were retreating to the dais end of the room. When their backs were to the platform they put up a frenzied last stand. Two tried to break through the semicircle of approaching orcs. One swung his studded mace in a wide arc. A pair of orcs ducked under the flying weapon and shredded the henchlin’s chest. Jup took care of the other. He dashed the sword from its grip and hacked into the creature’s neck.

But that had given the two remaining goblins their chance. They sprang on to the dais and rained blows down on the Wolverines’ heads, preventing them from following. Razatt-Kheage sheltered behind them, raving encouragement.

Lekmann and Aulay, likewise being forced back by their implacable orc opponents, knew the game was up.

“Get out!”
Lekmann bawled.

His partner needed no further encouragement. He swiftly backed off from Coilla, turned and ran. With a last flash of his blade in Stryke’s direction, Lekmann did the same. The orc captain and corporal went after them.

Aulay tripped and fell. As he got up, Lekmann raced past him. He made the dais, arriving at a point between Haskeer and Blaan’s fight to the left and the battling orcs and goblins to the right. Unimpeded, he scrambled up.

Swerving to evade a lone orc trying to stop him, Aulay got there too. Lekmann stretched a hand and hoisted him up. They turned to fend off Stryke and Coilla, who swept in a second later. All the humans and remaining goblins were on the platform. All the Wolverines battled to climb it.

All save Haskeer. Trading punches with Blaan at their end of the platform, he was oblivious. The human was more conscious of the need to withdraw. Still sparring, he began edging towards his comrades.

Alone among the Wolverines, Coilla managed to ascend the dais. She fetched up nearest Aulay and went for him.

“What does it take to stop you, bitch?” he snarled.

“Just die,” she said.

He attacked. Coilla deflected the blows. Aulay turned his sword and started to advance again.

She held fast. Giving way to rage, he came at her recklessly with wild, ill-judged slashes. His guard was careless. A thrust missed her head by a good three inches. Seeing a chance, Coilla quickly spun to one side and chopped downward with all her strength.

Her blade sliced cleanly through the flesh and bone of his left wrist. The hand fell away and slapped wetly on the boards. A fountain of blood gushed from the stump. Agony and disbelief stamped on his face, Aulay began screaming.

Coilla drew back her sword to finish him.

From behind, a pair of massive arms encircled her waist. As though she weighed nothing, Blaan tossed her from the dais. She landed heavily on the floor below.

Lekmann pulled Aulay away. He was wailing. Copious quantities of his blood drenched the platform.

Haskeer caught up with Blaan. The human elbowed him in the stomach. Gasping, Haskeer doubled over. Blaan thundered in the direction of his fellow bounty hunters and the goblins. He stopped short of them and took hold of Razatt-Kheage’s ponderous wooden throne. Haskeer was on his feet again and charging. Hoisting the chair like a toy, Blaan swung round and struck Haskeer with it. The force knocked the orc across the platform and slammed him into the wall.

Then Blaan hefted his load to the edge and hurled it down on the orcs. They scattered as it smashed to the floor.

Taking advantage of the confusion, the slaver led his henchlins and the bounty hunters to the door at the back of the dais. They were going through it before Stryke shouted out and everybody rushed the platform.

Too late. The door slammed in their faces. They heard bolts being thrown on the other side. Stryke and a couple of grunts shouldered it several times. Haskeer joined them and added his strength. But it wouldn’t give.

“Forget it,” Stryke panted.

Haskeer pounded his fist against the door in frustration.
“Damn!”

Recovering from her fall, stretching her aching limbs, Coilla walked across the platform towards them. “I’m going to kill those bastards if it’s the last thing I do,” she vowed.

“Look out!”
Jup yelled, pushing her aside.

A spear winged past and embedded itself in the wall.

It had been thrown by a goblin in the body of the room, wounded and bleeding but on his feet. Now he had a sword in his hand.

That was too much for Haskeer. He leapt from the platform and ran at the creature. The goblin took one ineffective swipe at him. Then Haskeer dashed away the sword with his bare hands and battered the henchlin senseless. Not content with that, he took the goblin by the scruff of its neck and hammered its head against the wall, again and again and again.

The others came over and watched the limp and lifeless body being reduced to pulp.

Jup said, “I think he’s dead.”

“I know that, short arse!” Haskeer snapped. He unceremoniously dumped the goblin’s body.

Stryke smiled. “Good to have you back, Sergeant.”

From their rear came the splintering crash of wood. They turned.

A Watcher, grim-faced and unstoppable, was beating its way through what was left of the door to the street. There were others beyond it.

Coilla sighed. “Fuck, what a day.”

16

“Don’t try taking on the things,” Stryke warned. “Let’s just get away from them.”

“Easier said than done,” Jup reckoned, staring at the lumbering homunculus.

They backed off as the Watcher moved into the room. The vast head slowly turned, its gem eyes, animated by synthetic life, surveying the scene. Two of its fellows filed through the door behind it.

The foremost Watcher lifted its hands, palms up. There was a loud click. Shiny metallic blades sprang from slots in the heels of the hands. They were half a foot long and wickedly keen. As though on signal, the other Watchers snapped out similar weapons.

“Uh-oh,” Jup said.

“Minimum engagement, then,” Stryke amended. “Just what it takes to get out of here.”

“That could turn out to be
whatever
it takes to get out of here,” Coilla remarked, eyeing the Watchers. “I’ve seen them in action. They’re faster than they look, and mercy’s not their strong point.”

“You do realise they’ve seen the weapons and that means they’re in execution mode?” Jup asked.

“Yes,” Stryke replied. “But remember the bleeding of the magic’s made them less effective.”

“There’s a comfort.”

The Watchers were on the move again. Their way.

“Can we
do
something?” Haskeer growled impatiently.

“All right,” Stryke said. “Simple mission. All of us through that door.”

“Now?” Coilla prompted.

He studied the advancing Watchers. “Now.”

The band rushed forward, flowing to either side of the lead Watcher, intending to go around it. Dazzlingly fast, its arms shot out horizontally, barring the way. The other two did the same. Light glinted from their extended blades. Everybody stopped.

“Any more bright ideas?” Haskeer wondered, flirting with insubordination.

The homunculi kept coming, arms outstretched as though shepherding cattle. The band backtracked.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go at this as a group,” Stryke suggested. “They might find individual action harder to deal with.”

“If you mean every Wolverine for themselves,” Haskeer grumbled, “I wish you’d say so.”

“You and me are going to have to have a little talk, Sergeant.”

“Let’s try getting out of here alive first,” Coilla reminded them.

Jup had a notion. “Why don’t we attack this one all at once? I mean, how invulnerable can they be?”

“I’m game,” Haskeer rumbled, hefting a goblin’s mace.

“We’ll go for it,” Stryke decided. “But if it doesn’t work, don’t linger. Ready?
Now!
”

They charged again, and set about the first Watcher. They slashed at it with swords, stabbed at it with daggers, pounded it with maces, crashed spears against it. Haskeer tried kicking it.

The Watcher stood impassive, stock still and completely unaffected.

The band moved back and regrouped. The Watchers resumed their inexorable advance.

“We’re running out of room,” Jup said, glancing behind them. “One more time?”

Stryke nodded. “And give it all you’ve got.”

They thoroughly assaulted the creature. To the extent that spears snapped, blades broke and knives were blunted. None of it had any greater effect than before.

“Retreat!” Stryke yelled.

Coilla jerked her head at the dais. “Up there, Stryke. It’s all we’ve got left.”

Haskeer grinned. “Yeah, I bet they can’t climb!”

They made for the platform and swarmed on to it. The Watchers turned and followed.

“Now what?” Coilla wanted to know.

“Let’s try that door again.”

Battering it with maces made no difference.

“Inlaid with steel, I’d say,” Stryke judged.