Orcs Read Online Free

or ten troopers hanging around listening. “Get ready for a forced march back to Cairnbarrow.”
    They pulled long faces.
    “It’ll be nightfall soon,” Jup remarked.
    “What of it? We can still walk, can’t we? Unless you’re all frightened of the dark!”
    “Poor bloody infantry,” a private muttered as he passed.
    Stryke delivered a savage kick to his backside.
“And don’t forget it, you miserable little bastard!”
    The soldier yelped and limped hurriedly away.
    This time, Coilla laughed with the others.
    Over at the livestock pen a chorus of sound arose, a combination of roars and twittering screeches. Stryke set off in that direction. Haskeer and Jup trailed him. Coilla stayed with Alfray.
    Two soldiers were leaning on the corral’s fence, watching the milling animals.
    “What’s going on?” Stryke demanded.
    “They’re spooked,” one of the troopers told him. “Shouldn’t be cooped up like this. Ain’t natural.”
    Stryke went to the rail to see for himself.
    The nearest beast was no more than a sword’s length away. Twice the height of an orc, it stood rampant, weight borne by powerful back legs, taloned feet half buried in the earth. The chest of its feline body swelled, the short, dusty yellow fur bristling. Its eagle-like head moved in a jerky, convulsive fashion and the curved beak clattered nervously. The enormous eyes, jet-black orbs against startlingly white surrounds, were never still. Its ears were pricked and quiveringly alert.
    It was obviously agitated, yet its erect pose still maintained a curious nobility.
    The herd beyond, numbering upwards of a hundred, was mostly on all fours, backs arched. But here and there pairs stood upright, boxing at each other with spindly arms, wickedly sharp claws extended. Their long curly tails swished rhythmically.
    A gust of wind brought with it the fetid odour of the gryphons’ dung.
    “Gant’s right,” Haskeer remarked, indicating the trooper who had spoken, “their pen should be all of Maras-Dantia.”
    “Very poetic, Sergeant.”
    As intended, Stryke’s derision cut Haskeer’s pride. He looked as near embarrassed as an orc was capable of. “I just meant it was typical of humans to pen free-roaming beasts,” he gushed defensively. “And we all know they’d do the same to us if we let ’em.”
    “All I know,” Jup interjected, “is that yonder gryphons smell bad and taste good.”
    “Who asked
you
, you little tick’s todger?” Haskeer flared.
    Jup bridled and was about to retaliate.
    “Shut up, both of you!” Stryke snapped. He addressed the troopers. “Slaughter a brace for rations and let the rest go before we leave.”
    He moved on. Jup and Haskeer followed, exchanging murderous glances.
    Behind them, the fire in the house was taking hold. Flames were visible at the upper windows and smoke billowed from the front door.
    They reached the compound’s ruined gates. On seeing their commander, the guards stationed there straightened themselves in a pretence of vigilance. Stryke didn’t bawl them out. He was more interested in the scene on the plain. The fighting had stopped, the defenders either being dead or having run away.
    “It’s a bonus to win the battle,” Haskeer observed, “seeing as it was only a diversion.”
    “They were outnumbered. We deserved to win. But no loose talk of diversions, not outside the band. Wouldn’t do to let the arrow fodder know the fight was set up to cover our task.” Automatically his hand went to the cylinder.
    Down below, the scavengers were moving among the dead, stripping them of weapons, boots and anything else useful. Other parties had been detailed to finish off the enemy wounded, and those of their own side too far gone to help. Funeral pyres were already burning.
    In the gathering twilight it was growing much colder. A stinging breeze whipped at Stryke’s face. He looked out beyond the battlefield to the farther plains, and the more remote, undulating tree-topped hills.