“Jennesta’s got her in a… kind of trance,” the fetch explained.
“Like the last time we saw her,” Coilla recalled.
“Can you bring her out of it, Dynahla?” Stryke asked.
“Possibly. But not here. We need to get her somewhere safe first.”
“What do we do?” Jup said, “Carry her?”
“We might not have to. Tell her to stand, Stryke.”
“Will she?”
“She’s in a highly suggestible state. The spell binding her should be answerable only to Jennesta’s voice. But a familiar voice, one she knows intimately, might be as effective. Try it.”
“Stand up, Thirzarr,” Stryke said.
Nothing happened.
“Maybe we should carry her,” Coilla muttered.
“Try again, Stryke,” Dynahla suggested. “A little more firmly. Order her this time.”
Stryke looked doubtful, but did it. “ Stand up! On your feet, Thirzarr. Now!”
She stood.
“As long as you don’t ask her to do anything complicated,” Dynahla added, “she should do as you say.”
Coilla snickered. “That’ll be a first.” She sobered when she saw Stryke’s face.
He addressed his mate, firmly but not unkindly. “Thirzarr, come with me.” He took a few steps, watching her over his shoulder. She moved too, albeit stiffly, and began to follow him. “It’ll be easier if we go out the front way,” he decided. “Check that it’s clear, Jup.”
The dwarf went to the entrance and gave a low whistle. Reafdaw poked his head in.
“All clear out there?” Jup said.
Reafdaw nodded and pulled aside the flap for them.
Stryke took Thirzarr’s arm and guided her. The others followed. Dynahla came last, closing his fist on the radiant fireball, snuffing it out.
Everything seemed quiet outside. Even the noises from the other end of the camp had died down.
“Now we get Thirzarr away and hidden,” Stryke told them. “Then we call the main force in. Come on.”
He headed for the perimeter as briskly as he could while still holding Thirzarr’s arm.
They were hardly under way when there was movement in the darkness at the camp’s edges. Figures emerged. A large number, toting weapons. They approached from three sides, and Stryke didn’t doubt more were coming in from the rear. The figures brought light with them, thrown out by blazing torches scattered about their ranks. It grew bright enough to reveal Jennesta in the forefront.
She halted ten paces short of Stryke’s party. Her followers took her cue and also held back.
“You’re full of surprises, Stryke,” Jennesta said. “I didn’t think you had the wits to find me. You’re certainly witless in believing you could walk in here without me knowing.”
“You would have known it.”
“Ah. This is a raid, is it? An attack with… six of you. Or are you counting on your mate bringing it up to the dizzy heights of seven?”
“What have you done to Thirzarr?”
“I find it so touching that beasts like you can display actual feelings for each other. Or what passes for them in your part of the food chain.”
“I’m taking her out of here.”
“I don’t think so. Thirzarr? Here. To me.” Jennesta pointed to the ground next to her.
Thirzarr lurched forward. Stryke tried to hold her back, but she shook loose violently. With a quicker pace than she had previously shown, she made for Jennesta.
“Thirzarr!” Stryke yelled. “Don’t! Stay here!”
Oblivious, she carried on to the enemy ranks and arrived at Jennesta’s side, then spun to face Stryke’s squad, her eyes still opaque.
“So nice to have you back, my love,” the sorceress purred.
Thirzarr had been obscuring Jennesta’s view of Dynahla. Now she saw him properly, and something like a flicker of doubt passed over her face.
Staring intently, she said, “The Wolverines become more motley by the day. Do I know you?”
“Do you?” the shape-changer replied levelly.
“I expect an answer, not a riddle.”
“It was an answer. Here’s a question for you. Do you know yourself?”
What might have been a troubled expression briefly visited Jennesta’s features. “Correction, Stryke: you’ve brought five fighters and one deranged human.” She looked to Dynahla. “You are human?”
The shape-changer said nothing.
“No matter.” She turned to Stryke. “Your best option is to surrender, here and now. Any other course won’t go well for you.”
Stryke tore his eyes from Thirzarr. “You think so?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt the rest of your band’s not far behind. But you’ll not prevail.”
He scanned her followers. Though they certainly outnumbered his band, he replied, “You sure about that?”
“That’s one thing I like about you orcs; you’re not shy of a fight. So let’s make it a little more interesting for you, shall we?” She raised an arm above her head, then let it drop, indolently.
More figures came out of the dark. Gleaton-Rouk led his goblin crew, numbering about a dozen. Behind them were the vague outlines of what the orcs still thought of as elder races; an assembly of diverse creatures of the sort they knew, and often fought, back on Maras-Dantia. Their number looked equal to that of the band.
Gleaton-Rouk carried his bow, Shadow-wing, with an arrow ready nocked. “I’m gratified to meet you again, Captain Stryke,” he hissed.
“You can go and fuck yourself.”
Jennesta laughed. “That’s it, you see? Always ready for a brawl. Very… orcish.” Her tone hardened. “But this isn’t a time to fight. Your only option is to surrender.”
“What I told him,” Stryke said, nodding at the goblin.
“You can be tiresomely stubborn.”
“We going to talk or fight?” From the corner of his eye he noticed Jup slyly edging a hand towards his satchel.
“You seem absurdly confident, given the odds.”
“We judge our enemies by their quality, not their number.”
“In that case,” she replied, smiling, “let me provide you with opponents worthy of your arrogance.” Again, she raised her arm.
The murk disgorged another group of creatures. Copiously armed, and warband-sized in number, they wore the same dead look in their eyes that Thirzarr had. They were muscular, flinty-faced and savage in appearance.
They were orcs.
18
The Wolverines’ main force, lead by Haskeer, were cooling their heels at the designated stop point. Too far away from Jennesta’s camp to see it, they were near enough to hear the signal.
The band passed time quietly checking or sharpening their weapons. Some took the chance to gnaw at the hard rations they’d missed out on earlier, and water pouches were passed round. A few stretched out on the sward, helmets pulled down to cover their eyes, and might even have been snoozing.
Unconsciously, Pepperdyne and Spurral conceded their status as outsiders and drifted together. They had marched side by side, and now they perched on a boulder a little apart from the others. Nearby, Haskeer was balling out Wheam for some minor infraction, but the necessity of keeping his voice down meant he got no pleasure
