Coilla spoke out. “The Watchers don’t work properly because your kind’s bleeding the magic.”
“Magic,” Lekmann sneered. “You sub-humans and your fucking magic. Know what I think? I think it’s all horse shit.”
“You’re surrounded by it. You just can’t see it.”
“That’s enough!”
“If we find them orcs there’s gonna be fighting, ain’t there?” Blaan said.
“I’m thinking we’re just going to stay on their tails until they come out, then move. If we have to face ’em inside, well, we’re used to slipping a blade into somebody’s ribs on the quiet.”
“That sounds like your style,” Coilla remarked.
“I told you to shut your face.”
Aulay was unconvinced. “This ain’t much of a plan, Micah.”
“We work with what we got, Greever. Can you think of another way?”
“No.”
“No, you can’t. Be like Jabeez here, and leave the thinking chores to me. All right?”
“Right, Micah.”
Lekmann turned to Coilla. “As for you, you’ll behave down there and hold your tongue. “ ’Les’ you want to lose it. Got that?”
She gave him an icy stare.
“Micah,” Blaan said.
Lekmann sighed.
“Yes?”
“Hecklowe’s where all the races can go, right?”
“That’s right.”
“So there could be orcs there.”
“I’m banking on it, Jabeez. That’s why we’re here, remember?” His synthetic patience was wearing thin.
“So if we see orcs, how do we know if they’re the ones we’re looking for?”
Aulay grinned, displaying rotting teeth. “He’s got a point, Micah.”
Lekmann obviously hadn’t thought that aspect through. Finally he jabbed a thumb at Coilla. “She’ll point them out for us.”
“Like hell I will.”
He leered menacingly at her. “We’ll see about that.”
“So what do we do about weapons?” Aulay said.
“We’ll hand in our swords at the gates, but keep a little something in reserve.”
He took a knife from his belt and slipped it into his boot. Blaan and Aulay did the same, only Aulay hid two knives—a dagger in one boot, a thrower in the other.
“When we get down there you’ll say nothing,” Lekmann repeated to Coilla. “You ain’t our prisoner, you’re just with us. Got it?”
“You know I’m going to kill you for this, don’t you?” she replied evenly.
He tried to laugh that off. But he’d looked into her eyes and his performance was unconvincing. “Let’s go,” he said, spurring his horse.
They rode down to Hecklowe.
Near the gates, Aulay cut Coilla’s bonds and whispered to her, “Try to run and you get a blade in your arse.”
There was a small multiracial crowd at the gates, on foot and mounted, and a queue moving past a checkpoint where weapons were being handed in. The bounty hunters and Coilla got in line, and reached the checkpoint before they saw their first Watchers.
They were bipedal, but that was about as much resemblance as they had to flesh-and-blood creatures. Their bodies were solidly built and seemed to consist of a variety of metals. The arms, legs and barrel chests looked something like iron. Bands of burnished copper ran around their wrists and ankles. Another, wider band girdled their waists, and it could have been beaten gold. Where there were joints, at elbows, knees and fingers, silver rivets glistened.
Their heads were fashioned from a substance akin to steel and were almost completely round. They had large red gems for some kind of eyes, punched-hole “noses” and a slot of a mouth with sharpened metal teeth. On either side of their heads depressed openings acted as ears.
They were of uniform height, standing taller than any of the bounty hunters, and despite the nature of their bodies they moved with surprising suppleness. Yet they did not entirely mimic the motions of an organic lifeform, being given to occasional ungainliness and a tendency to lumber.
Their appearance could only be described as startling.
The humans placed their weapons in a Watcher’s outstretched arms and it moved off with them to a fortified gatehouse.
“Homunculi,” Coilla mouthed. “Created by sorcery.”
Aulay and Blaan exchanged awed glances. Lekmann tried to look casual.
Another Watcher arrived and dropped three wooden tags into Lekmann’s palm by way of receipts. Then it waved them into the town.
Lekmann passed out the tags as they walked. “See, told you it was no problem getting a few blades in.”
Stuffing his tag into a pocket, Aulay commented, “I thought they might have been a bit more thorough.”
“I reckon the so-called Council of Magicians running this place is losing its grip. But if they ain’t competent that’s good news for us.”
They made their way into the bustling streets, leading their horses and carefully keeping Coilla boxed in. Aulay saw to it that he covered her back, the better to deliver his threat.
Hecklowe swarmed with elder races. Gremlins, pixies and dwarves talked, argued, bargained and occasionally laughed together. Little groups of kobolds weaved through the crowd, chattering among themselves in their own unintelligible language. A line of stern-faced gnomes, pickaxes over shoulders, went purposefully about their business. Trolls wearing hoods as protection against the light were led by hired elf guides. Centaurs clopped along the cobbled roads, proudly aloof in the throng. There were even a few humans, though it was noticeable that they were less often to be seen mixing with other races.
“What now, Micah?” Aulay asked.
“We find an inn and work out our strategy.”
Blaan beamed. “Ale, good!”
“This ain’t no time to be getting all unnecessary, Jabeez,” Lekmann warned him. “We need clear heads for what has to be done. Got it?”
The man mountain sulked.
“But let’s get these horses stabled first,” Lekmann suggested. To Coilla he added, “Don’t get no smart ideas.”
They worked their way further into the port’s teeming thoroughfares. They passed stalls and handcarts brimming with sweetmeats, fish, breads, cheeses, fruit and vegetables. Costermongers sang out the quality of their trays of wares. Merchants pulled stubborn asses laden with bolts of cloth and sacks of spices. Wandering musicians, street performers and vociferous beggars added to the cacophony.
On corners, brazen succubus and incubus whores touted for customers with appetites jaded enough to brave the dangers of going with them. The smell of pellucid sweetened the air. It mingled with incense wafting from the open doors of a myriad of temples dedicated to every known pantheon of gods. Through it all Watchers patrolled, paths miraculously clearing for them in the chaos.
The bounty hunters found a stable run by a gremlin, and for a few coins housed their mounts. They continued on foot, Aulay still close to Coilla.
At one point she thought she glimpsed a couple of orcs, crossing a distant intersection. But a kirgizil dragon and its mean-faced kobold rider blocked her view and she couldn’t be sure.
Aulay, she noticed, was fidgeting with his eye-patch. He obviously hadn’t seen what she had, but for a moment she wondered if there might not be something in his “orc sense” after all.
She knew there was no reason orcs shouldn’t be here, although they were less likely because most of the orc nation was under arms, fighting others’ causes. As was their lot. If there were any they could be deserters, which wasn’t unknown, or on official business. That might mean they were searching for the renegade Wolverines. The other possibility, of course, was that the two she glimpsed
were
Wolverines. It was too fleeting for her to tell. She decided to be positive and allow herself some small hope.
“This’ll do,” Lekmann decided.
He pointed to an inn. A coarsely painted wooden sign hung over the door. It read:
The Werebeast and Broadsword
.
The place was jammed with boisterous drinkers.
“Get in there and find us somewhere to sit, Jabeez,” Lekmann instructed.
Blaan scanned the interior, then used his mass to barge through the press, the other three in his wake. With the innate instinct of a bully, he zeroed in on a group of pixies and turfed them out.
As soon as the bounty hunters and Coilla sat, an elf serving wench arrived. Lekmann opened his mouth to order. She plonked four pewter tankards of mead down on the table, reciting, “Take it or leave it.”
Blaan contemptuously tossed her some coins. She scooped them up and left.
The three humans’ heads came together for a hushed, conspiratorial discourse. Coilla leaned back in her chair with folded arms.
“The way I see it, we’ve got a small problem,” Lekmann whispered. “The ideal thing would be to get rid of this bitch first and be done with watching her. But if she’s sold we won’t have her to pick out the other orcs.”
“I told you,” Coilla said, “I’m not doing that.”
Lekmann bared his teeth and hissed, “We’ll
make
you.”
“How?”
“Leave it to me, Micah,” Aulay offered. “I’ll get her to do it.”
“Eat shit, one-eye,” she responded.
Aulay seethed.
“Look, let’s assume this crazy freak
ain’t
gonna help us,” Lekmann argued. “Which case it might be best if we split up. Me and Jabeez will look for somebody to buy her. You, Greever, can start searching for orcs.”
“Then what?”
“We meet back here in a couple of hours and pool stories.”
“Fine by me,” Aulay said, glaring at Coilla. “I’ll be glad to see the back of it.”
She took a deep draught of her ale and wiped the back of a hand across her mouth. “Couldn’t put it better myself.” She slammed her tankard down on Aulay’s hand. Hard. There was a loud crack. His face convulsed and he let out an agonised yell.
He stared at his little finger. His face was ashen, his eyes watered. “
She
. . .
broke
. . .
it
. . . ,” he whined through trembling lips. Fury twisting his face, he reached for a boot with his other hand. “
I’m gonna
. . .
kill you
. . . ,” he promised.
“Shut up, Greever!” Lekmann snapped. “There’s beings watching! You ain’t doing nothing to her, she’s valuable.”
“But she broke my little . . .”
“Stop being such a baby. Here.” He tossed over a rag. “Wrap this round it and close your trap.”
Coilla treated them all to a warm smile. “Well, let’s get me sold, shall we?” she purred sweetly.
“It’s more of them, isn’t it?” Stryke said.
“No doubt of it,” Jup confirmed. “Same as at Trinity, and that hunting party.”
They were concealed in a thicket, stretched flat and looking down at a camp in a hollow. It was occupied by a party of humans. The rest of the band had been ordered to stay back, out of sight, and from their position Stryke and Jup couldn’t see them.
The black-garbed humans undertaking various chores below were all males and numbered around twenty. They were conspicuously and heavily armed. A makeshift corral had been built for their horses, and near the centre of the camp a covered wagon was parked.
“
Shit
, that’s all we need,” Stryke sighed. “Hobrow’s custodians.”
“Well, we knew they were likely to be somewhere in the area. We couldn’t expect them to give up trying to get back the star we took.”
“We could do without it, though. There’s enough to worry about.”
“Do you reckon they might have Coilla or Haskeer?”
“Who knows? Do you think your farsight might help?”
“It hasn’t aided us much so far. But I’ll give it a try.”
He gouged a hole in the earth with his fingers and wormed a hand into it. Then he concentrated, eyes closed. Stryke held his peace and continued studying the camp.
Eventually Jup opened his eyes and let out a long breath.
“Well?”
“I picked up a faint orc presence, but I’d say it wasn’t as close as down there. It’s not too far away, though.”
“Is that all?”
“Just about. Couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Nor the direction. If those bastard humans weren’t so keen on eating our magic —”
“Look.”
Down in the camp, a figure was climbing from the back of the covered wagon. It was a human female. She was of an age where childhood had been left behind but womanhood had yet to blossom. The lingering puppy fat of youth, along with honey-coloured hair and china blue eyes, should have made her comely. But she wore a sullen, ill-tempered scowl and her mouth was mean.
“Oh, no,” Jup groaned.
“What?”
“Mercy Hobrow. The preacher’s daughter I told you about.”
She moved around the camp with a cavalier gait, yelling at the custodians. They jumped to obey her.
“She’s not much more than a hatchling,” Stryke said. “Yet she’s obviously issuing orders.”
“Tyrants are often distrustful. They’d prefer to use a member of their family rather than rely on outsiders. And it looks like he’s groomed his spawn well.”
“Yes, but leaving a . . .
child
in command?”
“Humans are all fucking mad, Stryke, you know that.”
Now the girl was laying about the custodians with a swish.
“Have those men no pride?” Stryke wondered.
“No doubt fear of her father is the stronger emotion. But you’re right about the error of giving her authority; they haven’t even put out any guards.”
Stryke whispered, “Don’t speak too soon.”
Jup made to say something. Stryke clamped a hand over his mouth and moved the dwarf’s head to face to their right. Two custodians were walking slowly toward their hiding place, swords drawn. Stryke removed his hand.
“They haven’t seen us,” Jup said.
“No. But if they carry on this way they will, or they’ll see the band.”
“We’ve got to take them out.”
“Right, and without alerting the others. Feel like being bait?”
Jup smiled wryly. “Do I have a choice?”
Stryke glanced at the approaching sentries. “Just give me enough time to get in position.” He snaked into the bushes, moving in the direction of the nearing sentries.
Jup counted to fifty in his head. Then he stood up and stepped out into the path of the sentries.
They froze, surprise on their faces.
He moved their way, hands well out from his sides, clear of his weapons. He added to their confusion by smiling.