Orcs (84 page)

Realisation hit him like a storm
.

He leapt to his feet and cried
, “I know this place!”

He sat upright, instantly awake.

A few seconds passed before he adjusted to his surroundings. Slowly it dawned that he was in a shack in Ruffetts View, alone, waiting for a besieging army’s next assault.

Half a dozen deep breaths were needed to shake off the dream and bring him back to reality.

What he couldn’t free himself of was knowing where he had just visited, if
visited
was the right word.

It was here.

The sun crept wearily above the horizon but there was no birdsong to greet it.

Pale, chill light threw long shadows from the eastern hills but nothing could hide Hobrow’s vast encampment. From tents and picket-lines rose the murmur of purposeful activity. Surgeons were still labouring over yesterday’s wounded but the Unis were readying themselves for another assault, spurred on by the black-garbed custodians. They were everywhere, urging riders and foot-soldiers into formation. Never mind that many bore blood-soaked bandages and half of them had found no chance to eat.

Hobrow himself had no desire for food. He stood on a lightly wooded slope, well beyond bowshot of the heathens in Ruffetts. Though the breeze wafted delicious scents from the cook-fires, the only hunger he had was for the Lord’s work.

Beside him, Mercy knelt, fervently whispering, “Amen!”

Hobrow reached the end of his prayer and laid one hand on her shoulder. “You see, my dear? See how fragile their defences are? How thinly their defenders are stretched? Today the Lord will give them into our grasp and they shall fall before our blades like wheat before a scythe.”

For a moment they stood side by side, ignoring the bustle of his thousands of soldiers. From here the Mani settlement seemed no more than a toy, the houses mere blocky shapes with threads of smoke from their chimneys drawing charcoal lines against the azure light of morning.

“They must know they’re doomed, Father,” Mercy said. “How can they possibly hold out against us?”

“They are blinded by their wickedness. See how that cesspool of evil throws its hideous vapours into the air?”

She could hardly avoid seeing. In the centre of the settlement the half-built dome of the temple glinted beneath its scaffolding, but she scarcely noticed the structure. Beside it, fountaining high above the little colony, the vent of earth power shimmered brightly with every colour Mercy could imagine.

Greatly daring, she answered, “How fair the face of evil seems. I could almost believe that such beauty can only come from the Lord.”

“The Lord of Lies, perhaps. Do not be taken in, child. The Manis are a corruption before God and man. And today God will send them to the Hell they deserve.”

In the settlement they were scarcely holding chaos at bay.

The last flames were almost out now, though the stink of burning was heavy and soot stained the exhausted firefighters. They’d worked all night to keep dozens of blazes under control as time and again the Unis had rained fire canisters down on the town. The pool in the square by the northern gate had shrunk under the assault of the bucket brigade. Now it was slowly filling again, its surface mirroring the dying fires in crimson and black. Manic hammering rang out from the stockade where new timbers were filling gaps. The clang of the blacksmiths answered as weapons were mended at the forge. Children were dashing about, their arms full of arrows for the watchmen on the walkway.

Still preoccupied with what he thought of as the revelation in his dream, Stryke trudged tiredly across a square to meet Rellston. He saw a family of humans standing, holding hands around a funeral pyre. The tiniest infant was bawling at the pain of her burnt and blistered face and the eldest lad, who couldn’t have been more than ten seasons old, had his mouth set in a grim line though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the tracks of tears cutting through the dirt on his face. An old woman beside the widow couldn’t stop coughing as the smoke eddied around the square.

Stryke saw Rellston, as weary as himself, jump aside as a cart rumbled around a corner. It was heaped high with more bodies for the pyre. He stopped for a word with a man who had a bloodied rag tied around his shoulder, then came straight towards the Wolverines’ leader. “Join me for a drink, Stryke?” he asked, in an unusual show of openness. He didn’t wait for an answer.

Stryke fell in beside him. “Where are we going?”

“The seaward wall. I want to see how the repairs are going.” The human strode on, pushing his way through the crowded streets. He kept glancing at the orc then looking away as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

Stryke wasn’t about to help him.

Finally the man said awkwardly, “You made the difference, you know. You and the rest of your band. We’re just not used to warfare on this scale. If it hadn’t been for you we wouldn’t have made it this far. Thank you.”

Stryke nodded acknowledgement. “But you’re still wondering if the Unis would have attacked at all if we hadn’t been here.”

“By the look of them they’d have come against us anyway sooner or later. That Hobrow’s a fanatic.”

The sun was a finger’s breadth above the horizon now, a malevolent orange orb. Rellston squinted at it through the drifts of smoke. “How soon before they attack, d’you reckon?”

“Soon as they finish praying, I suppose. What plans have you got?”

They had reached the seaward wall now. The Mani commander ducked under a blanket hung across a blackened doorway. The door itself was a heap of ashes that squelched underfoot. He shrugged. “Keep doing what we’re doing. And pray ourselves.”

“That’s all well and good,” Stryke said thoughtfully, “but we have to do more than that. In the long run besiegers always have the advantage over the besieged.”

Rellston stepped over three or four of his command, who were sleeping on the floor, and helped himself to a bottle from a cupboard. Not bothering to look for glasses, he took a swig of the fiery liquor and passed the bottle to the orc.

“We have our own wells here. So long as we can keep from being overrun we’ll make it.”

“Except you can’t possibly have enough food to last forever.” The orc slumped on a chair and nodded at the wall of the stockade, just visible through a window. “They do.”

The Uni commander couldn’t hide his desperation. “The gods know we can’t keep taking losses like yesterday’s! And they have enough men to come at us every night. What can we do?”

“I don’t know yet. But something has to give. In the meantime, mind if I make a suggestion?”

“Help yourself. I don’t have to follow your advice.”

“Have you got bucket brigades sorted for the next attack?”

“Of course.”

“Then get a team collecting cooking oil, axle grease, anything that’ll burn. Put it in a pot with a rag for a wick and we can get our own back.”

Rellston grinned, his teeth white in the sooty stubble of his face. “Fight fire with fire, you mean?”

“Exactly. After what they did to your township last night I don’t think your people will have any moral objection. When they come again we can lob firepots of our own at the bastards.”

“Trouble is,” Rellston said, not grinning anymore, “their fighters still outnumber ours. They don’t have women and children eating their supplies either.” The commander hauled himself to his feet. “Better get in position. They’ll be here again soon enough.”

Stryke climbed the wall facing Hobrow’s main encampment. He could see the Unis on their knees. Hobrow himself could be made out standing on a knoll, his arms upraised. But the light, salty breeze carried the man’s words away and Stryke couldn’t make out what he said. He knew it meant nothing good for orcs or Manis though.

From his vantage point, the Wolverine leader spotted his officers in a fierce conversation. Haskeer gestured and Coilla made damping motions, but when they spotted Stryke they surged towards him. Even now, some Manis gave them a wide berth.

He descended and met them. They all started speaking at once.

“Shut up!” he snapped. “The last thing I need is you lot arguing.” He glanced at a tumbledown shack. “In there. We need to talk.”

With Alfray keeping watch through a crack in the door, the rest of the Wolverine command squatted in the cobwebbed shadows.

“First off,” Stryke said quietly, “it’s pretty obvious this town won’t make it. Half of them can’t fight and Hobrow’s got his followers stoked up. Any ideas?”

The Wolverines looked at each other. “We fight,” said Coilla. “What else?”

“Exactly. ‘What else?’ ” Stryke’s words hung in the grimy air.

Jup asked slowly, “What do you mean?”

“I mean we
could
just leave them to it. With the humans fighting each other, they’ll be too busy to come after us.”

“You mean we just find a way out of here while they’re occupied?” Haskeer said. “Sounds good to me.”

Coilla hissed, “You can’t mean that! We’d have had no chance against Hobrow’s men if it wasn’t for them. We can’t desert them now.”

“Think about it,” Stryke urged. “I know the Manis are our allies now, sort of. But what do you think will happen if the last star falls into Hobrow’s hands?”

Jup jumped to his feet. “Who cares about the star?” he said angrily. “We’ve got four of them, haven’t we? Isn’t that enough for you? Or do we have to throw our lives away too?”

Stryke glared at the dwarf. “Sit down and shut your mouth. Isn’t it obvious to you that the star’s got power? It’s something to do with the magic of the land. If Hobrow gets his hands on it, that power will be his.”

“Either that,” Alfray said from his post by the door, “or he’ll destroy it. But us getting killed is more likely out in the open against the whole Uni army. And I never was much for betraying people I’ve fought alongside.”

“Look,” Haskeer said as the dwarf sullenly resumed his place in the circle, “they’re only humans, ain’t they? All right, they’ve been welcoming to us, given us food and shelter, but they need us more than we need them. If it was the other way round, they’d take from us and think nothing of it. You know they would. That’s human nature.”

Coilla had been thinking about the implications behind Stryke’s words. “You mean you’ve decided we’re going for the star and done with it?”

Stryke nodded. “I say for the meantime we stay here and fight. Then, when we get a chance, we take the star and get out under cover of darkness.”

One by one they agreed, some with more reluctance than others. Alfray was the least happy, but even he could see that Ruffetts View didn’t stand much chance of surviving.

Swallowing down his own guilt, Stryke said, “Coilla? You’ve been in the temple. Do you think you could steal the star for us?”

“If I have to. It shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, they haven’t got time to guard the temple when there’s a fucking siege going on, have they?”

“Look,” Alfray said, abandoning his post and coming to stare down at Stryke with a spark of anger in his eyes, “if we’re sneaking out of here, what are you planning on doing with the enlistees? You’re not going to leave them behind just like that, are you? Because I’d find that hard to believe of the Stryke I know.”

“No, Alfray, I’m not. I’m an orc and we look after our own. We’ll let them know, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” the old corporal said. “I’m just not abandoning anybody, that’s all.”

“Neither am I, Alfray. Neither am I. So what I —”

Alarm bells began to sound. From the wall of the stockade men were shouting.

The orcs sprang to their feet, heading for the door. At that moment a fire canister burst on the thatched roof above them. Burning pieces of straw and wood showered down, filling the hut with smoke.

Stryke jumped forward, pulling Coilla out of the way of a falling timber. “Let’s get out of here!”

The rain of fire continued, kept in check only by the archers Rellston had posted on the walls, and by the bucket brigades within. Sheltering under overhanging eaves where they could, the Wolverines pounded off to their respective posts. Dodging and ducking, they were just about to split up when a lookout called, “They’ve stopped! They’re pulling back!”

“Must be so they don’t hit their own troops,” Stryke said. Then he shivered as something coursed through him.

Coilla hadn’t noticed. “See that?” she said.

In the middle of the tension, with battle about to be joined, the High Priestess was chanting around the geyser of magic. Still in her blue robes, though they were somewhat stained now, she was slowly circling the fountain of rainbow light, hand in hand with a chain of her followers. Around her, tattered and worn, a group of women of all ages was watching. Red, green and yellow gleamed on their faces as they took up the eerie chant.

“What are they doing?” Jup said.

“Trying to turn the magic on the Unis,” Stryke answered without thinking. Then wondered how he knew.

“Well, we need all the help we can get,” the dwarf muttered.

Stryke tried to pull out of the strange feelings that rippled around him. “I’m all for calling on the gods,” he said with an attempt at his former cynicism, “but there are times when a good sword is your best guide.”

Coilla put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t we tell them we have the other stars?”

He looked puzzled. “Why would we do that?”

She shrugged, seeming almost embarrassed now, if that were possible. “If they’re as powerful as they’re supposed to be, maybe the stars could help.”

“Do you think anybody around here would know what to do with them?”

Jup grimaced. “We don’t know what to do with them either.”

Stryke fought to control himself. The waves of vibration inside him made it hard to think. The others looked at him expectantly while Krista and her handmaidens continued to sing their invocation to the Trinity. He found himself wishing that he’d had the time to tell Coilla what the Priestess had said about the possibility of his being a sport.

Consciously anchoring himself in reality by straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath and said, “I still think the stars are better with us.”