Army of Shadows

19

The casting overboard of Dweega galvanised many of the captive dwarfs. But they knew the Gatherers of old, and their terrible reputation. Angry as they were, and grief-stricken over Dweega, the dwarfs wanted to act but remained fearful. Spurral did her best to change that.

The whipping she and Kalgeck had taken left them pained and badly sore. There was no ministration from the Gatherers, not that they had expected any, but their fellow captives rallied round. They had been stripped of their few miserable valuables, with the exception of a small number of items even the slavers thought worthless. These included certain herbs and salves the dwarves habitually carried. They gave some relief, and speeded healing.

Although she hadn't welcomed the thrashing, Spurral was perversely grateful for it. It sharpened her appetite for revenge, and her fortitude earned her kudos among the other prisoners, making them more open to her whispered seditions. Kalgeck, too, seemed to find resolve in his punishment.

Spurral immediately set them to work making weapons. Nothing resembling blades could be pilfered. So they improvised bludgeons from pieces of timber and sacking. They made slingshots with strips of cloth, and sneaked peach-stones out of the crew's swill buckets for shot. Part of the reason they got away with it was that the slavers had no regard for them. They were too used to plundering the dwarfs' island without opposition, and saw them as timid, unresourceful creatures. The Gatherers had grown complacent, which suited Spurral.

The only time they could really work on the weapons was at night, belowdecks in their makeshift dormitory. In almost complete darkness, by touch.

Satisfied that lookouts were posted, Spurral and Kalgeck, sprawled on their mean sacking, were busy fashioning wooden hatchets.

"How can we fight with these?" Kalgeck whispered, holding up his crude effort.

"They only need to work once or twice. To get us some real weapons."

"Oh. Right. You know a lot about fighting, Spurral."

"I've done a lot of it. You?" She knew he hadn't.

"Not really."

"Then trust me."

"I overheard something Vant said today."

"What?"

"He said we'll be at our destination soon."

"How soon?"

"Didn't say. But it sounded like very soon."

"So the quicker we strike — "

"Wouldn't it be better to wait until we get wherever we're going? You know, and maybe make a break for it?"

"No. We don't know what we'll be up against when we dock. Here, we've got just the crew to deal with."

"Just?"

"They're flesh and blood. They bleed and die like anybody else."

"Including us."

"Listen, Kalgeck: characters like Salloss Vant dominate others in two ways. First, by force. Second, fear. They trade on their victims being afraid of what they might do. To overcome the Gatherers you have to overcome the fear."

"That's easily said."

"What's the worst they can do?"

"Kill us?"

"That depends on whether you think death's worse than enslavement and misery."

"And you don't."

"I don't want to die any more than you do. But I like the idea of this scum staying alive even less." She tried to make out his expression in the poor light. "You are still with me on this?"

He was a moment answering. "Yes."

"And the others?"

"Most of them, I think. But all of us are…"

"Afraid? There's no shame in it, Kalgeck. It's something we have to get over."

"Even you?" He sounded incredulous.

"Of course."

"You credit us with more courage than we deserve. We're not known for bravado."

"So-called courage isn't about doing something without fear. It's doing something despite fear. Show me somebody who doesn't feel dread in a fix like this and I'll show you a fool."

"Can we hope for help? From those who dropped from the sky with you?"

She had to smile, though he couldn't see it. "I know Jup and the others will be doing their best to find us. But we can't count on that. We have to suppose we're alone."

"What do you want us to do?"

"We need to seize an opportunity, and soon. Pass the word for everybody to be ready to act, and watch for my lead."

The sky was a breathtaking canvas of crystal-clear stars.

Night had not deterred or slowed the ship stalking the Wolverines' boats. It maintained the same distance and rate of knots, and had no trouble staying on course despite the orcs' vessels being completely unlit. The ship itself did bear lights, or at least gave off a soft illumination that couldn't be accounted for by lanterns. It progressed in an eerie glow, like a ghost ship.

On the first boat, Pepperdyne had managed to avoid contact with Standeven since they started out. Now he felt obliged to check with the man who, in spite of himself, he still thought of as his master.

Standeven remained in the seat he'd occupied since they began the journey, and hadn't exchanged more than a few words with anyone. It was a measure of how the others thought about him that, full as the boat was, he sat alone. He was staring at the ship trailing them when Pepperdyne perched beside him.

"Who do you think they are?" he asked in an undertone.

Standeven shrugged. "Who knows? But it's obvious what they're after."

"Is it?"

"Of course. What are the most valuable things on this boat?" He looked around furtively before answering his own question in an animated whisper. "The instrumentalities!"

"How would they know we've got them?"

"How did that group that attacked us in Acurial know?"

"You reckon it's them?"

"Perhaps. Or some other. It doesn't matter. What's important is that they understand the worth of the artefacts."

"What's your point?"

"We've let ourselves lose sight of what prizes they are."

"I thought we'd seen the sense in abandoning that idea."

"You might call it sense. I say anybody who turns their back on a fortune must be a fool."

"You can't still be thinking they could be taken. From an orc warband? That's insane."

"Given the power at stake, and the riches, it'd be worth the risk."

"Say we did get them. What then?"

"We'd use them to get out of this wretched world and — "

"How? We'd need Stryke's amulet too, and there's no way he'd let either that or the stars out of his sight."

"There's always a means, Pepperdyne."

"Like stealing them? The way the one Coilla had was taken back in Acurial?"

Standeven's face twisted. He raised his voice. "How often do I have to tell you — "

" Ssshhh! Keep it down. If the others get a hint of what you're thinking…" Heads had turned. Pepperdyne gave them a bland smile. When they lost interest he added, in an even lower tone, "You're forgetting something. The damn stars aren't working properly anyway. So what are you going to do? Keep trying in the hope of them taking us home? And if by some miracle we got there, what do you do about the debt you owe Kantor Hammrik?"

"There'd be no need to pay debts with the instrumentalities in our possession. Or to go home. We could find ourselves a pleasant world somewhere. Maybe one where the natives are so backward we could rule them. We'd be kings, Pepperdyne."

"Have you been drinking seawater? All this is crazy."

"Only to someone with the imagination of a worm."

"You're quite something, aren't you? It never entered your head that these orcs have become friends. Well, comrades at least. And you'd abandon them here."

"Maybe they're… friends to you, but we've been in nothing but trouble since you got us tied up with them. And what are they dragging us into now?"

"We're trying to help one of our own. It's called loyalty, if the word means anything to you."

"It means getting us killed."

"Stryke said he'd take us home. I believe him."

"Even if he kept his word, he'd still have the instrumentalities. I… we must have them."

"Let it go. It's wild talk."

Standeven didn't seem to be paying attention. He had a distracted look, and his head was half tilted, as though he was concentrating on something.

"What is it?" Pepperdyne asked.

"Can you hear anything?"

"Hear? Hear what?"

"I've been hearing a… melody. No, not that. It's faint but… it sounds like… voices, singing. There. Hear it?"

Pepperdyne listened. There was only the swish of oars cutting through water and the occasional mummer of other conversations. "No, I can't hear anything."

"You must be able to hear it."

"There's nothing. It's just the sea. It can play tricks."

He looked bewildered. "Is it? Perhaps you're right. I can't seem to… I don't hear it now."

"You've not been getting enough rest. None of us have. That probably accounts for it, and what you've been saying."

"My judgement's sound," Standeven replied indignantly. "I can see the logic of it even if you can't. I have to have the stars. They want me to."

"What? Get a grip, Standeven."

"You wouldn't have dared talk to me like that not long ago."

"That was then. Now's a different game. I don't know what's going on in that devious head of yours, but understand this: if you do anything stupid you're on your own."

"Obviously," he sneered.

"Look, there's no way I'm going to — "

He stopped when he saw Stryke rise and make his way to them.

"Everything all right?" the orc said.

It could have been Pepperdyne's imagination, but he thought there was a hint of suspicion in Stryke's voice. He considered telling him what Standeven had just said, but decided against it. "We're fine," he told him. "Just fine."

On the Gatherers' ship, dawn brought another round of drudgery. The dwarfs were hurried through their usual meal of stale bread and water. Then they were steered, blinking, to the deck, for chores to be handed out.

The slavers had divided the prisoners into arbitrary work gangs when they were first brought aboard, and seemed content to let them carry on. So Spurral and Kalgeck were again in the same group, making intrigues easier. They were assigned to the galley.

It was sizeable, longer than it was wide, and oppressively hot, even so early. A row of wood-burning kilns occupied one side of the room. All were in full flame, with a variety of pans, pots and kettles on their tops, seething and steaming. The two biggest stoves were being used to heat cauldrons of water, vessels large enough to accommodate a crouching dwarf.

The not-too-clean work surfaces were littered with cooking utensils and victuals: principally fish, along with some doubtful-looking meat, wheels of rock-hard cheese and loaves of the musty bread. There were a few bunches of limp, shrunken vegetables.

It was among these that Spurral noticed the protruding hilt of a knife. There were no other blades to be seen. Presumably they had been hidden from the captives, and this one overlooked. She nudged Kalgeck and indicated it with a subtle glance.

As the crewman watching them turned his attention to some bawling, Spurral whispered, "Can you sidetrack him?"

Kalgeck was taken aback, then resolved and nodded.

While the dwarfs were being gruffly assigned their tasks, he edged his way towards a shelf of stoneware. At its end stood a tall jug. Kalgeck shot an anxious look at the crewman's back. Then he reached up and swatted the jug off its shelf. It went down with a crash and shattered.

Silence fell, and the crewman spun round, looking furious. He strode to Kalgeck, red-faced.

"What the hell you playing at?"

"It was an accident. I — "

"Accident? You clumsy little swine!" He took a swipe at Kalgeck, landing a meaty smack. "I'll give you accident!" The blows continued to rain down on the dwarf's head and shoulders.

While everyone was distracted, Spurral quickly palmed the knife and slipped it up her sleeve. It had a short blade, but it was razor-sharp, and the coolness of the steel against her skin had a reassuring feel to it.

Kalgeck was still being clouted by the swearing crewman, and his arms were raised as he tried to protect himself. Spurral had a flash of regret at having involved him, and wondered how far the punishment would go. It crossed her mind to intervene and use the knife now. But no sooner had the thought occurred than the human, fury spent, ceased his pounding. He replaced it with even more colourful invective as he ordered Kalgeck to clear up the mess.

Down on hands and knees, gathering the pieces, Kalgeck caught Spurral's eye and gave her a wink.

Their group was set to washing dishes, carrying and fetching, bringing firewood from the hold to feed the kilns, and a variety of other duties. But nothing that involved anything sharp, such as preparing food. The galley crew took care of those tasks themselves, and Spurral feared they might notice a blade was missing. When there was no outcry she concluded they weren't methodical enough to realise.

The morning progressed in a grinding routine. One menial, back-breaking job after another was assigned, with the dwarfs spurred on with curses if they were lucky, kicks and punches if they weren't. At around noon all the captives were allowed out on deck to be fed. As usual, the fare dished up for them was even worse than the crew's own lacklustre chow. But the dwarfs, their appetites sharpened by the ceaseless labour, bolted it anyway.

Slumped on the sweltering deck, waiting for their short break to be rudely ended, some of them catnapped. Others exchanged whispers under disapproving gazes, or simply lounged, exhausted. For Spurral and Kalgeck, sitting with their backs to the rail, it was the first time they had had a chance to confer since Kalgeck's earlier hiding.

"You all right?" she asked from the corner of her mouth.

He nodded. Though his developing bruises seemed to tell a different story.

"Sorry I got you into trouble," she added.

"Don't be. It was worth it."

"Yeah. We got our first real weapon."

"And I pilfered these." He discreetly opened his hand. In his cupped palm were four or five objects that looked like pegs, made of wood with metal tips.

"What are they?"

He smiled. "Don't know much about seafaring, do you? They're kevels. You use them to secure ship's ropes. They'll make good shot for the slings."

She was impressed. "Smart thinking."

"When do we act, Spurral? Everybody's ready. Well, ready as they'll ever be. They're just waiting on your word."

"We have to pick the right — "

Kalgeck kicked the side of her leg and nodded up the deck.

Salloss Vant had appeared. It was the first time they'd seen him since the day before. He was accompanied by a couple of particularly rough-looking henchmen, and he didn't look happy. Moving in the peculiarly slinking, almost feline manner that had struck Spurral when she first saw him, the Gatherer captain positioned himself before them. As he did, other crewmen placed themselves around the captives.

" On your feet! " he barked.

The dwarfs reluctantly rose.

"Someone here has betrayed my trust," Vant said.

"What trust?" Spurral remarked under her breath.

"When I took you aboard I asked you to surrender to your fate," he went on. "It seems not all of you saw the wisdom in my advice." He regarded them with a baleful glare. "A knife has gone missing."

Spurral could have kicked herself for assuming she'd got away with it. "Looks like you'll get the word sooner than you thought," she whispered to Kalgeck.

His eyes widened. He began stealthily slipping a hand into his partly open shirt, seeking a weapon.

Spurral was aware that some of the dwarfs nearby were surreptitiously glancing her way.

"Is anyone going to own up to it now and take their punishment?" Vant demanded. Nobody spoke or moved. "So you're cowards as well as fools. Just what I expected from inbred scum. You'll all be flogged for your insolence. Those assigned to the galley this morning, stay on your feet! The rest of you, back on your arses!"

"Here we go," Spurral muttered.

She, Kalgeck and the five or six others in their group were left standing. They were more or less bunched, like a cluster of corn in a field otherwise flattened by a storm.

Vant scanned them. His malevolent eye fell upon Spurral and Kalgeck. "You two," he rumbled ominously. To his crew, he snapped, "Bring them here!"

The nearest pair of sailors headed for those still standing. They didn't bother to draw their weapons, taking it for granted there would be no resistance.

One of them made straight for Spurral, approaching with a merciless smirk on his grizzled face. She had her arms behind her back, out of his sight, and let the stolen knife slide down her sleeve and into her hand.

"Move, bitch," he grated.

Spurral swung round the blade, fast and hard, and buried it in his midriff. For good measure she thrust it into him twice more. The man looked as much bewildered as pained, staring down at the widening crimson patch with a bemused expression. As his legs buckled and he started to fold, she grabbed the hilt of his cutlass and dragged it from its scabbard. He was hitting the deck when she turned on the second man. This one appeared dumbfounded too. She took the benefit of his slow reaction and drove the blade into him, putting all her force behind it. He went down.

A pall of silent, disbelieving shock descended. Everyone, captives and crew, seemed spellbound. For one stomach-churning moment Spurral thought she was alone, that none of the others would move to support her.

Then Kalgeck shouted, "Now! Now! "

There was an explosion of movement and sound.

Dwarfs and men were shouting. Some screamed. Spurral saw three dwarfs piling into a crewman, pummelling him with their improvised hatchets. Somebody tugged free the man's sword and turned it on him. Another crewman staggered past with a female dwarf clinging to his back and repeatedly stabbing him with a seized dagger. Yet another was borne aloft by half a dozen captives and hurled yelling over the side. One of the henchmen beside Salloss Vant took a faceful of shot. He sank, writhing, to his knees. Everywhere there was chaos.

Kalgeck had got hold of the cutlass from the second man Spurral downed. He was no master with a sword, but the energy of his rage made up for the lack. Bellowing inarticulately, he laid into a knot of crewmen already besieged by his fellow islanders. Forced back to the rail, they were desperately trying to fend off their attackers.

Taken unawares, the Gatherers were faring badly. But Spurral knew the element of surprise wouldn't last long, and if the dwarfs didn't capitalise on it straightaway, they never would. Vant was wading into the dwarfs, swinging his sword like a madman. Spurral determined to settle with him.

She hadn't gone six paces when one of the crew blocked her way. He was armed with a cutlass and bent on stopping her. Spurral would have been happier meeting him with a staff, but she was as comfortable with a sword as with just about any other weapon. And now the bloodlust was on her. She charged.

He was strong. When their pealing blades collided it sent a jolt through her. The blows they exchanged were harsh, like rock on rock and just as unyielding. Despite her strapping dwarfish build, Spurral was nimbler, which kept her from reach. But her opponent was the single-minded sort and came on relentlessly. He was good at blocking her thrusts too, frustrating every attempt at breaking his guard.

They were close to stalemate when chance intervened. Spotting a crewman in the rigging, several dwarfs targeted him with their slingshots. The stinging bombardment made him lose his grip. Screaming, he plummeted to the deck, landing with a bone-shattering crash just behind Spurral's foe. It was enough of a distraction to make him turn, simultaneously dipping his guard.

Spurral didn't hesitate. She ran at him, cutlass at arm's length. The momentum took the blade deep into his chest. He went down heavily, falling backwards, the force of his collapse whipping the sword out of her hand. Thudding her boot on the corpse, she wrenched it free.

She straightened, panting, with sweat trickling from her brow. When she looked up, Salloss Vant was standing in front of her, bloody cutlass in hand.

He wore a demonic expression. His eyes burned like searing coals. When he spoke, he struggled to get the words out through his choking wrath. "You… are going… to… die. "

"You can try," she replied, trying to keep the foreboding out of her voice.

Done with words, he bellowed and came at her.