It was a relief to feel the weight of his khopesh at his side once more, and Fletcher realised how naked he had felt without it.
No sooner had they finished, the gremlins were tugging them towards the creek, impatient to move on.
‘So, we float,’ Blue said when they reached the bank, pointing at the shallows.
What Fletcher had first thought were enormous lily pads turned out to be strange, bowl-shaped vessels that floated on the water. Already, the braves were leaping into them, with four to each craft until they had all boarded. Still, a few vessels remained, including an especially large one.
‘Will those things hold our weight?’ Othello grumbled. ‘We dwarves aren’t known for our swimming prowess.’
Cress nodded in agreement, prodding at a boat with her toe.
‘They will,’ Jeffrey said enthusiastically, jumping into the nearest one. It rocked dangerously as he swayed on his feet, and water slopped in over the side. The gremlins twittered to themselves as he floundered, trying to prevent it from spinning with the tiny oar roped to its side. Still, it floated well, and he sat happily enough in the puddle of water at the bottom.
‘Coracles,’ Jeffrey said knowingly, rapping the side. ‘The river peoples of western Hominum use them for fishing. Woven willow rods form the structure and tar-coated animal skins make them waterproof. Their flat bottoms mean they barely disturb the water and, by extension, the fish. Sometimes the simplest ideas are also the best ones.’
‘As long as they get us there by midnight, they’re good enough for me,’ Fletcher said, stepping into his own and lowering himself to the floor. It was comfortable, like sitting in a large basket.
The others followed suit, though Lysander and Athena remained in the treetops, preferring to stretch their wings. There was a moment’s struggle as Sariel splashed her way through to the largest coracle and tumbled in. From the smell of it, this bigger vessel was the one the gremlins used to store and transport their catch. She didn’t seem to mind, snuffling at the bottom and lapping up the remains with relish, coating her tongue in flashing scales.
Sylva shuddered and then laughed aloud.
‘You’d be surprised how good that tastes to her,’ she chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the Canid’s ears. ‘I should probably infuse her but … she seems happy enough.’
There was a pause as the team manoeuvred their vessels downstream, then the gremlins slipped their oars into the creek.
‘Onwards,’ Blue fluted, stroking the water white as he propelled himself away from the bank.
They pushed into the centre of the river, where the gentle current picked them up. It tugged them along at a much faster pace than Fletcher had expected, in fact, they did not need to paddle at all. All he had to do was dip the oar in occasionally to keep the coracle from spinning.
‘Can we go any faster?’ Fletcher called over the rushing water. ‘We need to be there before midnight. How long until we get there?’
‘Plenty of time,’ Blue said. ‘Don’t be worrying.’
Fletcher groaned and forced his anxiety away, hating that the fate of their mission rested on the word of one gremlin. Sylva caught his eye, and he saw she had an arrow nocked to her bow. Clearly, she trusted the gremlins a great deal less than he did.
He shrugged and settled back, allowing his spine to rest on the shallow curve of the vessel. The gremlins chirruped among themselves, while the rest of his team watched the forest go by, their eyes half closed. It had been a long day, and the setting sun was already lulling them to sleep.
Ignatius pawed at his thigh and Fletcher saw him staring into the waters below. It was clear and placid as a sheet of glass; he could see the green fronds lining the bottom, swaying in the current. As he watched, a stingray glided past, as large as the coracle he sat in. Its undulating sides propelled it faster than the current, and it soon disappeared beyond his sight.
‘Good meat,’ Blue said, watching from his coracle. He ran his finger over the tip of one of the harpoons strapped to his back, and Fletcher saw it was barbed like the ray’s sting. ‘Useful tails.’
Even as he spoke, more rays emerged from the weeds below, drifting beneath in tandem. Wide-finned fish with green backs joined the procession, powered by the soft beating of their tails.
Something darted past, scattering them aside. It snatched a fish in its mouth and spiralled in a helix of bubbles, revealing itself to be what had disturbed the crowd from the shade of the underwater forest.
A dolphin, pink as a dahlia, swam beneath them. Its long beak gulped down the prey, then it thrashed its flukes, breaching the surface and splashing down in a burst of water.
All around, more rose-coloured dolphins leaped and dived, whistling and clicking with what sounded like laughter. The gremlins clapped their hands with joy, some even throwing titbits from the pouches at their waists for the dolphins to catch. Many replied, matching the dolphin sounds with their own. It was strangely beautiful to watch, as if the two were singing to each other.
‘The old men of the river is blessing journey!’ Blue laughed, splashing the water beside his coracle to beckon one to the surface. ‘It is being good omen!’
The dolphin rubbed its rosy flipper along Blue’s fingertips, as close to a handshake as the two species could manage. Then, as if some silent signal had been passed between them, the dolphins shot off upstream, leaving the coracles to continue their journey alone.
‘That was beautiful,’ Sylva said, gazing after them. She turned to Blue. ‘Could you understand them?’
‘We is speaking many words while they is speaking few,’ Blue said, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Some say, long ago we is learning to speak from they. It is not the same, but we is understanding they meaning.’
As he spoke, his face darkened. Fletcher followed his gaze, peering through the dim light of the setting sun.
A crumbling statue lay on its side by the water’s edge, layered with moss and vines. The head was partially submerged in the shallows, but there was no mistaking the creature it depicted, with its broken tusks and jutting brow. They were in orc territory now.
37
Night fell thick and fast, with barely a sliver of moon to illuminate their passage. They dared not produce wyrdlights, for the creek had widened into a tributary and the great river they had to cross flowed ahead, signalled by the sound of rushing water. The pyramid sat on the other side, the dark outline stark against the star studded sky. It was at least ten times bigger than Fletcher had pictured, larger than even Beartooth’s peaks. He forced himself to stifle a curse of disbelief, in case there were enemies lurking nearby.
To keep them together, Blue had tossed them the end of a harpoon each, which they embedded in the rims of their coracles. Lysander and Athena had already flown ahead, to scout out their landing zone on the other side of the river. Even Sariel had been infused by Sylva, for the boat sat too low in the water with her inside. It now contained four gremlins, who deftly manoeuvred the unwieldy coracle into the centre of the fleet.
‘Row, hard and fast,’ Blue said in a harsh whisper. ‘If current is taking you and you no keep up, we cannot save you. Your rope will be cut.’
Fletcher heard the sound of splashing and the coracles began to rock. He was sprayed as they entered the choppy rapids then, as he felt the boat lurch with the running water, he slashed over the side with his oar, desperately propelling the boat forward. Soon Fletcher was surrounded by grunts of exertion as they struggled on, and his world became a seemingly endless repetition of thrust, sweep, pull; thrust, sweep, pull.
The darkness obscured those around him. All his eyes saw was the pyramid against the skyline. Beneath it, thousands of goblin eggs were waiting to hatch, and a tortured soul waited for rescue. They were so close, he could taste it.
As the seconds ticked by, he despaired as the great silhouette slid from right to left, the current pushing them further and further down the river.
His arms burned but he dared not stop. On and
on he rowed, snarling through his teeth with every thrash of his oar. Even Ignatius helped, cupping his claws and bailing the water that splashed into the bottom of the coracle and soaked Fletcher’s trousers.
Then, unexpectedly, he felt the grate of sand beneath him. Blue’s nimble fingers grasped his own, tugging him into the shallows of the river bank. The gremlin dragged the coracle behind them, until they had staggered to the edge of the jungle.
‘Dig now,’ Blue hissed, removing the harpoon with a tug and pushing Fletcher’s hands into the soil. ‘We is hiding the boats.’
Fletcher dug blindly at the ground with his hands. Despite his exhaustion, it was surprisingly easy to push aside the earth, for it was loose and dry. Athena fluttered down beside him and helped, as did Ignatius. They pawed the loam between their legs until the hole was deep enough to stash the shallow bowl of a boat, making sure to place it upside-down so it would be easy to remove should they need to return. He could hear the others in the darkness, burying their own coracles. No sooner had they finished, than Blue reappeared.
‘You friends is being ready,’ the gremlin whispered, pushing the harpoon and its coil of rope into Fletcher’s hands. ‘Follow. We eyes see better.’
Fletcher gripped the harpoon and trudged into the blackness, the water squelching in his boots. Every now and again there was a tug on the harpoon’s rope and he would adjust his direction. Twice he stumbled, stifling curses as he grazed his knees on the pebbles that lined the shore. He was not the only one to trip over, judging from the occasional thud and gasp of pain from behind him.
Fletcher wished he’d had the foresight to put on the scrying crystal, for Athena and Ignatius’s night-vision were better than his. Instead, he had stashed it inside his pack in case it fell in the water, and now he was too occupied to delve inside and find it. Even the cat’s-eye spell was out of the question – the yellow light of the spell would reveal their presence, exposed as they were on the river bank.
Despite the pain twinging through his knees, he was glad the gremlins were there to help them. He could not imagine how the other teams would cross the river, not without being swept half a mile downriver before reaching the other side. He hoped that all the teams would make it in time.
‘Stop here,’ Blue hissed.
They were at the base of the pyramid, where the forest had been cleared away to leave a clear path to the stony base of the giant structure. The building towered above like a sleeping giant, and Fletcher was filled with dread at the awesome sight. Shaking his head with resolve, he strained his eyes in the darkness. He was just able to make out the entrance, yawning like a cave mouth.
‘This is being where we part,’ Blue said, his voice low and urgent. ‘We is hiding among our brothers and is attacking tomorrow.’
‘Good luck,’ Fletcher whispered.
‘I is thinking it is you who is needing it,’ Blue replied. ‘The gremlins is living further down the river.’
He paused and lay his fingers across Fletcher’s palm.
‘May we paths cross again, Fletcher.’
With that, the harpoon was jerked from Fletcher’s hand, followed by the fading patter of feet. He looked out into the darkness, hoping to catch another glimpse of the brave little creatures, but they had disappeared into the night. Fletcher’s team had been lucky to find such formidable allies.
After a moment’s pause, Fletcher positioned Athena on his shoulder and pulled the scrying stone from his bag. Swiping her wingtip with it to begin the connection, he strapped it to his eye and took in the scene.
The others were crouched in the dirt around him, their wide eyes unseeing as they glanced around fearfully. Even Lysander seemed nervous, his claws digging a furrow in the earth as he waited for their next move.
‘I can’t believe we made it,’ Fletcher said, looking at the position of the moon in the sky. ‘It’s almost midnight. Let’s see who else is here.’
‘We can’t be the only ones,’ Cress whispered.
Fletcher crouched low and scuttled towards the pyramid, Ignatius loping ahead with his nose to the ground and Athena keeping watch from above.
As they moved closer, Fletcher took in the enormous building. Despite the threat of the foreboding treeline on either side, he could not help but focus on Athena’s view of the structure.
It was larger than anything he had ever seen, even more so than Vocans itself. It was made from a series of square levels that narrowed as they neared the top. Athena’s night-vision showed that the stone slabs it was comprised of were a dull yellow in colour, and their outsides were coated in tangled vines and creepers.
Then they were in the shadow of the pyramid itself, and suddenly they were not alone.
‘Is that you, Fletcher?’ Seraph’s voice called from the entrance, accompanied by the click of a pistol’s flint being pulled back.
‘Put that thing away,’ Malik hissed, and there was a clatter as a gun was knocked to the floor.
The two leaders were crouched in the entrance. Both were soaking wet, their shaggy black hair plastered to their foreheads. They looked miserable, terrified and exhausted.
‘It’s us – no need to go shooting up the place,’ Othello said, picking up the gun and handing it to Seraph. ‘That thing wouldn’t have fired anyway, it looks like the powder’s wet.’
‘Well, that’s what half drowning yourself in the river will get you,’ Seraph groaned, wringing out his hair between his fingers. ‘The others are drying off in the entrance chamber. Don’t worry, you can’t see the fire from outside.’
‘There might be demons guarding the place in there,’ Cress remarked, peering into the entrance. It was a bare corridor that stretched into darkness, with a small chamber to the left. Fletcher could see the hint of the glow of flame from within it, but wasn’t unduly worried. Any guard demons would most likely be deeper inside, if there were any at all. Even so, Seraph shuddered and shuffled away from the entrance.
‘Why are you wet?’ Fletcher asked Malik, remembering the route his team was supposed to have taken.
‘We changed our minds,’ Malik muttered. ‘When Isadora’s team switched to your side of the river, we thought they knew something we didn’t and followed. We met up with Seraph’s team just before crossing.’
Fletcher froze. So, Malik’s team had been on their side of the river too. Was it possible it was one of them who had tried to kill him?
‘Speaking of which, have you seen Isadora’s team?’ Seraph interjected, breaking up Fletcher’s thoughts. ‘Our window for the raid closes in eight hours.’
‘Are they not here yet?’ Cress exclaimed. ‘We need them!’
‘What do we do now?’ Fletcher asked, his heart pounding. He had not really considered what they would do if another team were late.
‘I’d rather wait for Isadora’s team.’ Malik yawned. ‘If we attack now, their chances of rescue are much lower.’
Sylva snorted, as if Malik had made a joke.
‘Wouldn’t that be a shame,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I say we hole up here and hope they make an appearance,’ Malik continued, already moving to the fire-lit chamber. ‘The orcs won’t be expecting anything.’
‘The Celestial Corps are on standby right now,’ Seraph warned, looking into the night sky. ‘Every minute we waste is a minute Hominum’s skies go undefended.’
‘Be that as it may, we’re all exhausted,’ Malik replied. ‘We might as well wait until morning.’
Fletcher was bone tired … but they only had eight hours to complete the mission. Who knew how long it would take for them to find their objective in the labyrinth of tunnels ahead?
‘Maybe we should attack now,’ Fletcher argued. ‘We’re about to bed down in the most sacred place in Orcdom, while Hominum’s only air defence waits for us on the ground. Does that not sound crazy to you?’
But support for Malik came from an unlikely source. Seraph had changed his mind.
‘Look, we’re a team
down right now,’ Seraph sighed. ‘I know you have issues with Isadora’s lot – hell, I do too – but whether you like it or not, we have a better chance of success with them fighting alongside us. Malik’s team and mine expended a lot of mana crossing that river, we had to use the telekinesis spell to help propel ourselves through that current. We need to rest.’
Malik chimed in.
‘We can go in half-cocked now, or wait a few hours and do it properly. Remember, we only have one shot at this. Let’s make it count.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Rufus’s voice snarled from within the pyramid. ‘My mother might not last another night.’
Malik winced, but ignored the outburst and beckoned Fletcher’s team to follow him through the entrance.
‘They don’t use this place other than for rituals, right?’ Malik said over his shoulder. ‘Mason says only shamans are allowed in the pyramid. We’re safer hiding here than out in the jungle.’
As whispered greetings were made, Fletcher looked at his team through his scrying lens, Athena’s eyes cutting through the gloom. They were all damp and exhausted from the trip across the river and most had barely slept since the night they had encountered Isadora’s team – unless poison-induced unconsciousness counted. Othello and Atilla were already dozing, their arms around each other’s shoulders. It was true, a night’s rest would do them all good, but was this the right call? Hundreds, if not thousands, of people could die if the Wyverns attacked Hominum that night.
‘All right team, infuse your demons and get some shuteye,’ Fletcher said, slumping to the ground in defeat. ‘I have a feeling we’re going to need it.’
38
Fletcher woke to the sound of drums. They pounded with a deep, incessant throb, booming low and loud across the pyramid.
Summoner: Book 2: The Inquisition Page 25