retreat a short distance, albeit ending up in something of a shambles.
The rock came down with a thunderous crash, short of the band but too close for ease. His simple face twisted with fury, the ogre scrabbled for another one.
“Archers!” Stryke bellowed.
The bows came out and defensive fire was unleashed. Arrows soared towards their bemused target, and many hit. More than anything, the ogre seemed surprised. The shafts may have stung him but they were doing no real harm. Adjusting their aim, the archers tried for more sensitive areas, around the face and neck.
The ogre lobbed his second rock. It was short again but a lot nearer, throwing up a cloud of shale and dust that pelted the band. Immediately, the creature started to advance, hampered a little by the irritation of arrows. Then one penetrated his cheek, drawing an angry bellow. He plucked it out, stared stupidly at it and flung it away. A trickle of blood flowed down the side of his face. He drew the vicious-looking club, and tried batting at the incoming arrows with it.
“This could be the time to put our weapon to the test, Stryke,” Coilla suggested.
“Just what I was thinking.”
“If we can get it working in time,” Jup added, sliding from the millipede’s back.
The archers had only a limited supply of arrows but they kept firing. Stryke ordered everybody else to uncouple the weapon, a task complicated by the fact that the ogre’s approach was causing the millipedes to become skittish.
To buy them time, Dynahla changed himself into an eagle and flew off to harass the ogre with wickedly sharp talons. Down below, the band struggled to disengage the weapon and turn it.
The ogre took to swiping at Dynahla with his club. Successfully turned, the weapon was being primed. A couple of grunts heaved one of the metal balls into the tube’s mouth. Several more privates, along with a bellowing Haskeer, were straining to turn the wheel that drew back the coil.
Dynahla narrowly avoided being struck by the club. He circled, swooped again and was almost caught by it a second time. The shape-changer called it quits and flew down to the band. He landed, and transformed in one fluid motion, as the weapon was being tilted upwards. Nep and Seafe were bouncing up and down on its nonbusiness end to encourage progress.
Finally they were set. The ogre, frantic with rage, was bearing down on them. Stryke had his hand on the firing lever and was peering through the sight.
“What you waiting for?” Haskeer said.
“We only get one chance. I want him nearer.”
The ogre was obliging. He began jogging towards them, the club raised, his footfalls like thunder.
“For the gods’ sake, Stryke!” Coilla exclaimed.
Still he hesitated.
The ogre was close enough for them to be in his shadow.
Stryke pulled the lever. The weapon bucked. The ball shot from the cylinder.
It reached its target in a blink, striking the ogre full in the chest with a sickening thump. He expelled a huge breath, face contorted in pain. Then he fell, crashing to the ground and making it shake. He was still.
The band gave it a moment before cautiously approaching.
“Dead as a doorknob,” Jup declared.
“Well, at least we know this thing works,” Coilla said.
“Let’s hope he was the only one.”
The killing ball was retrieved. Then Stryke got the band to roll the monstrous corpse to one side of the track so they could get by. Next they had to re-couple the weapon and sort out their mounts. After that they took a short breather and passed round the water bottles. Stryke judged that a small alcohol ration was deserved, too, and let them break out the rough brandy. Wheam had a coughing fit when he took his tot. Standeven drained his in one go and asked for more, but was ignored. A drunk crazy human was an additional burden Stryke could do without.
They set off again, steering past the gargantuan cadaver.
A while later, riding across the scrubby land on the other side of the canyon, Coilla observed, “This never- ending high noon is putting everybody out, Stryke.”
“It feels strange, yeah.”
“But mostly they need sleep. We all do. We didn’t have that much before we came here. And the band needs feeding.”
“I want to push on.”
“They’ll be good for nothing if we do.”
He sighed. “Right. But it won’t be for long. Organise the shifts.”
They found a defensible spot by a heap of boulders. The weapon was secured, the mounts fussed over a bit, and sentries posted. Stryke didn’t want to waste time hunting for game, if there was any, and got the band to dip into their iron rations. Sleep proved difficult in the unrelenting sunlight, but they were tired enough that most managed at least some.
Far too soon for everybody, Stryke ordered them to break camp, and they resumed their journey rested if not refreshed.
They rode for a long time, heading straight for the northern star. The land became more verdant, and they found themselves moving across a grassy expanse. Fortunately the vegetation wasn’t full enough to hamper them. Whether that was because something grazed here, or because the magic of the old sorcerers had willed it so, they didn’t know.
Pepperdyne was the first to spot something out of the ordinary. In the distance, running to right and left as far as they could see, was an unbroken, yellowish-brown line. Dynahla once more volunteered to check on it. He chose the form of a dove. The band took the chance to stretch their legs.
“You have to admit he’s handy to have around,” Coilla said as she watched Dynahla flap away.
“Still gives me the creeps though,” Haskeer said.
She glanced at the millipedes. “Do these need feeding or watering? They haven’t taken anything since we got them.”
“Suppose so. Don’t know what though.”
“They seem content nibbling the grass,” Spurral told them.
“Yeah,” Jup said. “Dynahla reckons they’re not meat-eaters, despite looking the way they do.”
“I think they’re kind of cute.”
Jup made a face.
“Ugly bastards,” Haskeer muttered.
“That’s the kind of thing that gets said about us,” Coilla reminded him.
“Not to my face it ain’t.”
“They can’t bear looking at it,” Jup suggested with a smirk.
“How’d you like your own rearranged, pipsqueak?”
“Any time you’ve got the strength to try, horse breath.”
Stryke was about to slap them down when someone shouted, “He’s coming back!”
The dove fluttered in and became Dynahla.
“Well?” Stryke said.
“It’s a wall, and well defended.”
“By what?”
“Werebeasts, as far as I could see.”
“We’ve tangled with them before. What kind are they?”
“The kind that can switch from basically human to something like a bear.”
“That kind we haven’t seen before. Any chance we could parley with them?”
“You could try, but I doubt it. Though I suppose if you had something of value to offer as tribute-”
“We’ve nothing.”
“I thought not. And it’s in the nature of this place that obstacles have to be fought through not talked through. I think you can see now why we’ve had to haul the weapon with us.”
“There’s no way round this wall?”
“No. Well, maybe if we travelled a much longer way we might find that it ends. But I wouldn’t count on
