it.”
“Let’s get closer to it.”
“There’s at least one gate. I’ll show you where.”
When they were near enough to make it out, they saw that the wall looked ancient, but no less solid for that. They could make out figures on its high ramparts and, as Dynahla said, a massive pair of gates, made of timber, with iron straps.
Stryke decided to try talking after all. Thirzarr was on his mind, as always, and some kind of pact would be quicker than having a battle.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes too high,” Dynahla cautioned, “and approach with care. They didn’t look particularly welcoming to me.”
Stryke took one of the millipedes, along with Haskeer, Jup, and Calthmon, who was in charge of the beast. They made a white flag, the universal sign of truce, or so they hoped. Haskeer hated white flags. In his detestation of the idea of a token of surrender, or even reasonableness, he was fairly representative of the band as a whole. He refused to hold it, and that fell to Jup.
They made for the wall.
Figures on the battlements watched as they approached. They looked like humans, which gave Haskeer little confidence in the outcome of any talks.
Stopping a short distance away, Stryke cupped his hands and called out in Mutual. “ We come in peace! Can we talk?”
Several of the werecreatures conferred, but there was no answer.
Stryke called again. “ We’re here peaceably! We want to parley!”
The figures seemed to grow darker and bulkier.
“Looks like they’re changing,” Jup said.
“Is that good?” Haskeer asked.
A swarm of arrows came down on them.
“No,” Jup said.
They were lucky not to be hit. But one arrow had struck the millipede, causing it to squirm. Stryke leaned forward and pulled the shaft out.
More arrows came, and several spears. They fell short.
“Get us out of here, Calthmon!” Stryke yelled.
They retreated to the sound of something like cheers from the battlements.
“The weapon?” Jup asked as they headed back.
“Yeah,” Stryke confirmed.
They dragged it to a point where they thought they could hit the wall but far enough away for the werebeasts’ arrows to be ineffective. The ritual of loading and priming the weapon was undertaken.
Gleadeg and Prooq were steady, dependable hands. Stryke let them take care of the firing.
“First shot, Captain?” Prooq said. “The doors?”
“Let’s try for the battlements.”
They adjusted the angle.
“Ready?” Gleadeg asked.
Stryke nodded.
The lever went back and the weapon bucked. With a hearty thomp the ball shot out and flew almost too fast to be seen.
It struck the battlements. There was a crash of masonry and a cloud of dust. When it cleared there was a hole in the battlements and the werebeasts weren’t to be seen.
“Now the doors,” Stryke said.
They were already realigning the tube, and a ball was being lifted. That done, Stryke made sure the rest of the band was mounted and ready.
The weapon went off. The doors exploded in a shower of timber chips and iron fragments.
“Move! Move! Move!” Stryke bellowed.
Most of the band tore towards the doors, with Stryke on the lead mount. The remainder worked frantically to hitch up the weapon and follow them.
For a moment they thought the doors hadn’t been completely downed. But as they got nearer they could see daylight through the aperture, and a glimpse of the land beyond. The plan was simple. Clear the battlement. Take down the doors. Get through them, fast. The first two had been achieved, the third was going to be tricky.
They raced to their goal. The pair of millipedes pulling the weapon were at the back. As the wall loomed, Stryke wasn’t alone in wondering if the entrance was wide enough to take them.
More werebeasts appeared on the battlements, running in from outposts. They loosed arrows. The Wolverines brought shields up. That, and their speed, got them through the first spate of arrows untouched. The second came just as they reached the gate. Shafts and spears clattered against their upraised shields. Then they were scampering over the ruined doors and through the opening. Another shower of arrows met them on the other side, and proved as ineffective, although two of the mounts took minor wounds.
The rest of the band shot through, braving the deluge from above, which now included rocks and the contents of buckets. Last in was the tubular weapon, its mounts scuttling like fury, a dozen orcs clinging to their backs. The weapon bounced over the debris from the destroyed doors, and at one point looked close to flipping, but it kept steady and escaped.
The Wolverines didn’t slacken their speed until they were well away.
27
It took all the skills of Pelli Madayar and her Gateway Corps unit to gain entry to the Sphere of the Four.
Now they stood under a scarlet sky, with a malleable, grey material serving as the ground beneath their feet. The plain spread out all around them, featureless except for the vast white building in the distance. It was a unique experience for the multi-species members of the unit and they were busily examining the terrain.
Weevan-Jirst sniffed the air. “The energy level seems extraordinarily high.”
“It stinks of magic,” Pelli agreed, more pithily. “I’m not sure that even our weapons could be entirely relied on here.”
“To find out we need to know which direction will take us to our quarry.”
“We have clues. There must be a reason why the only landmark is that structure over there. And I would say the star, or whatever it is that hangs above it, confirms our path. I can see no other signs. Do you agree?”
“Would it matter if I didn’t?”
“Of course it would. Unless you think me a tyrant.”
The goblin sidestepped her tacit challenge and merely said, “I concur with your deduction. We should be guided by the star.”
“Good. Now let’s move, and fast. If we’ve been led to a place like this, events must be coming to a head.”
“Then let us hope we’re in time,” Weevan-Jirst replied grimly. “Because if we’re not, the consequences will be dire.” He fixed her with his beady gaze. “For all of us.”
When they were far enough from the wall that they could no longer see it, and Stryke was satisfied nobody was chasing them, the Wolverines stopped to regroup.
Once the weapon had been checked and secured, the millipedes tended and minor injuries seen to, the band was allowed a brief period to stretch their legs.
Most just squatted or sprawled on the grass. But several drifted a short distance, including Coilla and Pepperdyne, who were deep in conversation. Stryke noticed that Dallog had also wandered off. He was standing farther away than any of the others, with his back to the band, and for once he didn’t have Pirrak with him. That individual, Stryke saw, was sitting by himself at the edge of the group. He decided to talk to him.
The new recruit looked uncomfortable when he saw Stryke coming, and stood, awkwardly.
