'If he ever finds out we were plotting behind his back — '
'We're not plotting, just protecting something precious.'
'All right. But it's a pity we couldn't just hide the damn things somewhere.'
'Where?'
'Like I said, it's a pity we can't. Now can we concentrate on what we're supposed to be doing?'
They were in the centre of Taress. Although it was early, the streets bustled. Carts loaded with provisions vied with traders leading strings of mules. Costermongers hawked their trays of wares, and roadside stalls dispensed meat, flour and wine.
The vast majority of those abroad were orcs. But human patrols were much in evidence, and pairs of soldiers could be seen on many street corners, eyeing the crowds. Occasionally, troopers on horseback ploughed the throng.
Despite all the activity there was surprisingly little in the way of idle chatter or raised voices. The citizenry's mood seemed sombre. Up above, the sky was growing slate coloured, and the day was already uncomfortably muggy.
Stryke and Coilla kept their heads down and tried to look as though they were going about their business like everybody else. They dressed soberly in work clothes supplied by the resistance, and their weapons were well concealed.
Following directions they'd been given, they skirted the central, most populous part of the city. Across squares and through alleys, their pace even and expressions bland, they finally reached their destination. It was a quarter largely given over to storehouses and stockyards. But there was one, down-at-heel, tavern.
Brelan and Chillder were waiting for them, seated at one of the empty wooden tables scattered outside.
'We thought you weren't coming,' Chillder gently teased.
'Are we running to plan?' Stryke asked as he sidled between table and bench to sit.
'More or less,' Brelan replied. 'Though we'll be tight if there are foul-ups.'
'We'll have to be sure there aren't,' Coilla said. She had perched herself on the end of the table, one booted foot on the seat. 'Which there won't be if everybody follows orders.'
'Our side will.'
'No worries then.'
'Everything all right with Jup and Spurral, and the humans?' Stryke said.
'They're back at HQ helping with training, as we agreed,' Chillder told him. 'You do understand, don't you, Stryke, that we couldn't let them take part in this operation? If anybody saw them — '
'I understand.' He did, but also smelt an undercurrent of prejudice. Though it wasn't hard to see why, at least as far as the humans were concerned.
'Heads up.' Coilla nodded.
Haskeer and a quartet of non-ranking orcs were heading their way; and from another direction, Dallog with three more.
'Good place to meet,' Haskeer announced on arrival. 'How about a drink?'
' No,' Stryke said. 'We need clear heads for this.'
Brelan got up. 'The others will be in position by now. We should be moving.'
'Does everybody understand their part?' Coilla asked.
'Yeah, yeah,' Haskeer came back impatiently. 'Let's get on with it.'
They formed three groups. The first consisted of Stryke, Coilla, Chillder and two privates. Haskeer, Brelan and another pair of grunts made up the second. That left Dallog and the three remaining grunts as the third. The groups were mixed in such a way that each had at least one resistance member who knew the territory.
Without further word, the three groups moved off on their respective missions. Haskeer's and Dallog's went toward the city centre; Stryke's headed deeper into the warehouse district.
The streets were lined with substantial, faceless buildings here, and the roads were wider than in the residential quarters, to allow for heavier wagon traffic. There were few signs of life.
'Your plan's good, Coilla,' Stryke said.
'But?'
'There are risks.'
'We know that.'
'Not so much to us. There's going to be a lot of non-combatants in the path of — '
'We've been through this. Look at these streets. Tall buildings with hardly any breaks between. A perfect funnel.'
'It's not these streets I'm thinking about.'
'The other teams are going to channel the flow. Besides, the resistance will do their best to make sure the citizens are away from harm.'
'The humans will do that for us,' Chillder reminded them, 'because of what's happening today. That's the beauty of it.' She pointed. 'This is the place.'
Ahead, the road ended at chest-high wooden fencing. In its centre was a wide bar gate. Beyond the fence was rougher land, littered with outbuildings. Set well back was a large enclosure made of stout timber rails.
Even from a distance they could hear and smell what was housed there.
'Sure about guards, Chillder?' Stryke said.
'There'll be just a few. They don't think of this as a target.'
'And the guards are human?'
'Always. Orcs aren't trusted with arms. They get the menial jobs.'
Checking that no one was about, they approached the gate. It was simply secured with an iron bolt, and a length of chain looped over the gatepost. They undid it and slipped inside, leaving one of the grunts to stand watch.
There was churned, hardened mud underfoot, and not a blade of grass. Off to their right stood the largest building on site.
'Slaughterhouse,' Chillder mouthed.
As she said it, a door opened that they hadn't noticed before. A figure was outlined by a light burning inside. Then there was shouting, unmistakably human, and a group of men came out. There were four of them, matching Stryke's crew in number, and they carried weapons.
Striding forward, the thickset, shaven-headed individual leading them yelled, ' What're you doing here? '
Stryke's team halted, but none of them replied.
'You better have a damn good reason for trespassing!' shaven-head growled.
The men fanned out in front of the orcs, weapons at the ready.
'Well?' the leader demanded, irate at the silence.
'They're too stupid to answer,' one of his sneering companions offered.
'If it's jobs you're after,' the leader said, 'you're out of luck. We've got all of your kind we need. Now get out.'
Stryke slowly folded his arms. No one spoke.
Shaven-head took a step nearer, and adopted a mock reasonable tone. 'Look, we don't want trouble.'
'We do,' Coilla said. 'We're orcs.'
Her hand darted into the loose-fitting sleeve of her shirt. Yanking a knife from her arm sheath, she flung it at him. The impact of blade against flesh knocked the human off his feet.
Stryke and the others weren't idling. Quickly drawing hidden weapons, they laid into the rest of the humans. The deed was short and brutal. Stryke and the grunt took down their opponents with two blows each. Chillder earned credit by needing only one.
'Now we move,' Stryke told them.
Leaving the bodies where they fell, they ran towards the enclosure, keeping an eye out for other humans.
The pen was a lot bigger than Stryke expected. Standing on one of the fence bars, he gazed out over an ocean of brown backs and jutting horns.
'Nearly a thousand head,' Chillder informed him. 'Somewhere the size of Taress gets through a lot of meat every day.'
