Stan Nicholls - Army of Shadows

"Is this where we are?" Coilla wanted to know, pointing at the island with the cross.

They confirmed it.

"And the place these Gatherers come from?"

" There! " they chorused, plonking grubby fingers on the island with the skull.

"That clinches it," Stryke said.

"Now how do we get there?" Jup inquired gloomily.

"In a boat," Grunnsa suggested.

"They're all too small," Coilla reminded him.

" No," Heeg insisted. "The big boats."

"There are big boats? Where?"

"In the boathouse, of course," the boy replied, as if he were the adult and she the child.

"Where is this boathouse?"

"Outside the village." Grunnsa pointed vaguely in the direction of the extinct volcano.

"Must be that place we saw them guarding," Stryke reasoned.

"So what are we waiting for?" Jup said.

At that point the longhouse's door opened. Haskeer and a pair of grunts came in. They had the elder with them.

"Found him and a couple of others hiding in the tunnels," Haskeer explained. "He's pissed off with us."

The elder's angry expression verified that.

"Why?" Jup wanted to know.

"Ask him yourself. He doesn't talk to mere servants."

Jup addressed the elder. "We're sorry about your trouble with the Gatherers. What can we do to help?"

"Your offer comes too late. You should have stopped them."

"We tried."

"Those who fall from the sky must be more powerful than the Gatherers. Yet it seems you are not."

"We want to avenge you, and to get your islanders back. But we need your help."

" Our help? What can we do that those who come from the sky cannot?"

"We need boats that can put to sea, so we can pursue the Gatherers and punish them."

The elder became tight-lipped.

"We know you have such boats," Stryke told him. "And where the Gatherers are to be found."

The elder shot the children a sharp, disapproving look. "It is forbidden."

"What's forbidden?"

"Our customs forbid any from leaving here and voyaging to other islands. It brings wrath upon our heads. We believe the Gatherers would not have known of us if some of our kin had not ventured out and been captured."

"We understand," Jup sympathised, "but we aren't bound by your customs. And one of our number was taken by the Gatherers. We want her back."

"It isn't just the Gatherers. There are other dangers on the outside. Great dangers."

"We can deal with them," Stryke came back harshly. "But what about the boats? Do you hand them over or do we take them?"

He said it with sufficient force to give the elder pause. "There are two," he admitted. "We took them from certain of our kin who were building them secretly, in defiance of custom. They would have used them to leave here and try to make a new home free of the Gatherers."

"Might not have been a bad idea."

"Did you not survey this world from your vantage point in the sky? You seem to know little about it. For all that we suffer from the Gatherers, this island is safe compared to what dwells beyond it."

"We'll take our chances."

"When we seized the boats they were incomplete. They are not yet seaworthy."

"Would it take much to finish them?"

"I think not."

It occurred to Coilla to ask, "If you don't allow seagoing craft, why did you keep them?"

"We had no intention of keeping them. They were to be publicly burnt, as a warning to any who would try the same foolishness. But then you arrived."

"Lucky we came when we did."

"Can we get any of your islanders to help us make the boats ready?" Stryke said.

The elder shook his head. "It would go against our customs and stir up unrest."

"And the same goes for any of you helping us sail them?"

"It does."

"To hell with your stinking customs then. We'll manage alone."

"Not quite," Coilla said. "Jode was island-born, he told me so. He'll have sailing skills."

"You seem to know more about those humans than we do," Haskeer jibed.

"Good thing I do, isn't it?"

"That's settled," Stryke decided. "We'll start work on the boats right away. As to you." He fixed the elder with a hard look. "Forget any idea you might have about taking it out on these kids for aiding us. Or we'll bring wrath down upon your head."

"Have we done chin-wagging?" Jup pleaded. " 'Cos while we're standing here flapping our tongues there's no saying what Spurral's going through."

Spurral had been knocked cold by the blows she took on the beach. When she came to, in the rowing boat, the island was just a speck in the distance, recognisable only from the columns of smoke curling from its pair of active volcanoes.

There were five humans in the boat: four rowing, one at the helm. Three dwarfs, apart from herself, were aboard, lying on the boat's deck. Two male, one female, all young. Like hers, their hands were tied. The humans said nothing, contenting themselves with scowling at their captives from time to time and raising a sweat at the oars. When Spurral tried to speak to them they told her in coarse terms to shut up.

They were hardy, weather-beaten men, with skin the colour of old hide from a life under the merciless sun. Most were bearded, and several bore scars. Their clothing suited the needs of fighting and seagoing.

Cautiously lifting her head, Spurral looked over the rail. She saw that their boat was one of dozens of identical craft heading in the same direction, and she guessed the others held dwarf captives too. The boats were making for a large triple-masted ship whose sails were being run up as the boats approached.

When they reached the ship it towered over them like a cliff face, making the rowboats toys by comparison. Rope ladders dangled from its side. Spurral and the others had their bonds cut, amid threats against misbehaviour, so they could climb them. The ascent was precarious, and as she made her way up she could hear the ship's timbers creaking and the waves lapping against its hull.

On deck, they were herded together facing the bridge. Spurral estimated there were forty or fifty dwarfs present. The humans numbered about the same, and most of them set to hauling aboard the boats for stowing, or making them fast to be towed. Nine or ten men kept an eye on the dwarfs. Not that they were troublesome. They were browbeaten, and some of the females were weeping. And apart from the occasional whispered exchange, they were silent.

A man appeared on the bridge. He was younger than the majority of the crew, surprisingly so for someone Spurral took to be their skipper. His face was hairless; his head was a mane of black curls. There was something about the way he looked and moved that was almost sensuous, calling to mind a predatory feline eyeing its next meal. Of his robustness there was no doubt, and even from a distance he radiated a vitality that spoke of harsh command.

He rapped loudly on the bridge's balustrade with the hilt of his richly embellished sword. There was no real need. He already had their attention.

"I am Captain Salloss Vant," he announced in a strong, carrying voice. "It's normal for the master of a vessel to welcome guests aboard. But I've a feeling you'd find it hard to take my words to your hearts." The crew laughed. He smiled at his quip, then turned stern. "But take this as holy writ. If you have any other gods, forget them. I am your deity now."

Spurral was aware of dwarfs giving her furtive glances. She began to regret the band's letting them believe something so fanciful.

"As far as you're concerned," Vant went on, "I am the god of this vessel for as long as you're on it, and my word is your only law. And have no doubts that lawbreakers will feel a wrath that only a god can bring about." His expression slid to ersatz amiability. He spread his hands in a gesture of reasonableness. "We are Gatherers. You are the gathered. Accept your fate and allow us to fashion ours. And don't look so glum! Your new lives as servants, oarsmen, menials and the like will no doubt bring you great satisfaction." The crew laughed again. "A pleasure you can begin practising for straightaway," he continued, the mask going back to severe. "There are no passengers on this ship. You will work."