hills were just visible.
Brelan cupped his hands over his mouth and gave a passable imitation of shrill birdsong. Further along the bank, five or six of his compatriots came out of hiding.
'Don't ask,' Brelan told them as they approached, anticipating their questions about how the raid had gone. Though his expression held all they needed to know.
'We've no time to waste,' Stryke said.
Brelan nodded. 'Get the others out here.'
Stryke gestured to their waiting companions. They started spilling on to the riverbank.
Directed to a spot not far from the rendezvous point, the troop set to clearing away a camouflage of undergrowth. It concealed ten rafts. They were simple but robust, consisting of thick tree trunks lashed together and sealed with tar. Each raft had a crude rudder, and the minimal protection of a waist-high rope on three sides, looped around several timber uprights.
As they were hauled to the water's edge, Coilla joined Stryke.
'Shame Dallog and Wheam aren't here to see this,' she said.
'Or Ignar, or any of the others we lost to deceit today.'
'You reckon it was treachery?'
'They weren't waiting for us by chance.'
'That means somebody in the resistance…' She let the implication hang.
'A mission this big, maybe too many knew the plan.'
'Not that many knew all of it. Like using the catacombs.'
'There were humans down there.'
'What?'
'When we were on the battlements I saw soldiers at the bottom of the cliff. They must have been going for the entrance. Looks like it was Wheam and Dallog's wagon that stopped 'em finding it.'
Coilla smiled. 'So they did some good.' She sobered. 'But if the humans knew about the catacombs — '
'There's a spy high up in the resistance? Maybe.'
'We're in trouble if there is, Stryke.'
'There's nothing we can do about it right now. We have to — '
A chorus of shouting broke out. Orcs were heading up the riverbank, towards a group of figures.
Jup ran past, Spurral in tow. Then Haskeer thundered by, with a bunch of grunts in his wake.
Stryke stared at the commotion. 'What the — ?'
'This I don't believe,' Coilla exclaimed. 'Come on!' She joined the rush.
He followed, and seeing what all the fuss was about, increased his pace.
The advancing figures were orcs. Upwards of a dozen in number, they were bruised and bloodied, with several needing help to walk. And at the forefront were Dallog and Wheam.
Pepperdyne stared at them. 'How the hell…?'
Dallog grinned. 'Just sheer good fortune.'
Coilla gave Wheam's arm a squeeze. 'We thought you were lost.'
'So did we,' the youth replied shakily.
Stryke elbowed his way through. 'Didn't think we'd see you again, Corporal. We'd written you off.'
'We were lucky,' Dallog told him. 'The shanties took the brunt when the wagon went over. Most of us came out with petty wounds. Didn't lose a hand.'
'There were soldiers,' Wheam piped up. 'Did you know there were soldiers down — '
'Yeah,' Stryke said, 'we did.'
'Bit of a shock for 'em,' Dallog reported, not without relish.
'And fortunate for us. They'd have ambushed us if we'd left through the catacombs. That or come up at our backs inside the fort.'
'But if they knew about the tunnel what's to say they know about this escape route too?'
'All the more reason to get out of here, and fast.'
Dallog scanned the orcs crowded round. 'I don't see Ignar.'
'He didn't make it.'
The corporal's face dropped. 'No?'
'No,' Stryke confirmed.
Wheam looked shocked.
'He died well,' Stryke added.
'That's a comfort,' Dallog replied. 'But I promised I'd keep an eye on those young ones.'
'So did I.'
Dallog nodded. He said nothing for a second, then added, 'But the raid was a success, right?'
No one spoke until Pepperdyne offered, 'That's debatable.'
'Your crew all right to carry on, Dallog?' Stryke asked.
'We'll be fine.'
'Then let's move.'
Stryke and Brelan snapped orders and the rafts were readied for launch. Each held twelve or more passengers. Wolverines, Vixens and resistance members boarded randomly. The way it fell out, Stryke, Jup and Spurral found themselves on the same raft. Haskeer and Coilla were together on another; Chillder and Brelan on a third; Pepperdyne, Dallog and Wheam on a fourth.
At Brelan's signal the vessels cast off, pushed clear of the bank with rudimentary paddles. The strong current took hold at once, tossing them about like corks and drawing them into midstream. Before things settled down there was some jockeying, the orcs paddling furiously to avoid collisions as the craft rapidly picked up speed.
The terrain slipped past at a clip. Copious trees and lush pastures. A glimpse of a small lake ringed with jade hills. Fields with flocks of sheep and startled shepherds. The sight of distant cerulean cliffs, shimmering in sunlight.
They rounded a bend. The river became wider and faster. They were drenched with the spume, rafts bouncing on the surge, bow and stern see-sawing.
'Hey!' Spurral yelled.
'What?' Stryke bellowed.
'Back there!' She pointed to the rear.
He squinted through the vapour and made out oblong patches of white. The mist cleared a little and he realised they were sails. They belonged to an armada of boats coming round the bend after them.
As they drew nearer they were noticed by the occupants of other rafts.
On Coilla's, she turned to Haskeer and said, 'Now we know where they disappeared to.'
'The bastards are on to our every move.'
'There's gotta be a spy.'
Haskeer snarled, 'If I get my hands on him — '
'We've more pressing problems. Hold tight!'
On the raft carrying Dallog, Wheam and Pepperdyne they were counting the pursuing craft.
'Twenty-one,' Dallog said.
'Twenty- two,' Wheam corrected. 'You missed one.'
'The number's not important,' Pepperdyne interrupted testily. 'Outrunning them is.'
'They're gaining!' Wheam cried.
Brelan and Chillder's raft was at the back of the orc flotilla. Close enough to the boats chasing them to see who stood at the prow of the leading vessel.
'It's him all right,' Brelan confirmed, shading his eyes with his palm, 'Kapple Hacher.'
'It was no fluke him being here,' Chillder reckoned. 'This whole thing stinks, brother.'
The river meandered for a mile or two, the turns and curves taming its pace. That slowed the rafts, dependent on current, and forced the orcs to work their paddles. The boats trailing them, under sail, began to close the gap. And even when the river straightened and flowed quickly again they continued to catch up, until the foremost were within an arrow's flight.
The humans proved the point by loosing a salvo. Arrows zinged over the orcs' heads, or fell short, cutting into
