was shaded by a couple of mature trees. Jup took out a knife and squatted by the stream. He gouged a hole in the earth, and when he judged it deep enough, wormed his hand into it.
'What's he doing?' Wheam asked.
'Magic shows itself in different ways for different races,' Stryke explained. 'With dwarfs, it's farsight.'
Wheam was puzzled. 'Farsight?'
'Being able to sense things beyond what can be picked up with eyes or ears.'
'Which is handy for tracking,' Coilla added.
'There's energy in the earth that governs the magic,' Stryke said. 'It's most powerful near water. I don't know why. But dwarfs with farsight can feel the energy's strength, and how it flows.'
'How does magic show itself with orcs?' Pepperdyne said.
'It doesn't. We've no command of magic, and neither do humans.'
'So if this world has only orcs and humans, nobody practises magic?'
'Right.' Stryke didn't mention the likes of Serapheim, who was an exception among humans anyway. Or the possibility that Jennesta was in this world. He saw no reason to tell Pepperdyne and his master any more than he had to.
Jup came back, slapping the dirt from his hands. 'I was right. There's energy here, and it's strong. Pure. I'd say there's a big concentration of it not far away, and the flow's southward.'
'Taress?' Stryke wondered.
'Suppose it must be.'
'We should be moving then.'
Wheam popped up. Somehow his beloved lute had survived intact, and he brandished it. 'Time for a song before we go? To put a spring in our step?' He saw their expressions. 'A tune then? A rousing air to send us on our — '
'If you do,' Haskeer told him, 'I'll kill you.'
' On your feet, Wolverines! ' Stryke barked. 'We're marching!'
The old shepherd was right about them arriving at sundown.
Standing on the crest of a steep hill, the band looked down at the settlement. They were surprised at how big it was. The fringes of the city consisted of acres of dwellings, shot through with alleys, lanes and crooked streets. Nearer the centre there were taller structures, with a dotting of towers and spires, and what could have been fortifications. Although it was dusk, few lights were visible.
Weapons concealed, they began their descent.
They arrived at the outskirts without seeing anyone, and came to a wide cobbled road leading into the city. Halfway along its length stood the first houses. They looked shabby, and there was no sign of the inhabitants.
'Orcs live here?' Coilla said.
'It looks as though nobody lives here,' Stryke replied.
They entered the maze of streets. Every door was closed, all windows were shuttered. There were no lights.
'Where is everybody?' Spurral wondered.
Jup pointed. 'Here's somebody.'
On the opposite side of the road, a lone figure was sprinting in their direction.
'Get out of sight, all of you,' Stryke ordered.
The band quickly retreated into the shadowy mouth of an adjacent alley.
As the running figure drew level, Stryke saw that it was a young orc, wrapped in a grey cloak.
'What's going on?' he shouted over to him.
The orc slowed and looked Stryke's way. He was obviously puzzled. 'What do you mean?'
'Where is everybody?'
'Don't you know what hour it is?'
'What's that got to do with — '
'It's almost dark! Get off the streets! They'll be here soon!'
'Who?'
The orc didn't answer. He ran on and disappeared round a corner.
Coilla emerged from the alley. 'What the hell was that all about?'
'Perhaps we found the only crazy orc in town,' Jup ventured.
'What now?' Haskeer wanted to know.
'We push on,' Stryke decided, 'and keep alert.'
They moved deeper into the silent, deserted metropolis. In street after street it was the same story; bolted doors, barred windows and unlit dwellings. They didn't encounter so much as a stray dog or prowling cat.
At length they came to a public square, bordered by houses on all sides and fed by a street at each corner. In its centre was a large patch of muddy grass, and in the middle of that was a tall wooden structure.
'Do you see what that is?' Coilla said.
Stryke blinked in the gloom. 'No, what?'
'It's a gallows.'
'So they go in for public executions here.'
'Yeah, but of who?'
'Stryke,' Haskeer said, looking restless, 'what's our aim? Where we heading?'
'I don't know. I didn't expect a ghost town.'
'Great. So we've gone into this halfarsed.'
'Think you could have done better?'
'I'd at least have a plan.'
'Gods protect us from any plan of yours.'
'I wouldn't have us wandering like tits in a trance.'
'Hold your tongue, Sergeant. Unless you want me to take that helmet and shove it up — '
Coilla put a finger to her lips. 'Sssshh!'
'Stay out of this, Corporal.'
'No! I mean listen.'
Everyone froze.
Although a way off, the sound was unmistakable, and it was swiftly growing louder.
'Marching,' Jup whispered.
'Where's it coming from?' Stryke said.
'Can't tell.'
The sound was swelling, and close to hand.
'Take cover!' Stryke ordered.
The band began to move
None of them got more than ten paces before a group of humans entered the square at the next turning. They were about forty in number, and wore uniforms that in the half light could have been black or dark blue. All were heavily armed, and perhaps a third of them held shaded lanterns
At their head was the unit's commander, and it was he who bellowed, 'Halt!'
His troop spread out to either side of him as they advanced, so that they approached almost in a line.
The Wolverines stopped in their tracks and looked to Stryke.
He knew they might have made a run for it, but he didn't want to risk scattering the band. In any event, running wasn't their way. He signalled for them to stay put.
He caught a glance from Coilla and mouthed, 'Maybe we can bluff our way out of this.'
She raised a sceptical eyebrow.
The human commander was short and thickset. He had a bushy black moustache that perched beneath his nostrils and didn't reach either end of his sneer. His raven hair was longish and slicked back.
When the line of humans were close enough to spit at, he barked an order and they halted. The commander himself continued walking, and two subordinates dogged him, one on each side, a pace or two to his rear. There was a practised air to the manoeuvre, an exhibition of military precision that was almost comical.
The trio stopped when they came to Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla, who were foremost.
