Orcs (49 page)

Stryke glanced about, but saw nothing else moving in the snow. “All right,” he agreed. “Do it slowly.”

The stranger dismounted. He held out his hands to show he had no blade. Stryke ordered Talag and Finje to search him. That done, they brought him forward. Reafdaw took charge of his horse, winding its reins around a withered tree stump. The eyes of the band flicked in turn from the surrounding whited-out terrain to this tall, unruffled human who had arrived in their midst.

“Who are you, human?” Stryke demanded. “What do you want?”

“I am Serapheim. I saw your fire. All I want is warmth.”

“It’s dangerous riding into a camp uninvited these days. How do you know we won’t kill you?”

“I trust in the chivalry of orcs.” He glanced at Jup. “And of those they ally with.”

“What are you, Mani or Uni?” the dwarf said.

“Not all humans are either.”

“Huh!” Jup exclaimed sceptically.

“It’s true. I carry no baggage of gods. May I?” He stretched his hands to the fire. But Stryke noticed that despite the bitter cold this stranger did not look discomforted; his teeth didn’t chatter, his disgustingly pale skin showed no tinge of blue.

“How do we know you’re not part of some trap?” Stryke asked.

“I can’t blame you for thinking that. The perceptions my race have of yours are just as distrustful. But then, many humans are like mushrooms.”

They gave him puzzled looks. Stryke thought he might be a simpleton. Or mad.

“Mushrooms?” he said.

“Yes. They live in the dark and are force-fed shit.”

A ripple of laughter came from the band.

“Well put,” Jup told the stranger in guarded good humour. “But who are you that you should be travelling a war-torn land alone and unarmed?”

“I’m a storyteller.”

“A story’s all we need right now,” Stryke commented cynically.

“Then I’ll tell you one. Though I fear it’s short on plot and could end as a tragedy.” There was something about the way he said it that held them. “Could it be that you’re seeking one of your own kind?” the human added.

“What if we are?”

“A female member of your band?”

“What do you know of that?” Stryke rumbled darkly.

“A little. Enough to aid you perhaps.”

“Go on.”

“Your comrade’s been captured by bounty hunters of my race.”

“How do you know this? Are you one of them?”

“Do I
look
like a mercenary? No, my friend, I’m not one of them. I’ve just seen them with her.”

“Where? And how many of them?”

“Three. Not far from here. But they would have moved on by now.”

“How does this help us?”

“I know where they’ve gone. Hecklowe.”

Stryke eyed him suspiciously. “Why should we believe you?”

“That’s your choice. But why would I lie?”

“For a dark purpose of your own, maybe. We’ve learnt the hard way to doubt anything a human says.”

“As I said, you can’t be blamed for that. On this occasion a human is telling you the truth.”

Stryke stared at him. He couldn’t read his face. “I need to think,” he said. He detailed a couple of grunts to keep an eye on the human and wandered away from the fire.

The snow might have been a little lighter. He didn’t really notice. His mind was on weighing the stranger’s words.

“Am I intruding?”

Stryke turned. “No, Jup. I was just trying to make sense of what we heard. Starting with why we should believe this Serapheim.”

“Because there’s a certain kind of logic to it?”

“Maybe.”

“Because we’re desperate?”

“That’s more like it.”

“Let’s think this through, chief.
If
this human’s speaking true, we assume the bounty hunters have Coilla because of the price on her head, yes?”

“If not, wouldn’t they have killed her already?”

“That’s what I figured. But why take her to Hecklowe?”

Stryke shrugged. “Could be one of the places where the bounty’s doled out. Let’s work on believing him. That leaves us with a decision. Should we go after Coilla or keep the rendezvous with the rest of the band first?”

“We’re nearer Hecklowe than Drogan.”

“True. But if Coilla has a value she’s unlikely to be harmed.”

“You’re not taking her nature into account. She’ll be no passive hostage.”

“Let’s trust to her good sense. In which case things are going to be hard for her but not life-threatening.”

“So that’s an argument for meeting with Alfray first and going into Hecklowe with the whole band.”

“Yeah, better odds. The downside is that delay might mean Coilla being sent back to Jennesta. Then we really would have lost her.”

They glanced in the direction of the stranger. He was still by the fire. The grunts by him seemed a little more relaxed, and several were engaged in conversations.

“On the other hand,” Jup went on, “there
is
an agreed time for rendezvousing with Alfray. Suppose he thinks the worst’s happened to us and goes into Drogan to tangle with the centaurs?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Stryke sighed. “It’s on a blade’s edge, Jup, and we need to be absolutely sure that —”

A chorus of shouts interrupted. Stryke and Jup spun around.

The stranger had gone. So had his horse. They ran to the fire.

Grunts were stumbling and yelling in the swirling whiteness.

Stryke collared Gant. “What the hell happened, trooper?”

“The human, Captain, he just . . . went.”

“Went? What do you mean,
went?
”

Talag intervened. “That’s right, sir. I took my eyes off him for a second and he was gone.”

“Who saw him go?” Stryke shouted.

None of the grunts owned to it.

“This is crazy,” Jup said, squinting into the snow. “He couldn’t have just disappeared.”

Sword in hand, Stryke stared too, and wondered.

13

Voices and laughter were all around him
.

He was walking in a crowd of orcs. Orcs of both sexes and all ages. Orcs he had never seen before
.

They sported tiny adornments of dress that told him they were from many different clans. Yet there was no obvious animosity. They seemed happy and he didn’t feel in any way threatened. In fact there was an air of anticipation, a holiday mood
.

He was on the sandy beach. The sun was at its highest point and beating down intensely. Shrieking white birds circled far overhead. The crowd was heading for the ocean
.

Then he saw that a ship was anchored a little way offshore. It had three sails, now resting, and from the foremost mast a flag flew, decorated with a red emblem he didn’t recognise. The carved effigy of a female orc, resplendent with raised sword, stood out from the prow. Battle shields lined the ship’s side, each bearing a different design. It was the biggest vessel Stryke had ever seen, and certainly the most magnificent
.

The leaders of the crowd were already wading out to it. They didn’t need to swim, so the ship was either flat-bottomed or stood in a deeper strait edging the beach. He was taken along by the flow of orcs. None of them spoke to him, but in a strange way that made him feel accepted
.

Over the hubbub he heard his name, or at least he thought he did. He looked around, taking in the torrent of faces. Then he saw her, moving against the crowd, coming his way
.

“There you are!” she greeted him
.

Despite his confusion, despite not knowing where he was or what was going on, he smiled
.

She returned the smile and said, “I knew you’d come.”

“You did?”

“Well, hoped,” she confessed. Her eyes sparkled
.

Emotions welled up in him that he didn’t understand, and certainly couldn’t articulate. So he didn’t try. He simply smiled again
.

“Are you here to help?” she asked
.

His reply was a baffled look
.

She adopted the expression of good-natured pique that he was growing used to. “Come on,” she said
.

Stryke went with her to the ocean. They walked into the mild, chalky-flecked waves lapping the beach and waded, thigh-deep, to the ship. Orcs were using ropes and ladders to reach the deck. He watched admiringly as the female, moving with athletic suppleness, joined the climbers and scaled the side. Then he hauled himself aboard the gently swaying vessel
.

A hold was open mid-deck. Crates, barrels and chests were being passed up. The orcs began carrying them to the rail and over the side, where another chain was forming back to the beach. Stryke and the female took places in the line, passing along the cargo. He admired the rippling of her arm and leg muscles as she hefted boxes and swung them to him
.

“What are these things?” he asked
.

She laughed. “How do you make your way in the world knowing so little?”

He shrugged, abashed
.

“Do they not import needed things where you come from?” she said
.

“Orcs don’t.”

“Oh, yes; you say your land is home to more than orcs. Those dwarves and gremlins and . . . what was it? Humans.”

His face darkened. “Humans are not of my land. Though they would make it so.”

She handed him another piece of cargo. “My point is that even where you come from, needful things must be brought in.”

“Where do these things come from?”

“From other orcs in other places that have things we don’t.”

“I haven’t heard of other such places.”

“You gall me.” Smiling, she waved a hand at the ocean. “I mean those lands across the ocean.”

“I didn’t know there was anything across the ocean. Isn’t the water all there is?”

“Obviously not. Where do you think all this came from?”

Suitably chided, he caught the next box she sent his way. Thrown with a little more force than before, he thought. He tossed it to the next orc in line, turned back to her and said, “These are riches, then?”

“You could say that.” She moved out of the line, taking the crate she had with her. “I’ll show you.” He stepped aside too. The line closed up; there were more than enough orcs to help
.

She put the crate on the deck. He knelt beside her. Producing a knife from her belt sheath, she used it to lever open the box. It was full of a reddish, powdery material that looked like dried leaves. He obviously didn’t know what it was
.

“Turm,” she explained. “A spice. It makes food better.”

“This has value?”

“If we want our food to taste good, yes! That’s its value. Not all riches come as coins or gems. Your sword, for example.”

“My sword?” His hand went to it. “It’s a good blade, but nothing special.”

“In itself, perhaps not. But in skilful hands, in the hands of a warrior born, it becomes so much more.”

“I see. I really do see.”

“And so it is with orcs. With all living things.”

His craggy face creased. “Now I’m not so —”

“They’re like blades. As sharp or as dull.”

Now it was his turn to laugh
.

“Yet all have value,” she emphasised
.

“Even my enemies?”

“It is right that orcs have enemies. Even if they change, and today’s enemy becomes tomorrow’s friend.”

“That’s not my situation,” he replied coolly. “It won’t happen.”

“Whether it comes to pass or not, even mortal enemies have their value.”

“How can they?”

“Because it’s possible to respect, which is to say value, their fighting skills, their determination. Their courage, if they have it. Not least, they’re precious in just being there for an orc to face. We
need
a foe. It’s what we do. It’s in our blood.”

“I’d never thought of it that way.”

“But although we fight that doesn’t necessarily mean we have to hate.”

Stryke couldn’t entirely accept that. Though it did set him thinking
.

“But what we must value most of all,” she added, “are those closest to us.”

“You make things seem so . . . straightforward.”

“That’s because they are, my friend.”

“Here, perhaps. Where I come from, all hands are against us and there is much to be overcome.”

Her expression grew sombre. “Then be a blade, Stryke. Be a blade.”

He woke with a racing pulse. His breathing was so rapid he almost panted.

Light, fetid rain was falling from a dismal sky, and most of the snow had been washed away. It was miserable and cold. The couple of hours’ sleep hadn’t refreshed him at all. There was a bad taste in his parched mouth and his head pounded.

He lay there, letting the rain bathe his face, and dwelt on what, for want of a better word, he termed the dream. Dreams, visions, messages from the gods; whatever they were, they had grown more vivid, more intense. The smell of ozone, the motes in his eyes from the glaring sun, the warm breeze that caressed his skin: all were slow to fade.

Again the thought that he was being betrayed by his own mind and going insane clutched his heart like an icy claw. Yet another, contrary notion ran almost as strongly: the feeling that he’d come to expect the dreams, even welcome them.

That was something he didn’t want to pursue, not now.

He sat up and looked around. All the others were awake and going about their chores. The horses were being tended, bedrolls shaken out, weapons sharpened.

The events of the night came back to him. Not those of his dream but what had occurred before that. They had kept their eyes peeled for the mysterious human for a long time, and even ventured out into the snow in small parties to search for him. There had been no sign and eventually they gave up. At some point Stryke must have drifted into sleep, although he couldn’t remember doing it.

Serapheim, if that was the stranger’s real name, was another mystery to add to the list. But it wasn’t one Stryke was going to waste time pondering, mostly because he didn’t want to consider the distinct possibility that the man was crazy. That would throw into doubt the only clue they had to Coilla’s whereabouts. And at a time like this they needed something hopeful. Badly.