Inferno

by Paul J Bennett

  "What will you do with Stanislav?" she asked.

  "I must admit to some unfinished business in that regard. Don't worry, though, I shan't kill him. Not yet, at least."

  Nikolai stood, looking on with interest as Natalia tried to stare down the crossbowmen. He raised his hand, ready to signal that they should fire.

  "No, wait," said Natalia. "You can't."

  "Of course I can," he replied. "You have a big bounty on your head, Natalia. It's nothing personal." He paused a moment. "No, that's not right. It IS personal. Tell me, do you still remember freezing my arm?"

  "You were trying to kill me," she responded.

  "Not true. It was Stanislav I was trying to kill. You were merely in the way. If truth be told, I wanted you alive. How better for me to retrieve your bounty?"

  "And now?"

  "Now, I shall take your head and deliver it to the Volstrum. I hear there's a nice prize for proof of your death. Do you have any final words for your former mistresses?"

  "No," she spat out.

  "Then let's proceed, shall we?"

  "No, wait, I'm carrying a child."

  "You're lying," said Nikolai. "You'll say anything to stay alive."

  "No, it's true. I swear it."

  Nikolai lowered his hand. "A child, eh?"

  "Yes," she said. "The child of a powerful caster. Worth a hefty reward, I should warrant."

  "You have me intrigued at the possibility. The bounty on you was the largest ever issued for an initiate. I wonder what they'd make of you now, crawling on the ground and begging for your life?"

  "Do we kill her, my lord?" asked one of the crossbowmen.

  "No," replied Nikolai. "If what she says is true, her child will be worth a fortune. Let's take her back to our hideout. We shouldn't wait around here for her barbarian friend to return."

  He reached into his sleeve, pulling forth a small vial of liquid. "I wasn't sure if I'd need this, but I see now it has some use." He unstoppered the vial. "Don't worry, I'm not poisoning you. I had this specially prepared, just in case. It's magebane, and a strong dose at that. I've been warned how resistant you are to its effects."

  He moved closer, forcing her mouth open and pouring the contents down her throat. "Make sure you swallow it all," he warned.

  Natalia felt the liquid as it made its way through her body. She couldn't help but think of the irony, for she couldn't cast a spell even if she had wanted to.

  Nikolai drew his sword, and for a moment, she wondered if he had changed his mind. That notion was soon put to rest as he brought the hilt of it down on her head, sending her into darkness.

  * * *

  Athgar stumbled down the street, his mind in turmoil. No matter what might happen to him, he couldn't leave Natalia to face Nikolai alone. Turning around, he was determined to return to the theatre, but then his leg nearly gave out beneath him. He looked down to see blood soaking his thigh. Cursing his luck, he fell to the ground, examining his injury as best he could. He tore off a sleeve, bundling up the material, and held it against the wound.

  Looking around, he tried to get his bearings, but when he saw the trail of blood he was leaving, his heart turned cold. He must either find somewhere close to hide or do something before they discovered him. He looked down at the blood-soaked rag and winced, for he knew he could run no more.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath as he held the rag in place with his left hand and raised his right, calling forth words of power. A small green flame leaped to life in his palm, and he stared at it a moment, contemplating his next move. He took one more deep breath, then acted. Removing the rag, he placed his right hand on the wound and immediately felt an intense burning as the magical flame took hold. The smell of searing flesh was overwhelming.

  It was all over in a moment, and then the world spun. Athgar fought to keep his wits about him, but there was little he could do as darkness claimed him.

  * * *

  Athgar awoke with a start. He saw the moon peering out from behind the clouds, lighting the street with an eerie glow. He had fled the theatre in a mad dash; now he needed to get his bearings. The streets of Ebenstadt were difficult to navigate at the best of times, but now, given his present circumstances, he was utterly lost.

  He took a breath and pushed himself to his feet, staggering from the pain of it. In the wilderness, he could have oriented himself using the stars, but here, the buildings hampered that task, making it all but impossible.

  Athgar took a step, testing his legs. They were weak but functional, allowing him to make his way farther along the street. He reached a crossroads and found himself looking up towards a familiar sight: The Wolf of Adenburg. Perhaps the Gods were looking out for him after all? Gritting his teeth, he forced himself onwards.

  As the inn drew closer, sounds of merriment drifted out into the street. Finally reaching the door, Athgar pushed it open to be met with a wave of warm air. Staggering through, he sought somewhere to sit in the crowded room but found no open seat. Slowly he moved forward, using the wall to steady himself, intent on making his way upstairs to his room.

  He was ready to ascend, lifting his foot for the first step when a sudden rush of pain coursed through his leg. Looking down, he was dismayed to see blood flowing freely once more, his wound reopened. In his haste to cauterize the injury, he had obviously failed to ensure the entire gash was sealed. His leg, now refusing to hold his weight, crumpled beneath him, and he fell heavily to the floor, eliciting a groan of pain.

  A voice called out from behind him. The next thing Athgar knew, people were crowding around him, faces peering down at his leg in fascination. He was quickly helped to his feet while someone produced a chair, and he dropped into the seat, his head spinning.

  "Are you all right?" he was asked.

  Athgar grasped an arm. "The Hungry Fox, do you know it?"

  "Aye," the man replied.

  "Go there," said Athgar. "I beg of you. Find a man called Sir Raynald and bring him here."

  The man ran off, though whether he heeded Athgar's words was anybody's guess. Someone placed a tankard before the Therengian, and he gulped it down, eager to dull the pain. He heard a call out for a healer, but he found it difficult to concentrate.

  Athgar tried to focus on the pain, desperate to remain conscious. When people began to drift back to their own business, he tilted his head back, taking deep breaths while trying to think things through. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, but then his leg started to throb. After what felt like forever, a familiar face loomed over him.

  "Athgar? Are you all right? It's me, Brother Rickard. Can you hear me?"

  Athgar tried to speak, but the words came out mumbled. Lowering his head, he felt the room spin, and then his head fell to his chest, and all was darkness.

  The Duel

  Autumn 1104 SR

  * * *

  (In the tongue of the Orcs)

  * * *

  Kargen hefted the shield, testing its weight.

  "Are you sure about this?" asked Shaluhk. "You do not normally fight with a shield."

  "True, but Athgar gave me some tips before he left Ord-Kurgad."

  "And you think that will be enough?"

  "The Stone Crushers do not use shields these days. Rugg had to search high and low to find an elder who had one."

  "I fail to see the advantage of using it," said Shaluhk.

  Kargen grinned. "Zahruhl has never faced one in combat. He will be hard-pressed to adapt, and that will work to my advantage."

  "Will it allow you to defeat him?"

  "I am not fighting to win, remember? I must keep him occupied while you deal with Voruhn." He moved closer, reaching out to touch her face. "And what of you? Are you prepared?"

  "I am," she replied, fingering the handle of her knife. "Though whether it will be enough, I can not say."

  Kargen held out his hand. "Then come. Let us face this together."

  She took his hand, and they stepped from the
hut. The village was empty save for a few tending to fires. Most were outside the gates of Khasrahk, waiting for the duel to begin.

  They walked in silence, stepping through the village gates to see the assembled crowd sitting around the circle. Kargen's mind wandered, remembering Athgar's brush with death at the hands of Gorlag. It, too, had been a duel. A duel that had ended in Gorlag's banishment and Kargen's own elevation to chieftain. The Ancestors had smiled on the Therengian that day. Would they now favour the Chieftain of the Red Hand?

  As they drew nearer the circle, fists began thumping the ground. Kargen smiled, for it appeared Zahruhl was not the only one with support this day. He gave Shaluhk's hand a final squeeze, then released it and drew his axe, stepping towards the circle. The crowd parted to make way.

  When Athgar had fought, the ring had been marked using ash, as was the custom for a tribe that venerated the magic of fire. Here, the circle was marked by small grey stones, most likely the product of a master of earth.

  Zahruhl waited on the other edge of the circle, Voruhn by his side. For a brief moment, Kargen wished Shaluhk was with him to give him strength, but in his heart, he knew she had a far more important task. When Voruhn moved to the centre of the circle, the villagers fell silent.

  "In accordance with our ancient customs," she began, "we are gathered here today to witness the judgement of our Ancestors." She pointed at Zahruhl. "On one side, we have the mighty Zahruhl, Chieftain of the Stone Crushers." She paused, letting the thumping subside, then pointed to Kargen. "On the other side stands Kargen, Chieftain of the Red Hand, who has challenged our chieftain's right to rule." Again the thumping, though this time more subdued.

  "The rules are simple: combat will continue until one warrior submits, dies, or is driven from the ring." Voruhn paused, letting the words sink in. "Are all in agreement?" She looked at each combatant in turn, noting their nods. "Then let the battle commence!"

  She walked from the circle, taking up a position at its edge. As she did so, the crowd stood, ready to back away should the fight come their way.

  Kargen moved into the circle, swinging his axe left and right to loosen his muscles, his shield still held low. On the opposite side, Zahruhl held out his hand, and someone handed him his chosen weapon, a massive two-handed axe. It was a terrifying weapon, capable of splitting an Orc in two. Kargen had no doubt his opponent was skilled in its use.

  The Chieftain of the Stone Crushers stepped into the ring, his axe held ready for a strike. They began the contest by circling, each taking the measure of the other.

  Kargen raised his shield, wary of a sudden rush. His caution was well rewarded, for Zahruhl suddenly darted forward, bellowing as he ran, his axe crashing down towards his opponent. Kargen jumped back, and the great axe bit into the ground with a loud thump, knocking loose a sizable chunk of dirt which flew into the air.

  Zahruhl recovered quickly and pressed forward, catching Kargen by surprise. A two-handed axe was slow to wield, yet Zahruhl handled it as though it were a much lighter weapon. Swinging it from the left, he guided the head around in a wide arc towards his enemy.

  Kargen threw up his shield at the last moment, a manoeuvre that undoubtedly saved his life as splinters of wood flaked off the rim of the shield when the axe smashed against it. Zahruhl backed up, smiling despite his lack of progress.

  "You will not last long, Kargen," he taunted. "And then your bones will bleach in the sun."

  Kargen launched a flurry of blows, driving his opponent back. The Stone Crusher soon recovered, planting his feet and using his own weapon to fend off the attack. The effort left them both panting as they separated. Once more, they began circling each other, their eyes locked.

  "Impressive," continued Zahruhl. "I must give you credit for your speed, but it will not be enough to save you."

  "You talk far too much, Zahruhl. You should save your strength for fighting." As Kargen finished his words, he leaped forward, striking out with his axe. In answer, his foe used the neck of his great axe to block the attack. Kargen's axe dug into the wood, but only a small divot gave any evidence of his success.

  The Stone Crusher Chieftain feinted to the left, then shifted his weight as if about to strike. Kargen raised his shield in defence, but at the last moment, Zahruhl jumped to the right, bringing his axe down at an impossible angle to strike the inside of Kargen's shield, narrowly missing his hand. The force of the impact sent a shudder up his arm, driving him backwards.

  Kargen saw the opportunity to strike a deathblow, for his opponent had left himself exposed. He was about to swing but then hesitated, remembering his mission.

  Shaluhk forced herself to look away. It would do no good for her to watch the fight, for its very success would depend on her own actions this day. Looking around, she could tell the villagers were all entranced by the battle unfolding before them.

  She stepped back from the crowd, raising her hands in preparation. Words of power dripped from her lips, and she felt the familiar release of magic as the spell was completed, revealing the spirit realm to her eyes.

  The shamaness glanced around, seeing those watching the combat in muted tones. Unlike travelling to the spirit realm, this spell allowed her to see the ghostlike presence of those who wandered the mortal realm. She moved back amongst the villagers, making her way around the edge of the circle.

  There was a sudden gasp, and then she was jostled as the crowd shifted, caught up in the excitement of the spectacle before them. Closer she drew to her goal, pausing only when her target finally came into view.

  Voruhn stood watching the fight, but her features blurred, and Shaluhk struggled to focus her eyes. There could be no doubt that the spirit of Khurlig controlled the shamaness, for when she shifted feet, there was a blurring motion. A momentary delay as the possessing spirit caught up with the physical motion of its host.

  Shaluhk steeled herself, moving in to strike.

  Kargen shifted to this right, watching his foe's response, then he rushed forward in a crouch, his shield held high. Zahruhl's axe came down, deflecting off the centre of the wooden construct and digging into the ground. The manoeuvre threw him off balance, allowing Kargen to strike, driving his own axe into the Stone Crusher's boot, narrowly missing flesh.

  Zahruhl regained his balance quickly, shouldering into his opponent and knocking him to the ground. He loomed over his target, raising his axe for the killing blow.

  In answer, Kargen pushed forward with the edge of his shield, directly into his foe's stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Zahruhl staggered back, fighting for breath. Kargen rolled to the side, coming to his feet, his axe ready to strike again.

  The attention of the villagers was riveted on the battle, but Shaluhk forced herself to ignore what her bondmate was doing. When she was within three paces of her target, she slowly drew her knife, sliding it from her belt carefully to avoid the sickly blue liquid dripping from its blade.

  Easing up behind Voruhn, Shaluhk reached down, slicing lightly across the back of the shamaness's calf. The cut was not deep, just enough to draw blood, but the black liquid that poured forth was stained with blue.

  Voruhn turned with a start, her eyes seeking her attacker.

  "I see you, Khurlig," announced Shaluhk.

  In answer, Voruhn pulled a knife of her own. "What have you done?"

  All around them, Orcs backed up, their focus on the battle interrupted by this new altercation.

  Shaluhk smiled, holding her own blade before her, displaying the mix of black and blue that glistened on the blade. "See how you bleed, Khurlig?"

  Voruhn looked at her wound, noting the discolouration. "Dragonsbreath? Impossible. It does not grow in these parts!"

  "True," said Shaluhk, "and yet it was quite common in Ord-Kurgad."

  Voruhn's eyes widened. "You are a fool, Shaluhk. I can simply neutralize the toxins with a spell."

  "Go ahead," replied Shaluhk. "For when you start to cast your spell, I shall drive a dagger through your h
eart. You have two choices, Khurlig. You can release your grip on Voruhn or die with her body, making your spirit that much weaker. Which shall it be?"

  Voruhn backed up, cursing. All of a sudden, she shuddered, and then the ghostly form of Khurlig emerged, releasing her hold on the shamaness. The body of Voruhn dropped to the ground, motionless.

  Now it was Shaluhk's turn to step back as words of power tumbled from her lips. Moments later, she heard a snap, and her own body fell to the ground. However, in the spirit realm, she advanced towards Khurlig, her hands already preparing for another spell.

  The ancient Orc rushed forward, arms extended, ready to throttle the upstart shamaness, but it was too late; her spell had been cast. The ghostly image of a boar took shape and charged right at the Ancestor, tearing into her legs. Khurlig fell, cursing and swearing.

  Hunters rushed to the two prone bodies, unaware of the battle raging between the two spirits.

  Khurlig beat on the boar in frustration as the manifestation of her will began to fade. Desperate to hold on to what little of the physical realm she could, she thrust out her hands, calling forth words of power that had not been uttered for centuries.

  Shaluhk felt her skin crawl, unaware of the reason. Moments later, two spectators fell to the dirt, strange twisted ghosts emerging from their bodies. They rushed towards the younger shamaness, striking out with clawed hands.

  She had been a silent observer of the fight between Uhdrig and Khurlig back in Ord-Kurgad that had resulted in the death of her beloved mentor. Now the truth of the matter came rushing into Shaluhk's mind, overwhelming her with the ramifications. She was a shamaness, that was true, but her training was incomplete. How could she ever have thought to defeat such a foe?

  A claw raked across her forearm. There was no blood, for they were both spirits, but the pain of the wound lanced up her arm, causing her to scream out in agony. She backed up, trying to put distance between herself and her attackers. Khurlig was still struggling with the spirit boar, the noise of the ancient one's encounter echoing around them.