Orcs (80 page)

She noticed. “You’re cold?”

“No. Just . . .”

“Like somebody walked over your grave, to coin a phrase?”

“Sort of.”

“Has this happened to you before, while you’ve been here in Ruffetts?”

“Why the questions? I just shivered.”

“I do it too, quite often. It’s the escaping earth energy. I feel it like goosebumps, or liquid trickling on my skin.”

That was a fair description of what he’d just felt.

“But it doesn’t happen to everybody,” she went on, “just the attuned. The energy flows through me, I’m aware of it all the time. For most people, most of the elder races too, I think, it isn’t like that.”

“You’re saying that I’m . . .
attuned?
”

“It can’t be. Orcs don’t have any affinity with the magic, do they? No magical skills. Which we believe comes from you not absorbing the energy somehow, the way many of the other elder races do. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Do you ever have sudden flashes of perception? Farsight, perhaps? Or prophetic dreams?”

She was sharply intuitive and it troubled him.

“You do, don’t you?” Krista gently insisted. “Your face betrays you, for all its inscrutable qualities.”

He wrinkled his craggy brow. “What are you getting at?”

“You could be a sport, like me. There are many different kinds. In my case, quaintness, as my people sometimes call it, means I can feel the flow. Of magic.”

“I don’t understand.”

“From time to time all races seem to throw up a very small number of special individuals. They have a sort of . . .
twist,
compared to everybody else. Usually their twist has something to do with the earth energies. Sometimes it’s a completely wild talent. These special types are known as sports. Many wise beings have pondered their mystery. Some think they’re rare deviations from the racial norm. Mutations.”

“Doesn’t that mean a freak?”

“Only to the ignorant who want conformity. Like the Unis, Hobrow’s brand in particular, who would see it as some kind of abomination to be persecuted.”

“You’ve made a lot out of a shiver.”

She smiled. “There are other signs. Sports are said to be characterised by a higher than normal intelligence, for instance. Not always—there have been idiot savant sports—but usually.”

“What cause have I given you to think that of me?”

“Your actions.”

“I’m just a simple soldier.”

“I think you could be much more than that, Captain. You already have a reputation, you know. Even we’ve heard of it, and how there are many who would follow you. Sports are often leaders. Or messiahs.”

“I’m neither. I want no followers.”

“It seems to me you’ve already attracted some. Either that or warbands have grown considerably bigger.”

“That wasn’t of my choosing. I didn’t ask them to dog me.”

“Perhaps the gods desire it. You should learn to bend to their will, Stryke.”

“What of
my
will? Do I have no say in it?”

“Our will is as important as the gods’, because we use it to carry out their design.” Krista thought for a moment. “These strange experiences you’ve been having . . .” She saw the attempted denial in his face. “. . . that you imply haven’t happened, did they begin recently?”

“There might have been one or two . . . odd dreams.” Stryke was amazed hearing himself admit it to her. “But I think you’re wrong about all this,” he added hurriedly. “As I said, I’m a soldier, not a mystic.”

“If it
has
started recently,” she ploughed on, ignoring him, “and you had no hint of sport before, something must have triggered it. Or rather, boosted what was already there, what was innate.” Smiling, she added, “Of course, I could be wrong.”

“I have to go,” he told her.

“Not for anything I’ve said, I hope. Because, even if I’m right, it shouldn’t be seen as a bad thing. It can be a very rocky road or a blessing; it’s up to you.”

“It’s nothing you’ve said,” he assured her. “I have to help with the defences.”

“We should speak about this again.” When he made no reply to that, she asked, “Why did you come?”

“No reason. Just passing.”

Stryke left suffering another twinge of guilt. But at least he should have given Coilla enough time to check the temple without the High Priestess being there.

Coilla should have been in and out by now. She hadn’t even got in. The guards had seen to that.

Stryke had agreed that this was the best opportunity. For the first time, work had been suspended on the temple due to the siege and there were no workers smothering the place. He had gone off to distract Krista Galby, to prevent her turning up unexpectedly. It might be Coilla’s only chance. But for those damned guards.

There were four of them and they took turns patrolling. One pair stayed at the gates while the other did the rounds, then it was turnabout and off again. She’d crouched miserably in a clump of bushes opposite for nearly an hour, watching the guards and keeping an eye on passing citizenry. If she didn’t see a way in soon she’d have to abandon the mission.

No sooner had the thought occurred than her break came. Four relief guards arrived. They mustered at the bottom of the temple’s steps, and the old guards walked down to greet them. The doors were unprotected. If Coilla moved very fast, hugging the shadows, she might just get herself up the side of the steps and in. But it would take only one of the gossiping soldiers to turn and see her for the game to be up. A big risk, that had to be taken now or never.

She took it. Stooping low, running fast, she rushed from her hiding place and got across the avenue. She scaled the steps two or three at a time. Then she was at the doors, which were conveniently in a pool of gloom. There was a moment’s anxiety when she thought the place might be locked. But obviously no one saw the necessity with guards about. The round iron handle, big as her hand, turned freely. Pushing the door just enough to sidle in, she carefully closed it behind her.

Standing absolutely still and silent, she listened, just in case there was somebody inside. Detecting nothing, she looked around. There were no lamps or candles burning. But light came in from the open roof, lofty windows and a high section of uncompleted wall. It was dull but enough to see by.

There were some internal furnishings, including rows of benches and the beginnings of an altar. Several pillars had been erected, taller and slimmer than the ones outside, presumably as roof supports. A single, shorter pillar, the circumference of a wagon wheel, stood beside the altar, near to a boarded window. She went over and saw that something was sitting on its flat top, arranged so that people on the benches could gaze up at it. Not being able to make out what it was, she climbed on to the altar to see better.

It looked as though she had found the star. Details were hard to make out, but she reckoned it was red, and it certainly had more spikes than the others.

That was all Coilla needed to know for now. She clambered down and padded back to the door. Very carefully and quietly she eased it open a crack. Then froze. Two sentries stood a couple of feet away, their backs to her. Worse, at the bottom of the steps the other guards were talking with the High Priestess and Commander Rellston. Praying she wouldn’t be seen, she gently closed the door and retreated.

It was time to think fast. She scanned the massive building. Only one possibility presented itself, and it didn’t look easy.

Creeping back to the altar, she scaled it again. Even standing on the edge, the stout pillar was just beyond reach. But she thought she might be able to jump to it if she took a short run. Her hands would have to connect with the flat top, and the pillar’s fluting would have to be pronounced enough to give her feet purchase. Two big ifs.

She moved to the far side of the altar, beaded the target, took a breath and ran. As she leapt, it occurred to her that the pillar might be free-standing and go down when she hit it. In which case every guard in the settlement would be in here.

Luck was with her. Her hands came down on the pillar’s top, painfully, and she held on. Her boots gripped on the fluting. The whole thing didn’t collapse, as she’d feared. Then it was a case of scrabbling her way up until she was able to perch unsteadily on the plateau, crowding the star. And it was the star, she saw that clearly now. As she thought, it was red, and she counted no less than nine projecting spikes.

For a second she was tempted to take it. Good sense prevailed.

She hadn’t finished yet. The next step was to get from the pillar to the boarded window, which fortunately had a deep sill. It was as long a jump as the one she’d just taken, and of course she couldn’t have a run at it. There was no point delaying. Tensing her muscles, she launched herself. She made it to the sill, but only just. For a dizzying second she thought she was going to fall. Clamping her palms on the sides of the window’s alcove saved her.

Drawing a knife, she set to work on the nails holding one of the boards. It was fortunate that they’d been hammered in from her side. What seemed an eternity went by as Coilla prised them loose. She expected the guards to burst in at any moment, or the Priestess to enter. At last she got the board off, and was relieved to see scaffolding outside. The plank she passed out through the gap. Next she began squeezing through herself. That proved tense too; the space was only just wide enough.

She kept low on the scaffolding, trusting she wouldn’t be seen. Then the board had to be wedged back in place behind her, lest it be thought someone had broken in. Finally she scanned the street, saw no one, and swiftly descended to ground level.

Sighing with relief as she melted into the shadows, Coilla promised herself she’d never take up burglary as a profession.

Jennesta tossed scraps of raw meat to the flock as she rode.

The dozen or so scavengers swooped and screeched, catching the titbits in the air and gulping them whole.

“Aren’t they delightful?” she enthused.

Mersadion grunted a platitude and gazed at the harpies. He found their black leathery skin, bat-like crinkly wings and razor-toothed maws far from adorable. But it never did to gainsay his mistress.

His bandages were off now, and he was depressingly self-conscious about the wound. Angry blisters pockmarked the whole of the right side of his face, leaving his cheek a ruin. He looked like a partially melted candle.

For her part, Jennesta took pride in her handiwork, and had insisted that he ride on the left side of her chariot in order to admire it.

“You know,” she mused, “I was a little piqued about that run-in earlier, letting Hobrow and the Unis beat us to Ruffetts View.”

He could have laughed at her choice of words to describe the wrath she’d displayed at the time. Had he not valued his life.

“But I’m beginning to see the positive side of it,” she finished.

“Ma’am?”

“Ever heard the expression ‘rats in a trap,’ General? Having the main forces of our enemy trapped at the end of that peninsula does hold certain advantages for us.”

“And by rights, the Manis in Ruffetts View should ally with us against them.”

“Only if it suits me. I’m in no mood to put up with nonsense from any source.”

He wondered when she ever was.

“Another bonus,” she continued, “is you telling me that deserters from my ranks may be there. We will shortly lop the head from more than one serpent, Mersadion. How does our strength compare with what we will meet?”

“Bigger than the Unis, Majesty. Should you require us to engage the Manis too, we might be able to match their combined forces.” He hoped to the gods it didn’t come to that.

She fell silent, contemplating a gratifying slaughter. Maybe even the final battle that would confirm her mastery. Most of all, she relished the thought of catching up with the Wolverines.

The last of her scraps had gone. Putting up a greater racket, the harpies clamoured for more.

“They’re boring me,” she decided. “Call for archers.”

Coilla met up with Stryke in one of the rows of shacks Rellston had allotted the orcs as billets. Jup, Alfray and Haskeer were there too. Stryke wanted to tell her what Krista had said to him, but not with an audience, so it would have to wait.

She wasted no time reporting. “You were right, it’s there. I had a hell of a time finding out though.”

“Tell me about that later. What does it look like?”

“Red, with nine spikes.”

“Easy to get out?” Alfray asked.

“Well, once you’re inside the temple, yes. It’s just sitting on top of a pillar. But the place is guarded. And as to getting it out of the settlement —”

“What we gonna do about that, Stryke?” Haskeer interrupted.

“I don’t know. We need to think this through.”

“I reckon the humans here won’t hold off the Unis for too long. I say we grab the star and fight our way out with it.”

“Taking on both the whole of Ruffetts
and
the army outside? Talk sense.”

“Besides,” Coilla said, “the humans in this place deserve better than that. They’ve done nothing against us.”

Haskeer gave her a dirty look, but said no more.

“For now, our survival depends on riding out the siege,” Stryke judged, “and we’re going to have to help with that. If and when we can get our hands on the star, we will.”

“That seems right,” Alfray agreed.

“Is there anything else, chief?” Jup wondered. “We’re going to be missed if we’re much longer.”

“There’s one thing,” Stryke replied. His face wore a curious expression, part apprehensive, part something that might have been excitement. They were intrigued.

He dug out the stars one by one and placed them on the table. Finally, he brought out the two he’d somehow fused together and put them down too.

“What the hell?” the dwarf said. He reached out and hefted the united pair.

They gathered round and examined them. There was universal bafflement.

“Coilla already knew about this,” Stryke admitted. “I was waiting for the right time to show the rest of you.”

“How did you manage to do it?” Alfray wanted to know.

“That’s not easy to explain. But watch this.”