“Come on!” Stryke ordered.
The squad scrambled over the rise and down into the vale.
They checked that the guards were dead, retrieved the arrows and hid the bodies in the undergrowth. That done, they pushed on to Jennesta’s camp, moving stealthily.
Using the shelter of a small copse, they had their first close look. They weren’t in a good place. There was well lit, exposed ground ahead of them, and at least a dozen troopers were working or lounging in it. Further back, in the shadows, Stryke thought he caught a glimpse of what might have been goblins, and perhaps other non-human creatures. The others saw them too.
“Looks like Jennesta has been beefing up her little army,” Coilla said.
Stryke nodded. He turned to Dynahla. “Feel anything? I mean, is she here? And where is she?”
“She’s here all right. Down that way.” He pointed to the westward end of the camp. “In one of those tents.”
“Doesn’t take a wizard to figure that out,” Jup said.
Dynahla ignored him and added, “We might be facing stronger opposition than we bargained for.”
“Maybe a few goblins and whatnot,” Stryke replied dismissively. “We can deal with it.”
“I didn’t mean them. There’s more than one kind of magic here.”
“You sure?”
“Quite. They’re of different orders, mind you, and different disciplines. Two unrelated races, probably. What Jennesta radiates is like a great black, angry ocean. This other source… I can’t identify. But by comparison it’s a lake. Filled with blood.”
“Sounds fun,” Coilla offered, deadpan.
“Facing Jennesta’s dangerous enough. Going against two wielders of magic… well, that’s asking a lot.”
“You wanna leave?” Stryke said. “ ’Cos if you’re not behind this you can get out right now.”
Dynahla’s gaze darted back to the camp, then returned to Stryke. “No. No, I’m in. And I’ll do what I can. I just wanted to warn you about what might be in store.”
“You’ve done that. Now let’s get going.”
He led them in the direction of the cluster of tents. Having to keep hidden, their progress was slower than he would have liked, but eventually they arrived opposite the tents. There was less obvious activity here, save the occasional trooper wandering through. The area was dimly lit, being some distance from the cooking fires, though there were one or two braziers.
“I guess that must be Jennesta’s tent,” Jup said, indicating the biggest and most ornate one.
“Has to be,” Stryke agreed. “Doesn’t mean Thirzarr’s there though. Any idea where she might be, Dynahla?”
The shape-changer shook his head. “It’s much harder locating a being who hasn’t any magical powers. What I can tell you is that Jennesta’s in this part of the camp, but she isn’t in that tent.”
“Can you tell where she is?”
“Not precisely. Except that she’s close.”
Stryke sighed. “All right. Then I guess her tent’s where we start.”
“All we have to do is get to it without being seen,” Coilla said dryly.
“I’d like to do that without having to tackle any of the soldiers and causing an uproar. So we stay put until it gets clearer over there.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll think again.”
Once more they waited, keeping well out of sight and never taking their eyes off the camp. As the night wore on, comings and goings grew less, apart from occasional guards making their rounds. There were no lights in the large tent they assumed was Jennesta’s. Nor did anybody leave it or go in.
“This is as good as it’s likely to get,” Stryke decided, eyeing the now deserted area between them and their goal. “We’ll get into the tent by the back.”
“What if it’s empty?”
“You’re full of questions tonight, Coilla. If it’s empty, we keep looking. Jup, got the horn handy?”
The dwarf patted the satchel at his waist. “You bet.”
“Be ready to use it when I give the word.” He scanned the camp again. No one was about. “We go in pairs. You and Coilla first. Move.”
They scurried for the tent, making the most of shadows, and reached it without incident. Then they circled to its rear and were lost to view.
“Reafdaw, Eldo; you’re next,” Stryke said. “I want you taking care of the entrance. Can do?”
“No problem,” Eldo grated.
“Go!”
The grunts also reached the tent without trouble. Their position, at the front, was more risky, but they did a good job of melting into the gloom on either side of the entry.
“Now us?” Dynahla asked.
“Wait!” Stryke hissed, grabbing the shape-changer’s sleeve. He pointed.
A sentry had appeared from the far side of the camp, and he was walking towards Jennesta’s tent.
They held their breath as he approached. His pace was infuriatingly slow, but it looked as though he might bypass the big tent. That proved deceptive. When he was parallel to it, he turned and headed for the entrance. Stryke knew that at any moment Eldo and Reafdaw would be spotted. He tensed, ready to break cover and tackle the man.
“What do we do?” Dynahla whispered.
“Stay put. I’ll deal with it.”
The sentry was almost at Jennesta’s tent. Stryke half rose, hand on his sword hilt.
Eldo stepped into view, hands held up in apparent surrender. Startled, the sentinel drew his sword. But he didn’t raise the alarm. Eldo walked slowly towards him, and he was saying something Stryke and Dynahla couldn’t hear. Talking, holding the guard’s attention, the grunt kept moving, describing a sly circle that had the man turning until his back was to the tent. At which point Eldo stopped.
Reafdaw sneaked out of his hiding place, a knife glinting in his fist. Swiftly, silently, he crept up behind the guard. In one fluid movement he clamped a hand over the man’s mouth as he sunk the blade into the small of his back. The guard slumped to the ground. Eldo and Reafdaw quickly dragged his body away, dumping it amongst dense vegetation at the camp’s edge.
“Right,” Stryke said, satisfying himself that there were no more guards about. “Let’s get over there.”
He and the shape-changer rushed to the tent. Reafdaw and Eldo, returning to their positions beside its entrance, gave them a wave as they passed. Stryke and Dynahla went round to the back, and found Coilla and Jup waiting there.
“What kept you?” Coilla said, mildly irritated.
“We were writing poetry,” Stryke told her. “Now let’s do this.” He drew a knife. “Ready?”
The others nodded, and braced themselves for whatever might be inside.
Stryke jabbed the blade into the fabric and cut a long slash. He prised the two sides apart, making an opening big enough for them to look through. The interior was gloomy; only a faint illumination from the camp fires penetrated the tent cloth. Detecting no sound or movement, he slipped inside. The others followed.
Various items of plush furniture were scattered about, causing some stumbling in the dark, but it looked as though no one was there. Then Stryke spotted something.
At one end of the tent, in almost complete darkness, there was a shape. He padded towards it, and realised it was someone seated. For a moment he couldn’t make out who or what it was. Once his vision adjusted to the murk, he rushed forward.
“Thirzarr? Thirzarr!” He clutched her hand. It felt cold. “Thirzarr!” He got no response. “It’s so damned dark in here!” he cursed.
“This might help,” Dynahla said.
He cupped his hands, and for the first time Coilla noticed how elegant and almost feminine they were. When he opened them again there was a purple fireball nestling between his palms, about the size of a hen’s egg. It bathed the scene in a soft, eerie glow. It showed them that Thirzarr was sitting rigidly, and her eyes were open, though they were glazed and unfocused.
“Thirzarr!�
� Stryke mouthed anxiously.
“Jennesta’s got her in a… kind of trance,” the fetch explained.
“Like the last time we saw her,” Coilla recalled.
“Can you bring her out of it, Dynahla?” Stryke asked.
“Possibly. But not here. We need to get her somewhere safe first.”
“What do we do?” Jup said, “Carry her?”
“We might not have to. Tell her to stand, Stryke.”
“Will she?”
“She’s in a highly suggestible state. The spell binding her should be answerable only to Jennesta’s voice. But a familiar voice, one she knows intimately, might be as effective. Try it.”
“Stand up, Thirzarr,” Stryke said.
Nothing happened.
“Maybe we should carry her,” Coilla muttered.
“Try again, Stryke,” Dynahla suggested. “A little more firmly. Order her this time.”
Stryke looked doubtful, but did it. “Stand up! On your feet, Thirzarr. Now!”
She stood.
“As long as you don’t ask her to do anything complicated,” Dynahla added, “she should do as you say.”
Coilla snickered. “That’ll be a first.” She sobered when she saw Stryke’s face.
He addressed his mate, firmly but not unkindly. “Thirzarr, come with me.” He took a few steps, watching her over his shoulder. She moved too, albeit stiffly, and began to follow him. “It’ll be easier if we go out the front way,” he decided. “Check that it’s clear, Jup.”
The dwarf went to the entrance and gave a low whistle. Reafdaw poked his head in.
“All clear out there?” Jup said.
Reafdaw nodded and pulled aside the flap for them.
Stryke took Thirzarr’s arm and guided her. The others followed. Dynahla came last, closing his fist on the radiant fireball, snuffing it out.
Everything seemed quiet outside. Even the noises from the other end of the camp had died down.
“Now we get Thirzarr away and hidden,” Stryke told them. “Then we call the main force in. Come on.”
He headed for the perimeter as briskly as he could while still holding Thirzarr’s arm.
They were hardly under way when there was movement in the darkness at the camp’s edges. Figures emerged. A large number, toting weapons. They approached from three sides, and Stryke didn’t doubt more were coming in from the rear. The figures brought light with them, thrown out by blazing torches scattered about their ranks. It grew bright enough to reveal Jennesta in the forefront.
She halted ten paces short of Stryke’s party. Her followers took her cue and also held back.
“You’re full of surprises, Stryke,” Jennesta said. “I didn’t think you had the wits to find me. You’re certainly witless in believing you could walk in here without me knowing.”
“You would have known it.”
“Ah. This is a raid, is it? An attack with… six of you. Or are you counting on your mate bringing it up to the dizzy heights of seven?”
“What have you done to Thirzarr?”
“I find it so touching that beasts like you can display actual feelings for each other. Or what passes for them in your part of the food chain.”
“I’m taking her out of here.”
“I don’t think so. Thirzarr? Here. To me.” Jennesta pointed to the ground next to her.
Thirzarr lurched forward. Stryke tried to hold her back, but she shook loose violently. With a quicker pace than she had previously shown, she made for Jennesta.
“Thirzarr!” Stryke yelled. “Don’t! Stay here!”
Oblivious, she carried on to the enemy ranks and arrived at Jennesta’s side, then spun to face Stryke’s squad, her eyes still opaque.
“So nice to have you back, my love,” the sorceress purred.
Thirzarr had been obscuring Jennesta’s view of Dynahla. Now she saw him properly, and something like a flicker of doubt passed over her face.
Staring intently, she said, “The Wolverines become more motley by the day. Do I know you?”
“Do you?” the shape-changer replied levelly.
“I expect an answer, not a riddle.”
“It was an answer. Here’s a question for you. Do you know yourself?”
What might have been a troubled expression briefly visited Jennesta’s features. “Correction, Stryke: you’ve brought five fighters and one deranged human.” She looked to Dynahla. “You are human?”
The shape-changer said nothing.
“No matter.” She turned to Stryke. “Your best option is to surrender, here and now. Any other course won’t go well for you.”
Stryke tore his eyes from Thirzarr. “You think so?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt the rest of your band’s not far behind. But you’ll not prevail.”
He scanned her followers. Though they certainly outnumbered his band, he replied, “You sure about that?”
“That’s one thing I like about you orcs; you’re not shy of a fight. So let’s make it a little more interesting for you, shall we?” She raised an arm above her head, then let it drop, indolently.
More figures came out of the dark. Gleaton-Rouk led his goblin crew, numbering about a dozen. Behind them were the vague outlines of what the orcs still thought of as elder races; an assembly of diverse creatures of the sort they knew, and often fought, back on Maras-Dantia. Their number looked equal to that of the band.
Gleaton-Rouk carried his bow, Shadow-wing, with an arrow ready nocked. “I’m gratified to meet you again, Captain Stryke,” he hissed.
“You can go and fuck yourself.”
Jennesta laughed. “That’s it, you see? Always ready for a brawl. Very… orcish.” Her tone hardened. “But this isn’t a time to fight. Your only option is to surrender.”
“What I told him,” Stryke said, nodding at the goblin.
“You can be tiresomely stubborn.”
“We going to talk or fight?” From the corner of his eye he noticed Jup slyly edging a hand towards his satchel.
“You seem absurdly confident, given the odds.”
“We judge our enemies by their quality, not their number.”
“In that case,” she replied, smiling, “let me provide you with opponents worthy of your arrogance.” Again, she raised her arm.
The murk disgorged another group of creatures. Copiously armed, and warband-sized in number, they wore the same dead look in their eyes that Thirzarr had. They were muscular, flinty-faced and savage in appearance.
They were orcs.
18
The Wolverines’ main force, lead by Haskeer, were cooling their heels at the designated stop point. Too far away from Jennesta’s camp to see it, they were near enough to hear the signal.
The band passed time quietly checking or sharpening their weapons. Some took the chance to gnaw at the hard rations they’d missed out on earlier, and water pouches were passed round. A few stretched out on the sward, helmets pulled down to cover their eyes, and might even have been snoozing.
Unconsciously, Pepperdyne and Spurral conceded their status as outsiders and drifted together. They had marched side by side, and now they perched on a boulder a little apart from the others. Nearby, Haskeer was balling out Wheam for some minor infraction, but the necessity of keeping his voice down meant he got no pleasure out of it.
“You look grim, Jode,” Spurral observed.
“You don’t seem too joyful yourself.”
“Well, we’ve both got somebody to worry about, haven’t we?”
“True. Though maybe we shouldn’t.”
“What’d you mean? Oh, yeah. Jup and Coilla aren’t exactly novices when it comes to a fight, are they?”
“Exactly. Least, that’s what I’m telling myself.”
“Me too. But it’s Jennesta they’re up against, not some common foe.”
“We’ll all be going against her soon enough.”
“At least we’ve got Dynahla. He could help in that respect.”
“Hmm.
”
“You’re doubtful?”
“We know he’s got magical powers, but are they a match for hers? In fact, we don’t really know anything about him beyond what he’s told us. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“The way I look at it, if Stryke trusts him—”
“Yeah, that’s what Coilla says. I hope you’re both right.”
Done with harassing Wheam, Haskeer wandered in their direction. He looked grim, too. Though in his case it was more or less normal.
“We were just talking about Dynahla,” Spurral told him. “What do you think about him?”
“He’s not one of the band. I don’t like outsiders.”
“That’s us told.”
Haskeer cast a contemptuous eye Wheam’s way. “At least you two can fight.”
“Rare praise indeed,” Pepperdyne said, “coming from you.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t wooing you, so don’t let it go to your head.”
“I think you’re being unfair on Wheam,” Spurral declared. “He’s not doing too badly.”
“How long do we have to live before he does well? If I had my way—”
A horn blast cut through the night air.
“Here we go,” Pepperdyne said.
The band came to life. Scrambling to their feet, they snatched up their weapons and shields.
“Move it, you bastards!” Haskeer bellowed.
The horn sounded again, its note longer and shriller than before.
They began running towards the camp.
Jup was lucky to get off a couple of blasts of the horn. He was too occupied to manage more.
Paradoxically, a small group confronted by a much larger one isn’t necessarily at an immediate disadvantage because, by necessity, the number of combatants who can engage at one time is limited. Not that that meant Stryke’s party was in any less peril.
Jennesta must have known Jup’s signal would summon the rest of the Wolverines, but seemed confident in her greater force. With a snap of her fingers she had sent a faction of her human troops forward, so that Stryke and his companions were faced by at least two opponents each. She herself held back, content to let her servants undertake the initial assault. Gleaton-Rouk was also still, a bow being a less than ideal weapon for close combat. In any event Shadow-wing’s enchanted arrows hadn’t been anointed with the blood of a foe.
Orcs: Inferno Page 20
