'Ah, and it might be beyond fixing, Captain.'
12
Jennesta spelt it out. 'I'm offering you an alliance, Adpar. Help me find the artifacts and I'll share their power with you.'
The face on the surface of the congealed blood was impassive.
'It's only a matter of time before Sanara butts in on this,' Jennesta added impatiently. 'So will you say something?'
'She doesn't always. Or doesn't choose to take part. Anyway, to hell with Sanara; I don't mind saying this in front of her: No.'
'Why?'
'I have more than enough to deal with here. And unlike you, my dear, I have no ambitions to build a bigger empire.'
'The biggest, Adpar! Big enough for both of us! Power enough for both!'
'I have a feeling that sharing, even with your beloved sister, would prove something you couldn't manage for long.'
'Then what about the gods?'
'What about them?'
'Plumbing the mysteries of the instrumentalities could restore our gods, the true gods, and see off this absurd lone deity the humans have brought.'
'The gods are real enough here; they need no restoring.'
'Fool! The taint will reach even you sooner or later, if it hasn't already.'
'Frankly, Jennesta, the notion just doesn't appeal. I don't trust you. Anyway, are you capable of . . . "plumbing the mysteries"?' It was meant insultingly.
'So you're going for them yourself, is that it?'
'Don't judge everybody by your own standards.'
'You don't know what you're turning your snooty nose up at!'
'At least it's my nose, and not indentured to anybody else.'
Jennesta fought to keep her temper in check. 'All right. If you're not interested in joining me and you say you make no claim on the instrumentalities for yourself, why not trade me the one you have? I'd pay substantially for it.'
'I don't have one! How many more times? It's gone!'
'You let somebody take something from you? I find that hard to believe.'
'The thief was punished. He was lucky to escape with his life.'
'You didn't even kill this convenient robber?' Jennesta mocked. 'You're going soft, sister.'
'Your stupidity I'm used to, Jennesta. What I can't stand is how boring you can be.'
'If you ignore my offer you'll regret it.'
'Will I? And who's going to make me? You? You could never best me when we were youngsters, Jennesta, and you can't do it now.'
Jennesta seethed. 'This is your last chance, Adpar. I won't ask again.'
'If you want me so much you must need me. I take pleasure from that. But I don't take kindly to ultimatums, whoever issues them. I'll do nothing to hinder you, and nothing to help either. Now leave me alone.'
This time it was Adpar who terminated the conversation.
Jennesta sat in deep thought for several minutes. She came out of it with resolve.
Dragging aside a heavy, ornate chair and pulling back several rugs, she revealed the flagstone floor. From a cabinet in a darkened corner she selected a particular grimoire, and on her way back to the cleared space plucked a curved dagger from the altar. These she deposited on the chair.
Having lit more candles, Jennesta skimmed handfuls of clotted gore from the tub. On hands and knees, she used it to mark out a large mullet on the floor, carefully ensuring that there were no breaks in the circle or its five pointed stars. That done, she took up the book and knife, and moved to the circle's centre.
She peeled back the sleeve of her gown and with a swift, deep slash of the blade cut into her arm. Her lighter blood dripped and mingled with the darker red of the pentagram. It intensified the link with her sibling.
Then she turned to the book and began something she should have done long ago.
Adpar enjoyed thwarting her sister. It was one of life's more sublime pleasures. But now she had a routine chore to attend to, though in its way it was no less gratifying.
She left the slime-encrusted viewing pool and waded from her private retreat to the larger chamber beyond. A lieutenant awaited her, along with a guard detail and two disgraced members of her swarm.
'The prisoners, Majesty,' the lieutenant hissed in peculiarly nyadd fashion.
She looked over the accused. They hung their scaly heads.
Without preamble, Adpar outlined the charge. 'You two have brought shame on the imperial swarm. That means shame on me. You were lax in carrying out your orders in the recent raid, and were seen by a superior officer to let several merz escape with their lives. Do you have anything to say in your defence?'
They didn't.
'Very well,' she went on, 'I take your silence as admission of dereliction. It should be well known that I'll not have weaklings in the ranks. We are fighting to keep our place in this world, and that leaves no room for idlers or cowards. Therefore the only possible verdict is guilty.' A believer in the power of theatrics, she paused for effect. 'And the penalty is death.'
She beckoned the lieutenant. He came forward holding a basin-sized brown and white shell containing two coral daggers. A pair of guards followed him carrying deep, wide-mouthed earthenware pots.
'In accordance with tradition, and as a courtesy to your martial status, you are allowed a choice,' Adpar told the condemned. She pointed to the knives. 'Carry out the sentence with your own hand and you will die with a measure of honour.' Her gaze flicked to the containers. 'Or you have the right to place your fate in the hands of the gods. If they will it, you could keep your life.'
Turning to the first prisoner, she commanded, 'Choose.'
The nyadd tensely weighed his options. Finally he uttered, 'The gods, Majesty.'
'So be it.'
At her signal, several more guards moved in and held him firm. One of the pots was brought to her. She stared into it, one hand poised completely still above the opening. She stood that way for what seemed an eternity. Then suddenly her hand darted into the jar and she pulled something from the water.
It was a fish. She held it by the tail between two fingers and her thumb as it writhed and struggled in the air. The fish was about as long as a nyadd's hand and its girth equal to three arrows bound together. Its scales and stubby fins were silvery blue. Whiskers grew from either side of its mouth.
Handling it with care, Adpar tapped the fish's side and quickly withdrew her finger. Dozens of tiny quivering spikes shot out from its body.
'I envy the dowelfish,' she stated. 'It has no predators. Its spikes are not only sharp, they pump a lethal venom that kills with excruciating pain. The fish gives its own life but always takes its enemy's.' She dipped the animal back into the pot, immersing it in water but keeping hold of it. 'Prepare him,' she ordered.
The guards forced the prisoner to his knees. A length of thread was passed to Adpar and she looped it around the dowelfish's back fin. Using the thread, she slowly pulled the fish from its pot again. Calmed by the water, it had retracted its spikes.
'Offer yourself to the gods' mercy,' Adpar told the prisoner. 'If they favour you three times, you'll be spared.'
The accused's head was roughly pushed upwards and his mouth prised open to its fullest extent. He was held in position. Adpar approached, holding out the dangling fish. Very slowly, she lowered it into the nyadd's gaping mouth. He stayed absolutely motionless. The scene was not unlike the displays put on by sword-swallowers in marketplaces all over Maras-Dantia. Except that was a trick.
Everybody watched in silence as the fish disappeared from sight. Adpar paused for a second before continuing to play out the thread, guiding its load down the nyadd's gullet. At length she stopped. Then the process was reversed and she began winding the thread around a finger as she reeled the fish up. It emerged from the nyadd's mouth wriggling feebly.
The prisoner let out a shuddering breath. 'It seems the gods have smiled on you once,' Adpar declared. The fish was immersed in its jar once more and brought back for the second time. Again it was lowered at a leis
urely pace, again she paused before its journey down the throat, again she wound the thread. In due course the dowelfish came out of the mouth without causing harm.
Shaking and gasping, the accused looked near collapse.
'Our gods are benign today,' Adpar said. 'So far.'
A last return to the water and the apparently pacified fish was ready for the third trial. Adpar went through exactly the same routine. The point was reached where she stayed her hand before lowering the fish into the nyadd's craw. She began unwinding the twine.
The thread trembled. A shudder ran through the prisoner. Eyes wide, he took to retching, and struggled against the guards. The thread snapped. Adpar stood back and motioned for the guards to release him. They let go and involuntarily his mouth snapped shut.
Then he started screaming.
Hands clawing at his throat and chest, he rolled and contorted. Spasms wracked his body, green bile erupted from his mouth. He shrieked and contorted.
The death throes lasted an unconscionable amount of time. They were terrible to witness.
When silence returned and the prisoner was still, Adpar spoke. 'The gods' will has been done. They have called him to them. It is fitting.'
She turned to the second quaking prisoner. The other pot and the knives were offered. Without a word he took a knife. The carapace at his throat meant the jagged blade had to be forcefully applied several times. At length a crimson spray marked his success.
At a wave of Adpar's hand the guard detail set to removing the bodies.
'We are fortunate that our culture is ruled by divine justice and compassion,' she proclaimed. 'Other realms are less benevolently governed. Why, I myself have a sister who would have gloated over a scene like this.'
The snowfall was heavier, the sky black.
Much as he wanted to push on, Stryke had to concede that travel was impossible. He ordered the column to halt. There being no natural shelter, the band built a fire, which fought the snow and wind to burn. They huddled round it miserably, swathed in horse blankets.
Jup had used some of Alfray's salves to treat Haskeer's wounds. Now Haskeer sat in silence, staring at the meagre flames. Nobody else felt much like talking either.
The hours passed and the blizzard was constant. Despite the weather, some of the band managed to drowse.
Then something loomed out of the snow.
It was a tall figure mounted on a handsome white horse. As it drew closer they saw the figure was human.
The band leapt up and went for their weapons.
Now they could make out that the human male was wrapped in a dark blue cloak. He had shoulder-length hair and was bearded. His age was hard to reckon.
'There might be more of them!' Stryke yelled. 'Stand ready!'
'I'm alone and unarmed,' the human called out, his voice calm. 'And with your leave I'll dismount.'
Stryke glanced about, but saw nothing else moving in the snow. 'All right,' he agreed. 'Do it slowly.'
The stranger dismounted. He held out his hands to show he had no blade. Stryke ordered Talag and Finje to search him. That done, they brought him forward. Reafdaw took charge of his horse, winding its reins around a withered tree stump. The eyes of the band flicked in turn from the surrounding whited-out terrain to this tall, unruffled human who had arrived in their midst.
'Who are you, human?' Stryke demanded. 'What do you want?'
'I am Serapheim. I saw your fire. All I want is warmth.'
'It's dangerous riding into a camp uninvited these days. How do you know we won't kill you?'
'I trust in the chivalry of orcs.' He glanced at Jup. 'And of those they ally with.'
'What are you, Mani or Uni?' the dwarf said.
'Not all humans are either.'
'Huh!' Jup exclaimed sceptically.
'It's true. I carry no baggage of gods. May I?' He stretched his hands to the fire. But Stryke noticed that despite the bitter cold this stranger did not look discomforted; his teeth didn't chatter, his disgustingly pale skin showed no tinge of blue.
'How do we know you're not part of some trap?' Stryke asked.
'I can't blame you for thinking that. The perceptions my race have of yours are just as distrustful. But then, many humans are like mushrooms.'
They gave him puzzled looks. Stryke thought he might be a simpleton. Or mad.
'Mushrooms?' he said.
'Yes. They live in the dark and are force-fed shit.'
A ripple of laughter came from the band.
'Well put,' Jup told the stranger in guarded good humour. 'But who are you that you should be travelling a war-torn land alone and unarmed?'
'I'm a storyteller.'
'A story's all we need right now,' Stryke commented cynically.
'Then I'll tell you one. Though I fear it's short on plot and could end as a tragedy.' There was something about the way he said it that held them. 'Could it be that you're seeking one of your own kind?' the human added.
'What if we are?'
'A female member of your band?'
'What do you know of that?' Stryke rumbled darkly.
'A little. Enough to aid you perhaps.'
'Go on.'
'Your comrade's been captured by bounty hunters of my race.'
'How do you know this? Are you one of them?'
'Do I look like a mercenary? No, my friend, I'm not one of them. I've just seen them with her.'
'Where? And how many of them?'
'Three. Not far from here. But they would have moved on by now.'
'How does this help us?'
'I know where they've gone. Hecklowe.'
Stryke eyed him suspiciously. 'Why should we believe you?'
'That's your choice. But why would I lie?'
'For a dark purpose of your own, maybe. We've learnt the hard way to doubt anything a human says.'
'As I said, you can't be blamed for that. On this occasion a human is telling you the truth.'
Stryke stared at him. He couldn't read his face. 'I need to think,' he said. He detailed a couple of grunts to keep an eye on the human and wandered away from the fire.
The snow might have been a little lighter. He didn't really notice. His mind was on weighing the stranger's words.
'Am I intruding?'
Stryke turned. 'No, Jup. I was just trying to make sense of what we heard. Starting with why we should believe this Serapheim.'
'Because there's a certain kind of logic to it?'
'Maybe.'
'Because we're desperate?'
'That's more like it.'
'Let's think this through, chief. If this human's speaking true, we assume the bounty hunters have Coilla because of the price on her head, yes?'
'If not, wouldn't they have killed her already?'
'That's what I figured. But why take her to Hecklowe?'
Stryke shrugged. 'Could be one of the places where the bounty's doled out. Let's work on believing him. That leaves us with a decision. Should we go after Coilla or keep the rendezvous with the rest of the band first?'
'We're nearer Hecklowe than Drogan.'
'True. But if Coilla has a value she's unlikely to be harmed.'
'You're not taking her nature into account. She'll be no passive hostage.'
'Let's trust to her good sense. In which case things are going to be hard for her but not life-threatening.'
'So that's an argument for meeting with Alfray first and going into Hecklowe with the whole band.'
'Yeah, better odds. The downside is that delay might mean Coilla being sent back to Jennesta. Then we really would have lost her.'
They glanced in the direction of the stranger. He was still by the fire. The grunts by him seemed a little more relaxed, and several were engaged in conversations.
'On the other hand,' Jup went on, 'there is an agreed time for rendezvousing with Alfray. Suppose he thinks the worst's happened to us and goes into Drogan to tangle with the centaurs?'
'I wouldn't put it past him.' Stryke sigh
ed. 'It's on a blade's edge, Jup, and we need to be absolutely sure that—'
A chorus of shouts interrupted. Stryke and Jup spun around.
The stranger had gone. So had his horse. They ran to the fire.
Grunts were stumbling and yelling in the swirling whiteness.
Stryke collared Gant. 'What the hell happened, trooper?'
'The human, Captain, he just . . . went.'
'Went? What do you mean, went?'
Talag intervened. That's right, sir. I took my eyes off him for a second and he was gone.'
'Who saw him go?' Stryke shouted.
None of the grunts owned to it.
'This is crazy,' Jup said, squinting into the snow. 'He couldn't have just disappeared.'
Sword in hand, Stryke stared too, and wondered.
13
Voices and laughter were all around him.
He was walking in a crowd of orcs. Orcs of both sexes and all ages. Orcs he had never seen before.
They sported tiny adornments of dress that told him they were from many different clans. Yet there was no obvious animosity. They seemed happy and he didn't feel in any way threatened. In fact there was an air of anticipation, a holiday mood.
He was on the sandy beach. The sun was at its highest point and beating down intensely. Shrieking white birds circled far overhead. The crowd was heading for the ocean.
Then he saw that a ship was anchored a little way offshore. It had three sails, now resting, and from the foremost mast a flag flew, decorated with a red emblem he didn't recognise. The carved effigy of a female orc, resplendent with raised sword, stood out from the prow. Battle shields lined the ship's side, each bearing a different design. It was the biggest vessel Stryke had ever seen, and certainly the most magnificent.
The leaders of the crowd were already wading out to it. They didn't need to swim, so the ship was either flat-bottomed or stood in a deeper strait edging the beach. He was taken along by the flow of orcs. None of them spoke to him, but in a strange way that made him feel accepted.
Over the hubbub he heard his name, or at least he thought he did. He looked around, taking in the torrent of faces. Then he saw her, moving against the crowd, coming his way.
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