'Those who aren't dead are enslaved or scattered. We seem destined to be a diaspora. If we survive at all.'
'Why run?' Haskeer growled. 'Stand up to 'em. Fight the human bastards.'
'We don't possess the superior combat skills of orcs, or have as strong a taste for bloodshed. Magic was our only real weapon. But that's so depleted as to be near useless. It's come to one thing only for us: the hope that we may continue to exist.'
'Is there any way we can aid you?' Stryke asked.
'You've spared our lives. That's aid enough in these troubled times. Now if you'll permit us to pass…'
Stryke brought out his water pouch and offered it to him. 'You can probably use this. And we can spare a little in the way of food.'
The elf hesitated for a moment, then took the pouch. He nodded his thanks. Then Stryke had a couple of the privates load some provisions on the wagon.
As the elves were about to depart, their leader paused. 'Let me repay your benevolence with a word of caution, though you should know what I'm about to say well enough. Maras-Dantia holds nothing but misery and peril, even for orcs. It's become a wheel that breaks the hardiest spirit. You'd be well advised to find yourselves a fastness and try to weather the storm, as we are.' Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left.
The Wolverines watched the little troupe make its way along the north-bound trail.
When they were out of earshot, Haskeer said, 'What do you think of that?'
'I'll tell you what I think,' Coilla replied. 'Why won't you males ever ask for directions?'
Riding hard, they arrived at Quatt three hours later.
What was a particularly verdant district now looked as if it had been in the grip of an endless winter. In common with every other part of the land they'd seen, the terrain had an exhausted, washed-out quality.
They looked down on the wooded heart of the dwarfs' homeland from the crest of a hill.
'I feel a bit uneasy,' Coilla admitted.
'Why?' Stryke said. 'Think they won't welcome us?'
'We're orcs, Stryke; when is anybody ever pleased to see us? But it's not that so much. I'm more worried they might have moved on, like those elves. Or that Jup's dead.'
'Or maybe the unfriendly ones have taken over down there,' Haskeer put in.
Stryke stared at him. 'Unfriendly?'
'The ones who sided with the humans for coin.'
Coilla rolled her eyes. 'Aah, not that again!'
'Dwarfs can't be trusted, you know that.'
'Jup could,' Stryke reminded him. 'And his tribe didn't go over.'
'I'm just — '
'You want to turn back?'
'No. I'm only saying — '
' What? What are you saying?'
'Fuck me, Stryke, I'm just saying what we all know. Dwarfs are treacherous. They're notorious for it.'
'Keep that opinion to yourself. The band's got enough problems without your beef. Now get yourself back in line, Sergeant.'
'We should be alert, that's all,' Haskeer grumbled as he wheeled and spurred his horse.
Stryke caught Coilla's expression. 'Was I too hard on him?'
' Can you be too hard on Haskeer? All right, maybe you were. A little.'
'Well, it takes a lot to get through his thick skull. And I'd rather parley with Jup's folk than brawl with them.'
'If Jup's still alive, do you reckon we'll be able to persuade him?'
'I don't know. He turned down the chance of leaving Maras-Dantia once before. We should be ready for a knock-back on this. But we're not going to find out sitting here. Come on.' He gestured for the band to follow.
Quatt nestled in a great valley, wide enough that its far side was barely visible through the misty air. The trees surrounding its core were sorry things compared to the fecundity the band remembered. But the foliage was still abundant enough to make a dense barrier.
They followed a snaking, overhung path that filtered the dreary day's mean light even further. The odour of the forest was far from summery; its acrid smell of decay was more autumnal. There was no sound save the thud of their horses' hooves on mulch. They kept one hand on their sword hilts as they weaved their way to the interior.
Gloom gave over to watery daylight as they entered a sizeable clearing. At its centre was a large rock pool, fed by an underground spring, the sulphurous water gently bubbling. Garlands of withered flowers were heaped around it. Tracks branched off from the clearing in three different directions.
'Which way?' Coilla asked.
Stryke looked from one path to another. 'Hold on, I've lost my bearings.'
'Oh, good.'
'Long time since I was last here. It all looks different.'
'Should we send scouts out?'
'I'm not splitting the band. We'll find our way to the dwarfs together.'
'Er, I think they've found us, Stryke.'
Scores of stocky men poured into the clearing via the paths and through the undergrowth. They were armed with staffs and short-bladed swords, and outnumbered the Wolverines by at least four to one. Swiftly, they surrounded the orcs' column.
' Steady! ' Stryke warned the band.
A burly dwarf stepped forward. 'Who are you?' he demanded, scowling. 'What are you doing in our forest?'
'We're here in peace,' Stryke told him. 'We mean you no hurt.'
'Since when did orcs go anywhere in peace?'
'We do when we're seeking an ally.'
'You've no allies here.' The dwarf pointed to the rock pool. 'This is a holy place. The presence of any but dwarfs offends our gods.'
'Live underwater, do they, these gods of yours?' Haskeer piped up.
The dwarf gave him a murderous look, and his companions tensed.
' Haskeer,' Stryke hissed ominously.
'The gods dwell in all parts of the forest,' the dwarf replied, swelling his barrel chest. 'They are in the trees, and in the spirit of the woodland animals. They inhabit the very soil itself.'
'Oh, right. Having a bath, are they?'
' Haskeer! ' Stryke snapped. He turned to the dwarf. 'Ignore my subordinate. He's… ignorant of your ways.'
'Stupidity is no excuse for blasphemy.'
Haskeer glared. 'Who you calling — '
' Shut up, Sergeant! ' Stryke bellowed. 'Look,' he told the dwarf, 'if you'd just let me explain — '
'You can have your hearing. We're not unreasonable in Quatt. But give up your weapons first.'
'That is unreasonable for an orc,' Coilla said.
'She's right,' Stryke agreed. 'We don't do that.'
'You want 'em, you take 'em,' Haskeer added.
'If you won't disarm,' the dwarf stated coldly, 'then you're hostile. I'm giving you one last chance to throw down your blades.'
Haskeer hawked noisily and spat, narrowly missing the dwarf's boots. 'You can kiss my scaly arse, sawn- off.'
Weapons raised, the dwarfs began advancing. The orcs drew their swords.
A figure elbowed through the crowd.
'Well fuck me slowly with a barbed pike.'
'Only if you insist,' Coilla said. She smiled. 'Hello, Jup.'
