Orcs: Inferno

by Stan Nicholls

  Jup discarded the horn and brought up his staff, whirling it with enough speed and skill to befuddle an advancing trooper. Quick as thought he brought it down hard on the man’s head, cracking his skull. A second opponent instantly took over. Wary of the same fate, he kept his distance, swiping and jabbing at the dwarf whenever he could get near enough. They began to circle each other, looking for an advantage.

  Silently thanking the gods that she always retrieved her throwing knives whenever possible, Coilla tried keeping her adversaries at bay with them. She struck true with her first throw, piercing a man’s neck, but her second went wide as her target dodged. Quickly grabbing another blade she set about making a better job of it. In the end, his evasion wasn’t up to her skill and the knife found his eye.

  Eldo and Reafdaw fought in typical orc fashion by engaging in a slogging match. They battered at their opponents’ shields, steel ringing on steel, and drank up the returning blows. Initially, brute force quickly won out over finesse. One of the humans, his guard breached, went down with a gaping wound to his chest.

  Stryke faced the most opposition, with three or four of the sorceress’ minions homing in on him. They were variously armed, but the most dangerous wielded a barbed pike, giving him more reach than Stryke’s sword. Feigning a move towards one of the other attackers, Stryke spun at the last moment and with a vicious swipe parted the pike-man’s hand from his wrist. Then he laid into the others.

  His real fear was that Thirzarr would be sent against him again. But Jennesta hadn’t committed her to the fight. At least, not yet.

  As her underlings went down, dead or wounded, Jennesta ordered replacements in, keeping up the pressure. Not the zombie orcs, however, who stood and watched with vacant, implacable expressions. Next to fending off Thirzarr, Stryke’s biggest concern was facing them. He didn’t know how the Wolverines would deal with having to square up to fellow orcs. He didn’t know how he would handle it himself. All he could do was battle on and hope his reinforcements weren’t much longer coming.

  Stryke, Coilla, Jup, Reafdaw and Eldo were at full stretch, slugging it out with a succession of troopers and a few of Jennesta’s human zombie slaves for good measure.

  There was a single exception. Dynahla. He remained still as the mayhem churned all around. A couple of troopers were confronting him, but from at least a sword’s length away, and seemed uncertain of their next move, thinking perhaps that someone apparently unarmed had to be dangerous. He took no notice of them, and had his eyes locked on Jennesta. She caught his gaze and returned it, an unknowable look on her face.

  As he fought off a succession of challengers, Stryke weighed the option of getting to Thirzarr and dragging her clear, however hard that might prove. He glimpsed Jup from the corner of his eye and thought the dwarf could be considering the same move, and might aid him. Cutting down one of Jennesta’s shambling, once human zombies, its flesh rending like ancient parchment, Stryke edged towards his mate.

  Then the balance tilted.

  The Wolverines’ main force arrived, streaming out of the dark, bellowing war cries.

  Jennesta reacted immediately. She unleashed her entire complement, including the magically enslaved orcs. All but Thirzarr, whom she kept at her side.

  What had been a conflict became a battle.

  With the only illumination coming from camp fires, and the brands carried by Jennesta’s followers, the light was poor. So it took the incoming Wolverines a moment to realise that those they were confronting included members of their own race. Some hesitated, albeit for a split second. Haskeer wasn’t among them. When his blood was up he was hell-bent on fighting anything.

  The momentum of the reinforcements’ charge had them crashing into the enemies’ ranks. Haskeer was to the fore, laying about him with an axe in one hand, a long-blade knife in the other. The less nimble human zombies were the first to catch his wrath. He sliced into their limbs with his blade and used the axe to pound their heads, which in some cases exploded under the impact.

  Spurral and Pepperdyne’s alliance continued as they entered the fray. He relied on his accustomed sword, and as usual abstained from carrying a shield, preferring to rely on speed and agility. She also kept to a familiar weapon, her staff, and used it to good effect. In a strategy she had developed with Jup, and which Pepperdyne had seen and admired, they worked together. So that when a chance arose, Spurral tumbled foes and Pepperdyne delivered the killing blow.

  But for all their concentration on fighting, both still tried to keep an eye on Wheam. Although he wasn’t altogether in need of nannies any more. His fighting skills had developed and his confidence had increased. In any event he was part of a wedge driving into the enemy line, surrounded by comrades who were veterans. As he disappeared into the scrum, his beloved lute incongruously strapped to his back, Pepperdyne and Spurral saw the tyro ramming his sword the way of a trooper’s guts.

  The battle fragmented as ripples of chaos ran through the warring mob. Jup and Coilla took advantage of it to fight to their mates’ sides. And Stryke got himself a little closer to Thirzarr, who remained immobile beside Jennesta. But the toughest opposition, the zombie orcs, were beginning to act. They moved forward a little unsteadily, but without compromise. Any who got in their way, even if they were allies, were ploughed through, or even felled. Some of Jennesta’s human zombies, slower to shift, were simply cut down. Gripped by the sorceress’ enchantment, the orcs recognised no barrier in obeying their mistress’ will.

  Gleaton-Rouk and his goblin crew were also beginning to join the fight. But he was unable to use his bow, the second source of magic Dynahla had detected, both because of the crush and the fact that it hadn’t been daubed with blood. Stryke worried that it soon would be.

  Outnumbered as they were, the Wolverines had one thing going for them. Unlike Jennesta’s widely diverse followers and collaborators, they were a unified force, accustomed to fighting as an entity. It gave them a slight edge in the mayhem. Not that it meant they would prevail against such odds. So far, the band had been lucky. But Stryke knew it was just a matter of time before they started taking casualties.

  He wrenched his blade from a goblin’s chest and let the creature topple. Then he looked to Thirzarr. She was unmoved, physically and apparently emotionally. But it was Jennesta, at her side, who drew his attention. She was staring fixedly at something beyond Stryke. He turned, and saw Dynahla returning her gaze.

  In that instant there was a blinding flash of light. It was so intense that everybody stilled, and the fighting halted. Even the enchanted orcs slowed to a shuffling crawl. When Stryke’s vision cleared he made out what was happening.

  Jennesta and Dynahla were engaged in a duel of sorcery. They were battering each other with shafts of energy. Both had hands raised, palms outward, their faces rigid masks of concentration. The beams of magical vigour they generated pulsed with coloured light; primarily scarlet in Jennesta’s case, green in Dynahla’s, though other, subtler hues swirled within them. A sulphurous aroma began to fill the air, and the beams gave off blasts of heat.

  One of the sorceress’ human zombie slaves, a Wolverine axe buried in his back, staggered into range of the alluring stream. Lurching forward, he came into contact with it. He immediately ignited, a sheet of orange flame quickly spreading to cover his entire body. Blazing head to foot, moaning pathetically, the creature was consumed, collapsing into a heap of ash and yellowed bones.

  Dynahla was sweating freely. Jennesta wore an expression of extreme attentiveness. The rich tints of the energy they threw at each other grew more vivid and the heat given off increased. All those looking on remained mesmerised.

  Still maintaining her magical defence, Jennesta raised a hand and made a gesture. Some of her followers started to move, sluggishly. She repeated the signal with an angry insistence. This time they all responded. Stryke thought they were about to resume the fight, and readied himself. Instead they disengaged and swiftly pulled back. Wary of what might happen ne
xt, he motioned his band to do likewise. They obeyed and came to him.

  The two sides were soon apart, the space between littered with Jennesta’s dead and wounded. Stryke’s glance flicked left and right, checking the Wolverines. They were all panting from the exertion of combat. Several had injuries, a couple of them harsh, but none seemed dire.

  As if by unspoken agreement, Jennesta and Dynahla simultaneously ceased their clash. The beams snapped out of existence, leaving tracelines on the eyes of all those watching. Jennesta let out a sigh and looked drained. Dynahla was exhausted. For a second or two his features blurred and flickered, before settling back to their familiar form. He swayed, and might have fallen if Jup and Noskaa hadn’t taken hold of his arms and steadied him.

  There was movement in Jennesta’s ranks. Gleaton-Rouk and his clan were withdrawing to the rear. The human zombies lumbered after them, along with the enchanted orcs and the smattering of other races from her diverse horde who were still standing. They kept going, and were lost to the night.

  Stryke suspected a ploy, reasoning that they might be circling to attack from another direction. But moments passed and it seemed they had retreated altogether.

  Jennesta and her human troopers remained, with Thirzarr fixed at the sorceress’ side. Stryke resolved to order a charge, seize his mate and put an end to the charade.

  He noticed that Jennesta was holding something. At first, it was hard to tell what it was in the poor light. Then he realised she was slotting together the duplicate set of instrumentalities.

  Their eyes met. Jennesta smiled.

  Stryke cried out Thirzarr’s name and lunged forward.

  The last star clicked into place.

  Jennesta and her force disappeared.

  19

  Pelli Madayar’s intuitive sense, a natural receptiveness sharpened by years of training, detected a certain disturbance in the ether. She had no doubt what it meant.

  The Gateway Corps unit was at sea, pursuing its objective. Pelli left her cabin and sought out her second-in-command, the goblin Weevan-Jirst. She found him amidships, alone at the rail, standing stiffly. He wore a severe expression.

  “There’s been a transition,” she told him.

  “Really,” he replied without turning to look at her.

  “Yes, and by all indications it’s Jennesta, using her counterfeit set of instrumentalities.”

  “And what would you have us do about it?”

  “Do? Follow her, of course.”

  “What about the orcs, and retrieving the artefacts they have? Wasn’t that supposed to be our mission?”

  “There’s a difference. The Wolverines’ possession of instrumentalities is dangerous, I don’t deny that. But there’s no sign that they’re using them maliciously. Jennesta, on the other hand, has evil intent. I judge her the greater threat. We can deal with the orcs after we settle with her.”

  Now he did tear his eyes from the star-speckled night sky and looked at her. “What does Karrell Revers have to say about all this?”

  That was something she had hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I haven’t communicated with him about it.”

  “Why?”

  “There were practical problems.”

  “Ah, yes. The loss of the crystal.” He was referring to the most direct and reliable method of contacting headquarters.

  Pelli had told him, after flinging the crystal overboard in a moment of anger, that it had been lost. Which was true in a way. “Yes,” she answered, holding his gaze.

  “But there are other means of communicating with our commander.”

  “Yes,” she repeated.

  “Means which you alone can exercise, as possessor of the highest magical skills among those of us present.”

  There was something about Weevan-Jirst’s tone that made Pelli wonder, for the first time, if he could be envious of her. In reply, she simply nodded.

  “Since you… mislaid the crystal,” the goblin went on, “it would seem we must fall back on your talents to contact Revers.”

  “If we were to commune with him, yes we would.”

  “What do you mean?” the goblin hissed.

  “I see no need to seek his guidance in this matter.”

  “I do. Moreover I demand my right as second-in-command to speak with him myself, as laid out in the Corps’ constitution.”

  “Those same rules state that the commander of a unit such as this has complete discretion when it comes to operational decisions.”

  “So you are denying my rights.”

  “Only your right to constantly question my leadership,” Pelli came back irritably. “And we won’t achieve our goal if we keep pulling in different directions.” She took a breath, softened and went for conciliatory. “Look, we have our disagreements, but we both want this mission to succeed. Can’t we put aside our differences and go forward in that spirit?”

  “It seems I have little choice.” Reading a goblin’s mood was hard at the best of times, but it didn’t take an expert to tell Weevan-Jirst was disgruntled. “Though I want to record my misgivings about the course you are set upon,” he added.

  “Officially noted. For my part, I pledge that we’ll turn our full attention to the orcs just as soon as we’ve sorted out the Jennesta situation.”

  “I will have to abide by that decision,” he replied sniffily. “My only wish is to end this fiasco.”

  “Believe me, the sorceress poses a far greater threat than anything the Wolverines might do.”

  “I hope you are right, for all our sakes.”

  The Wolverines stared at the place where Jennesta and her followers had been.

  Jup broke the silence. “What do we do now?”

  “We go after her,” Dynahla replied.

  “Can we?” Stryke said, snapping out of his daze. “You know where they’ve gone?”

  “Not specifically. But I can follow the trail.”

  “So let’s do it!” Coilla chimed in.

  There was a murmur of agreement from the band.

  “All right,” Stryke said. “What does it take, Dynahla?”

  “Hold on. If we pursue Jennesta there’s no saying where we might end up. What about Dallog and the others on the ship?”

  “We could always leave ’em there,” Haskeer muttered.

  Wheam appeared shocked.

  Stryke gave his sergeant a hard look. “We’ll get back to the ship. That means a delay. Will this trail you spoke about go cold, Dynahla?”

  “We should be all right for a little while. Though of course the longer we leave it the further away Jennesta could be from the spot where she fetched up.”

  “Or she could have moved on to another world altogether,” Spurral offered.

  The shape-changer shrugged. “Quite possible.”

  “Could you still track her if she did that?” Stryke said.

  “Maybe. Providing we don’t delay too long.”

  “Let’s move it then. We’ll make for the ship at the double.”

  The journey back to the shore was punishing. But they made it in good time, and as they dragged their boats from the undergrowth, dawn was breaking.

  Back on board the ship, Stryke briefed Dallog, the other tyros and Standeven about what had happened. He got Dallog to bind the wounded. Then he ordered the grunts to gather all the weapons and provisions they could carry, and to be quick about it.

  As they were finishing the chore, one of the privates cried out and pointed. Three ships were moving away from the far end of the island and heading out to sea. They were unmistakably goblin vessels.

  “That has to be Gleaton-Rouk and his crew,” Coilla said.

  “And no doubt Jennesta’s collection of zombies,” Pepperdyne added.

  “Do we go after them?”

  “No, Coilla,” Stryke replied. “It’s Jennesta I want, and Thirzarr.”

  “Jennesta’s force was bigger, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Pepperdyne agreed. “Apart from making common cause with the
goblin, she seems to be recruiting. There were all sorts in that camp.”

  “Why would anybody want to serve her?” Jup wondered.

  “The promise of power, a chance for riches, or just for the hell of it,” Stryke said. “Maybe they’re even under an enchantment, like her zombies. Who knows?”

  “Those zombie orcs were less than… right, weren’t they? I mean, they wouldn’t be, given they were under a hex, but even so they lacked some vital spark.”

  “You can bet she’s working on that.”

  “We’re wasting time here, Stryke,” Dynahla said.

  “You’re right.” He beckoned the band and they drew together. “Let’s do it.”

  “I’ll need your set of instrumentalities.”

  Stryke cast the shape-shifter a wary look. “I’m happier holding onto them.”

  “Haven’t I proved myself yet?”

  “Well…”

  “I can see that I haven’t.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just—”

  “I understand. But it’s going to be really hard manipulating them through you, especially if it has to be done fast. You’ve got to trust me or this won’t work.”

  Stryke struggled with that for a moment. Then he reached into his belt pouch, took out the stars, and after a second’s hesitation, handed them over.

  “Thank you,” Dynahla said. He began slotting them together with impressive dexterity.

  At the edge of the group, Standeven watched with covetous eyes.

  “What’s to stop Jennesta messing with where we land?” Coilla asked. “The way she did before.”

  Dynahla paused. “I am. I can counter that. At least to some extent.” He carried on readying the instrumentalities, until just one remained to be fitted. “Brace yourselves.”

  The band moved closer. Wheam put on a brave face. Spurral reached for Jup’s calloused hand. Standeven looked terrified.