A high-pressure plume of green smoke spurted from the fissure. Almost reaching the ceiling, it formed a small cloud that shed verdant-coloured droplets. The smell it gave off was foul and some of the orcs clamped hands over their noses and mouths.
Following Haskeer’s example, Stryke leaned in and hacked at the other eye with his sword. That shattered too, releasing another gassy spout. The Watcher shuddered, its legs and arms hammering the floor. Gagging at the odour, the band backed off.
“I don’t think we could have done that in the old days,” Stryke told them.
The remaining Watcher was nowhere near the door now and engaged with the rest of the band.
“Get out!” Stryke shouted at them.
“Orcs don’t retreat!” Haskeer exclaimed.
Jup and Coilla arrived in time to hear that.
“We do this time, dummy!” Jup said.
“The way your kind does, eh?”
“For fuck’s sake, move, you two!” Coilla urged. “Argue later!”
Everybody ran for the door.
Four more Watchers were coming along the alley from its open end. Enough to block that as an escape route. The Watcher in the house was moving to the doorway.
“Don’t give up, do they?” Jup remarked.
Stryke realised the only chance was to try getting over the wall that blocked their end of the alley. It was tall and plaster smooth. He got two of the band’s beefier members, Haskeer and Breggin, to give leg-ups.
Two grunts went straight up and balanced on the wall’s narrow top. They reported another alley on the other side, then started reaching down to help the next in line. Troopers began scrambling up and dropping down the other side. Because of his shortness, Jup needed an extra boost from a grumbling Haskeer, and the grunts above had to stretch lower for his hand.
Only Coilla, Stryke, Breggin and Haskeer were still to go when the Watcher came out of the house. Stryke and Coilla got to the top of the wall.
“Hurry!” Haskeer called out.
He and Breggin stood, arms above their heads. Eager hands clasped theirs and began pulling. The Watcher made a grab for Haskeer’s foot. He shook free and scrambled frantically. The four other Watchers were near now.
Haskeer and Breggin made the top. Everybody lowered themselves into the next thoroughfare.
Jup made a face. “Phew, that was close!”
A section of the wall they’d just climbed exploded. Masonry fell, powdery dust billowed. Tearing aside the obstruction like paper, a Watcher appeared, white plaster coating its metal body. A little further along, the fist of another blasted through.
“Get out of here!” Stryke ordered. “And conceal your weapons! We don’t want to attract even more attention.”
Swords were awkwardly hidden. Larger weapons like spears and maces were reluctantly discarded. The Wolverines ran.
They got themselves into the main thoroughfares of the quarter and slowed down a bit. Stryke had them break up into three groups rather than attract attention as a mob. He led with Coilla, Jup, Haskeer and a couple of grunts.
“I don’t know if the Watchers have a way of communicating with each other,” he told them in an undertone. “But sooner or later they’re all going to know and be after us.”
“So it’s the horses, the weapons and out of here, right?” Jup said.
“Right, only we forget the weapons. It’d be too risky hanging around at the entrance checkpoint. Anyway, we’ve got some weapons.”
“Getting the horses is a risk too,” Coilla said.
“It’s one we’ve got to take.”
“I need one myself,” she remembered. “We’ll be short.”
“We’ll buy another.”
“With what?”
“Pellucid’s all we’ve got. Fortunately it’s as good as any currency. I’ll dig out a little before we go into the stables. Don’t want to flaunt the stuff.”
“Pity about those weapons,” Haskeer complained. “I had a couple of favourites there.”
“Me too,” Jup agreed. “But it’s worth it to get you and Coilla back.”
Haskeer couldn’t work out if the dwarf was being sarcastic, so he didn’t reply.
All the way to the stables, near the main entrance, they were nervous of what might happen. At one point a pair of Watchers appeared ahead of them. Stryke signalled everybody to be calm and they walked past them without incident. It seemed the homunculi didn’t have any way of communicating over distances. Stryke speculated that perhaps that was another consequence of the fading magic.
They got to the stables. Their horses were collected, and another was bought, without too much delay or attracting suspicion.
Back on the street, Jup said, “Why don’t we stay in three groups while we make our way out? Less attention.”
“Hang on,” Coilla put in. “Won’t it look suspicious when the first group leaves without collecting any weapons? Could go bad on groups two and three.”
“Perhaps they’ll just assume we didn’t bring any.”
“Orcs without weapons? Who’s going to believe that?”
“Coilla’s right,” Stryke decided. “What we’re going to do is stay together. We get as near the main entrance as we can on foot, then mount up and make a run for it.”
“You’re the boss,” Jup conceded.
They were in sight of Hecklowe’s main gate when a number of Watchers, perhaps a dozen or more, appeared a way behind them. They were marching purposefully in the same direction. A crowd was gathering and walking with them, aware that such a large number of the homunculi meant some kind of drama was about to unfold.
“For us, you think, Stryke?” Jup asked.
“I don’t think they’re out for a ramble, Sergeant.” The band was further from the exit than he would have liked. But there was no choice now. “Right, let’s go for it! Mount up!”
They hurriedly obeyed as passersby stared and pointed.
“Now move out!”
They spurred their horses and galloped for the open gates. Elves, gremlins and dwarves scattered, shaking fists and bawling insults.
The gallop became a charge. Up ahead, Stryke saw a Watcher starting to close the gate. It was heavy work, even for a creature of such prodigious strength, and went slowly.
Jup and Stryke got there first. Stryke took a chance and pulled up his horse. He sidled as close to the Watcher as he dared and booted it in the head. Coming in high, and with the added strength of a horse behind it, the blow toppled the creature. The Watchers tending the queue turned and made for Stryke. One came out of the guardhouse. Blades zinged from their palms.
Jup had stopped too. “Get going!” Stryke told him.
The dwarf rode off, dispersing the crowd waiting to get in. There were outraged shouts.
Then the rest of the band tore through the gates. Stryke prodded his mount and went after them.
They left Hecklowe behind.
They didn’t slow until they’d put a good five miles between themselves and the freeport. Getting a bearing on the trail to Drogan, they fell to exchanging stories of what had befallen them since they were parted. Only Haskeer had nothing to contribute.
Recounting her experiences with the bounty hunters, Coilla still burned with resentment at the way she’d been treated.
“I’m not going to forget it, Stryke. I vow I’ll make them pay, the human scum. The worst thing was the feeling of . . . well, helplessness. I’d rather kill myself than let that happen again. And you know what kept going through my head?”
“No, tell me?”
“I kept thinking how it was just like our lives. Like the lives of all orcs. Born into somebody else’s service, having to be loyal to a cause you haven’t chosen, risking your life.”
They all saw her point.
“We’re changing that,” Stryke said. “Or at least trying to.”
“Even if it means dying I’ll never go back to it,” she promised.
He wasn’t alone in nodding agreement
.
Coilla turned her attention to Haskeer. “You haven’t explained your behaviour yet.” Her tone was curt.
“It’s not easy . . . ,” he began, and trailed off.
Stryke spoke for him. “Haskeer’s not entirely sure what did happen. None of us is. I’ll fill you in as we ride.”
“It’s true,” Haskeer told her. “And I’m . . . sorry.”
It wasn’t a word he was accustomed to using, and Coilla was a little taken aback. But as she couldn’t decide to accept his apology until she knew more, she didn’t answer.
Stryke changed the subject. He told her about their encounter with Serapheim. She recounted hers.
“Something didn’t ring true about that human,” she reckoned.
“I know what you mean.”
“Do we count him as an enemy or a friend? Not that I’m used to thinking of humans in friendly terms.”
“Well, we can’t deny that he helped us find you by sending us to Hecklowe.”
“But what about the trap at the house?”
“Might not have been his fault. After all, he got us to the right place, didn’t he?”
“The biggest mystery,” Jup said, “is how he seemed to disappear each time. Particularly back there at the slaver’s house. I don’t understand it.”
“He didn’t come in,” Coilla supplied.
“It’s obvious,” Stryke volunteered. “He went over the wall, same as us.” He didn’t entirely convince himself, let alone any of the others.
“And how does he survive?” Coilla added. “If he really does wander the country unarmed, that is. These are times when even an armed orc does that at their peril.”
“Maybe he is mad,” Jup offered. “Many of the insane seem to have the luck of the gods.”
Stryke sighed. “Probably no sense in worrying about it. Whoever he is, chances are we’ll never see him again.”
The strategy meeting was held in the usual cavernous chamber. It was a place that looked more organic than fashioned, and water freely flowed through it.
Adpar’s military commanders and her Council of Elders were present. She was contemptuous of both, particularly the latter, whom she regarded as senile fools. But she had to concede to herself that even an absolute ruler needed help administering her subjects. She saw no reason to hide her disdain, however.
They fell silent as she addressed them. “We are close to defeating the merz entirely,” she announced. “Only two or three nests of the vermin remain to be cleared. It is my command . . .” She paused and corrected herself for the sake of tiresome nyadd politics. “It is my wish that this be achieved before summer is out. Or what passes for the season these days. I don’t have to tell you that the real cold of winter will mean another year’s delay. That isn’t tolerable. It gives the enemy a chance to regroup, to . . . breed.” An expression of disgust passed across her face. “Do any of you see a problem with that?” Her tone didn’t exactly invite dissent.
She scanned their sombre, and in most cases compliant, faces. Then a bolder-than-normal swarm commander raised a webbed hand.
“Yes?” she asked imperiously.
“If it pleases Your Majesty,” the officer replied, his voice edged with timorousness, “there are logistic difficulties. The remaining merz colonies are the hardest to get to, and they’re bound to be better defended now that our intentions are clear.”
“Your point?”
“There are bound to be casualties, Majesty.”
“I repeat: your point?”
“Majesty, we—”
“You think I’m concerned with the fact that a few lives may be lost? Even many lives? The realm is more important than any individual, as the swarm is more important than a single member. You, Commander, would do well to —”
Adpar stopped abruptly. A hand went to her head. She swayed.
“Majesty?” a nearby minion inquired.
Pain was coursing through her. It felt as though her heart was pumping fire and searing her veins.
“Majesty, are you all right?” the official asked again.
Agony clasped her chest. She thought she might faint. The thought of such a display of weakness gave her a little strength.
Her eyes had been closed. She hadn’t realised. Several officials and a clutch of commanders were hovering around her.
“Would you like us to summon the healers, Majesty?” one of them asked anxiously.
“Healers? Healers? What need have I of their kind? You think me in need of their attentions?”
“Er, no, Majesty,” the awed speaker replied. “Not if you say so, Majesty.”
“I say so! Your impertinence in bringing up the subject means this meeting is at an end.” She had to get away from them, and could only hope they didn’t see through her flimsy excuses and haste. “I’m retiring to my private chambers. We’ll discuss military matters again later.”
All bowed as she left. None dared offer to help her. They exchanged alarmed looks as she slithered into the tunnel leading to her quarters.
Once she was out of sight, Adpar began gulping air. She leaned over, cupped her hands in water and splashed her face with it. The pain was worse. It rushed from her stomach to her throat. She retched blood.
For the first time in her life she felt afraid.
17
Alfray and his group were near enough to Drogan that they could see the trees fringing Calyparr Inlet. They were no more than a couple of hours away.
The weather grew ever more unpredictable. As opposed to yesterday, for instance, today had been sunny and noticeably warmer. Many suspected that the varying strength of magic created pockets of good and bad weather. Alfray was sure this was true. But one drawback of more clement weather was that it brought the fairies out. They mostly irritated the band, and led to much slapping of flesh, though some preferred snacking on them.
Alfray and Kestix were discussing the relative merits of other warbands and their place in the league table every orc kept in his head. The conversation was interrupted by the sighting of two riders coming in from the east. They were dots at first, but riding all-out. Soon they were near enough to be seen properly.
“They’re orcs, Corporal,” Kestix said.
Nearer still, they were identified as Jad and Hystykk.
By the time they drew up, Alfray was alarmed. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Where are the others?”
“Take it easy, Corporal, everything’s OK,” Hystykk assured him. “The others are following. We’ve got news.”
As it was an agreeable day, Jennesta decided to intimidate her general in the open air.
They were in a palace courtyard, with one of the citadel’s massive walls towering over them. There was nothing as frivolous as a seat. All that broke the drab aspect was a large open-topped water butt. Its prosaic function was to feed horse troughs.
Mersadion stood in the wall’s shadow. The queen faced him ten paces away. All things considered, he thought it incongruous that she should be the one in sunlight.
Jennesta was in full flow, berating him for his perceived shortcomings.
“. . . and still no word from those wretched bounty hunters or any of the many other agents you’ve sent out at the expense of my coffers.”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“And now, when I tell you I want to take a hand in events myself and ask you to muster a modest army, what do you do? You give me excuses.”
“Not so much excuses, my lady, with all due respect. But ten thousand is hardly modest, and —”
“Are you telling me I don’t have even that trifling number of followers and bonded orcs?” She fixed him with a withering stare. “Are you saying that my popularity among the lower orders is insufficient to raise a meagre ten thousand willing to die for my cause?”
“Of course not, Majesty! It isn’t a question of loyalty but logistics. We can build the army you need, only not as quickly as you’ve decreed. We are, after all, stretched on several f
ronts at the moment and . . .”
His defence trailed off when he saw what she was doing.
Jennesta was silently mouthing something, and weaving an intricate conjuration with her hands. Eventually she cupped them, three or four inches apart. As he watched, spellbound, a small swirling cloud formed between her palms. It looked like a miniature cyclone. She stared at it intently. Tiny streaks of yellow and white began rippling through the darkening mist, like diminutive lightning bolts. The little cloud, still twisting and flashing, slowly moulded itself into a perfectly round form, about the size of an apple.
It started to glow. Soon it shined brighter than any lamp, giving off a brilliance it was difficult to look at. Yet it was so beautiful that Mersadion couldn’t tear his eyes away. Then he remembered the spell she had cast on a battlefield not long ago. It began in a similar way to this and ended with countless numbers of the enemy rendered sightless for the slaughter. A cold chill tickled his spine. He sent a silent prayer to the gods, begging their grace.
She removed one hand and laid flat the palm of the other, so that the radiant ball balanced on it just above the skin. Mersadion’s fear didn’t lessen, but he remained transfixed.
Jennesta slowly raised her hand until the radiant sphere was level with her face. Then, looking almost coquettish, she puffed her cheeks and blew at it. Very gently, like a maiden with a dandelion clock.
The little ball, dazzling as a minute sun, sailed from her palm. It drifted in Mersadion’s direction. His muscles tensed. When the sphere had almost reached him, and apparently following the Queen’s hand movements, it veered to one side and headed for the wall. Mersadion’s gaze followed as it floated into the brickwork.
There was a blinding flash of light and a detonation like a thunderclap. The force of displaced air buffeted Mersadion and breezed Jennesta’s gown.
He cried out.
A black scorch mark scarred the wall. A sulphurous odour hung in the air.
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