Orcs: Inferno

by Stan Nicholls

  “Where’s the bitch got to now?” Haskeer grumbled as he surveyed the landscape. Pointedly, he didn’t ask the question of Dynahla.

  “Out there somewhere, I guess.” Stryke swept a hand at the panorama.

  “Not that I can see,” Jup said, “and her group should be big enough to spot.”

  “The logical thing for her to have done was take the road,” Pepperdyne suggested. “That way, towards the bend.”

  Coilla nodded. “And a good place for an ambush.”

  “Then we’ll round it with care,” Stryke said. “Come on.”

  The march wasn’t welcomed by everybody. Many of them were still drained and aching from the fight with the fire-breathers, in a world that seemed impossibly far away. Which, of course, it was.

  Standeven wasn’t pleased either, though his discomfort came from a lifetime of indolence rather than anything as strenuous as fighting, or as dangerous. Abandoning his usual place near the rear of the group, he wormed his way to Pepperdyne who walked alone, Coilla being occupied with Stryke at the front.

  “Oh,” Pepperdyne said on seeing him, “it’s you.”

  “Yes, me. Your master and title-holder, though you seem to have forgotten it.”

  “You just can’t get it through your head, can you? None of that means anything anymore. It’s a whole different game now.”

  “It might be to you. I happen to think a pledge still means something.”

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous your blend of conceit and acting pitiable makes you look?”

  “There was a time when you wouldn’t have dared to say a thing like that.”

  Pepperdyne’s patience was running out. “Why are we talking? What do you want, Standeven?”

  “I want to know how much longer this… charade’s going to last.”

  “Charade?”

  “This leaping from one stinking place to another, of course.”

  “This world doesn’t look too bad to me. If you’re so tired of what’s going on why don’t you settle here?”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Anyway, unless we’re careful we might all end up being left somewhere we don’t want to be.”

  “Meaning?”

  Standeven nodded at Dynahla, walking at the head of the column with Stryke and Coilla. “You really think that freak can be trusted?”

  That echoed Pepperdyne’s own doubts, but there was no way he was going to admit it to this man. “Seems to me Dynahla’s done more for this band than you ever did.”

  “Enough to be handed the instrumentalities?”

  “It always comes back to that with you, doesn’t it? Stryke knows what he’s doing.”

  “Does he? Whatever you think about me, Jode, I’m not insane. I want to get out of this mess alive as much as you do. If you think Stryke’s going the right way about that, it’s on your own head.” He said no more, and let Pepperdyne walk on.

  They were approaching the bend in the road. Stryke halted the column and sent four scouts ahead. He told four more to cut through the lip of the wood, in case there were any unpleasant surprises lurking in there. They soon returned with word that the way was clear. The band resumed its march.

  The road took several other turns, although none were blind, until it curved round the base of a hill, obscuring whatever lay beyond. Taking no chances, they left the road and climbed to the hill’s summit. Looking down to the far side, they saw a lone building in the middle distance.

  It wasn’t a farmhouse, as they might have expected. Seemingly made of stone, it more closely resembled a chateau or small castle. There was a low, round tower at each corner, and a large entrance with its doors wide open. Given its rustic setting it looked strangely incongruous.

  Some figures could just about be seen moving around in front of the building. Beyond the fact that they walked upright and appeared to be dressed in white, they were too far away for any more details to be made out.

  “Signs of life at last,” Coilla said.

  “Yeah,” Stryke replied. “I wonder what kind.”

  They moved down the hill, crossed the road bordering its foot and headed over the grassland.

  “Sheathe your weapons but keep them handy,” Stryke ordered. “We don’t want to scare them off if they’re not hostile.”

  “They look peaceable enough,” Spurral reckoned.

  “If they are, maybe they’ll be able to tell us where Jennesta is.”

  “You think she could be there, and Thirzarr?”

  He shrugged.

  “Keep your resolve, Stryke. We’ll find your mate.”

  “Maybe.”

  As the band approached, they were spotted by the white-clad beings, who simply stopped whatever they were doing and stared. They didn’t seem perturbed by the sight of an orc warband, a couple of dwarfs and several humans arriving out of nowhere.

  When the Wolverines were close enough they finally got a good look at the creatures.

  “They’re human.” The way Coilla said it expressed the surprise most of the band was feeling.

  “Why shouldn’t they be?” Dynahla asked. “In an infinite number of worlds—”

  “Yeah, I know. Anything’s possible. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  There were five of them, and the striking thing was how alike they were. All were male, if slightly androgynous in appearance, tall, slim and blond. They were ivory skinned and beardless. Their attire was identical, consisting of a white, smock-like garment covering them from neck to ankles. But their arms, and oddly their feet, were bare. By human standards they were handsome. Some would have said beautiful. From the expressions on their smiling faces their dispositions might have been called sunny.

  “Humans grinning like fucking idiots,” Haskeer grated dourly, “that’s all we need.”

  “Something’s not right here,” Pepperdyne said.

  “Your race smiles,” Coilla told him. “I’m sure I saw you doing it once.”

  “What I mean is not all humans look exactly the same.”

  “You do to most orcs.”

  “I’m serious, Coilla. This bunch are peas in a pod. It’s not natural.”

  Standeven had gravitated to Pepperdyne’s side again. He was looking troubled as well.

  Coilla noticed it. “What’s the matter with you two? Jode?”

  “There’s something about them. I don’t know. Something… familiar.”

  Standeven nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the supposed humans.

  Stryke went ahead of the others, hand raised in a conciliatory gesture, and addressed the nearest being in Mutual. “We’ve come to you in peace.”

  “Peace,” the creature repeated, his smile unfaltering.

  “Yes. We don’t want anything of you.”

  “You want nothing,” one of the others said.

  Stryke looked to him. “Right. Except to ask a question.”

  “A question?” That came from the third of the creatures.

  Before Stryke could reply, the fourth said, “What question?”

  “Er… we want to know if another group’s passed this way.”

  “Another group, you say,” the fifth remarked.

  Stryke was getting perplexed, but he was determined to persist. “A party led by a female who looks kind of… odd.”

  “Odd?” the second, or possibly the third, echoed.

  “You would have noticed her,” Stryke persisted.

  “Would we?” the first asked.

  “This is weird,” Jup muttered.

  The irritating exchange continued, with Stryke trying to get some sense out of the creatures and not knowing which one would answer next.

  Finally his patience snapped and he bellowed, “Look! It’s simple! Have you or have you not seen any other strangers today?”

  The reply came from all of them sequentially, their smiles never wavering.

  “Strangers…”

  “… are…”

  “… never…”

  “
… welcome…”

  “… here.”

  Then something startling happened. As one, they all unfolded a massive set of wings, hidden until now. The wings were pure white and seemed to be constituted of downy feathers.

  “An angelic host,” Standeven whispered, awestruck.

  Coilla looked at him, then noticed that Pepperdyne appeared nearly as beguiled. “What?” she said.

  He tore his eyes from the sight. “They mean something to my race. Particularly to Unis and the like.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Oh, good,” Standeven said. “The epitome of goodness, we’re told.”

  “Well, I think you’ve been told wrong. Or these things are something different. Look again.”

  The comely, benevolent faces of the winged beings were twisting into snarling, hate-filled grimaces. Their jaws dropped, revealing mouths full of razor-sharp incisors. Their eyes, soft and as blue as the sky an instant before, turned into inky black orbs set in scarlet. And as their faces turned nasty, so did they.

  They shot into the air in unison, their powerful wings flapping mightily. For a moment they circled overhead, and the band saw that they had produced concealed weapons; gold-coloured maces studded with barbs. Then they dived.

  The orcs with shields held them above their heads. They swiped at the tormenting creatures with their blades and axes, but couldn’t connect. Arrows were loosed and proved no match for the flyers’ agility. Again and again they swooped down, menacing the Wolverines with their maces.

  Stryke knew that if the band didn’t find cover they were certain to lose the fight. He waited until the flying things were at their highest point preparatory to diving again. “To the house!” he yelled. “To the house!”

  They made for the doors at full pelt, desperately trying to outrun creatures that were potentially much faster. Coilla and Pepperdyne, through some act of instinctive charity, grabbed Standeven’s arms from either side and dragged the wheezing human along. For all the band knew there were more of the things inside, but it was a chance they had to take. There was no other shelter.

  Getting to the house a heartbeat ahead of the flyers they hurled themselves through. They flung their weight behind the doors and slammed them shut. There was the satisfying sound of at least one flying creature crashing into the woodwork on the other side.

  Panting from the effort, and with Standeven fit to have a seizure, the band took a moment to catch their breath.

  Recovering, they looked around. They were in a long, high, stone-clad corridor, with several doors on either side and a set of much larger ones at its end. The side doors led to windowless rooms or dead-end passages, so they made for the double doors. Kicking them open they found a spacious chamber, perhaps a banqueting room, wood panelled and hung with weighty candelabra. At its far end, and to the right, there was a further, wide corridor running off at an angle.

  “Now what do we do?” Dallog wanted to know.

  “I guess we start by seeing if there’s another way out,” Stryke replied.

  “And if there ain’t?” Haskeer said.

  “There will be. Or we’ll make one.”

  “Stryke,” Dynahla said, urgency in his voice.

  “What is it?”

  “I feel a presence.”

  “Her?”

  “Has to be.” The shape-changer pointed to the corridor. “That way.”

  They rushed to it.

  It was ill-lit, and long, but some way down it there was a crowd of figures. Jennesta was among them. She saw the band. Fiddling with the objects in her hands, she and her pack blinked out of existence.

  Dynahla dug out the instrumentalities, and at a nod from Stryke, slapped them together.

  The Wolverines materialised in a swamp, knee deep in warm, stinking water. Waist deep in the case of the dwarfs. The air was humid and uncomfortable. There were countless flies, causing the orcs to slap at their exposed flesh. Small, unidentified creatures zigzagged through the water. All about them was a green gloom, thanks to a canopy of vegetation high above their heads.

  Haskeer smacked the side of his neck, crushing an insect. “This is not an improvement.”

  “So where in damnations is Jennesta now?” Coilla complained.

  “Yeah, there’s no trace of her,” Wheam said. “How come she isn’t right where we land every time?”

  “We don’t always arrive in exactly the same place as someone else who’s made a transition,” Dynahla explained. “That’s partly down to me, because it’s hard to be accurate. But it’s mostly a function of the instrumentalities.”

  “So she could be anywhere,” Coilla said.

  Dynahla shook his head. “No. We always arrive within a certain radius. She’s here, and not far.” He looked around. “The question is where.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about the stars.”

  “Serapheim was a good teacher. He taught me that—”

  “Can we talk about this some other time?” Stryke interrupted.

  “So where to, chief?” Jup said.

  “There’s a patch of drier ground over there. That’s where we’ll start.”

  They waded to it, and found it was the tail end of a much longer strip of land, muddy and tangled with roots, but preferable to the foul water. The band was glad to haul themselves onto it.

  “Now what?” Coilla wanted to know.

  “We could follow this spit of land and see where it takes us,” Stryke said.

  “Bit hit or miss, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He turned to Dynahla. “Can you feel anything?”

  “What I’m getting is confused,” the fetch confessed. “It’s not clear enough to pinpoint her.”

  Stryke sighed. “Great.”

  “But there’s another way I might be able to help.”

  “Do it, whatever it is.”

  “All right. Here.” He took out the instrumentalities and handed them to him. “Best you take care of these until I get back.”

  “Get back?”

  “I’m going to use my shape-changing ability to scout the area. Any objections?”

  “Er… no.”

  “Then give me some room.”

  The band stepped back.

  Dynahla got down on the ground and stretched out. He began to change. His writhing body compressed and elongated simultaneously. The arms and legs drew in and disappeared. The flesh turned black as it redistributed itself and stretched into a long, cylindrical shape, a tapering tail at one end, a smooth, hairless head at the other. Shiny scales appeared along its whole length.

  Seconds later an enormous water snake regarded them with unblinking, golden eyes, a forked tongue flicking from its lipless mouth. It turned, slid into the water and disappeared.

  The silence that followed was finally broken when Jup said, “That was… bizarre.”

  They waited, exchanging whispered thoughts about what Dynahla had just done, looking out for an ambush and swatting flies.

  Before long there was a disturbance in the water. The snake surfaced and slithered ashore. Immediately, the reversion to Dynahla’s original form took place. At its completion he was on his hands and knees, head down, wet hair hanging lankly. He shook off droplets of water, not unlike a dog, and stood.

  “That way,” he stated simply, pointing out across the water. “Not far. On another plot of dry land. Well, drier.”

  “You all right? Coilla asked.

  He nodded. “Transformation can drain me, particularly the more extreme ones. I’m fine.”

  “Up to moving again?” Stryke said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’d better have these.” He held out the instrumen-talities.

  Dynahla seemed taken aback. He accepted them and half whispered, “Thank you.”

  Everyone collected their gear and they set off, with the shape-shifter and Stryke in the lead.

  When they neared their destination, as signalled by the fetch, they tried to move as quietly as they could
given they were practically swimming. Even so, when rounding a vast outcrop of foliage they came upon Jennesta’s party almost unexpectedly.

  The two sides spotted each other at the same time. A couple of arrows winged the band’s way. Taking cover in the thick vegetation, they returned fire. The exchange grew heavier, the enemy’s arrows zinging through the greenery all around the Wolverines, and theirs flying back.

  One of Jennesta’s archers was bold enough, or foolish enough, to let himself be seen as he made to loose a shot. An orc arrow smacked square to his chest and he toppled into the water. It stirred, rippled and churned as the scavengers living in it were drawn to blood and set to devouring his corpse.

  Jennesta herself took a hand, lobbing a searing fireball the warband’s way. Dynahla deflected it and sent her one of his own. Jennesta swept it aside.

  The duel was short-lived. Jennesta employed the stars and her force was gone.

  Dynahla quickly checked that everybody was together and did what was necessary to follow.

  “She is taking the piss!” Haskeer raged.

  They were on a tundra, an immense, glassy plain covered in ice. The only feature to be made out was a black mountain range straddling the horizon.

  Snow was falling, a bitter wind blew, and the band, still wet through from the swamp, felt the cold to their bones.

  “There!” a grunt yelled, his breath jetting like steam.

  Jennesta and her henchmen could just be seen, actually not too far away but almost obscured by the driving snow. Stryke thought he caught a glimpse of Thirzarr.

  “After ’em!” he shouted over the storm. “Before they—”

  The sorceress and her followers became one with nothingness.

  “Shit!” Jup cursed.

  “Dynahla!” Stryke bellowed.

  “I’m on it!”

  The band took a leap to somewhere other.

  They were in semi-darkness.

  It took a moment for them to realise they were underground, what little light there was coming from a myriad of tiny crystals embedded in the walls of a large cavern.