Stan Nicholls - Orcs:Bad blood

"You see?" she said, seemingly addressing no one but herself.

"I see," came the reply. It emanated from the not quite crystal, oddly distorted by its passage across innumerable worlds. Warped, but recognisably the voice of Karrell Revers. "And it further confirms that the orcs are interfering dangerously in the affairs of that plain," he went on. "But we knew this, Pelli. You must act."

"I'm aware of what should be done. My fear is that, in trying to prevent any damage the warband may do, we further aggravate the situation. Things are complex here. We have to choose our time with care."

"You're facing the inherent paradox the Corps has to deal with: to prevent interference, we must interfere."

"So how do I deal with it?"

"You use your judgement. If I didn't believe you were capable of coping with the present irregularity you wouldn't be in charge of this mission. But be warned, Pelli. The longer you leave intervening, the more events will fester; and when you strike, it has to be decisively."

"I understand."

"Keep one thing in mind. The Wolverines have to be stopped, by whatever means you need to employ."

"I can't help feeling that fate is about to deal them too harsh a punishment. They're starting to seem like no more than pawns in this drama."

"That may well be so. But they are a martial race, and walk with death as a matter of routine. I say again that you must put aside any feelings of consideration you may have for these creatures. Don't go soft on me, Pelli. Because forces of great destruction have been set in motion, and they're on course for a collision."

As the sun rose, there was a bustle of activity around Taress' fortress.

Orc labourers were toiling in the empty moat, clearing out debris that had taken years to accumulate, preparatory to it being flooded again. Crews were beefing up the other defences. New bars of thick metal were being affixed across lower windows. The main gate was reinforced with sheets of iron.

Kapple Hacher stood on the access road, watching the work progress. His aide, Frynt, was beside him, ticking items on a parchment list.

"It's a crying shame," Hacher stated, "that this place was allowed to fall into such a sorry state by the former regime. The defences are a joke."

"They're not a warlike race, sir. I expect they didn't see the need."

"But they saw fit to build the fortress in the first place, whoever long ago that was." He grew thoughtful. "Which makes me think…"

"Sir?"

"Nothing. Will the work be completed on schedule, do you think?"

"It should be if we have them working day and night."

"Bring in more labour if you have to. I want it finished as soon as possible."

"Do you really think the fortress could come under attack, sir?"

"The way things are going, anything's possible. And I don't want to leave us open to the Envoy's displeasure."

"Ah, yes, sir. But is this enough to satisfy the lady Jennesta?"

"In itself, no. I wouldn't expect it to. It's just one measure. The crackdown I'm planning should mollify her to some extent. At least for a while."

"Yes, sir. Let's hope so."

"In that respect…" Hacher looked about, as though spying for eavesdroppers, and his voice dropped. "In that respect there's been something of a breakthrough."

"General?"

"Breathe a word of this and I'll have your tongue. Understood?"

Frynt looked offended at the idea of him being loose with the organ in question. "Of course, sir."

"We've got an informer. Not one of your usual low level turncoats either. This is somebody within the resistance itself. Close to the leadership, in fact."

"Really, sir? May I ask who?"

If Hacher was going to answer the question, it wasn't to be at that moment.

There was a chorus of shouts from the guard detail supervising the workers.

A soldier had arrived on horseback. His shirt was bloodstained and he was yelling. The sentries rushed to him, and he fell into their arms.

"Will you stop that bloody row!" Haskeer barked.

Wheam cringed and quit plucking his lute. "I was only — "

"You were only driving me crazy. Now stow the damn thing and follow me."

"Where?"

"Stryke wants you in on something. Fuck knows why. Now move your arse."

Haskeer led him to the rear of the safe house and a closed door. Typically, he ignored niceties and barged in.

The room was the largest in the building, and crowded. It looked as though all the Wolverines were present, along with a number of resistance members and a smattering of Vixens.

Stryke was standing near the door.

"Here he is," Haskeer said. "Though why the hell you'd want him involved — "

"All right, Sergeant. Plant yourself somewhere."

Grumbling, Haskeer went and lounged against a wall, arms folded.

Wheam looked up at Stryke and swallowed. "What do you want me for, Captain?"

"A mission's being planned. We need everybody we can get. That includes you."

" Me? But — "

"My band carries no dead weight. It's time you proved yourself."

"I… I wouldn't want to let you down."

"Then see you don't. Now shut up and find a place to perch." He jabbed a thumb.

Wheam spotted Dallog. He weaved meekly through the throng and settled on a patch of floor next to him.

There was a lot of low level muttering. Whatever was going to happen hadn't started yet.

Brelan went to the head of the room and they quietened down. "Everybody here? Good. As you all know, Grilan-Zeat's due to show itself soon. In not too many days' time it'll be at its most visible. When that happens, my mother's going to address the citizenry and the uprising begins. At least, that's what we're hoping. Before that, we need to soften up the enemy, and rattle 'em enough that they'll hit back and rile the populace. We want the pot boiling when the Primary makes her appearance. This is one of the ways we'll do it." There was a crudely drawn map affixed to the wall behind him. He pointed to an area circled in red.

"What is it?" Coilla asked.

"Army camp. A small fort."

"Where?"

"A bit beyond the city limits, to the west. Most of the likely targets here in Taress are better protected since our campaign started, so we're looking further afield."

"What's that wavy line next to it?"

"A river. Fast flowing. And here," he tapped a point near the river's end, "there's a waterfall."

"It might not be as secure as places here in the city," Jup said, "but it's still a fort. Won't it be a tough nut?"

"Which is why we need to muster as big a force as we can."

"So the Vixens will play their part," Chillder explained, "and you too, Jup and Spurral, if you're willing."

The dwarfs nodded. "But what about us being seen?" Jup asked.

"The way we intend going about this, it won't matter. Besides, we'll keep you hidden until we're out of the city."

From the back of the room, Pepperdyne raised a hand. "What can we…" He glanced at Standeven, slumped beside him. "What can I do?"

"Lend your sword arm," Stryke told him. "But we can't pull the uniform stunt again."

"No," Brelan confirmed, "they'll be wise to that by now. Though what we have in mind doesn't call for it. But there's something else you all need to know about the raid. It'll be tomorrow."

"That's one hell of a short notice," Coilla remarked. "Why so soon?"

"Two reasons. First, security. The longer between hatching a plan and carrying it out, the more chance it'll leak."

"You've got turncoats in your ranks?"

" No," Brelan came back huffily. "But it's a rare orc who won't break in one of Peczan's torture chambers."

"What's the second reason?" Stryke said.

"We've learnt there's going to be a changing of the guard at the fort. The new contingent's drawn from the reinforcements we welcomed with the stampede, and they're due to relieve the outgoing company today. Tomorrow's their first full day in a new camp. We'll know the layout better than they do. It's a good time to hit them."