“Sorry, sir. Didn’t think, sir. Try it now, sir!”
Ashnak tentatively replaced the headphones and twiddled the volume control. His leathery forehead ridged as he frowned. Seeing that, the Undead orc frantically fiddled with the RT in his backpack.
“Dead air,” Ashnak said. “Not even an open channel.”
“No, sir,” Lugashaldim admitted.
The two orcs looked down from the roof-garden at the distant window. The speck of the crossbow bolt was plainly embedded in the frame.
Ashnak inquired, “Delicate mechanism, is it, this microphone of yours?”
Lugashaldim looked at the crossbow in his skeletal orcish hand. “Ah. Erm. Well…”
“Go away,” Ashnak said very softly, “and don’t bother me, marine. I have an election to win.”
A greater crowd had gathered down in the main square, many of them staring up, listening to the distant whup-whup-whup of an Apache helicopter gunship. Ashnak swung round, only to walk into the shining bone of his lieutenant.
“Sir!” Lugashaldim held out a black box. “There’s this, sir. In case of sabotage attempts by the opposite side.”
The orc general made a fist.
His Undead lieutenant gabbled: “It’s a remote control device, General. Imagine the scene—one morning you leave your temporary campaign HQ, your driver starts the ignition of your APC, and boom!, there’s an explosive device under it. I don’t trust the Light not to use that dwarven rock-blasting powder of theirs. The CIA will specialise in antiterrorist security, General.”
Ashnak unclenched his ham-sized fist and took the black box. “This does what, exactly, Lieutenant?”
“It’s a remote, sir. The other sensor is attached to the vehicle. It can remote-detonate any device that may have been placed under your vehicle, from a distance of up to one kilometre away. Boom! We lose an APC—but you’re safe, General.”
Ashnak’s large, hairy nostrils flared. “Hmmm…”
“I fixed up a test device under the last van, sir. If the general would like to activate the remote—”
BOOOOMM!
A pillar of black smoke and orange flame rolled up from the main square. Glass shattered in all the surrounding windows. Over the noise of screams, shrieks, and running feet, Ashnak commented, “Hardly what I’d call covert, Lieutenant.”
“But effective, sir. If that had been a terrorist device, we orcs would have taken no casualties from it whatsoever.”
Down in Shazmanar’s square, healer-mages rushed in from the rest of the city, and bodies too fragmented for magery had cloaks and robes thrown over them.
“Yes,” the orc general remarked. “You’re right—no orc casualties at all. I like that. Very well, Lieutenant Lugashaldim Form your Covert Intelligence Actions elite force and keep me posted as to their progress.”
“Yessir, General, sir!” The Undead lieutenant departed, jaws gleaming. A squad passed him, doubling up onto the clear area of the roof, and the honour guard, led by a lean green orc, Corporal Hikz, formed up as the Dark Lord’s helicopter touched down.
Darkness clung to the hot metal of the Apache helicopter gunship, muddying the bright southern sun. A slender form first emerged, cowled in glove-soft leather, a wine bottle tucked under one arm.
The orc saw, under the hood, green eyes glaring from a Man’s face blotched with grey and black. The slobbering lips pulled back, and saliva ran freely down and dripped from the nameless necromancer’s lumpy chin. The front of his robe was damp with spit and wine.
“Assshhnak…Behold our Mashter.”
The Darkness coalesced and oozed from the AH 64 Apache helicopter cabin, and hung, staining the tiles, behind him.
“This way, Your Sable Eminence.” Ashnak addressed the Darkness, touching his talons to the gold braid on the peak of his cap. His medalled tunic clinked. “Everything’s set up.”
“I will speak now. Summon the people of Shazmanar.”
Ashnak descended through the labyrinthine passages of the Serpent Temple. The nameless followed, hood cowling his misshapen head. Darkness dogged their heels, impenetrable even to orc-vision.
“Thish better go right,” the voice of the nameless necromancer slurred.
“Herself in a bad mood? Damn whistlestop tours.” Ashnak kicked and booted the orc marine election HQ staff into rapid movement, medals and ribbons bouncing on his uniformed barrel chest. “Corporal, herd that crowd into the square and shut ’em up! Sergeant, I want that PA activated, and I want it now. Get your asses in gear, you orcs. Go, go, GO!”
A very few minutes later the crowd of serpent-eyed male and female Men of Shazmanar faced wooden posts erected in front of their Serpent Temple. Black hangings hung festooned from the structure, with occasional purple trimmings. Two squads of orcs in heavy boots and a great deal of metalware stood in stiff poses on the temple steps. A banner strung from the wooden posts read “VOTE FOR THE DARK LORD—YOU KNOW IT MAKES SENSE.”
A very large orc in a constricting brown uniform mounted the marble steps and cleared his throat. Black boxes at the corners of the square echoed his noise, so that all heard him clearly when he spoke.
“People of Shazmanar! Please give a great big enthusiastic welcome for your Powers of Darkness candidate in the coming election…the Dark Lord!”
The orc walked down the steps. A chill touched the gathered population of Shazmanar. There was a black-cloaked figure in front of the temple now, and none of them had seen it come.
The figure raised pale hands and put the cowl back from its head. The material chimed, as if it might be metal.
Possession was having its effect on the body of The Named. Her rich yellow hair now caught the sun as a bleached white. Sepia-blue shadows haunted the fine-featured face. The rangy Man’s body began to seem swamped in the folds of the black metalmesh robes.
Her eyes opened, lids rising to expose an orange glow.
“Hear Me, people of Shazmanar,” She said, “for I have come to solicit your vote…”
Having heard the speech a dozen times before, Ashnak of the orc marines settled himself behind the Bedford trucks and lit up a pipe-weed cigar, cap pulled down over his eyes. The PA system brought him snatches of the speech:
“…and My aim will be to provide a number of healer-mages in every town who will perform their services freely, because they will be paid by My central government. My government will also be paying a wage to the crime enforcement-wizards, thus cutting down on bribery and corruption…”
The Shazmanarians muttered. Ashnak caught one hiss of “Lunacsssy…!”
“I don’t think She’s quite got the gift of public speaking, sir.” Lieutenant Chahkamnit peered at the standing crowd. “More used to giving orders, I suppose. At least they’re not walking out on Her, sir.”
“They won’t be doing that, Lieutenant. I have Kestrel and Vulture squads deployed at the exits of the square.”
The PA crackled. “…and free housing, together with weekly sums of money paid to those who have reached the end of their working lives. To enable My Dark government to keep these election promises, I shall, if I have your votes, institute a system of voluntary contributions of tiny amounts of money from each of you, which shall be called ‘taxes’…”
A Shazmanarian called, “Evil and corruptsssion!”