Grunts Read Free

do you get?”
    “A headless chicken.”
    Barashkukor said incredulously, “A headless chicken?”
    “Well—would
you
stand and fight, with no arms and legs?”
    Marukka slapped her bulging green thigh. Her jaw dropped, and she wheezed. Tears leaked out of the corners of her beetle-browed eyes.
    “That’s good! Isn’t that good? I made that one up myself!”
    Barashkukor showed all his fangs and tusks in a grin. “Real good, Marukka. You slay ’em.”
    “Sure do.” She stroked the sword complacently and tucked it back under her belt. “Shouldn’t be surprised if I was good enough to be paid. Stinkin’
Men
get paid for jokes. I seen that once. I was in a city, once, you know—”
    I know, Barashkukor thought. “How about a game of Orcball?” he suggested hastily.
    “Good idea! Aww…We ain’t got a ball.” Marukka sniffed. She stomped down the steps into the bailey. “’Ere! Whose idea was it to
cook
the dinner?”
    The largest orc, who was (it need hardly be said) the band’s leader, pointed silently at one of the smaller orcs. Marukka advanced, drawing her sword. The small orc backed away.
    “I didn’t! It wasn’t my idea! I wasn’t even here—
urp!
”
    Marukka’s jagged blade whistled through the air. There was a
whup!
and something relatively round bounced and landed at Barashkukor’s feet, still blinking. The orc-band scrambled to their feet with enthusiasm.
    “We got a ball,” Marukka announced. “Let’s
play
!”
    A voice through his nightmare said: “What’s that smell?”
    Will Brandiman moved his head fractionally and winced. A blaze of pain subsided. It was no nightmare. He tested his wrists and found them cord-bound. His lock-picks, by the feel of it, were still sewn into his cuffs. His ankles throbbed, tied much too tightly.
    “Roasting pony?” he guessed thickly.
    “One day you’re going to wake up to the smell of roasting brother,” Ned grumbled.
    The ground was hard and damp under his face. Willstrained to lift his head. The brilliant moon blazed in his eyes, and he flinched. There was no locating the source of the pain as yet, but he had a small bet that it would be a head-wound, and an unprofessional one at that.
    “Orcs,” he concluded, sniffing.
    A bare foot, hard as the hardest leather boot, kicked him in the ribs. The force of the blow threw him over onto his back. He stared up at a broad-shouldered, squat-legged orc in shining black plate harness. The orc opened its tusked mouth and spat accurately into Will’s eye. The saliva stung.
    “Orcs,” Will marvelled. “Well, you can’t be that stupid. You managed to surprise me and my brother, and that isn’t often done—
ahh!
”
    A slightly smaller orc leaned over Will’s face from behind him and shoved the muzzle of its hound-faced bassinet helm open. The fanged and tilt-eyed face was upsidedown from Will’s point of view and (he thought) none the better for it. The orc gave a light contralto growl. “Show respect! Do not speak before Ashnak!”
    Will managed to roll himself up into a precarious sitting position. Ned, a bundle of rope, lay a few feet away. A fire burned. The shelter of branches and bracken that had concealed this dip in the ground and the cave-entrance were scattered about; the brass-bound chests were open and their contents looted. One of the heavy crossbows hung at the belt of the armoured orc. Will raised one eyebrow in a rare respect.
    “Agaku,” he guessed. “The man-smart Agaku.”
    The armoured orc smiled, showing polished yellow fangs. “I have not met many, Man or elf-filth or halfling, who are smart as the Agaku.”
    Will managed to wipe his face against his knee, cleaning off the last of the acidic saliva. His eyes still ran, blurring the night sky, so that for a panic-stricken moment he was not sure how many orcs surrounded them.
    Ned’s voice, thick with pain, said, “A scouting party, I’d guess, since there’s only two of them. Will—”
    “Yes, yes, I know. It’s