The human raiders turned left toward the distant stronghold, as Sly expected they would. The sound of their passing implied a sizeable band, no fewer than fifty. The noise, slow speed and amateurish warcraft implied that raiding wasn’t what most of these men did, day to day. This resembled a procession to a church picnic more than preparations for a siege. This was a special occasion.

  Sly drew a few more conclusions from the sight of men in leather, skins and bone. The peculiar spectacle confirmed that this place wasn’t Earth, if living and breathing orcs weren’t enough. No Forgotten Planet film crew or breathy voiceover followed the rite of passage, marking the transition from childhood to adulthood, but Sly guessed the short, beardless, and bizarrely dressed initiate would be a man tomorrow, if he lived that long.

  That they were heading toward the orc compound, Sly had no doubt. This man-child would kill, or be wounded honourably, or take coup and then withdraw, while the rest of the human tribe’s men had their fun with the orcs in the stronghold.

  ‘Fun’ wasn’t what Sly wanted for the orc foundling, who he’d named Sandal in his head. The raiders were human and the creatures in the stronghold resembled orcs, but he didn’t let chauvinism change his mind. He knew soldiers who, in the same situation, would help the humans attack the orc stronghold but personally he found the idea abhorrent. The stronghold clearly protected children, however inhuman in appearance. He felt the need to warn Sandal’s people that the raid was coming.

  Gus had the location of the stronghold mapped and Sly couldn’t see a quicker way to the stronghold than the trail the humans were traveling. They outnumbered him fifty to one. In his favour, the raid was amateur hour with no rear guard, and he followed their noise at an easy, loping pace.

  In his inventory of his bag that morning, Sly had found a cannister that gave him a chance to even the odds. Tear gas was typically used for riot control and to disperse crowds as it caused weeping, coughing, gasping, choking and nausea – terrifying sensations in combination, as he knew first-hand.

  Sly needed to use the cannister where the stronghold might see the smoke, so they would be warned, but where it wouldn’t be too late for the humans to escape back along the trail. He wanted them scared off, not dead. He checked the spot he’d found on the map and increased his speed, gaining on the back of the crowd.

  Not long now.

  From the sounds they made, most of the most enthusiastic participants were at the head of the raiding party, while older men formed a tapering group behind. They weren’t spread out along the trail. That was essential if his plan was to work.

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  Sly pulled the pin on the CS cannister, igniting the pyrotechnic charge that dispersed the gas. White opaque wisps immediately began to form, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a wet cloth, one of his own socks, before running forward. He saw the rear-most warrior in the group and threw the cannister as far forward as he could.

  Billowing smoke landed in the middle of the procession’s vanguard.

  Twenty men at the head of the party, including the initiate, were instantly struck by the effects of the gas, releasing wracking coughs and incoherent yells of fright. The heavy, roiling smoke spilled back and up, sluggishly drifting into the sky with the breeze. Sly put the wet sock in his mouth, holding it with his teeth and ignoring the taste, then readied the Sig.

  The smoke made it nearly impossible to see and he squinted about left and right, but his eyes started to burn before he spotted the beardless man-child. Gun in hand he stepped closer, then saw a couple of men hesitantly headed in his direction, so he dropped to one knee, not needing to fake a rasping cough, aimed and fired.

  The single report of the weapon was a sharp, abrupt and explosive crack. Most people only ever heard a gunshot on television, if they were lucky. Gunfire was loud, significantly louder than most everyday sounds, comparable to standing near a jet engine at take-off. Most of the raiding party flinched and froze, perhaps without knowing what a gunshot was.

  The impact on the initiate was naturally worse. The bullet through the meat of his upper leg knocked him off his feet and spun him like an ice-skating drunk. Sly had aimed for a through-and-through, missing bone and arteries, but knew accuracy couldn’t be guaranteed in the mist.

  Sly didn’t take time to slow down and check. Instead, he pushed up from his knee into a sprint and burst through the shocked and incapacitated men at the head of the group, shoulder-charging a burly guy into a trio of others. Then came the part of his plan he couldn’t control.

  With his lightweight armour and physical conditioning, Sly thought it likely he could reach the stronghold before the others carrying shields and spears, but he couldn’t guess what his reception would be at the orc’s front door.

  It hadn’t opened for him before.

  Sly misjudged the reaction times of the men following him. Angry sounds went up from behind, and a single sharp cry, a warning or a grunt of effort. Sly kept his arms pumping and legs pounding towards the wall and door in the distance, along a clear path now the smoke had gone. Then he glimpsed the long quivering shadow above.

  He channelled his inner running-back and jinked to one side. Instead of hitting him in the centre of his back, or the head, the rippling javelin smacked him in a padded shoulder and knocked him sideways. Surprised by the clout, Sly pulled himself straight and back into a run. He would be bruised but the weapon hadn’t penetrated his armour, which was the point.

  This time he reached the thick slab of a door, all the time expecting a response from the other side of the wall. Nothing – no archery or the throwing of stones or insults. Rattled, he slapped hard on the heavy wood with the flat of his hand.

  “Open up!” He guessed the occupants wouldn’t understand the words, but words weren’t everything in communication. “Open –”

  The door opened outwards, pushing him back, then a long, grey-green arm grabbed his armour and pulled him in through the gap.