guided Shadow-wing’s arrow. In all probability the goblin retrieved the weapon knowing only that it had wounded an orc. It happened to be your comrade Bhose. It could have been any member of your band who sustained an injury that bled.”
“Why didn’t you warn us about this bow?” Jup said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “We simply didn’t have the chance.”
“What do you know about the bow?” Stryke said. “Where did it come from?”
“It was long thought to be a myth. Like all such fables, there are many stories attached to it, most contradictory. But the prevailing legend is that it was made by the goblins’ gods, long, long ago. They have strange gods, as you know, and not a few of them dark.”
“How did these gods come to be parted from it?”
“Again, there are different stories. Some say it was stolen from them by a celebrated goblin hero, who himself has many names. Others hold that the gods gifted it to a goblin in gratitude for a task he performed. Or that it was used by one god to kill another, a rival, and the bow was flung from the clouds in disgust, and landed on earth to vex the world of mortals. The tales are legion. As are those surrounding Shadow-wing’s passage through history. What the stories have in common is that corruption, treachery and death always attend the bow. Gleaton- Rouk is a master of those black arts, so I suppose it comes as no surprise that he has gained it. As I say, we thought the bow was just a story. I wish it could have stayed that way.”
“Well, we’re heading away from here. Chances are we’ll not see Gleaton-Rouk again, much as we’d like to have a reckoning with him. Likely it’s you that’ll have to face that damn weapon again.”
“If so, we shall be extra cautious about any of our blood that’s spilt.”
“I wouldn’t count on having seen the last of Gleaton-Rouk, Stryke,” Coilla suggested. “He has a grudge to settle with us.”
“We’re not going looking for him. Thirzarr comes first.”
“I thought this band believed in avenging its own,” Haskeer rumbled.
“We’ll go after him once we’ve settled our score with Jennesta.”
“If we’re still alive.”
“If we’re able, I vow we’ll cross paths with Gleaton-Rouk again.”
“And be careful not to bleed anywhere near him,” Jup added.
Spurral gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs.
“When must you leave?” Mallas Sahro asked. “Can you stay and take refreshments, or rest?”
“We’re moving on soon as we can,” Stryke said. “Besides…” He looked at the elf corpses. “… this is your time for grief, not feasting with strangers.”
“At least let us supply you with food and fresh water for your journey.”
“That would help. Thank you.”
“And this,” the chief said, slipping a hand into a pocket in his robe. He brought out a bracelet. Made of a silvery, semi-rigid material, it was about as wide as an orc’s finger was long, and was studded with blue stones of various sizes. There was a hinged clasp, indicating that it opened. “This is a charm to ward off magical attacks. It, too, is old, though not as ancient as the bow. It won’t repel the strongest magic, but might buy you a brief respite. Take it.”
“You’re sure?”
“I know orcs have no innate talent for magic, as elves do, and we have other charms. I think that you might need this more than us.”
“We’ll take any help we can get.”
“Be aware that once the bracelet is on your wrist it will be impossible to remove until either its protection is no longer needed or its power is spent.”
“I suppose it’ll stop me losing it,” Stryke reasoned. “But how long does its power last? And how will it know it isn’t needed anymore?”
“If unused, its magical energy could last centuries. In the event of it having to counter really potent sorcery, it might be less than a day. As to how it will know when to release itself… it will know.” He stared hard at Stryke. “So, your arm?”
Stryke obliged and Mallas Sahro clamped the bracelet on his wrist. Once the clasp clicked into place the bracelet visibly contracted and tightened. Stryke felt it gently fasten snugly against his flesh.
“By the end of the day you won’t even be aware of it,” the chief assured him.
Stryke looked it over, turning his wrist. “I’m obliged.” His gaze went to the sea. “We’ve got to be moving now.”
“I’ll have the supplies brought out right away.” He nodded at one of his aides, who hurried off. “And I have a suggestion. When they left, the goblins abandoned one of their ships; the one they used to try to board yours. It’s not quite as big as the one you arrived in, but it’s faster. Why not take it?”
“Good idea, we’ll do that.”
“Go in peace then, and be assured that you will always have a welcome here.”
Not long after, the Wolverines were back at sea and the elves’ island was out of sight. The wind was strong. With Pepperdyne in his usual place at the wheel, and a sleeker vessel, they made good progress.
Stryke was at the stern, sitting on the deck with his back to the rail, studying the bracelet. The chart was spread out on his lap. He had grown more morose since they set sail, and Coilla approached with care.
“Suits you,” she said, nodding at the armlet.
He smiled thinly. “I was wondering if it protected just me, or all of us. Stupid of me not to ask.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.” She glanced up at the ship’s black, billowing sails. “They were right about this ship being faster.”
“I could wish for the magical speed it had when we first saw it.”
“Jode reckons we’ll be there soon. Maybe as soon as late tomorrow. Hang on.”
“I’ve no choice.”
She crouched next to him. “Stryke… about Bhose. I-”
“You’re not going to sound off about that too, are you? It’s bad enough listening to Haskeer grousing.”
“I’m not about to blame you for anything. I’m more worried that you might be blaming yourself for Bhose’s death.”
“No more than when anybody in the band gets themselves killed.”
“So quite a lot then.”
“We’re born to kill, and to flirt with our own deaths. It’s the orcs’ creed. But when you’re in command you can’t help thinking that some choice you made, an order you issued, might have been wrong and put the band in peril.”
“And Thirzarr?”
“Thirzarr as well. I’ve put her and the hatchlings in danger. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”
“We all signed up for this mission. All right, Thirzarr and the hatchlings didn’t, but they’re orcs too. My point is: they know the odds.”
“Corb and Janch don’t, not yet. They’re too young.”
“The clan in Ceragan do. They’ll be looking after them, the way we all watch each other’s backs in the band.”
“If Jennesta left anybody alive.”
“You’ve got to have hope, Stryke. Why else go on?”
He pondered that for a moment, then said, “You seem to be living on hope yourself.”
She was puzzled. “What d’you mean?”
“You and Pepperdyne.”
“What?”
“You hope it’ll work out. But you could be storing trouble for yourself, Coilla. Orcs and humans come from different worlds, and you know how much bad feeling there’s been between them. The chances are you’ll-”
“Oh, you’re good, Stryke. You’ve managed to turn it from you to me. As usual.”
“I mean it. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” His words were not said unkindly.
Because of that, and the strain he was under, she bit back her anger. “You found contentment,” she replied coolly, “don’t deny it to me.”
