They shot into the air in unison, their powerful wings flapping mightily. For a moment they circled overhead, and the band saw that they had produced concealed weapons; gold-coloured maces studded with barbs. Then they dived.
The orcs with shields held them above their heads. They swiped at the tormenting creatures with their blades and axes, but couldn’t connect. Arrows were loosed and proved no match for the flyers’ agility. Again and again they swooped down, menacing the Wolverines with their maces.
Stryke knew that if the band didn’t find cover they were certain to lose the fight. He waited until the flying things were at their highest point preparatory to diving again. “ To the house!” he yelled. “ To the house!”
They made for the doors at full pelt, desperately trying to outrun creatures that were potentially much faster. Coilla and Pepperdyne, through some act of instinctive charity, grabbed Standeven’s arms from either side and dragged the wheezing human along. For all the band knew there were more of the things inside, but it was a chance they had to take. There was no other shelter.
Getting to the house a heartbeat ahead of the flyers they hurled themselves through. They flung their weight behind the doors and slammed them shut. There was the satisfying sound of at least one flying creature crashing into the woodwork on the other side.
Panting from the effort, and with Standeven fit to have a seizure, the band took a moment to catch their breath.
Recovering, they looked around. They were in a long, high, stone-clad corridor, with several doors on either side and a set of much larger ones at its end. The side doors led to windowless rooms or dead-end passages, so they made for the double doors. Kicking them open they found a spacious chamber, perhaps a banqueting room, wood panelled and hung with weighty candelabra. At its far end, and to the right, there was a further, wide corridor running off at an angle.
“Now what do we do?” Dallog wanted to know.
“I guess we start by seeing if there’s another way out,” Stryke replied.
“And if there ain’t?” Haskeer said.
“There will be. Or we’ll make one.”
“ Stryke,” Dynahla said, urgency in his voice.
“What is it?”
“I feel a presence.”
“Her?”
“Has to be.” The shape-changer pointed to the corridor. “That way.”
They rushed to it.
It was ill-lit, and long, but some way down it there was a crowd of figures. Jennesta was among them. She saw the band. Fiddling with the objects in her hands, she and her pack blinked out of existence.
Dynahla dug out the instrumentalities, and at a nod from Stryke, slapped them together.
The Wolverines materialised in a swamp, knee deep in warm, stinking water. Waist deep in the case of the dwarfs. The air was humid and uncomfortable. There were countless flies, causing the orcs to slap at their exposed flesh. Small, unidentified creatures zigzagged through the water. All about them was a green gloom, thanks to a canopy of vegetation high above their heads.
Haskeer smacked the side of his neck, crushing an insect. “This is not an improvement.”
“So where in damnations is Jennesta now?” Coilla complained.
“Yeah, there’s no trace of her,” Wheam said. “How come she isn’t right where we land every time?”
“We don’t always arrive in exactly the same place as someone else who’s made a transition,” Dynahla explained. “That’s partly down to me, because it’s hard to be accurate. But it’s mostly a function of the instrumentalities.”
“So she could be anywhere,” Coilla said.
Dynahla shook his head. “No. We always arrive within a certain radius. She’s here, and not far.” He looked around. “The question is where.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about the stars.”
“Serapheim was a good teacher. He taught me that-”
“Can we talk about this some other time?” Stryke interrupted.
“So where to, chief?” Jup said.
“There’s a patch of drier ground over there. That’s where we’ll start.”
They waded to it, and found it was the tail end of a much longer strip of land, muddy and tangled with roots, but preferable to the foul water. The band was glad to haul themselves onto it.
“ Now what?” Coilla wanted to know.
“We could follow this spit of land and see where it takes us,” Stryke said.
“Bit hit or miss, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He turned to Dynahla. “Can you feel anything?”
“What I’m getting is confused,” the fetch confessed. “It’s not clear enough to pinpoint her.”
Stryke sighed. “Great.”
“But there’s another way I might be able to help.”
“Do it, whatever it is.”
“All right. Here.” He took out the instrumentalities and handed them to him. “Best you take care of these until I get back.”
“Get back?”
“I’m going to use my shape-changing ability to scout the area. Any objections?”
“Er… no.”
“Then give me some room.”
The band stepped back.
Dynahla got down on the ground and stretched out. He began to change. His writhing body compressed and elongated simultaneously. The arms and legs drew in and disappeared. The flesh turned black as it redistributed itself and stretched into a long, cylindrical shape, a tapering tail at one end, a smooth, hairless head at the other. Shiny scales appeared along its whole length.
Seconds later an enormous water snake regarded them with unblinking, golden eyes, a forked tongue flicking from its lipless mouth. It turned, slid into the water and disappeared.
The silence that followed was finally broken when Jup said, “That was… bizarre.”
They waited, exchanging whispered thoughts about what Dynahla had just done, looking out for an ambush and swatting flies.
Before long there was a disturbance in the water. The snake surfaced and slithered ashore. Immediately, the reversion to Dynahla’s original form took place. At its completion he was on his hands and knees, head down, wet hair hanging lankly. He shook off droplets of water, not unlike a dog, and stood.
“That way,” he stated simply, pointing out across the water. “Not far. On another plot of dry land. Well, drier.”
“You all right? Coilla asked.
He nodded. “Transformation can drain me, particularly the more extreme ones. I’m fine.”
“Up to moving again?” Stryke said.
“Yes.”
“Then you’d better have these.” He held out the instrumen-talities.
Dynahla seemed taken aback. He accepted them and half whispered, “Thank you.”
Everyone collected their gear and they set off, with the shape-shifter and Stryke in the lead.
When they neared their destination, as signalled by the fetch, they tried to move as quietly as they could given they were practically swimming. Even so, when rounding a vast outcrop of foliage they came upon Jennesta’s party almost unexpectedly.
The two sides spotted each other at the same time. A couple of arrows winged the band’s way. Taking cover in the thick vegetation, they returned fire. The exchange grew heavier, the enemy’s arrows zinging through the greenery all around the Wolverines, and theirs flying back.
One of Jennesta’s archers was bold enough, or foolish enough, to let himself be seen as he made to loose a shot. An orc arrow smacked square to his chest and he toppled into the water. It stirred, rippled and churned as the scavengers living in it were drawn to blood and set to devouring his corpse.
Jennesta herself took a hand, lobbing a searing fireball the warband’s way. Dynahla deflected it and sent her one of his own. Jennesta swept it aside.
The duel was short-lived. Jennesta employed the stars and her force was gone.
Dynahla quickly checked that everybody was together and did what was necessary to follow.
“She is taking the piss!” Haskeer raged.