Noskaa grinned. “Yeah, they’re shy of us now, and they’ve enough to do fighting the fires.”
“Good work,” Stryke said. He turned to Dallog. “How’s Chuss?”
“He’ll be fine,” the corporal answered sullenly.
“Any other casualties?”
“Only minor.”
“Right, we’re leaving.”
“What about Harglo?”
“We haven’t got time for a proper send-off for him. Sorry.”
“We’re not going to leave him here?”
“Sometimes, when an orc dies in the field, we’ve no choice.”
“It wouldn’t take long to build a pyre. If we all-”
“No.”
“I’ve got to face his kin when we get back, Stryke, if we get back, and I don’t relish having to tell them we couldn’t dispatch him decently with a few words said.”
“I feel as bad about it as you do, but we’ve got to move,” Stryke insisted.
“Do you?” There was an edge to Dallog’s voice.
“Can I suggest something?” Pepperdyne said. All heads turned his way, more than a few looking resentful at a human apparently interfering in something so orcish. “Why don’t we take Harglo with us and bury him at sea? That’d give you time to do it properly and have whatever sort of service you want. It’s what my people used to do.”
“We’re not your people,” Dallog muttered.
Stryke nodded. “All right, we’ll do it.”
“We can’t,” Dallog protested. “An orc should go out of the world in flame, or at least be buried deep. Not flung into the sea like some-”
“It’s that or we leave him.”
For a moment it looked as though Dallog would keep arguing. Instead he replied, “Whatever you say, Captain.”
They loaded the water and caught the tide. The winds were fair and they made good progress. Even from afar, tall columns of black smoke could be seen rising from the fauns’ island.
When they were well under way they turned their attention to Harglo. Dallog insisted on taking care of everything. As keeper of the band’s standard he carried spare pennants. A couple were stitched together and used as a shroud, tightly bound.
The band gathered on deck. As the mate of a Wolverine, there was no objection to Spurral being present. But Stryke worried that having humans there could antagonise the band. So Pepperdyne stayed up on the bridge, along with Standeven, although they could hear what was said.
Dallog carried on the tradition started by his dead predecessor, Alfray, and conducted the ceremony. Given the respect for Alfray, and the hostility some felt towards the new intake, that didn’t please everybody; particularly Haskeer, who stayed sour faced throughout.
After saying something about Harglo’s character, qualities and clan background, Dallog evoked the Tetrad, the orcs’ quartet of principal deities, commonly known as the Square. The young recruit’s spirit was commended to Wystendel, god of comradeship, Neaphetar, god of war, Aik, god of wine, and Zeenoth, goddess of fornication. Then the corpse, sliding from a tilted plank, was consigned to the depths.
Normally this would have been followed by the taking of excessive amounts of wine and pellucid, accompanied by overblown stories about the deceased’s exploits and the singing of heroic songs. But given the circumstances this was deferred to a later date. Wheam announced that he was composing an epic ballad honouring Harglo, the performance of which was also deferred, to a date to be decided.
When it was over, and the band had scattered to their duties, Stryke took Dallog aside.
“That was done well,” he said.
“Not well enough for some in the band, I think,” Dallog replied frostily.
“It’s true you’re not Alfray, and a few begrudge that. But you’re your own orc and you did as good a job as he would have, in your way.”
“The belief seems to be that I don’t care for my charges as well as he did.”
“Don’t listen to Haskeer. Harglo’s death wasn’t your fault. None of them were.”
“No. Yet I feel liable. It seems… unjust that they should pass so young when I’ve reached the years I have.”
“Call it fate, or the whim of the gods. We all live in the Reaper’s shadow.”
“But think how good it would be if we didn’t.” There was a spark of real passion in the corporal’s eyes. “If we could turn back the years and cheat death…”
“It comes to us all, Dallog, sooner or later.”
“It’s unfair, this rapid piling on of time. One instant you’re young and strong, the next near dotage. Least, that’s the way it feels.”
“Most of us orcs don’t have the luxury of ageing, living as we do. Born as fighters, despised, all hands against us. A short life’s the likely outcome. You’ve survived. Count yourself lucky in that regard.”
“But if only-” He had been in a kind of reverie as he spoke, now he came out of it. “Forgive an old one’s rambling, Stryke. You’ve got enough on your platter worrying about Thirzarr without my musings.”
“Anybody would think you had one foot in the pyre. There’s life in you yet.”
Dallog gave a thin smile and nodded, and without further word they parted.
At the other end of the ship another meeting was taking place. Coilla had made it her business to seek out the tyros, to offer them condolence on the loss of their comrade. Only Pirrak had eluded her, and now she found him. He was at the rail, staring out to sea.
“Pirrak?”
He started and spun to face her, and he seemed alarmed. “Corporal?”
“Steady. You look as jumpy as a frog on a hot griddle. You all right?”
“I’m… yes, I’m fine. I was just… You startled me.”
“You’re pale.”
“Am I?” He touched a hand to his cheek, self-consciously.
“Thinking about Harglo?”
“Harglo. Yes. Yes, he was on my mind.”
“Did you know him long, back in Ceragan?”
“Since we were hatchlings.”
“That makes it harder.”
Pirrak nodded.
“You’re young,” Coilla went on, “and you’ve not seen as much action as the rest of us. You’ll… well, you won’t get used to losing a comrade but you’ll learn to accept it. It’s one of the costs of what we do. Of who we are.”
“That’s what Dallog says.”
“He’s right. And you can take some comfort from the way Harglo died. He was trying to help Chuss. That showed good fellowship. He was brave.”
“Yes. Brave.”
“Look, if you ever need anybody to talk to-”
“Yes, thanks. I’m all right. Really.”
“Well, take it easy.”
Coilla turned and left him, but couldn’t help noticing that he went straight to Dallog, further along the deck.
She climbed the stairs to the wheel, and Pepperdyne. Standeven had gone off to fill a corner somewhere.
“You look thoughtful,” Pepperdyne said.
“I was just talking to Pirrak. He was really tense.”
“Can you blame him? He’s a rookie, and going through a lot.”
“Yeah, s’pose. But sometimes I wonder about the tyros. Like, whether they’re going to hold it together.”
“They have so far. And they’ve got Dallog. He seems grounded.”
“Hmm. I guess things are a bit fraught.”
“Yeah, we’re all on edge.”
“You too?”
“Not as long as you’re here to protect me.”
She smiled. “Fool.”
Mid-morning of the next day they passed a group of mountainous islands. They were on the chart Stryke had and came as no surprise. What was unexpected were the three ships with black sails that came round the headland of the last island and followed them.
Orbon was at the wheel of the orcs’ ship. He was one of the privates who had proved to have some talent for steering, and Pepperdyne was training him as
a relief. Pepperdyne himself was down on the deck with the rest of the band.
“They look just like this ship,” he reckoned, shading his eyes with a hand.
“Goblins?” Jup said.
“A lot of them got killed when the band freed those kelpies,” Spurral reminded them. “Could be more, out for revenge.”
“Maybe they’re not goblins,” Jup suggested.
“They’re goblin ships, ain’t they?” Haskeer retorted.
“ We’re on a goblin ship. That doesn’t make us goblins, does it?”
“Could it be that Pelli Madayar’s bunch again?” Coilla wondered.
“Well, I say we stop and face the bastards,” Haskeer declared. “Whoever they are.”
“No way,” Stryke told him.
“You reckon this could be innocent, Stryke?” Coilla asked.
“Plenty of ships in this world.”
“Yeah, but goblins…”
“We keep going.”
“So what we going to do; lead them to our destination?”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“But-”
“Fuck the goblins. Or whoever it is. All I care about is getting where we’re going.” He looked to Pepperdyne. “Can we have more speed?”
“We’re going just about as fast as we can now.”
“Try.”
“I’ll get up to Orbon and see what we can do.” He made for the stairs.
“I can’t believe we’re running from a fight,” Haskeer mumbled disgustedly.
Pepperdyne applied his skills and they did manage to put on a few more knots. Steadily, they increased their lead over the trio of ships. By the middle of the afternoon they had fallen back and out of sight.
Some time later the Wolverines came across a pair of islands. Again, they were marked on their map, and they were the largest islands they’d seen so far in this world. One was lush, with golden beaches. The other was its complete opposite; rocky and stark, its shoreline nothing but shale. The islands were close together, separated by a narrow channel.
“You sure we have to go between them?” Stryke asked.
“According to the map this area’s strewn with reefs,” Pepperdyne explained, “except for this strait. Otherwise we’d have to make a big detour.”
They had to slow down to navigate the channel safely. No sooner had they entered when a grunt on lookout in the rigging began to shout. He pointed to the verdant island, on their starboard side. A large number of canoes were coming out to them.
That drew most of the band to the rail, straining to see. Given recent events, they assumed hostility.
“Can anybody make out who they are?” Stryke said.
“Think so,” Jup replied, squinting. “They look like… elves.”
“Yeah,” Spurral confirmed, “you’re right.”
“They haven’t given us trouble before,” Coilla said.
“Really?” Stryke replied. “What about Pelli Madayar?”
“Back in Maras-Dantia, I meant.”
“Who knows how they are here? This place is full of surprises.”
“They don’t look hostile.”
“I don’t care. We’re not taking any chances.”
“The speed we’re travelling we can’t stop them reaching us,” Pepperdyne told him.
“And we really can’t go faster?”
“Too risky in a strait this tight.”
“Prepare to repel boarders, then.”
The band took up their weapons and watched as the armada of canoes approached.
When they arrived, the boats kept up with the slow-moving ship without too much trouble. They were numerous and carried many elves, along with heaps of trinkets, craftworks and general bric-a-brac.
“Do they want to trade?” Coilla wondered.
Jup shrugged. “Dunno. But they’ve fallen unusually quiet for traders.”
He was right. The hubbub to be expected from hawkers who infested ports was absent. The elves had become muted as soon as they saw that the ship was crewed by orcs. Now most of them simply sat and stared. They seemed bewildered.
One of the boats was much bigger and more ornate than the others, resembling river barges the Wolverines had seen on their travels. Rowers were seated at the bow end. The stern held an elevated platform covered by a gold and blue fabric canopy. On the platform was a seat, and in it sat an elf of mature years, dressed a little more finely than the rest. Behind him stood a much younger elf controlling the rudder. With some difficulty this boat was manoeuvred until it lay alongside the orcs’ ship.
“Stay sharp,” Stryke warned the band. “This could be a ruse.”
“They don’t look like ambushers,” Jup said, “what with all that junk they’re carrying, and no sign of weapons.”
“Anything’s possible in this place.” He had ordered the archers to nock their bows; now he signalled them to stand ready. Then he hailed the boat. “ Who are you?”
The regal-looking elf called back, “ I was about to ask the same question!”
“Identify yourself!” Stryke repeated.
“Mallas Sahro! I’m the Elder of this clan!” He indicated the bobbing flotilla with a sweep of his slender hand. “ And you?”
“Captain Stryke of the Wolverines!”
“You’re orcs!”
“Obviously!”
“Then I confess to being confused!”
Stryke was puzzled by the exchange. “ Explain!”
“We thought you were goblins!”
“ You were expecting goblins? ”
“Yes!” He pointed to the boats’ cargoes. “ This is tribute for them!”
“Do you think he means those three ships we saw?” Coilla asked.
“I don’t know,” Stryke confessed. He yelled again. “ There are no goblins on this ship!”
“I see that! It seems we are again mistaken!”
“Again?”
“You’re not the first of your kind we’ve seen lately!”
“What do you mean? When?”
“Yesterday! Ships passed with humans on board, and an orc!”
Stryke’s heart took a leap. He had to force himself to ask the question. “ Was it… a female?”
“Yes! We glimpsed her standing on deck!”
“Could it be?” Coilla whispered.
“We need to talk!” Stryke called. “ Will you come aboard?”
“I will not set foot on a goblin ship!”
“I said there are no goblins here!”
“It’s taboo!”
“Shit,” Stryke hissed. “ This bellowing at each other is no good! How can we parley?”
Mallas Sahro considered that. “ Come ashore! We’ll meet on the beach!”
“Careful,” Haskeer warned. “Might be a trap.”
Stryke ignored him. “ All right, we’ll trust you!”
“As we will you! I return, you follow!” He signalled his rowers and the boat pulled away. All the canoes did likewise and headed back to the island.
“They seem harmless enough,” Coilla said as they watched them leave.
“So did the fauns,” Jup reminded her.
“We’ll take no chances,” Stryke assured them. “Bring us to a halt, Pepperdyne.”
“Are you sure? I thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are. But if these elves can tell us anything to speed our journey I want to hear it. Now do as you’re told.”
The anchor was dropped and the sails taken up.
Stryke decided to leave Dallog and the tyros on board to guard the ship. The elderly corporal looked as though he thought this might be some kind of slight, but said nothing. Not knowing how the elves would react to humans, bearing in mind the Gatherers’ reputation, Pepperdyne and Standeven were left behind too. Figuring dwarfs would probably be acceptable, Stryke included Jup and Spurral in the landing party. By the time all that was sorted out the elves had got back to their island. The band piled into their three boats and followed.
Mallas Sahro was waiting for them on the beach, seated in his throne-like chair. He had only a couple of functionaries or servants with him. The rest of his clan had pulled well back, to the tree-line, where they sat watching. None of them seemed to have weapons. Stryke took that as a promising sign of good faith.
The Elder greeted them with, “You come well armed for talking.”
“Where have we heard that before?” Coilla whispered.
“We’re always armed,” Stryke said, and tried to reassure him by adding, “To us it’s like the fine jewellery your clan wears.”
Mallas Sahro was indeed bedecked with rings, bracelets and necklaces, all fashioned from silver, though tastefully simple in design. From his expression he was less than convinced by the comparison, but replied, “Very well.”
“I should tell you that we’ve dealt with the elven folk before, and they’ve had no cause to regret it.”
“And we know the orcs, for all your fearsome nature, to be honourable and fair.”
“Yeah, we’ll kill anybody,” Haskeer muttered.
The elf raised his thin eyebrows.
“Don’t mind him,” Stryke said, giving Haskeer a murderous sidelong glance, “he’s got an odd sense of humour. How do you come to know about our race?”
Mallas Sahro seemed puzzled by the question. “The same way you know ours, I suspect. This is a world of many races, and many meetings.”
“Of course.” He saw no point in explaining that the Wolverines were not of this world. The Elder would probably think him insane. “What concerns us is the orc you saw yesterday.”
“The female.”
“Yes. What did she look like?”
“We only had the briefest glimpse. She was tall, and straight, and her hair was like flame. I can’t tell you more.”
“It could be Thirzarr, couldn’t it, Stryke?” Coilla said.
“Perhaps. And you say she was with humans, Elder?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see another female with them? One of… unusual appearance?”
“No. But we did not linger too long near those ships. You see, we made the same error as we did with you today.” A troubled look came to his face. “We thought it was him.”
“Who?”
“Gleaton-Rouk. A goblin with command of dark magic, and a nature utterly ruthless. More than once we’ve suffered his wrath.”
Inferno ob-3 Page 8
