ORCS: Army of Shadows (12 page)

“Snow leopards? That’s a class of beast I’m not familiar with in what I know of Acurial. They must be confined to your northern
wastes.” She eyed the necklace of leopards’ fangs he wore as a trophy about his neck, and gave him a look half quizzical,
half amused.

Stryke cursed himself for mentioning something unknown in this world. He said nothing.

“But of course you’re right,” she went on. “Most of this land’s orcs have lived too long in a dream. My hope is that we can
wake them. Whether Grilan-Zeat and my poor words can bring that about is moot.” She smiled. “Oh, and the prophecy concerning
a band of heroes. Let’s not forget that.”

“How much stock do you put in it?” Coilla asked.

“Prophecies and comets? It could all be so much moonfluff. Though I wouldn’t tell your Sergeant Haskeer that; he seems rather
taken with the romance of it.”

“A big old softy, that’s our Haskeer,” Coilla told her with a straight face.

“I’ve no idea if the legends and omens have any real meaning,” Sylandya repeated, “and frankly I don’t care. I’ll use whatever
it takes to gain our freedom. Needs must.”

“You’ve no qualms about telling the citizens a lie?”

“I didn’t say it
was
a lie. But even if it is, sometimes a lie in the service of truth is tolerable.”

“Makes sense to me,” Stryke remarked.

Brelan came forward. “It’s time, Mother. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She clutched his hand, and reached for his sister’s. “We’re about to enter an abyss, in hope of finding
the light beyond. You two have to promise me that whatever happens you’ll keep faith with our cause.”

“You’ll be here to make sure we do,” Chillder replied.

“The fate of the nation doesn’t depend on one individual. Things change.
Promise
.”

“I promise.”

“Me, too,” Brelan echoed. “But I think you’re being —”

Sylandya placed her fingers on his lips, stilling him. “You said it was time.”

The twins nodded. She rose and they moved to either side of her, taking her arms.

A little procession formed, led by the principal and the siblings. Several members of the resistance council followed, with
Stryke and Coilla falling in at the rear. They made their way up a staircase to the floor above, and from there out onto the
balcony-like veranda. A number of rebels were already there, as were a handful of Wolverines, including Haskeer.

From their vantage point they could make out the size of the crowd, which had further swollen. More orcs were arriving. When
they recognised Sylandya, their roar was like thunder.

“How’s she going to make herself heard over this din?” Coilla bellowed into Stryke’s ear.

He shrugged.

When Brelan raised his arms, the crowd immediately fell silent. They boomed again when he announced the principal, then resumed
an expectant hush.

Gently refusing her children’s support, Sylandya stepped forward. Straight-backed, her face a picture of resolve, she seemed
the exact opposite of the frail oldster of a moment before. And when she spoke it was in an impressively strong, loud voice.
“Citizens of Acurial!” They roared once more at that, and even louder when she amended it to, “Citizens of
free
Acurial!”

When the clamour died down she continued, “We have suffered greatly in recent times! Our liberty has been stolen and our land
defiled! Too long have we stood back and endured the indignities heaped upon us and the assaults on our pride!”

Archers were on the veranda, scanning the crowd. In the horde itself rebels, Wolverines and Vixens were watchful for any sign
of opposition.

“The time is long overdue for us to throw off the shackles the outsiders have forged for us! And now we have a sign!”

Stryke couldn’t say what drew his eye to a figure way over beyond the farthest edge of the crowd. It was true that whoever
it was wore a cloak and hood that obscured their features, but many in the crowd were dressed that way, for fear of being
identified. And the figure was far enough away to present no threat to the principal; too far even for an arrow to be unleashed
with sufficient strength or accuracy. Yet Stryke still stared.

“We have the blessings of our revered forebears! We have the assurance of a prophecy! There! There in the sky!” She pointed
to the heavens. The crowd went wild.

Stryke saw the figure take something from the folds of their cloak. He couldn’t make out what it was.

“Peczan has held us in bondage long enough! Now Grilan-Zeat has come, a hammer to break the chains that bind us!”

The figure cast the object into the air. Or rather, released it. Whatever it was soared upward, seemingly of its own volition.
Then it levelled out and started moving over the crowd.

“We have a heritage! A heritage of ferocity and battle, of victory over our foes! A heritage we have allowed ourselves to
forget! Well, now the time has come to reawaken that slumbering spirit! To set free the hounds of war!”

As it got nearer, Stryke could see that the object had wings. At which point he stopped thinking of it as an object and started
thinking of it as a bird. A white bird, not particularly large, flapping unerringly in their direction. He wondered what harm
a bird could do.

“Coilla,” he whispered, nudging her. “See that?” He pointed, but not obviously so.

She squinted. “A bird? Looks like a dove.”

“Yes, I think it is a dove.” He noticed that the figure who had released it had gone.

“What about it?” she asked slightly peevishly, irritated at his talking over Sylandya’s speech.

“It’s… not right.”

“When we raise arms against our oppressors it is in pursuit of a righteous cause! The cause of freedom!”

“What do you mean, not right?” Coilla hissed. “It’s a fucking
bird
.”

“No,” Stryke replied. “I don’t know what it is, but…”

The dove was a stone’s throw away and heading straight at them.

“No longer will we dwell miserably in the dark! We shall take up our blades and carve our way to the light! No matter how
much human flesh stands in our path!”

“Brelan! Chillder!” Stryke yelled.
“Danger!”

The principal faltered, and looked at him. Everyone else on the veranda did likewise, some open-mouthed, others with angry
expressions.

“Something’s coming!” Stryke shouted. “There!” He thrust out an arm to indicate the approaching threat.

As he did so, a change rapidly came over the dove. It became somehow indistinct, and began to alter its shape. But it kept
coming. Some in the crowd noticed it and reacted noisily.

Stryke snatched a bow from one of the rebels, drew it and took aim.

The dove transformed into a swirling black cloud, with streaks of gold and silver pulsing at its core.

The crowd on the balcony was in disarray. Stryke loosed his arrow.

A bolt of pure white light, blindingly vivid, erupted from the cloud. It covered the distance to the balcony in an instant,
striking Sylandya. She collapsed, a smouldering wound in her chest.

The cloud that had been a bird that wasn’t a bird dissolved.

There was uproar. Brelan and Chillder, ashen with shock, half carried, half dragged their stricken mother inside. Stryke,
Coilla and a number of the rebels went with them.

The crowd was in turmoil.

They laid Sylandya on some sacking. Brelan slipped out of his jerkin and folded it as a pillow for her head. He and Chillder
seemed distraught to the point of panic. A rebel medic elbowed his way through. One look at the gaping, charred wound told
him all he needed to know. He turned to the twins and slowly shook his head.

Sylandya was still conscious. Her lips moved feebly. Brelan and Chillder moved closer.

“
Remember
,” she whispered, “
remember… your… promise
.”

“We will,” Brelan pledged, squeezing her hand.

Then Sylandya’s eyes closed and the last breath went out of her.

The twins surrendered to despair.

Chillder rose. She wore a look of hurt and bewilderment.

Coilla went to her and put her hands on her shoulders. “Courage,” she said.

“She knew,” Chillder replied, as though separated from the world by a great distance. “Somehow, she knew.”

The crowd was making a tremendous racket. Stryke went back outside.

Haskeer was still there, surveying the scene below. “
Shit
,” he said. “And on our watch.”

“We couldn’t have foreseen it,” Stryke assured him, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “I’ll tell you one thing.
I doubt that was Helix magic.”

“Jennesta?”

“Who else? Getting some minion to assassinate the one orc who could rally the populace would be right up her alley.”

“To cow them?” He gazed at the frantic crowd. “They don’t look too put off to me. Just the opposite.”

“No,” Stryke agreed. “This could be Jennesta’s biggest mistake.”

Stryke was proved right, and in short order.

Far from intimidating Acurial’s population, the murder of Sylandya enraged it. Attacks on the occupiers immediately increased
tenfold. Not just in the city but throughout the country. Many of the assaults were opportunistic, and carried out by individuals
or small ad hoc groups. One of the resistance’s tasks was to coordinate these actions, and to organise the growing number
of dissidents into a coherent fighting force. Within days they had the makings of a rebel army.

Brelan and Chillder channelled their grief into these activities, working with demonic energy in their mother’s name, and
the Wolverines were heavily involved in training the new intake. But the warband drew most satisfaction from doing what they
did best: confronting occupiers on the streets of Taress.

In this Jup and Spurral, and the human Pepperdyne, were given roles to play. The dwarfs in particular, after being confined
for so long, found it a pleasing outlet. However, none of the trio ever ventured out unaccompanied by fellow band members
or rebel fighters, lest they be taken for enemies or freaks. For Standeven, little changed. Useless in any kind of combat
function, he contributed mainly through manual work at various safe houses, which he undertook grudgingly. But he mostly confined
his complaints to the Wolverines. The incident of the dead intruder had been eclipsed by the burgeoning uprising, but not
forgotten.

For his part, Stryke kept the instrumentalities with him at all times, even in combat. He was not about to repeat the mistake
of entrusting any of them to anyone else, even the most loyal of his comrades. There were mixed feelings about this in the
band.

One discovery of the Wolverines, which dismayed them, was that some orcs allied themselves with the occupying humans. They
were small in number and didn’t dare do it openly, preferring to act as fifth columnists and informers, but the effect on
morale was something else to be countered. Chillder and Brelan were especially shocked by this development, having regarded
their fellow citizens as patriots, and they dealt with traitors harshly when they were caught. It was another variable in
an already chaotic situation.

The resistance’s growing numbers meant that the way the occupiers were engaged was changing. There were still plenty of guerrilla
raids, but large-scale, more conventional face-offs were starting to replace them. For these, the Wolverines’ expertise was
invaluable.

So it was that a week after Sylandya’s death, which many were already calling her martyrdom, the entire band stood together
on one of Taress’s main thoroughfares. At their backs was a force of several hundred insurgents, ragtag and ill-armed, but
eager for blood. Ahead, a good lance’s throw away, an equal number of human militia were gathered. They were better ordered
and better equipped, but unused to being challenged by creatures with a newfound passion for warfare.

Events were at the sham stage, as the Wolverines knew it, with both sides exchanging catcalls, insults and threatening gestures.
A standard practice before a battle.

“How’d you think they’ll hold up?” Coilla said, jerking a thumb at the ranks behind them.

“What they lack in know-how they make up for in rage,” Stryke reckoned.

“Still gonna get most of ’em killed,” Haskeer muttered. “Fucking amateurs.”

“Even a legendary band of heroes can’t have a revolution without an army,” Stryke replied.

Jup guffawed.

“What’s
your
problem, pisspot?” Haskeer snapped.

“I’m standing next to you.”

“Hang on while I die laughing.”

“Don’t mind him, Jup,” Coilla said. “He’s still swollen-headed about a human he killed yesterday.”

“Why? What’s so special about that?”

“It wasn’t a soldier.”

“What was he?” Pepperdyne asked.

“A tax gatherer.”

Pepperdyne considered that for a moment. “Well, fair enough.”

They all murmured agreement.

“When’s this going to kick off?” Dallog wanted to know as he surveyed the enemy line.

“Yeah,” Wheam piped up. “When we gonna
fight
?” He swished around the sword he was clutching.

“Careful with that thing!” Haskeer protested. “You’ll have somebody’s eye out!”

“It’ll start soon enough,” Stryke said. “Remember the tyros are your charge, Dallog.” He glanced at the new band members,
those recruited on Ceragan. They looked tense and ashen. “Especially him,” he added, nodding at Wheam.

Wheam looked discomfited.

“They’ll be fine,” Dallog assured him, though his expression was grim.

“Come on,
come on
,” Spurral muttered, impatiently drumming the cobblestones with her staff.

“Your female’s keen for the off, shortarse,” Haskeer observed. It was said not without a trace of admiration.

“Yes, and she’ll take it out on you if this thing doesn’t hot up soon,” Jup came back.

“Here we go,” Coilla said. “They’re moving.”

The human troops began to advance. Subject to rigid military discipline, they progressed in an orderly fashion.