Bodyguard of Lightning

by Stan Nicholls

  'About five days, assuming they don't run into problems.'

  'Then they must be careful not to. Very well. I expect this . . . shit shoveller to be brought here in five days at most. But be clear, General; what he holds is mine, and I will have it. I want the cylinder above all else. Bringing back the Wolverines for punishment is secondary. Everything is secondary to the cylinder. Including the lives of Stryke and his band.'

  'Yes, my lady.'

  'The lives of those sent after them are also expendable.'

  He hesitated before replying, 'I understand, my lady.'

  'Be sure you do.' She made a series of swift, mysterious movements with her hands. 'And lest you forget . . .'

  The General looked down. His uniform was smouldering. It caught fire. The blaze enveloped his jerkin, and instantly spread to his arms and legs. Intolerable heat scorched his limbs. Smoke billowed.

  Nostrils smarting from the odour of singeing, he beat at the flames. His palms stung and blistered. Fire leapt to his shoulders, neck, face. It completely engulfed him. His flesh blackened. Excruciating agony seared his body.

  He cried out.

  Jennesta's hands moved again, in a perfunctory, almost dismissive motion.

  There was no fire. His clothes were not charred. The smell of burning had vanished, and there were no blisters on his hands. He felt no pain.

  Dumbly, he stared at her.

  'If you or your subordinates fail me,' she stated evenly, 'that's just a taste of what you'll get.'

  Embarrassment, shame, and above all fear were stamped on his features. 'Yes, Majesty,' he whispered.

  His reaction was gratifying. She enjoyed making a grown orc quake.

  'You have your orders,' she told him.

  He bowed stiffly and turned to the door.

  Once the General had left, Jennesta sighed. Making for a couch, she sank into its plump cushions. She was drained. With the natural energy sources so depleted, even casting a simple glamour took considerable effort. Though it was worth it to keep her underlings in line. But now she would have to replenish her powers. The other way.

  She remembered the elf servant.

  And decided that might be an agreeable way of doing it.

  In the corridor outside, Kysthan's upright demeanour deserted him. His nerve was near doing the same. He slumped against a wall, eyes closed, slowly expelling the breath he'd been holding.

  It wouldn't do for him to be seen this way. He fought to pull himself together.

  After a moment he straightened his shoulders and ran the back of his hand across his sweat-sheened brow. Then with measured deliberateness he resumed his short journey.

  The curving passageway took him to an adjacent anteroom. A young officer snapped to attention when he entered.

  'As you were, Captain,' the General told him.

  The officer relaxed, marginally.

  'You're to leave immediately,' Kysthan said.

  'How long do we have, sir?'

  'Five days, maximum.'

  'That's tight, General.'

  'It's as long as she'll allow. And let me make myself plain, Delorran. You're to bring back that artefact. If you can return with the Wolverines too, that's fine. But should they prove . . . uncooperative, she'll settle for their heads. Given your past history with Stryke, I imagine you have no problem with that.'

  'None, sir. But . . .'

  'But what? You'll outnumber them at least three to one. That seems like good odds to me. Or have I got the wrong orc for the job?'

  'No, sir,' Delorran quickly responded. 'It's just that the Wolverines' kill tally is one of the highest of any of the warbands in the horde.'

  'I know that, Captain. It's why I've assigned the best troopers we have to this mission.'

  'I'm not saying it's going to be impossible, sir. Just difficult.'

  'Nobody promised you an easy ride.' He stared hard at the officer's earnest face, and added, 'Her Majesty's position is that, as with the Wolverines, the loss rate of the troopers under your command is . . . without limit.'

  'Sir?'

  'Do I have to spell it out? You will spend as many lives on this mission as may be necessary.'

  'I see.' His tone was doubtful, troubled.

  'Look at it this way, Delorran. If you return without her prize, she'll have you all put to death anyway. Horribly, knowing her. Weigh that against losing only some of your troop, and your certain promotion. Not to mention evening the score in the grievance you have with Stryke. Of course, if you'd prefer me to find someone else—'

  'No, General. That won't be necessary.'

  'Anyway, such talk could be pointless. Your quarry may already be dead.'

  'The Wolverines? I doubt it, sir. I'd say they weren't that easy to kill.'

  'Then why no word from them? If they're not dead it's just as unlikely they've been captured. They might have fallen prey to one of the afflictions the humans spread, of course, but I think them too careful for that. Which only leaves betrayal. And there were no grounds to believe any of them might turn out traitors.'

  'I'm not so sure. Not all orcs are happy with our present situation, as you know, sir.'

  'Do you have reason to believe Stryke and his band harboured such thoughts?'

  'I claim no knowledge of their thoughts, sir.'

  'Then keep your fancies to yourself, that kind of talk is dangerous. Think only of the cylinder. It has the highest priority. I'm relying on you, Delorran. If you fail, we both suffer Jennesta's wrath.'

  The Captain nodded grimly. 'Stryke's death will prevent that fate. I won't let you down, sir.'

  They were ready to move. The only disagreement was where.

  'I say we get ourselves back to Cairnbarrow and confess all to Jennesta,' argued Haskeer. A handful of his supporters in the assembled warband murmured approval. 'We have pellucid, and that should stand for something. Let's go back and throw ourselves on her mercy.'

  'We'd be in for a hard landing, comrade,' Alfray said. 'And the crystal wasn't what she sent us for.'

  'Alfray's right,' Stryke agreed. 'The only chance we have is to regain that cylinder.'

  'If we are going to look for it, why don't we send one or two of the band to Jennesta to explain what the rest of us are doing?' Alfray suggested.

  Stryke shook his head. 'To their deaths? No. All of us and the cylinder, or not at all.'

  'But where do we look?' Coilla wanted to know.

  'It has to be the kobolds' homeland,' Jup said.

  'All the way to Black Rock?' Haskeer scoffed. 'That's long odds, shortshanks.'

  'Can you think of a better idea?'

  Haskeer's resentful silence indicated he couldn't.

  'They could have gone anywhere,' Coilla told the dwarf.

  'True. But we don't know where anywhere is. Black Rock we know how to get to.'

  Stryke smiled thinly. 'Jup's got a point. We might spend our lives combing this countryside for those bastards. Black Rock makes more sense, and if the group that robbed us aren't there now, they might turn up.'

  Haskeer spat. 'Might.'

  'You want to head back to Cairnbarrow, Sergeant, go ahead.' Stryke scanned the Wolverines' faces. 'That goes for anybody here. You can tell Jennesta where we've gone before she skins you.'

  Nobody took him up on the offer.

  'It's settled, then; Black Rock. What do you think, Alfray, a week?'

  'About that. Maybe more 'cause of the horses we lost. Five or six of us are going to have to double up. And don't forget Meklun. It was bad luck not finding a wagon at Homefield. Dragging him's going to slow us.'

  Heads turned to the wounded trooper, strapped to his makeshift litter. His face was deathly pale.

  'We'll look for more horses on the way,' Stryke said, 'maybe a wagon.'

  'We could always leave him,' Haskeer put in.

  'I'll remember that if you ever catch a bad wound yourself.'

  Haskeer frowned and shut up.

  'What about splitting into two gro
ups?' proposed Coilla. 'One of the fit, going ahead to Black Rock; the other Meklun, the walking wounded and some able bodies, following on.'

  'No. Too easy pickings for more ambushes. I've lost the cylinder, I don't want to lose half the band as well. We stick together. Now let's get out of here.'

  Some of the Wolverines' less essential kit had to be discarded, and the pellucid redistributed, to make up for the shortage of horses. There were a few petty squabbles over who had to share mounts, but several well-aimed kicks from the officers restored order. Iron rations and water were shared out. Meklun's litter was harnessed.

  It was late afternoon before they set off on a southerly bearing. This time Stryke didn't neglect to send scouts ahead of the main party.

  He rode at the head of the column, Coilla beside him.

  'What do we do when we get to Black Rock?' she said. 'Would you have us take on the whole kobold nation?'

  'The gods alone know, Coilla. I'm making this up as I go along, if you hadn't noticed.' He glanced behind him and added in a conspiratorial tone, 'But don't tell them that.'

  'This is all we can do, isn't it, Stryke? Make for Black Rock, I mean.'

  'Only thing I could think of. Because the way I see it, if we can't get the cylinder back, at least we can have the glory of dying while we try.'

  'I see it that way too. Though it seems a pity we have to do it for Jennesta, and a human cause.'

  There she goes again, he thought. What does she expect me to say?

  He was tempted to speak frankly, but didn't have the chance.

  'You've no idea what's in the cylinder?' she wondered. 'You were given no hint as to why it's so important?'

  'Like I said, Jennesta didn't take me into her confidence,' he replied wryly.

  'Yet the kobolds obviously thought it was worth facing a warband to gain it.'

  'You know kobolds, the thieving little swine. They'll go for anything they think they can get away with.'

  'Your reckoning is that they were just acting on a venture?'

  'Yes.'

  'So with all sorts of travellers crossing these parts, including merchant caravans, who wouldn't give them half the fight we did, they pick on us, a heavily armed band of a race that lives for combat. All on the off-chance we'd have something worth stealing. Does that seem likely?'

  'You're saying they were after the cylinder? But how would they know we had it? Our mission was secret.'

  'Perhaps our secret mission wasn't so secret after all, Stryke.'

  7

  '. . . and ram what's left up your butt!' Stryke concluded.

  His captain's feelings having been made clear, in vivid detail, Haskeer glowered murderously and tugged on his horse's reins. He cantered back to his place in the column.

  'Don't bite my head off,' Coilla ventured, 'but didn't he have a point about stopping to rest?'

  'Yes,' Stryke grunted, 'and we will. If I give the order now, though, it'll look like his doing.' He nodded at a rise further along the trail. 'We'll wait till we get to the other side of that."

  They hadn't stopped since setting out, travelling through the night and the new morning. Now the sun was at its highest point, its meagre warmth finally dispelling the lingering chill.

  The bluff surmounted, Stryke called a halt. A couple of troopers were sent ahead to alert the forward scouts. Meklun's litter was disengaged from the horse dragging it, and the makeshift stretcher carefully laid flat. Alfray pronounced him little improved.

  As fires were lit and horses watered, Stryke went into a huddle with the other officers.

  'We're not making bad headway,' he announced, 'despite the handicaps. But it's time for a decision on our route.' He drew a dagger and knelt. 'The human settlement . . . what was it called?'

  'Homefield,' Jup offered.

  Stryke made a cross in a patch of hardened mud. 'Homefield was here, in the northern end of the Great Plains, and the nearest hostile human colony to Cairnbarrow.'

  'Not any more,' Haskeer remarked with dark glee.

  Disregarding him, Stryke slashed a downward line. 'We've been moving south.' He carved another cross at the line's end. 'To here. We need to turn south-east for Black Rock. But we've got a problem.' To the right and down a little from the second cross, he gouged a circle.

  'Scratch,' Coilla said.

  'Right. The trolls' homeland. It's smack in the path of the most direct route to Black Rock.'

  Haskeer shrugged his shoulders. 'So?'

  'Given how belligerent trolls can be,' Jup told him, 'we should avoid it.'

  'You might want to run from a fight; I don't.'

  'We've no need of one, Haskeer,' Stryke intervened coolly. 'Why make extra trouble for ourselves?'

  ' 'Cause going round Scratch will cost us time.'

  'We'll lose a lot more if we get caught up in a fight there, and a fully armed warband riding through their territory is just the thing to start one. No, we'll skirt the place. Question is, which way?'

  Coilla jabbed her finger at the improvised map. 'The next shortest way would be to head due east now, toward Hecklowe and the coast. Then we'd make our way south, through or around Black Rock Forest, to Black Rock itself.'

  'I'm not happy about going near Hecklowe either,' Stryke said. 'It's a free port, remember. That means plenty of other elder races. We're bound to tangle with at least one that has a grudge against orcs. And the forest's infested with bandits.'

  'Not to mention that turning east from here takes us a bit too close to Cairnbarrow for comfort,' Alfray added.

  'The advantage of approaching Black Rock from the forest side is that we'd have the cover of trees,' Jup put in.

  'That's scant return for all the risks we'd run.' Stryke employed his knife again, extending the line down beyond the elliptical shape he'd drawn. 'I think we have to carry on south, past Scratch, then turn east.'

  Coilla frowned. 'In which case, don't forget this.' She leaned over and used her finger to outline a small cross below Scratch. 'Weaver's Lea. A Uni settlement, like Homefield, but much bigger. Word is that the humans there are more fanatical than most.'

  'Is that possible?' Jup asked drily of no one in particular.

  'We'd have to pass between the two,' Stryke granted. 'But it's all flat plains in those parts, so at least we could see trouble coming.'

  Alfray studied the markings. 'It's the longest route, Stryke.'

  'I know, but it's also the safest. Or the least dangerous, anyway.'

  'Whatever damned route we take,' Haskeer rumbled, 'nobody's said anything about Black Rock being a short piss away from there.' He plunged his own knife into the ground, to the right of Coilla's crude addition.

  Jup glared at him. 'That's supposed to mean Quatt, is it?'

  'Where your kind comes from, yes. Being so close should make you feel at home.'

  'When are you going to stop blaming me for the wrong done by all dwarves?'

  'When your race stops doing the humans' dirty work.'

  'I answer for myself, not my whole race. Others do what they must.'

  Haskeer bridled. 'There's no must about helping the incomers!'

  'What do you think we're doing? Or are you too stupid to notice who Jennesta's allied with?'

  As with most spats between the sergeants, this one escalated rapidly.

  'Don't lecture me on loyalty, rat's prick!'

  'Go shove your head up a horse's arse!'

  Faces twisted with malice, they both began to rise.

  'Enough!' Stryke barked. 'If you two want to tear each other apart, that's fine by me. But let's try to get home alive first, shall we?'

  They eyed him, weighed the odds for a second, then backed off.

  'You've all got your duties,' he reminded them. 'Move yourselves.'

  Haskeer couldn't resist a parting shot. 'If we're going anywhere near Quatt,' he snarled, 'better watch your backs.' He shot the dwarf a malicious look. 'The locals are treacherous in those parts.'

  He and his fellow of
ficers scattered to their chores. But Stryke motioned for Jup to stay.

  'I know it's hard,' he said, 'but you have to hold back when you're provoked.'

  'Tell Haskeer that, Captain.'

  'You think I haven't? I've made it clear he's heading for a flogging, and not for the first time since I've led this band.'

  'I can take the insults about my race. The gods know I'm used to that. But he never lets up.'

  'He's bitter for his own reasons, Jup. You're just a handy scapegoat.'

  'It's when he questions my allegiance that my blood really boils.'

  'Well, you have to admit your race is notorious for selling its loyalty to the highest bidder.'

  'Some have, not all. My loyalty isn't for sale.'

  Stryke nodded.

  'And there are those among the dwarves who say similar things about orcs,' Jup added.

  'Orcs fight only to further the Mani cause, and indirectly at that. We've little choice in the matter. At least your race has free will enough to decide. We were born into military service and have known no other way.'

  'I know that, Stryke. But you do have a choice. You could determine your own fate, as I did when I chose which side to back.'

  Stryke didn't like the way the conversation was going. It made him uneasy.

  He avoided a direct reply by steering Jup to the topic he'd wanted to raise in the first place. 'Maybe we orcs have a choice, maybe we don't. What we haven't got is farsight. Dwarves have, and we could use it now. Has your skill improved?'

  'No, Stryke, it hasn't, and I've been trying, believe me.'

  'You're sensing nothing?'

  'Only vague . . . traces is the nearest word, I suppose. Sorry, Captain; explaining to somebody from a race with no magical abilities isn't easy.'

  'But you are getting traces. Of what? Kirgizil tracks? Or—'

  'As I said, traces is an inexact word. Language isn't enough to describe the skill. The point is that what I'm picking up doesn't help us. It's weak, muddled.'

  'Damn.'

  'Perhaps it's because we're still too close to Homefield. I've often noticed that the power seems lower where humans are concentrated.'

  'It could come back the further away we get, you mean?'

  'It might. Truth to tell, farsight was always pretty basic in dwarves anyway, and nobody really knows how we or the other elder races draw the power, except it comes from the earth. If humans are digging and tearing in one place they can sever a line of energy, and it bleeds, starving wherever else it goes. So in some areas magic works, in others it doesn't.'