that spirit?”
“It seems I have little choice.” Reading a goblin’s mood was hard at the best of times, but it didn’t take an expert to tell Weevan-Jirst was disgruntled. “Though I want to record my misgivings about the course you are set upon,” he added.
“Officially noted. For my part, I pledge that we’ll turn our full attention to the orcs just as soon as we’ve sorted out the Jennesta situation.”
“I will have to abide by that decision,” he replied sniffily. “My only wish is to end this fiasco.”
“Believe me, the sorceress poses a far greater threat than anything the Wolverines might do.”
“I hope you are right, for all our sakes.”
The Wolverines stared at the place where Jennesta and her followers had been.
Jup broke the silence. “What do we do now?”
“We go after her,” Dynahla replied.
“Can we?” Stryke said, snapping out of his daze. “You know where they’ve gone?”
“Not specifically. But I can follow the trail.”
“So let’s do it!” Coilla chimed in.
There was a murmur of agreement from the band.
“All right,” Stryke said. “What does it take, Dynahla?”
“Hold on. If we pursue Jennesta there’s no saying where we might end up. What about Dallog and the others on the ship?”
“We could always leave ’em there,” Haskeer muttered.
Wheam appeared shocked.
Stryke gave his sergeant a hard look. “We’ll get back to the ship. That means a delay. Will this trail you spoke about go cold, Dynahla?”
“We should be all right for a little while. Though of course the longer we leave it the further away Jennesta could be from the spot where she fetched up.”
“Or she could have moved on to another world altogether,” Spurral offered.
The shape-changer shrugged. “Quite possible.”
“Could you still track her if she did that?” Stryke said.
“Maybe. Providing we don’t delay too long.”
“Let’s move it then. We’ll make for the ship at the double.”
The journey back to the shore was punishing. But they made it in good time, and as they dragged their boats from the undergrowth, dawn was breaking.
Back on board the ship, Stryke briefed Dallog, the other tyros and Standeven about what had happened. He got Dallog to bind the wounded. Then he ordered the grunts to gather all the weapons and provisions they could carry, and to be quick about it.
As they were finishing the chore, one of the privates cried out and pointed. Three ships were moving away from the far end of the island and heading out to sea. They were unmistakably goblin vessels.
“That has to be Gleaton-Rouk and his crew,” Coilla said.
“And no doubt Jennesta’s collection of zombies,” Pepperdyne added.
“Do we go after them?”
“No, Coilla,” Stryke replied. “It’s Jennesta I want, and Thirzarr.”
“Jennesta’s force was bigger, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Pepperdyne agreed. “Apart from making common cause with the goblin, she seems to be recruiting. There were all sorts in that camp.”
“Why would anybody want to serve her?” Jup wondered.
“The promise of power, a chance for riches, or just for the hell of it,” Stryke said. “Maybe they’re even under an enchantment, like her zombies. Who knows?”
“Those zombie orcs were less than… right, weren’t they? I mean, they wouldn’t be, given they were under a hex, but even so they lacked some vital spark.”
“You can bet she’s working on that.”
“We’re wasting time here, Stryke,” Dynahla said.
“You’re right.” He beckoned the band and they drew together. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll need your set of instrumentalities.”
Stryke cast the shape-shifter a wary look. “I’m happier holding onto them.”
“Haven’t I proved myself yet?”
“Well…”
“I can see that I haven’t.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just-”
“I understand. But it’s going to be really hard manipulating them through you, especially if it has to be done fast. You’ve got to trust me or this won’t work.”
Stryke struggled with that for a moment. Then he reached into his belt pouch, took out the stars, and after a second’s hesitation, handed them over.
“Thank you,” Dynahla said. He began slotting them together with impressive dexterity.
At the edge of the group, Standeven watched with covetous eyes.
“What’s to stop Jennesta messing with where we land?” Coilla asked. “The way she did before.”
Dynahla paused. “ I am. I can counter that. At least to some extent.” He carried on readying the instrumentalities, until just one remained to be fitted. “Brace yourselves.”
The band moved closer. Wheam put on a brave face. Spurral reached for Jup’s calloused hand. Standeven looked terrified.
“We don’t know what we’re letting ourselves in for,” Stryke told them. “So no matter how bad the crossing is we’ve got to be ready to fight the instant we arrive… wherever.” He nodded at Dynahla.
The fetch clipped the last star into place.
No matter how often they made a crossing, and for all their indifference to fear, they found the experience profoundly disturbing.
Having endured what felt like an endless, dizzying drop down a well made of multicoloured lights, they met hard solidity.
Most of the band were shaken but ready to fight. Some, principally Standeven, Wheam and a couple of the tyros, were less composed. But even they, ashen-faced and nauseous, were quickly if unsteadily on their feet.
They stood on a flat, bleak plain. A sharp wind blew, stirring up a grey substance, more like ash than soil or sand, that covered the ground. Here and there, great slabs of black rock jutted out of it. The rocks seemed to be vitrified, as though some unimaginable heat had melted them, making them flow like liquid before cooling.
Above, the sky had a dour, greenish tint. The sun, a sickly red, looked no bigger than a coin held at arm’s length. It was cold, and the air was bad, not unlike the way it stank when a thousand funeral pyres had been lit after a battle.
There was no sign of Jennesta’s force, or any other living thing, including trees, vegetation or animals.
On the horizon there was something that looked like a city. Even in the weak sunlight it appeared to be crystalline. But it was wrong. Many of its numerous towers were truncated, resembling broken teeth, or leaned at crazy angles.
The band gaped at it.
It took Haskeer to mouth what they were all thinking. “Where the fuck are we?”
“Somewhere pretty damn grim,” Coilla said, buttoning her jerkin against the chill.
“It doesn’t matter where we are,” Stryke told them. “The point is, where’s Jennesta? Dynahla, you sure you haven’t brought us to the wrong place?”
“No. She’s here.”
“Any idea where, exactly?”
“From my own abilities, no. The psychic charge here is too… murky to be specific. But that seems the obvious place.” He nodded towards the city.
Stryke gave the order and they headed its way.
It was a much longer march than it first appeared, making them realise how large the city really was, and the
