"No, he fell victim to me," she informed him evenly, confirming his fear. "The leadership of the Order has fallen into as parlous a state as the military. It was time for a change."
"But this is surely too harsh a way to bring it about?"
"It's the only way." She was talking through gritted teeth. "I keep telling you: a demonstration of ruthlessness is the best remedy for keeping underlings in check. Why should I stand by and watch the Helix squabble and deliberate endlessly before they throw up another Grentor to take this weakling's place? Better that I decide the matter swiftly, with a lesson for them as part of the bargain."
There was another rap at the door. But this was a proper knock, brisk and crisp.
"Come!" she called.
Hacher's aide, Frynt, entered, giving Jennesta a slight bow of his head as he came in.
The general was confounded to see him. "Frynt? I thought you were occupied on the west side today." There was no reply. Hacher's gaze flicked to Grentor's remains. "I'm afraid the good brother has met a rather unfortunate — "
"Don't bother," Jennesta said. "He knows."
"I… I don't understand, my lady."
"Meet the new governor of the province of Acurial, and commander-in-chief of its army."
"Am I to understand — "
"You are hereby relieved of all your duties and titles, Hacher. Frynt steps into your clumping boots."
He turned to his erstwhile aide. "Frynt? Is this so?"
"Sorry, sir." He didn't look it. "But a servant of the empire has a patriotic duty to stand up when called."
"Or to further their own selfish interests. I thought you were loyal."
"I am, sir. To the emp — " Jennesta caught his eye. "To our lady Jennesta and the empire. There is no personal dimension involved."
"How could you condone this?" Hacher indicated Grentor's body. "In what warped view can it be considered a positive act?"
"The lady Jennesta has convinced me of the need for change, and for that change to be instigated with a certain… vigour."
"I thought better of you, Frynt. You disappoint me."
"Then you know how I feel about you," Jennesta told him. "There's no point in arguing. Let's save your breath, shall we?"
"Argue I most certainly will, my lady. I'll take this high-handed deed to the ears of the highest in Peczan. If I'm to be sent home in disgrace — "
"Oh no, General; you're not going home. I have a much more useful role for you."
Her zombie slaves had positioned themselves as the living spoke. Now at her signal they moved in with surprising speed and seized the deposed general. He cried out, protested and cursed, but they held him fast.
Jennesta approached the struggling figure, her hands raised preparatory to casting a glamour. "As I said," she intoned, "let's save your breath."
Frynt watched, stunned. He hadn't known this was going to happen, let alone that he would be obliged to witness the general's fate.
The horror of it gave him an inkling of what it would be like serving his new mistress.
When Hacher started screaming, Frynt closed his eyes.
11
By the end of the third week of the uprising proper, with the ranks of the resistance growing still further, the balance of power started to radically shift. As the Peczan military suffered daily trouncings by armed insurgents, and civil disobedience became widespread, a tipping point was reached. The invaders, until so recently masters of a conquered land, were on the back foot.
Although it was a change the rebels had worked, hoped and died for, even the most optimistic of them were stunned by the speed with which it came about. Ever-larger sections of the population shed their former meekness to reveal the inherent fighting spirit that had lain buried for so long. Their pent-up grievance drove a thirst for freedom, and, inspired by the radiant presence of Grilan-Zeat, they unleashed a savagery unlike any the humans had faced before.
It was around this time, when fighting was at its most intense, that Wheam took the first small step towards redeeming himself.
He had performed competently in the clashes he was allowed to take part in. Or at least he hadn't brought a major disaster down on the warband's heads or got himself killed. Though nor had he managed to slay, wound or greatly inconvenience any of the enemy. Nevertheless it became almost a matter of routine to include him in missions, under the watchful eye of Dallog and other more experienced band members.
The Wolverines had been allotted a role in a raid on a house where army officers were billeted. It didn't go to plan. Due to foresight on the part of the authorities, or possibly because of an informant, a company of soldiers had been concealed nearby. What should have been a clean hit-and-run attack turned into a pitched battle in one of the few street markets still functioning in the capital. In the process the band was scattered, and Coilla, Haskeer and Wheam found themselves sheltering in a narrow, foul-smelling alley off the main highway.
Haskeer was less than pleased to be stuck with the novice. "Get in here!" he growled, pulling Wheam back from the alley's mouth. "You wanna lose your fucking head to an arrow? Not that I should care."
"Sorry," the young one replied tremulously.
"Go easy on him," Coilla said. "He's still cutting his teeth, remember."
"Wish he was cutting his damn throat. And what's with this?" He slapped at the lute Wheam had strapped to his back. "What the hell you doing bringing a thing like that to a fight?"
"It's the only way I can be sure not to lose it," Wheam explained, "what with us always moving safe houses and — "
"Yeah, yeah. Should have known you'd have some bullshit reason. Just keep it out of my face."
"Is it clearing out there?" Coilla asked.
Haskeer poked his head round the corner. "Looks like it."
"Shall we make a break?"
"Yeah. Our lot are somewhere down on the right." He turned to Wheam. "That's that way." He jabbed his thumb rightward. "'Case it's too hard for you to work out."
"Soon as we're out of here, Wheam, just run," Coilla told him. "Fast."
He nodded.
"Ready?" Haskeer said. "Right. Three… two… go!"
They came out of the alley at a dash, swerved right and started racing through the debris of the ruined market. There were overturned stalls and fallen orcs and humans among the trampled fruit and vegetables, broken pottery and strewn clothing.
Coilla looked back. "We've company!"
A large gang of soldiers had appeared and were chasing them.
Wheam, at the rear, was struggling to keep up with Coilla and Haskeer.
"Come on!" Coilla urged. "Move it!"
One trooper, a strong runner, was well ahead of the pack and gaining on Wheam. The tyro himself was flagging, and the soldier got near enough to brush his back with his fingertips. Then he caught hold of the strap holding the lute and wrenched it free. Wheam ran on. The instrument fell clattering to the ground. Two of the strings snapped melodiously. The human, still running hard, kicked the lute out of his path. It sailed across the street and landed with a crash, breaking into pieces.
Wheam stopped, turned and gasped.
Coilla and Haskeer shouted at him. "Come on! Leave it! Move your arse! "
The rest of the soldiers were sprinting forward and closing the gap.
"My… lute," Wheam whispered. His eyes moved to the approaching soldier. "Bastard."
An uncharacteristically crazed expression came to Wheam's face. He drew his sword. Seeing this, the running soldier slowed and went for his own.
Wheam charged him, waving his blade and screaming incomprehensibly. He launched himself at the man like a wild thing, thrashing and slashing a storm. Such was the force of his attack that the trooper fell back a pace or two. He had his sword up, but purely defensively.
Coilla and Haskeer had stopped by this time. They watched Wheam laying about the soldier; and beyond, the human's thundering group of comrades, getting nearer.
"We have to g
o and fetch the little fucker," Coilla said.
Haskeer made a disturbing noise somewhere deep in his throat and balled his fists. He nodded, curtly.
They unsheathed their weapons and headed back.
Wheam's deranged battering had the trooper retreating at a steady pace. He had no hope of overcoming the pint-sized whirlwind, but could only try to fend him off until his companions arrived.
In the event, it was in vain. Wheam landed a blow on the human's forearm, opening a deep, copious wound. Next he thrust his blade into the man's midriff, setting him staggering. Yelling what sounded like gibberish, though the word lute seemed to feature quite a lot, he pummelled his foe mercilessly, shredding flesh and cracking bones.
He was still hacking at the corpse when Coilla and Haskeer got there. Wheam swung round and growled at them, eyes blazing, sword raised.
" Whoa! " Coilla shouted. "It's us!"
Wheam blinked and focused. A little of the bloodlust drained away. He looked at the sword in his hand, then down at his victim.
"Nice one," Haskeer complimented.
"Don't believe it," Coilla said. "A good word for Wheam."
"Don't sweat it," Haskeer grated. "I'm not giving him a fucking medal."
"Er… the soldiers," Wheam interrupted, pointing along the street with his blade.
They were almost upon them.
"No time to run now," Coilla decided.
"We stand," Haskeer agreed.
The three of them stretched out in a line across the road and braced themselves. Near enough that their features could be plainly seen, the soldiers began whooping and waving their swords.
An open wagon careered round the corner from a side street and came to an abrupt halt between the two sides. A couple more followed, loaded with rebels who hastily leapt out to take on the mob of soldiers.
Stryke was in the back of the first wagon, alongside Brelan. He gestured for Haskeer, Coilla and Wheam to jump on. They quickly clambered aboard and the wagon moved off at speed.
Coilla expelled the breath she'd been holding. "Good timing."
"Glad you could make it," Stryke replied. "How'd you get on?"
"Killed our share," Haskeer informed him bluntly.
"Wheam gets the gold feather," Coilla said. "Claimed his first kill."
Stryke looked impressed. "Well done. You'll find it'll come naturally now."
Wheam mumbled something that included the words lute and bastard.
"What?"
"Broke my lute," Wheam grumbled. "Swine."
Stryke gave Coilla a quizzical look.
"Human broke his thingamabob," she explained. "Lit Wheam's fire."
"We'll find you another one," Stryke promised.
"No we fucking won't," Haskeer exclaimed, alarmed. He saw Stryke's face and shut up.
"Where we going?" Coilla asked.
Brelan spoke for the first time. "Not far. A place we commandeered near the centre. There's something you Wolverines need to know."
He wouldn't be drawn on what, and the rest of the journey was spent in silence through streets much emptier than they had been before the uprising took hold.
Soon they came to a large civic hall, complete with columns and surrounded by ornate iron fences. It was an old building, originating in the orcs' distant, more glorious past. Latterly it had been taken over by the occupiers. It was testament to the progress the rebels had made that they had taken it back.
Brelan suggested that Coilla, Wheam and Haskeer clean up and feed themselves while he talked with Stryke. Reluctantly, they obeyed.
Stryke was taken along crowded corridors and past faded embellishments to a room empty but for Chillder.
"We have news," Brelan stated without preamble.
"So spit it out," Stryke suggested.
"We thought we'd made things bad for the humans. Now we know it. We've heard that Jennesta's getting ready to flee the city."
"How do you know this?"
"Oh, the word's reliable. We've an army of informers, some in high places. They say she's got together a bunch of military loyal to her and they're about to make for the south coast, probably to a waiting ship. She might have left already."
"You can't let her get away."
"Unfortunately, we can."
"But — "
Brelan stilled him with a raised hand. "We can't spare the forces. And when it comes down to it, she's just one individual. It's all the same to us if she's gone or dead. She'll still be out of our way."
"Brelan, you can't — "
" But you and your band are free agents. And we know you have some kind of personal grudge against Jennesta, so — "
"A grudge?"
"We're not stupid. You know, our mother never quite believed your story, and we've always had doubts about where you were from and what you were doing here."
"There's no need to say anything, Stryke," Chillder assured him. "We're grateful enough to you and your band that anything that's gone before isn't important."
"Will you do it?" Brelan wanted to know. "We've fresh horses for you, and supplies. What we can't let you have is any of our fighters."
"Wouldn't want 'em. Though a guide would help."
"We've maps."
"Good enough. But I need to talk this over with my band."
"They're gathered downstairs. Don't be long. Jennesta might already have a head start."
Stryke was taken to a large chamber that looked as though it had served as a grand feasting room in olden days. All the Wolverines were there, as were Pepperdyne and Standeven. Jugs of water and of wine had been put out for them. Haskeer was sampling the wine. Wheam was being made a fuss over by his fellow tyros, and not a few veterans.
"We've got to make this quick," Stryke informed them briskly. "You been told what's going on?" Just about everybody shook his head. "Story is Jennesta's about to run for the coast. Might have started by now."
"What are the rebels doing about it?" Coilla wanted to know.
"It's down to us. If we want the mission."
"Do we fuck," Haskeer thundered. "Let's go after the bitch."
There was a general murmur of agreement.
"Anybody see why we shouldn't?" Stryke said.
No one did.
"So what's the plan?" Pepperdyne asked.
"Wait a minute," Haskeer objected. "Who said you were coming along?"
"I'm not wasting time arguing about these two," Stryke declared, waving a hand at Pepperdyne and Standeven. "Choice is between leaving them here or taking them with us. I reckon it's better to take 'em."
"Why?"
"They have a grievance against Jennesta too," Coilla reminded him. "Don't you, Jode?"
"Er… yes." He knew this was no time to deviate from the cover story he and Standeven had concocted.
"And we know Jode's more than handy in a scrap," Coilla added.
"Maybe," Haskeer granted. "But why do we need this other one? He's no use in a fight."
"Talk about me like I'm not here, why don't you," Standeven protested.
"Yeah, we will," Stryke assured him. "I reckon I'd rather have you where I can see you, 'specially given how the rebels feel about that thing with the intruder. Or whatever he was."
"How many more times," Standeven responded, "do I have to explain — "
"We're not going through it again. You two are coming. And like I said, we're not debating this. All of you: get yourselves ready, on the double. We leave as soon as I've seen Brelan and Chillder."
"I'll come with you," Coilla decided.
They left the band collecting their gear.
The first thing Chillder said when they found her was, "You're going?"
Stryke nodded.
"I have a feeling we won't be seeing you again."
"Who knows?" Strangely, he had a similar feeling.
"I hope we will," Brelan offered.
"Way things are going," Coilla reckoned, "you two are probably going to be too busy running the country."
"Thanks in part to you. And we're grateful."
"Yeah, well," Stryke told them, "let's not get sloppy. We could lose Jennesta and be back tomorrow."
"Perhaps."
"I'd like to have a minute with the Vixens," Coilla requested.
"Most of them are outside," Brelan said.
"That all right, Stryke? I'll be quick."
"Go."
She wished the twins good luck and went out.
Chillder smiled. "Whatever your true goal is Stryke, we hope you reach it." As he was leaving she added, "That bit in the prophecy about a legendary band."
"What of it?"
"Maybe it was true."
12
There was only one main road leading to the southern coast. Or more accurately only one that was likely to be suitable for the small army accompanying Jennesta. The Wolverines took it.
Before they left, they learned a little more from the rebels' spies. General Hacher, it seemed, had mysteriously disappeared. Having promoted some aide or other to fill the gap, Jennesta had promptly abandoned the successor to his fate. Of more interest to the band was that she had insisted on being transported from the city by carriage, and that supply wagons had been taken along. The Wolverines, on the other hand, travelled light.
After a quarter day's hard riding they got a first glimpse of the sea. Their approach was on high ground, and they could look down on the bay and its tiny harbour.
"No ship," Coilla said.
"And no Jennesta," Stryke replied.
"Could she have got away?"
"Doubt it. There's not been time. You'd at least expect to see a sail on the horizon. I reckon the ship she's summoned hasn't got here yet."
"So where is she?"
"Dunno. Send out scouts." He had an idea. "No, wait. Jup! Over here! "
The dwarf galloped to him. "Chief?"
"There's no sign of her."
"So I see."
"Think your farsight could help? Might be quicker than searching."
"I'll give it a try."
He climbed down from his horse, not without difficulty given his size, watched by an amused Haskeer. Jup flashed him an offensive gesture. Then he walked a little way from the others, knelt down and began worming his fingers into the sandy earth. The tyros and the two humans, unused to Jup's gift, watched with interest.
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