The advantage wasn’t entirely with the faun archers. They had to avoid hitting their own kind remaining below. The orcs had no such restraint.
A faun was struck and fell, drawing a ragged cheer from the orcs. Seconds later another plunged to earth.
“We’ll never get ’em all at this rate,” Coilla complained. “They could keep us pinned here till doomsday.”
Arrows continued to rain down.
There were shouts behind them. Stryke and Coilla looked to their rear. An orc had taken an arrow.
“Can you make out who it is?” Stryke said.
“One of the tyros,” Coilla told him. “I think it’s Chuss. But it looks like it’s just his arm.”
“And who the hell’s that? ”
A Wolverine was dashing towards Chuss. He was running a zigzag path, trying to avoid the arrows zinging all around him, and it was hard to make out who he was.
“It’s another newbie,” Coilla realised. “Harlgo.”
“Take cover!” Stryke shouted at him. “ Get down, Harglo!”
Too late. An arrow pierced Harglo between his shoulder-blades. The impact threw him off his stride but he kept going. Slowing, his stride uncertain like a drunk’s, he managed a few more steps before a second arrow struck the back of his neck. He went down, a dead weight. It was the fauns turn to cheer.
“Shit!” Coilla hissed.
“Burn ’em!” Stryke hollered. “ Burn ’em out!”
The Wolverine archers were prepared. Their kit included bolts wrapped with tarred cloth. Quickly striking sparks, they began igniting them. In seconds, flaming arrows zipped towards the tree houses.
It must have been some time since rain, because the dwellings were tinder dry, as was the foliage they nestled amongst. The burning arrows hit the houses’ walls, and passed through open doors and windows. Fires instantly broke out.
Even as the houses blazed the fauns carried on showering arrows on their tormentors. The orcs likewise continued sending up their fire-tipped bolts. Soon almost all the lofty huts were alight and the fauns were forced to bail out. Some climbed down, braving orc shafts. Others fell, in many cases burning and shrieking.
It was the final blow for the surviving fauns in the clearing. Those who were capable fled into the jungle, chased off by vengeful band members.
But the Wolverines’ triumph was tempered.
Stryke and Coilla stood and jogged to Harglo. He was surrounded by a group of kneeling comrades. Dallog was there, wearing a grim expression, and as they arrived he looked up and shook his head. As they suspected, Chuss’ wound was nasty but in no way life-threatening. It made the loss of Harlgo bitterly ironic.
Stryke came away from the huddle and headed for Levanda, who still lay where he fell. A number of the band tagged along, Jup and Spurral among them.
They gathered around the faun chief. He was conscious, but had lost a lot of blood, and his eyes were growing dull.
Spurral pushed her way to the front and gazed down at him. “You know the joke?” she said. “There are no Gatherers anymore.” Then she took her blade and plunged it into his heart.
No one begrudged her. But Haskeer looked disappointed at being cheated out of the act himself. He made do with spitting on the corpse.
“Yeah,” he said, wiping the back of a hand across his mouth. “Don’t mess with orcs, shithead.”
6
“I say it’s your fault,” Haskeer contended, aggressively jabbing Dallog’s chest.
“And how do you work that out?”
“You’re supposed to be looking after these rookies, ain’t you?”
“That’s the job Stryke gave me, yes, but-”
“Not doing it too well, are you?” He pointed to Harglo’s body.
“Not fair,” Dallog countered, trying to contain his own fury. “We were in a battle, and that means casualties.”
“ Battle? That was no battle, it was a skirmish. Not that you’d know the difference. You’re wet behind the ears for all your great age.”
Half of the band looked on, waiting for a fight.
“We Ceragan orcs might be new,” Dallog said, “but we’ve paid our dues on this mission. Harglo isn’t the first we’ve lost, remember. There was Yunst and Ignar too.”
“Proves they weren’t up to it!” Haskeer came back triumphantly. “And talking of remembering, we lost Liffin. All ’cos of you, and him.” He nodded Wheam’s way. The youth looked at his feet, shamefaced. “But I blame you more. You should have known better.”
“You’re staining Harglo’s name. He was brave.”
“Stupid, more like.”
“I resent that.”
“Resent it all you want.”
“Take it back!”
Haskeer balled his fists and leaned in menacingly. “Make me.”
Dallog raised his own hands. “Any time.”
At that point Stryke arrived and roughly separated them. “What the fuck’s the matter with you two?” he demanded. “I turn my back and in no time-”
“Just a few home truths,” Haskeer told him.
“If there’s any truth telling to be done, I do it, Sergeant!”
“I’m just saying-”
“You say too much. I don’t care what your beef is, either of you. All I’m interested in is getting out of here and finding Thirzarr. If that’s too much for you both, I’ll leave you here to fend for yourselves.”
They knew he meant it, and that seemed to sober them.
Noskaa and Vobe trotted up.
“We found the spring, Captain,” Vobe reported, “a couple, in fact. We got all the water we needed, and the fauns kept well away.”
Noskaa grinned. “Yeah, they’re shy of us now, and they’ve enough to do fighting the fires.”
“Good work,” Stryke said. He turned to Dallog. “How’s Chuss?”
“He’ll be fine,” the corporal answered sullenly.
“Any other casualties?”
“Only minor.”
“Right, we’re leaving.”
“What about Harglo?”
“We haven’t got time for a proper send-off for him. Sorry.”
“We’re not going to leave him here?”
“Sometimes, when an orc dies in the field, we’ve no choice.”
“It wouldn’t take long to build a pyre. If we all-”
“No.”
“I’ve got to face his kin when we get back, Stryke, if we get back, and I don’t relish having to tell them we couldn’t dispatch him decently with a few words said.”
“I feel as bad about it as you do, but we’ve got to move,” Stryke insisted.
“Do you?” There was an edge to Dallog’s voice.
“Can I suggest something?” Pepperdyne said. All heads turned his way, more than a few looking resentful at a human apparently interfering in something so orcish. “Why don’t we take Harglo with us and bury him at sea? That’d give you time to do it properly and have whatever sort of service you want. It’s what my people used to do.”
“We’re not your people,” Dallog muttered.
Stryke nodded. “All right, we’ll do it.”
“We can’t,” Dallog protested. “An orc should go out of the world in flame, or at least be buried deep. Not flung into the sea like some-”
“It’s that or we leave him.”
For a moment it looked as though Dallog would keep arguing. Instead he replied, “Whatever you say, Captain.”
They loaded the water and caught the tide. The winds were fair and they made good progress. Even from afar, tall columns of black smoke could be seen rising from the fauns’ island.
When they were well under way they turned their attention to Harglo. Dallog insisted on taking care of everything. As keeper of the band’s standard he carried spare pennants. A couple were stitched together and used as a shroud, tightly bound.
The band gathered on deck. As the mate of a Wolverine, there was no objection to Spurral being present. But Stryke worried that having humans there could antagonise the band. So Pepperdyne stayed up on the bridge, along with Standeven, although they could hear what was said.
Dallog carried on the tradition started by his dead predecessor, Alfray, and conducted the ceremony. Given the respect for Alfray, and the hostility some felt towards the new intake, that didn’t please everybody; particularly Haskeer, who stayed sour faced throughout.