They checked that the guards were dead, retrieved the arrows and hid the bodies in the undergrowth. That done, they pushed on to Jennesta’s camp, moving stealthily.
Using the shelter of a small copse, they had their first close look. They weren’t in a good place. There was well lit, exposed ground ahead of them, and at least a dozen troopers were working or lounging in it. Further back, in the shadows, Stryke thought he caught a glimpse of what might have been goblins, and perhaps other non- human creatures. The others saw them too.
“Looks like Jennesta has been beefing up her little army,” Coilla said.
Stryke nodded. He turned to Dynahla. “Feel anything? I mean, is she here? And where is she?”
“She’s here all right. Down that way.” He pointed to the westward end of the camp. “In one of those tents.”
“Doesn’t take a wizard to figure that out,” Jup said.
Dynahla ignored him and added, “We might be facing stronger opposition than we bargained for.”
“Maybe a few goblins and whatnot,” Stryke replied dismissively. “We can deal with it.”
“I didn’t mean them. There’s more than one kind of magic here.”
“You sure?”
“Quite. They’re of different orders, mind you, and different disciplines. Two unrelated races, probably. What Jennesta radiates is like a great black, angry ocean. This other source… I can’t identify. But by comparison it’s a lake. Filled with blood.”
“Sounds fun,” Coilla offered, deadpan.
“Facing Jennesta’s dangerous enough. Going against two wielders of magic… well, that’s asking a lot.”
“You wanna leave?” Stryke said. “ ’Cos if you’re not behind this you can get out right now.”
Dynahla’s gaze darted back to the camp, then returned to Stryke. “No. No, I’m in. And I’ll do what I can. I just wanted to warn you about what might be in store.”
“You’ve done that. Now let’s get going.”
He led them in the direction of the cluster of tents. Having to keep hidden, their progress was slower than he would have liked, but eventually they arrived opposite the tents. There was less obvious activity here, save the occasional trooper wandering through. The area was dimly lit, being some distance from the cooking fires, though there were one or two braziers.
“I guess that must be Jennesta’s tent,” Jup said, indicating the biggest and most ornate one.
“Has to be,” Stryke agreed. “Doesn’t mean Thirzarr’s there though. Any idea where she might be, Dynahla?”
The shape-changer shook his head. “It’s much harder locating a being who hasn’t any magical powers. What I can tell you is that Jennesta’s in this part of the camp, but she isn’t in that tent.”
“Can you tell where she is?”
“Not precisely. Except that she’s close.”
Stryke sighed. “All right. Then I guess her tent’s where we start.”
“All we have to do is get to it without being seen,” Coilla said dryly.
“I’d like to do that without having to tackle any of the soldiers and causing an uproar. So we stay put until it gets clearer over there.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll think again.”
Once more they waited, keeping well out of sight and never taking their eyes off the camp. As the night wore on, comings and goings grew less, apart from occasional guards making their rounds. There were no lights in the large tent they assumed was Jennesta’s. Nor did anybody leave it or go in.
“This is as good as it’s likely to get,” Stryke decided, eyeing the now deserted area between them and their goal. “We’ll get into the tent by the back.”
“What if it’s empty?”
“You’re full of questions tonight, Coilla. If it’s empty, we keep looking. Jup, got the horn handy?”
The dwarf patted the satchel at his waist. “You bet.”
“Be ready to use it when I give the word.” He scanned the camp again. No one was about. “We go in pairs. You and Coilla first. Move. ”
They scurried for the tent, making the most of shadows, and reached it without incident. Then they circled to its rear and were lost to view.
“Reafdaw, Eldo; you’re next,” Stryke said. “I want you taking care of the entrance. Can do?”
“No problem,” Eldo grated.
“Go!”
The grunts also reached the tent without trouble. Their position, at the front, was more risky, but they did a good job of melting into the gloom on either side of the entry.
“Now us?” Dynahla asked.
“Wait!” Stryke hissed, grabbing the shape-changer’s sleeve. He pointed.
A sentry had appeared from the far side of the camp, and he was walking towards Jennesta’s tent.
They held their breath as he approached. His pace was infuriatingly slow, but it looked as though he might bypass the big tent. That proved deceptive. When he was parallel to it, he turned and headed for the entrance. Stryke knew that at any moment Eldo and Reafdaw would be spotted. He tensed, ready to break cover and tackle the man.
“What do we do?” Dynahla whispered.
“Stay put. I’ll deal with it.”
The sentry was almost at Jennesta’s tent. Stryke half rose, hand on his sword hilt.
Eldo stepped into view, hands held up in apparent surrender. Startled, the sentinel drew his sword. But he didn’t raise the alarm. Eldo walked slowly towards him, and he was saying something Stryke and Dynahla couldn’t hear. Talking, holding the guard’s attention, the grunt kept moving, describing a sly circle that had the man turning until his back was to the tent. At which point Eldo stopped.
Reafdaw sneaked out of his hiding place, a knife glinting in his fist. Swiftly, silently, he crept up behind the guard. In one fluid movement he clamped a hand over the man’s mouth as he sunk the blade into the small of his back. The guard slumped to the ground. Eldo and Reafdaw quickly dragged his body away, dumping it amongst dense vegetation at the camp’s edge.
“Right,” Stryke said, satisfying himself that there were no more guards about. “Let’s get over there.”
He and the shape-changer rushed to the tent. Reafdaw and Eldo, returning to their positions beside its entrance, gave them a wave as they passed. Stryke and Dynahla went round to the back, and found Coilla and Jup waiting there.
“What kept you?” Coilla said, mildly irritated.
“We were writing poetry,” Stryke told her. “Now let’s do this.” He drew a knife. “Ready?”
The others nodded, and braced themselves for whatever might be inside.
Stryke jabbed the blade into the fabric and cut a long slash. He prised the two sides apart, making an opening big enough for them to look through. The interior was gloomy; only a faint illumination from the camp fires penetrated the tent cloth. Detecting no sound or movement, he slipped inside. The others followed.
Various items of plush furniture were scattered about, causing some stumbling in the dark, but it looked as though no one was there. Then Stryke spotted something.
At one end of the tent, in almost complete darkness, there was a shape. He padded towards it, and realised it was someone seated. For a moment he couldn’t make out who or what it was. Once his vision adjusted to the murk, he rushed forward.
“Thirzarr? Thirzarr!” He clutched her hand. It felt cold. “ Thirzarr!” He got no response. “It’s so damned dark in here!” he cursed.
“This might help,” Dynahla said.
He cupped his hands, and for the first time Coilla noticed how elegant and almost feminine they were. When he opened them again there was a purple fireball nestling between his palms, about the size of a hen’s egg. It bathed the scene in a soft, eerie glow. It showed them that Thirzarr was sitting rigidly, and her eyes were open, though they were glazed and unfocused.
“Thirzarr!” Stryke mouthed anxiously.
