than their gray kin. Fottergrim's troops wore armor that was a hodgepodge of stolen bits, which Ivy could not fault as her own gear fell into that category. But at least she cleaned off the dried blood and rust whenever she could. They wore the blood and rust proudly, and added bright orange and purple rags of clothing. They moved in a crouched stance, and those who lacked helmets blinked rapidly, reminding her that bright light bothered the eyes of most orcs. It was one of those facts that might never be useful but was worth noting. In battle, who knew what information was or wasn't useful? She didn't underestimate the orcs. They might not be the smartest fighters, but these orcs carried enormous weapons, and all she had was one empty scabbard.
Both type of orcs were snarling at each other. But none snarled at the four hobgoblins forming an honor guard around the big orc commander who barreled through them. That puzzled Ivy. Hobgoblin mercenaries usually controlled orcs, not the other way around, but here the hobgoblins pushed back the smaller orcs to allow this one large orc to march toward them.
Ivy expected them to rush her. She planted her feet in a wide stance, her arms spread in front of her company so that the line building behind her on the walkway was less visible. Let them think she led an army that snaked down the steps and would emerge in great numbers-at least until she could determine their strength.
'What is this? What is this!' An enormous orc was pushing to the front of the troops, shoving past his hobgoblin guards.
'What are you doing here?' the orc continued. His high forehead slanted beneath his helmet, and his face seemed all big pig snout and enormous jaw. He was almost as tall as the mountain breed but with clearer silver skin. Wiry tufts of chestnut hair sprouted between his lupine ears. Ivy wondered what type of orcs his parents had been-the clever kind or the stupid kind? Because as all the gods knew, there were both in the breed, as Zuzzara always said. Ivy rather hoped that this orc descended from an exceptionally stupid and slow family, because all she had at the moment was a fast tongue and a heart full of regret for her lost sword and missing dagger.
Ivy drew herself to her full height, then cheated a little, rising up on her toes so that her eye level was as close to his as possible. With her fists jammed into her waist, she turned her body slightly to the side so that he could not immediately see that she had lost her sword. She jutted her chin forward and challenged the big leader confronting her as belligerently as she could. 'Looking for Fottergrim, sir! Have an important mission! Need to go past immediately, sir!' She barked out her sentences in a fine loud herald's voice, hoping the troops would part and let the Siegebreakers advance to wherever Fottergrim was encamped in Tsurlagol. With good luck, Fottergrim's headquarters would be a long, long walk from their present location-a long enough walk to allow them time to ambush Archlis, disarm two bugbears, and make a dash for freedom.
It was, Ivy would have been the first to admit, a fairly shaky plan, but maybe with enough shouting she could bully her way past this big and hopefully stupid orc. What she was going to do about being on the completely wrong side of the besieged city's walls-well, she would figure that out later, gods willing. Right now, she just needed to get past the troops all goggling at her like she had said something extraordinarily surprising.
'Need to report to Fottergrim, sir!' Ivy repeated. 'Immediately, sir! Let us pass!'
The silver orc stared at her in bewilderment. 'I am Fottergrim! What is this?'
'Oh dear,' whispered Gunderal behind Ivy.
Ivy did not even blink. 'Reporting for duty, sir. Glad to find you so quickly. New troops. Returning your magelord as you commanded.'
'What!'
Ivy reached behind her and grabbed the magelord as he emerged into the sunlight and blinked. Her strong fingers balled the front of his robe into a knot that just happened to pull the cloth tight around his neck. Archlis sputtered, caught off balance and unable to catch his breath. If he had not kept such a desperate hold on his Ankh with one hand and the Moaning Diamond with the other, he might have been more difficult to handle. Grabbing his shoulder with her other hand, Ivy swung him in front of herself. She pushed him, hard, at Fottergrim. 'Here's Archlis, sir. Just where you wanted him!'
Upon seeing Archlis, Fottergrim let out a bellow of rage. His boarlike tusks curved from his lower gums over the outer corners of his upper lip. 'Traitor! Where have you been?'
Osteroric, seeing the supreme commander of the orcs confronting his master, gave a surprised squeak, sounding like a terrified mouse. The bugbear dropped his hold on Sanval and grabbed his brother, whispering something in Norimgic's ear. The two started backing away from Archlis.
'I bring you victory!' yelled the magelord, holding up the Moaning Diamond.
'Some little gem! You abandoned me for that! Look, look! We are under attack!' Fottergrim pointed to the fields clearly visible from the wall. The silk banners of the Thultyrl's army snapped in the breeze, and the beat of the cavalry drums could be heard on the wind. With a howl of rage, Fottergrim slapped Archlis, sending the Moaning Diamond rolling out of his hand, and screamed, 'Use your magic. Set them on fire! Or I'll toss you down on the first man to reach the wall.'
With a howl almost as loud as Fottergrim's, Archlis dived after his Moaning Diamond, snatched it up, and safely stowed it in his shirt. 'You stupid orc!' he cried. 'I almost lost it! Fire, fire, fire… Do you think that is all that I am capable of! Well, enjoy my talent!' He raised the Ankh and shouted a word of command. The bouncing sphere of fire that he had used so effectively against the hobgoblins suddenly appeared, spinning toward Fottergrim. The orc obviously knew the trick, because he picked up one of his lieutenants and used the frightened orc to knock the sphere over the edge of the wall. Tossing away his cringing minion, Fottergrim charged at Archlis with a great shout of rage. He grappled with the magelord, trying to tear the Ankh from his grasp.
Seeing Archlis and Fottergrim locked in each other's grasp, Ivy spun on her heel and ordered the Siegebreakers to run. As she passed Sanval, standing alone and free of the bugbear's clutches, she shouted, 'Pick up your feet, man!'
She led them at full speed toward a round tower that anchored one end of the wall. Such towers usually had stairs leading to the guards' rooms and, with a little luck, a door to the outside.
'Come on,' Ivy called. 'We'll take this way out!'
She skittered to a halt. Out of the tower's doorway boiled fresh troops-big mean orcs with enormous double- bladed swords and huge warhammers. The orcs drove a troop of orange goblins before them. They were small, quick creatures, half the height of a human. Their bodies were twisted and gnarled, their limbs thin and powerful, and their fingers taloned. Their small faces were all features: wide mouths, huge slanted eyes, and wide flat noses. Large pointed ears grew up through their stiff tufts of hair. The goblins' armor was little more than torn bits of leather strapped together.
Ivy knew better than to underestimate these fighters who stood only waist high. They were small, yes, but cunning, and as pesky as wasps. Most were carrying modified goblin sticks, nicely sharpened to poke into any soft spot presented to them. A few were whirling rawhide whips to pull down their opponents and make it easier for the small fighters to overrun them. Or perhaps they just meant to use those long lariats on anyone storming over the walls. Such tactics often proved most effective in toppling siege ladders. However, once the orange goblins spotted Ivy and the Siegebreakers, they burst into squeals of their own language. Behind them the orcs screamed, urging the little fiends to fight.
'Oh blast,' said Ivy, frantically waving behind her back at the others to retreat.
'Hey, lads, look what we found.' Mumchance shifted in front of Ivy and called out to the orcs who led the charge. From both his hands dripped diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other jewels that he had picked up in the crypt below. A few gems slipped between his blunt fingers and rattled on the stones. The orcs stared at the treasure in the same way that they would eye fresh meat. Beneath the overhang of their helmets, their little pig eyes blinked against the sparkling light of the jewels in the sun, and their mouths widened into ugly grins.
The orange goblins hung back, darting glances at Mumchance, at the gems, and at the orcs. Obviously, they would love to grab the riches, but they knew that the bigger orcs would quickly overrun them and snatch any treasure away. Fear of their masters warred with greed, and they set up a series of grunting cries, obviously arguing within their own group.
'A reward for Fottergrim's loyal troops,' roared the dwarf, throwing the jewels at the feet of the largest orcs. Some even dropped their weapons to free their hands and extended their claws.
As the orcs grabbed for the jewels, Mumchance shouted the word that ignited the gem bomb that he had concealed among the hoard. It exploded, shooting out sparks and force. The orcs squealed and screamed, blown off their feet. They stumbled into each other, knocking a few off the wall. Their weapons and armor clattered as they crashed onto the walkway and tried to grab at any ledge and at each other. Those who managed to stay on the wall
