As they rode, Jup said, “That was a near thing.”
“It just goes to show that you can’t trust humans,” Alfray remarked. “Mani
or
Uni.”
As far as Jennesta was concerned, the only good Uni was a dead Uni.
Certainly the Uni corpses half submerged in the bloody water-filled ditch she gazed into had proved useful in providing what she needed. Now, though, she saw it as a mixed blessing.
Jennesta’s intention had been to use the pool’s gory contents as a medium for farsight. It was a particularly beneficial tool when in the middle of a conflict. Knowing the enemy’s deployment gave an obvious advantage. The trouble was that no sooner had she begun scrying than Adpar’s smug face appeared in the pool.
At least Sanara’s priggish features were absent for once.
Jennesta suffered a moment’s barrage of insincere and empty greetings before interrupting. “This is not the most convenient time for chit-chat,” she snarled.
“Oh dear,”
Adpar’s likeness replied.
“And there was I thinking you’d be interested in news of those outlaws you’ve been getting so fussed about.”
Alarm drums pounded in Jennesta’s head. She adopted an air of sham indifference. “Outlaws? What outlaws?”
“You may come over as a good liar to your underlings, dear, but you could never fool me. So stop the little-girl-lost act, it’s sickening. We both know what I’m talking about.”
“Supposing I did. What could you possibly have to say on the matter?”
“Only that those you seek have another of the relics.”
“What?”
“Or perhaps you have no idea what I’m talking about. Again.”
“How did you come by this news?”
“I have my sources.”
“If you had anything to do with this —”
“Me?
And to do with what, exactly?
”
“It would be just like you to try to scupper my plans, Adpar.”
“So you have plans, do you? Perhaps I will take an interest after all.”
“Stay out of this, Adpar! If you so much as —”
“Ma’am!” someone called from nearby.
Jennesta looked up, glaring. General Mersadion was standing several paces away, looking like a child who’d come to announce he’d fouled himself.
“What is it?” she snapped.
“You told me to let you know when we reached the point of —”
“Yes, yes! I’ll be there!”
He backed off, humbly.
Jennesta turned back to Adpar’s grimacing visage. “You’ve not heard the last of this!” Then she slashed her hand through the icy, bloodied water, banishing the image.
She got to her feet and strode to the bowing general.
They were on a hill overlooking a battlefield. The battle about to start was not particularly large, having perhaps a thousand combatants on either side, but it was to be fought over a point of strategic importance.
The Queen’s side consisted of Manis, dwarves and orcs, the latter, as ever, forming the backbone. The other side was almost entirely composed of Unis, with a smattering of dwarves.
“I’m ready,” she told Mersadion. “Prepare the protection.”
He swiped down his hand and a row of orc buglers further along the hill turned their backs on the battlefield and sounded a shrill blast. Mersadion covered his eyes.
Down below, Jennesta’s army, hearing the signal, did the same thing. Much to the mystification of the Unis.
She raised her hands and wove a magical conjuration. Next she reached inside her cloak and produced an object resembling an extraordinarily large gem. The multi-faceted fist-sized jewel shimmered, its interior swirling with a myriad of colours.
She tossed it into the air.
Jennesta exerted no more than casual force, yet the bizarrely sized gem travelled up and up as though it were a feather caught by the wind. Many of the opposing army below saw it, glinting in the weak sunlight, and followed its climb with fascination. She noticed that a few of the enemy warriors aped her force and covered their eyes. There were always one or two smarter than the rest. But never enough.
The jewel rose lazily, turning slowly end on end, a glittering pinpoint of concentrated illumination.
Then it detonated with a silent flash of light that would have shamed a hundred thunderbolts.
The intense explosion of radiance lasted barely a second. It had hardly faded when the screaming started down below. The enemy were staggering in panic, pawing at their eyes, dropping their weapons, colliding with each other.
There was another blast from the bugles. Her army uncovered their eyes and rushed in for the slaughter.
Mersadion was at the Queen’s side.
“A useful addition to our armoury,” she said, “optical munitions.”
The screams of the helplessly blind were drifting up to them.
“We can’t use it too often, though,” she added. “They’ll be wise to it. And it is dreadfully draining.” She patted at her forehead with a lace handkerchief. “Bring me my horse.”
The General ran off to obey her order.
On the battlefield, the butchery reached a pitch. It was gratifying, but not her immediate concern.
Her mind was on the Wolverines.
The following days passed more or less uneventfully for the Wolverines.
Only Haskeer’s mood caused them concern. He swung between periods of elation and depression, and often said things they found difficult to understand. Alfray assured the band that their comrade was still recovering from an illness most elder-race members were lucky to survive, and that he should soon be on the mend. Stryke wasn’t alone in wondering when that would happen.
But this was put to the back of everyone’s mind when they arrived at Scratch on the evening of the third day.
The trolls’ homeland was in the centre of the Great Plains, as near as damn, but the terrain couldn’t have been more different to its lush surroundings. Rolling grassland gave way to shrub. In short order the shrub itself blended into shale, and the shale gave way to a landscape more rock than soil.
Scratch proper was heralded by a collection of what seemed to be ragged hills. Closer inspection revealed them to be rock. It was as though mountains had somehow been covered by earth to ninety per cent of their height, leaving only their rugged peaks exposed.
What the orcs knew, as everybody did, was that the action of water, aided by troll mining, had honeycombed the porous ground beneath with a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. What they held was a mystery. Few if any of those bold enough to enter had ever returned to tell their tale.
“How long has it been since anybody mounted an armed attack on this place?” Stryke wondered.
“I don’t know,” Coilla admitted. “Though it’s a good bet they were of greater strength than a depleted warband.”
“Kimball Hobrow seems to think he can do it.”
“He’s unlikely to go in with anything less than a small army. We’re not much more than a score.”
“We’re small in number, yes, but experienced, well armed, determined—”
“You don’t have to sell it to me, Stryke.” She smiled. “Not that I’m overly keen on anything that takes me away from the open air.” She glanced around the rocky terrain they were creeping through. “But none of this means a thing unless we can find a way in.”
“There’re said to be secret ways. We don’t have much hope of stumbling on any of those. But a main entrance is spoken of as well. That’d be a start.”
“Wouldn’t they hide a main entrance too?”
“They might not need to. They’d probably have it well guarded, and perhaps more importantly, the reputation Scratch has is enough to keep most away.”
“Right on cue. Look.”
She pointed at a massive outcropping of rock. The face it turned to them was a pool of blackness, much darker than any of the other jutting slabs around it. Staring hard, Stryke realised it was an opening.
They approached it warily.
It was a cave-like aperture, but not very big; the size perhaps of a modestly proportioned farmhouse. The interior seemed empty, though they couldn’t be entirely sure as it was so dark inside.
“Just a minute,” Coilla said. “This should help.”
She took a flint from her belt, and one of the cloths she used to polish her knives. Making fire, she ignited the twisted rag, producing just enough light for them to see a few steps ahead. They edged in.
“I’m beginning to think this is just a hollowed rock,” Stryke commented.
Coilla happened to glance down.
“Stop!”
she hissed, grabbing his arm. Her voice echoed. “Look.”
No more than three paces ahead of them was a cavernous hole in the ground. They crept to it and peered over, but couldn’t make out anything in its inky depths. Coilla dropped the burning cloth. They watched as it became a minute pinpoint of light, then vanished.
“Could be bottomless,” Coilla speculated.
“I doubt it. Anyway, unless the other search parties come up with anything better, this might be our only way in. Let’s get back.”
Greever Aulay fingered his eye-patch.
“It always hurts when those bastards are around,” he complained.
Lekmann gave a derisive laugh.
Aulay scowled. “You can mock. But it was paining like hell when we were in Jennesta’s palace with all those damn orcs about the place.”
“What do you think, Jabeez?” Lekmann said. “Reckon the boy’s got an orc sniffer in that empty socket of his?”
“Nah,” Blaan replied. “Reckon
he
does though, ever since one of ’em took his eye.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, the pair of you,” Aulay grumbled. “And don’t call me
boy
, Micah.”
Trinity was well behind them now. Their search hadn’t taken them into the Uni settlement. They wouldn’t be so foolhardy. But they knew from speaking to women working in the fields, to whom they presented themselves as good, upright Uni gentlemen, that the Wolverines had been there.
There had apparently been some kind of a fuss. But when Lekmann tried to find out exactly what, the women clammed up. All they could find out was that the orcs had done something bad enough that it warranted half the township chasing them clear over to Calyparr Inlet. Which seemed to point to the warband not being in league with the Unis. The bounty hunters didn’t care about that. All that concerned them was getting the relic, and as many renegade heads as they could carry back for the reward.
So they headed for Calyparr too, in the hope of picking up the trail. But they had wandered along the water’s edge for nearly a day now without seeing hide nor hair of the outlaws.
“I think we ain’t going to find them in these parts,” Blaan declared.
“You leave the thinking to me, big man,” Lekmann advised him. “It never was your strong point.”
“Maybe he’s right, Micah,” Aulay said. “If they were ever here, they’ve long gone.”
“Oh, so your eye ain’t that reliable after all,” Lekmann mocked.
Their exchange was cut short as they rounded a knot of trees.
Lekmann’s eyes widened. “Now what we got here?”
By the side of the trail was a pitiable makeshift camp. It was populated by a motley crew of human women, children and oldsters. They looked all but done in.
“Don’t see no men,” Aulay remarked. “None likely to trouble us at any rate.”
The humans, seeing the approaching riders, began to stir.
A woman detached herself from the rest and came forward. Her garb was grubby and her lengthy blonde hair was bound in a single strand. Lekmann thought there was a certain haughtiness about her.
She looked at the oddly matched trio. The tall, skinny one with the eye-patch. The short, hard-faced one with the scar. The one with no hair and built like a brick shit-house.
Lekmann gave her a leering smile. “Good day.”
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“You got nothing to worry about, ma’am. We’re just going about our business.” He looked the crowd over. “In fact we got a lot in common.”
“You’re Manis too?”
That was what he wanted. “Yes, ma’am. We’re just good gods-fearing folk like yourselves.”
She seemed relieved at that, but not much.
Lekmann slipped a foot from its stirrup. “Mind if we dismount?”
“I can’t stop you.”
He climbed off his horse, keeping his movements slow and deliberate so as not to spook them. Aulay and Blaan did the same.
Lekmann stretched. “Been riding a long time. It’s good to take a break.”
“Don’t think we’re being unneighbourly,” the woman told him, “but we’ve no food or water to share.”
“No matter. I can see you’re down on your luck. Been on the road long?”
“Feels like forever.”
“Where you from?”
“Ladygrove. There’s trouble in those parts.”
“There’s trouble in all parts, ma’am. These are tormented times and that’s a fact.”
She eyed Blaan and Aulay. “Your friends don’t say much.”
“Men of few words. More doers than talkers, you might say. But let’s not waste words ourselves. We stopped because we were hoping you could help us.”
“Like I said, we don’t have any —”
“No, not that way. It’s just that we’re looking for . . . certain parties, and as you’ve been travelling a while we thought you might have seen ’em.”
“We’ve seen precious few people on our journey.”
“I’m not talking people. I’m referring to a bunch of elder racers.”
What could have been a cloud of renewed suspicion passed across her face. “What race might that be?”
“Orcs.”
He thought the word hit some kind of target. The shutters seemed to come down behind her eyes. “Well, I don’t —”
“Yes we did, Mummy!”
The bounty hunters turned and saw a girl child skipping forward. “Those funny men with the marks on their faces,” she said. Her voice was nasal, as though she had a cold. “You remember!”
Lekmann knew they’d struck gold.
“Oh yes.” The woman strained to sound casual. “We did run into a group of them, couple of days back. Did no more than pass the time, really. They seemed in a hurry.”
Lekmann was about to put another question when the child came up to him.