Stan Nicholls - Army of Shadows

"Perhaps not. But it serves as a reason. What conclusion did Karrell reach?"

"He's still content to leave it to my discretion. Just. But he warns that, given the nature of the race holding the artefacts, force is probably the only option."

"He could well be right. Can anybody negotiate with orcs?"

"I'm starting to think not."

"Then what choice do we have?"

"There's something else. Karrell warned me earlier that another force had entered this game. Some individual or group with command of the portals. Their presence was detected in Acurial. And if they were there — "

"I take your point. Do we know more than that about them?"

"No. Which is worrying. To have one set of instrumentalities in irresponsible hands is bad enough. To have two — "

"Must surely be unprecedented."

She nodded. "This is a dangerous enough world as it is without another variable being thrown in."

"All the more reason for us to bow to the leader's wisdom in the matter of the orcs."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Do we have any idea where they might be?"

"We do now. Or at least we do roughly. Karrell gave me coordinates."

"So your orders are…?"

"We go after them at dawn. And when we find them, we hit them hard this time."

They watched the last fragment of the sun vanishing below the horizon.

The patchwork of islands spread out before them fell into night.

It wasn't long before Spurral witnessed the nature of Salloss Vant's justice.

The captives had immediately been given various onboard chores, most of them mindless and all of them hard work. Spurral was put with five other dwarfs in an ill-lit, dank area belowdecks containing enormous lengths of unyielding rope thick as her arm. They had to roll it into coils on great wooden cylinders that took two to turn. Spurral's job was to guide the rope onto the drum so that it wound neatly. In no time they all had bleeding, blistered hands.

There was a single crewman overseeing their labours. After an initial bout of shouting and threats he deposited himself on a heap of filthy sacking and promptly dozed off. Spurral took the opportunity to try to engage the others in whispered conversation. Most were too frightened to respond, but two answered, and they got a conversation going, of sorts.

One was male and a bit older than the majority of prisoners. He seemed to be called Kalgeck, and Spurral thought he had spirit. The female was in some ways his opposite. Her name was something like Dweega. She was among the youngest on board, and timorous, yet found the guts to reply, which Spurral had to give her credit for. It was only later that Spurral discovered Dweega had spoken not out of courage, but desperation.

Several hours of hard labour passed before a bell sounded somewhere. The guard woke up, ran a quick eye over what they'd done and ordered them out. As they shuffled forward, Spurral saw that the girl was having trouble walking. But before the crewman noticed, several others, principally Kalgeck, crowded round and hid her limp from view.

By now night had fallen. The captives were herded into the ship's hold, and when it was Dweega's turn to descend the ladder, Kalgeck kept close enough to disguise her faltering progress.

For the first time since being seized, they were given sustenance. It was hard, stale bread and suspect water. The hold was badly crowded, but Spurral made sure she got floor space next to Dweega. She noted that Kalgeck had bagged the space on the girl's other side.

The prisoners were forced to keep silence throughout. But once the few meagre candles had been snuffed, and the hold was locked down, whispers were exchanged. Though quiet weeping was more prevalent.

Spurral wriggled nearer to the girl and spoke low. "You all right?"

"Are any of us?"

"You in particular. What's wrong with your leg?"

Dweega didn't answer. But Kalgeck leaned in close and said, "She's lame."

Spurral sensed the girl stiffening at the words.

"It happened when they caught us?" Spurral asked.

"No," Dweega said. "I've always… been like this."

"And you don't want the Gatherers knowing."

"They can't get a good price for damaged goods," she mouthed bitterly.

"You've been lucky so far. How much longer do you think you can hide it from them?"

"I was hoping that when we get to wherever we're going I might slip ashore and — "

"Can't see that happening. Not the way they've got things set up."

"I thought you might be able to help." There was anger in Dweega's voice, and obvious despair. "You're supposed to be some kind of god."

"She can't be," Kalgeck whispered, "or she wouldn't be here."

"It was your elder who assumed we were gods," Spurral told them. "I'm flesh and blood, just like you."

Dweega sighed. "Then that's our last hope gone."

"You don't have to be a god to do something about our situation."

"Like what?" Kalgeck wanted to know.

"There are as many of us as there are of them. If we could overpower a few of them and get hold of their weapons — "

" Mutiny? We wouldn't stand a chance."

"What's our choice? We can go meekly to our fate or make a stand. I know which I'd prefer."

"Then you go ahead," Dweega said.

"I can't do it alone. We need to organise ourselves."

"You don't know the Gatherers like we do," Kalgeck rasped. "They'd show us no mercy."

"They'd certainly show none to Dweega when they find out she's lame. Isn't that reason enough to strike at them first?"

"And assure our deaths. Maybe she can get off this ship; and at least the rest of us will be alive as slaves."

"You might call it a life. I don't."

"I don't relish it either. And if I thought we had a hope of overcoming the Gatherers I'd be with you. But I can't see the others having much of an appetite for taking them on."

"What about you, Dweega?" Spurral asked her. "How do you see it?"

"I'll take my chances." She turned over and showed Spurral her back.

Nothing more was said and, exhausted, they gave in to fitful sleep.

It seemed no time at all before the morning came.

At first light they were roughly roused with kicks and curses, and allowed a little of the brackish water to gulp. Then they were steered to their labours.

But this time they were given different tasks. Instead of working with the rope, Spurral's group was set to scrubbing the decks. Again, Kalgeck and some of the others did their best to shield Dweega, but it wasn't as easy as when they were working in the dimly lit winding room.

Inevitably, something happened that made it impossible for Dweega to hide her disability.

One of the crewmen ordered her to move away from the small cluster of companions trying to shelter her, and swab a different part of the deck. Dweega wavered, which only attracted more attention to her. Under an impatient tirade from several of the crew, she finally rose, and clutching her pail made her way to the indicated place. She did her best to walk normally, but was obviously struggling, and the effort could plainly be read on her face.

It was only a short distance, but it was an ordeal for her. Doubly so as everyone watched her progress in silence. As she knelt, painfully, one of the crew slipped away. A moment later he returned with the captain.

Salloss Vant went to Dweega and towered over her, sour-faced.

"Stand up," he ordered coldly.

She did it, although awkwardly.

"Now walk," he said. "That way." He pointed to the spot she had just come from, where Spurral and the others were standing.

The deficiency in her leg was apparent, and when she got there she all but collapsed into Spurral's arms.

"We've no room on this ship for any who can't pull their weight," Vant boomed, "or who have no value to us! They're a waste of precious food!"