Army of Shadows

22

Once the ship they had set on fire was out of sight, the Wolverines inspected their second craft. According to Pepperdyne, the only one with any real knowledge of boats, the damage was worse than he had first thought.

"That magic beam punched through the hull in a couple of places," he explained. "Kind of sprinkled it. Look, you can just see the burn marks around the holes."

Stryke leaned and nodded. "And?"

"It left us with a number of leaks. Small and slow, but a nuisance. We can patch them up, and get somebody bailing."

"So what's the problem?"

"I don't know how much the timbers might have been weakened by the hit. It could get worse, and we don't have what we need for a major repair."

"What can we do?"

"Stop at the next island we come to and hope it's got trees."

"We'd have to change course. That'd slow us."

"We'll slow a damn sight more if we sink. Where is the nearest island?"

Stryke took out the chart and unfolded it. "There," he said, jabbing at a spot.

"I'm not sure if this boat would make that."

"Great," Stryke sighed. "Any ideas?"

"When this sort of thing happened back in Trougath we'd lash the boats together."

"If this one sinks won't it take both boats down?"

"You have to look at it the other way round. The buoyancy of the good one keeps them both afloat. It's not ideal, Stryke, but it should get us there. Though joining the boats will slow down our speed, of course, and it'll steer like a cow."

"With that Pelli Madayar after us, this isn't a good time to fetter ourselves."

Pepperdyne shrugged. "Only other thing I can come up with is abandoning this boat and squeezing everybody into the good one. Mind you, that would slow us down a lot too. Not to mention things would be kind of crowded."

Stryke considered it. "No, we won't do that. It'd cramp our style too much if we have to fight. Take as much help as you need and see to the lashing. But do it fast; I feel like a sitting target."

"Right. Jup'll have to be told about the delay."

"I know, and he's not going to like it. You get on here. I'll tell him."

The boats were already linked by a couple of lengths of rope. And they were near enough to each other that Stryke could easily step over.

Jup was at the prow of boat one as usual. He was leaning over the side and stretching his arm to get his hand in the water.

"What are you doing?" Stryke asked.

Jup straightened and wiped his wet hand against his breeches. If anything, the sombre expression he'd worn since they set out was more intense. "I was trying farsight."

"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."

"And second?"

"Can you who dwell solely on the land imagine what it is to be dependent on water? We have to wallow in its life-giving essence several times a day. Our lives depend on it. A kelpie deprived of water dies a horrible and lingering death. We can hardly mount an uprising when weighed down with that necessity. I myself have to visit the shore daily to bathe. I don't doubt they will catch me there one day and kill me."

"No they won't. We're gonna help you."

"You are?"

"You bet," Coilla said.

"Definitely," Pepperdyne and Jup chorused.

The kelpie was taken aback. "The human too? What have we done to deserve this?"

"Let's just say we're like you: we value freedom," Stryke said. "Do you have a name?"

"Of course."

"What is it?"

"It would do you no good knowing, unless you're able to talk underwater."

"Er, no. That's not one of our skills."

"Just call me the kelpie."

"You have our protection. Come with us. You could probably use something to eat. What do you eat?"

"Not the hearts of hatchlings. Our appetites are wide-reaching, but given the choice we favour fish."

"We'll see what we can do."

On their way back to the others, Stryke asked Jup how he felt.

"I'm fearful of Spurral falling into the hands of scum like these goblins."

"So take it out on them until we find the Gatherers."

"I intend to."

"Good. I knew that'd cheer you up."

They waited for dark.

Under cover of night they positioned themselves around the goblin compound. Stryke had sent for the five guarding the boats, to up the numbers. But he kept Standeven well out of things, and relegated Wheam to a backup.

There were perhaps a dozen goblins visible. Most of them bore the metal-topped trident spears they favoured, but also carried blades. The rest of the goblins were either in the various buildings or on the beach near the anchored ships.

"We keep this simple," Stryke whispered to Coilla. "Get in fast, kill 'em."

"So how's that any different to what we usually do?"

"Ready?"

She nodded.

He signalled, and it was passed on.

The first move was down to the archers. They shot bolts into the compound that dropped five or six of the goblins before the others caught on. The next volley was of flaming arrows aimed at the buildings' rush roofs, for chaos' sake.

The blazing arrows were the signal to charge. Out of hiding, the Wolverines swept in from all sides. The goblins who had survived the arrow bombardment were recovering their balance, and the ones in the now-burning buildings had spilled out. Those on the beach, alerted by the fires, were hurrying back.

So the orcs faced the full compliment, and relished it.

Stryke lashed out at the first goblin he met. His blade severed the sinewy neck, sending its head bouncing across the sand. The next took steel to its guts. He disarmed a third by simply doing just that: he lopped off the creature's sword arm, then ran it through.

For Coilla, the lure of her throwing knives had proved too strong. Plucking them from the holsters strapped to her arms, she lobbed in rapid succession. A goblin fell with a blade in its eye; another stopped one with its back. Spotting a goblin rushing at her, its trident levelled, she struck it square to the chest. Yet another caught a knife in what would have been its privy parts, if it had any.

Pepperdyne had the by-now-familiar experience of confronting foes surprised to be facing a human. For the goblins, he guessed, humans meant Gatherers and grubby mutual interest. They were stunned to be attacked by one. Their initial hesitation was a bonus he seized. His sword hewed wiry flesh.

Haskeer, battling nearby and trying not to admire the human's style, spat on subtlety, as usual. He brought down the first goblin he came across with bare fists, then snapped its curved spine over his knee. The one after that he eviscerated.

All acquitted themselves well, even the seasoning tyros. But Jup outshone. He fought with a ferocity to equal that of the matchless orcs. Spurred by frustration and fury, drunk on bloodlust, he gave no quarter. Armed traditionally with his staff, and having a long-bladed knife to hand, he thundered into the goblins like a pint-sized tsunami. He shattered skulls and ripped through throats. Landing a particularly vicious blow, he propelled a goblin over the fence and into the kelpies' pool. They put paid to it with thrashing hooves and snapping teeth.

The moment arrived, as it does in every battle, when it dawned on the victors that there was no one left standing to fight. A quick search of the buildings that escaped the fire, and the surrounding area, confirmed it.

The kelpie prisoners were liberated. They scrambled from the pool and shook themselves. Some pawed the ground, as though that was a pleasure they had long been deprived of.

Stryke got his officers together, and the ageing kelpie joined them.

"We've got to make a choice," Stryke told them. "Either we push on to the Gatherers' island or we stay here in the hope that Spurral and the slavers turn up. You should have first say on this, Jup."

"I… I honestly don't know, chief. My instinct is to go on. Then again, knowing this is where the slaves are brought…"

"It's one place they are brought," the kelpie corrected. "This isn't the only island where goblins, and other races, collect slaves."

"Shit. So Spurral might not be brought here?"

"Don't despair. This is the most likely place. But your mate has not arrived yet, which, given when she was taken, makes me think the Gatherers are sticking to their pattern."

"What do you mean?"

"The time when they come has never been predictable, but the order of their coming is always the same. The Gatherers' next port of call after raiding the dwarfs' island is invariably our own. Take us to our island, Wolverines, and there's a chance this Spurral of yours can be found. There's nothing here for us. We want to go home."

"What do you think, Jup?" Stryke asked.

"Gods, this is getting so complicated. But it seems to make sense."

"You're forgetting that we've only got two small boats," Coilla reminded them, "and one of those damaged."

"And you're forgetting those," the kelpie said. "He tilted his head to indicate the beach and the anchored craft. "Why use a boat when you can have a ship?"

"I'd feel a damn sight better in one of those," Haskeer announced.

Stryke turned to Pepperdyne. "Could we handle one of those goblin ships?"

He took a look. "I reckon so."

"All right then. We leave at first light."

The kelpie nodded contentedly. "Good. I can assure you of a warm welcome. Few are as hospitable as the kelpies."