It was the beginning of a glorious day. The sun was up, bathing the land in balmy warmth. Birds were on the wing and bees droned.
They went and sat on a little hillock. Stryke explained what had happened, with Haskeer adding unhelpful interruptions. They showed her the amulet.
'But Jennesta's dead, surely?' she said. 'We saw her pulled apart by that vortex thing.'
'Maybe she can't be killed that easily,' Haskeer contributed. 'The sort of powers that bitch had, I'm thinking she can't be killed at all.'
'I'd bet on cold steel through the heart revoking her sorcery,' Stryke replied.
'You reckon she's got one?'
'We don't know how she survived, but it seems she did, and she's making orcs suffer. What are we going to do about it?'
'If we leave this land, you know what we're likely going to,' Coilla reminded him. 'Prejudice about us, and hatred and bigotry. Sure you want to go through all that shit again?'
'We've rode out worse than words.'
'It's not words that worry me. And don't count on too many allies wherever we fetch up.'
'I'm not saying there isn't going to be hardship, sweat and violence.'
'Just like old times, eh?'
'So where do you stand, Coilla? Are you saying no?'
She grinned. 'Hell, I'm not. This is a good place, but it can get kind of dull after a while. I've been itching for a real fight. I'm tired of lightweight scuffles.'
A wheezing orc staggered out of the tavern, gobbing teeth.
'You're game, then?'
'Sure.'
'So what next?' Haskeer asked.
'We round up the rest of the band and put it to 'em,' Stryke decided.
Haskeer wrinkled his craggy brow. 'Strange to think of the Wolverines re-formed.'
'If they want re-forming,' Coilla said.
Nep and Gleadeg were easily found; they lay insensible in the tavern, alongside Breggin. Zoda and Prooq were fishing with spears a little way upriver. Reafdaw was helping build a longhouse as part of a service to the community edict imposed by local elders, following an affray. Eldo, Bhose, Liffin and Jad were with a recently returned hunting party. Calthmon was discovered drunk on the steps of a hostelry and required dunking in a nearby rain butt. Orbon and Seafe, like Stryke, had mated, and were at their lodges, coddling offspring. Vobe, Gant, Finje and Noskaa were traced to a regional tourney they were competing in. Toche and Hystykk turned up in a felons' compound, the result of a little horseplay involving riot and arson, and had to be bailed.
Stryke explained the mystery of the human who came through the portal, and outlined Serapheim's message. There was some discussion, but a surprising degree of unanimity, despite Coilla's doubts. Much as they relished their hard-won freedom, all felt jaded and welcomed the prospect of a mission.
By late afternoon, Stryke was ready to begin a new search. Recruits were needed to replace those lost in the Wolverines' previous battles and bring the warband up to strength. He set about tracing a half dozen likely prospects he'd had his eye on.
Word got around that something was afoot. That evening, a curious crowd gathered at the clearing where Stryke mustered his troop.
Several of the Wolverines' mates were there, too. Thifzarr came, wearing the flaming crimson headdress Stryke first saw in his visions of this place. They stood away from the others.
'And you're sure you don't mind?' Stryke repeated.
'Would it matter if I did? Don't look doleful, you know you're desperate to go.'
'Don't put it that way. I'll be back. It's just — '
She stilled his lips with a coarse finger. 'I know. You don't have to explain an orc's instincts to me. I'm only sorry I'm not going with you.'
He brightened, relieved at her reaction. 'That would have been good. We've never had the joy of fighting side by side. I've always felt it's something missing from our union.'
'Me, too. Couples should spill blood together.'
'We will,' he promised.
'Be careful,' she said, suddenly serious. 'Stupid thing to say. But I'd like to think the kids' father's going to be around as they grow. Don't take risks, Stryke.'
'I won't,' he lied. He looked round. Haskeer had got the Wolverines into a semblance of order. To one side, another, smaller group shuffled their feet and looked slightly self-conscious. 'I need to get started.'
She nodded, and he went to his band.
'Heads up!' Haskeer bellowed.
The company straightened their backs.
'I'm glad you all volunteered,' Stryke told them. 'We always worked well together, and we can do it again.' His tone hardened. 'But let's get one thing straight. This is a well-ordered fighting unit. Or it used to be. We've all back-slid a bit while we've been here. Got soft, some of us. Sign on for this mission and you'll be subject to military discipline, just like before. I'm in charge, and there'll be a chain of command.' He shot a sideways glance at Haskeer. 'Anybody got a problem with that?'
Nobody had.
'At a time like this we remember fallen comrades,' he went on. 'Kestix, Meklun, Darig, Slettal, Wrelbyd, Talag. They all died serving this band, and we should never forget it.' He paused. 'That means we don't have our full quota. So I'm bringing in replacements.' He waved forward the recruits, and counted them off. 'This is Ignar, Keick, Harlgo, Chuss, Yunst and Pirrak. I expect you to make them welcome. Show them our routines and get them used to our ways. They're good fighters, but not combat trained. Though they will be by the time we've finished with them.'
There was laughter. In the case of the recruits, somewhat nervous.
'Somebody else we lost can never be replaced,' Stryke continued. 'We all respected Alfray.' Heads were nodding agreement. 'He was more than the band's medic and a veteran fighter; he was a link in the chain binding us to our kind's past. We can't replace him, but we need another corporal alongside Coilla here, so we'll fill the void he left as best we can.' He beckoned. Someone came out of the crowd.
He was an orc of advanced years, though still in his prime and looking fit. But the light in his astute eyes owed more to autumn than summer, and of all the fighters present he was easily the oldest. He approached with assurance.
'Meet Dallog,' Stryke said.
The older orc lightly nodded to them; a small gesture but amiable enough.
'Some of you might know him already, particularly if you've needed a broken bone put right.' There was another ripple of laughter. 'He has talent as a healer. He's steady and he's smart, and I'm making him a corporal. And he's got an important duty.' Stryke raised a hand.
A youngster trotted towards them. He carried a spiked lance with a furled pennant, which he passed to Dallog. At Stryke's signal, Dallog opened it, revealing the band's standard. He held the pole aloft and the ensign fluttered in the evening breeze. The Wolverines cheered. Except for Haskeer, who wore a dour expression.
'The standard's in your charge,' Stryke said. 'Guard it well.'
'With my life,' Dallog promised. He went to join the ranks.
'We've plenty to do tonight,' Stryke reminded them all, 'so go about your tasks. Dismissed! ' As they moved off, he called, 'Get to know the new ones! They're Wolverines now!'
Haskeer arrived at his side. 'It's not true,' he complained.
'What isn't?'
'What you just said about the new intake being Wolverines. They have to earn it.'
'We all started from scratch.'
'We were already battle-hardened when we joined. Not like these… civilians.'
'That's the point. We need to get the band in shape fast, which means making them feel a part of it from the outset.' He regarded his sergeant. 'Is that all you're in a foul mood about?'
