“Or what?”
The Elder seemed not to understand. “I thought I made that clear.”
“This Gleaton-Rouk’s going to cut up rough.”
“To say the least!” The elf was agitated. “He’ll ruin our crops, burn our homes, put us to the sword!”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Because he’s threatened to, right?”
“Yes. And he’s punished us in the past. Several of my clan have been killed by him.”
“That’s tough, but it’s a just few. He hasn’t killed you all or burnt you out.”
“No, because we pay the tribute!”
“And if you didn’t, or offered less, what would he do?”
Mallas Sahro was at a loss for an answer. “As I said, he would kill us and…”
“Wrong,” Stryke said. “If you were wiped out he’d have no tribute, no silver. Why should he do that? Can’t you see what’s going on here? He kills a few to keep you in line. The rest’s bluster.”
The Elder threw up his hands. “But what else can we do?”
“Ever thought of defying him?”
“We’re not warriors!”
“We are.”
“This ain’t our affair, Stryke,” Haskeer said.
“I reckon it could be. Remember what Spurral here said earlier, about them maybe being out for revenge on account of what we did to those goblin slavers. More I think about it, the more sense it makes.”
“I thought you wanted to waste no more time.”
“My hunch is we won’t have the choice. And you were right, Coilla, about leading them to where we’re going. We don’t want that.”
Haskeer snorted, “Oh come on, Stryke.”
“You’re not up for a fight, Haskeer? You? ”
“Well…”
“Please,” Mallas Sahro implored, “I must go!”
Stryke grabbed his arm. “You could put a stop to this now.”
“It’s easy for you to say. We have to live here.”
“Living in fear isn’t living.”
“And we’re not keen on tyrants,” Coilla added, warming to the prospect.
“You’re asking me to put my folk at risk,” the elf protested.
“I’m asking you to free them. With our help.”
“Those ships are moving at a hell of a lick,” Spurral observed.
They were much nearer than they should have been since the band last looked. Their black sails billowed fit to split.
“It’s magic,” the Elder said. “I told you he commanded powerful sorcery. Even the wind obeys him.”
“Don’t you elves have magic too?” Coilla asked.
“Yes, but on a different scale. Ours is healing, benign, protective.”
“So use it to defend your clan and leave the fighting to us.”
“I don’t know…” His eyes were darting to the shoreline. Most of the elves were with their boats now, obviously anxious, waiting for his order to set off.
“Does Gleaton-Rouk normally come in three ships?” Stryke wondered.
“What?” The Elder dragged his gaze back to him. “Oh. Er, no. Usually just one. We thought yesterday was an exception, when we saw the female of your kind. Then today, when you-”
“Right. I’ve a hunch they’ve come in force because of us.”
“You?”
“They feel they owe us a debt. Of blood. Well, you going to make a stand?”
“You can’t fight him. He has exceptional skills.”
Stryke slapped his sheathed sword. “So do we.”
“I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re saying, but I can’t take the risk. I have to think of my clan.” Head low, as though in shame, he hurried off accompanied by his keepers.
“You gave it your best shot,” Haskeer said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I meant it when I said we’ve no choice. You think they’re just going to let us sail away?”
“Not to mention that we can’t leave these elves at the goblins’ mercy,” Coilla added.
“What’s more important to you, Stryke,” Haskeer rumbled, “these elves or Thirzarr?”
“I’d knock you down for that if I didn’t know you said it because you’re an idiot. I figure it was Thirzarr the elves saw yesterday. If Jennesta’s kept her alive this long there’s a chance she’ll survive longer. But before we can find out we have to get through this.”
Haskeer had nothing else to say.
They watched as the Elder’s boat went out, surrounded by his clan’s many canoes. The trio of goblin ships was near enough that figures could be seen on their decks.
“So what do we do?” Jup said.
“If I’m wrong,” Stryke told him, “the tribute gets handed over and the goblins leave. If I’m right, then we do what we’re best at.”
They looked on as the goblin ships drew nearer and the elves’ boats headed for them. Then things took an unexpected turn. Manoeuvring nimbly, despite the narrowness of the channel, one of the ships changed course.
“Should they be doing that?” Spurral said.
“What the hell-” Jup exclaimed.
Without slowing, the two ships carried on towards the elves’ motley fleet.
“This doesn’t look good,” Coilla said.
The ships ploughed through the swarm of elves’ boats. Many were swamped, overturned or shattered. Elves jumped from boats to avoid the oncoming prows. Soon the water was peppered with bobbing heads, wreckage and the debris of tribute. There were shouts and screams from the swimming elves.
Emerging from the chaos, the ships began coming round, to close in on the shore.
“Looks like they’re not in the mood for trinkets today,” Jup said.
“It’s us they want,” Stryke told him. “ Weapons!”
The band filled their hands.
“Hey!” Coilla yelled, pointing. “There!”
They hadn’t been paying attention to the third goblin vessel. It was making straight for the orcs’ anchored ship.
Those on board had been watching. They saw the pair of goblin ships sail into the elves’ boats, sinking or upsetting scores of them, and leaving a trail of wreckage. Now the third ship was coming their way.
Pepperdyne glanced at his companions. Dallog, Wheam, Pirrak, Keick and Chuss; none of them veterans and one nursing a wound. And Standeven, who could be relied on to be useless or worse. So six defenders. He looked to the approaching ship. There were perhaps four times that number of goblins visible on its deck.
As Pepperdyne wasn’t a member of the band, and the band operated on military principles, he had no authority. Dallog’s rank put him in charge. Pepperdyne had his doubts about the wisdom of that, but rather than waste time arguing he opted for conciliatory.
“How do we handle this, Corporal?” he asked.
“The fewer who get aboard the better.”
“That’s what I figured. How many archers we got?”
“Good ones? That’d be Keick and Chuss. But Chuss-”
“Yeah, right.” He glanced at the tyro. Chuss’ wound meant his arm was bound and in a sling.
“I’m not too bad with a bow,” Dallog added. “You?”
“I’m a blade man. But I can use a spear.”
“So me and Keick as archers, Wheam, Pirrak and you with spears. Chuss’ll have to do what he can. Luckily it’s not his sword arm.”
The goblin ship was coming alongside; no mean feat in so narrow a channel.
“Unless you’re going to fight,” Pepperdyne told Standeven sarcastically, “you’d better hide yourself.”
Standeven nodded, and avoiding the others’ eyes, scampered for the hold.
“Here they come!” Dallog shouted.
The goblin ship glided in, its rail no more than a hand’s span from the orcs’. A splash sounded as its anchor went down. Goblins were rushing forward with grappling hooks to secure their charge on the Wolverines’ ship.
Dallog and Keick loosed arrows. One caught a goblin in the chest, the second found another’s windpipe. They kept firing as Pepperdyne, Pirrak and Wheam used their spears to impede the boarding, while Chuss slashed at groping hands and jutting heads.
The first, modest wave of would-be boarders lying dead or wounded, a second dashed to the rail. Mindful of the first wave’s fate, most of them carried shields. Now hits were rarer as orc arrows clattered against the shields and spears were deflected. The battle at the rail turned into a slog, and Pepperdyne discarded the spear in favour of his sword and knife. No goblin had set foot on the orcs’ ship, but the battle to keep them off was steadily being lost.