“What’s it to you?” Coilla said.
“A lot. As it should be to everybody here. Our only chance of getting home depends on-”
“I know. They’re safe. You’d have to kill Stryke to get ’em. Unlikely in your case.”
He ignored the jibe. “And has he mastered them yet? Has he worked out what’s wrong with them?”
She jabbed a thumb in Stryke’s direction. “Why don’t you ask him?”
Standeven looked to Stryke, forging ahead at the column’s prow. He saw the broadness of his back, the rippling muscles and, when he turned his head to scold those following, the murderous expression he wore. “I’ll… wait until he’s free.”
“He does have a couple of other things on his mind,” Pepperdyne informed him dryly.
“But they’re secure, right? The stars, they’re-”
“ Enough. You’re getting obsessed with the things. Give it a rest.”
Standeven flushed redder. “There was a time,” he grated angrily, “when you wouldn’t have dared speak to me like that.”
“So you keep telling me. And I keep saying that time’s past. Live with it.”
Shaking with impotent fury, his old master fell back in the column, where he was given a wide berth.
“I think he’s going crazy,” Pepperdyne said, at least half seriously.
Coilla shook her head. “Don’t know about that. I do know the effect the stars can have.”
“Effect?”
“Spending too long with ’em can make things a bit weird. We’ve seen it in the band.”
“Weird?”
“You turned into an echo, or what?”
“Just explain, Coilla.”
“Later. It’s a long story. But the stars have the power to get a hold on some, make ’em act… well, a bit like Standeven.”
“What about Stryke? He’s with the things all the time.”
“Yeah, and that’s a worry. But like I said, it affects some, not all. He seems to handle it. Most of the time.”
“Oh, great.”
“What I’m saying is, keep an eye on Standeven.”
“I usually do.”
They marched in silence after that, turning things over in their minds.
Stryke was leading the band along the upper lip of the beach, keeping the jungle to their right. Soon they would reach a line of sand dunes marking the point where they needed to turn inland, onto the path that headed toward the dwarfs’ settlement.
As dwarfs themselves, Jup and Spurral felt a natural sympathy with the natives, but their empathy was with Stryke. Marching four or five ranks to his rear, they found themselves eyeing him constantly.
“He looks in a state,” Spurral commented, “near frenzied. Is he going to hold it together?”
“Course he will. He’s tough. What beggars belief is how history’s repeating itself.”
“Me and the Gatherers.”
Jup nodded. “So I know how he feels.”
“He helped you get through that.”
“Yeah. I owe him.”
“Now you can repay. He needs your support. And maybe more down the road, depending on how this plays out.”
“There’s no going near him at the moment, the mood he’s in.”
“Well, you’ll just have to-”
“ Wait! Look.” He pointed at the sand dune they were approaching.
A number of humans were swarming over it, their Peczan uniforms marking them as Jennesta’s followers. Several of her undead slaves were with them. Their movements were lumbering and jerky, and their deathly pallor was evident even at a distance. The looks of surprise on the troopers’ faces testified to this being an unexpected encounter rather than an ambush.
“ Damn,” Spurral said. “Just what we needed.”
“Yes, it is,” Jup told her.
“More trouble ’s what we need?” She drew her short-bladed sword.
“Better to be at the enemy’s throats than each other’s. It’ll bleed off the tension. ’Specially Stryke’s.”
As Jup spoke, Stryke rushed at the troopers, bellowing a war cry. The rest of the band took it up and thundered after him. All but Standeven, who hung back, looking fretful.
The two lines met in a bellowing roar and the clatter of steel.
Stryke tore into the human ranks like a hot cleaver through pig fat. A pair of troopers went down in a brace of heartbeats, and instantly he was engaging a third. He fought like a berserker, oblivious to whistling blades and lunging spears. His only aim was rending the flesh of anything in his way.
Coilla and Pepperdyne worked in unison, carving a path deep into the enemy’s ranks, until they ran into one of the undead. The process by which Jennesta magically created her zombie adherents endowed them with a strength and stamina most lacked in life. This one was an exceptional example, and must have been hulking even before he met his fate. Armed with what looked like a tree trunk, he took a hefty swipe that caught Pepperdyne off guard. The blow was glancing, but enough to bring him to his knees. A follow-up would have brained him, had Coilla not rushed in, sword swinging. She struck the zombie at its waist, cutting deep. Back on his feet, Pepperdyne rejoined the fray, adding his weight to the fight. Together they hacked their foe to pieces.
Jup and Spurral also fought in harmony. Given their height, this was as much necessity as choice. Employing a well-practised technique, Jup used his staff to crack kneecaps, toppling opponents and bringing them in range of Spurral’s blade.
Haskeer had no truck with anything like finesse. Having felled a trooper with a thrust to the man’s chest, he had his sword dashed from his hand by a stray blow. Menaced by a trio of advancing soldiers he swiftly hoisted the corpse and hurled it at them. They went down like a row of skittles. Snatching up his sword, Haskeer followed through.
The new recruits instinctively fought as a group, with Dallog marshalling them, and gave a good account of themselves. Even Wheam, his confidence growing, managed to inflict some damage.
The whole band, steeped in frustration, vented their anger with orcish fury. They stabbed, slashed and pounded at the enemy mercilessly, intent on nothing short of a massacre.
At length, Stryke wrenched his blade from the innards of the last human and stood panting as he surveyed the slaughter.
“Feeling better?” Coilla said.
He wiped blood from his face with the back of a hand. “Some.”
Jup arrived. “Casualties light,” he reported. “Dallog’s patching up those who need it.”
Stryke nodded. “Then let’s keep moving.” He set off.
They took the jungle path leading to the dwarfs’ village, alert to any further danger. The journey was uneventful until they were almost at the settlement, when they spotted columns of black smoke beginning to rise above the trees. Shortly after, they entered the clearing.
All but two or three of the huts were burning, and a dozen or so dead dwarfs were scattered about. Some of the band caught the briefest glimpse of movement in the jungle. It was judged to be natives fleeing to their hiding places. Coilla called out to them, but got no reply. The remaining huts were searched, along with the surrounding terrain, and proved deserted. Lookouts were posted, and the private with the best head for heights, Nep, was ordered to climb one of the taller trees to spy out the land. Stryke set half a dozen grunts on the more or less endless task of finding suitable wood to replenish their store of arrows. The rest of the band gathered around him.
“No Jennesta,” Haskeer said tightly, glaring at Pepperdyne. “So much for your brilliant plan.”
“It was a reasonable assumption,” the human protested.
“And nobody had a better idea,” Coilla added.
Haskeer switched his baleful stare to her. “That’s right, take his side. As usual.”
