Free Orcs by Stan Nicholls Page B

Stryke slashed a downward line. “We’ve been moving south.” He carved another cross at the line’s end. “To here. We need to turn south-east for Black Rock. But we’ve got a problem.” To the right and down a little from the second cross, he gouged a circle.
    “Scratch,” Coilla said.
    “Right. The trolls’ homeland. It’s smack in the path of the most direct route to Black Rock.”
    Haskeer shrugged his shoulders. “So?”
    “Given how belligerent trolls can be,” Jup told him, “we should avoid it.”
    “
You
might want to run from a fight;
I
don’t.”
    “We’ve no need of one, Haskeer,” Stryke intervened coolly. “Why make extra trouble for ourselves?”
    “ ’Cause going round Scratch will cost us time.”
    “We’ll lose a lot more if we get caught up in a fight there, and a fully armed warband riding through their territory is just the thing to start one. No, we’ll skirt the place. Question is, which way?”
    Coilla jabbed her finger at the improvised map. “The next-shortest way would be to head due east now, toward Hecklowe and the coast. Then we’d make our way south, through or around Black Rock Forest, to Black Rock itself.”
    “I’m not happy about going near Hecklowe either,” Stryke said. “It’s a free port, remember. That means plenty of other elder races. We’re bound to tangle with at least one that has a grudge against orcs. And the forest’s infested with bandits.”
    “Not to mention that turning east from here takes us a bit too close to Cairnbarrow for comfort,” Alfray added.
    “The advantage of approaching Black Rock from the forest side is that we’d have the cover of trees,” Jup put in.
    “That’s scant return for all the risks we’d run.” Stryke employed his knife again, extending the line down beyond the elliptical shape he’d drawn. “I think we have to carry on south, past Scratch,
then
turn east.”
    Coilla frowned. “In which case, don’t forget this.” She leaned over and used her finger to outline a small cross below Scratch. “Weaver’s Lea. A Uni settlement, like Homefield, but much bigger. Word is that the humans there are more fanatical than most.”
    “Is that possible?” Jup asked drily of no one in particular.
    “We’d have to pass between the two,” Stryke granted. “But it’s all flat plains in those parts, so at least we could see trouble coming.”
    Alfray studied the markings. “It’s the longest route, Stryke.”
    “I know, but it’s also the safest. Or the least dangerous, anyway.”
    “Whatever damned route we take,” Haskeer rumbled, “nobody’s said anything about Black Rock being a short piss away from
there
.” He plunged his own knife into the ground, to the right of Coilla’s crude addition.
    Jup glared at him. “That’s supposed to mean Quatt, is it?”
    “Where your kind comes from, yes. Being so close should make you feel at home.”
    “When are you going to stop blaming me for the wrong done by all dwarves?”
    “When your race stops doing the humans’ dirty work.”
    “I answer for myself, not my whole race. Others do what they must.”
    Haskeer bridled. “There’s no
must
about helping the incomers!”
    “What do you think
we’re
doing? Or are you too stupid to notice who Jennesta’s allied with?”
    As with most spats between the sergeants, this one escalated rapidly.
    “Don’t lecture
me
on loyalty, rat’s prick!”
    “Go shove your head up a horse’s arse!”
    Faces twisted with malice, they both began to rise.
    “Enough!”
Stryke barked. “If you two want to tear each other apart, that’s fine by me. But let’s try to get home alive first, shall we?”
    They eyed him, weighed the odds for a second, then backed off.
    “You’ve all got your duties,” he reminded them. “Move yourselves.”
    Haskeer couldn’t resist a parting shot. “If we’re going anywhere near Quatt,” he snarled, “better watch your backs.” He shot the dwarf a malicious look. “The