Along with Stryke, Jup and Reafdaw, she took it to the feasting table. Sweeping aside the remains of their earlier meal, she unfastened the scroll and rolled it out. They weighed down its corners with coconut drinking vessels and fat candles.
It was a chart. Whoever had drawn it, quite a while ago from its state, had a fine hand. It had been executed in different coloured pigments, now much faded.
The map showed a world dominated by ocean. But sprinkled with islands of all shapes and sizes, some in close clusters, others alone, a few isolated. There were hundreds of them.
"I'm guessing the one we're on," Stryke said, "is here."
He pointed to a shape quite far south, but reasonably close to a number of others. A red cross had been drawn inside its outline, and there were some crude symbols underneath. None of the others had that, save one. This bore a stylised skull in its centre and it had been circled in black. It was northwest of the first, and without knowing the chart's scale they thought it looked not too far away.
"Gotta be that one," Jup reckoned.
The three kids clamoured to see, the table being too high for them. They were hoisted up onto chairs.
"Is this where we are?" Coilla wanted to know, pointing at the island with the cross.
They confirmed it.
"And the place these Gatherers come from?"
" There! " they chorused, plonking grubby fingers on the island with the skull.
"That clinches it," Stryke said.
"Now how do we get there?" Jup inquired gloomily.
"In a boat," Grunnsa suggested.
"They're all too small," Coilla reminded him.
" No," Heeg insisted. "The big boats."
"There are big boats? Where?"
"In the boathouse, of course," the boy replied, as if he were the adult and she the child.
"Where is this boathouse?"
"Outside the village." Grunnsa pointed vaguely in the direction of the extinct volcano.
"Must be that place we saw them guarding," Stryke reasoned.
"So what are we waiting for?" Jup said.
At that point the longhouse's door opened. Haskeer and a pair of grunts came in. They had the elder with them.
"Found him and a couple of others hiding in the tunnels," Haskeer explained. "He's pissed off with us."
The elder's angry expression verified that.
"Why?" Jup wanted to know.
"Ask him yourself. He doesn't talk to mere servants."
Jup addressed the elder. "We're sorry about your trouble with the Gatherers. What can we do to help?"
"Your offer comes too late. You should have stopped them."
"We tried."
"Those who fall from the sky must be more powerful than the Gatherers. Yet it seems you are not."
"We want to avenge you, and to get your islanders back. But we need your help."
" Our help? What can we do that those who come from the sky cannot?"
"We need boats that can put to sea, so we can pursue the Gatherers and punish them."
The elder became tight-lipped.
"We know you have such boats," Stryke told him. "And where the Gatherers are to be found."
The elder shot the children a sharp, disapproving look. "It is forbidden."
"What's forbidden?"
"Our customs forbid any from leaving here and voyaging to other islands. It brings wrath upon our heads. We believe the Gatherers would not have known of us if some of our kin had not ventured out and been captured."
"We understand," Jup sympathised, "but we aren't bound by your customs. And one of our number was taken by the Gatherers. We want her back."
"It isn't just the Gatherers. There are other dangers on the outside. Great dangers."
"We can deal with them," Stryke came back harshly. "But what about the boats? Do you hand them over or do we take them?"
He said it with sufficient force to give the elder pause. "There are two," he admitted. "We took them from certain of our kin who were building them secretly, in defiance of custom. They would have used them to leave here and try to make a new home free of the Gatherers."
"Might not have been a bad idea."
"Did you not survey this world from your vantage point in the sky? You seem to know little about it. For all that we suffer from the Gatherers, this island is safe compared to what dwells beyond it."
"We'll take our chances."
"When we seized the boats they were incomplete. They are not yet seaworthy."
"Would it take much to finish them?"
"I think not."
It occurred to Coilla to ask, "If you don't allow seagoing craft, why did you keep them?"
"We had no intention of keeping them. They were to be publicly burnt, as a warning to any who would try the same foolishness. But then you arrived."
"Lucky we came when we did."
"Can we get any of your islanders to help us make the boats ready?" Stryke said.
The elder shook his head. "It would go against our customs and stir up unrest."
"And the same goes for any of you helping us sail them?"
"It does."
"To hell with your stinking customs then. We'll manage alone."
"Not quite," Coilla said. "Jode was island-born, he told me so. He'll have sailing skills."
"You seem to know more about those humans than we do," Haskeer jibed.
"Good thing I do, isn't it?"
"That's settled," Stryke decided. "We'll start work on the boats right away. As to you." He fixed the elder with a hard look. "Forget any idea you might have about taking it out on these kids for aiding us. Or we'll bring wrath down upon your head."
"Have we done chin-wagging?" Jup pleaded. " 'Cos while we're standing here flapping our tongues there's no saying what Spurral's going through."
16
Spurral had been knocked cold by the blows she took on the beach. When she came to, in the rowing boat, the island was just a speck in the distance, recognisable only from the columns of smoke curling from its pair of active volcanoes.
There were five humans in the boat: four rowing, one at the helm. Three dwarfs, apart from herself, were aboard, lying on the boat's deck. Two male, one female, all young. Like hers, their hands were tied. The humans said nothing, contenting themselves with scowling at their captives from time to time and raising a sweat at the oars. When Spurral tried to speak to them they told her in coarse terms to shut up.
They were hardy, weather-beaten men, with skin the colour of old hide from a life under the merciless sun. Most were bearded, and several bore scars. Their clothing suited the needs of fighting and seagoing.
Cautiously lifting her head, Spurral looked over the rail. She saw that their boat was one of dozens of identical craft heading in the same direction, and she guessed the others held dwarf captives too. The boats were making for a large triple-masted ship whose sails were being run up as the boats approached.
When they reached the ship it towered over them like a cliff face, making the rowboats toys by comparison. Rope ladders dangled from its side. Spurral and the others had their bonds cut, amid threats against misbehaviour, so they could climb them. The ascent was precarious, and as she made her way up she could hear the ship's timbers creaking and the waves lapping against its hull.
On deck, they were herded together facing the bridge. Spurral estimated there were forty or fifty dwarfs present. The humans numbered about the same, and most of them set to hauling aboard the boats for stowing, or making them fast to be towed. Nine or ten men kept an eye on the dwarfs. Not that they were troublesome. They were browbeaten, and some of the females were weeping. And apart from the occasional whispered exchange, they were silent.
A man appeared on the bridge. He was younger than the majority of the crew, surprisingly so for someone Spurral took to be their skipper. His face was hairless; his head was a mane of black curls. There was something about the way he looked and moved that was almost sensuous, calling to mind
a predatory feline eyeing its next meal. Of his robustness there was no doubt, and even from a distance he radiated a vitality that spoke of harsh command.
He rapped loudly on the bridge's balustrade with the hilt of his richly embellished sword. There was no real need. He already had their attention.
"I am Captain Salloss Vant," he announced in a strong, carrying voice. "It's normal for the master of a vessel to welcome guests aboard. But I've a feeling you'd find it hard to take my words to your hearts." The crew laughed. He smiled at his quip, then turned stern. "But take this as holy writ. If you have any other gods, forget them. I am your deity now."
Spurral was aware of dwarfs giving her furtive glances. She began to regret the band's letting them believe something so fanciful.
"As far as you're concerned," Vant went on, "I am the god of this vessel for as long as you're on it, and my word is your only law. And have no doubts that lawbreakers will feel a wrath that only a god can bring about." His expression slid to ersatz amiability. He spread his hands in a gesture of reasonableness. "We are Gatherers. You are the gathered. Accept your fate and allow us to fashion ours. And don't look so glum! Your new lives as servants, oarsmen, menials and the like will no doubt bring you great satisfaction." The crew laughed again. "A pleasure you can begin practising for straightaway," he continued, the mask going back to severe. "There are no passengers on this ship. You will work."
With no further word he turned his back on them and strode away.
"That's one god I can't wait to see fall," Spurral said, just loud enough for those nearest to hear.
Twilight on the island brought cool breezes, along with a reminder that time was getting on.
The pair of boats the elder surrendered were quite large. Big enough between them to take the whole warband and their provisions, with a little room to spare. They were essentially oversized rowing boats or undersized galleys, depending on how it was looked at. Both were fitted out for between eight and ten rowers. In addition each had a short mast to add the power of a sail. The rudders were a mighty affair, and could need two pairs of hands in rough weather. There were no covered areas on the boats, but lockers had been built in.
They needed most work on their hulls, which were unfinished, and both craft lay keel-up, with the band swarming about them. Wood was shaped, twine woven, tar boiled. Hammering, sawing and chiselling filled the air. Supplies were being gathered for the voyage: water, and such food as they thought might keep.
True to their elder's word, the dwarfs didn't assist. But many looked on, some in open curiosity, a few disapproving. The three children, Grunnsa, Heeg and Retlarg, were the band's shadows, though even they were wary of being seen to actually help.
Under the pressure, from time and Jup's growing unease, tempers were wearing thin. As Pepperdyne, the only one with any real experience of seamanship, was effectively in charge of getting the ships ready, he was the lightning rod.
"Can't you get them to work any faster?" Jup demanded.
"They're performing miracles as it is," Pepperdyne assured him. "Be patient."
"That's easy for you to say. Your woman's not out there somewhere, suffering the gods know what."
"Trust us, Jup. We want Spurral back as badly as you do."
"I doubt that!" He checked himself, and relented. "Sorry. I know you're doing your best."
"And we'll keep on doing it."
"It's funny. I never thought I'd be making common cause with a human, let alone over something as important as this. No disrespect."
"None taken. Life has its little ironies, doesn't it?"
"Never thought I'd be bossed again by a human either," Haskeer muttered darkly as he worked nearby.
"Jode's not bossing us," Jup told him. "He's helping."
"Oh, so it's Jode now, is it? That's what Coilla calls him. Seems to me some in this band are getting a bit too pally with his kind."
"Jode happens to be his name. And I reckon he's earned his part in this."
"You know where putting your trust in humans gets us. Or is your memory as short as your legs?"
"I've not forgotten. But when somebody proves their worth — "
"Know what humans are worth? This much." He spat.
"Nobody's saying you have to like me, or my kind," Pepperdyne said. "Or that I should have any great regard for you. None of that matters. Fact is, we need to work together."
"It might not matter to you — "
"For fuck's sake, Haskeer," Jup butted in, growing incensed. "Won't you rest it? This isn't about you. It's about finding Spurral."
"Yeah. Right."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"All this fuss for a mate."
"What?"
"They come along regular as whores. You can always get another one."
" You bastard! " the dwarf exploded, leaping forward.
He delivered a couple of low punches in quick succession and, while Haskeer was still reeling, seized him by the throat. Haskeer hit back with a vicious kicking at the dwarf's legs.
Then Stryke and Dallog were there, grabbing Haskeer from behind. Pepperdyne did the same to Jup, and the pair were pulled apart.
" Are you two insane? " Stryke bellowed. "There's no time for this shit!"
Jup glowered. "He said — "
"Do I look like I care? You're sergeants in this band. SERGEANTS. But you're going the right way to getting yourselves broken to the ranks. Understand?"
"Yeah," Jup muttered, and Pepperdyne let him go.
Haskeer didn't respond.
"Haskeer?" Stryke said. He and Dallog still had hold of him. Stryke applied a little less-than-gentle pressure.
" Yes! " Haskeer replied. "Yes, damn it!"
They released him. He was enraged, and gave Dallog a particularly poisonous look, but curbed himself.
"Spurral's one of our band." Stryke directed the statement at Haskeer, suggesting he had heard what was said. "And this band sticks together. If any of us is in a fix, all of us get them out of it. Whoever they are," he added pointedly. "Now get this job finished."
They went back to work. Some with better grace than others.
When he'd moved away from the rest, Coilla went to Pepperdyne. "Don't take it too personal. Haskeer can be a swine, but he comes through when it counts."
"What's his beef?"
"It's a thing between him and Jup. It goes way back."
"He wants to watch his mouth. I thought Jup was going to kill him."
"Nah. Cripple him maybe."
Pepperdyne had to grin.
"Seriously," Coilla asked, "when do you think we're going to get these things launched?"
"They might be finished tonight. But no way should we put to sea in the dark. So first light, I guess." He glanced Haskeer's way. "Let's hope we all hold together that long."
"Yeah, and we need to. These islanders don't say much, but from what I've picked up we could run into anything out there."
They gazed at the vast expanse of water and the disappearing rim of the sinking Sun.
Pelli Madayar stood on the peak of a hummock and watched as day began slowly turning to night.
Her second-in-command, Weevan-Jirst, was by her side. He was a member of the goblin race, who were known to be nimble and tough. He had a gaunt build, almost sinewy, and the texture of his knotty, jade-coloured flesh resembled taut leather. His elliptical head had no hair. His ears were tiny and half enclosed by flaps of rough tissue. His mouth was little more than a slit, and his compressed nose had nostrils like slashes. His eyes were disproportionately large, with inky black orbs and sallow surrounds.
The forbidding appearance of goblins often led other species to assume they were hostile — an impression not always without foundation, though unjust in Weevan-Jirst's case. He had devoted his life to the Gateway Corps, and met the high standards of probity the Corps demanded. Which was not to say that he was incapable of performing acts of violence in pursuit of their cause.
"I commu
nicated with Karrell Revers again," Pelli revealed, "shortly after we got here."
"And what did the leader have to say?" The goblin's inflection was sibilant, containing traces of the throaty hiss that formed the greater part of his native tongue.
"More or less what I expected. He was unhappy with the outcome of our first encounter with the orcs."
"It would be difficult to count that as a triumph."
"I know. But Karrell gave me a free hand on this mission, and he knew I wanted to try dialogue before force."
"No one could argue against that being the ideal. But I've yet to see a world where ideal is the norm." He grew reflective. "It occurred to me that it could have been the goblin presence in our party that enraged them."
"How so?"
"Traditionally, goblins and orcs haven't seen eye to eye, shall we say. And not always without good reason."
"I don't think it was that. The fact is I handled it badly."
"You're too hard on yourself."
"No harder than our cause demands. This is my first real mission; I'd hoped to have made a better start."
"There are few precedents to guide us, Pelli. Instrumentalities being so rare, these assignments are very uncommon. Some go their whole lives without having to do what the Corps has asked of you."
"That's hardly an excuse."
"Perhaps not. But it serves as a reason. What conclusion did Karrell reach?"
"He's still content to leave it to my discretion. Just. But he warns that, given the nature of the race holding the artefacts, force is probably the only option."
"He could well be right. Can anybody negotiate with orcs?"
"I'm starting to think not."
"Then what choice do we have?"
"There's something else. Karrell warned me earlier that another force had entered this game. Some individual or group with command of the portals. Their presence was detected in Acurial. And if they were there — "
"I take your point. Do we know more than that about them?"
"No. Which is worrying. To have one set of instrumentalities in irresponsible hands is bad enough. To have two — "
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