On the table, a scale map of the Demonfest Mountains and surrounding area sported a liberal array of different-coloured map pins.
“Recon units report hostile troops on the roads from Sarderis, Herethlion, and some of the minor western towns—which have taken up positions here, here, and here, surrounding the Nin-Edin hill. As you know, we have our own well. However, our supply lines to the east have been cut, we can’t get out to raid the lowlands, and our stores are low.”
A second lieutenant stopped picking her broad, hairy nostril long enough to raise her taloned hand. “Sir, what strength are they, sir?”
“Good question, that orc. Strong enough to keep us bottled up here—they have Light Mages with them.”
Orc officers growled, boots pounding the flagstones. The wintery sun gleamed from the fortress hall’s whitewashed walls. It shone on the wooden podium with its bullet holes, orc marine insignia—an odd arrangement of stars and bars, with the Horde’s raven superimposed over them—and inscription: Operation Librarian.
Ashnak looked down across the tusked faces and assembled weaponry. “Now, you orcs. I shall be depending on you to hold the fort—I shall not be here with you.”
Orcs looked at one another.
The second lieutenant whispered, “Did he say…?”
“Did I ask any of you dumbfuck marines for an opinion? An orc general always leads from the front!”
Several orc marines cheered. Ashnak eyed Barashkukor for support. The small orc captain, seated on a chair, had his elbows on his knees and his pointed chin on his hands and was gazing dreamily in the direction of Marine Razitshakra.
“We orcs have been the servants of others for too long!” Ashnak proclaimed. “Dark Mages have run the orc marines, because they have control of the thaumaturgic firepower. I’m going to put a stop to that! The technical specialist marine (thaumaturgy) will now give us a briefing on my solution to this problem. Marine Razitshakra.”
“I’ve done intensive research for the general.” Razitshakra took off her spectacles and began to polish them with her desert camo bandanna. “We need what are technically known as nullity talismans. These are new. They’re small devices which any marine could carry. They produce a field which nullifies the operation of magical forces in a varyingly wide vicinity. Actually, they create sinkholes of space-time in which thaumatological forces cannot exist. The physics are fascinating…”
Ashnak’s muscled arms folded across the bullet bandoliers that crossed his barrel chest. The winter sun gleamed on his marine tattoos and Agaku tribal scars. He licked a fang and growled something that might have been “Never trust an intellectual orc…”
“Nullity talismans.” Razitshakra hastily replaced her spectacles. “They’re new, and they’re rare. I can come up with only one place where they’re likely to exist in sufficient quantity for the marines—that’s at the Thaumatological University’s research and development laboratories in Fourgate. The Visible College.”
Ashnak stepped forward. “Thank you, Marine. Return to your seat. Now listen up! I myself will be taking a commando group and penetrating the installation in Fourgate. For a mission this hazardous, I shall be asking for volunteers.”
“Let my unit do it, sir.”
At the back of the ranked orc officers, Corporal Lugashaldim stood up. His gaunt albino features had an increasingly livid tinge. Ashnak noted the marine corporal now wore black combat trousers and boots and a tight knitted woollen pullover with epaulets.
“Your unit?”
“The SUS, sir.” Lugashaldim saluted. “The Special Undead Services.”
Ashnak returned the salute. “Very well, Corporal. Get your orcs geared up for a dangerous mission.”
“Sir!” Lugashaldim resumed his seat at the back of the hall. The albino marine took out his commando knife, reached up, and trimmed his ears down to short points. He then fitted a black beret smartly on the side of his head, the unit insignia of orc-skull and crossbones to the fore with its SUS motto, Death, Then Glory.
“The technical specialist marine will accompany us,” Ashnak continued. “Captain Barashkukor—Captain!”
The small orc, his chin on his hands, continued to gaze fondly at Razitshakra, who ignored him.
“Captain!”
Barashkukor jumped three inches in his seat, stood up, saluted, and yelled, “Sir, yes sir!”
Ashnak sighed. “You are promoted to major, Barashkukor. You will hold Nin-Edin with the orcs until our return. Send out snipers, raiding parties, sallies—harass the enemy, Major, keep them off-balance.”
Barashkukor, his wistfully dreamy gaze returning to the spectacled female orc, murmured, “Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you think best, General.”
Ashnak of the orc marines rested his elbows on the podium and put his head in his hands. Once only, and very quietly, he whimpered. Straightening up, he glared at Barashkukor.
“You are Acting Commander, Major, until I get back. Dismiss!”
The hall cleared with startling rapidity.
Ashnak moved down from the podium and crouched beside the dead body of the orc who had been with the marines since the discovery of Dagurashibanipal’s hoard. He picked up Marukka’s limp, dead hand. For several moments he remained in that position.
Ashnak bent his head forward, bit off three of her fingers at the roots, and left the hall, chewing with some relish.
The war-elephant, having grazed on the overripe and unharvested corn of the lowlands, paused to drink from a spring in the foothills of the mountains.
Hurried scuffling could be heard among the concealing boulders and gorse bushes. A black-fletched arrow sprouted from the turf at the animal’s feet.
“Hai!” The rider unhooked his two-handed axe from his back and brandished it single-handed. “Come out, vermin, and fight me man to man!”
The beast abandoned the cold water, lifting its trunk and screaming rage to the overcast skies. Bushes rustled again, nearer to the beast’s rear leg. Steel flashed. The war-elephant reached down with its trunk, seized a concealed orc by the thigh, wrenched the limb loose as a man might break apart a chicken, and beat the screaming orc with the pulverized limb until—after a surprisingly long interval—all noise ceased.
The wind blew shrill amongst the tumbled stones of the tors.
“Come out and fight, you puling cowards!”
An apologetic voice said, “Mighty mage! We don’t wish to fight the keeper of this great beast.”
“Then step out where I can see you, boy!”
A large orc in a black breastplate, with a ragged green-stained bandage covering his left eye, stepped out of concealment. A rather larger orc in battered plate moved out from behind her boulder. Two orcs in mail appeared, one still bearing a halberd with a hacked edge to its blade. Three more; two archers; five; a dozen…
Something on the order of forty orcs stepped out of concealment among the scattered boulders. The war-elephant lifted its trunk and trumpeted. One of the smaller orcs dived back behind a clump of gorse.
The orc in the black breastplate gazed up. A northern barbarian sat high on the elephant’s neck; bare-armed, barelegged, impervious to the wind that ruffled his wolf-pelt tunic and wolf-fur leggings. The barbarian’s bright mail-shirt glinted, and the horns on his helmet appeared wickedly sharp. Thick blond braids fell either side of a weathered face, from which piercing blue eyes surveyed the orcs.