“I thought this much water stopped it working.”
“It does, mostly. I’m… I wanted to do
something
, you know?”
Stryke nodded.
“And I picked something up,” the dwarf added.
“You did?”
“A life force. Or maybe a whole lot of them clustered together. Really massive. Big enough to counter a lot of the water’s
masking effect.”
“Any idea what it is?”
“No. But it’s got an… atmosphere that I don’t like. Definitely didn’t feel friendly.”
“How far away?”
“Hard to say. The amount of energy it threw out, it could be a long way off. But my guess is that it isn’t too far.”
“Is it a threat?”
“Who knows? But like I said, it didn’t come over as pleasant.”
“We’ll be on our guard.” He considered his sergeant. “There’s nothing to say it’s anything to do with Spurral.”
“No. Not directly. But knowing she’s out there with… whatever isn’t a good feeling.”
“We’ve got to detour, Jup.”
“
What?
Why?”
“Pepperdyne says the other boat might sink if we don’t find an island and fix it.”
“Shit.” He looked over at boat two. Pepperdyne and several Wolverines were starting work. “What’re they doing?”
“Lashing the boats together.”
“Doesn’t that mean if one sinks —”
“I thought that. Pepperdyne says no.”
“Damn it, Stryke —first that elf tries to fry us and now this. Am I ever going to get to Spurral?”
“I’ll make it as quick as I can. We’ll be working all out.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“Meantime, you keep doing whatever it is you do with the farsight. We could use a warning if what you picked up comes our
way.”
“Sure. But if what I sensed comes our way a warning’s not going to help much.”
It didn’t take long to get the boats secured and plot a new course. The two-boat behemoth they created was ungainly and difficult
to manoeuvre, but Pepperdyne maintained it would get them to land.
After a faltering start, because of how cumbersome the vessel had become, they got the hang of handling it. They rowed hard,
and there was enough of a prevailing wind to make it worth raising the small sails.
Those who weren’t on rowing duty speculated on the mystery of Pelli Madayar’s group. Some looked forward to tangling with
the Gatherers by recounting previous battles, as orcs were wont to do, and garnished their tales with some light boasting.
A few concentrated on sharpening their weapons. Jup stayed at the prow, looking grim and occasionally dipping his hand in
the water. Standeven continued to occupy his lonely place at the stern. He seemed restless, and Pepperdyne, too busy to spend
time with him, nevertheless noticed that his one-time master’s eyes were rarely off Stryke.
They quickly fell back into toiling at the oars combined with breaks for rest and bluster. A couple of hours into this routine,
with the Sun well past its highest point, a lull developed. Wheam tried filling it.
He stood and cleared his throat. No one paid any attention. He cleared his throat again, louder and theatrically. Two or three
heads turned but most ignored him.
“Comrades!” he declared.
“Shipmates!”
Haskeer groaned.
“It occurred to me,” Wheam said, “that this could be the perfect time to give you all the first taste of the epic ballad I’ve
been composing.” He pointed a proud finger at his temple. “In my head.”
“You haven’t got your lute,” Coilla reminded him desperately.
“It doesn’t matter. All good verse should be as powerful whether spoken or sung.”
“How powerful is it if you keep it to yourself?” Haskeer said.
Wheam ploughed on. “This particular extract is about what we’re doing right now. It goes,
They were cast upon the briny deep
For their solemn oath they would keep
To rescue a lost comrade true
From the sea so very blue!
Ooohh
they battled magic mean and nasty
And their victory was proud and tar-sty
“That should be tasty. I need to work on something else that rhythms with nasty.”
“End my life,” Coilla pleaded. “Now.”
“Tasty?” Haskeer murmured, baffled.
“We could throw him overboard,” Stryke said with no trace of humour.
“Anyway,” Wheam continued, “the next bit is a kind of chorus. Feel free to join in.
They fought the elf
They fought the witch
One was a pest
The other a bitch!
Raise your flagons
Raise your trumpets
The Wolverines
Are no dunces!
“Things get really gripping now. In the next thirty verses —”
“Land ahoy!”
It could have been a lie. A frantic attempt by a tormented grunt to ease the pain. No one cared.
In reality, land was in sight. The dark, bumpy outline of an island could be seen on the horizon.
Haskeer raised his eyes heavenward and muttered, “Thank you, gods.”
“How we going to handle this, Stryke?” Coilla wanted to know. “If it’s inhabited, that is.”
“Choices?”
“The usual. Sneak, full frontal or parley.”
“Nothing special in mind?”
“Not knowing what the hell we’ll face, no.”
“We’ll try parley. After scouting the lay, of course.”
“’Course.”
“If it’s inhabited and they’re hostile,” Dallog said, “what then?”
“Friend or foe, we’ll get what we need,” Stryke vowed. “We’ve no time to waste.”
When they got nearer and the island’s features became clear, the saw that several ships were anchored in its largest bay.
“So it is inhabited,” Coilla said. “Or at least somebody’s visiting.”
“I’d say there’s a settlement,” Stryke reckoned. “Look. Just by the tree line there. Those are some sort of buildings, aren’t
they?”
She squinted. “Yes, I think they are.”
“Then we’ll circle from a distance and see if there’s somewhere quiet we can land.” He turned and shouted, “
Get those sails down, now! We don’t need spotting!
”
When they got round to the island’s far side they could see no signs of habitation. They headed for a small, deserted cove,
and managed to land on its sandy beach. Stryke ordered the twin boats to be hauled ashore and into the trees, then had them
camouflaged. Four privates, including Wheam, were assigned to guard the boats. Standeven was told to stay too, though he uncharacteristically
tried to object. Stryke led the rest of the band into the interior.
“Why are we going inland anyway?” Jup asked. “Don’t we have what we need where we landed?”
“Not really,” Pepperdyne answered. “We could use good seasoned timber for the repairs, and there’s nothing suitable. Some
serious tools would be handy too.”
“And our food and water are running down quicker than I thought they would,” Stryke admitted. “That settlement we saw seems
the best place to restock. Maybe we can pick up news of the Gatherers there, too.”
The island’s heart was dense with jungle, and hacking their way through was inevitably a slow job. Anxious to speed things,
Jup had suggested taking the much less obstructed coastal route. Stryke thought that would leave them too exposed and vetoed
the idea.
But the island was small, certainly compared to the dwarfs’ homeland, and the sun had still to set when they arrived at the
beachside settlement. They surveyed it from hiding places at the jungle’s edge.
There were around half a dozen dwellings of various sizes. An odd feature was a largish pool that had been dug in the clearing
in front of the buildings. It was fed with salt water by channels connecting it to the sea, and there was a stout wooden barrier
all around it. There were creatures of some kind splashing about in the water. They were of a fair size and dark-skinned,
but it was hard to make out what they were.
Other beings were present, and obviously in charge. These were instantly recognisable to the orcs.
“Fucking goblins!” Haskeer growled.
“I gather they’re not one of your favourite races,” Pepperdyne said.
“We’ve had run-ins,” Stryke told him.
“Maybe they’re different here,” Coilla ventured.
“Yeah, right,” Haskeer came back acerbically.
Pepperdyne was curious. “So what is it about them?”
“They’re ugly, back-stabbing, two-faced, mean, greedy, underhanded, stuck-up, cowardly, stinking bastards.”
“Those are their good points,” Coilla added.
“Given what we’ve known of them in the past,” Stryke said, “we’ll forget the parleying. Now let’s get some scouts out.”
When the pathfinders had left, stealthily blending into the jungle, the others settled to watch what was happening in the
encampment.
After a while, Coilla said, “Those creatures in the pool —I reckon they’re horses. Or maybe ponies.”
“Why would goblins keep horses in a saltwater pool?” Jup reasoned.
“I think Coilla could be onto something,” Stryke said thoughtfully.
“You reckon they’re horses? What are the goblins trying to do, teach them to swim?”
“No, not horses. Not exactly. And if I’m right, they wouldn’t need teaching.”
“So what do you think they are?”
“I want a closer look to be sure. Let’s think how we can do that.”
Zoda, one of the scouts he had sent out, returned at that point. “Chief, you better come and see what we’ve found.”
Stryke beckoned Coilla, Jup and Pepperdyne to accompany him. He left Haskeer in charge.
They followed Zoda into the jungle. It took just a few minutes to reach a clearing, an area where the vegetation had been
trampled flat and several trees bodily uprooted. Gleadeg, one of the other scouts, was waiting for them. He wasn’t alone.
Stryke took one look and said, “I was right.”
The creature before them did look like a horse, but not entirely so. It was about the same size as a pony, but much more muscular
and powerful-looking. With the exception of its mane, which was dark grey, it was completely black with no markings of any
kind save a little patch, again grey, about its eyes. Its skin wasn’t like a horse’s at all; it was smooth and oily in appearance,
resembling a seal’s coat. There was a very unusual aspect to its mane, too: it exuded a steady trickle of water, as though
it were a gently squeezed sponge. The water ran down the creature’s shiny flanks and fell in drops.
“You’re a kelpie?” Stryke asked.
“I am,” the water horse replied, its voice low and throaty. “And you are orcs.”
“You know us?”
“I know of your race.” He looked to Jup. “And I have communed with dwarfs.” The kelpie bobbed its great head in Pepperdyne’s
direction. “And I am more than familiar with his kind. Unhappily so.”
“I can vouch for this human. He means you and your kin no harm.”
“That’s hard to believe of his race. But he hasn’t yet struck me down or tried to enslave me so I must take your word for
it.”
Pepperdyne looked embarrassed.
“Your kind are rare where we come from,” Coilla said. “They say it’s wise to keep away from you, that you lure hatchlings
to watery graves so you can eat their hearts. It’s even said that you’re really the spirits of evil creatures who have died
badly.”
“Many untrue things are said about orcs too,” the kelpie replied. “Do you eat your young? Are you the twisted offspring of
elves? Do you murder the innocent for the sheer pleasure of it? Like you, we kelpies are subject to hatred and fear simply
because we are different and prefer a solitary path.”
“Well said.”
“There is one true story told about us, however. Above all else we value our freedom.” The subject was painful enough to mist
the kelpie’s startlingly blue eyes. “To us, enslavement is worse than death.”
“Yet it looks like that’s been your fate,” Stryke commented. “Why are you here?”
The kelpie looked to Pepperdyne again. “Because his folk brought us here by force, as they have since time out of mind.”
“Why is no one ever pleased to see me?” Pepperdyne asked.
“Now you know how we feel,” Coilla told him.
“The ones who brought you here,” Jup said, “are they called Gatherers?”
“Yes,” the kelpie confirmed.
“So how do the goblins fit into this?”
“The Gatherers are the catchers of slaves. The goblins buy. A few for themselves, but mostly to be sold on in turn. They stand
between the slavers and their prey’s ultimate masters. Their role is to match suitable slaves to the tasks they will undertake.
So it’s trolls or gnomes for islands where mining takes place, elves and brownies for houses of pleasure, gremlins for the
drudgery of scholarly work. Even orcs, to provide bodyguards for petty tyrants. Though they are notoriously hard to break,
you’ll be proud to hear.”
Coilla frowned. “There are islands here where orcs live?”
“Oh, yes. None near to this one, however, and even the Gatherers hesitate to try plundering them.”
“And what about kelpies? What sort of so-called owners are found for you?”
“We are in demand on many islands.”
“You have special skills?”
“No. It seems we make good meat.”
The silence that followed was broken by Jup. “How did you escape the goblins?”
“Purely by chance. A rare lapse of attention on their part let me seize the opportunity to get away. I believe the only reason
they haven’t mounted a search for me is because, as my kind counts time, I am old. Very old. My flesh would be too tough!”
He gave a watery, snorting laugh. “There’s no profit to them in wasting energy on me. Particularly as they are presently small
in number.”
“How small?” Stryke wanted to know.
“Barely two score. Normally there are many more present, but the rest are away delivering the latest batch of…
goods
. That’s why there are only kelpie prisoners here at the moment.”
“Why haven’t you tried to overcome them yourselves, while their numbers are low?”
“We are hampered in two ways. First, we have no leadership. It’s not our way. We are a fiercely independent breed.” He sighed.
“And look where it’s got us.”