ORCS: Army of Shadows (22 page)

It was about time to relieve the first set of rowers, so Stryke ordered the changeover. He got Coilla to do the same on her
boat. With fresh bodies at the oars, they set off again at a fast clip.

A couple of hours passed before Dweega started to come to herself. Hesitantly, she told them what she knew about Spurral,
and of Salloss Vant.

“You know where they were going?” Stryke asked her.

She shook her head.

“Or where they are now?”

“Roughly. The course they were on, anyway.”

“Will you help us track ’em?”

“I’m… frightened. I don’t want to go back to…
that man
.”

“It’ll be different this time,” Jup promised. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

She looked around at the warband, taking in their weather-beaten, scarred faces, and the flint in their eyes. “All right.”

“So how far are we from their ship?” Stryke asked.

“Maybe closer than we think,” Dallog interrupted. “Look.”

Well to their stern was a ship. It was distant enough for the details to be hazy, but the white of its sails was plain to
see.

“Could that be them?” Jup wondered, a real edge in his voice.

“No,” Pepperdyne said. “It’s a different class of ship from the one they had.”

“What do you think, Dweega?” Jup said. “Recognise it?”

“He’s right. It’s not the Gatherers’ ship I was on.”

“Who says they’ve only got one ship?” Dallog speculated. “Might be more of ’em.”

“Could be,” Stryke conceded. “Then again, there must be lots of ships, this being a world of islands.”

“I don’t think so,” Pepperdyne said. “I’ve been watching it for quite a time, while you were tending the girl. It never varies
its speed, never falls back or forges on. It’s always at the same bearing. I’d say whoever that is, they’re shadowing us.”

The casting overboard of Dweega galvanised many of the captive dwarfs. But they knew the Gatherers of old, and their terrible
reputation. Angry as they were, and grief-stricken over Dweega, the dwarfs wanted to act but remained fearful. Spurral did
her best to change that.

The whipping she and Kalgeck had taken left them pained and badly sore. There was no ministration from the Gatherers, not
that they had expected any, but their fellow captives rallied round. They had been stripped of their few miserable valuables,
with the exception of a small number of items even the slavers thought worthless. These included certain herbs and salves
the dwarves habitually carried. They gave some relief, and speeded healing.

Although she hadn’t welcomed the thrashing, Spurral was perversely grateful for it. It sharpened her appetite for revenge,
and her fortitude earned her kudos among the other prisoners, making them more open to her whispered seditions. Kalgeck, too,
seemed to find resolve in his punishment.

Spurral immediately set them to work making weapons. Nothing resembling blades could be pilfered. So they improvised bludgeons
from pieces of timber and sacking. They made slingshots with strips of cloth, and sneaked peach-stones out of the crew’s swill
buckets for shot. Part of the reason they got away with it was that the slavers had no regard for them. They were too used
to plundering the dwarfs’ island without opposition, and saw them as timid, unresourceful creatures. The Gatherers had grown
complacent, which suited Spurral.

The only time they could really work on the weapons was at night, belowdecks in their makeshift dormitory. In almost complete
darkness, by touch.

Satisfied that lookouts were posted, Spurral and Kalgeck, sprawled on their mean sacking, were busy fashioning wooden hatchets.

“How can we fight with these?” Kalgeck whispered, holding up his crude effort.

“They only need to work once or twice. To get us some real weapons.”

“Oh. Right. You know a lot about fighting, Spurral.”

“I’ve done a lot
of
it. You?” She knew he hadn’t.

“Not really.”

“Then trust me.”

“I overheard something Vant said today.”

“What?”

“He said we’ll be at our destination soon.”

“How soon?”

“Didn’t say. But it sounded like very soon.”

“So the quicker we strike —”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we get wherever we’re going? You know, and maybe make a break for it?”

“No. We don’t know what we’ll be up against when we dock. Here, we’ve got just the crew to deal with.”

“Just?”

“They’re flesh and blood. They bleed and die like anybody else.”

“Including us.”

“Listen, Kalgeck: characters like Salloss Vant dominate others in two ways. First, by force. Second,
fear
. They trade on their victims being afraid of what they
might
do. To overcome the Gatherers you have to overcome the fear.”

“That’s easily said.”

“What’s the worst they can do?”

“Kill us?”

“That depends on whether you think death’s worse than enslavement and misery.”

“And you don’t.”

“I don’t want to die any more than you do. But I like the idea of this scum staying alive even less.” She tried to make out
his expression in the poor light. “You are still with me on this?”

He was a moment answering. “Yes.”

“And the others?”

“Most of them, I think. But all of us are…”

“Afraid? There’s no shame in it, Kalgeck. It’s something we have to get over.”

“Even you?” He sounded incredulous.

“Of course.”

“You credit us with more courage than we deserve. We’re not known for bravado.”

“So-called courage isn’t about doing something without fear. It’s doing something
despite
fear. Show me somebody who doesn’t feel dread in a fix like this and I’ll show you a fool.”

“Can we hope for help? From those who dropped from the sky with you?”

She had to smile, though he couldn’t see it. “I know Jup and the others will be doing their best to find us. But we can’t
count on that. We have to suppose we’re alone.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“We need to seize an opportunity, and soon. Pass the word for everybody to be ready to act, and watch for my lead.”

The sky was a breathtaking canvas of crystal-clear stars.

Night had not deterred or slowed the ship stalking the Wolverines’ boats. It maintained the same distance and rate of knots,
and had no trouble staying on course despite the orcs’ vessels being completely unlit. The ship itself did bear lights, or
at least gave off a soft illumination that couldn’t be accounted for by lanterns. It progressed in an eerie glow, like a ghost
ship.

On the first boat, Pepperdyne had managed to avoid contact with Standeven since they started out. Now he felt obliged to check
with the man who, in spite of himself, he still thought of as his master.

Standeven remained in the seat he’d occupied since they began the journey, and hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with
anyone. It was a measure of how the others thought about him that, full as the boat was, he sat alone. He was staring at the
ship trailing them when Pepperdyne perched beside him.

“Who do you think they are?” he asked in an undertone.

Standeven shrugged. “Who knows? But it’s obvious what they’re after.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. What are the most valuable things on this boat?” He looked around furtively before answering his own question
in an animated whisper. “The instrumentalities!”

“How would they know we’ve got them?”

“How did that group that attacked us in Acurial know?”

“You reckon it’s them?”

“Perhaps. Or some other. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that they understand the worth of the artefacts.”

“What’s your point?”

“We’ve let ourselves lose sight of what prizes they are.”

“I thought we’d seen the sense in abandoning that idea.”

“You might call it sense. I say anybody who turns their back on a fortune must be a fool.”

“You can’t still be thinking they could be taken. From an orc warband? That’s
insane
.”

“Given the power at stake, and the riches, it’d be worth the risk.”

“Say we did get them. What then?”

“We’d use them to get out of this wretched world and —”

“How? We’d need Stryke’s amulet too, and there’s no way he’d let either that or the stars out of his sight.”

“There’s always a means, Pepperdyne.”

“Like stealing them? The way the one Coilla had was taken back in Acurial?”

Standeven’s face twisted. He raised his voice. “How often do I have to tell you —”

“
Ssshhh!
Keep it
down
. If the others get a hint of what you’re thinking…” Heads had turned. Pepperdyne gave them a bland smile. When they lost
interest he added, in an even lower tone, “You’re forgetting something. The damn stars aren’t working properly anyway. So
what are you going to do? Keep trying in the hope of them taking us home? And if by some miracle we got there, what do you
do about the debt you owe Kantor Hammrik?”

“There’d be no need to pay debts with the instrumentalities in our possession. Or to go home. We could find ourselves a pleasant
world somewhere. Maybe one where the natives are so backward we could rule them. We’d be
kings
, Pepperdyne.”

“Have you been drinking seawater? All this is crazy.”

“Only to someone with the imagination of a worm.”

“You’re quite something, aren’t you? It never entered your head that these orcs have become friends. Well, comrades at least.
And you’d abandon them here.”

“Maybe they’re…
friends
to you, but we’ve been in nothing but trouble since you got us tied up with them. And what are they dragging us into now?”

“We’re trying to help one of our own. It’s called loyalty, if the word means anything to you.”

“It means getting us killed.”

“Stryke said he’d take us home. I believe him.”

“Even if he kept his word, he’d still have the instrumentalities. I… we
must
have them.”

“Let it go. It’s wild talk.”

Standeven didn’t seem to be paying attention. He had a distracted look, and his head was half tilted, as though he was concentrating
on something.

“What is it?” Pepperdyne asked.

“Can you hear anything?”

“Hear? Hear what?”

“I’ve been hearing a… melody. No, not that. It’s faint but… it sounds like… voices, singing.
There
. Hear it?”

Pepperdyne listened. There was only the swish of oars cutting through water and the occasional mummer of other conversations.
“No, I can’t hear anything.”

“You
must
be able to hear it.”

“There’s nothing. It’s just the sea. It can play tricks.”

He looked bewildered. “Is it? Perhaps you’re right. I can’t seem to… I don’t hear it now.”

“You’ve not been getting enough rest. None of us have. That probably accounts for it, and what you’ve been saying.”

“My judgement’s sound,” Standeven replied indignantly. “I can see the logic of it even if you can’t. I have to have the stars.
They
want
me to.”

“What? Get a grip, Standeven.”

“You wouldn’t have dared talk to me like that not long ago.”

“That was then. Now’s a different game. I don’t know what’s going on in that devious head of yours, but understand this: if
you do anything stupid you’re on your own.”

“Obviously,” he sneered.

“Look, there’s no way I’m going to —”

He stopped when he saw Stryke rise and make his way to them.

“Everything all right?” the orc said.

It could have been Pepperdyne’s imagination, but he thought there was a hint of suspicion in Stryke’s voice. He considered
telling him what Standeven had just said, but decided against it. “We’re fine,” he told him. “Just fine.”

On the Gatherers’ ship, dawn brought another round of drudgery. The dwarfs were hurried through their usual meal of stale
bread and water. Then they were steered, blinking, to the deck, for chores to be handed out.

The slavers had divided the prisoners into arbitrary work gangs when they were first brought aboard, and seemed content to
let them carry on. So Spurral and Kalgeck were again in the same group, making intrigues easier. They were assigned to the
galley.

It was sizeable, longer than it was wide, and oppressively hot, even so early. A row of wood-burning kilns occupied one side
of the room. All were in full flame, with a variety of pans, pots and kettles on their tops, seething and steaming. The two
biggest stoves were being used to heat cauldrons of water, vessels large enough to accommodate a crouching dwarf.

The not-too-clean work surfaces were littered with cooking utensils and victuals: principally fish, along with some doubtful-looking
meat, wheels of rock-hard cheese and loaves of the musty bread. There were a few bunches of limp, shrunken vegetables.

It was among these that Spurral noticed the protruding hilt of a knife. There were no other blades to be seen. Presumably
they had been hidden from the captives, and this one overlooked. She nudged Kalgeck and indicated it with a subtle glance.

As the crewman watching them turned his attention to some bawling, Spurral whispered, “Can you sidetrack him?”

Kalgeck was taken aback, then resolved and nodded.

While the dwarfs were being gruffly assigned their tasks, he edged his way towards a shelf of stoneware. At its end stood
a tall jug. Kalgeck shot an anxious look at the crewman’s back. Then he reached up and swatted the jug off its shelf. It went
down with a crash and shattered.

Silence fell, and the crewman spun round, looking furious. He strode to Kalgeck, red-faced.

“What the hell you playing at?”

“It was an accident. I —”

“Accident? You clumsy little swine!” He took a swipe at Kalgeck, landing a meaty smack. “I’ll give you accident!” The blows
continued to rain down on the dwarf’s head and shoulders.

While everyone was distracted, Spurral quickly palmed the knife and slipped it up her sleeve. It had a short blade, but it
was razor-sharp, and the coolness of the steel against her skin had a reassuring feel to it.