Bodyguard of Lightning

by Stan Nicholls

  Every eye was on Stryke. He said nothing.

  'Tell them,' Haskeer repeated.

  'I agree with Coilla,' Stryke said.

  'You . . . you can't be serious!'

  Stryke ignored him. What he saw was Coilla smiling, and few faces in the band showing disapproval.

  'Have you all gone fucking mad?' Haskeer demanded. 'You, Stryke, of all orcs; I didn't expect this of you. You're asking us to throw everything away!'

  'I'm asking that we open this cylinder. Everything else we've thrown away already.'

  'Stryke's just saying we should look,' Jup said. 'We can reseal it, can't we?'

  'And if the Queen discovers we've tampered with it? Can you imagine her wrath?'

  'I've no need to imagine it,' Stryke told him. 'That's one reason we should seize any chance to change things for ourselves. Or perhaps you're happy with the way they are?'

  'I accept the way things are, because I know we can't change anything. At least we've got our lives, and now you want to waste them.'

  'We want to find them,' Coilla said.

  Stryke addressed the whole band. 'For something this important, something that touches all of us, we're going to do what we've never done before. We're going to have a show of hands. All right?'

  Nobody objected.

  He held up the cylinder. 'Those who think we should leave this be and return to Cairnbarrow, raise your hand.'

  Haskeer did. Three grunts joined him.

  'Those who say we should open it?'

  Every other hand went up.

  'You're outvoted,' Stryke declared.

  'You're making a big mistake,' Haskeer muttered grimly.

  'You're doing the right thing, Stryke,' Coilla assured him.

  Right or not, the relief he felt was almost physical. It was as though he was doing something honest for the first time in as long as he could remember.

  But that didn't stop the icy tingle of fear that caressed his spine as he looked at the cylinder.

  14

  As the band looked on in silence, Stryke took a knife to the cylinder's seal. Having cut through it, he prised off the cap. There was a faint whiff of mustiness.

  He pushed his fingers inside. Their clumsiness made for a moment of awkward fumbling before he slipped out a rolled parchment. It was fragile and yellowing with age. This he handed to Mobbs. The gremlin accepted it with a mixture of eagerness and reverence.

  Stryke shook the cylinder. It rattled. He held it up and looked into it.

  'There's something else in here,' he said, half to himself.

  He patted the tube's open end on his palm. An object slid out.

  It consisted of a small central sphere with seven tiny radiating spikes of variable lengths. It was sandy-coloured, similar to a light, polished wood. It was heavier than it looked.

  Stryke held it up and examined it.

  'It's like a star,' Coilla decided. 'Or a hatchling's toy of one.'

  He thought she was right. The object did resemble a crude representation of a star.

  Mobbs had the parchment unrolled on his lap, but was ignoring it. He stared awestruck at the object. 'What's it made of?' Alfray wondered. Stryke passed it to him.

  'It's no material I know,' the field surgeon pronounced. 'It's not wood, nor bone.'

  Jup took it. 'Could it be fashioned from some kind of stone?' he asked.

  'Something precious?' Haskeer ventured, interest overtaking his resentment. 'Carved from a gem maybe?'

  Stryke reached for it. 'I don't think so.' He squeezed it in his fist, gently at first then applying all his strength. 'Whatever it is, it's tough.'

  'How tough can it be?' Haskeer grunted. 'Give it here.' He raised the object to his mouth and bit it. There was a crack. A spasm of pain creased his face and he spat out a bloody tooth. 'Vuckk!' he cursed.

  Stryke snatched the star and wiped it on his breeches. He inspected it. There wasn't a mark. 'Very tough then, if your fangs can't make an impression.'

  Several band members sniggered. Haskeer glared at them. Mobbs's attention was torn between the object and the parchment. His expression was intense, excited, as his gaze went from one to the other.

  'What do you make of it, scholar?' Stryke asked. 'I think . . . I think this is . . .it.' The gremlin's hands were shaking. 'What I hoped for . . ."

  'Don't keep us in the dark,' Coilla demanded impatiently. 'Tell us!'

  Mobbs indicated the parchment. 'This is written in a language so old, so . . . obscure, that even I have difficulty understanding it.'

  'What can you make out?' she persisted.

  'At this stage, merely fragments. But I believe they confirm my suspicions.' He was jubilant, in a Mobbs kind of way. 'That object . . .' he pointed to the star in Stryke's hand, '. . . is an instrumentality.'

  'A what?' Haskeer said, dabbing at his mouth with a grubby sleeve.

  Stryke gave the thing to Mobbs. He accepted it gingerly. 'An instrumentality, in the old tongue. This is tangible proof of an ancient story hitherto thought a myth. If the legends are true, it could have been handled by Vermegram herself. It may even have been created by her.'

  'For what purpose?' Jup asked.

  'As a totem of great magical power, and of great truth, in that it hints at a mystery concerning the elder races.'

  'How so?' Stryke demanded.

  'All I really know is that each instrumentality is part of a larger whole. One fifth, to be precise. When this is united with its four fellows, the truth will be revealed. I have no idea what that means, to be honest. But I would stake my life on this being the most significant object any of us has ever seen.'

  He spoke with such conviction that all were held by his words.

  Jup pricked the bubble. 'How could it be united with the others? What happens if they are? Where are they?'

  'Mysteries within mysteries and unanswered questions. It has always been so for any student of these matters.' Mobbs sniffed, matter-of-factly. 'I have no answers to your first two questions, but something I overheard from my captors might be a clue to the location of another instrumentality. Might, I say.'

  'What was it?' Stryke asked.

  'The kobolds were not aware that I have a rudimentary grasp of their language. I thought it useful not to reveal the fact. Consequently they spoke freely in my presence, and several times referred to the Uni stronghold called Trinity. They were convinced that the sect holding sway there had incorporated the legend of the instrumentalities into their religion.'

  'Trinity? That's Kimball Hobrow's redoubt, isn't it?' Coilla remarked.

  'Yes,' Alfray confirmed, 'and he's notorious for being a fanatic. Rules his followers with a rod of iron. Hates elder races, by all accounts.'

  'You think they might have one of these . . . stars at Trinity, Mobbs?' Stryke said.

  'I do not know. But the odds are fair. Why else would the kobolds be interested in the place? If they are gathering the instrumentalities, either for themselves or somebody else, it would be logical.'

  'Just a minute,' Jup interrupted. 'If these instrumentalities are so powerful—'

  'Potentially powerful,' Mobbs corrected him. 'All right, they promise power. That being the case, why isn't Hobrow searching for them? Why aren't others?'

  'Quite likely they don't know the legends of their power. Or perhaps they know enough of the legends to realise an instrumentality is a revered object, but don't know that it's necessary to unite them. Then again, who is to say that Hobrow or others are not looking? Such an aim is best served by secrecy.'

  'What about Jennesta?' Coilla said. 'Is she likely to know about the legend of the five stars, Mobbs?'

  'I cannot say. But if she is so anxious to get this one, quite possibly she does.'

  'So she could have searches underway too?' 'It is what I would do in her position. But remember, orcs, that I told you the power the instrumentalities offer would not be easily gained. That does not mean you should give up.'

  'Give up?' Haskeer blustere
d. 'Give up what? You're not going on this insane quest, are you, Stryke?'

  'I'm thinking about several ways we could jump.'

  'You know what chasing another of these star things means, don't you? Desertion!'

  'We must be listed as deserters already, Haskeer. It's been over a week since we should have returned to Cairnbarrow.'

  'And whose fault was that?'

  For a brace of heartbeats, those looking on didn't know how Stryke would take the accusation. He surprised them.

  'All right, blame me. I can't argue with that.'

  Haskeer pressed a little further. 'I wonder how much you wanted to put us in this position. Particularly as now you're trying to push us into making things worse.'

  'I didn't set out to make life harder for us. But now it's happened, it's happened. We should make the best of it.'

  'By swallowing these stories of myths and legends? They're tales for the hatcheries, Stryke. You can't believe this gryphon shit.'

  'Whether I do or not isn't the point. What matters is that Jennesta does. That gives us a powerful bargaining counter. This star could mean the difference between us living or dying. I'm not sure it's enough, knowing Jennesta. But if we had more than one, even all five . . ."

  'So you think it's better to set off on this brainless quest than go back and throw ourselves on the Queen's mercy?'

  'She has no mercy, Haskeer. Can't you get that through your head? Or does it take my fists to do it?'

  'But you want to make this move on the word of an old gremlin.' He jabbed his finger at Mobbs, who flinched. 'How do you know he's telling the truth? Or that he isn't just plain crazy?'

  'I believe him. Even if I didn't, we can't go back. Look, if you and the ones who voted with you, Jad, Finje, Breggin, if you want to go, then do it. But there's safety in numbers.'

  'You want to break up the band?'

  'No, I don't.'

  'You only got us to vote on the cylinder, Stryke, not turning renegade.'

  'Fair point. Though I reckon we're renegades already. You just haven't realised it.' He faced the assembled Wolverines. 'You've heard what's been said. I want to go after another star, and Trinity looks the best bet. I won't pretend it'll be anything but rough. But then we're orcs, and that's what we do best. If any of you don't want to come, if you'd prefer to go back to Cairnbarrow or anywhere else, you'll be given rations and a horse. Make yourselves known now.'

  No one, not even those who had voted with Haskeer, came forward.

  'So, are you coming?' Stryke asked him.

  After a pause, he replied moodily, 'Don't have much choice, do I?'

  'Yes, you do.'

  'I'm coming. But if things go against my liking, I'll leave.'

  'All right. But mark this. We might not be part of Jennesta's horde any more, but that doesn't mean discipline isn't going to hold in this band. It's what makes everything work. If you've got a problem with that, we'll take another vote. On who's going to be leader.'

  'Keep your leadership, Stryke. I just want to get out of this mess with my head.'

  'You have taken the first step of a long and perilous journey,' Mobbs told them all. 'You cannot go back. You are outlaws now.'

  The sobering atmosphere that brought down was cut into by Stryke. 'Let's get ready to move.' 'To Trinity?' Coilla said. 'To Trinity.' She smiled and went off. Alfray left to check his patients. The rest of the band dispersed.

  Mobbs looked up at Stryke and asked hesitantly, 'What about . . . me?'

  Stryke regarded him for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. 'I don't know whether we should thank you for helping us break away or kill you for turning our lives upside down.'

  'I think you had already started to do that before you met me, Stryke.'

  'I think perhaps we had.'

  'What are you going to do with me?'

  'Let you go.'

  The gremlin gave a little bow of gratitude.

  'Where will you go?' Stryke said.

  'Hecklowe. I still have business to finish.' His eyes took on a shine. 'A trunk full of writing tablets was found in a cellar there. Tax records, apparently, from the . . . You don't find this quite as fascinating as I do, do you, Stryke?'

  'Each to his own, Mobbs. Can we escort you part of the way?'

  'I am for Hecklowe, you for Trinity. They are in opposite directions.'

  'We'll let you have a horse and some victuals for the journey.'

  'That is generous.'

  'You may have given us back our freedom, it's little enough in exchange. Anyway, we have spares, not least Darig's. He won't be needing one for a while. Oh, and you might as well keep that.' He nodded at the parchment in Mobbs's hand.

  'Truly?'

  'Why not? We have no need of it. Do we?'

  'Er, no, indeed not. It has no bearing on the function of the instrumentalities. I thank you for it, Stryke. And for freeing me from the kobolds.' He sighed. 'I would love to accompany you, you know. But at my age . . .'

  'Of course.'

  'But I wish you and your Wolverines all good luck, Stryke. And if you'll take the counsel of an old gremlin . . . beware. Not only because you have made many enemies on all sides by your recent actions, but also because your search for the instrumentalities may well lead you into conflict with others on the same mission. With so much at stake, your rivals will stop at nothing to gain the prize.'

  'We can look after ourselves.'

  Mobbs regarded the orc's massive chest, imposing shoulders, muscular arms and proudly thrusting jaw. He read the determination in the craggy face, the flint in the eyes. 'I have no doubt you can.'

  Haskeer returned, hefting a saddle one-handed. He dropped it nearby and began arranging his kit.

  'What route will you take to Hecklowe?' Stryke wanted to know.

  Mobbs cracked a thin smile. 'Not through this forest, that is for certain. I will go west, in order to leave it as quickly as possible, then turn north to skirt it. It's a longer way—'

  'But much safer. I understand. We'll ride to the forest's edge with you.'

  'Thank you. I shall make ready.'

  He walked off clutching the parchment.

  'That could be a mistake too,' Haskeer commented. 'He knows too much. What if he talks?'

  'He won't.'

  Before Haskeer could offer any more unwanted advice, Alfray arrived, his face troubled.

  Without preamble he announced, 'Meklun's dead. The fever took him.'

  'Shit,' Stryke said. 'But it's not a surprise."

  'No. At least his suffering's over. I hate losing them, Stryke. But I did my best.'

  'I know.'

  'Question now is, what do we do with him? Given the fix we're in.'

  'A funeral pyre's going to be like a beacon for kobolds and any other race looking for trouble. We can't risk it. This once, forget tradition. Bury him.'

  'I'll get it done.'

  As Alfray made to leave, he glanced at Haskeer and stopped. 'You all right?' he enquired. 'You look a bit off-colour.'

  'I'm fine,' Haskeer replied sharply. 'I'm just sick of what's happening to this band! Now leave me alone!'

  He turned his back on them and stormed off.

  Jennesta stared at the necklace of snow leopard's teeth.

  It had arrived with an impertinent message from the captain that Kysthan had sent after the Wolverines. Despite his orders, Delorran had taken it upon himself to extend the deadline she had decreed. The necklace was a reminder of how minions would resort to insubordination the moment they were out of sight. And of the punishment she would inflict for the transgression.

  She slipped the necklace into the pouch in her cloak and gazed at the sky. The flock of dragons was no more than a distant speckle of black dots now. They were off on yet another patrol, searching for her quarry.

  The wind changed and brought the odour of something unpleasant her way. She looked at the gibbet set in the middle of the courtyard.

  General Kysthan's body hung f
rom it, swaying gently.

  Decomposition was setting in. Soon birds of prey as well as dragons would be circling above her castle. But she would leave the carcass there for a while yet. It served as an example to others who might fail her. In particular it would be a warning to the one she was about to receive.

  She watched as the dragons were completely swallowed by the overcast sky.

  Then several of her orc bodyguards approached, escorting another of their kind. He was young, or at least youngish, being perhaps thirty seasons old. His physique spoke of a warrior, rather than the general his abnormally clean and tidy uniform indicated.

  Naturally he couldn't resist a sidelong glance at the suspended corpse.

  He clicked his heels smartly and gave a bobbing head bow.

  'My lady.'

  She waved away the guards. 'At ease, Mersadion.' If he relaxed at all, it was imperceptible. 'I'm told you're ambitious, energetic, and more politically adept than Kysthan was,' she said. 'You've also risen well in the ranks. Having been a soldier in the field until recently could prove to both our advantages. That you are not still there is due entirely to me. Be sure that having made you, I can break you.' 'Ma'am.'

  'What did you think of Kysthan?'

  'He was . . . of an older generation, my lady. One with which I have not a great deal of sympathy.'

  'I do hope you're not going to begin our working relationship with mealy words, General, or it won't last long. Now try the truth.'

  'He was a fool, Your Majesty.'

  She smiled. An act which, had Mersadion known her better, would not have reassured him even to the limited extent it did. 'I picked you for preferment because I understand foolishness is not one of your weaknesses. Do you know the situation concerning the Wolverines?'

  'The warband? All I know is that they've gone missing, presumed dead or captured.'

  'Presumed nothing. They're absent without leave, and they have an item of great value that belongs to me.'

  'Isn't Captain Delorran searching for them already?'

  'Yes, and he's overdue. You know this Delorran?'

  'A little, my lady, yes.'