‘It’s over,’ I whispered. ‘The challenger lost.’

‘And now?’

‘I’m not sure. Their leader is yelling at the others. They seem to be dividing into groups. He might be trying to coordinate a search.’

‘Have they seen the Avenger?’

‘No.’

‘Damn greenskins. Even an ork should be able to spot it. Get their attention.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know! Play them a vid-feed or something. But draw them to the Avenger.’

A vid-feed, she said. I, who had entertained nobles and clergy, reduced to playing recordings for an audience of orks. My career had truly reached its nadir. I did not know if the holo-projectors even functioned; they were temperamental at the best of times, and that had been before our encounter with the Green Storm.

I focused, willing Iwazar to engage the projectors. I did not know what pict it would summon, half expecting Shard’s face to materialise. But instead we were greeted by the snarling visage of an ork. The projector was clearly damaged, the oversized face twisting and flickering, but it was hard to miss in the crepuscular light.

As one, the greenskins faced it, weapons raised.

But then there was silence. I had not expected that. I had assumed they would attack, or at least be amused or enraged. But the looped image of the roaring greenskin, its face plastered across the vines, was treated with a near reverence. The ork leader muttered something, the others following suit. It sounded almost like a word.

Gork.

Or possibly Mork. It was hard to tell.

‘Are they taking the bait?’

‘I don’t know. They are just staring.’

‘Move the image deeper into the vines. Draw them in.’

I did as bade, though I had not anticipated the orks’ reaction. They snarled as the image receded, as if affronted it had shrunk. A few took a half-step towards it, sniffing the air like dogs, their gaze slinking to the undergrowth, perhaps seeking the source of the deception.

‘I don’t think they liked that,’ I said. ‘They are getting suspicious.’

‘Well, in fairness, they damn well should be.’

I heard the click of a switch.

The Avenger’s lumens flared bright as its systems roared into life one last time. Only the Emperor knows how Shard coaxed its machine-spirit into life. It was still crippled, and I doubted its electrical systems would last more than a few moments in the corrosive swamp water. Its lascannons were wrecked, torn clear along with its wings.

But it still had the bolt cannon.