“If it’s the same all the way across,” Coilla said, “we shouldn’t be more than waist deep.”
Haskeer jabbed a thumb at the dwarfs. “Except for these two shortarses. It’ll be up to their necks.”
“We’ll manage just fine,” Spurral told him coldly.
“Even if it is too deep to wade,” Standeven said, making a rare contribution, “couldn’t you swim?”
“With all our weapons, all our kit?” Pepperdyne retorted.
“All right, all right. I only asked. It’s not as though I can swim anyway.”
That drew a chorus of groans.
Pepperdyne glared at him. “Just… shut up.”
Ominous sounds were still coming from the jungle, faint but distinct.
“Are we going to get on and do this, Stryke?” Coilla asked, eyeing the barren island.
“Yeah.”
“Suppose those tentacles can reach this far,” Haskeer said. “If we get caught out there we’re done for.”
“Then don’t linger,” Pepperdyne told him.
“If you’re wrong, human…”
“Do we have a choice?”
“Let’s go,” Stryke ordered.
They moved forward and entered the water, many of them holding their weapons above their heads.
About a third of the way across, one of the grunts cried out and pointed. Everybody looked back. A couple of tentacles were rummaging around the beach they’d just left. As the band watched, several more appeared, twisting high above the trees.
“They’re not following,” Coilla said. “Maybe they’ve come to their limit.”
“Maybe,” Stryke replied. “Let’s not hang around to find out.”
They carried on, casting anxious glances over their shoulders. The Krake’s arms stayed where they were, exploring the terrain like snuffling hounds, and a couple more emerged from the jungle to join them.
At length the Wolverines reached the desolate island and dragged themselves onto its rocky shore. They climbed to its highest point, actually a very modest elevation, and kept watch.
“Suppose it doesn’t go away?” Wheam said.
“If it’s like any other animal,” Stryke replied, “it’ll tire or get hungry and look for easier prey.”
“How long’s that likely to be?” Jup wondered.
“We’ll see.”
They settled down, their damp clothes steaming in the heat of the sun.
Enough time passed for their clothing to dry, and tempers to start growing thin, before anything happened.
“Heads up!” Jup shouted.
As one, all the tentacles were rapidly withdrawing.
“It’s gone,” Dallog said.
“Hold your horses,” Stryke cautioned, “it’s not over yet. Now we wait and see if the water really is shallow enough to keep that thing away from this side.”
“Yeah,” Haskeer said, casting a hostile glance Pepperdyne’s way.
Again they waited. And Stryke made it a long wait, to be sure. The shadows were lengthening when he judged the time right for a move. Cautiously, the band waded back to the main island. They did it in silence, save for Haskeer’s muttered grumbling about getting soaked again. Once there, Stryke sent Nep, Eldo and Seafe ahead as scouts.
Before the band got to the beach where their ship was anchored, the scouts were back.
“It’s left,” Seafe reported.
“You sure?” Stryke said.
“We couldn’t see it. And it’s too big to miss.”
“Good.”
“We don’t get off that light though, Captain. Our ship’s been damaged.”
“Shit. Bad?”
“Well, it’s still floating. But it’s messed up. Reckon the Krake gave it a slap before it went.”
Stryke sent a party out, including Pepperdyne, to assess the damage.
“It looks grim, but I think most of it can be repaired,” the human explained a little later. “It’s taking on some water, and the main mast took a whack. They’re the most important things to take care of.”
“How long?”
“Couple of days.”
“Too long.”
“Might get it down to one if we all sweat.”
“What do you need?”
“Timber, mainly. There’s wood in the jungle here that’d do. Not ideal, but-”
“Let’s get started.”
“It’s not far off night. You want us to work in the dark?”
“Needs must.”
“Stryke, once the ship’s righted, then what?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“We don’t know where to go. Not to mention we could be braving the Krake again once we leave here.”
“I said we’d get to it.” There was enough of an edge in his voice to put Pepperdyne off taking it further.
Stryke sent most of the grunts into the jungle to look for suitable wood, both for repairs and for fires to work by. The privates had been gone no time when Breggin came running back.
“What is it?” Stryke demanded.
“We’re not alone!” The grunt was breathing hard.
“Who? How many?”
“Dunno. One. Maybe. Couldn’t make out what. Just saw something moving in the undergrowth, that way.” He pointed. “It gave me the slip.”
Drawing his sword, Stryke headed for the jungle at a dash. The rest followed; even Standeven, though he kept well to the rear. In the rapidly darkening interior a number of the scouting grunts joined them. Stryke had them spread out and comb the area. He pushed on, the other officers, the dwarfs and Pepperdyne flanking him.
They didn’t have to go very far.
It was dark enough that, at first, Stryke wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Then he realised there really was a figure standing in the shadows. He approached warily, and as he got nearer he saw that it had its back to him. It stood completely still, though by now whoever it was, unless deaf, must have heard him and the others approaching.
“No sudden moves!” Stryke barked at it. “Turn round. And keep your hands in sight.”
The figure remained as immobile as a statue.
Stryke took a couple more steps. “Show yourself!”
Slowly, the figure turned.
Nearer now, Stryke was sufficiently close to see its face. What he saw made him doubt his sanity.
He was looking at himself.
13
Stryke was too stunned to speak.
He stared at the being he faced. It was like gazing into a mirror. The features were his, identical in every detail. Only the slightly ill-fitting, nondescript clothes his double wore were different: a cloth jerkin over a cotton shirt, thick russet-coloured trews tucked into knee-high leather boots. No weapon of any kind; at least, none that could be seen.
Stryke’s reverie was broken by Haskeer yelling, “ Sorcery! Kill it!”
Blades drawn, he and the others began to advance. Stryke himself stayed rooted.
The stranger who looked exactly like him held up his hands and, in a calm, melodious voice quite unlike Stryke’s, said, “You can lower your weapons. I’m not a threat.”
“We’re supposed to take your word for it, are we?” Jup replied, keeping his staff at the ready.
Stryke gestured for them to stay their hands, and he found his voice. “Who… what are you?”
“Forgive me,” his likeness told him. “It’s a little artifice on my part. Now hold, and don’t be fearful of what you see.”
Haskeer’s wasn’t the only chin that jutted in indignation at the remark.
“Watch out!” Coilla warned. “It’s doing something!”
The stranger began to change. Its features became oddly indistinct. The flesh seemed to melt, to run and refashion itself. There was the sound of what could have been cracking bones as the body twisted, contracted, expanded. In a moment the figure was transformed.
What stood before them now was more slender and taller than the imitation Stryke it had just been. Its face was much nearer human than orc, though not entirely so. But there was an androgynous look about the creature that made its gender indistinct. The eyes, green as emeralds, had a distinct slant; the nose was small and a little upturned. Auburn hair had emerged, abundant and collar length. It was a well proportioned face, with finely drawn features, and could be called either handsome or beautiful if its owner’s sex was defined.