The doorkeeper stared at Pepperdyne. Then his gaze flicked over his shoulder to Stryke and Haskeer pulling up in the wagon. 'I can't do that, sir.'
'This is an order!' Pepperdyne thundered.
Ignoring him, the man resumed hauling the chain. The door started to move again.
Pepperdyne tried to stop him. He put his shoulder to it, pushing with all his strength. The door inched closer to the frame.
Haskeer ran over and added his muscle. Straining, they halted the door's progress, but couldn't reverse it. The doorkeeper continued tugging mightily on the chain, face contorted with effort. For a few seconds, there was stalemate.
Then Stryke joined them. Drawing his sword, he stooped and thrust it through the gap in the door. The tip penetrated the doorkeeper's thigh. He cried out, but stubbornly hung on. Stryke jabbed at him repeatedly, staining the man's breeches crimson. Trying to squirm away from the blade and maintain his hold on the chain at the same time proved too much. He let go and fell. The tautness went out of the chain and it shot up, jangling. Released, the door suddenly gave under Haskeer and Pepperdyne's weight. They practically fell in.
On his knees, the gatekeeper was scrabbling for his own sword. Stryke cut him down.
Stepping over his body, they took in their surroundings.
They were in a chamber just about large enough to accommodate their wagon. Its ceiling was as high as the building itself, and near the top was one of the slit windows they saw from outside, presumably for ventilation. Apart from a couple of wall-mounted brands providing the only real light, the walls were plain and unadorned.
On the other side of the chamber was another, much smaller door. Hanging beside it was a bunch of keys on a metal ring the size of a female orc's anklet. The door was locked, unsurprisingly, and they went through the keys until they found a fit.
Entering cautiously, they found themselves in the core of the building. It was long, quite narrow, and simply laid out. There was a central aisle, with cages on either side. Not cells, as they might have expected, but what were essentially pens, fashioned from metal bars. They were too low for the occupants to stand, and their floors were covered in grubby straw. Each cage contained a despondent-looking orc, and the place stank.
'Kept like animals,' Haskeer growled.
'Why're you looking at me?' Pepperdyne said.
'Why do you think?'
'I didn't do this.'
'Your kind did.'
' Shut up,' Stryke hissed, 'the pair of you. We're not out of this yet.'
The prisoners had begun to notice what was happening and were growing noisily restive. At the far end of the aisle a door opened and a man in uniform entered. He didn't notice the intruders. His attention was on quietening the prisoners, and he went about it with something that looked like a javelin. Shoving the pole between the bars, he jabbed at them with its barbed point.
'I've had enough of this shit,' Haskeer declared. He headed down the walkway at a run.
'Leave him to it,' Stryke said, clutching Pepperdyne's sleeve.
Haskeer was halfway along the aisle and gathering speed before the human noticed him. For a second he just stared, bemused. Then he started withdrawing the pole from a cage, working frantically, hand over hand. He almost had it clear when Haskeer smashed into him.
The human was knocked backwards, losing his hold on the pole. He should have fallen, but Haskeer seized him by the shoulders in a steely grip. The man cried out. Haskeer propelled him to one side, savagely driving his head into the bars of a cage, the impact raising an almost melodic chime. He kept on pounding him against the cage until his skull was a bloody pulp. At length he let go, and the human dropped lifeless to the floor.
The caged orcs, who had been clamouring throughout, fell silent.
Stryke and Pepperdyne caught up. Stryke moved past Haskeer and made for the door the dead human had come out of. He booted it open. It was an empty guardroom.
He still had the bunch of keys. Walking back to the centre of the aisle, he held them up for the prisoners to see. 'We're here for the Resistance members captured last night!' he told them. 'We'll sort out who's who later! But remember: it's not over when we unlock these cages! If you want to leave this camp alive, be ready to fight! You'll have to scavenge weapons or improvise!' Glancing Pepperdyne's way, he added, 'And this human's with us!' He tossed the keys to Haskeer and said, 'Let 'em out.'
Outside, there was chaos. The barracks and officers' quarters were burning fiercely. Oily black smoke all but obscured the rising sun and the smell of charred timber perfumed the air. Most of the soldiers were fighting the fires; others milled in confusion. The Wolverine archers added to the turmoil by picking off random targets. For good measure they unleashed a few more flaming arrows at anything that might burn. A guards' hut was ablaze, and the wooden supports of a bulbous water tower.
Coilla and Dallog's group arrived at the two buildings given over to torture and execution. They had no idea which was which. Not wanting to split their forces, they went for the first they came to. Like the prison block, it was a featureless structure with no windows and a single entrance. But they didn't have Stryke's good fortune. The door was firmly closed.
'What now?' Dallog asked.
'When in doubt,' Coilla replied, 'blag your way through.'
A couple of the Wolverines toted two-handed axes. She ordered them to take down the door. As they hammered at it, the archers stood by with taut bows. The door proved as solid as it looked, and it needed repeated blows before the wood began to splinter and groan. Finally it gave.
They expected defenders to be waiting. There was no one to be seen. Kicking aside the jagged remains of the door, Coilla led the way into the building.
There was a wide flight of stone steps that went down to a short corridor, with a further door at its end. It was also locked, but nowhere near as robust as they one they just broke down. After a couple of strokes from an axe it sprang open.
Now they were in the heart of the building, and its function was immediately obvious. On one side stood a chest-high platform running the length of the room, with steps at each end. Above that was a sturdy beam of equal span, from which six ropes were suspended, each ending in a noose. Beneath each noose was a trapdoor. On the other side of the room there were tiers of benches for observers. The place seemed deserted.
'There's no doubt what they do here,' Dallog remarked grimly.
Coilla nodded. 'Let's get out. There's nothing — '
' Corporal,' Reafdaw whispered. He bobbed his head towards the dark hollow under the platform.
Everybody caught his meaning and listened. A second later there was the faintest of noises. Coilla silently gestured to the two orcs nearest the platform.
Moving fast, they stooped and darted into the hollow. There was the sound of a scuffle and the smack of fists on flesh. Then they emerged dragging a human between them. His face was bloodied and his terror apparent.
'Just him under there,' one of the grunts reported.
'So what are you?' Coilla wondered.
'Bet he's an executioner,' Dallog offered.
Reafdaw slipped out a dagger. 'Shall we kill him?'
The man turned chalk white. He started to plead.
' Shut up,' Coilla said. 'Hold on for a minute, Reafdaw.' She moved her face closer to the quaking human's. 'You've one chance to save your neck. Can you get us into the torture block?'
His panicky gaze darted from her to Reafdaw to Dallog, then back again. He didn't speak.
'All right,' Coilla said, turning away, 'cut his throat.'
' No! ' the human begged. 'I can do it! I'll get you in!'
'Then get going.' She shoved him towards the door.
The human resisted. 'Not that way.'
'Why not?'
'I couldn't get you through the main entrance. It'll be secured because of… whatever's going on outside.'
'No point keeping you alive then.'
