ORCS: Army of Shadows (13 page)

“
Advance!
” Stryke yelled, raising his blade.

The crowd of orcs was more shambolic as they went forward, but their passion was high. They started to beat their shields
and bellow war cries.

As the humans picked up speed and added their own battle cries to the din, they found the orcs had hidden allies. From rooftops
and high windows, citizens proceeded to rain objects down on their heads. A volley of tiles, bricks, pots and the occasional
arrow fell like lethal hail.

When the opposing forces were near enough to see the expressions of fear, bloodlust, fury and foreboding on each other’s faces,
both sides broke into a charge.

The two living tides swept together and melded in a brutal frenzy.

The battle, the latest in a series that had become almost daily, took place in the hub of the city. Centrally enough, in fact,
that although it couldn’t quite be seen from the fortress of Taress, it could certainly be heard.

For Jennesta and Hacher, ensconced in her quarters at one of the redoubt’s loftiest points, it was a near-permanent background
noise. Not that they were consciously listening. The events in Jennesta’s chambers took precedence over death’s raucous clamour.

“Well, I’m waiting,” she repeated, arms folded resolutely.

“I’m at a loss to know what you expect of me, ma’am,” the general replied.

“Yes, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Perhaps you could start by telling me what you intend doing about the anarchy out
there.” She waved an arm at the window.

“The present situation, with respect, ma’am, has been brought about by the assassination of the female the orcs called their
principal. I could almost believe it was an act designed to stir things up even further, and —”

“Are you questioning my methods?”

“I think I am, my lady. Even before the principal’s death we made certain moves that only worsened the situation in this province.
Actions, I have to say, that you drove.”

“
Now
you find the guts! It’s a pity you didn’t have the resolve you’re now showing towards me when you were supposed to be defending
Peczan’s interests.”

“I’ve always worked as diligently as I could in service to the empire,” he responded irately.

“No. You might think that, but you haven’t. Your actions have undermined everything that should have been done here. And
would
have been done by a competent commander.”

Hacher was allowing himself to grow heated. “Before your arrival,
my lady
, we had a situation here that was manageable. Your…
initiatives
have turned simple law enforcement into a much graver problem.”

“Let me tell you the
real
problem, Hacher.” She counted items off on her bejewelled fingers. “You failed to anticipate the potential for rebellion
these animals harboured, or to recognise their capacity for savagery, despite me telling you so. You led your forces in a
shambolic way. You weakened the effectiveness of the imperial presence here because of political infighting with the Helix.
Above all, you stubbornly refused to accept that the only thing the natives of this godsforsaken land understand is strength.
In short, General,
you
are the problem.”

“Look where an excessive show of strength has got us, ma’am. Look at the streets. See what we’ve bought with our display of
strength and brutality.”

“Too
little
brutality, too
late
! You know, you really do baffle me. Your reputation was of a governor who didn’t allow mercy to cloud his judgement. They
call you
Iron Hand
, for the gods’ sake! Yet you shy from taking that hand from its silken glove.”

“Don’t mistake my objections for a taste for leniency, my lady. Mine is not a moral stance. I’d execute the whole population
of Acurial if it furthered our purposes. And I would have ordered the death of the principal myself if I thought it would
do some good. It’s the strategic line we’ve taken that I argue with. Your measures, not least the elimination of Sylandya,
have soured the air and stretched our forces to the breaking point.”

“I’m never going to get through to you, am I?”

“I prefer to say that we have an honest disagreement over policy, ma’am.”

“I don’t tolerate disagreement. I tell subordinates where they’ve gone wrong and they conform to my will. That’s how it works.”
She threw back her head in a gesture of exasperation. “Oh, why am I wasting my breath on you? And not just you. The whole
system in this place is riddled with far too much freethinking, and you’re not the only culprit. But that’s going to change.
Radically.”

“Ma’am?”

There was a sound at her chamber door. It wasn’t so much a knock as a series of thumps and a coarse scratching. A couple of
seconds later the door opened, and a pair of Jennesta’s undead bodyguards shuffled in carrying something wrapped in a black
winding cloth not unlike a shroud. They dumped their bundle at Jennesta’s feet and looked up to her as though they were faithful
curs bringing their mistress an outsized bone.

“Ah,” she said, “the first fruit of my reforms.”

Rather than assign the task to her clumsy servers, she knelt and began to undo the sheet herself. What she revealed when she
threw it open shocked Hacher to the core.

“Brother… Grentor?” he murmured, not entirely sure his identification was correct.

His uncertainty arose from the state of the cleric’s corpse. It had been horribly mutilated, and to Hacher’s disgust some
parts of the body bore signs of having been gnawed upon. A perk allowed Jennesta’s zombies, he suspected.

“You appear taken aback, General.”

“Of… of course I’m shaken. How did he come to this? Was he a victim of the rebels?” He added the latter in desperate hope
that it was the explanation, as opposed to the only other alternative.

“No, he fell victim to me,” she informed him evenly, confirming his fear. “The leadership of the Order has fallen into as
parlous a state as the military. It was time for a change.”

“But this is surely too harsh a way to bring it about?”

“It’s the
only
way.” She was talking through gritted teeth. “I keep
telling
you: a demonstration of ruthlessness is the best remedy for keeping underlings in check. Why should I stand by and watch
the Helix squabble and deliberate endlessly before they throw up another Grentor to take this weakling’s place? Better that
I decide the matter swiftly, with a lesson for them as part of the bargain.”

There was another rap at the door. But this was a proper knock, brisk and crisp.

“Come!” she called.

Hacher’s aide, Frynt, entered, giving Jennesta a slight bow of his head as he came in.

The general was confounded to see him. “Frynt? I thought you were occupied on the west side today.” There was no reply. Hacher’s
gaze flicked to Grentor’s remains. “I’m afraid the good brother has met a rather unfortunate —”

“Don’t bother,” Jennesta said. “He knows.”

“I… I don’t understand, my lady.”

“Meet the new governor of the province of Acurial, and commander-in-chief of its army.”

“Am I to understand —”

“You are hereby relieved of all your duties and titles, Hacher. Frynt steps into your clumping boots.”

He turned to his erstwhile aide. “Frynt? Is this so?”

“Sorry, sir.” He didn’t look it. “But a servant of the empire has a patriotic duty to stand up when called.”

“Or to further their own selfish interests. I thought you were loyal.”

“I am, sir. To the emp —” Jennesta caught his eye. “To our lady Jennesta and the empire. There is no personal dimension involved.”

“How could you condone this?” Hacher indicated Grentor’s body. “In what warped view can it be considered a positive act?”

“The lady Jennesta has convinced me of the need for change, and for that change to be instigated with a certain… vigour.”

“I thought better of you, Frynt. You disappoint me.”

“Then you know how I feel about you,” Jennesta told him. “There’s no point in arguing. Let’s save your breath, shall we?”

“Argue I most certainly will, my lady. I’ll take this high-handed deed to the ears of the highest in Peczan. If I’m to be
sent home in disgrace —”

“Oh no, General; you’re not going home. I have a much more useful role for you.”

Her zombie slaves had positioned themselves as the living spoke. Now at her signal they moved in with surprising speed and
seized the deposed general. He cried out, protested and cursed, but they held him fast.

Jennesta approached the struggling figure, her hands raised preparatory to casting a glamour. “As I said,” she intoned, “let’s
save your breath.”

Frynt watched, stunned. He hadn’t known this was going to happen, let alone that he would be obliged to witness the general’s
fate.

The horror of it gave him an inkling of what it would be like serving his new mistress.

When Hacher started screaming, Frynt closed his eyes.

By the end of the third week of the uprising proper, with the ranks of the resistance growing still further, the balance of
power started to radically shift. As the Peczan military suffered daily trouncings by armed insurgents, and civil disobedience
became widespread, a tipping point was reached. The invaders, until so recently masters of a conquered land, were on the back
foot.

Although it was a change the rebels had worked, hoped and died for, even the most optimistic of them were stunned by the speed
with which it came about. Ever-larger sections of the population shed their former meekness to reveal the inherent fighting
spirit that had lain buried for so long. Their pent-up grievance drove a thirst for freedom, and, inspired by the radiant
presence of Grilan-Zeat, they unleashed a savagery unlike any the humans had faced before.

It was around this time, when fighting was at its most intense, that Wheam took the first small step towards redeeming himself.

He had performed competently in the clashes he was allowed to take part in. Or at least he hadn’t brought a major disaster
down on the warband’s heads or got himself killed. Though nor had he managed to slay, wound or greatly inconvenience any of
the enemy. Nevertheless it became almost a matter of routine to include him in missions, under the watchful eye of Dallog
and other more experienced band members.

The Wolverines had been allotted a role in a raid on a house where army officers were billeted. It didn’t go to plan. Due
to foresight on the part of the authorities, or possibly because of an informant, a company of soldiers had been concealed
nearby. What should have been a clean hit-and-run attack turned into a pitched battle in one of the few street markets still
functioning in the capital. In the process the band was scattered, and Coilla, Haskeer and Wheam found themselves sheltering
in a narrow, foul-smelling alley off the main highway.

Haskeer was less than pleased to be stuck with the novice. “Get in here!” he growled, pulling Wheam back from the alley’s
mouth. “You wanna lose your fucking head to an arrow? Not that I should care.”

“Sorry,” the young one replied tremulously.

“Go easy on him,” Coilla said. “He’s still cutting his teeth, remember.”

“Wish he was cutting his damn throat. And what’s with
this
?” He slapped at the lute Wheam had strapped to his back. “What the hell you doing bringing a thing like that to a fight?”

“It’s the only way I can be sure not to lose it,” Wheam explained, “what with us always moving safe houses and —”

“Yeah, yeah. Should have known you’d have some bullshit reason. Just keep it out of my face.”

“Is it clearing out there?” Coilla asked.

Haskeer poked his head round the corner. “Looks like it.”

“Shall we make a break?”

“Yeah. Our lot are somewhere down on the right.” He turned to Wheam. “That’s
that
way.” He jabbed his thumb rightward. “’Case it’s too hard for you to work out.”

“Soon as we’re out of here, Wheam, just run,” Coilla told him. “Fast.”

He nodded.

“Ready?” Haskeer said. “Right. Three… two…
go
!”

They came out of the alley at a dash, swerved right and started racing through the debris of the ruined market. There were
overturned stalls and fallen orcs and humans among the trampled fruit and vegetables, broken pottery and strewn clothing.

Coilla looked back.
“We’ve company!”

A large gang of soldiers had appeared and were chasing them.

Wheam, at the rear, was struggling to keep up with Coilla and Haskeer.

“Come on!” Coilla urged. “Move it!”

One trooper, a strong runner, was well ahead of the pack and gaining on Wheam. The tyro himself was flagging, and the soldier
got near enough to brush his back with his fingertips. Then he caught hold of the strap holding the lute and wrenched it free.
Wheam ran on. The instrument fell clattering to the ground. Two of the strings snapped melodiously. The human, still running
hard, kicked the lute out of his path. It sailed across the street and landed with a crash, breaking into pieces.

Wheam stopped, turned and gasped.

Coilla and Haskeer shouted at him. “Come
on
! Leave it!
Move your arse!
”

The rest of the soldiers were sprinting forward and closing the gap.

“My… lute,” Wheam whispered. His eyes moved to the approaching soldier.
“Bastard.”

An uncharacteristically crazed expression came to Wheam’s face. He drew his sword. Seeing this, the running soldier slowed
and went for his own.

Wheam charged him, waving his blade and screaming incomprehensibly. He launched himself at the man like a wild thing, thrashing
and slashing a storm. Such was the force of his attack that the trooper fell back a pace or two. He had his sword up, but
purely defensively.

Coilla and Haskeer had stopped by this time. They watched Wheam laying about the soldier; and beyond, the human’s thundering
group of comrades, getting nearer.