Stan Nicholls - Army of Shadows

What Spurral had in mind was potentially as harmful to her as to Vant, and she wasn't sure if she'd be nimble enough to steer clear of injury. But she did it anyway.

She swung her sword as hard as she could, not at the captain, but at one of the cauldrons. As it struck, she flung herself backwards. She hit the floor at the same time that the cauldron toppled from the oven, drenching Vant in scalding water.

He screamed in agony. Letting go of both his blades, he sank to his knees, a cloud of steam rising from his sodden clothes. His skin was already raw and blistering. A few drops of the boiling water had splashed on Spurral, and stung like hell. She could hardly imagine how it felt for him.

His screams cut through her like a knife, and she was sure they could be heard throughout the ship. Then he collapsed completely to writhe on the floor moaning.

She got to her feet and looked down at him. A quantity of the water had hit his face, inflaming it to the point where it was almost unrecognisable. There was an odour of seared flesh.

Spurral didn't know if the burns were severe enough to kill him, but if they were, it would evidently be a lingering, painful death. As much as she had grown to hate Salloss Vant and all he stood for, as much as she resented the humiliation he had heaped upon her, it wasn't in her to be sadistic.

Somehow she had been parted from her cutlass. It was by the kiln, whose fire had been extinguished by the cascade of water. The sword's blade was broken in two, presumably from striking the iron cauldron. She picked up Vant's long-bladed knife.

He was squirming, and perhaps trying to speak, or curse, but the sounds were strangled and unintelligible. His eyes, though glazing, still had a spark of malice. If he recognised Spurral as she leaned over him, he gave no sign.

She lifted the knife high, two-handed, and plunged it into his heart.

Once the deed was done, the wider world seemed to re-establish itself. For the first time she noticed the fusty smell from the quenched fire. Again she was aware of noises from the rest of the ship; distant cries, running feet, chiming blades.

The door flew open. Several figures barged in. She snatched up Vant's cutlass, then realised it was Kalgeck and two or three of the other dwarfs.

They stared at Vant's gently steaming corpse, and at Spurral. Their saucer-eyed expressions mixed disbelief with admiration.

"My gods," Kalgeck whispered. "You all right, Spurral?"

She nodded. "How's it going out there?"

He tore his eyes away from Vant. "We've managed to deal with most of them. Some are holding out."

"They'll lose heart quick enough when they know their chief's dead. Let's get him to where he can be seen."

They dragged the body out to the deck. It left a wet trail, and they dumped it in plain view, the knife still jutting from its chest.

There was a standoff. The majority of the Gatherers who hadn't given up were occupying the bridge. But possession of the wheel meant nothing when the dwarfs had mastery of just about everything else, most importantly the rigging. Without control of the sails, the ship was going nowhere.

When the holdouts saw Vant's corpse their resolution crumbled. The dwarfs gave them assurances that they wouldn't be harmed. Whether they believed it or not, the crewmen had little option but to surrender.

The islanders found themselves with getting on for twenty able-bodied prisoners and about a dozen wounded. They herded them belowdecks to the prison hold they'd had to endure.

As they watched them descend, Spurral remarked, "Looks like you have your own slaves now."

"That's not our way," Kalgeck told her.

"It's to your credit that it isn't. Hostages, then. To deter the Gatherers from raiding your home again."

"I was thinking we might be able to trade them for some of our kin who got taken."

"Good idea."

"If we can find out where they are, of course. Which might not be easy."

"I know. But you could see this as an opportunity."

"To do what?"

"To venture out from your homeland. You've got a whole world to explore. Fear's kept you prisoners on your island as surely as the Gatherers held you captive on this ship."

He hadn't looked at it that way. "Yes," he replied thoughtfully, "maybe we could."

The sound of a splash turned their heads. Dwarfs were pitching the bodies of dead humans overboard.

"I can't believe we beat them," Kalgeck said. "It seems… unreal."

"We did it because they didn't expect it of us. It's a good lesson. Remember it."

"We did it because of you. If you hadn't — "

"You did it yourselves. You just needed to know you had it in you. That you could overcome the fear."

"At a price." He nodded towards a line of dwarf bodies, covered in blankets, laid out on the deck.

"Freedom always has its price, Kalgeck. I hope you'll come to believe it was one worth paying."

"What do we do now?"

"We sail this ship back to your island."

"How? I mean, we know a bit about seafaring, but we've only ever really done close-to-shore stuff, like canoeing."

"We'll manage. If we have to, we'll get some of those humans to help us."

"Would they?"

"What's their alternative? Drifting out here with us forever? We'll make 'em think their lives depend on it, if need be."

He smiled. "Right."

"You're learning. Only let's get underway soon, shall we? There's somebody whose company I've been missing."

Jup had sunk into melancholy. He spent most of his time standing alone at the prow, searching for a sail or any other sign that might give him hope.

Stryke laid a calloused hand on his shoulder. "There's no sense brooding."

"There's little else to do."

"Take a turn on the oars when we change over. Work off some of those worries."

Jup smiled wryly. "That's what I like about you orcs. You see everything so… direct. But some feelings can't be got rid of that easily."

"You'll snap out of it when we catch the Gatherers."

"You think we will?"

"Whatever it takes."

"Thanks." The dwarf eyed his captain. "Expect you think I've gone soft."

"No."

"We dwarfs tend to mate for life. So to win Spurral and then lose her…"

"I know how I'd feel if anything happened to Thirzarr, Jup, or the hatchlings."

"She sounds a good sort, your Thirzarr. Wish I could have met her."

"You'd get on. You've something in common."

"What's that?"

"You're both stubborn as mules."

Calthmon, one of the veteran Wolverine privates, called out from the oars, "They're gaining on us!" He pointed at the mysterious ship stalking them.

"He's right," Pepperdyne confirmed. "They're putting on some knots."

Stryke hailed the second boat. "See that?" He indicated the ship.

"We noticed!" Coilla yelled back. "What do we do?"

"Row double time and put some distance between us."

"Run?" Haskeer exclaimed. "Since when did we dodge a fight?"

"If it's the same lot who ambushed us in Acurial," Stryke told him, "I don't want to face their magic in open boats. Now up the pace!"

All hands to the oars, the boats increased speed, and at first they widened the gap.

"They're catching up!" Dallog warned.

Pepperdyne looked back. "At this rate they'll be on us in no time."

"There's no way of outrunning them?" Stryke asked.

"Not with the wind-power they've got. Only thing I can suggest is we take our boats on different courses. Spread the targets."

Stryke considered it. "No. If we have to make a stand we'll do it together."

Sails billowing, the ship came relentlessly closer. Finally it slowed and was looming over them. Seeing no point in wasting the rowers' muscle power, Stryke ordered the oars to be drawn. But he passed the word that they should be ready to resume at short notice.