WARNING: This story and all others included in "Dreams of Reality" are copyrighted to FuryKyriel, 1997. Any unauthorized publication of this material will be prosecuted.

Starts with a "Z"

(Part Three of Five)

    Behind the Knuckles, the Red Mountains rose up in one nameless ridge after another, steep as spike-topped walls and higher than the Himalayas. Standing on the tallest peaks, I could look up into the midday sky and see stars. Most of my searching was done at night, though, because that was when the orcs were most active. Besides, even though Lius had lowered his defenses a bit, he still insisted on working alone as long as he had that choice. So every evening he rode and I flew out from the ranchhouse at the tip of the Tip, returning to compare notes before daybreak. I carried chalk and a slate on a string around my neck, and as I flew, I mapped ranges unseen by mortal eyes for centuries. Geremos worked to collate my data while Lius and I slept.
    It was time-consuming work, and the orcs were harder to find than any of us had expected. We'd all assumed, from their frequent visits to the Tip, that they lived nearby. But when I finally found them, two and a half weeks after I'd begun my search, it was on a high plain nearly fifty miles north of Serl.
    How on earth do they get to the Tip from here? I wondered, looking down on their camp for the first time. Beneath me, hundreds of gray, hunched figures scurried across a valley rimmed by vicious peaks. The summits were too high to trap oxygen, but the valley itself was deep and warm, possibly the remnant of a long-dormant volcano. It was a magnificent hiding place, but how the orcs had gotten in there in the first place, I couldn't guess.
    Putting that puzzle aside for the moment, I began sketching out what I could see of the stronghold. It was bowl-shaped and about half a mile from end to end, gloomy probably gloomy even at midday, with peaks like these around it. Torches flicked all across the open spaces, and in their orange light I counted dozens of caves and pits. All in all, the place resembled nothing so much as a concave anthill.
    Orcs dug but didn't build, living in rough-hewn caves; and I pinpointed their dwelling places easily enough from the bones scattered outside. Other openings, completely bare and dark from this angle, were a puzzle.
    The pits were less of a mystery. Some held garbage; others, foul-colored slimes. But I was still too far away to make out the level of detail I needed for my report, so I drifted down, one small patch of blackness in a cloud-dark night.
    Soon I could see that most of the activity centered on the slime pits--the last place I'd have expected an enthusiastic gathering. As I watched, the smallest orcs were lowered over the edges by rope until they were up to their waists in slime. Once there, they went to work chipping off the crystalline substance which grew between slime and wall. The chunks were then tossed into buckets, hauled topside, and carried away to the caves. This was the raw nghk, I realized, the drug they'd been selling in the Tip. I wondered how popular it would be if the buyers knew how it was made.
    In any case, the harvesting process must have been even worse than it looked. Every few minutes a pit worker would collapse--overcome by fumes, I assumed. Then his cohorts would drag him as far as the rim and leave him there just long enough to recover. The moment he started moving again, it was back into the slime. I could almost feel sorry for the creatures, I thought, if they weren't orcs.
    It took me several minutes to realize they weren't. Everyone looked alike in the red-orange light, and the children were dressed in much the same clothes as their captors. It wasn't until I was almost on top of them that I noticed the human features beneath the filth. Then the Fury bloomed inside me, and I had to turn my head away to keep from barreling down on the camp like some dark avenging angel. I couldn't rescue all these children on my own, not without getting some of them killed in the melee. And I wasn't willing to let a single human life slip through the cracks. Lius and Geremos would know what to do, I told myself. For now, my job was to gather enough information to plan an assault.
    When I'd done all I could from the air, I touched down in the lee of a cave mouth, grimacing as my feet made contact with the ground. The evil almost seemed to seep through my boots. Then I took a few stealthy steps and peered around the corner. This was one of the holes that had puzzled me from the air, but I knew what it was the moment I stepped inside; Lius and Geremos had described the orcs' spawning grounds well enough.
    The cave was narrow and low-ceilinged, its walls bulging with wart-like structures. The smallest of these were nearly opaque; while the most-developed were clear as milky glass. A single fetal orc lay in each, hairless and sexless, its umbilical cord connecting it directly to the nourishing rock. Only after spawning, I'd been told, would they develop a taste for flesh. As I watched, I found myself drawn helplessly toward the nearest egg, which bulged as its cargo did a slow-motion roll. Soon the fetal orc had turned toward me, and I could see its tiny claws balled up before its face. As I watched, it lowered its hands and I found myself staring into the eyes of wide-awake malevolence.
    Reflexively I jerked away, and only my height saved me from cracking my head against the ceiling. The spawn was squirming now, scrabbling at its shell like a dog at a hole. Oh God, I prayed, don't let that thing get out of there! I had backpedaled all the way to the cave mouth before common sense finally took over. You kill creatures like this for a living, Kyriel! I berated myself, forcing a shaky laugh. Finally, as it became clear that the creature wasn't going anywhere, I pulled myself together and crept outside.
    There were several more spawning grounds around the rim, as well as living quarters for orcs and their human slaves. Softly I tiptoed from hole to hole, drawing sketches and making mental notes. On two or three occasions I ducked out of sight just in time to avoid catastrophe, but on the whole, I felt fairly secure. Most of the orcs were at the pits, and none of the caves so far had been guarded. Why would they be, when the only conceivable threat was a handful of cowed children barely strong enough to walk?
    But there was one cave on the far wall that boasted a pair of sentries almost as tall as I was. Whatever they were protecting, I would be willing to bet it wasn't egg sacs. Treasure? I wondered. The orcs were notorious pack rats. But if they trusted their security enough to leave the spawning grounds unattended, why would they guard a cave of gold and jewels? The children wouldn't have any use for them, trapped as they were. Well, then, I thought, was there anything they would have to guard from the children? I narrowed my eyes, staring hard at the opening as if I could force out its secret by will power alone. And gradually an idea formed, one which answered not only that question, but a couple of others, as well. All right, then, I told myself, I guess it's time for another flight.
    There was just one thing I had do first. From the pouch at my waist I pulled a soft black mask, identical in every way to the one Lius wore. When he'd originally commissioned the disguises (from a weaver-mage who owed him a favor), he'd planned on giving one of them to Geremos. But the old man preferred nostalgia to stealth, so the second mask hadn't seen much use until I came along.
    Lius had practically made me swear my life away before letting me borrow it. His excuse was that, since I could only wear the mask in human form, the orcs might mistake me for Zorro (assuming I was careless enough to be seen), and spoil our plans for a surprise attack. In reality, though, he was probably just as nervous about loaning out a family heirloom as he was about my being spotted; so in the end, I'd promised not to put on the mask unless it was absolutely necessary. Now it was. I ran the cloth through my fingers, deeply aware of my responsibility to it and its owners. Then I slipped it over my head and knotted it in the back.
    Immediately the world around me brightened, so much so that I felt more exposed than hidden. It was just a side effect of my body bringing itself in tune with the darkness, I knew, but that didn't make it any less unnerving. I found myself reluctant to tone down my own shadows, but I had to if I didn't want to end up looking like an ink blot under the torches. When I was satisfied that I was as close to invisible as I could get, I took to the air again and winged my way across to the far cave.
    Now came the really hard part. I chewed my lip as I stared down at the obstacle course I'd set for myself. Beneath me the cliff wall sloped sharply, a bumpy downward road of boulders and trenches. Roughly seven feet above the valley floor, it split to form a triangular cave about five and a half feet wide at the base. The two guards stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the entrance, their spear tips reaching almost to its apex. Getting past them would be the next best thing to impossible.
    When I was little, my friends and I used to play a game in the deep end of our local pool. One girl would face into the corner, hands and feet spread wide and gripping the sides of the pool, while the other tried to swim in between her arms and legs in as many ways as possible without touching her. Now I'd be doing the same thing again, only this time the stakes would be much higher. I paused a moment, letting out every ounce of air in my lungs to make myself as thin as I could. Then I swung around until I was on my stomach facing down and began my descent.
    Flying with wings (even insubstantial ones) is harder than you might expect, especially when control is a high priority. No matter how hard you try, there's always going to be some bobbing, almost as though you're treading water. So when you're trying to make your way down a rock face without actually touching it, you're bound to have trouble. Just to be on the safe side, I stayed as far from the wall as possible for as long as I dared, reigning in only when I'd descended to within a few feet of the guards' heads. I felt like a black fly on white Formica, but so far the pair hadn't noticed me. Thank God the mask included a scent inhibitor. Now if I could just slip inside without touching them or knocking any gravel loose....Carefully I drifted lower, pointing my toes behind me and stretching my arms out wide to the sides.
    The spear points were inches from my eyeballs when the nearest orc shifted position. I jumped as his head swung my way, and there was an awful scraping noise as my boots connected with rock. Cringing, I flattened myself out even more, but neither guard had looked up. I would have sighed if I'd had any breath left to do it with.
    When I'd picked up my courage, I started to move again--more slowly now--inching my way forward until my nose crested the lip of the cave and I had a bat's-eye view of the interior. If I'd seen anything looking back at me, I was prepared to jump right off the cliff face and head for the sky. Fortunately, the inside was bare: just a single wide tunnel twisting out of sight to the left. A faint sheen of torchlight stippled the walls.
    It was risky to go inside, but if my hunch was right, it was an risk I couldn't decline. Cautiously I slid down between the spear tips and the cave mouth, aware that the slightest wrong move would leave me tickling a hairy neck. Again the nearest guard shifted, but this time I held myself still with a supreme effort of will. Now my entire upper half was dangling in the open. I bent at the waist, trading cliff face for tunnel roof, and slithered the rest of the way into the cave, allowing myself a sigh once my toe tips were past the rim. Then I rolled over. The ceiling was still the safest place to hide, so I planned on staying airborne as long as I could.
    The cave I was in now was deeper than the spawning ground had been, and every few yards a tunnel branched off to one side or the other. But they were all silent and mostly unlit, so I continued down the main passage until I heard the distant mutter of orcish. All humans and demihumans used the same tongue in R², but there were baser creatures who did not. I couldn't make out a word of the discussion, but nothing in that guttural tongue sounded less than sinister.
    After nosing around several more corners, I finally reached the end of the tunnel--and the trio of orcs. From the look of it, they were involved in a business transaction. One orc, dressed like the one Lius had killed in the Tip, was offering a bag of gold to two others who looked like the ones I'd seen outside. Beside them was a pile of bags I guessed to be full of nghk. When they'd received their payment, they counted off eight bags to the Tip orc, who took them without a word. I nodded as the buyer collected his goods and turned aside, knowing I was about to see my hunch pay out.
    Business completed, the buyer stepped over to the wall, where a palm-sized stone was embedded at eye level. It was completely unremarkable except for the blue spiral on its face; but when he passed his hand over it, there was a loud snap and a curtain of sapphire light shimmered where the right-hand half of the wall had been. You can't tell me an orc made that, I thought, sighing. It was almost too beautiful for words.
    The demons, of course, were less impressed. Without so much as a backwards glance, the Tip orc stepped through the curtain, the light playing around him like a waterfall. He, too, disappeared; and for a moment, the spiral on the rock burned red, fading back to its original color only when the rock face reappeared. Finally, satisfied with their work, the dealers turned and started back towards my hiding place.
    Cursing myself for laxness, I backpedaled as quickly as I could into the nearest side chamber. It was pitch dark, but I had no trouble identifying the racks of treasures lining the walls. The cave was a storehouse, even if the guards outside were posted there for another reason. No wonder they wanted to keep the children out of here, I thought. If they found that portal, they'd be able to escape. Of course, the only way for me to find out what they'd be escaping to was to use it.
    Now the orcs were approaching my hiding place, and I held my breath. If they came into this room, I'd have no choice but to kill them--and again, that would spoil the coming surprise. But the footsteps shuffled on past, and I quicly returned to my pondering.
    There was little question that the portal led to the Tip, I thought, but suppose it opened in the middle of an orc den? I'd have a major battle on my hands, maybe too much of one to finish on my own. And even if I won or escaped, it would only take one surviving orc to slip through the portal and warn its cousins. On the other hand, Lius and Geremos had done a very thorough job of exploring the local dens, and if there'd been any portal stones like this one lying around, I felt sure they would have found them. No, the orcs weren't stupid. If they wanted to keep something safe from a tracker like Zorro, the last place they'd put it would be in their lair.
    I drummed my fingers on a jewel-laden shelf. Even if I thought the portal opened in a safe place, that wasn't a good enough reason to try it. But my curiosity was piqued, and I was determined to find a way to give in. All right, I thought, suppose I don't try it out. The only other way out of the cave was through the gate, and I definitely didn't relish the thought of a second obstacle run. Also, leaving the portal untouched would mean the orcs would have free use of it until we came back and finished them off; whereas, if I traced it to its other end, I might be able to disable it without alerting the bunch here that we were on to them. I thought a moment longer and decided the excuse would do. Then, feeling inordinately pleased with myself, I slipped back down to the portstone chamber.
    The place was just as I'd left it, except that the orcs had taken their torches out with them. In the darkness, the blue spiral glimmered with a trace of phosphorescence. My heart picked up as I lifted my hand to it. I had no idea if it would work for me; for all I knew it could be keyed to orc bodies alone. But then came the snap, a sound like an electrical discharge, and the blue curtain was back in place. Its light rippled across the cave walls like reflections from a pool.
    A little nervous now, I stepped slowly up to its edge and tried to peer through, but the other side was nothing but blackness. I wasn't about to turn back, but just to be safe, I decided I'd better unleash the Fury. First I slipped off the mask and stowed it in its bag; then I brought out my scarier half. And finally, raising my iron dagger to attack position, I stepped into the light.
    A tingle like static electricity passed along my body, sending the snakes into an uproar, and for a second I felt as if I were flying. There was a flash of blue, then a flash of black, and then my weight came back--just in time to send me plummeting over a ledge!
    Surprise kept me from using my wings until I'd fallen a good hundred feet, bouncing down a rugged cliff and breaking several bones in the process. The pain was excruciating, but at least it cleared away the shock and got me moving. Stoically I gathered myself together and waited out the healing process in midair. Then I returned to the point from which I'd fallen and took a good look around.
    So that was how the they kept their secret from Zorro, I thought, nodding to myself. The portstone at this end was fixed to an almost sheer rock face. No human being could have climbed it--or would have wanted to. As far as anyone could tell from a distance, there was nothing worth climbing for. But a determined orc who knew where to look could make the ascent. The main danger for him would come on the way back--remembering to take baby steps through the portal. And speaking of returning orcs....
    I backed away from the rock, scanning the cliff face until I caught the figure crouching in a crevice beneath me. I could only imagine what he'd thought, watching my dark shape barrel down the mountain after him, then rush up again without a second glance. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to think about it for very long.
    When he realized he'd been spotted, the orc leapt out with scimitar swinging. But it was a clumsy blow, hampered by the narrow confines of his hiding place. I grabbed his arm from above, hacked it off, and tossed it into the crevice.
    Of course, demons take a lot of killing. Howling with pain, the orc still managed to grab another weapon with its free hand and swing again. This time the blade cut deep into my side, threatening my aim, but I managed to bury the dagger in his throat before I lost all control.
    Each time I'd killed an animal in R², I'd felt the spark of life as it left the body; with humans and demihumans, there'd been the added satisfaction of justice served. From the demidemon I'd expected even more--perhaps a complete satiation of my spiritual hunger. But all I felt as I took this creature's life was the hiss of hot wind. It took me days to work out why this was, but when I did, I could only wonder that I hadn't seen it before: Orcs are filthy, vicious demons, but that's all they are. Killing one of them is like putting down a rabid dog. Only the human soul, the single creation in either reality which approaches the divine, can truly approach pure evil.


On to Part Four

architectural friezes courtesy of Randy D. Ralph at the Icon Bazaar

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