Stryke stood at the bow of his vessel. Almost without thinking, he patted his pouch containing the instrumentalities.
Then the oars cut into the foaming water and they set off.
The young officer who brought Jennesta the news had been part of the retinue that accompanied her from Peczan. So he knew her temper, and dreaded her reaction.
When he presented himself at her tent in the makeshift camp near the coast in Acurial she was alone. At least as far as other living beings were concerned. As usual, several of her undead bodyguards were present, shuffling vacantly in the background.
“What do you want?” she asked languidly as he entered. She didn’t bother looking up.
He bowed. “M’lady, I’ve word of the hunt for the Wolverines you ordered.” She said nothing so he ploughed on. “I regret having to tell you that they… got away.” He braced himself for the storm.
But she was calm. “How?”
“That’s what’s extraordinary, my lady. We had them in sight, in the woods. Then they… somehow they…
vanished
. Or not quite vanished. They… I have no words to describe it, m’lady.”
She didn’t seem surprised. “Then don’t try. It’s obviously beyond you.”
“There’s more, ma’am, if it pleases you.”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we? What is it?”
“Ours wasn’t the only force out there. There was some other group. Small, but possessing powerful magic. They seemed to be after the orc band, too, ma’am. And once the orcs… went, we were anxious this group might have turned their magic on us.”
“How was this group made up?”
“That’s another strange thing, ma’am.”
“It has been an unsettling night for you, hasn’t it, Major?”
“We didn’t get too close a look at them, my lady, but many of the men swear they weren’t human. Not like orcs or —” He was about to say
you
, and thanked the gods he checked himself. “Not like orcs. These were many different kinds of creatures, unlike anything we’ve ever seen before.”
“If you’re to thrive in my service you’ll learn to take
strange things
in your stride. Is that all?”
He was surprised, if not shocked, that she took what seemed to him bad news so evenly. “We’ve also had reports that bands of liberated… that’s to say
rebellious
orcs are roaming this area. We’re not in the most secure of positions, ma’am.”
“We won’t be here long.”
“What are your orders, my lady?”
“My intention is to follow them.”
“My lady?”
“The band of orcs. The
Wolverines
.”
He was baffled. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but… how? By ship?”
“No, you fool. There never was a ship expected. And no vessel could follow where they went.”
“Then, my lady, how…?”
“I have the means. Though I warn you that you might find the journey a little… exhilarating. What’s the matter, Major? You look uneasy.” She was poking fun, not inquiring after his well-being.
“Nothing’s wrong, thank you, ma’am.”
“Good. Because if I thought that you or any other of my followers might baulk at the manner of our going from this place… Well, perhaps an illustration will serve.” She reached for a small silver bell standing on the arm of her couch. It tinkled lightly.
In response, the tent flaps rustled and were clumsily pulled aside. A figure lumbered in. It was another of her zombie slaves. Superficially, it looked like all the others the major had encountered. Its eyes were glassy, and lacked any hint of compassion. The skin that could be seen, on the face and hands, had the sickly pallor of a long-mummified corpse.
The being lurched forward a few steps, then halted, adopting a grotesque parody of standing to attention. And the major couldn’t help but notice that it gave off the vile odour of decomposing flesh.
“The latest of my attendants,” Jennesta explained. “Study him closely. I think you may have been acquainted, albeit loosely.”
He stared at the swaying abomination.
“Come on, Major!” she urged. “There’s enough of the original features left for you to make out who this is, surely? He was a man of some distinction, for a while.”
Realisation began to dawn. The major’s face took on an appalled expression.
“Ah, I see you
do
recognise our visitor. But let me formally introduce you. Say hello to General Kapple Hacher, late governor of this province.”
The creature that had been Hacher was drooling.
“Consider him closely,” Jennesta said, icy now. “Because in him you see the destiny of any who would seek to thwart me or disregard my wishes. Make no mistake, Major; I could as easily command an army of his kind as a rabble of free-thinkers. Make sure you and your comrades give me no reason to do so.”
He nodded, words being hard for him to summon.
“Prepare for our departure,” she ordered. “Oh, and do spread the word about the general’s new status, won’t you? Now leave me.”
He bowed and turned to go.
“And Major.”
“Ma’am?”
“See to it that I’m not disturbed.”
The officer gave another quick bow and departed, ashen-faced.
Ignoring the undead Hacher and her other flesh puppets, she stooped and pulled a small chest from under the couch. It was steel-banded and had an elaborate lock, but its real protection lay in the enchantment Jennesta had cast upon it: a spell only she could negate without fatal consequences. Inside the chest was another, slightly smaller, fashioned from pure silver. This, too, was bound with a charm. Once it was opened, she gazed at her greatest treasure.
The instrumentalities were identical to the ones she had purloined from the Wolverines: sandy-coloured, green, dark blue, grey, red; each with varying numbers of projecting spikes. Knowing that even her magic wasn’t powerful or subtle enough to create a set from scratch, she had studied and laboured for years to perfect a way of duplicating them. The faultless copies she now ran loving fingers over vindicated her efforts. She knew they would do everything the set the doltish orcs possessed could do. They could do
more
, given she was so much better versed in their potential.
She looked forward with relish to pursuing the warband. But first she had somewhere else to go.
Beyond the vale of the worlds, the Wolverines’ two sturdy boats sailed on.
They were lucky with the weather: the sea was calm and the sky clear, which meant the pair of craft could travel within a short hailing distance of each other. That was useful for Pepperdyne, who was able to bawl instructions to the second vessel when it was doubtfully handled. Coilla, in charge of the second boat, was grateful for the guidance. Haskeer was less enamoured of a human bellowing orders at them.
Stryke, Jup and Dallog were the high-rankers on the boat Pepperdyne skippered. Standeven was aboard too, typically seated as far from the others as possible, and looking bilious despite the millpond sea.
Pepperdyne had been navigating by the Sun and, earlier, by the fast-fading stars as dawn broke, using a basic star chart he had got from the elder. It was a crude method, and he was anxious for some kind of landmark to confirm their position. At around noon, he got it.
Jup pointed. “There!”
Far off, they could just make out three or four dark bumps rising from the sea’s otherwise featureless surface.
“You’ve good eyesight,” Pepperdyne complimented.
“But they are islands, right?”
“Have to be,” Stryke replied. He had the chart spread on a bench, and tapped a particular spot. “These, I reckon.”
Pepperdyne leaned in for a look. “I think you’re right.”
“So we’re on course?”
The human nodded. “More or less.”
“But how much can we trust the map?” Jup wondered.
“It seems true so far. Though my hunch is that it covers just the immediate area.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Only if we have to go outside what the map shows, for any reason. Into what would be, for us, uncharted seas. If this world’s all ocean there are probably a damn sight more islands than on here.”
“I heard one of those dwarf children come out with an old saying,” Dallog informed them. “It was about there being as many islands as there are stars in the sky.”
“Poetic, but not very helpful if we have to travel further than this chart.”
“I don’t see the need to,” Stryke said. “The map tells us where we started and where we need to get to. Anything else happens, we’ll deal with it.”
“Hope you’re right,” Jup remarked. “For Spurral’s sake.”
They had seen the chain of islands on the second boat too.
Wheam was particularly excited at their first sight of landfall. “This is an important moment. It should be celebrated. It
will be, in the epic ballad I’m going to make out of this voyage.”
“Oh joy,” Haskeer intoned flatly.
“If only I had my lute. I always found it so much easier to word-weave with that in my hands. It was such a blow losing it.”
“Yeah, a real tragedy.”
“You’ll just have to compose it in your head,” Coilla suggested.
“If there’s enough room in there,” Haskeer muttered.
Wheam was oblivious to barbs. “This ballad could be the making of me as a songsmith. Once I perform it —”
“You know,” Coilla told him, “you really showed some promise back there in Acurial. When you lost your temper with that human
over your lute.”
“He made me angry. But —”
“Exactly. It brought out your orcishness. Don’t you think it’s better to try being what you were born for than —”
“Poncing about like a limp-wristed fop with water for blood,” Haskeer finished for her.
“Not
quite
the way I’d have put it,” Coilla admitted, “but not far off.”
“Why can’t I be a warrior
and
a bard? A
warrior-bard
.”
“Don’t think there have been too many of those among our race.”
“Then I’ll be the first!”
“Just focus on the warrior bit. It’s more likely to keep you alive.”
“I don’t see why I —”
“Just a minute.” She was staring out to sea.
“But —”
“
Quiet
. Look.” Coilla stretched an arm to indicate something she’d seen.
“What?” Haskeer said. “Another island?”
“No. Something small, and not far off. See it?”
He squinted, a hand shading his eyes. “Yeah. What is
that?”
“Dunno. Could be just a bit of flotsam.
Hang on
. Something moved.”
“I think it’s somebody waving,” Wheam reckoned.
“You could be right,” Coilla agreed. She stood up and hailed the other boat, then gestured towards the object.
Stryke judged it something worth investigating, and ordered the boats to alter course.
As they got nearer, they saw that it was indeed a figure, clinging to a chunk of driftwood.
“It’s a dwarf!” Jup exclaimed.
“And female,” Pepperdyne added.
When they reached the castaway, oars were upped on one side of Stryke’s boat and she was hauled aboard. They laid her on the
deck. She was obviously exhausted, and parched from exposure to the Sun, but didn’t seem to be seriously hurt. Though she
was very frightened.
“It’s all right,” Jup soothed. “Here, drink this.” He pressed a canteen of water to her lips. “Steady, steady. Not too fast.”
“I recognise her,” Dallog decided.
“I think I do, too,” Pepperdyne said. “From the island.”
Jup grew animated. “Then she must have been taken with the others.” He began lightly slapping the girl’s cheeks. “Come on.
Wake
up
.”
“Go easy on her,” Stryke warned. “She’ll come out of it in her own time.”
“Here.” Pepperdyne handed Jup a brandy flask. “Try her with a little of this.”
A trickle of the fiery liquid had the girl coughing, but it put some colour into her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered and opened,
and she looked up at them fearfully.
“Everything’s all right,” Jup assured her gently. “How’re you feeling?”
She groaned and tried to say something.
“What’s your name?”
She managed, “
Dweega
.” Then she focused and recognised him.
“The… god.”
“Well, not really.”
“I… know. She told… me.”
“
She?
Who told you? Was it Spurral, Dweega? Remember? She was with us on your island.”
Dweega nodded.
“She’s alive?” Jup asked, not daring to hope.
“Yes.”
Jup punched the air.
“I knew it!”
“But…”
He sobered. “What?”
“The… Gatherers… Salloss Vant…”
“Who?”
“She’s done in,” Stryke declared. “Let her rest for a while. At least we know Spurral’s alive.”
“Or was when this one last saw her.”
“Which probably wasn’t that long ago,” Pepperdyne offered. “You don’t get much time when you’re adrift, what with the Sun
and lack of water. She might only have been out here for a matter of hours.”
“Which means the Gatherers’ ship can’t be far off.”
“Yes. Assuming that’s where this girl came from, which seems a good bet.”
“But which direction?” Jup scanned the ocean.
“Our best plan’s to keep going for the Gatherers’ base,” Stryke decided. “Chances are that’s where they’re heading.”
Jup nodded at Dweega. “So how come this one ended up in the drink?”
“Noticed her leg?” Dallog asked.
They looked, and saw that one of the girl’s legs was twisted and distended.
“That’s not a recent injury,” Dallog continued. “I’d say it’s been like that for quite a while. Maybe she was born that way.”
Jup’s face clouded. “You’re saying those bastards dumped her overboard because of it?”
“They’re slavers. They’ve no use for faulty produce.”
“Shit. What’s Spurral gotten herself into?”
“They’ve no reason to do the same with her,” Stryke reminded him.
“Far as we know. And she’s not one to take bullshit from anybody. She could provoke them and —”
“She’s smart, Jup. Seems to me she’ll know how to play it.”
The dwarf nodded, but looked doubtful.
“We push on,” Stryke said. “Give this girl dry clothes and see if you can get some food down her. Once she rallies she might
tell us more.”