stopping to exchange a word or two here and there.
Noon beat down on ranks of orc grunts, on web-belts hung with grenades, on rocket-launchers, assault rifles, antitank weapons, and machineguns. Orc-fangs glinted; squad insignia painted on hunched shoulders shone. Variously coloured combat fatigue trousers blazed back the light, cleaned and pressed after hard training. Boots shone.
“A good turnout, sergeant.” Ashnak walked from the rank behind Barashkukor, Imhullu at his side. “Very good; I’m impressed. Stand the orcs at ease now.”
“Squaaaads, standat—
ease
!”
Again, three hundred boots hit the earth together. Barashkukor clasped his hands behind his back, wondering just where a first lieutenant’s insignia should be tattooed.
Ashnak strode to where several ammunition cases had been assembled in a dais, and stepped up onto them. His black-and-white urban camouflage stood out against the blue sky.
“Right, you orcs, listen up!”
The Agaku had a machinegun and bandoleers slung across his back, and a Desert Eagle automatic pistol in the holster on his web-belt. His broken fangs had been capped with silver and polished, and a major’s insignia was painted on his muscular, sloping shoulders. Grenades hung from his belt. He wore a battered urban forage cap.
“You’ve trained hard.” Ashnak surveyed the ranks.Barashkukor straightened his aching shoulders as the big orc’s gaze swept over him.
“And now your training’s over.” The Agaku grinned. “I’m proud of you. You’re marines! You’re hot! You are
fucking
hot marines!”
Shrieks and cheers split the air. Barashkukor shook his grenade-launcher in the air, taking two hands to do it. The big Agaku held up a hand for silence. He got it.
“Your training’s completed, and you’re ready for your first big mission. Your officers will brief you fully in a moment, but I want to say this. We know now that the date for the Final Battle has been set.”
The breath left Barashkukor’s chest as if he had been hit. Fear and adrenaline sparked through his veins, firing him with a fierce joy, and he growled in his throat.
“The Horde of Darkness will march on the night of Samhain. But
before
that, and to ensure its success,
you
are first going to perform your mission.”
The company stood quiet now. No noise in the noon of Nin-Edin but the vultures wheeling about the mountain fort and crying. Barashkukor swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth.
“And succeed in it. I know you can do it—I’m proud of every one of you mean motherfuckers! You’re trained marines now.” Ashnak straightened, one taloned hand resting on his pistol. “Trained and armed. Captain Zarkingu will be instructing you personally later, but I will say this now. These guns are not sorcerous weapons. They are
not
magical. And therefore—therefore the magic of the Light has no defence against them.”
6
The interior of the Great Hall of Sarderis’s city keep shone white in the afternoon sun. Will Brandiman, comfortably replete, advanced towards the dais at the end of the Hall and bowed. Ned, walking beside him, looked wide-eyed and wondering at the company of elves, dwarves, and Men crowding around the dais, and at the female Man sitting on it in the high-backed chair.
“Will and Ned Brandiman.” Will bowed again. “Halfling brothers, my Lady. Very much at your service.”
He tugged his new silver-embroidered black doublet as if he were straightening it, taking advantage of the movement to check with nimble fingers the position of secret poisoned needles. His short-sword and throwing knives he had handed in at the gate-house, keeping the mail-shirt on pretence of personal danger.
Ned bowed, cloddishly, still gazing up wide-eyed. Will trod on his brother’s foot as a warning not to overdo it, unwilling to use the Thieves’ Guild finger-talk where it might be recognised and read.
“You two it was who found the family butchered? How is that so?”
The female Man on
Noon beat down on ranks of orc grunts, on web-belts hung with grenades, on rocket-launchers, assault rifles, antitank weapons, and machineguns. Orc-fangs glinted; squad insignia painted on hunched shoulders shone. Variously coloured combat fatigue trousers blazed back the light, cleaned and pressed after hard training. Boots shone.
“A good turnout, sergeant.” Ashnak walked from the rank behind Barashkukor, Imhullu at his side. “Very good; I’m impressed. Stand the orcs at ease now.”
“Squaaaads, standat—
ease
!”
Again, three hundred boots hit the earth together. Barashkukor clasped his hands behind his back, wondering just where a first lieutenant’s insignia should be tattooed.
Ashnak strode to where several ammunition cases had been assembled in a dais, and stepped up onto them. His black-and-white urban camouflage stood out against the blue sky.
“Right, you orcs, listen up!”
The Agaku had a machinegun and bandoleers slung across his back, and a Desert Eagle automatic pistol in the holster on his web-belt. His broken fangs had been capped with silver and polished, and a major’s insignia was painted on his muscular, sloping shoulders. Grenades hung from his belt. He wore a battered urban forage cap.
“You’ve trained hard.” Ashnak surveyed the ranks.Barashkukor straightened his aching shoulders as the big orc’s gaze swept over him.
“And now your training’s over.” The Agaku grinned. “I’m proud of you. You’re marines! You’re hot! You are
fucking
hot marines!”
Shrieks and cheers split the air. Barashkukor shook his grenade-launcher in the air, taking two hands to do it. The big Agaku held up a hand for silence. He got it.
“Your training’s completed, and you’re ready for your first big mission. Your officers will brief you fully in a moment, but I want to say this. We know now that the date for the Final Battle has been set.”
The breath left Barashkukor’s chest as if he had been hit. Fear and adrenaline sparked through his veins, firing him with a fierce joy, and he growled in his throat.
“The Horde of Darkness will march on the night of Samhain. But
before
that, and to ensure its success,
you
are first going to perform your mission.”
The company stood quiet now. No noise in the noon of Nin-Edin but the vultures wheeling about the mountain fort and crying. Barashkukor swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth.
“And succeed in it. I know you can do it—I’m proud of every one of you mean motherfuckers! You’re trained marines now.” Ashnak straightened, one taloned hand resting on his pistol. “Trained and armed. Captain Zarkingu will be instructing you personally later, but I will say this now. These guns are not sorcerous weapons. They are
not
magical. And therefore—therefore the magic of the Light has no defence against them.”
6
The interior of the Great Hall of Sarderis’s city keep shone white in the afternoon sun. Will Brandiman, comfortably replete, advanced towards the dais at the end of the Hall and bowed. Ned, walking beside him, looked wide-eyed and wondering at the company of elves, dwarves, and Men crowding around the dais, and at the female Man sitting on it in the high-backed chair.
“Will and Ned Brandiman.” Will bowed again. “Halfling brothers, my Lady. Very much at your service.”
He tugged his new silver-embroidered black doublet as if he were straightening it, taking advantage of the movement to check with nimble fingers the position of secret poisoned needles. His short-sword and throwing knives he had handed in at the gate-house, keeping the mail-shirt on pretence of personal danger.
Ned bowed, cloddishly, still gazing up wide-eyed. Will trod on his brother’s foot as a warning not to overdo it, unwilling to use the Thieves’ Guild finger-talk where it might be recognised and read.
“You two it was who found the family butchered? How is that so?”
The female Man on
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