Mary Gentle - Grunts

“Didn’t want to be World Ruler any way,” Ashnak grunted. “It’s a Staff job.”

“Ah. Stepfather…”

Will Brandiman, standing just out of orc’s reach, cricked his neck to look the great orc in the face.

“You little rat!” Ashnak hissed.

The halfling beamed up at the orc who towered over him. “Think of this as being our revenge on you, Ned and I, for the dungeons of Nin-Edin.”

“Damn you!”

“Quite probably,” Will agreed. “But the moral is—don’t fuck us over. Ever. Halflings have long memories, master orc. But you’ll have enough time to think about that. Since you’re not going to be occupied with world government.”

The great orc stood under the circular hole in the Opticon’s roof, bathed in sunlight. A slight odourous steam rose from him. He wiped his nose, and his eyes glinted as they fixed on the colonel-duchess.

“Hellfire! She didn’t take much persuading to do this,” Ashnak said bitterly.

The halfling raised a small eyebrow. “She didn’t take much persuading to save your ass. She didn’t take much persuading to do the only thing that would stop you being lynched. Oh, and you would have been lynched—Ned and I would have made sure of that. But…”

Will Brandiman waved his hand at the Opticon floor below the Throne of the World. Five hundred Dark and Light Parliamentary delegates elbowed each other in the rush to speak to Magda.

Orcs in camouflage fatigues with assault rifles stood in clusters, at ease, drinking from their water bottles. Each grunt carried with ease the weight of weapons, spare magazines, and grenades.

“If you’re so pissed off,” Will said softly, “waste her. You’re armed. You could still stage a violent coup. But you’ll have to take Mother out first. So go ahead—do it.”

The orc did not move.

“You’re a marine.” Will’s tongue flayed. “That’s what marines do, isn’t it. Go ahead! Take power.”

The strings of the halfling’s ruff already trailed loose. He scratched irritably at the embroidery-stiffened collar of his doublet. Will looked towards the Order of the White Mages’ wizards shuffling about in the background, hastily repossessing the onyx and diamond crown. A priest of the Sun gabbled his way through the coronation oath.

“I can’t.” Ashnak shoved his hand deep in his combat jacket pocket, brought out another cigar, and bit off the end. He spat on the Opticon’s tiled floor. “Damn it, halfling, I can’t .”

“That’s what I thought,” Will said smugly. “Villains always fall short of the mark at the end.”

“Fuck off and die .”

Ashnak straightened his shoulders, chewed his unlit cigar, and watched as, to the cheers of both sides of the House, in the Opticon of Ferenzia, upon a Throne older than cities, Magdelene Amaryllis Judith Brechie van Nassau of Graagryk, Duchess and Colonel, took her place as President of the United Northern and Southern Kingdoms and effective Ruler of the World.

The autumn sun burned the dew off the stone walls inside Ferenzia’s colossal stadium, the largest in the Southern Kingdoms. The cheering grew louder as the whup-whup-whup of a Bell Iroquois HU1 helicopter thrummed above the velvet-draped stone tiers. The roar of the marine march-past and All Forces victory tournament echoed to the skies. A single-prop Ferenzi airship puttered in, wavering as the Huey passed it, sporting a contingent of elf musketeers.

“My hero!” a northern dwarf breathed, her hands clasped to the breast of her shining mailcoat, over her rippling beard.

Major-General Barashkukor, in formal black combats and Stetson, strode forward from among a crowd of dwarf and halfling females, flowers in their beards and hair, respectively. They scattered rose petals over the small orc and blew kisses.

He waved the mob away as he approached Madam President Magdelene’s box, and saluted his Honorary Colonel. “Magnificent show, ma’am.”

The World President sat on the straight-backed chair overlooking the arena, her many advisors one row behind. The female halfing wore a peach-coloured executive suit and gloves and a small hat with a spotted veil.

“Make the most of it, Major-General. It’s probably the last one.” Magda Brandiman regarded the sunny ranks of citizens with a jaundiced eye. “The House had the nerve to pass the Marine Reserve Force (Disbandment) Bill today. Not a thing I could do. The defence budget is slashed by 50 percent because the marines are ‘uneconomic’ without a war.”

“We could always start one, ma’am,” Barashkukor suggested thoughtfully.

“With what?” She leaned her chin on her hand. “You’re running low on equipment from Dagurashibanipal’s hoard, and arms factory production is being cancelled from the beginning of next month.”

“Oh.”

“My sons have left the city,” Magda sighed. “Last heard remarking that they’d robbed the Blasted Redoubt, outwitted the Dark Lord, and out-thought the marines, so what is there left to do? There are no worthy adventures left for them.”

She cast a sardonic eye up at the orc.

“I know how they feel, Major-General. I miss adventuring. I haven’t done anything seriously illegal for months. Only politics, and every politician is crooked, so that hardly counts. You see, it’s become my business to support the status quo. More and more responsibility piled on…That means it’s me who has to worry about whether Ashnak—”

She broke off in mid-sentence.

The small orc smoothed down the bare breast of his tunic.

“Would have liked a medal,” he said. “Sure General Ashnak would have awarded me one, if circumstances hadn’t intervened.”

His lower lip began to quiver.

Magda waved her advisors away and leaned forward. “Tell Magda all about it?” she invited.

Barashkukor sniffed. “I’m worried about my beloved general, ma’am! He’s up north in the Nin-Edin fort, brooding , he won’t give the marines orders, he just shuts himself up all the time, and now—”

“He’s either going to retire gracefully or he’s going to wreak bloody revenge,” the World President said. “I know which my money’s on. It’s me who has to worry about it. And…Barashkukor, I haven’t seen or heard from Ashnak in a month.”

The small orc wiped his nose.

“You have now, ma’am. That’s why I’m here. I’ve just had a message through from the north. It wasn’t very clear, ma’am. The general is calling a meeting, wants you there too—he says he’s going to make some kind of an announcement.”

Magda bit her lip.

“Call that Huey down,” the colonel-duchess ordered. “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t like us to get there too late.”

The Demonfest Mountains rose higher to either side as Wing Commander Chahkamnit swung the Huey up from Sarderis and through the Nin-Edin pass. Fog clung to the peaks. Water spattered the viewscreen. Visibility decreased as they contour-flew the pass up to Nin-Edin. The wind blowing through the helicopter was icy.

“Splendidly bracing, ma’am, what?” Chahkamnit bellowed from under goggles and ear-flapped flying helmet.

“Cold enough to freeze a rock-troll’s ass,” Magda snarled. “Didn’t Ashnak’s message say anything else, Major-General?”

Barashkukor held on his Stetson by main force. “No, Colonel, ma’am. Only that he wants all of us here, right now.”

In the main body of the Huey, CIA Chief Lugashaldim, Master Sergeant Varimnak, and Lieutenant-Colonel Dakashnit sat morosely jammed elbow to elbow. Commissar Razitshakra read a tattered paperback. It was not clear whether she had been summoned or had merely attached herself to keep an eye open for examples of unorcish behaviour.