Orcs (31 page)

He stood on a cliff’s edge
.

A good spear throw away a corresponding wall of sheer rock faced him. He saw trees on the other side, tall and straight. The space between was a deep canyon. Far below roared a white-foamed river, throwing up clouds of vaporous mist as it pounded at boulders in its path. The channel of rock extended for as far as he could see on either side
.

The cliffs were spanned by a gently swaying suspension bridge built from stout rope and woven twine, with wooden slats to walk on
.

For no other reason than that it was there, he set his foot upon it and began to cross
.

Away from the shelter of the rock face, a stiff breeze tempered the pleasant warmth of the maturing evening. It carried a fine spray of droplets from the torrent beneath, cooling his skin. He walked slowly, savouring the magnificence of the scenery and breathing deep of the crystal air
.

He was perhaps a third of the way across when he became aware of someone walking towards him from the other side. He couldn’t make out their features, but saw that they moved with a purposeful step and easy confidence. He kept on and didn’t slow his pace. Soon the other traveller was near enough to be properly seen
.

It was the orc female he had met here before. Wherever
here
might be
.

She wore her head-dress of flaming scarlet war feathers, and her sword was strapped to her back, its hilt visible above the left shoulder. One of her hands lightly touched the guide rope at her side
.

They recognised each other at the same time, and she smiled. He smiled too
.

They came together midway
.

“Our paths cross again,” she said. “Well met.”

He felt the same strange tug at his feelings that he had in his previous encounters with her
.

“Well met,” he returned
.

“You’re truly an orc of passing strangeness,” she told him
.

“How so?”

“Your comings and goings are veiled in mystery.”

“I might say the same of you.”

“Not so. I’m always here. You appear and disappear like the haze bred by the river. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. That is, I . . . explore, I suppose. And you?”

“I move as my life dictates.”

“Yet you carry your sword where it can’t be quickly drawn.”

She glanced at his blade, hanging in its belt sheath. “And you don’t. My way is better.”

“Your way used to be the custom in my land, at least when travelling in safe parts. But that was long ago.”

“I offer none a threat and travel as I please without danger. It’s not so where you come from?”

“No.”

“Then your land must be grim indeed. I offer it no offence in saying that.”

“I take none. You speak the truth.”

“Perhaps you should come here and make your camp.”

He wasn’t sure if it was some kind of invitation. “That would be pleasant,” he replied. “I wish I could.”

“Something stops you?”

“I don’t know how to reach this land.”

She laughed. “You can always be counted on for riddles. How can you say that when you’re here now?”

“It makes no more sense to me than it does to you.” He turned from her and looked down at the thundering water. “I understand my coming here no more than the river understands where it flows. Less so, for the river has always flowed to the ocean, and is timeless.”

The female moved closer to him. “We are timeless too. We flow with the river of life.” She reached into her pouch and took out two small pebbles, round and smooth. “I took these from the river’s bank.” She let them slip from her hand and they fell away. “Now they’re one with the river again, as you and I are one with the river of time. Don’t you see how apt it is that we should meet on a bridge?”

“I don’t know if I understand your meaning.”

“Don’t you?”

“I mean, I feel there’s truth in what you say, but it’s just beyond my grasp.”

“Then reach further and you’ll understand.”

“How would I do that?”

“By not trying.”

“Now who’s talking in riddles?”

“The truth is simple, it’s we who choose to see it as a riddle. Understanding will come to you.”

“When?”

“It begins by asking that question. Be patient, stranger.” She smiled. “I still call you ‘stranger.’ I don’t know your name.”

“Nor I yours.”

“What
are
you called?”

“Stryke.”

“Stryke. It’s a strong name. It serves you well. Yes . . . Stryke,” she repeated, as though relishing it. “Stryke.”

“Stryke. Stryke!
Stryke!
”

He was being shaken.

“Uh? Uhm . . . Wha . . . what’s
your
name?”

“It’s me, Coilla. Who did you think it was? Snap out of it, Stryke!”

He blinked and took in his surroundings. Realisation returned. It was daybreak. They were at Scratch.

“You look strange, Stryke. You all right?”

“Yes . . . yes. Just a . . . a dream.”

“Seems to me you’ve been having a lot of those lately. Nightmare, was it?”

“No. It was far from being a nightmare. It was only a dream.”

Jennesta dreamt of blood and burning, of death and destruction, suffering and despair. She dreamt of the principles of lust, and the enlightenment to be gained thereof.

As was her wont.

She woke up in her inner sanctum. The mangled body of a human male, barely into manhood, lay on the crimson altar amid the detritus of the previous night’s ritual. She ignored it, rose and wrapped her nakedness in a cloak of furs. A pair of high leather boots completed her wardrobe.

It was first light and she had business to attend to.

As she left the chamber the orc guards outside stiffened to attention. “Come,” she ordered briskly.

They fell in behind her. She led them through a maze of corridors, up flights of stone-slab stairs and finally into the open air, emerging on to a parade ground in front of the palace.

Several hundred members of her orc army were there, standing in well-ordered ranks. The audience, for that was what it amounted to, had been made up of representatives from each regiment. It was an efficient way of ensuring that word of what they were about to witness would spread quickly through the whole of Jennesta’s horde.

The troops faced a stout wooden stake the height of a small tree. An orc soldier was lashed to it. There were bundles of faggots and kindling stacked almost to his waist.

General Mersadion met Jennesta with a bow. “We’re ready to proceed, Your Majesty.”

“Let the verdict be known.”

Mersadion nodded at an orc captain. He stepped forward and raised a parchment. In a booming voice, the attribute that had landed him his unpopular task, he began to read.

“ ‘By order of Her Imperial Majesty Queen Jennesta, let all note the findings of a military tribunal in the case of Krekner, sergeant ordinary of the Imperial Horde.’ ”

All eyes were on the soldier at the stake.

“ ‘The charges laid against said Krekner were, one, that he knowingly disobeyed an order issued by a superior officer and, two, that in disobeying that order he did show cowardice in the face of the enemy. The tribunal’s findings were that he be judged guilty on both counts and should be condemned to suffer such penalty as the above charges carry.’ ”

The Captain lowered the parchment. It was deathly silent in the square.

Mersadion addressed the prisoner. “You have the right of final appeal to the Queen. Will you exercise it?”

“I will,” Krekner replied. His voice was even and loud. He was bearing the ordeal with dignity.

“Proceed,” Mersadion said.

The sergeant turned his head to Jennesta. “I meant no disrespect as far as my orders went, ma’am. Only we were told to re-engage when there were comrades lying wounded that we could have helped. I held back just long enough to stem a fellow orc’s flow of blood, and believe I saved his life by doing it. Then I obeyed the order to advance. It was a delay, not disobedience, and I plead compassion as the cause. I feel that my sentence is unjust on that count.”

It was probably the longest, and certainly the most important, speech he had ever made. He looked to the Queen expectantly.

She kept him, and all of them, waiting for a full half-minute before speaking. It pleased her that they might think she was considering mercy.

“Orders are given to be obeyed,” she announced. “There are no exceptions, and certainly not in the name of . . .
compassion
.” She mouthed the word as though it were distasteful to her. “Appeal denied. The sentence will be carried out. Let your fate be an example to all.”

She lifted a hand, muttering the while an incantation. The condemned orc braced himself.

A slither of concentrated light spurted from her fingertips, arced through the air and bathed the kindling at his feet. The fuel ignited immediately. Orange-yellow flames erupted and instantly began to climb.

The orc sergeant faced his death courageously, but in the end he could not hold back the screams. Jennesta looked on impassively as he writhed in the blaze.

In her mind’s eye, the victim was Stryke of the Wolverines.

The Wolverines were ready to set out.

Stryke thought that Haskeer would object to not being included in the mission. He was wrong. His sergeant accepted the news without complaint. In a way, that was more troubling than one of the rants they’d become accustomed to.

Taking aside Coilla, Alfray and Jup, Stryke outlined his plan.

“As agreed, Coilla, you’ll stay here at base camp with Haskeer,” he said. “I’ve assigned Reafdaw to stay too.”

“What about the pellucid?” she asked.

“Rather than leave it divided up in individual saddlebags, I’ve ordered it to be pooled.” He pointed at a bundle of sacks stacked near the tethered horses. “You might like to load it on to a couple of mounts. That way, if you need to make a quick getaway, without the rest of us, you’ll save time.”

“I understand. What about the stars?”

Stryke reached into his pouch. “Here. What you do with them if we don’t get out is up to you.”

She studied the strange objects for a second, then slipped them into her own belt bag. “In the event, I hope it’ll be something you’d approve of.” They exchanged smiles. “But what
are
the contingency plans if you don’t come back?”

“None that involves you coming in after us. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” It was a reluctant reply.

“It’s an order. I’d say that if we’re not out by this time tomorrow, we won’t be out at all. In which case get yourselves away from here. You might use the time to think about where to go.”

“The gods know where that’ll be. But we’ll think of something if we must. Just don’t give us cause to, right?”

“We’ll do our best. And it goes without saying that if any trolls turn up above ground before the deadline’s reached, that’s likely to mean only one thing. In which case get out of here anyway.”

She nodded.

“What’s the plan for us once we get down there, Stryke?” Alfray said.

“Flexible. Has to be. We don’t know what we’ll find, or even if what we think is an entrance will turn out to be one.”

“A blind mission. Not ideal.”

“No, but we’ve been on them before.”

“What worries me is that we’ll be literally blind down there if anything goes wrong,” Jup confessed.

“The trolls have the advantage in terms of the darkness, it’s true. But we’re taking plenty of torches. As long as we have them, we should be a match for any opposition. And don’t under-estimate the element of surprise.”

“It’s still a hell of a risk.”

“Taking risks is what we’re trained for, and I’d wager we have more experience in it than the cave dwellers below.”

“Let’s hope so. Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Yes. Muster the grunts. Gather the ropes and torches.”

Jup and Alfray went off to do it.

“I want to come as far as the entrance with you,” Coilla stated. “All right?”

“Come. But don’t linger there. I want you back here helping to guard base camp and that pellucid.”

The band left Haskeer with Reafdaw and marched to the entrance.

Daylight made the interior of the cave look even darker, and they entered with caution. At the edge of the shaft they ignited torches.

“Toss over some light,” Stryke ordered in a hushed tone.

A pair of grunts dropped two brands each. They watched them plummet. This time, unlike the burning rag Coilla had dropped, they didn’t disappear from sight. They landed on something solid, but it was a long way down.

“At least it doesn’t look too deep for the amount of rope we have,” Alfray judged.

The guttering torches threw out a circle of light, though not enough for the band to make out any details of what lay below. At least nothing seemed to be moving down there.

Several grunts were given the job of firmly securing the ends of three ropes around rocks and trees outside the cave.

“Just in case there’s some kind of trap waiting to be sprung below,” Stryke told them all, “we go down quickly and in force.”

The band formed three lines by the ropes. More torches were lit and passed out to them. Some band members clutched knives in their teeth.

Coilla wished them luck and backed off.

Stryke nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, clasping a rope.

He went over the edge first. The rest of the band quickly spilled into the pit after him.

24

Stryke let go of the rope and dropped the last ten feet or so.

He quickly drew his sword. Jup landed beside him and likewise plucked free his blade. The rest of the band landed in short order and looked around.

They were in a roughly circular chamber that opened out to about three times the diameter of the shaft they had just climbed down. Two tunnels ran from it, the larger directly ahead, a smaller one to their left.