Orcs: Bad Blood by Stan Nicholls Read Free Book Online Page A

the
     floorboards.
    Stryke nodded to him. “Morning, Breggin.”
    “Captain,” the orc groaned.
    The interior of the inn was essentially a single, large room. There was a serving bench at one end and a storm in the middle.
     The storm’s eye stood astride a table.
    Coilla wielded an iron cooking pot. Clutching the handle, she swung at the heads of the half-dozen males struggling to reach
     her.
    She was a handsome specimen of orc womanhood, with attractively mottled skin, dark, flashing eyes, barbed teeth and a muscular,
     warrior’s physique. Most alluring of all, she fought like a demon with toothache.
    As Stryke and Haskeer entered, she delivered a well-aimed kick to the jaw of an opponent who ducked too late. He met the floor
     as surely as a dropped sack of offal. The others tried to catch her legs and topple her, but she skipped away with ease. They
     started rocking the table.
    “Should we help?” Haskeer wondered.
    “I don’t think we could beat her,” Stryke replied dryly.
    Chiming like a bell, Coilla’s cooking pot caught one of her antagonists square to the side of his head. Knocked senseless,
     he tumbled floorward.
    Haskeer spotted a half-full tankard of ale. He lifted it and started drinking. Stryke leaned against the counter, arms folded,
     watching the brawl.
    The four remaining males finally upended the table. Coilla leapt clear, feet-first into someone’s chest. He spiralled out
     of play. Quickly righting herself, she swiped at the next in line, flattening his nose with her pot. Driven backwards, he
     came to grief in a tangle of chairs.
    The two still upright rushed her in unison. One was dispatched by the simple expedient of running into her raised elbow. It
     connected with the bridge of his nose, sending him downhill and comatose. She dodged the clutches of the last orc standing
     and pounded his features with the fist of her free hand, rendering him insentient.
    Coilla briefly savoured the scene, then, tossing the cooking pot aside, gave Stryke and Haskeer a cheery greeting.
    “What was that about?” Haskeer asked. He thumped down the empty tankard and belched.
    “It started as a fight
over
me, then kind of developed into one
with
me.” She shrugged. “The usual.”
    “Keep up these courting rituals and you’ll run out of suitors,” Stryke commented.
    “Cosy up to
that
lot? You must be joking. Anybody who can’t knock me down doesn’t deserve consideration. So, what are you two doing here?”
    “We’ve news,” Stryke told her. “Let’s go outside.”
    It was the beginning of a glorious day. The sun was up, bathing the land in balmy warmth. Birds were on the wing and bees
     droned.
    They went and sat on a little hillock. Stryke explained what had happened, with Haskeer adding unhelpful interruptions. They
     showed her the amulet.
    “But Jennesta’s dead, surely?” she said. “We saw her pulled apart by that vortex thing.”
    “Maybe she can’t be killed that easily,” Haskeer contributed. “The sort of powers that bitch had, I’m thinking she can’t be
     killed
at all
.”
    “I’d bet on cold steel through the heart revoking her sorcery,” Stryke replied.
    “You reckon she’s got one?”
    “We don’t know how she survived, but it seems she did, and she’s making orcs suffer. What are we going to do about it?”
    “If we leave this land, you know what we’re likely going to,” Coilla reminded him. “Prejudice about us, and hatred and bigotry.
     Sure you want to go through all that shit again?”
    “We’ve rode out worse than words.”
    “It’s not words that worry me. And don’t count on too many allies wherever we fetch up.”
    “I’m not saying there isn’t going to be hardship, sweat and violence.”
    “Just like old times, eh?”
    “So where do you stand, Coilla? Are you saying no?”
    She grinned. “Hell, I’m not. This is a good place, but it can get kind of dull after a while. I’ve been itching for a real
     fight. I’m tired of