'All right, let's go.'
Outside, by the mouth of the cave where they first arrived in Ceragan, the band waited, sweating in their furs. Haskeer was keeping them in order, when he wasn't shooting disgusted glances at Wheam, who'd insisted on bringing his lute.
Quoll and his usual entourage were at the forefront of the crowd of spectators. Thirzarr was there too, along with the hatchlings. Stryke went to them.
Before he could speak, Thirzarr mouthed, 'We've already made our goodbyes. Let's not stretch it out, for their sakes.' She indicated Corb and Janch.
Stryke knelt. 'I'm counting on you to look after your mother. All right?'
They nodded solemnly.
'And be good while I'm away.'
'We will,' Corb promised.
'Kill the witch!' Janch squeaked.
His brother bobbed in gleeful agreement and they waved their miniature cleavers about.
Stryke grinned. 'We'll do our best.'
He took one last look at his brood and turned away.
'Fare well,' Quoll said as he passed him.
Stryke gave a faint tilt of his head, but didn't speak.
At the cave's entrance, he faced the band.
'Conditions were bad in Maras-Dantia when we were last there,' he said. 'They're going to be much worse now. Expect extreme hostility, and not just from the weather. This particularly applies to you new recruits, so stick by the buddy you've been assigned. As I'm assuming we'll fetch up in Illex, in the far north, we can't take horses; they couldn't handle the conditions. Be prepared for a long, hard march south.' He weighed his next words carefully. 'Last time, we had to face the Sluagh.' He bet more than a few of the band suppressed a shudder remembering the repellent demon race. 'I don't know if we'll run into them this time. But we beat 'em once, and we can do it again if we have to. Are we all set, Sergeant?'
'Ready and eager,' Haskeer replied.
'If anybody's having second thoughts about this mission, this is your last chance to pull out. They'll be no dishonour in it.' He stared pointedly at Wheam. No one said anything. 'Any questions?'
Wheam raised a hand.
'Yes?'
'Going through this… portal thing. Will it hurt?'
'Not as much as my boot up your arse,' Haskeer assured him.
Laughter eased the band's tension a little.
Stryke checked that the crowd was held well back, then nodded.
Haskeer barked an order. Brands were lit, and jerkins fastened.
A rhythmic pounding started up. The onlookers were beating their spears against their shields in a traditional farewell for orcs off to war. There was some shouted encouragement, and a few cheers.
Stryke led his band into the cave.
It was cool and echoing inside.
Coilla caught up with Wheam. 'Going through's unsettling,' she explained. 'Just remember we're all doing it together.'
He looked pale. 'Thanks,' he said, and walked on.
Stryke overheard. ' Unsettling? '
'I couldn't say terrifying, could I? He's just a kid.'
They reached the centre of the cave, and Stryke had them all gather round. He studied the amulet by the light of the brands. Next, he took out the stars and began manipulating them.
For a clammy moment, he thought he couldn't do it. There seemed no sense in the way they linked to each other. He started to fumble and grow confused.
Then four stars slotted together smoothly, in quick succession, and he could see exactly where the final one should go.
'Brace yourselves,' he warned, pushing it into place.
They fell, plunging down a shaft made of light.
Sinuous, pulsating, never ending. Beyond its translucent walls was blue velvet, smothered with stars.
They dropped ever faster. The starscape melted into a blur of rushing colours.
Transient images flashed by. Fleeting glimpses of perplexing other-wheres.
There were sounds. An inexplicable, discordant, thunderous cacophony.
It lasted an eternity.
Then a black abyss swallowed them.
Stryke opened his eyes.
He felt like he'd taken a beating, and his head throbbed murderously.
Getting to his knees, it took him a moment to focus on his surroundings. But he didn't see what he expected.
There was no snow or ice, though it was cold. The grim landscape seemed gripped by deepest winter. Trees were leafless. The grass was brown and patchy, and much of the foliage wasn't just dormant, but dead. Black clouds dominated the sky. It was in total contrast to the balmy climate they'd just left.
He climbed to his feet.
The rest of the band was scattered around him. Some were on the ground, still dazed, and several were groaning. Others, recovering more quickly, were already standing.
'Everybody all right?' he called.
'Most of us,' Haskeer said. He scornfully jerked a thumb at Wheam, who was being sick against a rock, with Dallog in attendance.
Coilla and Haskeer went to Stryke. They looked shaken after the transference, but rode it well.
'This isn't Illex,' Haskeer pronounced.
'You don't say,' Stryke told him.
'But it is Maras-Dantia,' Coilla said. 'I recognise some of the landmarks. I reckon we're near the lip of the Great Plains, not far from Bevis.'
'You could be right,' Stryke agreed. 'Looks like the stars don't put us down in exactly the same place each time.' He realised he was still clutching them, and began dismantling.
'At least it cuts the amount of marching we'll have to do.'
'And with any luck we won't have to go to Illex next time we use them.' He was stuffing the instrumentalities into his belt pouch. 'But I'm sorry we didn't bring those horses.'
'It's not morning here,' Haskeer decided.
Coilla sighed. 'You're an expert in stating the obvious now, are you?'
It looked to be late afternoon, going on early evening.
'And the season's wrong,' Haskeer added.
'I'm not so sure about that,' Stryke said. 'This could be what passes for summer in Maras-Dantia these days.'
Coilla stared at the terrain. 'Things have got that bad?'
'It was heading that way when we left, so why not?'
Haskeer frowned. 'What'll we do? Camp 'til first light?'
'I say march on,' Coilla suggested. 'I mean, we only got up about two hours ago. It's not as though we need the rest.'
Stryke nodded. 'Makes sense. If we are where you think, Coilla, we need to bear south-west. It's still a hell of a march to Quatt, but not near as far as we reckoned on.'
'Maybe we can rustle up some transport on the way.'
'I'm counting on it. All right, let's get 'em organised. Haskeer, see how the new intake are faring; Coilla, secure the area. Get some lookouts posted.'
Coilla went to pick sentries. Haskeer walked over to Dallog and Wheam.
