“The speed we’re travelling we can’t stop them reaching us,” Pepperdyne told him.
“And we really can’t go faster?”
“Too risky in a strait this tight.”
“Prepare to repel boarders, then.”
The band took up their weapons and watched as the armada of canoes approached.
When they arrived, the boats kept up with the slow-moving ship without too much trouble. They were numerous and carried many elves, along with heaps of trinkets, craftworks and general bric-a-brac.
“Do they want to trade?” Coilla wondered.
Jup shrugged. “Dunno. But they’ve fallen unusually quiet for traders.”
He was right. The hubbub to be expected from hawkers who infested ports was absent. The elves had become muted as soon as they saw that the ship was crewed by orcs. Now most of them simply sat and stared. They seemed bewildered.
One of the boats was much bigger and more ornate than the others, resembling river barges the Wolverines had seen on their travels. Rowers were seated at the bow end. The stern held an elevated platform covered by a gold and blue fabric canopy. On the platform was a seat, and in it sat an elf of mature years, dressed a little more finely than the rest. Behind him stood a much younger elf controlling the rudder. With some difficulty this boat was manoeuvred until it lay alongside the orcs’ ship.
“Stay sharp,” Stryke warned the band. “This could be a ruse.”
“They don’t look like ambushers,” Jup said, “what with all that junk they’re carrying, and no sign of weapons.”
“Anything’s possible in this place.” He had ordered the archers to nock their bows; now he signalled them to stand ready. Then he hailed the boat. “ Who are you?”
The regal-looking elf called back, “ I was about to ask the same question!”
“Identify yourself!” Stryke repeated.
“Mallas Sahro! I’m the Elder of this clan!” He indicated the bobbing flotilla with a sweep of his slender hand. “ And you?”
“Captain Stryke of the Wolverines!”
“You’re orcs!”
“Obviously!”
“Then I confess to being confused!”
Stryke was puzzled by the exchange. “ Explain!”
“We thought you were goblins!”
“ You were expecting goblins? ”
“Yes!” He pointed to the boats’ cargoes. “ This is tribute for them!”
“Do you think he means those three ships we saw?” Coilla asked.
“I don’t know,” Stryke confessed. He yelled again. “ There are no goblins on this ship!”
“I see that! It seems we are again mistaken!”
“Again?”
“You’re not the first of your kind we’ve seen lately!”
“What do you mean? When?”
“Yesterday! Ships passed with humans on board, and an orc!”
Stryke’s heart took a leap. He had to force himself to ask the question. “ Was it… a female?”
“Yes! We glimpsed her standing on deck!”
“Could it be?” Coilla whispered.
“We need to talk!” Stryke called. “ Will you come aboard?”
“I will not set foot on a goblin ship!”
“I said there are no goblins here!”
“It’s taboo!”
“Shit,” Stryke hissed. “ This bellowing at each other is no good! How can we parley?”
Mallas Sahro considered that. “ Come ashore! We’ll meet on the beach!”
“Careful,” Haskeer warned. “Might be a trap.”
Stryke ignored him. “ All right, we’ll trust you!”
“As we will you! I return, you follow!” He signalled his rowers and the boat pulled away. All the canoes did likewise and headed back to the island.
“They seem harmless enough,” Coilla said as they watched them leave.
“So did the fauns,” Jup reminded her.
“We’ll take no chances,” Stryke assured them. “Bring us to a halt, Pepperdyne.”
“Are you sure? I thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are. But if these elves can tell us anything to speed our journey I want to hear it. Now do as you’re told.”
The anchor was dropped and the sails taken up.
Stryke decided to leave Dallog and the tyros on board to guard the ship. The elderly corporal looked as though he thought this might be some kind of slight, but said nothing. Not knowing how the elves would react to humans, bearing in mind the Gatherers’ reputation, Pepperdyne and Standeven were left behind too. Figuring dwarfs would probably be acceptable, Stryke included Jup and Spurral in the landing party. By the time all that was sorted out the elves had got back to their island. The band piled into their three boats and followed.
Mallas Sahro was waiting for them on the beach, seated in his throne-like chair. He had only a couple of functionaries or servants with him. The rest of his clan had pulled well back, to the tree-line, where they sat watching. None of them seemed to have weapons. Stryke took that as a promising sign of good faith.
The Elder greeted them with, “You come well armed for talking.”
“Where have we heard that before?” Coilla whispered.
“We’re always armed,” Stryke said, and tried to reassure him by adding, “To us it’s like the fine jewellery your clan wears.”
Mallas Sahro was indeed bedecked with rings, bracelets and necklaces, all fashioned from silver, though tastefully simple in design. From his expression he was less than convinced by the comparison, but replied, “Very well.”
“I should tell you that we’ve dealt with the elven folk before, and they’ve had no cause to regret it.”
“And we know the orcs, for all your fearsome nature, to be honourable and fair.”
“Yeah, we’ll kill anybody,” Haskeer muttered.
The elf raised his thin eyebrows.
“Don’t mind him,” Stryke said, giving Haskeer a murderous sidelong glance, “he’s got an odd sense of humour. How do you come to know about our race?”
Mallas Sahro seemed puzzled by the question. “The same way you know ours, I suspect. This is a world of many races, and many meetings.”
“Of course.” He saw no point in explaining that the Wolverines were not of this world. The Elder would probably think him insane. “What concerns us is the orc you saw yesterday.”
“The female.”
“Yes. What did she look like?”
“We only had the briefest glimpse. She was tall, and straight, and her hair was like flame. I can’t tell you more.”
“It could be Thirzarr, couldn’t it, Stryke?” Coilla said.
“Perhaps. And you say she was with humans, Elder?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see another female with them? One of… unusual appearance?”
“No. But we did not linger too long near those ships. You see, we made the same error as we did with you today.” A troubled look came to his face. “We thought it was him.”
“Who?”
“Gleaton-Rouk. A goblin with command of dark magic, and a nature utterly ruthless. More than once we’ve suffered his wrath.”
“That’s who the tribute was for?”
“Yes. We’re traders, not fighters. We make things, like this jewellery you admired. There are silver seams here and we mine them. The goblins have no such skills, or the patience to learn them. They only take. Their talents lie in cruelty and destruction, and we pay tribute to keep them from our door.”
“Yeah, we’ve encountered goblins before,” Coilla said.
“With respect,” the elf told her, “I think even the formidable orcs would find Gleaton-Rouk a daunting foe.”
“So when you saw our ship you thought it was him,” Stryke reasoned.
“Yes. That and the fact that he’s due.”
There was a commotion from the crowd of elves at the rear of the beach. They were pointing out to sea.
Three black sails had appeared on the horizon.
7
There was something close to panic on the elves’ island. But the populace wasn’t disappearing into the jungle; they were running down the beach towards their boats.
“What’s happening?” Stryke said as they streamed past.
“We must meet them with the tribute!” Mallas Sahro replied.