Stryke.”
“We don’t know she hasn’t. And it’s not just Thirzarr. There’s Corb and Janch. What value are they to her?”
“There’s no reason to think-”
“And Ceragan itself; what might she have done there?”
“Stryke.”
“Come to that, what if-”
“ Stryke. Could she have made Ceragan more of a shit hole than Maras-Dantia?”
Jup was gratified when that drew a thin smile. “Where do we go from here?” Stryke said.
“Not sure. We just have to believe that a way’s going to open for us. But you know we’re with you, Stryke. The whole band. Whatever it takes.”
Stryke nodded and went on eating mechanically.
They sat in silence.
Not far away, just inside the jungle’s lip, Coilla and Pepperdyne were foraging.
He stooped and ripped up a handful of purplish leaves. “Do you think these are all right?”
Coilla looked, then sniffed the bouquet. She made a face. “I wouldn’t risk it unless you want to poison everybody.”
He tossed the clump away. “This is harder than I thought. Things seem more or less the same in this world as ours, but when you take a closer look…”
“Yes, there are differences in the small stuff. But think about how big some of the differences were in those other worlds we went to. We were lucky with this one.”
“Talking of which, you started to tell me how what we call our home world isn’t really your home world, despite you being born there. What the hell was that all about?”
“It’s not the real home of any of the elder races. As we were told it, it rightly belongs to your race.”
“And?”
“You want to hear it now?”
“What else is there to do? Unless you’d prefer to-” He reached for her.
She wriggled free, laughing. “Whoa! Steady. All right. It’s complicated, and I don’t even know if it’s true, but-”
“It’s just a fairy story then.”
“The stories they tell would freeze your blood. No, we reckon what we heard’s probably true, but… who knows?”
“So spill it.” He sat, then patted the sward next to him and she sat too.
“All right.” She gathered her thoughts. “The story goes that the world we both come from was the humans’ world. All we knew was our land; what we called Maras-Dantia and your race called Centrasia. We thought Maras- Dantia belonged to all the elder races living there, and that humans came from outside much later and fucked everything up.” She saw the look he gave her. “No offence.”
He smiled. “None taken. So what was the truth?”
“There were humans in Maras-Dantia before the great influx, or at least a few. One of them was Tentarr Arngrim, who calls himself Serapheim.”
“ Before the influx? You said he set you off on this mission. How old is this man?”
“Very, I guess. But he’s a sorcerer, so…” She shrugged. “Anyway, Serapheim’s mate was a sorceress called Vermegram. Whereas he’s human, she was… I don’t know. Something else. They had three offspring, all female. One was Jennesta. Then there was Adpar, who was part nyadd.”
“What’s that?”
“A kind of water sprite. Jennesta killed her.”
“Charming.”
“The third sister’s Sanara, who must take after her father ’cos she looks human. She helped us out of a fix in Maras-Dantia.”
“What’s all this got to do with-”
“I’m getting to it. What we know about those early days-”
“What you think you know.”
“Yeah, right. Now shut up. Serapheim or Vermegram, or maybe both of ’em, found a way to move between worlds. It’s what led to the stars Serapheim made. Or discovered.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all a bit vague. But their messing around opened… sort of cracks between worlds. Holes, if you like. And elder races fell through from their worlds to Maras-Dantia.”
“Including orcs.”
“Yeah. Which set us on the road to servitude, and wound up making us the backbone of Jennesta’s army. But that’s another story. The one I’m telling you ended with Serapheim and Vermegram falling out… somehow. Some say they turned from lovers to enemies, and there was a conflict. I don’t know anything about that. Vermegram’s reckoned to be dead, though nobody’s sure how or when.”
“Hang on. You said she wasn’t human.”
Coilla nodded. “You only had to look at Jennesta and Adpar to see that.”
“How could she be anything but human if she was in Maras-Dantia before the elder races arrived?”
“Fucked if I know, Jode. I’m not an oracle.”
“What you said about your people going into servitude; how did-”
“Enough questions. Some other time, all right?”
He was taken aback by the sharpness of her reply, but shrugged and said, “Sure.”
She changed the subject and softened her tone. “It’s getting cooler.”
He slipped an arm round her. She moved closer and laid her head against his shoulder.
There were shouts from the clearing.
“Damn!” Pepperdyne complained. “ Every time we get a quiet moment together…”
“Come on,” Coilla said, scrambling to her feet.
They headed back to the village.
One of the scouting parties had returned. They had four human prisoners with them, their hands tied behind their backs. Looking terrified, their uniforms dusty and tattered, they were forced to their knees. The band gathered around them, Stryke to the fore.
Orbon, who led the scouts, reported. “Found these stragglers further along the beach, Captain. There was no fight left in ’em.”
Grim-faced, Stryke approached and walked slowly along the line of crouching captives. All of them avoided his gaze and kept their heads down.
“I’ve just one question,” he told them. “Where has your mistress gone?”
A couple of the prisoners glanced nervously at each other, but none of them spoke.
“I’ll make myself plain,” he said, walking back and forth in front of them, his unsheathed sword in his hand. “I get an answer or you get dead.” He went to the first in line. “You! Where’s Jennesta?”
The man looked up. He was trembling. “We… That isn’t… the sort of thing she’d… tell the likes of us.”
“Wrong answer,” Stryke told him. He drove his sword into the prisoner’s chest. The man toppled, and lay twitching before he was still.
Stryke moved on to the next human. “Where’s Jennesta?” he repeated, his gory blade pressed to the captive’s throat.
This one was more resolute, or perhaps it was bravado. “You can go and fuck yourself, freak,” he grated, and made to spit in Stryke’s face.
He didn’t have the chance. Stryke brought back his sword and swung it hard. The blow was savage enough to part the man from his head, which bounced a couple of times before rolling to a halt at Standeven’s feet. His face drained of all colour and he hastily stepped back, looking queasy. The decapitated torso sat for a moment, gushing, before it fell.
The next man in line was older than the others and wore an officer’s uniform. He was splattered with his dead comrade’s blood.
Stryke turned to him. “Has that loosened your tongue? Or do I do the same to you?”
