“Don’t kid yourself. Take my advice: steer clear of him. He’s just about bottling the fury.”
“Can’t blame him after what happened to his mate. I know how I’d feel if something like that happened to… somebody I care for.” He smiled at her.
Coilla returned it, then sobered. “It’s not just Thirzarr. He’s got Corb and Janch to think about too. His hatchlings,” she added by way of explanation. “And who knows what mayhem Jennesta might have wreaked in Ceragan. This is one pissed-off band, Jode.”
“How can I tell?”
“What’d you mean?”
“You’re orcs. Pissed-off seems to be the natural state.”
She grinned again, despite herself. “Not all the time.”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Mind you, it was good that Wheam got pissed-off back there just when we needed it.”
“Sounds like he did well.”
“Yeah. Not that Haskeer believes it.”
They glanced at Wheam. He was jogging along next to Dallog. But Dallog seemed more interested in Pirrak, one of the other tyros from Ceragan, with whom he was engrossed in conversation.
“Looks like Dallog’s neglecting him,” Pepperdyne observed.
“He has to mentor all the newbies.”
“I’ve noticed he’s spent a lot of time with that one recently.”
“Maybe Pirrak needs some kind of guidance. The fresh intake are new to this, remember.”
“Been quite a baptism of fire for them, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a wonder we haven’t lost more of ’em, thank the Tetrad.”
“The what?”
“You’ve not heard any of us say that before? It’s our congress of gods. There are four of them. I’ll explain some time, if you’re interested.”
“I’d like to hear about it. And you… believe in these gods? You appeal to them?”
“Usually when somebody’s trying to part me from my head.”
Pepperdyne smiled. “I know that feeling. It was the same with my people.” He cast an eye over the trudging band. “I guess there’s a certain amount of appealing going on right now.”
“You bet.”
“So how do your- Damn. Heads up.” He nodded.
Coilla followed his gaze and saw Standeven elbowing their way. She rolled her eyes.
Pepperdyne’s one-time master arrived sweating. “I need to talk to you,” he insisted to Coilla in an undertone.
“About what?”
He looked around, anxious not to be overheard. “The instrumentalities,” he mouthed.
Pepperdyne groaned. “Not this again.”
Standeven glared at him and turned indignant. “I only want to ask the Corporal here if they’re still safe.”
“What’s it to you?” Coilla said.
“A lot. As it should be to everybody here. Our only chance of getting home depends on-”
“I know. They’re safe. You’d have to kill Stryke to get ’em. Unlikely in your case.”
He ignored the jibe. “And has he mastered them yet? Has he worked out what’s wrong with them?”
She jabbed a thumb in Stryke’s direction. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Standeven looked to Stryke, forging ahead at the column’s prow. He saw the broadness of his back, the rippling muscles and, when he turned his head to scold those following, the murderous expression he wore. “I’ll… wait until he’s free.”
“He does have a couple of other things on his mind,” Pepperdyne informed him dryly.
“But they’re secure, right? The stars, they’re-”
“ Enough. You’re getting obsessed with the things. Give it a rest.”
Standeven flushed redder. “There was a time,” he grated angrily, “when you wouldn’t have dared speak to me like that.”
“So you keep telling me. And I keep saying that time’s past. Live with it.”
Shaking with impotent fury, his old master fell back in the column, where he was given a wide berth.
“I think he’s going crazy,” Pepperdyne said, at least half seriously.
Coilla shook her head. “Don’t know about that. I do know the effect the stars can have.”
“Effect?”
“Spending too long with ’em can make things a bit weird. We’ve seen it in the band.”
“Weird?”
“You turned into an echo, or what?”
“Just explain, Coilla.”
“Later. It’s a long story. But the stars have the power to get a hold on some, make ’em act… well, a bit like Standeven.”
“What about Stryke? He’s with the things all the time.”
“Yeah, and that’s a worry. But like I said, it affects some, not all. He seems to handle it. Most of the time.”
“Oh, great.”
“What I’m saying is, keep an eye on Standeven.”
“I usually do.”
They marched in silence after that, turning things over in their minds.
Stryke was leading the band along the upper lip of the beach, keeping the jungle to their right. Soon they would reach a line of sand dunes marking the point where they needed to turn inland, onto the path that headed toward the dwarfs’ settlement.
As dwarfs themselves, Jup and Spurral felt a natural sympathy with the natives, but their empathy was with Stryke. Marching four or five ranks to his rear, they found themselves eyeing him constantly.
“He looks in a state,” Spurral commented, “near frenzied. Is he going to hold it together?”
“Course he will. He’s tough. What beggars belief is how history’s repeating itself.”
“Me and the Gatherers.”
Jup nodded. “So I know how he feels.”
“He helped you get through that.”
“Yeah. I owe him.”
“Now you can repay. He needs your support. And maybe more down the road, depending on how this plays out.”
“There’s no going near him at the moment, the mood he’s in.”
“Well, you’ll just have to-”
“ Wait! Look.” He pointed at the sand dune they were approaching.
A number of humans were swarming over it, their Peczan uniforms marking them as Jennesta’s followers. Several of her undead slaves were with them. Their movements were lumbering and jerky, and their deathly pallor was evident even at a distance. The looks of surprise on the troopers’ faces testified to this being an unexpected encounter rather than an ambush.
“ Damn,” Spurral said. “Just what we needed.”
“Yes, it is,” Jup told her.
“More trouble ’s what we need?” She drew her short-bladed sword.
“Better to be at the enemy’s throats than each other’s. It’ll bleed off the tension. ’Specially Stryke’s.”
As Jup spoke, Stryke rushed at the troopers, bellowing a war cry. The rest of the band took it up and thundered after him. All but Standeven, who hung back, looking fretful.
The two lines met in a bellowing roar and the clatter of steel.
Stryke tore into the human ranks like a hot cleaver through pig fat. A pair of troopers went down in a brace of heartbeats, and instantly he was engaging a third. He fought like a berserker, oblivious to whistling blades and lunging spears. His only aim was rending the flesh of anything in his way.
Coilla and Pepperdyne worked in unison, carving a path deep into the enemy’s ranks, until they ran into one of the undead. The process by which Jennesta magically created her zombie adherents endowed them with a strength and stamina most lacked in life. This one was an exceptional example, and must have been hulking even before he met his fate. Armed with what looked like a tree trunk, he took a hefty swipe that caught Pepperdyne off guard. The blow was glancing, but enough to bring him to his knees. A follow-up would have brained him, had Coilla not rushed in, sword swinging. She struck the zombie at its waist, cutting deep. Back on his feet, Pepperdyne rejoined the fray, adding his weight to the fight. Together they hacked their foe to pieces.
Jup and Spurral also fought in harmony. Given their height, this was as much necessity as choice. Employing a well-practised technique, Jup used his staff to crack kneecaps, toppling opponents and bringing them in range of Spurral’s blade.
Haskeer had no truck with anything like finesse. Having felled a trooper with a thrust to the man’s chest, he had his sword dashed from his hand by a stray blow. Menaced by a trio of advancing soldiers he swiftly hoisted the corpse and hurled it at them. They went down like a row of skittles. Snatching up his sword, Haskeer followed through.