One of the custodians barked, “Stay where you are!”
Jup kept coming and kept smiling.
The sentries raised their swords. Behind them, Stryke quietly emerged from the undergrowth, a dagger in his hand.
The custodian bellowed again. “Identify yourself!”
“I’m a
dwarf
,” Jup replied.
Stryke piled into them from the rear. Jup ran forward, drawing his own knife.
The four of them went down in a scrum of twisting limbs and flying fists. A few seconds of struggling sorted them into two separate fights. But the custodian’s swords were second-best at close quarters. Armed with knives, Jup and Stryke had the advantage.
Jup’s kill was quick. He saw the way clear to his opponent’s heart and took it. One blow was enough.
Stryke had more of a task. In the clash he lost his knife. Then his rival managed to get himself on top. He clutched his sword two-handed and made to bring it down like a dagger to Stryke’s chest. Stryke had hold of his forearms and pushed back. The stalemate was broken when he somehow found the strength to topple the human. A brief tussle for the sword was won by Stryke. He planted it in the custodian’s guts.
“Quick, let’s get their bodies out of sight,” Stryke ordered.
They were pulling the corpses into the undergrowth when three more sentries appeared from the opposite direction.
Jup swiftly whipped up his knife and lobbed it at one of them. The human took it in the midriff and hit the ground. His companions charged.
Orc and dwarf met them with drawn swords and they paired off to fence.
Aware of drawing attention from the camp, Stryke tried to end his foe as fast as possible. He went at the human furiously, pouring blows on him, and ducked and weaved to find an opening. The sheer force of his assault reduced the man’s defence to tatters. With a hefty swing, Stryke cleaved his neck.
Adopting similar tactics, Jup’s style was unsubtle frenzy. The custodian he faced parried the first half dozen blows, then flagged. Backing off, he started shouting. Jup moved in quickly and whacked him in the mouth with the flat of his blade. That put a stop to both the yelling and the human’s guard. A follow-through to his stomach settled the issue.
Stryke padded to the bushes and peered down at the camp. His fear that the shouts might have been heard proved unfounded. With Jup’s help, the bodies were concealed.
“What happens when they don’t report back?” the dwarf panted.
“Let’s not be here to find out.”
“So where to?”
“The only direction we haven’t tried—due east.”
“That takes us dangerously near to Cairnbarrow.”
“I know. Got a better plan?”
Jup slowly shook his head.
“Then let’s do it.”
It was half a day of hard riding before Jup said it. “Stryke, this is useless. There’s just too much land to cover.”
“We don’t give up on our comrades. We’re orcs.”
“Well, not
all
of us,” the dwarf reminded him, “but I’ll take being included as a compliment.”
His captain gave a tired smile. “You’re a Wolverine. I tend to forget your race.”
“It might be better for Maras-Dantia if more of us had such a poor memory in that respect.”
“Perhaps. But like I said, one thing we can’t forget is members of our band, whoever they are, whatever they’ve done.”
“I’m not saying we should abandon them, for the gods’ sake. It just seems so futile going about it this way.”
“You’ve come up with another plan?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Then whinging serves little purpose.” It was said harshly. Stryke moderated his tone when adding, “We’ll keep looking.”
“What about Cairnbarrow? We’re getting nearer all the time.”
“And we’ll get closer yet before I think of giving up.”
A pall of silence fell over them as they continued their east-ward trek.
Eventually they saw a rider galloping toward them from the direction they were heading.
Jup identified him. “It’s Seafe.”
Stryke halted the column.
Seafe arrived, pulling hard on the reins of his lathering horse. “Forward scout reporting, sir!”
Stryke nodded.
“We’ve found him, Captain! Sergeant Haskeer!”
“
What?
Where?”
“Mile or two north. But he’s not alone.”
“Don’t tell me. Hobrow’s men.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many of them?” Jup said.
“Hard to tell, Sergeant. Twenty, thirty.”
“And Hobrow himself?” Stryke asked.
“He’s there.”
“Any sign of Coilla?”
“Not that we could see. I left Talag keeping an eye on them.”
“All right. Well done, Seafe.” He turned and waved in the band. “Seems we’ve found Sergeant Haskeer,” he relayed. “But he’s being held by Hobrow’s Unis. Seafe’s going to lead us there. Be ready, and approach with stealth. Let’s go, Seafe.”
In due course they came to a ridge beyond which, Seafe explained, the terrain swept into a dip.
“I reckon it’d be better to dismount here and lead the horses, sir,” he suggested.
Stryke agreed and issued the order. They climbed quietly to an arrow’s shot away from the top of the rise.
“Guards?” Stryke said.
“A few,” Seafe confirmed.
“That’s our first priority, then.” What went through Stryke’s mind was how much harder it was operating with half a band. He summoned Hystykk, Calthmon, Gant and Finje. “Find the sentries and deal with them,” he ordered. “Then get yourselves back here.”
As they moved off, Jup said, “Think four’s enough?”
“I hope so. It’s all we can spare.” He collared a trooper. “Stay here with the horses, Reafdaw. When the others have finished with the guards, send them up.”
“We’ll be at the foot of that,” Seafe told Reafdaw, pointing to a particularly tall, gaunt tree that could just be seen above the rise. Reafdaw nodded.
Seafe led Stryke, Jup, Breggin, Toche and Jad up the rise. A pitiably small crew, Stryke reflected.
They reached the crest and found themselves looking down into a lightly wooded area. Keeping low they got to Talag, stretched out beneath the tall tree. He signed for them to focus on a gap in the greenery.
Through it, they saw a clearing where trees were dotted much more sparsely. A temporary camp had been set up, with two dozen or more custodians moving about it. To one side stood a horseless buggy. Its shafts rested on a couple of downed tree trunks.
“Where’s Haskeer?” Stryke whispered.
“Yonder,” Talag replied, indicating an area to the left where trees blinded the view.
They stayed in position for a good ten minutes, waiting for something significant to happen below. Then the other orcs returned. Gant gave the thumbs-up sign.
“Sure you got them all?” Stryke said.
“We covered the whole circuit, sir. If there were others, they were well hidden.”
“Well, they won’t be missed for long. Anything we do has to be soon. Are you sure you saw Haskeer down there, Seafe?”
“I’m sure, chief. Couldn’t mistake his ugly puss.” Hurriedly he added, “No offence, sir.”
Stryke smiled thinly. “That’s all right, trooper. I think we know what you mean.”
More empty time passed. They were starting to get jumpy when there was a commotion below. Some kind of movement could be seen through the trees. The orcs tensed.
Kimball Hobrow appeared, straight-backed, striding purposefully. He was shouting, but they couldn’t make out the words. Following him was a jeering mob of his black-costumed custodians.
They were frog-marching Haskeer.
His hands were tied behind his back and he staggered more than walked. Even from a distance it was obvious he’d been ill treated.
They took him to the middle of the clearing, by a high tree. A horse was brought over. The crowd hoisted him on to it.
Jup was puzzled. “They’re not going to let him go, surely?”
Stryke shook his head. “No way.”
One of the humans produced a noosed rope and slipped it over Haskeer’s head. The rope was secured around his neck and the other end tossed over a projecting bough. Eager hands pulled it taut.
“If we leave it another minute,” Jup whispered, “we’ll be watching a lynching.”
Stryke watched as the braying mob prepared for Haskeer’s hanging.
“I wouldn’t have your job at a time like this, chief,” Jup told him.
Down below, Hobrow climbed on to his buggy and stood on the seat. He raised his arms. The mob fell silent. “The Supreme Creator has seen fit to return our holy relic!” he boomed. “More than that, He has gifted us another!”
“They’ve got the stars,” Stryke said.
“And in His boundless wisdom, the Lord has also delivered to our justice one of the ungodly creatures who stole our birthright!” Hobrow pointed an accusing finger at Haskeer. “And today we have the sacred task of putting the sub-human to death!”
“Fuck that!” Stryke exclaimed. “If anybody’s going to kill Haskeer, it’s me.” As Hobrow ranted on, he beckoned over one of the grunts. “You’re the best archer we’ve got, Breggin. Could you hit that rope from here?”
Breggin squinted and studied the target. He sucked a finger and held it up. His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. Frowning, he considered the wind speed, angle of trajectory and force required to loose the shaft.
“No,” he said.
“. . . as we shall smite all our enemies with the aid of the Lord God Almighty, and . . .”
Stryke took another tack. “All right, Breggin. Take Seafe, Gant and Calthmon and get Reafdaw up here with the horses.
On the double!
”
The grunt scurried off.
“We’re going in?” Jup asked.
“We’ve no choice.” He nodded toward the clearing. “Assuming they don’t kill Haskeer first.”
“If they’re waiting for that windbag to stop talking we might have time yet.”
“. . . to His everlasting glory! Behold the Lord’s bounty!” Hobrow produced a small hessian sack and brought the stars out of it. He held them aloft and his followers roared.
Jup and Stryke looked at each other.
“. . . He moves in mysterious ways, brethren, His wonders to perform! Praise Him, and send this creature’s soul straight to perdition!”
Haskeer seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on.
Stryke glanced around. “They’d better hurry with those horses.”
Hobrow sliced his arm downward. Haskeer’s horse was struck on the flank with a whip. It bolted.
The grunts returned at a run, leading the horses.
Haskeer was suspended, feet kicking.
“Mount up!” Stryke barked. “I’m going for Haskeer. Jup, you’ll back me. The rest of you, kill some Unis!”
He rode full pelt through the trees with the band following.
They ducked forks and swishing branches as they rushed down the incline. They weaved around tree trunks. They goaded their mounts to greater speed.
Then exploded into the clearing.
The custodians outnumbered them perhaps three to one. But the orcs were mounted and had the element of surprise. They charged into the mob and laid about them. Shocked by the unexpected attack, the humans’ response was a shambles.
Haskeer squirmed and twisted on the end of the rope. Stryke fought desperately to get to him, Jup lashing out wildly at his side.
A howling wedge of humans came between their horses and separated them. Jup’s spooked mount turned in the flow and fetched up at a right angle in a sea of hostile blades. Cutting at them like a scythe against wheat, he fought desperately to right himself.
Stryke stayed on course but met just as much resistance. He ploughed into them with the horse, kicked out with his boots, pummelled their swords with his blade. A custodian leapt up and grabbed his belt, and tried pulling him from the saddle. Stryke cracked his skull and sent him flying back into the throng.
Above the clamour, Hobrow could be heard screaming curses and loudly invoking the name of his god.
Battling on, Stryke caught sight of two of the grunts ploughing into the back of the mob surrounding him. The diversion drew away enough custodians to give him a fighting chance of reaching Haskeer. Only a pair of humans barred his way. He despatched the first with a downward swipe that hewed his throat. The second he hacked in the face. He fell, hands to the flowing gash.
Finally getting to Haskeer, Stryke found he’d stopped struggling and was hanging limply. It looked as if it was too late.
Suddenly Jup arrived. He manoeuvred his horse beneath Haskeer’s dangling feet and seized his legs. “Hurry, Stryke!” he yelled.
Stryke stood in his stirrups and slashed through the rope. Jup gasped as he took the orc’s apparently dead weight. Between them, awkwardly and very nearly unsuccessfully, Jup and Stryke got Haskeer over the dwarf’s horse.
“Get him clear!” Stryke hollered.
Jup nodded and started to move off. A custodian blocked his way, waving his arms in an attempt to panic the horse. Jup rode him down. Then he headed for the treeline, taking a serpentine route in the hope of avoiding scattered humans.
Members of the band were embroiled in actions all over the clearing. Stryke looked towards the buggy. A couple of custodians stood there, trying to protect Hobrow. He was still shouting orders and hurling oaths. The sack was clutched in his hand.
Stryke decided to go for it.
He spurred his horse, but got only a short way before three custodians blocked his path. Stryke had enough speed up that he simply galloped by the first, who slashed at him ineffectually as he passed. The other two, further along, were more artful. They rushed in at him from either side. One directed an axe blow at Stryke’s leg. It narrowly missed. The other leapt, intending to unhorse him. He was still in the air when Stryke’s thrusting elbow met him on the bridge of his nose. The man spiralled away. Stryke resumed the dash.
In the greater mêlée, Seafe was pulled from his horse. He stood his ground against three or four encroaching custodians. Then Calthmon bowled into them and managed to haul Seafe on to his own mount.
Hobrow saw Stryke approaching and cowered, shouting for his pair of defenders to protect him. Almost immediately one of them was cut down by a passing orc. Stryke thundered in and buried his blade in the other’s skull. But the victim went down with the embedded sword and it was lost.