Most of the band tore towards the doors, with Stryke on the lead mount. The remainder worked frantically to hitch up the weapon and follow them.
For a moment they thought the doors hadn’t been completely downed. But as they got nearer they could see daylight through the aperture, and a glimpse of the land beyond. The plan was simple. Clear the battlement. Take down the doors. Get through them, fast. The first two had been achieved, the third was going to be tricky.
They raced to their goal. The pair of millipedes pulling the weapon were at the back. As the wall loomed, Stryke wasn’t alone in wondering if the entrance was wide enough to take them.
More werebeasts appeared on the battlements, running in from outposts. They loosed arrows. The Wolverines brought shields up. That, and their speed, got them through the first spate of arrows untouched. The second came just as they reached the gate. Shafts and spears clattered against their upraised shields. Then they were scampering over the ruined doors and through the opening. Another shower of arrows met them on the other side, and proved as ineffective, although two of the mounts took minor wounds.
The rest of the band shot through, braving the deluge from above, which now included rocks and the contents of buckets. Last in was the tubular weapon, its mounts scuttling like fury, a dozen orcs clinging to their backs. The weapon bounced over the debris from the destroyed doors, and at one point looked close to flipping, but it kept steady and escaped.
The Wolverines didn’t slacken their speed until they were well away.
27
It took all the skills of Pelli Madayar and her Gateway Corps unit to gain entry to the Sphere of the Four.
Now they stood under a scarlet sky, with a malleable, grey material serving as the ground beneath their feet. The plain spread out all around them, featureless except for the vast white building in the distance. It was a unique experience for the multi-species members of the unit and they were busily examining the terrain.
Weevan-Jirst sniffed the air. “The energy level seems extraordinarily high.”
“It stinks of magic,” Pelli agreed, more pithily. “I’m not sure that even our weapons could be entirely relied on here.”
“To find out we need to know which direction will take us to our quarry.”
“We have clues. There must be a reason why the only landmark is that structure over there. And I would say the star, or whatever it is that hangs above it, confirms our path. I can see no other signs. Do you agree?”
“Would it matter if I didn’t?”
“Of course it would. Unless you think me a tyrant.”
The goblin sidestepped her tacit challenge and merely said, “I concur with your deduction. We should be guided by the star.”
“Good. Now let’s move, and fast. If we’ve been led to a place like this, events must be coming to a head.”
“Then let us hope we’re in time,” Weevan-Jirst replied grimly. “Because if we’re not, the consequences will be dire.” He fixed her with his beady gaze. “For all of us.”
When they were far enough from the wall that they could no longer see it, and Stryke was satisfied nobody was chasing them, the Wolverines stopped to regroup.
Once the weapon had been checked and secured, the millipedes tended and minor injuries seen to, the band was allowed a brief period to stretch their legs.
Most just squatted or sprawled on the grass. But several drifted a short distance, including Coilla and Pepperdyne, who were deep in conversation. Stryke noticed that Dallog had also wandered off. He was standing farther away than any of the others, with his back to the band, and for once he didn’t have Pirrak with him. That individual, Stryke saw, was sitting by himself at the edge of the group. He decided to talk to him.
The new recruit looked uncomfortable when he saw Stryke coming, and stood, awkwardly.
“At ease,” Stryke told him.
“Sir.” He didn’t noticeably relax.
“Everything all right with you, Pirrak?”
“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t it be, sir?”
“Well, it should be, but I get the feeling it isn’t.”
“I’m fine.” The response was a little too quick and a little too edgy.
Stryke tried another tack. “The band’s treating you well? They’re comradely?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Dallog?”
There was a pause before he got an answer. “What do you mean, Captain?”
“He’s taking care of you?”
“Yes.”
“Look, Pirrak, maybe I’ve not been as easy to talk to as I should have been. But you know things have been frantic since we left Acurial.”
The private’s expression visibly stiffened. He said, “Yes, sir,” his voice taut.
Stryke put that down to the youngster’s callow nature. “My mind’s been on the mission, and on other things, and maybe I’ve been forgetting my duties to the band. But I want you to know that if you ever need to talk to me about anything, you can. Or any of the other officers. Though you might not want to make Sergeant Haskeer your first choice.” If Pirrak saw the intended humour in that, he didn’t react. “If Dallog’s not around, that is,” Stryke quickly tagged on.
“I understand.” As an apparent afterthought he added, “Thank you, sir.” There was a more genuine quality in that, and perhaps even a little warmth, than anything else he had said.
“All right. Just bear it in mind. And get a shake on, we’ll be moving soon.”
“Sir.”
Stryke turned and left him standing there, looking graceless.
Almost immediately he crossed paths with Coilla and Pepperdyne, on the way back from their tryst.
“See you were having a natter with Pirrak,” Coilla said. “Pep talk?”
“Kind of. Don’t know how much sunk in.”
“Does seem kind of woolly most of the time, doesn’t he?”
“He’s not the easiest of the new recruits to talk to,” Pepperdyne said, “but they’re all a bit green, aren’t they, Stryke?”
“I’d hoped they’d be a little more ripe by now. But I guess that’s what comes from letting Dallog keep them apart from the rest.”
“We carrying on now?” Coilla asked.
“Yes,” Stryke replied, “start rousing ’em.”
Coilla headed off for a bout of shouting, Pepperdyne in tow.
On impulse, Stryke decided to go over to Dallog.
When he came to him he saw that he had his eyes shut, and seemed to be muttering to himself.
“Dallog?”
The corporal came to himself with a start, and for just an instant appeared sheepish. But his crisp “Captain!” had its usual ebullience.
“What were you doing?”
“Praying.”
“Praying?”
“Asking the Tetrad to look favourably on our mission.”
Stryke knew it was something many in the band did. He did it himself occasionally when things looked rough, and he had turned to the gods more than once since Thirzarr was taken. But it wasn’t the sort of thing anyone talked about much. He tended to think of it as a personal matter and none of his business. So he simply said, “Sorry to disturb you, then.”
“No problem, Captain. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been talking to Pirrak.”
Dallog’s gaze flicked to the grunt in question, who was gathering up his gear. “Have you?”
“Yeah. And I’m still wondering if he’s fitting in.”
“Oh, that. Like I told you, he’s a little on the quiet side. Bit of a thinker, if you know what I mean. Not that it makes him any less dependable in combat.”
“Maybe not. But he’ll fight better if he mixes with the band more. All the tyros will.”
“You’ve already made that point, Captain.”
“Just so you know I mean it. There are going to be some changes in future.”
“If there is a future for us.”
“What?”
“I mean, I sort of figured this mission was a one-off. I don’t know if you have any plans for the band after that, or whether we’d be part of it.”
“I don’t know myself. And you could be right: maybe there’s no future for any of us. Who knows how this thing will pan out?”