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An army travels on its stomach . . .
- and rumour and gossip pervade the ranks like gas after cabbage soup . . .
Gromwakh looked out over the small platoon of wagons that bore the food to fuel the invasion. At least, he thought it was an invasion, from what he’d gleaned in conversation with the Orcs sent back to fetch supplies. They were a never-ending source of information – overlooked grunts and cooks, barely worth noticing by the captains and such; too stupid to understand anything other than sharp barked commands, or so they appeared to the ones they served. And true they often misheard or misunderstood what was said, but with a little poking and prodding of memory and a small bribe, much could be put together.
At any rate, it appeared the Elves didn’t know what was to happen, weren’t waiting for the Dark One’s army. ‘It’ll be a surprise!’ snorted a one-armed Orc from near the front. ‘There’ll be plenty of Elves to kill and trees to burn to the ground.’ He nodded firmly, punctuating his comments with a belch. ‘Cap’n says we’re to have whatever prizes we can find.’
‘You should live so long,’ thought Gromwakh to himself, ‘the only prize you’re likely to get is one of them sharp, shiny blades in your gut.’
He’d helped the Orc fill his sack with supplies and sent him on his way, when one of his own band motioned him over to the side of the track. ‘Old Kreblug here says he’s picked up some tasty information . . . be willing to trade it for two salted fish and a small jug of Deadman’s-jack. Grom’s brows raised as his jaundiced gaze swept over the wretched specimen who stood opposite him. Deadman’s-jack was a particularly foul drink brewed from the leavings of leftover vegetable peelings . . . Orcs would drink it, but only after exhausting their supply of Orc-draught. Grom could see the trembling of Kreblug’s hands and how he smacked his thick lips. The fellow was desperate for something to take the edge off . . .
‘Two fish, and a cup of jack,’ he said to Kreblug. Kreblug wavered, looking as if he might say ‘no’. But Grom sweetened the deal. ‘’And one cup every day that you bring me back news.’ He motioned for his fellow Orc to pour a cup for Kreblug.
‘Now tell us what you heard . . .’ he urged the desperate Orc, holding the cup just beyond his reach.
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