Chapter One hundred and seven

  Well, before I could decide whether eating or otherwise subduing the enemy spirits would be the better choice, and before Krissy could finish her latest bout of swearing — something she was getting quite good at — the two ork spiritualists turned tail and ran at the urging of their familiars. I didn’t know why I was surprised that they weren’t willing to take their chances against a well-developed Tentacle Horror. It was spiritual common sense, to be honest, and I couldn’t really blame them for it; living creatures had no particular desire to die, and spirits weren’t exceptions. The problem was that they were sure to report not only the development of a popular uprising, but my presence as well, which was sure to spur the rest of the so-called mystics into action. I supposed it was too late to do anything about it; the two orks vanished into a street that didn’t have rebels blocking it, and the henchmen-line closed the gap, shields up, spears and billhooks levelled, ready for action.

  What did you do? Master Fenar demanded angrily.

  ‘Nothing. They just looked at me and decided I was too much for them to handle.’ I reported. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll be bringing some friends soon. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Fuggen gankshit cowards!’ Big Wroogh swore, shaking his fist at the remaining thirty-something armoured orks, the crowd screaming their agreement with their glorious and very large leader. Because he was the leader, wasn’t he?

  ‘Them fuggers gon be bringin’ the rest of’ em mystics down on us,’ Raagstrom Raagh commented, sounding far from happy.

  He was standing behind Master Fenar and his rangers — quite wisely in my opinion — eliminating the chance of him dying in the first round, should the fighting start again. I never would have thought I’d ever say this about an ork, but the captain was basically the voice of reason here, expressing the same concerns I had.

  The green shithead’s right. Fenar said, nodding his head.

  ‘So?’ I asked, and even Big Wroogh turned his head, apparently interested in the Hellspawn’s opinion.

  We’re killing these fuckers here, then we take the fight to their bosses before they can ready themselves any more than they already have. He presented the plan. Joy! Misery! You’re up. Kill them, eat them, do what you need to, just make sure none of them get up again!

  Krissy and Kiwa looked at each other, their hands already on the hilts of their swords, ready to draw.

  ‘Oi, Hellspawn, ya wanna go leavin’ us just watchin’ the fun?’ Big Wroogh asked, turning his head around to look at the man, his voice conveying how offended he was by this.

  I don’t think you can handle it. Fenar said to him, shrugging, his thought-voice filled with condescension.

  ‘Ya stooopid fuggen gank mystic, if ya think we ain’t good enough to go handlin’ dem fuggers, then go fugg …’

  Fine, fine, feel free to join in you stupid green fuck, just don’t complain if you die in the process. Fenar said to him, shrugging again.

  The big guy roared happily — or angrily, I wasn’t sure — lifting his round, wooden shield with one hand, drawing his mace with the other, the sign hundreds of angry orks and slaves had been waiting for.

  I was about to start Mana-armour going as Krissy and Kiwa began drawing their swords, and just as Big Wroogh and his mates charged ahead, the green, toothy fury of the clan following them with the most terrifying battle-cry on their lips, effectively swarming the ork paladins.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Master Fenar thundered at my host and her self-appointed bodyguard.

  They both stopped as if a stone wall had just popped up in front of them, separating them from the wave of orks crashing into the shields and spears of the enemy. It was a miracle the girls — or any of the comparably small human slaves — weren’t trampled into the ground by this tidal wave of orks.

  ‘Uh … joining the fight?’ Kiwa said, sounding uncertain all of a sudden.

  ‘Wasn’t that the plan?’ Krissy inquired, just as confused.

  The lightly armed rebel horde crashed into the armoured line, dark blood spraying everywhere as the shields held them back, and spears, swords and maces began to do their gory work. In a second, the first greenish souls were ready to be collected and consumed by yours truly.

  Fenar grinned as the roars and cries accompanying the bloodshed intensified, then he glanced at us.

  ‘You can’t be this dense. Oh, my mistake, you can and you are. Just look! Do you think they need us for a measly couple dozen idiots in armour with no familiars? They just needed a push, and I gave it to them,’ he explained it to us, looking at the two masked women as if they were the dumbest creatures in this world. Krissy and Kiwa tried to get a good look at the fight, but it was difficult for anyone without long tentacles to see anything more than the backs of barbarians trying to push to the front and get a piece of the action. Luckily, I had long tentacles.

  The well armed henchmen held their line for about ten seconds, bashing, chopping and skewering the virtually unprotected attackers, killing dozens of them in as brutal a manner as one would expect.

  I suddenly realised what Fenar’s game was: as he had put it, our temporary allies didn’t need us for this. What they had needed was some motivation and a push, and the Hellspawn had played them like a fiddle, intentionally poking at their orkish pride, while never actually intending to send Krissy and Kiwa into this shitstorm. The man certainly deserved some grudging respect.

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  Thirty seconds. That’s what it took for Big Wroogh’s followers to swallow up the enemy. I had stopped being squeamish some time ago, but the sound of armour crumpling under the heavy blows of maces and warhammers like empty cola cans, blood seeping through the cracks, dying orks roaring in pain … man, that was something that would have haunted anyone’s dreams. The ork-knights — or whatever they were — all fell in the end, but they had exacted quite the price for their lives, leaving a pile of at least a hundred dead rebels, a gory testament to their combat prowess.

  And on that note, I began to help myself to the numerous souls left behind on this gruesome battlefield.

  ***

  The situation was developing rapidly, and it felt like the souls of the dead were degrading faster than usual, so I had to put extra effort into eating. I worked hard coordinating my cute, not-so-little tentacles, and by the time the Battle of The Town Square was finished, and a blood-covered Big Wroogh, standing on the corpse of an armoured ork, declared their first victory and made the motion that we go all the way up to Fort Vraath and start knocking it down, I had managed to eat twenty-four ork and one human souls.

  Out of the almost 2000 EXP I was supposed to get, Hank stole at least 200. I still had no idea how he was doing it or what he was doing with it, but this wasn’t the time to start solving the mystery. Besides, with this latest haul I had 2800 EXP in the bank, and the party was just starting. I had a feeling I might actually be able to collect the 10000 EXP I needed for Level 37.

  I took a quick look around to make sure everyone that mattered — or sort of mattered — was still around; Krissy and Kiwa were fine, standing and staring at the scene, probably wondering how they had managed to stay standing in the midst of hundreds of orks rushing into a fight. Fenar and his team were fine, too, and I could spot a few of the rangers on the rooftops, observing from the shadows. Trevor the slave had somehow ended up hiding behind Raagstrom Raagh, who in turn had ended up standing a few steps behind Master Fenar. I knew for a fact the guy wasn’t a cowardly gank — he had fought tooth and nail for his galley — but for some reason he didn’t seem enthused about being here. Maybe he had just decided to let landlubbers do their landlubber things while yearning for the crashing waves of the sea. Golty and Ronron were here too, cheering with the crowd, but judging by the lack of blood and mud on them, they had probably been providing moral support to the troops rather than participating directly.

  The crowd was in a frenzy, chanting diligently, with Big Wroogh serving as the conductor for this messy concert, and soon more heads appeared on the tips of the spears they had looted from the fallen. Yep, revolutions were ugly, no doubt about that.

  Big Wroogh turned his attention to the dark hill in the distance. Actually, it wasn’t that far, in fact a quarter of the city was probably situated on the shallow slopes. I could just about see the large hump it was in the darkness, and the few tiny specks of light on the top must have been the lights of Fort Vraath, residence of the shamans.

  If we’re lucky, the damned barbarian spiritualists will shut the gates of their stupid fort, and we’ll have a siege. That we can draw out for as long as Tovaron Ento needs to complete his job. Master Fenirig Arte told us on our own comm-channel, then added: After that, we’ll see.

  I had no problem with that — leaving the orks to do most of the work was a good plan. They sure looked like they were up to it. However, I didn’t think Master Fenar fully understood the kind of zeal familiars had when it came to dealing with Tentacle Horrors, and I had a feeling that the spiritualists occupying the fort — or rather their familiars — would consider it a priority to rid the world of me. Especially if there were a bunch of them; if it was just one or two, they might decide digging in or fleeing was a reasonable thing to do. If they had five or six, I could see them breaking out of the fort and using everything they had to get to me, casualties be damned. Well, as Fenar had said: “we’ll see.”

  ***

  The hill was much closer than it had seemed, and the march to the fort was a lot shorter than I had expected. It took only ten minutes for the revolutionary army to leave the last building of Vraathblood behind, then they could finally spread out, trudge up the hill, and approach Fort Vraath. In the fairly narrow streets it had been difficult to see and appreciate just how many of the orks were participating in this event. Raagstrom Raagh had put the population of the town to be around three to four thousand, and now that I saw them out on an open field, I was sure at least a quarter of the residents were here. At least a thousand. Well, I wasn’t going to start counting, but it looked like the revolution actually had a fighting chance, maybe even without the Hellspawn, the rangers, and us. That was until we got close enough to the fort to see it properly.

  Our makeshift barbarian army stopped at about fifty metres from the walls of the place, and began to spread out. I stretched my tentacles forward over their heads to get a good look. Fort Vraath. Well, I supposed I could call it a fort if I was in a charitable mood. In reality, it looked like a fairly large, walled compound, and an ugly one at that. The walls themselves were at least two, maybe two and a half metres tall, part stone and part wood, something like a palisade made of crudely processed tree-trunks with the occasional rock fillings. I could see one gate, large enough for a truck to fit through. It was closed of course. A couple of two-strorey buildings stood inside the perimeter, and they weren’t any different from the houses I’d seen in town, complete with the same type of thatched roofs. Not exactly a Disney Castle, but it was certainly a defensible position and a problem for us.

  Inside the compound I could see armoured orks running up and down, presumably preparing for the upcoming confrontation, or siege. I was catching glimpses of the blue, translucent bodies of familiars amongst them, which was worrying, but without getting at least forty metres closer and sticking a few tenties through the wall, it was impossible to tell how many orks and how many spirits were in there.

  Tovaron Ento! Report! Master Fenirig Arte requested an update when we all came to a halt behind the lines of orks, who were completing their encirclement of the place.

  We’ve dealt with most of the guards, fifty-three of our people are already on the way to the ships with an escort of two rangers. Toven reported, and even by his thought-voice I could tell he was out of breath. They must have had quite the fight there. The rest are spread out in different buildings, so we’re split up by teams to check house-to-house. It turns out some of them have been sold already, so we’ll need to pay a visit to some out-of-clan merchants who’re still in town. Our greeny-guides are saying some might have been transported to other clans already. If so, I’m not sure we can do anything about them.

  We do what we can do in this town. Good work, keep it up! Fenar said, then turned his attention to the problems at hand. So, they call this shitpile a fort? I could take this place by myself.

  He was just oozing confidence, wasn’t he, likely based on his access to my Mana. Hm. Frankly, I would have been willing to sacrifice the contents of my Mana-pool to see him taking the fort by himself, but before I could broach the subject and try to goad him into actually doing it — the same way he had goaded Big Wroogh into a mad charge earlier in the town-square — the orks finished positioning themselves in a half encirclement, then Big Wroogh himself walked some ten steps forward towards the gate and started yelling at it.

  ‘Skraath Ironbite, ya slimy, shitmunchin’ gank! Da people are ‘ere for ya, and we ain’t in da mood to wait. Get yer ass out ‘ere, so I can rip yer spine out and shove it down yer throat.’

  Hm. Orkish diplomacy at its finest. I wasn’t sure if the occupants of the fort would grace him with an answer, but I was sure that whatever was going to happen would be bloody, probably entertaining, and likely dangerous for Tentacle Horrors.