“Can’t see that they’d be much help,” Coilla told her. “Any other ideas? Anybody?”
“I suppose we could sail these waters in the hope of picking up a clue about where Jennesta’s gone,” Pepperdyne said. “Though I’m pretty sure that’d be fruitless.”
“Great,” Coilla sighed. “Anybody else? No? All right. I think all we can do is hone our blades, check our kit and wait for Stryke to snap out of it. He’ll know what to do.”
“Will he?” Haskeer said.
She ignored that. “Anybody comes up with a better plan, sing it out.”
“If we’re waiting, I’m doing it on the beach,” Spurral decided. “There’s more cheer there than in this place.”
Coilla looked at the ruined settlement. “I’m with you on that.”
“What about Stryke?” Jup said.
“He’ll be fine.”
Spurral headed off, and the rest of the band drifted along behind her. If Stryke noticed, he gave no sign.
On the beach most of the band settled down together. They proceeded to overhaul their weaponry, and to discuss the situation in low tones. There was a general air of despondency.
Coilla and Pepperdyne sat apart from the others. Coilla spent the time cleaning the throwing knives she had retrieved after battling the goblins.
“What do you reckon?” Pepperdyne said. “Can you see a way out of this?”
“Offhand, no.”
“What about Stryke?”
“What about him?”
“ Is he going to snap out of it?”
“Course he is. I’ve seen him like this before, though not as bad. He just needs some time.”
“And what you said about him knowing what to do. Will he?”
“No idea. But if anybody can come up with something, it’s Stryke.”
“So we wait.”
Coilla shrugged. “What else can we do?” She glanced at the rest of the band. Like her and Pepperdyne, two others had chosen to sit to one side. “I want to talk to somebody, Jode. Hang on here.”
He nodded. She stood and moved off.
Almost as soon as she left, Standeven arrived.
“What is it?” Pepperdyne snapped tetchily.
Standeven affected a hurt look. “Do I have to have a reason for talking to my long-serving helper?”
“There’s a motive behind everything you do. And helper isn’t exactly the word I’d choose to describe our connection.”
“Words, words, words.” Standeven waved a dismissive hand. “We put too much weight on them.”
“Words like slave, you mean? That one’s light as a feather. Except to anybody it’s applied to.”
“ Connection. That’s the only word you’ve used that’s of any importance.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Standeven?”
“Whatever you want to call it, we do have a bond. We’ve been through a lot together, and we’ve always overcome anything and anybody who stood in our way.”
“ I have, you mean.”
“Now we’re in another fix.”
“That’s a statement of the damned obvious. What’s your point?”
“The instrumentalities.”
“Oh, for the gods’ sake! Not that again. Don’t you ever-”
“Hear me out. You think I want to get my hands on them.”
“I wonder what gave me that idea.”
“But all I really want is to get back to our world.”
“You haven’t exactly hidden that ambition.”
“Be serious,” he returned sternly. “I’ve got a plan.”
“And you’re going to tell me about it.” Pepperdyne’s tone was one of resignation.
Standeven leaned into him, too close for Pepperdyne’s liking, and monopolised his ear. “Stryke won’t be parted from the instrumentalities, quite rightly, so he has to be persuaded to use them to take me back. And you too, of course,” he added as an afterthought.
“Persuaded.”
“Yes.”
“By you.”
“Well, given the way he thinks about me, it’d be better coming from you.”
“Me. And what am I supposed to say to him?”
“It’s simple. All he’s got to do is take me… take us home, then return here. We’re out of his hair, he’s still got the instrumentalities.”
“He’s going to do this in the middle of searching for his mate, while his band are going down like flies and a weird bunch of sorcerers are stalking us. Not to mention a revenge-crazed goblin with an awesome bow.”
“It’s not asking that much, seeing all we’ve been through with this gang of freaks.”
“This is insane. As I told you before, there’s no way Stryke would agree to a harebrained idea like that. Get that through your thick head. And even if he did agree, by some miracle, you’re forgetting something: there’s no guarantee you’d get home. The instrumentalities aren’t working properly.”
“So he says.”
“What?”
“We’ve only got his word for it. How do we know he isn’t lying?”
“Why the hell would Stryke do that?”
“Who knows how these creatures’ minds work?”
“Yours is more of a mystery. Look, if you want to try getting Stryke to take you back, go ahead and ask him. I think I can guess his answer. But don’t involve me in your ridiculous schemes.”
“What about you? Surely you want to get back to our own world.”
“No. At least, not now.”
Standeven adopted a knowing expression. “Oh, right. The female.” He gave a grotesque, leering wink. “Prefer to go native with her for a while first, do you? Wouldn’t appeal to me, I must say, but each to his own, and-”
“Say another word,” Pepperdyne informed him coldly, “and I’ll break your nose.”
One look at his face convinced Standeven that lingering there wasn’t a smart idea. Muttering under his breath, he shambled away.
Further along the beach, Coilla approached Dallog and Pirrak. They sat together a little way from the others, engrossed in conversation, but stopped when they saw her.
Dallog nodded in greeting. “Coilla.”
“All well?”
“Far as it can be, given where we are.”
“How about you, Pirrak?”
“Me, Corporal? I’m… fine.”
“You did well in the battle with the goblins. All you new recruits did.”
“Er… thanks.”
She turned to Dallog. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He looked to Pirrak, who got up and left.
“He seems a little jumpy,” Coilla said, watching the tyro walk away.
“Aren’t we all?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“No need to look so serious. I only wanted to ask about Wheam.”
“What’s he done?”
“Nothing. It’s just that he feels you’ve been a bit… distant from him lately.”
“Did he ask you to bring this up with me?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m talking to you about it. And I think we should keep it that way.”
“Well, it’s true. Though I wouldn’t call it distant.”
“What would you call it?”
“I’m trying to help him grow, Coilla. You know his story.” He counted off on his calloused fingers. “He’s got a powerful sire who’s always on his back. His belief in himself’s low. He’s got no inborn talent for fighting, despite his orc nature. He’s wet behind the ears and-”
“He’s getting better.”
“Granted. He’s come on a lot since this mission started. But he won’t rise much further as long as he’s leaning on somebody. I reckoned the time was right to cut him loose.”
“So it’s about getting him to stand on his own feet.”
“And he won’t do that as long as the props are there.”
Coilla nodded reflectively. “I can see that. One other thing. It seems to bother him that you’re spending so much time with Pirrak.”
“He’s bound to resent being replaced by one of the other tyros, as he looks at it.”
“Why are you so interested in Pirrak?”
“Unlike Wheam, he still needs his props.”
“Why?”
“In his way, he’s as uncertain of himself as Wheam. Only he’s better at hiding it. Mostly. You said yourself he was jumpy.”
“So you don’t believe in the tough approach in every case.”
“They’re different orcs. Wheam’s had his nurturing. Pirrak’s isn’t over just yet.”
“Can we rely on him? In a fight, I mean.”