After saying something about Harglo’s character, qualities and clan background, Dallog evoked the Tetrad, the orcs’ quartet of principal deities, commonly known as the Square. The young recruit’s spirit was commended to Wystendel, god of comradeship, Neaphetar, god of war, Aik, god of wine, and Zeenoth, goddess of fornication. Then the corpse, sliding from a tilted plank, was consigned to the depths.
Normally this would have been followed by the taking of excessive amounts of wine and pellucid, accompanied by overblown stories about the deceased’s exploits and the singing of heroic songs. But given the circumstances this was deferred to a later date. Wheam announced that he was composing an epic ballad honouring Harglo, the performance of which was also deferred, to a date to be decided.
When it was over, and the band had scattered to their duties, Stryke took Dallog aside.
“That was done well,” he said.
“Not well enough for some in the band, I think,” Dallog replied frostily.
“It’s true you’re not Alfray, and a few begrudge that. But you’re your own orc and you did as good a job as he would have, in your way.”
“The belief seems to be that I don’t care for my charges as well as he did.”
“Don’t listen to Haskeer. Harglo’s death wasn’t your fault. None of them were.”
“No. Yet I feel liable. It seems… unjust that they should pass so young when I’ve reached the years I have.”
“Call it fate, or the whim of the gods. We all live in the Reaper’s shadow.”
“But think how good it would be if we didn’t.” There was a spark of real passion in the corporal’s eyes. “If we could turn back the years and cheat death…”
“It comes to us all, Dallog, sooner or later.”
“It’s unfair, this rapid piling on of time. One instant you’re young and strong, the next near dotage. Least, that’s the way it feels.”
“Most of us orcs don’t have the luxury of ageing, living as we do. Born as fighters, despised, all hands against us. A short life’s the likely outcome. You’ve survived. Count yourself lucky in that regard.”
“But if only-” He had been in a kind of reverie as he spoke, now he came out of it. “Forgive an old one’s rambling, Stryke. You’ve got enough on your platter worrying about Thirzarr without my musings.”
“Anybody would think you had one foot in the pyre. There’s life in you yet.”
Dallog gave a thin smile and nodded, and without further word they parted.
At the other end of the ship another meeting was taking place. Coilla had made it her business to seek out the tyros, to offer them condolence on the loss of their comrade. Only Pirrak had eluded her, and now she found him. He was at the rail, staring out to sea.
“Pirrak?”
He started and spun to face her, and he seemed alarmed. “Corporal?”
“Steady. You look as jumpy as a frog on a hot griddle. You all right?”
“I’m… yes, I’m fine. I was just… You startled me.”
“You’re pale.”
“Am I?” He touched a hand to his cheek, self-consciously.
“Thinking about Harglo?”
“Harglo. Yes. Yes, he was on my mind.”
“Did you know him long, back in Ceragan?”
“Since we were hatchlings.”
“That makes it harder.”
Pirrak nodded.
“You’re young,” Coilla went on, “and you’ve not seen as much action as the rest of us. You’ll… well, you won’t get used to losing a comrade but you’ll learn to accept it. It’s one of the costs of what we do. Of who we are.”
“That’s what Dallog says.”
“He’s right. And you can take some comfort from the way Harglo died. He was trying to help Chuss. That showed good fellowship. He was brave.”
“Yes. Brave.”
“Look, if you ever need anybody to talk to-”
“Yes, thanks. I’m all right. Really.”
“Well, take it easy.”
Coilla turned and left him, but couldn’t help noticing that he went straight to Dallog, further along the deck.
She climbed the stairs to the wheel, and Pepperdyne. Standeven had gone off to fill a corner somewhere.
“You look thoughtful,” Pepperdyne said.
“I was just talking to Pirrak. He was really tense.”
“Can you blame him? He’s a rookie, and going through a lot.”
“Yeah, s’pose. But sometimes I wonder about the tyros. Like, whether they’re going to hold it together.”
“They have so far. And they’ve got Dallog. He seems grounded.”
“Hmm. I guess things are a bit fraught.”
“Yeah, we’re all on edge.”
“You too?”
“Not as long as you’re here to protect me.”
She smiled. “Fool.”
Mid-morning of the next day they passed a group of mountainous islands. They were on the chart Stryke had and came as no surprise. What was unexpected were the three ships with black sails that came round the headland of the last island and followed them.
Orbon was at the wheel of the orcs’ ship. He was one of the privates who had proved to have some talent for steering, and Pepperdyne was training him as a relief. Pepperdyne himself was down on the deck with the rest of the band.
“They look just like this ship,” he reckoned, shading his eyes with a hand.
“Goblins?” Jup said.
“A lot of them got killed when the band freed those kelpies,” Spurral reminded them. “Could be more, out for revenge.”
“Maybe they’re not goblins,” Jup suggested.
“They’re goblin ships, ain’t they?” Haskeer retorted.
“ We’re on a goblin ship. That doesn’t make us goblins, does it?”
“Could it be that Pelli Madayar’s bunch again?” Coilla wondered.
“Well, I say we stop and face the bastards,” Haskeer declared. “Whoever they are.”
“No way,” Stryke told him.
“You reckon this could be innocent, Stryke?” Coilla asked.
“Plenty of ships in this world.”
“Yeah, but goblins…”
“We keep going.”
“So what we going to do; lead them to our destination?”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“But-”
“Fuck the goblins. Or whoever it is. All I care about is getting where we’re going.” He looked to Pepperdyne. “Can we have more speed?”
“We’re going just about as fast as we can now.”
“Try.”
“I’ll get up to Orbon and see what we can do.” He made for the stairs.
“I can’t believe we’re running from a fight,” Haskeer mumbled disgustedly.
Pepperdyne applied his skills and they did manage to put on a few more knots. Steadily, they increased their lead over the trio of ships. By the middle of the afternoon they had fallen back and out of sight.
Some time later the Wolverines came across a pair of islands. Again, they were marked on their map, and they were the largest islands they’d seen so far in this world. One was lush, with golden beaches. The other was its complete opposite; rocky and stark, its shoreline nothing but shale. The islands were close together, separated by a narrow channel.
“You sure we have to go between them?” Stryke asked.
“According to the map this area’s strewn with reefs,” Pepperdyne explained, “except for this strait. Otherwise we’d have to make a big detour.”
They had to slow down to navigate the channel safely. No sooner had they entered when a grunt on lookout in the rigging began to shout. He pointed to the verdant island, on their starboard side. A large number of canoes were coming out to them.
That drew most of the band to the rail, straining to see. Given recent events, they assumed hostility.
“Can anybody make out who they are?” Stryke said.
“Think so,” Jup replied, squinting. “They look like… elves.”
“Yeah,” Spurral confirmed, “you’re right.”
“They haven’t given us trouble before,” Coilla said.
“Really?” Stryke replied. “What about Pelli Madayar?”
“Back in Maras-Dantia, I meant.”
“Who knows how they are here? This place is full of surprises.”
“They don’t look hostile.”
“I don’t care. We’re not taking any chances.”