Orcs: Bad Blood (21 page)

“Bit late for that,” Stryke commented. “Here, do me first.” He turned his back.

The human bound his wrists. Then Haskeer reluctantly allowed himself to be tied.

“I’ve made the knots loose,” Pepperdyne assured them. “One good tug and you’ll be free. Now sit down.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and flicked the reins over the pair of horses.

They bumped around the base of the hill and joined the road. A moment later the compound came into view.

As Pepperdyne steered the wagon on to the slip road, the trio of guards lounging by the gates straightened up. Recognising
his rank, but not him, they hesitated for a second before offering salutes. Then the most senior of them came forward.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Two prisoners,” Pepperdyne replied crisply.

The guard glanced at Stryke and Haskeer. “We’ve had no orders to expect prisoners.”

“What did you say?”

“I said we’ve had no —”

“I was referring to the way you addressed me, Sergeant! Is that how you talk to all superior officers?”

“No, I…
Sir
! No, sir!”

“Better. There’s far too much sloppiness in the ranks. Some might accept it,
I
don’t. Now, you were saying?”

“Begging your pardon, sir. But we’ve had no notice that prisoners are due, sir.”

“Well, I had orders to bring them here.”

The sergeant looked uncomfortable. “Sir, our instructions are plain. I’d need to check this with the camp commander, sir.”

“So you’re questioning my authority.”

“
No
sir. I only —”

“You’re saying you don’t trust the word of a superior officer. You’re adding insolence to insubordination. Perhaps you’d like
to see my orders, is that it?
Is
it? Here.” He reached into his tunic pocket. “I’m sure General Hacher would be more than happy to have a
sergeant
inspect the directive he issued to me personally.”

The sergeant blanched. “General… Hacher, sir?”

“Don’t let that stop you. I’m sure you can explain your actions to him when he has you flogged,
Private
.”

“I didn’t mean… that is, I… Go right in, sir!” He turned to his two companions. “Open up and let the officer through!
Move yourselves!
”

The gates were hastily parted and the wagon rolled in.

Inside, there were two more guards. Much further away, in the compound proper, other soldiers could be seen going about their
duties.

To Stryke and Haskeer, Pepperdyne whispered, “
Be ready
.”

He brought the wagon to a halt, then glanced at the nearest watchtower. The lookout was paying them no attention. One of the
guards approached, and Pepperdyne jumped down to meet him.

“What can I do for you, sir?” the guard asked.

“Take a nap.”

“Eh?”

Pepperdyne gave him a hefty crack to the jaw. The man went down like a felled tree.

Stryke and Haskeer shed their bonds and leapt from the wagon. They pulled out concealed blades, and Haskeer grabbed the sword
of the unconscious guard.

The other guard stopped gaping and dashed for a wall-mounted alarm bell. Stryke lobbed his knife and hit him squarely between
the shoulder-blades. The man fell headlong.

They hauled up the first guard and brought him round with a couple of slaps.

A blade was put to his throat.

“The ones outside,” Stryke said. “Get them in here.”

“Go to hell.”

“You first. Now
do it
.”

Pepperdyne looked to the watchtower. Still the lookout hadn’t noticed what was happening. He felt sure their luck wouldn’t
hold much longer. “
Stryke
, get a move on!”

Stryke raised the blade and held the tip a hair’ s-breadth from the guard’s eye. “Let’s try this another way.”

“All right, all right! I’ll do it!”

They shoved him towards the gates.

“Any tricks and you’re dead,” Stryke promised.

He and Haskeer moved aside, leaving Pepperdyne with a dagger to the guard’s back.

“What do I say?” the man asked.

“Just get their attention. I’ll do the talking.”

Trembling, the guard rapped on the gate a couple of times. A few seconds later it was opened a crack.

“What is it?” They recognised the sergeant’s voice.

“We need a hand in here.”

“Why?”

Pepperdyne put a little more pressure on the blade and took over. “Sergeant, the axle’s broken on the wagon. We need help
shifting it.”

“Sir!”

The sergeant and one of the other guards sidled in.

Stryke and Haskeer leapt on them. A flurry of blows and kicks put them down.

They used the rope to tie them, and the guard Pepperdyne held. Securely trussed, they were dragged into a small gatehouse,
along with the dead sentry.

“This is taking too long,” Haskeer complained.

As if on cue an arrow zinged towards the nearest watchtower. It struck the lookout and he dropped from sight.

“It’s started,” Stryke said.

Haskeer scowled. “We’re not ready. There’s still one of ’em outside.”

Another arrow soared overhead, winging its way to the second tower.

“I’ll take care of it,” Pepperdyne told them.

He slipped out of the gates. Seeing him, the remaining guard snapped to attention.

“We need you too,” Pepperdyne said.

The guard hesitated. “Sir, I —”

“What?”

“Standing order, sir. This post is never to be left unmanned.”

“But… Oh, to hell with it.” He booted the guard’s solar-plexus. The man doubled and Pepperdyne dragged him through the gates.

While they were dealing with him, flaming arrows cut across the sky towards the thatched buildings.

“Get those gates opened wide!” Stryke ordered.

When they had, they saw Coilla and the other Wolverines tearing down the hill.

“Here they come,” Haskeer said.

“And here comes somebody else,” Stryke added.

A group of soldiers were running their way across the compound. Others were moving in another direction, towards rising black
smoke.

“Onto the wagon!” Stryke yelled.

They jumped aboard, and this time Stryke took the reins. He urged the horses and drove straight at the approaching soldiers.
Pepperdyne and Haskeer stood in the back, hanging on with one hand, outstretched swords in the other.

The wagon picked up speed. Stryke kept on course, and the advancing troops went from distant figures to clearly defined individuals.
Several were shouting, but their words were impossible to hear.

Then the wagon was on them. Soldiers scattered, and there were yells and curses. Most leapt clear. Several avoided the wagon
but fell prey to Haskeer and Pepperdyne’s blades. One managed to loose an arrow. It flew hopelessly wide.

Stryke got his bearings and swerved. The wagon turned so sharply that on one side its wheels briefly left the ground. The
jolt when they came down again all but dislodged everyone on board.

They glimpsed the thatched buildings in flames. Men were dashing in all directions. Buckets of water were being chained.

The wagon turned again and headed for the prisoners’ block.

Coilla’s team got to the main gates. There were just six Wolverines with her. Dallog and his archers were bringing up the
rear and had yet to arrive.

There was no chance for Coilla’s group to properly collect themselves. Eight or nine of the troops Stryke ploughed through
had kept on to the gates. They reached them at almost the same time as the Wolverines.

Coilla took on the first of the troopers. He was an officer, and spitting mad. She liked angry opponents; it clouded their
judgement.

He attacked in a frenzy, slashing wildly with his sword and bellowing incoherently. It took no great skill on her part to
dodge his blows. Getting past his blade’s lacerating passes was a bit harder. And she was all too aware that there was no
time for delay.

She grew furious in her response. Flaying the man’s blade, she laid siege to his defences, such as they were. Having bludgeoned
her way past his guard, she bored steel into his chest.

Coilla looked about, ready to engage another foe. There was no need. The group was putting down the last of the humans without
her help.

Seafe joined her. “Not much of a scrap, was it?” He looked disappointed.

“I think they’re not used to orcs standing up to them. But it won’t take long to soak in.”

“
Corporal!
” one of the privates shouted.

It heralded the arrival of Dallog and his four archers.

He surveyed the corpses. “You’ve made a good start then.”

“There’s going to be more than just these. Now let’s get organised. You and you.” She nodded at two grunts. “Stay here and
guard our exit. The rest, follow me.”

They hastened into the compound.

The wagon Stryke was driving arrived at the prison block. An imposing building, it was tall and windowless, save for a series
of niches, like arrow slits, way up near the roof. They saw only one entrance; a pair of solid double doors, set smack in
the middle of the facade.

As Stryke slowed down, one of the doors opened a fraction. Just enough to show a pale human face gazing out from the ill-lit
interior. Ponderously, the door began to close again.

Pepperdyne vaulted from the still moving wagon and ran towards it.

“
Hold!
” he shouted.

The muscular doorkeeper froze. Pepperdyne saw that he held a length of thick chain suspended from a point somewhere overhead.
It obviously worked a mechanism of pulleys and weights that operated the heavy door.

“Let me in!” Pepperdyne demanded.

The doorkeeper stared at Pepperdyne. Then his gaze flicked over his shoulder to Stryke and Haskeer pulling up in the wagon.
“I can’t do that, sir.”

“This is an order!” Pepperdyne thundered.

Ignoring him, the man resumed hauling the chain. The door started to move again.

Pepperdyne tried to stop him. He put his shoulder to it, pushing with all his strength. The door inched closer to the frame.

Haskeer ran over and added his muscle. Straining, they halted the door’s progress, but couldn’t reverse it. The doorkeeper
continued tugging mightily on the chain, face contorted with effort. For a few seconds, there was stalemate.

Then Stryke joined them. Drawing his sword, he stooped and thrust it through the gap in the door. The tip penetrated the doorkeeper’s
thigh. He cried out, but stubbornly hung on. Stryke jabbed at him repeatedly, staining the man’s breeches crimson. Trying
to squirm away from the blade and maintain his hold on the chain at the same time proved too much. He let go and fell. The
tautness went out of the chain and it shot up, jangling. Released, the door suddenly gave under Haskeer and Pepperdyne’s weight.
They practically fell in.

On his knees, the gatekeeper was scrabbling for his own sword. Stryke cut him down.

Stepping over his body, they took in their surroundings.

They were in a chamber just about large enough to accommodate their wagon. Its ceiling was as high as the building itself,
and near the top was one of the slit windows they saw from outside, presumably for ventilation. Apart from a couple of wall-mounted
brands providing the only real light, the walls were plain and unadorned.

On the other side of the chamber was another, much smaller door. Hanging beside it was a bunch of keys on a metal ring the
size of a female orc’s anklet. The door was locked, unsurprisingly, and they went through the keys until they found a fit.

Entering cautiously, they found themselves in the core of the building. It was long, quite narrow, and simply laid out. There
was a central aisle, with cages on either side. Not cells, as they might have expected, but what were essentially pens, fashioned
from metal bars. They were too low for the occupants to stand, and their floors were covered in grubby straw. Each cage contained
a despondent-looking orc, and the place stank.

“Kept like animals,” Haskeer growled.

“Why’re you looking at me?” Pepperdyne said.

“Why do you think?”

“I didn’t do this.”

“Your kind did.”

“
Shut up
,” Stryke hissed, “the pair of you. We’re not out of this yet.”

The prisoners had begun to notice what was happening and were growing noisily restive. At the far end of the aisle a door
opened and a man in uniform entered. He didn’t notice the intruders. His attention was on quietening the prisoners, and he
went about it with something that looked like a javelin. Shoving the pole between the bars, he jabbed at them with its barbed
point.

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” Haskeer declared. He headed down the walkway at a run.

“Leave him to it,” Stryke said, clutching Pepperdyne’s sleeve.

Haskeer was halfway along the aisle and gathering speed before the human noticed him. For a second he just stared, bemused.
Then he started withdrawing the pole from a cage, working frantically, hand over hand. He almost had it clear when Haskeer
smashed into him.

The human was knocked backwards, losing his hold on the pole. He should have fallen, but Haskeer seized him by the shoulders
in a steely grip. The man cried out. Haskeer propelled him to one side, savagely driving his head into the bars of a cage,
the impact raising an almost melodic chime. He kept on pounding him against the cage until his skull was a bloody pulp. At
length he let go, and the human dropped lifeless to the floor.

The caged orcs, who had been clamouring throughout, fell silent.

Stryke and Pepperdyne caught up. Stryke moved past Haskeer and made for the door the dead human had come out of. He booted
it open. It was an empty guardroom.

He still had the bunch of keys. Walking back to the centre of the aisle, he held them up for the prisoners to see. “We’re
here for the Resistance members captured last night!” he told them. “We’ll sort out who’s who later! But remember: it’s not
over when we unlock these cages! If you want to leave this camp alive, be ready to fight! You’ll have to scavenge weapons
or improvise!” Glancing Pepperdyne’s way, he added, “And this human’s with us!” He tossed the keys to Haskeer and said, “Let
’em out.”