“I might have lost it.”
“For your sake, I hope not. But whatever passes between Jode and me is our concern, nobody else’s.”
“Just think about what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll catch you later.” As she left, Stryke went back to studying the bracelet.
She was fuming as she headed towards the prow.
“Coilla.”
“Yes?” she snapped, spinning to face whoever had spoken. “Oh, Wheam. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. It’s been a tough day, what with Bhose and everything.”
“You’re not wrong. I’ve been meaning to say: you did well helping defend the ship. We’re all proud of you.”
The youth looked both pleased and embarrassed. “Thanks, Coilla.” Then the cheer went out of his face. “I wish everybody felt that way.”
“Who doesn’t?”
For answer, he nodded. She followed his gaze. Further along the deck, Dallog and Pirrak stood close together. They were deep in conversation.
“Like I told you before,” Coilla said, “Dallog has charge of all you tyros. You can’t expect him to play favourites.”
“He doesn’t seem to have any time for me these days. Only Pirrak.”
“Who probably needs special attention. You should be pleased you don’t.”
Wheam brightened a little. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“There’s usually more than one way to look at things. Don’t pick the worst.”
Haskeer arrived, his expression flinty, and would have passed them without a word had Wheam not spoken.
“Sergeant!” Haskeer stopped and stared at him. “We’ve all been saddened by the loss of our comrade Bhose,” Wheam said, reaching for the goblin lute he habitually had slung on his back, “and I’ve been honouring him in verse. Can I offer you a lament?”
“Only if I can offer you a kick up the arse,” Haskeer growled. He stomped off, scowling.
“Happy ship,” Coilla remarked. “Don’t mind him, Wheam. Why don’t you get some sleep? There might not be much chance after we make landfall.”
“Yes, I suppose I should. But…”
“What now?”
“Some of the band have been talking about the Krake, and how it can pull a ship under and-”
“They should know better. Don’t worry about it; we’ve more pressing concerns. Now get yourself to your bunk. And if we get attacked by sea monsters I’ll give you a call.”
They sailed on through the night and much of the next day. Late in the afternoon they spotted a landmass.
“That has to be it,” Pepperdyne said, perusing the map.
Stryke nodded. “So let’s land.”
“We need to take care. This chart’s not the clearest I’ve ever seen, but it looks like there could be hidden rocks off those shores.” He pointed. “Here, see? We’ll need to take soundings.”
“Do what you have to.”
They approached the island with caution, and Pepperdyne got one of the privates to measure the water’s depth with a length of rope and a lead weight. It proved unusually deep, but there was no problem finding a path through any submerged rocks. Eventually they dropped anchor just off the main beach. A skeleton crew was left to guard the ship, along with Standeven, while the rest of the band waded ashore. They saw no signs of life.
“As islands go,” Coilla said, “this one’s not very big.”
“Big enough for a settlement,” Stryke replied. “We’ll head inland.”
The island’s interior was swathed in dense jungle and at first they had to hack their way through. They would have expected to disturb birds or the myriad small animals that lived in the undergrowth, but there was only silence. Soon they came to an area where trees had been felled and the scrub cleared to form an open space. They found the settlement.
It was in ruins. There were perhaps a score of lodges and huts, and not one was undamaged. Something like half were burnt out. They saw the mutilated bodies of a few dogs, but no corpses of any other kind, and certainly nothing living.
“We’re too late,” Coilla whispered.
“So what do we do now, Stryke?” Spurral asked.
He gazed about, a look of utter despondency on his face.
“Stryke?” Coilla urged.
“I don’t know,” he said.
11
The elves’ dealings with the outside world didn’t end with the orcs’ departure. The day after the Wolverines left, the Gateway Corps ship arrived.
Wary given recent events, the elves flung up their magical barriers. The strange, multi-species group of visitors dismissed these obstacles with almost casual contempt. There was alarm when the goblin Weevan-Jirst appeared; and bemusement at the sight of the elf, Pelli Madayar. Her presence, and her oath that they came in peace, gained a measure of the elves’ trust. For their part, they told the strangers what had happened with the goblins, while casting edgy glances Weevan-Jirst’s way; and they were honest about the Wolverines having been there. But they stayed loyal to the warband and refused to say where they were headed.
Pelli didn’t linger. She took ship immediately and ordered their former course resumed.
Weevan-Jirst was displeased, and showed his irritation when they stood together at the helm.
“We should have made them tell us.”
“What are we,” she retorted, “marauders? Anyway, we don’t need a steer from them; we have our sorcery to help us follow the orcs.”
“So why did we waste time stopping there?”
“To gather intelligence.”
“We gained precious little in that respect.”
“I disagree. We confirmed that we were on the right trail, and learned about the Wolverines’ tangle with…” She shot him a glance. “… members of your race.”
If her aide found the reference objectionable in any way he didn’t show it. “You could have pushed them harder. We might have learnt more.”
“Did you see the graves back there? And the number of them? It wasn’t the right time for an interrogation.”
“It was exactly the right time, while they were weakened by grief.”
“I thought otherwise.”
“Because they’re elves? Your own kind?”
“No. I give no more weight to my own race than any other,” she replied steadfastly. “Any more than I would hold you to account for the wrongdoings of some goblins.”
He made a kind of low clucking with his bony jaw, the goblin equivalent of tutting or an exasperated sigh. “The fact remains,” he hissed, “that we are conducting ourselves with less than single-minded purpose.”
“I think you mean ruthlessness. As I said, I don’t see that as an honourable way for the Corps to behave, and I wouldn’t want to be part of it if it did.”
“Then perhaps you should consider your position as commander of this mission.”
“The one best placed to determine that is our leader.”
“Unless I, as second-in-command, judge you incompetent.”
