Grunts Read Free Page A

difficult.”
    A spark from the fire drifted through the air and lodged against his cheek, burning. He shook his head violently, and then groaned. The fire had been set in the cave-mouth, not visible from the moorland above, and the charred carcass of the pony appeared to have been extensively chewed.
    “You’re getting rid of the evidence,” he marvelled, looking up at the larger orc. “Ashnak, was it, that she called you? Master Ashnak, you and I must talk. I’d find it more convenient if you cut at least my ankles free, since I think that if you don’t, I’ll lose the use of my feet.”
    The ground swooped dizzyingly away as a clawed hand grabbed the back of his doublet and swung him up into the air. The female orc’s helmet-covered face grinned into his from a distance of six inches. Her tusks were long, curved, and capped with bronze. Her whiteless eyes gleamed. She hefted a spiked morningstar in her free hand.
    “You little halflings, always so tricksy,” she said, in guttural admiration. “Mark me, Ashnak. They’re on some quest for the Light. If we heed their pleas and free ’em, they’ll have some miracle later on, and bring us down in our pride. I’ve heard Man-tales.
I
know how it goes.”
    The spiked pole swung up, poised, swung down—
    “Not without my orders, Shazgurim!” The large orc wrenched the morningstar away and belted the other orc with the smooth end, sending her crashing against the earthwall of the dip in the ground. Will tried his best for a tuck-and-roll fall—being tucked reasonably well already by his bonds—but a sharp rock caught him in the gut, and it was a minute and more before he dragged enough air into his lungs to breathe.
    He heard Ned say, very reasonably, “A bargain—our equipment, which you can use, for our lives, which you have no use for.”
    An owl hooted twice, and then hooted twice again. The owl is not necessarily a moorland bird. Moving almost as silently as halflings, two more armoured orcs slid around the tor and over the side of the dip and brandished their war-axes in salute to Ashnak. Will groaned as he rolled over, the cords at his ankles cutting into him like wire.
    “They’re alone,” one of the orcs grunted. “No smell of strangers: Men or wizard-filth or squat dwarves.”
    The smallest orc, which in the flickering firelight Will thought might be another female, gave a high-pitched giggle. “No smell of magic, no. None. None!”
    He saw Ashnak open his fanged mouth, knew that the orc’s next words would be
Kill them!
and played his last card. Fortunately, as usual, it was a fifth ace.
    “Hold your hand!” he cried. “In the name of the nameless necromancer!”
    Ned, at his side, made a noise that might have been a groan or a whimper. “In the name of the nameless?”
    “You know what I
mean
. In the…oh, the hell with it. Orcs!” Will exclaimed, loudly. “Strong though you are, I know your kind fear magic. Do you really wish to risk offending the nameless necromancer?”
    The big orc motioned with his hand. The two scout orcs vanished up onto the moorland again. Shazgurim stood, rebuckling the plate-armour on her forearms, and scowled at Ashnak’s back. Will noted it. As Ashnak approached, he flicked the hair back out of his eyes and gazed as fearlessly as he could at the orc.
    “Hhrmmm…” The orc squatted down. In the firelight Will could just make out the clan tattoos on his horny cheeks. Polearms slung across his back, black armour thigh- and arm-defences, engraved breastplate—This is no orc bandit, Will thought. He assumed a dignified confidence.
    “And just why,” the orc growled, “would it offend my master the nameless to slice your skins from your bodies, and cook them, and feed them back to you, before we leave you impaled by your arses on our spears for the ravens to rip at?”
    “You have a wonderful turn of phrase.” Will paused. “Your master?”
    “Yes, little coney.
My
Master. Whose name you have made