Stan Nicholls - Orcs:Bad blood

Brelan pulled back and ordered the wagons to be brought up almost to the peak of the hill, where they were still out of sight. The horses were unhitched and quietly led away, and the wagons' shafts were removed. Each wagon carried a stout tree trunk with its fore-end iron-capped. These were hauled forward and securely lashed in place, so that the points jutted from the front.

The wagons had a central lever installed at the driver's end which connected to chains attached to the front axle.

Pepperdyne studied the arrangement. "Clever. But how much control does the lever give?"

"Not a lot," Brelan admitted. "Just enough to steer it a little to the left or right, though it takes some strength to do even that. Which is why we'll have two pairs of hands on each."

"How about braking?"

"There's only the wagon's brake. But we're not sure that'd work, given the weight we'll be shifting. We're relying on the things stopping of their own accord, once the gates and level ground slow them."

"Bit iffy, isn't it?"

"It's the best we could do."

Pepperdyne turned and saw Wheam standing nearby. His lips were silently moving and he wore a look of intense concentration. "All right, Wheam?"

The youngster nodded, and said out loud, "One hundred and four, one hundred and five, one hundred and six…"

"You're doing fine," Pepperdyne told him. "Keep it up."

"One hundred and seven, one hundred and eight, one hundred and nine…"

"Good," Stryke said. "Try to keep to that pace."

Spurral gave him a thumbs up and continued counting under her breath.

They were part of a group, numbering about fifty, cautiously edging their way along the base of the cliff below the fort.

Stryke led them. Spurral, Jup, Coilla and Chillder were acting as his lieutenants. The remainder of the group comprised the balance of the Wolverines, all of the Vixens, and a contingent from the resistance.

They pressed as close to the cliff face as possible, sheltering beneath a narrow overhang to avoid being seen. Their path took them to the first of the derelict buildings.

"We need the third one," Chillder reminded him in a whisper.

Stryke nodded.

He didn't want to take the risk of breaking cover and approaching the building they wanted head-on. So he beckoned a couple of grunts and they set to carefully prising off rotting planks on the side of the first building. When a big enough gap was opened, Stryke began shepherding the group through.

The interior stank of mould, and the floor was strewn with rubble. Just enough light lanced through cracks in the building's fabric for them to see. Stumbling across to the opposite wall, they repeated the process, levering planks off with dagger blades.

Fortunately the buildings abutted each other, which meant no open space between them where the orcs might have been spotted. They had to get through two sets of planks, but they were so decayed it didn't present a problem.

The second building was very much like the first. Except that a mass of fallen timbers blocked the far wall and had to be cleared.

"How we doing, Spurral?" Stryke asked.

"Four hundred and seventy-nine, four hundred and eighty…"

"Right. Move it," he urged the others. "Time's running out."

They got the timbers shifted and attacked the final wall. It was in the same state as the others and they were soon through.

The third building was the biggest so far, with barn-like dimensions and a high roof.

"This way," Chillder said, heading for the rear.

Stryke ordered hooded lamps to be lit and they saw heaps of debris and wood stacked against the back wall.

"Here," Chillder instructed.

They all piled into moving the obstructions and made short work of it. What was revealed was the bare cliff face. But when the lanterns were held close the light showed a large semi-circular area that wasn't the same colour as the rock.

"It's just mortar," Chillder explained. "We've already done the work. You've only to break through."

Three or four orcs came forward with sledgehammers that had cloth wrapped around their heads to deaden the sound. They pounded at the mortar and it fell away in great chunks. Dust swirled in the already fusty air, and there was a chorus of coughing and spitting. In minutes an opening like a cave mouth had been excavated.

Stryke had more lanterns lit and torches fired.

"It's a labyrinth in there," Chillder warned. "I'd better go first." She took one of the torches.

They found themselves in a long tunnel low enough that all but the dwarfs had to stoop. It sloped upwards on a steep gradient, and the floor was worn so smooth their boots had trouble gaining purchase.

At last they came to a level. Facing them were the mouths of two more tunnels. Chillder took the one on the right. It was taller than the one they entered by, but much narrower, making its transit oppressive. This led to a circular chamber. On its far side was a stairway carved out of the rock. They started to climb.

The stairs, perhaps a hundred in total, delivered them to a passageway. Along its length were the entrances to a dozen or more tunnels. Without hesitating, Chillder strode to one and entered. It was short.

They came out in a high but constricted gallery. On both sides were ledges of stone reaching to the ceiling. The ledges were packed with skulls. There were bones too. Thigh bones, arm bones, ribs, all neatly stacked and forming solid yellowy-white walls. Every few yards there were complete skeletons, standing to attention as though guarding the house of death.

If an archer had loosed an arrow from where they stood, it would have scarcely reached the far end of the gallery. The skulls and various bones, unmistakably from orcs, numbered in their thousands. Quite possibly hundreds of thousands.

"Welcome to one of the catacombs of Acurial," Chillder announced, a certain awe in her voice.

"How long has this been here?" Coilla asked, taking in the display.

"It's ancient," Chillder explained. "Older than we can guess. At one time, long ago, all orcs were placed in galleries like this when their end came. Our ancestors have slept here for untold centuries."

"The humans don't know about this?" Jup said.

"Most of our own don't know about it. It's just another part of our lost heritage. The resistance discovered it by accident when we were looking for a way into the fortress."

"We should keep moving," Stryke said.

They walked the length of the gallery, their footsteps echoing eerily. The empty eye sockets of the long dead seemed to follow their progress.

At the end of the gallery was another passage and yet more tunnels. Chillder entered the first they came to, and counted as she paced along it. It was so low they could touch the ceiling with ease. Suddenly she stopped and looked up.

"This is the place," she stated.

Their torches showed a white cross marked on the ceiling.

"How we doing, Spurral?" Stryke wanted to know.

"Seven hundred and eleven, seven hundred and twelve, seven hundred and…"

"Let's get on with it."

He called over grunts with picks and shovels.

" Wait! " Jup exclaimed.

They turned to see that he was standing with his arms held high and palms pressed to the wall.

"What is it?" Chillder demanded.

"Not here," Jup said. "It's not right."

"What are you talking about?"

Stryke went to him. "What do you sense, Jup?"

"Sense?" Chillder said, obviously bewildered.

"This isn't a good place," Jup replied. "There's a concentration of… I'm not sure. But above this point isn't where we want to come out. There's activity up there. Malevolent."

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" Chillder demanded.

"Jup has a…" Stryke faltered. "He's sensitive to certain things. You're sure, Jup?"