'Well, it should do the trick.' He pointed at the grunt. 'Stay by this gate. When you see our signal, do your job and get clear. Coilla, Chillder; let's go.'
They jogged around the corral to its far end. From the folds of their peasant garb they produced flints, bottles of oil and three club-like torches with tarred heads. Stryke held one out. Chillder soaked it with oil, and Coilla brought the spark. It spluttered into yellow flame.
Stryke scrambled on to the enclosure's fence. The nearest cattle immediately grew alarmed. They mooed wretchedly and tried to back away from the flame. Holding the torch above his head, he waved it from side to side.
The two grunts he'd stationed saw the signal. They unlatched the gates, then ran for higher, safer ground.
Stryke shared the flame by touching his brand to Coilla and Chillder's. Mounting the fence, they goaded with fire and hollering.
At first, the spooked animals milled anxiously, and without accord. But herd instinct quickly took over. The cattle by the gate found it was open and began to spill out. With a vent for the mounting pressure, an exodus was triggered. The livestock poured from the corral and took the only available route. Charging across the mud-covered yard, driven by panic, they channelled into the path that led to the road. By the time they reached it, flight had turned into a stampede.
They thundered along the road, jamming its width, cows scraping their hides against the walls on either side. The rumble of pounding hooves shook buildings as they passed.
Curving, the road took them towards the city's core. The cows met the bend at speed, striking sparks from the cobblestones as they swerved. A mature tree grew by the roadside. The living flood uprooted it. Carried along by the surge, it briefly stood erect, like the standard of some maddened bovine army.
The road narrowed, increasing the herd's terror. And as they approached more populous quarters, the streets were no longer empty. Orcs scattered, racing to sanctuary through open doors, or leaping to cling precariously from window frames. Some abandoned carts in the stampede's path. It made kindling of them.
But the streets had become a lot less crowded. Mostly due to what was about to happen in the city centre, partly because of discreet warnings from the resistance.
The rebels had been busy in other, more tangible ways. Aided by Haskeer and other Wolverines, they hijacked wagons and used them to block off certain streets. For good measure, and added chaos, they set fire to the roadblocks. The upshot was to direct the cattle along a particular path.
Most of the citizenry, and the occupying troops, were gathered in another part of the city. During the night, six Peczan ships had entered Acurial's waters. Hugging the coast, the flotilla nosed its way to an inlet and joined the land's principal river. They arrived at Taress' port with the dawn.
Close on fifteen hundred troops disembarked, reinforcements for Peczan's intended crackdown. Forming ranks on the quayside, they set off accompanied by the drums and pipes of a military band, and with pennants flying. The orc population, bar essential workers, were again dragooned into acting out a welcome. They crowded the sidewalks, but were kept behind wooden barriers in case affection for their glorious liberators got out of hand.
The conquering forces marched eastward, towards the centre of the capital.
The stampede moved in a westerly direction, heading for the capital's centre.
Increasingly frantic, the cattle downed more trees, destroyed kerbside food stalls and snatched away traders' awnings. The torrent wrecked discarded wagons and carried off riderless horses. Under the shock of countless pummelling hooves, cracks appeared on the road's surface.
The pipes and drums kept up a jaunty martial rhythm. Strutting proudly, the troopers passed browbeaten crowds cheering by rote. A cavalry division trotted alongside them, lances raised. Supply wagons and the buggies of officers' wives bobbed along in the multitude.
Even above the listless cries of the spectators, and their own marching, the soldiers became aware of a sound. More than a sound; a vibration. A tremor.
The buildings in this densely populated quarter were tall by Taress standards, and gave the impression of a shallow canyon. There was a sharp bend in the road ahead. The gorge of wood and stone turned, off to parts unseen.
On the corner directly in the marchers' path stood a house. It was three storeys high and extended nearer to the road than any of its neighbours. As they watched, it began to tremble. Dust and plaster fell, and as the building shook more violently, chunks of facing dislodged.
The marchers slowed. Behind their barriers, the orc spectators quietened. Now the mysterious, rhythmic sound could be heard more plainly, and felt through the soles of the troops' boots. Further scraps of stonework dropped from the quivering building. The marchers all but came to a halt.
A lone cow appeared. It loped along, but moved erratically, as though drunk. There was some ragged laughter from the crowd, and even from the column of soldiers.
Then a thousand head of enraged cattle rounded the corner.
It was a leathery deluge, with horses, ruined wagons and general detritus sucked in. The animals were steaming from their frenetic rush. Those in the vanguard foamed at the mouth and tossed their spiky-horned heads from side to side. If they were aware of the obstruction they approached, it made no difference. They kept on coming.
At first, the rear of the procession had no idea what was happening at the front, and continued marching. But the troops at its head had not only stopped; they were retreating into their advancing comrades.
As the stampede drew closer, what had been an orderly progression turned into milling anarchy. There was chaos, and a mounting sense of panic. Numbers of men tried scaling the barriers designed not to be scaled. A handful of cavalry officers, leaping from their saddles, actually managed it. But it proved no salvation for the majority.
The spectators, who had fallen silent, spontaneously resumed cheering, and what before had been half- hearted now took on a new vibrancy.
Some of the troops had the presence of mind to loose arrows at the cattle. It was a resourceful, if futile, gesture. A couple of the lead steers were hit and went down headlong. The animals behind piled into them, causing knots of squirming, kicking bedlam. But it didn't slow the stampede's pace. If anything, it increased the cattle's alarm. They either streamed around the stricken or simply ran over them. The column of troopers had compressed, and unable to back up further with any speed, made a stand, as though about to repel an enemy offensive.
The wave swept in. Men and beasts clashed in a shattering of bone and rending of flesh. Packed as the human ranks were, the cattle penetrated deep, and pressure at their backs kept them moving forward. The effect was similar to striking a block of butter sidelong with a mallet.
Scenes of mayhem were played out. A cow momentarily rose from the scrum, impaled on a trooper's spear. Another, running into a wagon at speed, was sent flying and smashed against the barrier. Soldiers attacked the cattle with swords, and only incensed the greater herd. Men were trampled.
The cavalry fared a little better, though many had their horses caught in an unstoppable tide that carried them off, the riders helpless. There were sorcerers amongst the shambles of the column. The flash and crackle of magical energy bolts erupted, and the smell of charred meat drifted across the crowd. Havoc spread.
The sullen sky birthed a clap of thunder. Fat raindrops started to fall.
The devastation played out in the shadow of the fortress. On a lofty balcony jutting from its bleak facade, Jennesta observed the scene. Her black cloak billowed in the wind, making her look like some oversized bird of prey, about to swoop. Her expression was unreadable. But she gripped the rail so tightly her knuckles were bloodless.
Not far away, on the rooftop of a lower and humbler building, other eyes took in the carnage.
'This is better than I hoped,' Brelan said.
'We aim to please,' Coilla told him.
Chillder turned to Stryke. 'Your band's proved itself today.'
'I thought we'd already done that.'
'More so, then. And now we think the time's come for you to meet somebody.'
'Who?'
'The most important orc in the country.'
