She stood alone. There was disappointment at not having eliminated her father, and particularly at letting the instrumentalities elude her. But she judged it at least a partial victory.
The sulphurous tang of magic hung in the air. It mingled with the smell of burning timber, stray bolts from their battle having started several fires in the building.
She left it to burn.
Jennesta set out for Acurial not long after, and many were glad to see her go.
She had no way of foreseeing what would unfold there. No hint that she would triumph in her quest for the instrumentalities, yet see her other plans ruined, thanks to the intervention of the detestable Wolverines.
Nor could she imagine that she would eventually find herself on a corpse-littered beach on a world of islands, poised between the prospect of victory and having everything turn to ashes.
1
There was chaos.
All across the island, battles were raging between Jennesta’s loyalists and the Gateway Corps. Most of the dwarfs who inhabited the isle, and who had survived the initial clash, had fled to their boltholes or the upper slopes of the sacred volcanoes. Seashore and jungle resonated with the flare of magic and the ringing of blades.
The Wolverines were gathered in the strip of pebbly land between beach and tree-line, sheltering behind an outcrop of rock. They were still reeling at what Stryke and Coilla had told them.
Two of the band’s best scouts, Hystykk and Zoda, had been dispatched to discover Jennesta’s whereabouts. They returned crestfallen.
“She’s not where you last saw her, Captain,” Zoda confirmed. “There were too many of her troopers about for us to look much further afield.”
“So where the fuck is she?” Haskeer said.
Coilla shrugged. “Could be anywhere by now.”
“This island’s not so big,” Stryke told them. “We can find her.” As the effect Jennesta’s spell had on him wore off, it was being replaced by pure anger.
“Where’s she likely to have gone?” Pepperdyne asked.
Haskeer gave the human a venomous look. “If we knew that, pink face, we wouldn’t be flapping our gums here.”
“I mean, figure it out. It wasn’t as though she was actually winning the battle, was it? It was a draw at best. And it looks to me like that elf’s group holds the beach. So she’d maybe think twice before going for her fleet.”
“Makes sense,” Coilla said.
“Trust you to back him,” Haskeer muttered.
Coilla shot him a dagger look but kept quiet.
“So what does she do?” Pepperdyne went on.
“Goes inland,” Jup supplied.
“Not a lot of choice,” his mate Spurral added, lightly ribbing him.
Pepperdyne nodded. “Right. But is she going to tramp about in the jungle? I don’t think so. She’d make for something more practical.”
“The dwarfs’ village!” Wheam exclaimed.
The others had worked that out already, and he didn’t get the hurrah he expected.
“What do you think, Stryke?” Coilla asked.
“I think we’re wasting time,” he snapped, “when Thirzarr needs me.”
“Yeah. So, the village?”
He sighed. “As good a place as any, I s’pose.” To the rest he announced, “We’re moving out! We run into anybody, we cut ’em down!”
“Don’t we always?” Haskeer wondered.
“She won’t be alone,” Dallog warned, drawing another contemptuous look from Haskeer.
“I know,” Stryke said. “We can deal with it.”
“What about Jennesta herself?” Jup asked. “What happens if-” He saw Stryke’s expression. “- when we find her? How do we handle that?”
“I’ll think of something,” his captain returned gruffly, and without further word turned and set off at a pace.
The band fell in behind him.
Coilla slipped an arm around Pepperdyne’s waist as they walked. It drew looks.
“How bad was it back there?” he wanted to know.
“Pretty bad. I’ve never seen Stryke so… out of control.”
“He seems all right now.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Take my advice: steer clear of him. He’s just about bottling the fury.”
“Can’t blame him after what happened to his mate. I know how I’d feel if something like that happened to… somebody I care for.” He smiled at her.
Coilla returned it, then sobered. “It’s not just Thirzarr. He’s got Corb and Janch to think about too. His hatchlings,” she added by way of explanation. “And who knows what mayhem Jennesta might have wreaked in Ceragan. This is one pissed-off band, Jode.”
“How can I tell?”
“What’d you mean?”
“You’re orcs. Pissed-off seems to be the natural state.”
She grinned again, despite herself. “Not all the time.”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Mind you, it was good that Wheam got pissed-off back there just when we needed it.”
“Sounds like he did well.”
“Yeah. Not that Haskeer believes it.”
They glanced at Wheam. He was jogging along next to Dallog. But Dallog seemed more interested in Pirrak, one of the other tyros from Ceragan, with whom he was engrossed in conversation.
“Looks like Dallog’s neglecting him,” Pepperdyne observed.
“He has to mentor all the newbies.”
“I’ve noticed he’s spent a lot of time with that one recently.”
“Maybe Pirrak needs some kind of guidance. The fresh intake are new to this, remember.”
“Been quite a baptism of fire for them, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a wonder we haven’t lost more of ’em, thank the Tetrad.”
“The what?”
“You’ve not heard any of us say that before? It’s our congress of gods. There are four of them. I’ll explain some time, if you’re interested.”
“I’d like to hear about it. And you… believe in these gods? You appeal to them?”
“Usually when somebody’s trying to part me from my head.”
Pepperdyne smiled. “I know that feeling. It was the same with my people.” He cast an eye over the trudging band. “I guess there’s a certain amount of appealing going on right now.”
“You bet.”
“So how do your- Damn. Heads up.” He nodded.
Coilla followed his gaze and saw Standeven elbowing their way. She rolled her eyes.
Pepperdyne’s one-time master arrived sweating. “I need to talk to you,” he insisted to Coilla in an undertone.
“About what?”
He looked around, anxious not to be overheard. “The instrumentalities,” he mouthed.
Pepperdyne groaned. “Not this again.”
Standeven glared at him and turned indignant. “I only want to ask the Corporal here if they’re still safe.”
