36
When they emerged from the Warren, Fletcher could not help but collapse to the ground and look up at the sky, revelling in the fresh air and dawn light. Already, the sun was setting, casting the clearing in a warm orange glow. He had no idea where they were, or how far the pyramid was. They needed to leave soon, but he could barely find the energy to sit up.
The gremlins remained within their Warren, except for Blue, who watched them warily from the main entrance. Others peered out curiously, their bulging eyes just visible over the lip of their respective holes.
Even the baby gremlins were present. One took a step out to get a better view, and was dragged back inside by its scolding mother. The yelps of protest within told Fletcher it was getting a sound spanking.
Fletcher let his head flop to the side and saw that Othello was still passed out on the floor, his nostril flaring with each snore. The dwarf smacked his lips and rolled over, clutching at Lysander’s claw like a stuffed toy.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Cress growled, brushing soil and slime from her uniform. ‘Nap time’s over.’
She straddled Othello’s chest and tugged on his moustaches.
‘Blargh,’ he spluttered, slapping at her hands.
‘That’s right, wakey wakey,’ Cress grinned. ‘You’ve had enough beauty sleep.’
Othello shoved her off and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
‘I feel like I’ve been smashed over the head with a rock,’ he groaned. He caught sight of their surroundings and froze.
‘Ummm … what’s going on?’
He looked around, taking in the gremlin eyes that watched them.
‘Come on,’ Cress said, dragging him to his feet. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’
‘On the way?’ Fletcher mumbled. The soil was cool on his back, and he had no desire to get up just yet.
‘Looks like we’re heading out,’ Sylva said, tapping him on the forehead and pointing at Blue’s receding back. The gremlin and his mara were walking into the jungle, following a thin, barely discernible trail.
‘Gather your packs,’ Fletcher groaned, getting to his feet. ‘Blue’s on the move.’
Walking back into the jungle felt like being enveloped in a busy spider’s web, the buzz and tingle of insects pervasive, the twigs, leaves and thorns tangling in Fletcher’s clothes and hair.
The path had obviously been carved out for gremlins and their mounts – not for anything bigger. Fletcher reached for his khopesh to cut his way through, but found his scabbard empty.
‘Hey, when do we get our weapons back?’ he asked, raising his voice to be heard by the gremlin. Blue had not slowed down, and Fletcher would have lost him were it not for the fading stripe of blue paint on the gremlin’s back, bobbing up and down ahead.
‘They is waiting at the river.’ Blue’s singsong voice cut through the foliage. ‘Patience.’
They struggled on, with Fletcher getting the worst of it. Lysander and Athena leaped in the less crowded branches above, while Sariel slithered on her belly through the undergrowth with surprising ease. Ignatius and Tosk ran ahead, wary of ambushes. The two were working well together, coordinating a crisscrossed passage that scouted a wide area.
Then Fletcher had an idea. ‘Solomon, you take the lead,’ he called. The golem tore through the undergrowth behind Blue, his stony body unaffected by the thorns. He lumbered ahead of Fletcher, carving them a wide path with his bulky frame.
Despite Solomon’s efforts, when they finally broke through to the other side, Fletcher’s forearms were covered in thin red scratches. Ignatius lapped at them, sealing the wounds, but Fletcher barely noticed. He had caught sight of the waterway.
The creek was almost a river itself, as wide as the moat at Vocans. The waters moved so slowly and placidly that it appeared they didn’t move at all. Only the occasional leaf floating by told him otherwise.
A half a dozen gremlins were clambering out of the water. Silver-bellied fish had been threaded through the gills, which they carried over their shoulders in loops of cord. They were armed with simple spear-guns that shot harpoons attached to coils of tightly wound twine.
The guns were not unlike Cress’s crossbow, but made from a single pole, a basic trigger and an elasticated band that was pulled back by hand. Not as powerful as a bowstring, but they appeared hardier and were obviously useable underwater.
‘Blue, you must tell me more about these bands on your spear-guns,’ Jeffrey said, marvelling at the weapons as the troop of fisher-gremlins walked past, avoiding their eyes. ‘I assume they are made from the sap of the rubber tree – a fascinating material indeed.’
‘Blue?’ the gremlin turned his mara and crossed his arms.
‘Sorry … that’s what Fletcher called you earlier.’ Jeffrey shuffled with embarrassment.
‘What is your real name?’ Fletcher asked hurriedly.
Blue paused for a moment, a bemused expression on his face. Then, he tilted his head back and unleashed a tumult of warbles, clicks and fluting breaths. He grinned at them as they stared at him, dumbstruck.
‘I … I think I may have some trouble pronouncing that,’ Jeffrey stuttered.
Blue grinned and dismounted his mara.
‘Blue is being fine,’ the gremlin laughed. He slapped his mount on the rump and the mara hopped off into the trees. For a moment Blue stood there, taking in the sights, breathing the air deep into his lungs. Then, he opened his mouth and unleashed a long, wavering trill. It sounded like something between an eagle’s cry and a songbird’s morning prelude.
At the signal, a score of gremlins swung from the trees that hung over the creek, landing in crouches among Fletcher’s team. They were armed with a strange mix of spear-guns, blowpipes and knives, and he recognised them as the gremlins that had surrounded them before, their bodies painted to blend in with the foliage. Not even Sariel had sensed their presence.
‘We will go with you, to the pyramid,’ Blue said, motioning down the creek. ‘When you is attacking, we is raiding the orcs and freeing many gremlins.’
‘Wow,’ Fletcher said. ‘That’s very … generous of you.’
‘It is helping both our causes,’ Blue said simply. ‘When the alarm is being raised, we is knowing you is discovered. That is when we attack.’
Fletcher could not tell if it was blind opportunism or a friendly alliance. Either way, a small army of gremlins to guide them was an advantage he could not pass up.
‘Fine with me,’ Fletcher said. He extended a hand, and Blue took it. The gremlin’s fingers were coarse and thin, like clutching a bundle of dried twigs, but he gripped Fletcher’s hand warmly enough.
‘Take weapons.’
It was Half-ear – he had been one of the gremlins who landed among them. The braves flanking him threw two baskets to the ground. A clatter of metal revealed their contents, and Fletcher’s team wasted no time in arming themselves. Sylva picked up Cress’s crossbow, trying to get to her falx at the bottom of the basket. There was a tense moment as Cress held out her hand to take it. Then, reluctantly, Sylva passed it along.
It was a relief to feel the weight of his khopesh at his side once more, and Fletcher realised how naked he had felt without it.
No sooner had they finished, the gremlins were tugging them towards the creek, impatient to move on.
‘So, we float,’ Blue said when they reached the bank, pointing at the shallows.
What Fletcher had first thought were enormous lily pads turned out to be strange, bowl-shaped vessels that floated on the water. Already, the braves were leaping into them, with four to each craft until they had all boarded. Still, a few vessels remained, including an especially large one.
‘Will those things hold our weight?’ Othello grumbled. ‘We dwarves aren’t known for our swimming prowess.’
Cress nodded in agreement, prodding at a boat with her toe.
‘They will,’ Jeffrey said enthusiastically, jumping into the nearest one. It rocked dangerously as he swayed on his feet, and water slopped in over the side. The gremlins twittered to themselves as he floundered, trying to prevent it from spinning with the tiny oar roped to its side. Still, it floated well, and he sat happily enough in the puddle of water at the bottom.
‘Coracles,’ Jeffrey said knowingly, rapping the side. ‘The river peoples of western Hominum use them for fishing. Woven willow rods form the structure and tar-coated animal skins make them waterproof. Their flat bottoms mean they barely disturb the water and, by extension, the fish. Sometimes the simplest ideas are also the best ones.’
‘As long as they get us there by midnight, they’re good enough for me,’ Fletcher said, stepping into his own and lowering himself to the floor. It was comfortable, like sitting in a large basket.
The others followed suit, though Lysander and Athena remained in the treetops, preferring to stretch their wings. There was a moment’s struggle as Sariel splashed her way through to the largest coracle and tumbled in. From the smell of it, this bigger vessel was the one the gremlins used to store and transport their catch. She didn’t seem to mind, snuffling at the bottom and lapping up the remains with relish, coating her tongue in flashing scales.
Sylva shuddered and then laughed aloud.
‘You’d be surprised how good that tastes to her,’ she chuckled, reaching over and ruffling the Canid’s ears. ‘I should probably infuse her but … she seems happy enough.’
There was a pause as the team manoeuvred their vessels downstream, then the gremlins slipped their oars into the creek.
‘Onwards,’ Blue fluted, stroking the water white as he propelled himself away from the bank.
They pushed into the centre of the river, where the gentle current picked them up. It tugged them along at a much faster pace than Fletcher had expected, in fact, they did not need to paddle at all. All he had to do was dip the oar in occasionally to keep the coracle from spinning.
‘Can we go any faster?’ Fletcher called over the rushing water. ‘We need to be there before midnight. How long until we get there?’
‘Plenty of time,’ Blue said. ‘Don’t be worrying.’
Fletcher groaned and forced his anxiety away, hating that the fate of their mission rested on the word of one gremlin. Sylva caught his eye, and he saw she had an arrow nocked to her bow. Clearly, she trusted the gremlins a great deal less than he did.
He shrugged and settled back, allowing his spine to rest on the shallow curve of the vessel. The gremlins chirruped among themselves, while the rest of his team watched the forest go by, their eyes half closed. It had been a long day, and the setting sun was already lulling them to sleep.
Ignatius pawed at his thigh and Fletcher saw him staring into the waters below. It was clear and placid as a sheet of glass; he could see the green fronds lining the bottom, swaying in the current. As he watched, a stingray glided past, as large as the coracle he sat in. Its undulating sides propelled it faster than the current, and it soon disappeared beyond his sight.
‘Good meat,’ Blue said, watching from his coracle. He ran his finger over the tip of one of the harpoons strapped to his back, and Fletcher saw it was barbed like the ray’s sting. ‘Useful tails.’
Even as he spoke, more rays emerged from the weeds below, drifting beneath in tandem. Wide-finned fish with green backs joined the procession, powered by the soft beating of their tails.
Something darted past, scattering them aside. It snatched a fish in its mouth and spiralled in a helix of bubbles, revealing itself to be what had disturbed the crowd from the shade of the underwater forest.
A dolphin, pink as a dahlia, swam beneath them. Its long beak gulped down the prey, then it thrashed its flukes, breaching the surface and splashing down in a burst of water.
All around, more rose-coloured dolphins leaped and dived, whistling and clicking with what sounded like laughter. The gremlins clapped their hands with joy, some even throwing titbits from the pouches at their waists for the dolphins to catch. Many replied, matching the dolphin sounds with their own. It was strangely beautiful to watch, as if the two were singing to each other.
‘The old men of the river is blessing journey!’ Blue laughed, splashing the water beside his coracle to beckon one to the surface. ‘It is being good omen!’
The dolphin rubbed its rosy flipper along Blue’s fingertips, as close to a handshake as the two species could manage. Then, as if some silent signal had been passed between them, the dolphins shot off upstream, leaving the coracles to continue their journey alone.
‘That was beautiful,’ Sylva said, gazing after them. She turned to Blue. ‘Could you understand them?’
‘We is speaking many words while they is speaking few,’ Blue said, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Some say, long ago we is learning to speak from they. It is not the same, but we is understanding they meaning.’
As he spoke, his face darkened. Fletcher followed his gaze, peering through the dim light of the setting sun.
A crumbling statue lay on its side by the water’s edge, layered with moss and vines. The head was partially submerged in the shallows, but there was no mistaking the creature it depicted, with its broken tusks and jutting brow. They were in orc territory now.