A large gang of soldiers had appeared and were chasing them.
Wheam, at the rear, was struggling to keep up with Coilla and Haskeer.
'Come on!' Coilla urged. 'Move it!'
One trooper, a strong runner, was well ahead of the pack and gaining on Wheam. The tyro himself was flagging, and the soldier got near enough to brush his back with his fingertips. Then he caught hold of the strap holding the lute and wrenched it free. Wheam ran on. The instrument fell clattering to the ground. Two of the strings snapped melodiously. The human, still running hard, kicked the lute out of his path. It sailed across the street and landed with a crash, breaking into pieces.
Wheam stopped, turned and gasped.
Coilla and Haskeer shouted at him. 'Come on! Leave it! Move your arse! '
The rest of the soldiers were sprinting forward and closing the gap.
'My… lute,' Wheam whispered. His eyes moved to the approaching soldier. 'Bastard.'
An uncharacteristically crazed expression came to Wheam's face. He drew his sword. Seeing this, the running soldier slowed and went for his own.
Wheam charged him, waving his blade and screaming incomprehensibly. He launched himself at the man like a wild thing, thrashing and slashing a storm. Such was the force of his attack that the trooper fell back a pace or two. He had his sword up, but purely defensively.
Coilla and Haskeer had stopped by this time. They watched Wheam laying about the soldier; and beyond, the human's thundering group of comrades, getting nearer.
'We have to go and fetch the little fucker,' Coilla said.
Haskeer made a disturbing noise somewhere deep in his throat and balled his fists. He nodded, curtly.
They unsheathed their weapons and headed back.
Wheam's deranged battering had the trooper retreating at a steady pace. He had no hope of overcoming the pint-sized whirlwind, but could only try to fend him off until his companions arrived.
In the event, it was in vain. Wheam landed a blow on the human's forearm, opening a deep, copious wound. Next he thrust his blade into the man's midriff, setting him staggering. Yelling what sounded like gibberish, though the word lute seemed to feature quite a lot, he pummelled his foe mercilessly, shredding flesh and cracking bones.
He was still hacking at the corpse when Coilla and Haskeer got there. Wheam swung round and growled at them, eyes blazing, sword raised.
' Whoa! ' Coilla shouted. 'It's us!'
Wheam blinked and focused. A little of the bloodlust drained away. He looked at the sword in his hand, then down at his victim.
'Nice one,' Haskeer complimented.
'Don't believe it,' Coilla said. 'A good word for Wheam.'
'Don't sweat it,' Haskeer grated. 'I'm not giving him a fucking medal.'
'Er… the soldiers,' Wheam interrupted, pointing along the street with his blade.
They were almost upon them.
'No time to run now,' Coilla decided.
'We stand,' Haskeer agreed.
The three of them stretched out in a line across the road and braced themselves. Near enough that their features could be plainly seen, the soldiers began whooping and waving their swords.
An open wagon careered round the corner from a side street and came to an abrupt halt between the two sides. A couple more followed, loaded with rebels who hastily leapt out to take on the mob of soldiers.
Stryke was in the back of the first wagon, alongside Brelan. He gestured for Haskeer, Coilla and Wheam to jump on. They quickly clambered aboard and the wagon moved off at speed.
Coilla expelled the breath she'd been holding. 'Good timing.'
'Glad you could make it,' Stryke replied. 'How'd you get on?'
'Killed our share,' Haskeer informed him bluntly.
'Wheam gets the gold feather,' Coilla said. 'Claimed his first kill.'
Stryke looked impressed. 'Well done. You'll find it'll come naturally now.'
Wheam mumbled something that included the words lute and bastard.
'What?'
'Broke my lute,' Wheam grumbled. 'Swine.'
Stryke gave Coilla a quizzical look.
'Human broke his thingamabob,' she explained. 'Lit Wheam's fire.'
'We'll find you another one,' Stryke promised.
'No we fucking won't,' Haskeer exclaimed, alarmed. He saw Stryke's face and shut up.
'Where we going?' Coilla asked.
Brelan spoke for the first time. 'Not far. A place we commandeered near the centre. There's something you Wolverines need to know.'
He wouldn't be drawn on what, and the rest of the journey was spent in silence through streets much emptier than they had been before the uprising took hold.
Soon they came to a large civic hall, complete with columns and surrounded by ornate iron fences. It was an old building, originating in the orcs' distant, more glorious past. Latterly it had been taken over by the occupiers. It was testament to the progress the rebels had made that they had taken it back.
Brelan suggested that Coilla, Wheam and Haskeer clean up and feed themselves while he talked with Stryke. Reluctantly, they obeyed.
Stryke was taken along crowded corridors and past faded embellishments to a room empty but for Chillder.
'We have news,' Brelan stated without preamble.
'So spit it out,' Stryke suggested.
'We thought we'd made things bad for the humans. Now we know it. We've heard that Jennesta's getting ready to flee the city.'
'How do you know this?'
'Oh, the word's reliable. We've an army of informers, some in high places. They say she's got together a bunch of military loyal to her and they're about to make for the south coast, probably to a waiting ship. She might have left already.'
'You can't let her get away.'
'Unfortunately, we can.'
'But — '
Brelan stilled him with a raised hand. 'We can't spare the forces. And when it comes down to it, she's just one individual. It's all the same to us if she's gone or dead. She'll still be out of our way.'
'Brelan, you can't — '
' But you and your band are free agents. And we know you have some kind of personal grudge against Jennesta, so — '
'A grudge?'
'We're not stupid. You know, our mother never quite believed your story, and we've always had doubts about where you were from and what you were doing here.'
'There's no need to say anything, Stryke,' Chillder assured him. 'We're grateful enough to you and your band that anything that's gone before isn't important.'
'Will you do it?' Brelan wanted to know. 'We've fresh horses for you, and supplies. What we can't let you have is any of our fighters.'
'Wouldn't want 'em. Though a guide would help.'
'We've maps.'
'Good enough. But I need to talk this over with my band.'
'They're gathered downstairs. Don't be long. Jennesta might already have a head start.'
Stryke was taken to a large chamber that looked as though it had served as a grand feasting room in olden days. All the Wolverines were there, as were Pepperdyne and Standeven. Jugs of water and of wine had been put
