'Then it's time he learnt some.'
'Why us? There must be another way of cutting his teeth.'
'None as good as an actual mission where his survival's at stake.'
'And ours. We've got six tyros as it is, without carrying somebody untrained and unsuited. It puts the whole band in peril.'
'Much as I hate to say this, Stryke, you and your band have had things pretty much your own way since you came here. Isn't it about time you did something to repay our hospitality?'
'Much as I hate to say it, you don't own this land, Quoll. You're a clan chief, and we respect that, but you're not the only one in Ceragan.'
'I'm the only one in these parts, and I want Wheam signed on for this mission.'
'And if we refuse?'
'If you were to do that, I'm afraid there might be some delay… some lengthy delay in finding the artefact I'm holding for you.'
Stryke sighed. 'I see.'
'That's blackmail!' Coilla erupted.
Quoll glowered. 'I'll pretend you didn't say that.'
'Pretend what you like, it's still what you're doing!'
'That's enough, Corporal,' Stryke told her.
'But he can't — '
' That's enough! ' He turned to Quoll. 'All right. We'll take him.'
The chieftain smiled. 'Good.' He snapped his fingers.
One of his followers came forward holding a small wooden chest. Quoll opened it and took out the remaining instrumentality. 'I confess I'm glad to see the back of this. I've not been happy having such a powerful totem in my lodge.'
As Coilla and Haskeer silently fumed, he handed it to Stryke, who slipped it into his belt pouch.
'I'll have Wheam report to you this evening,' Quoll said. He started to leave, then stopped and added, 'And Stryke, if anything happens to him, don't bother coming back.'
The chieftain strode off, trailed by his helpers.
'Oh, that's just great, isn't it?' Haskeer moaned. 'Now we're fucking babysitters.'
'Calm down,' Stryke advised.
'Haskeer's right,' Coilla reckoned. 'The last thing we need is a hanger-on.'
'What else could I do?'
'Refused, of course!'
'And never see the star again?'
'We could have taken it.'
'Not a smart move, Coilla. This is our home now.'
'It won't be if that idiot gets himself killed,' Haskeer put in.
'There's no point arguing about it. We're stuck with him. Let's just try to make the best of it, shall we? We'll put him on fatigues or something, and have one of the older hands keep an eye on him.'
'It doesn't bode well,' Haskeer grumbled, 'having a clown on the team.'
'I'm not going to apologise for it. But there's something I should say sorry to you about, Coilla.'
'What's that?'
'By rights I should have promoted you, to fill the vacancy for a sergeant. You could do the job, and you certainly deserve it.'
'Thanks, Stryke, but I don't mind. Really. To hell with that much responsibility. I like the level I've reached.'
'Well, I said the band needed two corporals, which didn't go down well with everybody.' He glanced at Haskeer. 'But it needs two sergeants, too.'
'Who are you thinking of promoting then?'
'I'm not.'
'Come again?'
'My idea's to reform the band as completely as we can.'
'Yeah, well, that would mean having Jup, and he's… Oh.'
'Right. We're going back to Maras-Dantia.'
6
'They're dangerous,' Coilla whispered. 'Remember what they did to Haskeer. Hell, remember what they did to you.'
Stryke was staring at the instrumentalities. He had them laid out on a bench in a kind of order: two spikes, four spikes, five, seven and nine. Grey, blue, green, yellow, red. He found them fascinating.
' Stryke,' Coilla hissed.
'It's all right, I'm just looking. Nothing sinister's going on.'
'You know what they can do, Stryke. Or at least a part of what they can do. And it's not all good.'
'They're just a tool.'
'Yeah?'
'Long as you don't get too involved with them.'
'My point exactly.'
'Why are we whispering?'
'It's them.' She nodded at the stars. 'When they're all together like this, they make you want to.'
'I wonder what they're made of?'
'Damned if I've ever been able to figure it out.'
'Wish I had a blade forged from it.'
'Don't get too interested. We've got enough problems brewing in the band without you going AWOL from your senses.'
'Thanks for putting it so delicately.'
'I mean it, Stryke. If those things start singing at you again — '
'They won't.'
'You'll be carrying them. Exposed to them, all the time. It could affect you.'
'I've been thinking about that. Once we get to Maras-Dantia, would you carry one? Maybe breaking them up will dampen their influence.'
'I'm flattered. You've never been keen on parting with them in the past.'
'And look what happened. Will you do it? I would have asked Haskeer, but he's such a crazy bastard.'
'Rather than burden the helpless female, you mean? Don't go spoiling it, Stryke.'
He smiled. 'I'm no human. I could never think of you as helpless.'
'Course I'll do it. But what if it doesn't work? Will you share them between more of us?'
'I don't want to up the risk of any being lost. So… I don't know.'
'Great. Something else for us to worry about.'
'We'll face that if and when. It's near time. We should be getting ready.'
They slipped into thick over-breeches and lined boots, then donned fur jerkins. Before she put hers on, Coilla laced a sheath of throwing knives to each arm.
'Seems weird doing this in a heat wave,' she remarked.
'Maras-Dantia's going to be a damn sight cooler than here, that's for sure.' He collected the instrumentalities and put them in his belt pouch.
They buckled on swords, daggers and hatchets.
'Don't forget your gloves,' Stryke said.
'Got 'em.'
