Orcs: Bad Blood (26 page)

Brelan tapped a signal on the door. A cunningly concealed spy-hole flipped aside. After a few seconds, bolts were drawn and
the door opened.

“Inside,” Chillder prompted. “Don’t linger.”

A pair of stony-faced guards looked them over as they entered. The unlit interior was gloomy, and there was a pungent smell
of decay.

The house was narrow but deep, and bigger than it seemed from outside. A long passageway stretched ahead of them, disappearing
into shadow. On their left was a staircase. The twins motioned for them to climb it, and they ascended the creaking treads.
On the first landing, they stopped at a door. Brelan rapped on it, and without waiting for an answer, pushed it open.

The cloyingly sweet aroma of incense wafted out, partly disguising the mouldy niff. Inside, the room was candlelit, and the
first impression was of clutter. Most of which, on closer observation, proved due to books. They lined the walls and stood
in uneven piles on the bare floor. Books of all sizes, bound in leather, vellum and plain boards. Most looked old, and not
a few were greatly worn and crumbling. Some lay open. There was little in the way of furnishings beyond a crude table, covered
in books, and a couple of chairs that had seen better days.

A female orc sat in one of them. She was mature, beyond breeding age but not yet old. Her dress was simple, consisting of
a plain grey robe and slippers, and she wore no jewellery or other adornments. Yet there was something in her bearing that
made the dilapidated chair seem like a throne.

“This is Primary Sylandya, true ruler of Acurial,” Chillder announced. To the female she said, “These are the warriors we
told you about. Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla. They’ve been of great help to the resistance.”

The female gave the trio a faint nod.

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to greet you,” Stryke told her. “We’re not keen on rulers. Most we’ve met didn’t deserve
bowing and scraping.”

“Yeah,” Haskeer agreed, “we don’t kiss arse.”

She smiled. “Orcs who speak their mind. Refreshing.”

“We mean no disrespect,” Stryke assured her.

“Don’t go spoiling it. I value honesty. It was so rare in politics.”

“You need more than talk to fix the problems you’ve got,” Coilla reckoned.

“Sylandya’s aware of that,” Brelan said. “She’s head of our resistance group.”

“And our mother, as it happens,” Chillder added.

Stryke nodded. “Should have guessed.”

“Family likeness?” Brelan asked.

“Same spunk.”

“I’ll take that as praise.”

“You’ve come down in the world,” Haskeer judged, “to end up in this shithouse.”

“I
knew
we shouldn’t have brought him,” Coilla muttered.

Sylandya raised a mollifying hand. “I said I favour plain speaking. Yes, I’m reduced. As are all orcs under the invaders’
yoke. The least I can do is endure it with them.”

“More than endure,” Stryke said. “Overcome.”

“You think we’re not
trying
?”

“Too few of you are. You like straight talk, so I’ll put it bluntly. Somehow, the orcs here have grown placid. Meek.”

“Cowards, more like,” Haskeer remarked.

“Like hell they are,” Brelan thundered. He took a step in Haskeer’s direction.

Sylandya checked him with a wave. “We can’t deny it, son. They may not be craven, but their fighting spirit’s been lost.”
She looked to Stryke. “Though that hasn’t happened with every orc, it seems.”

“Your own offspring prove it,” Stryke replied, “and those who volunteered for the resistance.”

“A pitiful few. There was a time, long ago, when our kind would never have allowed themselves to be subjugated. We were a
fearsome warrior race, beholden to none. The way you still are, you orcs from the north. Or wherever you come from,” she added
pointedly.

“Maybe our remoteness shielded us from the changes in regions where life’s softer,” Stryke suggested, hoping to turn aside
her suspicions.

“Perhaps. Though it seems strange that martial fortitude should be almost bred out everywhere but your homeland.”

“We can talk forever about why,” Coilla intervened. “What matters is how we get these orcs fighting.”

“I think the humans could help with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“They lied about us, and made war on us with words. The citizens of Acurial did nothing. They dreamed up excuses to invade
us. We did nothing. They took our land and wealth. Still we did nothing. They treated us like cattle, humiliated us, and killed
us at will. Except for the few, we suffered and did nothing. They impose ever harsher rule, and most of us do no more than
shoulder the burden. But the time must come when the bough breaks under the weight of oppression. Then the spirit will reawaken.”

Haskeer snorted. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“I believe that, deep down, our race still has its fire. Given a push, it could flare again.”

“What would it take?” Stryke asked.

“Two things,” Sylandya replied. “First, we need to harass the humans, to hit them as often and as hard as we can. Your band
can help greatly with this.”

“They won’t take it lying down. There’ll be reprisals.”

“We’re counting on it.” She held his gaze. “I know that sounds harsh. But it’s no more than the harm humans will do us in
the long run. If it lights the kindling of revolt, it’s worth it.”

“You said two things.”

“At the critical point I’ll call on the citizenry to rise up, and do my best to lead them.”

“And they’ll heed you?”

“I’m hoping they’ll heed Grilan-Zeat.”

“Who?”

“Not who,
what
,” Chillder said.

“Look about you.” Sylandya indicated the profusion of books littering the room.

“Books,” Haskeer muttered contemptuously. “Never read one.” It was a proud declaration.

Coilla gave him a sceptical glance. “You can
read
?”

“I’ve filled the many hours of my internal exile with these tomes,” Sylandya went on, “looking for some clue from our past
that might hold the key to our present. I may have found it in Grilan-Zeat.”

“You’ll have to explain,” Stryke said.

“We have a history, for all the invaders have done to wipe it out. Had they not been rescued by patriots, these books would
have been burned. We pored over their pages for anything that could aid us in our plight. It was ironic that we should find
it in something as celebrated as the story of Grilan and Zeat.” She eyed him astutely. “A story I would have expected you
to know.”

“We’re cut off from things in the north. Remind us.”

“A century and more ago, Acurial faced a crisis. Our leadership was still drawn from the clan chieftains in those days. It
was hereditary, and two lines laid claim. Grilan was one contender, Zeat the other. The land was divided. Civil war threatened.”

“Between orcs who don’t fight?”

“But they very nearly did. Passions were inflamed. It was the last time we came so close to warfare.”

“What stopped it?”

“A portent. A light appeared in the sky, and grew to fill it. As priests had been petitioning the gods to resolve the deadlock,
many chose to see it as a sign. Not least Grilan and Zeat, who made peace and agreed to rule in harness. Well, as it turned
out. They laid the foundation of our modern state. Before the comet faded from view it had already been named after them.”

“What’s this got to do with now?” Coilla wanted to know.

“As we dug deeper into the chronicles we unearthed a curious fact. The comet had come before. It appeared more than a century
prior to the days of Grilan and Zeat. And over a century before
that
. In all, we found records of four visitations, and mention of even earlier ones. We don’t know if great events attended those
past visits, as with Grilan and Zeat. But one thing we do know. The time between each arrival was exactly the same. It returns
at precise intervals, and if it sticks to this pattern, it’s due back. Soon.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Stryke said. “A comet stopped your ancestors taking up arms. Now you’re hoping it’ll come again
and do the opposite.”

“And be seen as an augury,” Coilla added.

“There’s a prophecy to do with the comet,” Brelan told them. “It’s said to arrive in times of most need, to light the way
to salvation.”

“Oh,
please
. Prophecies are as common as horse shit, and less useful.”

“Maybe. But it’s what the citizenry believes that’s important.”

“The prophecy said something else,” Chillder explained. “It spoke of the comet being escorted by a bodyguard of warriors.
A band of hero liberators.”

Stryke stared at her. “You can’t mean —”

“If the helm fits.”

“
Bullshit
. That’s laying too much on us.”

Haskeer gave a low whistle. “Fuck me, we’re heroes.”

“We shouldn’t have brought him,” Coilla repeated.

“Old prophecies are one thing,” Stryke declared, “but don’t drag us into your fancies. We’re fighters, yes, but we’re just
ordinary.”

“Hardly,” Sylandya replied. “You came here at our time of crisis, didn’t you? You’re helping our cause, aren’t you? And you
have a taste for combat our own folk have lost. Whether you believe it or not, it gives us heart. The gods know we’ve little
else to sustain us.”

Stryke was about to rebuff her. Then he looked at their faces and checked himself. Instead he said, “When’s this comet due?”

“We don’t know exactly, not to the hour. But if it’s true to form it should start to be seen around the time of the waning
moon.”

“That’s… when?”

“In thirteen days,” Brelan said.

“And you want to stir up a rebellion by then.”

“We have to,” Sylandya declared. “Unless you have qualms about going against the humans.”

That puzzled Stryke. “Why should we?”

“I’ve heard you consort with them.”

“Ah. You mean Pepperdyne and Standeven. I’ll vouch for them.”

“You’d stand by humans?”

“These… yes.”

“I wonder if they’d stand by you.”

“They already have. One of them, anyway.”

“Run with humans and you invite trouble.”

“They’re different,” Coilla interjected. “They’re not like the ones here. They’ve sympathy for the orcs’ plight.”

“Sympathetic humans. I’ve seen many strange things in my life. I never thought to hear of that.”

“You’ll have to take our word,” Stryke said, hoping Haskeer would keep his mouth shut.

“Part of me would like to meet these singular humans. But I have no taste for that just yet. I’d feel too much like a lamb
seeking the company of a wolf. I would like to have met your other companions though, the…”

“The dwarfs, Mother,” Brelan supplied.

“But it wouldn’t have been wise to bring them here. Some other time, perhaps.” Her eyes were on Stryke, and they were sharp.
“Compassionate humans and an unknown race of little creatures. So many riddles surround you.” She eased, and managed a slight
smile. “But I don’t care, as long as you help us.”

“The two humans could be useful to us,” Brelan said. “And the gods know we need all the allies we can get. Particularly with
the arrival of this new Emissary.”

“Have you learnt any more about them?” Stryke asked.

“What we’re hearing doesn’t bode well. It seems we’re up against a ruthlessness that makes even Hacher’s governance seem kindly.”

“You can tell that already? The Emissary’s only been here a couple of days.”

“But long enough for acts of cruelty and a vicious purge at the humans’ headquarters. That’s what our spies tell us, anyway.
And what we did yesterday can’t have gone well for Hacher. So score one for our side.”

“Can we get to this Emissary?” Coilla wondered. “Their assassination would land a heavy blow.”

“Doubt it. They’re bound to be well guarded, and by all accounts we’d be up against a fearsome target. They say there’s something
very strange about her.”

Stryke and Coilla exchanged glances.

“Her?” Stryke said.

“Didn’t I say? They’ve sent us a sorceress.”

“No, no,
no!
” Dallog snatched the staff from Wheam and held it correctly. “Like
this
.” He thrust it back. “Try again.”

Wheam fumbled with it, and Dallog had to show him one more time. “That’s right. Now there’s your opponent.” He pointed at
a straw-filled dummy hanging from a beam. Its painted features depicted an orc’s idea of a human face.

Wheam dithered.

“Don’t just stand there,” Dallog told him. “Attack!”

The youth gingerly approached the mannequin and swung at it feebly.

“You’re going at it like a hatchling. This creature’s going to kill you if you don’t kill it first. Put some back into it!”

Wheam had another go. He summoned a bit more energy, but was no better coordinated. Taking a clumsy swipe with the staff,
he missed the dummy and struck a wall-mounted oil lamp, shattering it.

“All right,” Dallog said, “take a breather.”

Wheam dropped the staff and slumped to the floor. He propped himself against the wall, chin on raised knees. “I’m useless,”
he sighed.

“Not true.”

“So you say.”

“You’re unskilled, that’s all.”

“It’s not just that. I’m…” He looked around to see if anybody was in earshot, and whispered, “
I’m afraid
.”

“Good.”

“What?”

“Nothing wrong with fear. Show me an orc who goes into battle without it and I’ll show you a fool.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Fear is a warrior’s ally. It’s a spur, a dagger to the back. Courage isn’t being without fear. It’s
overcoming
fear. If you’re wise you’ll make it your friend, and turn it on your enemy. Understanding that is what makes our race so
skilled at warfare.”

“Then why don’t the orcs here see it that way?”

“Somehow, I don’t why, they’ve gone wrong.”

“Have they? They live in peace. They’re not bent on death and destruction the way we are. Maybe I should have been born in
Acurial.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Look where their ways have landed them. You should be proud of your heritage.”