Orcs: Bad Blood (37 page)

“It’s little enough,” the servant replied. “I get you in. After that you’re on your own.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll go missing as soon as you’re in, and I won’t be the only one tonight.” He stared at the group with rheumy eyes. “I don’t
know who you are, but if you’re here to put paid to that… hell cat, I pray the gods are with you.”

“You mean Jennesta.”

“Who else?”

“It’d be better if you didn’t know why we’re here. For your own safety.”

The old one nodded. “I hope it’s her. The bitch. You wouldn’t believe the depravity since she got here.”

“I think we would,” Coilla told him.

“Time’s pressing,” Stryke reminded them. “It won’t be long before those sentries are found and —”

“Follow me,” the servant instructed, reaching for a glowing lantern on a shelf by the door.

He led them through corridors and twisting passageways, up small flights of steps and down deep staircases. Until at last
they reached a heavy door, which he unlocked with a brass key. There were more steps inside, going down to a dim passage.

“This is one of the tunnels we use to service our betters,” he all but spat the word, “without them having to suffer the indignity
of looking at us.”

“We seem to spend a lot of time in tunnels these days,” Haskeer observed.

The tunnel proved as ill-lit as they expected, and damp ran freely on the walls; a reminder that they were passing under the
moat.

They came to another door.

“Beyond that, you’re in the castle proper,” the old menial explained. “That’s when your map comes into play. Take this.” He
thrust the lamp into Haskeer’s hands. “My eyes are used to the gloom down here. Now go! The door’s unlocked, we’ve seen to
that. And good luck.” He turned and shuffled off into the shadows.

They approached the door cautiously. On the other side was a corridor. It was unlit, but there were hangings and items of
heavy wooden furniture against the walls, indicating that they’d moved from the world of servers to the served.

With Haskeer holding up the lamp, Stryke got out the map and laid it on an ornately carved half moon table. He’d already done
his best to remember most of it, and what he saw confirmed his recollection.

“We should be here,” he said, tapping a finger on the parchment. “Our quarry’s high up. Five flights. So we need to go… that
way.” He pointed to the right.

The corridor was long and branched off in various places. But they kept straight on to the end and a twisting stone staircase.

“This is only for servants too,” Stryke said, “and if we’ve been told right, they’ll not be using it tonight.”

“What about guards?” Coilla asked. “There have to be some.”

“The map shows where the permanent ones are stationed. They’re where you’d expect; the governor’s private quarters and the
like. We don’t know about patrols.”

“Which are likely to be random, right.”

“So stay sharp.”

They began to climb.

A few hundred steps took them to the first landing. Two doors were there, both firmly shut. They crept past them. The next
floor was the same; closed doors, no sign of anyone. Things were different on the third. Here the landing opened directly
on to a corridor. It was richly carpeted, and they caught glimpses of fine paintings as they stole by. The fourth level was
again open, like the one below. On the fifth they found a door unlike any other. It was lavishly ornamented, too much so,
though its decoration was old and beginning to fade.

“Remember,” Stryke reminded them, “it’s a sharp turn to the right then two passages down.” He looked to Noskaa. “You’re guarding
this door. If we’re not back soon, get out. Fast.”

The grunt nodded.

“Now let’s see if this door’s unlocked,” Stryke said, reaching for the handle.

“And if there’s magic?” Coilla wanted to know.

“We trust our blades to better it.” He turned the handle.

The door opened on to a corridor that spoke of the status of those who walked it. Brightly lit, it was sumptuously carpeted
and exquisitely embellished.

“You won’t need that,” Stryke whispered, indicating Haskeer’s lantern.

The sergeant gratefully dumped it on a nearby cushioned chair.

They took the right turn and padded along to the second corridor on their left.

“You’re stationed here, Eldo,” Stryke ordered, strengthening his line of escape. “Same as I said to Noskaa; if we’re not back,
or you think we’re lost, get yourself out. Otherwise, if anybody comes near, drop ’em.”

“Got it, Captain.”

Stryke, Coilla and Haskeer entered the corridor. It was as handsome as the other, but there were no doors. Ahead of them,
about as far as Haskeer could throw an enemy’s leg, it turned sharply to the right.

When they got to the corner, Stryke whispered, “We think they’ll be a couple of them. It’ll have to be quick, and true.”

Coilla nodded and plucked a throwing knife from her arm scabbard. She gave it to him and drew another for herself.

“Ready?” Stryke said.

She nodded.

“Now.”

They swiftly rounded the corner. They were in a short corridor that stretched to a set of imposing double doors. Two sentries
stood by them.

Coilla, the better thrower, was first to get a bead. She tossed her blade and brought down one of the guards cleanly. Stryke’s
throw hit home, but it wasn’t fatal, his target catching the blade near his shoulder. Coilla quickly grabbed a second knife,
lobbed it and finished the job.

“Thanks,” Stryke mouthed.

Joined by Haskeer, they moved towards the doors. About halfway there, they noticed an opening on their right, which turned
out to be a passageway. Its entrance was askew, the right side protruding further than the left, so that it was hard to make
out until almost on it.

“Shit,” Coilla hissed, “that wasn’t on the map.”

As she spoke, the sound of muffled boots came to them. Before they could react, a guards patrol came out of the hidden passage.
They looked as surprised to see the orcs as the orcs were to see them. But the spell was not long breaking.

The guards charged. The trio met them, steel on steel.

“We’ll handle this!” Coilla yelled. “Go!
Go!
”

Stryke dodged a swinging blade and sprinted for the double doors. He struck them at speed and they flew inward, nearly putting
him on the floor of the room he tumbled into. Then by some agency the doors slammed shut behind him. He spun, gripped the
handles and pulled, but they wouldn’t be moved.

Jennesta’s suite was extensive and opulently appointed. It also seemed empty. There was a grand bed, draped in sheerest silks
and dotted with gold-tasselled cushions. But there was no sign of anyone having used it.

Stryke was about to try one of the two doors in the room when the nearest opened.

Kapple Hacher strode in.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he stated evenly.

“I know who you are,” Stryke said.

“Then perhaps you also know that no one enters this citadel uninvited. Not if they want to live.”

“My business isn’t with you, and you won’t stop me.”

“We’ll see.”

“Just you, is it? No platoon of troopers to back you up?”

“You’re not worthy of it. Besides, I need no help dealing with your kind.”

“Bigot.”

“
Liberator
, if you don’t mind. We invaded this land to stop them using weapons of magical destruction against us.”

“That’s bull. Orcs don’t have a way with magic. Where were they, these weapons?”

“We haven’t actually found any yet, but —”

“Lies. A ploy to invade. And who the hell were you liberating?”

“Those many orcs who wanted to avoid the consequences of their masters using their hidden magic against us. You could say
we were invited, in an unspoken kind of way.”

“You can’t believe that. You’ve seen the orcs here. They’re placid. They’d never have threatened you.”

“Not all your kind are placid, it seems. Are you not from here?”

“You’re right. Not all orcs are placid, not at heart. They’re aggressive, tough. Warriors far greater than humans.”

Hacher laughed scornfully. “Not on the evidence I’ve seen. And a few freaks of nature like you won’t change it.”

“So why waste words?”

“Why indeed?” Hacher drew his sword.

Stryke pulled free his own and they set to.

For Hacher, old enough and high ranking enough to have been taught in a classical style, fighting was
fencing
. To him, a scrap was a duel. As far as Stryke was concerned, a scrap was a scrap.

It came down to undoubted skill and stylishness versus seasoned brute determination.

Hacher fenced, Stryke hacked. Hacher blocked passes with dexterity and put together complex attacks. Stryke battered away
and thought only of skewering his opponent’s lungs.

In the end an orc’s fury and stamina proved the better. Bludgeoning the general’s defences, he found a breach and sent his
blade through it. The sword pierced Hacher between breastbone and shoulder. It wasn’t a deep wound, but enough to offset him
and he fell, losing his sword.

Stryke moved in to finish the task. Then stopped.

A presence had entered the room. Somebody who didn’t have to speak to command attention. He turned from Hacher and stared.

Jennesta was dressed in black, with leather playing a major part in her ensemble. She wore a choker bristling with glinting
spikes, and smaller versions on her wrists. There was something unnameable and almost palpable about her. It was a kind of
allure, mixed with equal parts of revulsion. She exuded a power, and there was very little light in it.

Stryke couldn’t quite stem a feeling of awe. He had a hint, deep down, of an emotion orcs found alien. Fear.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, her tone surprisingly mild.

“Yes,” he said, tritely and feeling like a hatchling.

“You know, you should really bow to me. After all, technically you’re still in my service. I never released you from it.”

“We don’t bow and scrape since we took our freedom.”

“That wasn’t all you took, was it?”

Stryke stopped himself from sending a hand to the pouch he carried the stars in. He said nothing.

“But we’re going to put that right at last,” she told him. “We’re going to —”

Hacher groaned.

She swung her head to him, furious. “Oh get out, you useless wretch. Go and have that seen to. Though why I don’t let you
bleed to death…”

“Will you be safe with him?” Hacher asked.

“You certainly weren’t! There’s nothing here that’s beyond me. Now
get out!
”

The general climbed to his feet and limped to the door, a hand pressed against his bleeding wound.

When he left she refocused on Stryke. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the instrumentalities.” Her face screwed with wrath. “They
were rightly
mine
. I searched years for them and you’ve added years more. That’s not something I tolerate.”

“They’re not for the taking,” Stryke informed her.

“Oh yes they are. The taking, and a lingering death as reward for your insolence.”

“Then you won’t mind a condemned orc’s last request. How did you escape? After you —”

“After my dear father consigned me to the vortex, you mean, in the hope that I’d be torn to pieces? No, I won’t. I don’t grant
wishes. You can die wondering.”

“And you’ve climbed high in the world of humans. I’d like to know how.”

“Humans are scum. I’ve nothing but contempt for them. They’re just a means. How I rose among them is something else I won’t
trouble you with. But it was absurdly easy, I’ll say that.”

“Ever the conniver.”

“Realist.” Unexpectedly, her tone became even, almost conversational. “You know, it’s a pity things worked out as they did.
You were a good slave once. I might have given you a high position in my service. And when I think about it, we do have something
in common, don’t we?”

“What in hell could that be?”

“No home. No realm in my case,” she added bitterly. “Neither of us has roots, somewhere we can have allegiance to. But at
least you have your own kind. There aren’t many like me.”

“I believe it. What are you saying, Jennesta?” He felt a little flip in his stomach for using a term other than “Your Majesty.”
“That you want me back in your service?”

“Gracious, no. I was just dangling something you couldn’t have in front of you. No reprieves.”

Stryke lunged at her, bringing up his sword. She quickly moved her hands in some unfathomable way.

He froze. Try as he might, not all his strength could make him move. He stood like a statue, sword outstretched, body tensed
for the thrust.

She laughed at him. Then she called out in some guttural, arcane tongue. Half a minute later two of her lumbering zombies
shambled in.

“You know what to do,” she told them without bothering to look their way.

They shuffled to Stryke and began pawing at his clothes. Their soft, bony fingers probed his pockets. Yellow skeletal hands
searched for his belt pouches. This close, the foul smell of the creatures was overpowering. But Stryke was powerless to shift,
no matter how hard he struggled.

Inevitably one of the goons found the pouch of stars. When he upended it and they tumbled to the carpet, Jennesta’s face lit
up with an awful fire. She rushed to the spot, clouting aside the zombie who tipped the bag, as though in penalty for his
disrespect. Kneeling, she took up the stars with reverence. If she was disappointed at finding only four, she didn’t show
it. Which some small part of Stryke’s writhing mind found strange.

“These will give me a power you can’t imagine,” she boasted, flaunting the stars at Stryke. “I won’t have a mere realm. I’ll
have
realms
. The dominance of not one but many worlds. And it starts with an orc army as obedient as these two.” Jennesta nodded at the
undead. “Pity you won’t see it.” She lifted a hand.

The double doors crashed open. Haskeer charged in, carrying a wooden bench, which he casually tossed to the floor. Coilla
was right behind him, sword and dagger in hand.