20
The occupiers' retaliation was swift and brutal.
Homes were raided. Alleged sympathisers were dragged off for interrogation. Certain taverns, thought to be gathering places for dissidents, were closed down or put to the torch. There were arbitrary arrests and roadside executions. On the streets, there was an even greater military presence.
All of which made travel awkward and dangerous. But after more than an hour of dodging patrols and taking circuitous routes, the small group led by Brelan and Chillder reached their goal.
'Looks a shit place,' Haskeer reckoned.
'I knew we shouldn't have brought him,' Coilla sighed.
'Knock it off,' Stryke told them. He turned to Chillder, and said in an undertone, 'It does seem mean for somebody as important as you say.'
'Never judge a tome by its binding. Come on.'
The tiny house was situated in a narrow, filth-strewn alley. All the dwellings appeared shabby and tumbledown, but none were as unprepossessing as their goal. The windows were boarded and its timbers were rotting. It was hard to believe the place was occupied.
Brelan tapped a signal on the door. A cunningly concealed spy-hole flipped aside. After a few seconds, bolts were drawn and the door opened.
'Inside,' Chillder prompted. 'Don't linger.'
A pair of stony-faced guards looked them over as they entered. The unlit interior was gloomy, and there was a pungent smell of decay.
The house was narrow but deep, and bigger than it seemed from outside. A long passageway stretched ahead of them, disappearing into shadow. On their left was a staircase. The twins motioned for them to climb it, and they ascended the creaking treads. On the first landing, they stopped at a door. Brelan rapped on it, and without waiting for an answer, pushed it open.
The cloyingly sweet aroma of incense wafted out, partly disguising the mouldy niff. Inside, the room was candlelit, and the first impression was of clutter. Most of which, on closer observation, proved due to books. They lined the walls and stood in uneven piles on the bare floor. Books of all sizes, bound in leather, vellum and plain boards. Most looked old, and not a few were greatly worn and crumbling. Some lay open. There was little in the way of furnishings beyond a crude table, covered in books, and a couple of chairs that had seen better days.
A female orc sat in one of them. She was mature, beyond breeding age but not yet old. Her dress was simple, consisting of a plain grey robe and slippers, and she wore no jewellery or other adornments. Yet there was something in her bearing that made the dilapidated chair seem like a throne.
'This is Primary Sylandya, true ruler of Acurial,' Chillder announced. To the female she said, 'These are the warriors we told you about. Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla. They've been of great help to the resistance.'
The female gave the trio a faint nod.
'I don't know how we're supposed to greet you,' Stryke told her. 'We're not keen on rulers. Most we've met didn't deserve bowing and scraping.'
'Yeah,' Haskeer agreed, 'we don't kiss arse.'
She smiled. 'Orcs who speak their mind. Refreshing.'
'We mean no disrespect,' Stryke assured her.
'Don't go spoiling it. I value honesty. It was so rare in politics.'
'You need more than talk to fix the problems you've got,' Coilla reckoned.
'Sylandya's aware of that,' Brelan said. 'She's head of our resistance group.'
'And our mother, as it happens,' Chillder added.
Stryke nodded. 'Should have guessed.'
'Family likeness?' Brelan asked.
'Same spunk.'
'I'll take that as praise.'
'You've come down in the world,' Haskeer judged, 'to end up in this shithouse.'
'I knew we shouldn't have brought him,' Coilla muttered.
Sylandya raised a mollifying hand. 'I said I favour plain speaking. Yes, I'm reduced. As are all orcs under the invaders' yoke. The least I can do is endure it with them.'
'More than endure,' Stryke said. 'Overcome.'
'You think we're not trying?'
'Too few of you are. You like straight talk, so I'll put it bluntly. Somehow, the orcs here have grown placid. Meek.'
'Cowards, more like,' Haskeer remarked.
'Like hell they are,' Brelan thundered. He took a step in Haskeer's direction.
Sylandya checked him with a wave. 'We can't deny it, son. They may not be craven, but their fighting spirit's been lost.' She looked to Stryke. 'Though that hasn't happened with every orc, it seems.'
'Your own offspring prove it,' Stryke replied, 'and those who volunteered for the resistance.'
'A pitiful few. There was a time, long ago, when our kind would never have allowed themselves to be subjugated. We were a fearsome warrior race, beholden to none. The way you still are, you orcs from the north. Or wherever you come from,' she added pointedly.
'Maybe our remoteness shielded us from the changes in regions where life's softer,' Stryke suggested, hoping to turn aside her suspicions.
'Perhaps. Though it seems strange that martial fortitude should be almost bred out everywhere but your homeland.'
'We can talk forever about why,' Coilla intervened. 'What matters is how we get these orcs fighting.'
'I think the humans could help with that.'
'What do you mean?'
'They lied about us, and made war on us with words. The citizens of Acurial did nothing. They dreamed up excuses to invade us. We did nothing. They took our land and wealth. Still we did nothing. They treated us like cattle, humiliated us, and killed us at will. Except for the few, we suffered and did nothing. They impose ever harsher rule, and most of us do no more than shoulder the burden. But the time must come when the bough breaks under the weight of oppression. Then the spirit will reawaken.'
Haskeer snorted. 'I wouldn't hold your breath.'
'I believe that, deep down, our race still has its fire. Given a push, it could flare again.'
'What would it take?' Stryke asked.
'Two things,' Sylandya replied. 'First, we need to harass the humans, to hit them as often and as hard as we can. Your band can help greatly with this.'
'They won't take it lying down. There'll be reprisals.'
'We're counting on it.' She held his gaze. 'I know that sounds harsh. But it's no more than the harm humans will do us in the long run. If it lights the kindling of revolt, it's worth it.'
'You said two things.'
'At the critical point I'll call on the citizenry to rise up, and do my best to lead them.'
'And they'll heed you?'
'I'm hoping they'll heed Grilan-Zeat.'
'Who?'
'Not who, what,' Chillder said.
'Look about you.' Sylandya indicated the profusion of books littering the room.
'Books,' Haskeer muttered contemptuously. 'Never read one.' It was a proud declaration.
Coilla gave him a sceptical glance. 'You can read?'
'I've filled the many hours of my internal exile with these tomes,' Sylandya went on, 'looking for some clue from our past that might hold the key to our present. I may have found it in Grilan-Zeat.'
'You'll have to explain,' Stryke said.
