“I see.”
“I have the right to take over,” Weevan-Jirst reminded her. “It’s laid out in the Corps’ tenets. You would be bound to give me access to your means of contacting Revers, and I would report your incapacity to him.”
“Did he put you up to this? I mean, were you briefed that you might need to take such action?”
“Only… in so many words.”
“So Revers doesn’t trust me?”
“He mistrusts your inexperience. As a responsible leader, he had to plan for any… shortcomings.”
“At what point am I considered incompetent? Am I to make every decision with your reaction in mind? I can’t see that making my position easier.”
“Naturally I would apply common sense. But if the success of this mission were to be threatened by inaction on your part, I would move to relieve you of your command. Not that I would lightly adopt such a course.”
If there was a way of telling when a goblin looked embarrassed, she didn’t know it. But it was obvious he was serious.
“You won’t have to,” she told him.
10
The Wolverines built a funeral pyre on the beach of the elves’ island.
Stryke would have preferred to skip the ritual and push on. But the discontent about Harglo’s burial at sea felt by many in the band was something he didn’t want to rekindle.
Assuming the function that was once performed by his predecessor, the late Alfray, Dallog again conducted a ritual in which he entrusted their fallen comrade to the care of the gods. Not everyone in the band was happy with the corporal fulfilling this role; Haskeer in particular wore an expression showing more than simple grief. But he and the few other dissenters held their peace.
Bhose’s corpse was laid on the pyre. His weapons, helm and shield were distributed amongst the band, as was the custom, but his sword was placed in his hand. Then Stryke said a few words, paying tribute to Bhose’s courage and loyalty, and they consigned his body to the flames.
All the elves had gathered, watching from a distance in respectful silence. Mindful of not stoking tensions in the band, Pepperdyne saw to it that he and Standeven also stood apart. Coilla would have preferred Pepperdyne at her side, but throughout the ceremony contented herself with sidelong glances that caught his eye.
It took some hours for the pyre to do its work. The Wolverines stayed to the end, in a mood close to reverential, while the elves slowly drifted back to their settlement. At length, Stryke broke the spell with an order for the band to stand down.
As he passed, Haskeer said, “Another good comrade gone.”
Stryke nodded. “Yeah.”
“This mission’s costing us dear in lives.”
“It’s the price we have to pay sometimes.”
“Did Bhose have to pay it today?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know that the way we fought made much sense. Trying to box those goblins in, then taking it out to the beach.”
“What would you have done?”
“It ain’t just that; it’s this whole mission. It started simple. Now we’re floating round these lousy islands with a bunch of hangers-on and the band bleeding members.”
“You’re painting it too black. We fight and some of us die, you know that. It’s the orcs’ lot.”
“Yeah, but-”
“And we’ve no choice. At least, I haven’t as long as Thirzarr’s out there somewhere. Even if we were ready to leave we can’t rely on the stars anymore. So like it or not, we’re stuck with what we’ve got.”
“And if we don’t make it home?”
“Then we’ll settle for getting our own back on Jennesta.”
“Some chance.”
“Taking chances is something else we do, even slim ones. But you don’t have to. If you don’t like the way things are going you can stay here with the elves.”
“No, no. I only-”
“Or if you think you can do better at leading the band, be my guest and try.”
“Look, Stryke, I just-”
“ Otherwise, stop bellyaching. Got it?”
Haskeer sighed and mumbled, “Got it.”
“Right. Now let’s see if we can find out what happened to Bhose.” He turned and walked away. Haskeer followed, and the rest of the band fell in behind them.
Stryke led them to the elves’ village. It had become a sombre place. The elves had dead of their own, many of them, and the bodies were laid out in front of Mallas Sahro’s lodge. He sat on an imposing, throne-like chair overlooking the scene, a couple of attendants at his side. When he saw the Wolverines approaching he rose to meet them.
“On behalf of my clan,” he said, “allow me to express regret at the loss of your comrade.”
Stryke nodded. He glanced at the rows of elven dead. “Your folk have suffered too. Our sympathies.”
“Thank you. We have an old saying: ‘There will be tears enough to rival the ocean.’ That never seemed more apt.”
“Why did you decide to use your magic after all?”
“The answer lies before you. In the past the goblins have taken a life here, a life there. Never before have they slaughtered us on such a scale. That, and because of what you said about us using our powers to throw off their yoke.”
“You aided us, and we’re grateful. But it was our fault. They were here because of us. We brought you trouble, and for that we owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t. We already had that particular trouble. The goblins have plagued us for a long time, but it took today’s events to force us to act. It was a lesson. A hard one, to be sure, but necessary.”
“I’m pleased you see it that way. Though you must be aware that they might return for vengeance.”
“In which case we have our defensive magic. Hopefully it will be enough to ward them off. In any event, given the beating you inflicted on them, I suspect it will be a while before they brave our shores again.”
“I trust you’re right about that. But you probably aren’t the only islanders in these parts to be tormented by them. You might think of making common cause with your neighbours. There’s strength in numbers.”
“A wise thought. I’ll set about it once our period of mourning ends.”
“Don’t leave it too long,” Stryke cautioned.
“What we don’t understand,” Coilla said, “is what happened to Bhose.”
“Yeah, how the hell did the goblin manage a shot like that?” Jup wanted to know.
“Shadow-wing,” Mallas Sahro replied.
“What?” Stryke asked.
“The bow Gleaton-Rouk used. Its name is Shadow-wing. At least, that’s one of its names. It has many.”
“And it’s enchanted.”
“Of course. No ordinary bow could perform that way.”
“How does it work? I mean, why did it single out Bhose in particular?”
“Shadow-wing is subject to a very specific type of magic. The shafts it looses have to be daubed with blood from the intended victim. Once so anointed the arrow will always find its target. Always. It has nothing to do with the skill of the archer.”
“That explains something we saw when the goblins were retreating,” Coilla recalled. “One of them risked himself to pick up a weapon.”
“It must have been the weapon that wounded your comrade during the battle. The blood on it would have
