Orcs: Bad Blood (13 page)

“They weren’t made for a massive rear end like yours. Ah, how I’ve missed that scowl. You know, I can’t get used to you all
without your tattoos of rank. Looks odd. How’d you get rid of them?”

“A sawbones back in Ceragan,” Stryke explained. “He used some kind of vitriol. Stung like fury, took an age to heal.”

“Then itched like buggery for a month,” Haskeer added. “Worth it though. Shows we’re nobody’s slaves.” He stared at the struck-through
crescents high on Jup’s cheeks that indicated his one-time status as sergeant. “You should lose yours, too. Like me to cut
’em out for you?” He made to reach for his knife.

“Don’t think I’ll bother, thanks. They give me a certain distinction around here.”

“Really?” Stryke said. “I’d have thought being in Jennesta’s horde wasn’t something to brag about.”

“Not everybody saw her as the evil bitch we knew and hated. And that’s something else I can’t get my head around: her surviving
that… vortex thing.”

“Seems she did. If Serapheim’s to be believed.”

“Big if.”

A dwarf arrived with tankards and deposited them on the bench without a word. Haskeer snatched one and gulped a long draught.

Stryke took a drink himself. “Strange to think,” he reflected, lowering his tankard, “that if it hadn’t been for Jennesta
we’d never have known about Ceragan. I wouldn’t have met Thirzarr and sired young.”

“You have hatchlings?” Jup said.

“Two. Boys.”

“Things
have
changed.”

“And like I said, if Jennesta hadn’t sent us after that first star —”

Haskeer slammed down his tankard. “We don’t owe her a fucking
thing
. Whatever we got was our due.”

Jup nodded. “Much as I hate to agree with latrine breath here, that’s how I see it, too. It seems a fair exchange for all
the grief she doled out. Talking of Ceragan…” He looked about the clearing. “I see some new faces, and the absence of others.”

“The two are linked,” Haskeer muttered darkly. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Wheam and Dallog.

“Take no notice of him,” Coilla said, arriving to claim a seat.

“When did I ever?”

She lifted a tankard. “Hmm. Potent stuff.”

“We pride ourselves on our brew.”

Coilla had another mouthful, then remarked in a lower tone, “Your folk take their gods a bit seriously, don’t they?”

“Some do. More so since things really started to fall apart. Religious zeal’s got even stronger in Maras-Dantia while you
were away, and not just among humans.”

“We met a bunch of elves on the way here. They reckoned humans are going to be the end of the elder races.”

“I might have argued against that once. I’m not so sure they’re wrong now fanatics have the whip hand.”

Coilla snapped her fingers. “Fanatics. Of course. It was
her
!”

“Who?”

“The female I saw when we took those humans’ horses.”

“What about her?” Stryke said.

“I
thought
she looked familiar. It was Mercy Hobrow. That lunatic Kimball Hobrow’s daughter. Grown up now, but still recognisable.”

Jup expelled a low whistle. “You had a lucky escape then. She’s as crazy as her old man, and she’s carried on his work. Her
group’s a rallying point for Unis, and she’s got an army of followers even bigger than her father’s. They’re a scourge in
these parts.”

“And we’ve given her another grudge against us,” Stryke observed.

“You’d be well advised to steer clear of her in future.”

“We don’t intend being here that long. But talking of fathers and daughters, Jup, I meant to ask; last we saw of you, you
were getting Sanara out of the palace in Illex. What happened to her?”

“Good question. Jennesta’s army was in chaos, and these helped us get through.” He pointed at his tattoos. “Then we were days
crossing the ice fields. The woman was tough, I can tell you that. When we got down to the plains… well, I didn’t lose her,
exactly. But she went. Don’t ask me how. She was there one minute, gone the next.”

“Fucking magic-mongers,” Haskeer grumbled. “Slippery as spilt guts.”

“Anyway,” Jup finished, “I gave up looking for her and made my way here. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Quite a family, eh?” Coilla said. “Serapheim and his brood.”

Dwarfs were heading their way carrying wooden trenchers heaped with steaming meat.

Stryke nudged Haskeer. “Looks like your belly’s about to stop rumbling.”

“Sorry if it’s less than a feast,” Jup stated apologetically. “The forest doesn’t bring the yield it once did, and game’s
scarce.”

Wheam and Dallog wandered over.

“Mind if we join you?” Dallog asked.

“If you must,” Haskeer grated.

Coilla shot him a hard look. “Course. Park yourselves.”

Platters of spiced roast meat were set down on the table, along with baskets of warm bread. There were dishes of berries and
nuts.

“You don’t know how welcome this is after field rations,” Stryke said.

“Hmmph,” Wheam agreed, mouth full. “Food good.”

“We’re grateful,” Coilla put in, “especially with hunting so poor.” She jabbed Haskeer’s ribs with her elbow. “
Aren’t
we?”

He glared at her and dragged a sleeve across his mouth. “It’s all right. Could be more of it.”

“Is this usual dwarf fare?” Dallog intervened diplomatically.

“More or less,” Jup replied. “Though we’d prefer a greater quantity.” He aimed that at Haskeer, who stayed oblivious.

“Those of us from Ceragan have never seen dwarfs before,” Dallog said, “so don’t take my ignorance for a lack of courtesy.”

“No offence taken. I remember how I felt when I first saw an orc.”

“You didn’t think we were as revolting as humans, did you?” Wheam piped up.

Jup smiled. “Nowhere near. Though the storytellers would have us believe you ate the flesh of your own kind, among other things.”

“
I’m
a balladeer,” Wheam declared proudly.

“I noticed the lute.”

“That’s putting it a bit grandly,” Stryke said. “
Hoping to be
would give a better account.”

“I can prove it,” Wheam protested. “I could sing something.”

“Oh gods,” Haskeer groaned. He upended his empty tankard. “More drink.”

“That we do have,” Jup told him, beckoning a female dwarf carrying a laden tray.

She was fair of form, as far as the orcs could judge. Her skin was smooth as ceramic, and her long auburn hair was woven in
plaits. She was hale, and though powerfully built she moved with graceful ease, for a dwarf.

Putting down the tray, she leaned over and kissed Jup. The clinch was lingering.

“Now that’s what I
call
service,” Coilla remarked.

The pair disentangled themselves.

“Sorry,” Jup said. “This is Spurral.”

“Somebody… special?” Stryke asked.

“She’s my cohort.” He saw they didn’t grasp what he was saying. “My other half. Perpetual companion, mate, partner.
Spouse
.”

“You were right,” Stryke said, “things really have changed.”

Coilla smiled. “Good on you both.”

Haskeer lowered his tankard. “Hell, I never thought you’d let yourself be tied down, Jup. Hard luck.”

“You must be Coilla.” Spurral smiled at her. “And you’re Stryke.”

“Good guess.”

“Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you all.” The smile faded. “And you just have to be Haskeer.”

Haskeer bobbed his tankard at her and downed more ale.

“Spurral and me have known each other since we were kids,” Jup explained. “When I got back here it just seemed right that
we made it kind of official.”

“So two proud dwarf families were joined,” Spurral added. “Me being a Gorbulew and Jup a Pinchpot.”

Haskeer choked on his beer. “You’re right about that!” he spluttered.

“Pinchpot,” Jup repeated through grated teeth. “
Pinch
pot.”

Haskeer rocked with mirth. “So you,” he pointed at a stony-faced Spurral, “. . . you stopped being a… Gorbulew and… became
a pis —”

“
Haskeer
,” Jup growled ominously.

“Talk about learning something new every day,” Haskeer ploughed on, hugely amused and insensible to their sour expressions.
“You never told us you were a…
Pinchpot
.”

“I wonder why,” Spurral remarked dryly.

“That’s enough, Haskeer,” Stryke cautioned, a note of menace in his voice.

“Come
on
. I know getting hitched can kill your sense of humour, but —”

“We’re guests here. Be mindful of it.”

Haskeer sobered. “Seems to me there was no point in our coming.”

“How’s that again?” Jup said.

“Can’t see you joining us, what with you having a mate and all. It was a wasted journey.”

Jup and Spurral exchanged glances.

“Not necessarily,” Jup said.

Coilla swept her arm to indicate the throng of dwarfs in the clearing. “I thought you stayed here because of them.”

“Given the choice of spending your life with another race or your own, wouldn’t
you
?”

“You could have been sent to the dwarfs’ home world. Serapheim offered.”

“I wouldn’t have known anybody there either.”

“So why the change of heart?”

“I never thought I’d say it, but I want to get away from here. The time’s come.”

“You can see this land’s dying,” Spurral said, “and our folk along with it. Did you get a close look at our tribe? Almost
all are old, lame or infirm.”

Jup shrugged. “We don’t want to leave, but —”

“We?” Stryke said.

“There’s no way I’m going without Spurral.”

“That complicates things, Jup.”

“Why should it? Unless you’ve got a problem with dwarfs in the band.”

“You know it’s not that. But we’ve no idea what we’re going into, except it’ll be dangerous.”

“I can look after myself,” Spurral protested. “Or is it taking females along that you don’t like?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Coilla told her, “I’m a female myself. What’s important is being able to fight.”

More than one pair of eyes flashed to Wheam.

“Spurral’s a good fighter,” Jup replied. “She’s had to be.”

“You’re not going to shift on this, are you?” Stryke said.

“Nope. It’s both or neither.”

“I’m running this band just like I did in the old days, as a tight unit. Everybody in it takes orders.”

“We’ve no gripes with that.”

“Don’t say you’re going along with this, Stryke,” Haskeer complained.

“I make decisions about the band, not you.”

“Then don’t make a bad one. We’re carrying enough dead wood as it is, and —”

“Didn’t Stryke just say you all obey orders?” Spurral interrupted. “Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

“Stay out of this.”

“This is
about
me!”

“Call her off, Jup,” Haskeer snarled.

“She can fight her own battles.”

“Yeah,” Spurral confirmed, squaring up to Haskeer. “Want to put your fists where your mouth is?”

“I don’t hit females.”

Coilla laughed. “Since when?”

“
That’s enough
,” Stryke decided. “Haskeer, shut your mouth. Jup, Spurral; back off. Everybody, sit down.” They settled. “That’s better.
I’ll think about Spurral, Jup. All right?”

“That’s all we’re asking for.”

“So let it rest.”

“Yes. This should be a celebration. More drinks.” He reached for a jug and topped up their cups. “And we have a little pellucid
if anybody’s —”

“Oh, no. Not after the last time. Mission first, pleasure later.”

Haskeer mumbled, “Shit.”

“What about that song then?” Jup suggested. “Wheam?”

Coilla rolled her eyes. “Gods, must we?”

But Wheam had his lute in his hands. “This might be a little rough. I’m still polishing it.” He began strumming.

“The Wolverines, that dauntless band,

Fought their way across the land

They beat a path through rain and mud

And left their rivals in pools of blood

They met rank fiends in battles dire

And sent them to eternal fire

No demons grim or human waves

Could overcome the Wolverines’ blades

They came to where the dwarfs did dwell

And saw that they had not fared well

But still their welcome was quite fulsome

And hospitality was truly awesome.”

“Shall I kill him or will you?” Spurral asked Jup.

“Here’s the chorus,” Wheam declared, upping the tempo of his discordant plucking.

“We are the Wolverines!

Marching to foil evil schemes!

Fleet of foot and strong of arm!

We —”

“Well, it’s getting late,” Stryke announced loudly.

Wheam came to a grating halt. “But I haven’ t —”

“Been a long day,” Coilla added, stretching.

“Sure has,” Jup agreed, “and a big day tomorrow.”

Wheam’s face dropped. “You never let me fin —”

“Turn in or I’ll break that fucking string box over your head,” Haskeer promised.

“Time we all hit the sack then,” Dallog said, taking Wheam’s arm.

“We set off in the morning,” Stryke told them. “Early.”

They dispersed to their various billets, with most of the privates making for a couple of long houses. Jup and Spurral led
Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla to a pair of much smaller huts.

“Stryke,” Jup said, “you and Haskeer are going to have to share this one.” He pushed open the door.

Striding in, Haskeer cracked his head on the top of the door frame. He let out a stream of curses.

Spurral covered her mouth to stifle her glee.

“Don’t forget everything’s dwarf scale,” Jup added.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Haskeer retorted. He looked around the poky room and noticed the cots. “That goes for the beds
too, does it? These are only fit for hatchlings.”

“We’ll sleep on the floor,” Stryke told him. “And if you snore I’ll kill you.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Jup said. “You’ll let us know about Spurral, Stryke?”

“In the morning.”