Orcs: Inferno

by Stan Nicholls

  The silence that followed was broken by Haskeer asking bluntly, “Are you a real fetch or what?”

  Vermegram smiled. “I’m human. Basically. I wasn’t born with shape-changing abilities; I acquired them as a result of my magical studies.”

  “Your kids—”

  “Why do they vary so much in appearance? Why does Jennesta look the way she does? Why did her late sister, Adpar, turn out a hybrid? And she was another bad lot, I’m ashamed to say. It was because of tampering with myself, altering the very core of my being, when I took on the power to shape-shift. There were unanticipated consequences. One of which was that I passed on certain unusual traits to my offspring. Only my youngest daughter, Sanara, has a normal human appearance. Fortunately, her path has always been one of good, unlike her siblings.”

  “Which reminds me,” Serapheim said. He reached out a hand. A velvet bell cord appeared from thin air. He gave it two tugs and it disappeared.

  “Nice trick,” Coilla muttered.

  A door opened and Sanara entered. She was wearing a similar set of blue robes to her father’s. When she saw Jup she made straight for him, throwing her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Spurral looked on flint-faced. Jup was blushing. Then Sanara waved a greeting to the other band members who remembered her and took a seat by her parents.

  “Vermegram and I cannot confront Jennesta’s forces alone, for all our powers, because hers have grown at least as strong,” Serapheim explained. “My own, I confess, are wavering. As this pocket universe is kept in existence by the force of my will, I find I need the additional mental strength of my apprentices, the young people who served you the food, and the support of what’s left of my family.” He exchanged smiles with Vermegram and his daughter. “Sanara is one of our allies in this fight. Would you like to meet some others?”

  He led them through a door and along an airy passage. Another door took them out into the open air and a large area resembling a parade ground, except it was grassed over. It was crowded.

  Quoll, Ceragan orc chieftain and Wheam’s father, was there, along with what looked like all the able-bodied males of the clan. So were Brelan and Chillder, formerly of the Acurial resistance, and several hundred of their troops.

  There were greetings, warriors’ hand clasps and hugs.

  “This is amazing,” Coilla said.

  “We were only too pleased to help,” Chillder said, “after what you did for us.”

  “Though we could have done with a gentler way of getting here,” Brelan added. “Serapheim’s method of transport was kind of disconcerting.”

  Wheam approached his father, looking anxious.

  “There’s no need for timidity,” Quoll assured him. He clapped a meaty hand on the youth’s shoulder. “From what I’ve heard you’ve much to be proud of, and I know you’ll make me proud in the scrap to come.”

  Wheam smiled.

  Stryke made his way to the chieftain. “Quoll,” he said, almost afraid to ask the question. “Janch and Corb. Are they—”

  “They’re fine, Stryke. Safe and well, and under the clan’s protection. How could it be otherwise? Though they’re missing their sire and mother, of course.”

  He felt a wave of relief. “Thank you.”

  “But I regret we weren’t able to stop Thirzarr being taken. I’m sorry about that.”

  “No need. Few are a match for Jennesta.”

  “The bitch. She took the lives of some of our best, and devastated our lodges. I can’t wait to make her pay for that.” He slapped the broadsword he wore.

  “Do you know what you’ve let yourselves in for here? Do any of you?”

  “Yes,” Brelan offered. “Serapheim explained everything.”

  “That’s more than he’s done with us.”

  “And that’s remiss of me,” the magician said, appearing at Stryke’s side. “You need to hear the plan. Come with me and I’ll tell you.”

  He took Stryke back indoors and to what looked very much like a sorcerer’s study, complete with shelves of massive, leather-bound grimoires, vials of potions and powders, and assorted skeletons of unidentifiable small creatures of bizarre appearance.

  “It will come as no surprise to you that Jennesta is here,” Serapheim announced when they were settled. “She’s gained entry to the Sphere of the Four, to which this world is adjunct. And she’s used her fake instrumentalities to import the followers she left behind. From a world of islands, I’m given to believe. It’s only a matter of time before she gets in here.”

  “Can’t you stop her?”

  “Stop her? I want her here. That’s part of the plan.”

  “Why?”

  “Several reasons. First, if there’s to be a battle between her forces and ours, better it should be here where only combatants and not the innocent are affected. Second, the set of instrumentalities she has doesn’t function here, although I don’t think she knows it and I want to keep it that way. That takes away her option to flee if she has to. Third, the plan we have in mind must be executed by Vermegram, Sanara and myself, and as I can’t conveniently leave this world I contrived to lure Jennesta here.”

  “What is your plan for dealing with her?”

  “No disrespect, Stryke, but I’m keeping that to myself. Only because what you don’t know can’t be got out of you. Oh, I know you’re tough and not given to betraying confidences, but this is Jennesta we’re talking about.”

  “Fair enough. So what do you want us to do?”

  “I want the Wolverines to be part of our little army and engage her forces. But I want you to pick two or three members of your band to help you carry out a special task.”

  “Not fight, you mean?”

  “I expect they’ll be fighting all right, it’s just that I don’t want you in the battle proper. I’ve something else in mind, though it’s more dangerous. If you’re willing.”

  “If it gets at Jennesta, I’m willing.”

  “There will be a point in our run-in with her when it’s vitally important that she be distracted. Have more coming at her than she can cope with and still think straight, in other words. That’s where you come in.”

  Stryke nodded.

  “I’ll let you know when the time is right,” Serapheim added, “and make sure you can get to her. You might like to go and select your helpers now.”

  “Hold your horses. I want to ask you something. We’ve been dogged by an outfit called the Gateway Corps. What do you know about them?”

  “It’s said they’ve been around almost as long as instrumentalities themselves have existed. The Corps’ self-appointed mission is to track down the artefacts and limit the damage they can do. An ambition I don’t altogether disapprove of.”

  “They’re a problem I didn’t need.”

  “Understandably. They’re tenacious, and have allegiance only to their cause. But we can deal with it.”

  “From what I’ve seen, they’re powerful.”

  “So are we. But I believe the Corps to be basically virtuous, and potentially useful allies. They are not our first concern, however. Put them from your mind.”

  Stryke shrugged and made to leave.

  Serapheim waved him back into his seat. “There’s one more thing. It has no real bearing on the task in hand, but you might find it… interesting. You know that the world you’ve just travelled through was created by a group of high adepts called the Four. But do you know what their names were?”

  “No, why should I?”

  “They were Aik, Zeenoth, Neaphetar and Wystendel.”

  “The Tetrad?” Stryke was shocked, despite believing he was beyond being affected by any revelation at this point.

  “I tell you this not to undermine your beliefs. I think they were gods, in a way. They are certainly seen as that not only by you orcs but a number of other races too. You only have to look at what they created to see their god-like qualities. I tell you this as a lesson. The lesson being that you shouldn’t always rely on wh
at you think you know or think you see. That could be valuable in what’s to come.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Keep it in mind. Now you’d better—”

  The door flew open and Sanara came in. “Father! Jennesta’s here. She and her followers have just breached the western membrane.”

  “That was to be expected. Indeed, hoped for. Take your position, Sanara. Stryke, brief your band and wait on my word.”

  The Gateway Corps unit had also penetrated Serapheim’s hideaway, though with immense difficulty.

  “This place is glorious,” Pelli remarked as she surveyed the scene.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Weevan-Jirst reminded her.

  “Still, it’s hard to believe anything nefarious could be going on in this kind of setting.”

  “Yet we know it is.”

  She gave up on his obduracy and held her peace.

  They had wandered away from the body of their unit to explore the options and decide which way to go. There were no roads that they could see or any signs of habitation. Pelli thought the place was like an enormous garden.

  “What’s that?” Weevan-Jirst said. He pointed to a nearby hill.

  There were figures on it.

  Pelli strained to see. “They look like… goblins.”

  “So they do.”

  “I wonder how they fit into this.”

  “We could ask them.”

  “Is that wise?”

  He gave her the goblin equivalent of a condescending look. “They’re my own kind. I’m sure I can converse with them in a civilised manner.”

  “All right. We’ll go up and—”

  “I think it would be best if I did this alone. My folk don’t always react well to other races.”

  “As you wish. But take care. I’ll either be here or back with the others.”

  He set off and she watched him go. But she didn’t leave. She was curious to see how he would handle it.

  As he walked by a cluster of bushes a figure leapt out and began to struggle with him. Shocked, Pelli called out and rushed to help. As she approached the figure ran off.

  She arrived at her second-in-command panting. “What… happened?”

  He showed her his arm. It had a gash across it and the blood was flowing freely. “He attacked me.”

  “Who did?”

  “A goblin.”

  “Was he trying to kill you?”

  Weevan-Jirst was binding his arm with a field bandage he’d produced from his belt pouch. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was senseless. He leapt out, slashed my arm and made to run off. I tried to stop him but he got away.”

  She noticed movement on the hill. One figure was running up it, towards the others. “Is that him?”

  He looked. “I suppose it could be. I’ve a mind to go up there and—”

  “I think it would be wise not to.”

  “They’re goblins. My kind. Why would he do that?”

  “There are good and bad in all races. And I’m beginning to suspect who they are and their relationship with Jennesta.”

  Before she could go on he said, “Does one of them have a bow?”

  She looked. “I think he might. We should either get out of here or be prepared to defend ourselves magically. He seems to be aiming this way.”

  “Then he’s a fool. No archer on any world could achieve a shot like that. The distance is too far and the angle’s wrong.” There was the sound of something cutting through the air. “Why does he think—” A spasm shook him and he let out a strangled gasp. A black arrow jutted from his chest.

  “Weevan-Jirst,” Pelli said, stunned. “Weevan-Jirst!”

  He fell. She went down on her knees to him, felt for a heartbeat, not the easiest task through a goblin’s carapace, then tried the vein in his neck. He was dead.

  She looked up to the hill again. The archer and the others had gone. Her thought was that anybody who could use a bow like that, over such a distance, commanded a strong form of magic and was best avoided. Keeping low, and still numb from what had just happened, she hurried back to the others.

  The area Serapheim occupied buzzed with activity as the diverse force readied itself for battle. Serapheim’s apprentices, perhaps a dozen in number, had joined its ranks with the intention of using their magic in aid of the cause.

  Stryke stood apart from all that with three others. The band had been dismayed when he told them he wouldn’t be fighting alongside them. But once they knew why, they were approving.

  He had decided to take Gleadeg, Coilla and Pepperdyne with him on the mission Serapheim had allotted. The human he might not have chosen, good a fighter as he was, but Coilla insisted that they stay together, and Stryke wanted her along. None of them had any idea where Standeven was, or particularly cared.

  There was a commotion. A chorus of “They’re here! They’re here!” went up. Stryke and the others rushed to see what was happening.

  On the plain that stretched out not far from Serapheim’s villa, a force was advancing. They recognised Jennesta at its head. Her human troopers from Acurial were with her, along with shuffling human zombies and the more sprightly orc kind. There was a mass of flotsam and jetsam of various races she had recruited from the world of islands, including what looked like the remnants of the Gatherers. Racing to join them at the rear was the goblin Gleaton-Rouk and his piratical gang.

  Stryke knew Thirzarr was somewhere in the horde but couldn’t spot her. At least he hoped she was there. He didn’t like to think about what had happened if she wasn’t.

  Jennesta’s army was even more ragtag than the one Stryke was a part of. But hers outnumbered his by at least two to one.

  “Stryke!”

  He turned and saw Serapheim approaching, and he wasn’t alone. Pelli Madayar was with him, along with her multi-species Gateway Corps comrades.

  “I have granted admission to a group I think you know,” Serapheim explained.

  “Hello again, Captain,” Pelli said.

  “What are you doing here?” Stryke asked suspiciously.

  “I’ve long felt that your band has been a mere pawn in this game. The Corps’ principles, and my training, have prevented me from acting on that impulse. But recent events have made me question my impartiality. There comes a time when a side has to be chosen and to hell with the consequences. I’ve decided… we’ve all decided that yours is the one to offer our services to.”

  Stryke thought about that for a moment, then said, “Glad to have you aboard.”

  30

  The two armies faced each other.

  For Jennesta it was the culmination of the revenge she sought to inflict on her father and the hated Wolverines. For the defenders it was a matter of survival.

  Hostilities started from a distance, using a combination of magic and arrows, the former blocking most of the latter. Streaks of energy, yellow, white and red were exchanged, resembling a hatchling’s coloured streamer caught by the wind. Shimmering defensive bubbles were up, cast by Jennesta on one side, the Gateway Corps on the other. The difference being that Jennesta’s was to protect her and a small coterie, while the Corps was trying to shield everyone.

  When the sides finally began to advance it wasn’t at a charge. The pace was more deliberate, almost stately, save for the taunts and foul curses each side rained on the other. But ultimately they had to meet, and when they did it was bloodily.

  The roof of Serapheim’s villa was an excellent vantage point. From it, Stryke, Coilla, Pepperdyne and Gleadeg had the best view of the battle. All of them would have liked to be there.

  Serapheim came to them. “There,” he said, pointing. “You can just see Jennesta over on the far side. Having set the fighting in motion she’s retired to a safer distance.”

  Stryke looked, but had to strain his eyes. He could make out Jennesta. There were others with her, and he thought one of them might be Thirzarr, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “You must get to her,” Seraphei
m continued. “You can either go round the field of battle—”

  “Too long,” Stryke told him.

  “Or through it, I’m afraid. Shall I assign you some extra bodies to help?”

  They looked at each other and Stryke answered for all of them. “No. We can manage.”

  “I hoped you’d say that. We can’t really spare anybody.”

  Coilla gave a gentle dig. “Some army.”

  “Valiant as they are, it isn’t them we’re relying on. It’s you. Take care.”

  Stryke and the others set off.

  When they got to the plain, the battle was hotting up and there was a great roar coming from it. Stryke had hoped to cross by moving through their own ranks, but things had got mixed. It was still the case that most of Jennesta’s force was on the right and Stryke’s was on the left, but both armies had been contaminated with each other’s fighters.

  They drew their weapons. Stryke tried to pick a spot with more friends than enemies, and they plunged in.

  The Wolverines were where they always liked to be, in the heart of the battle.

  For Haskeer it was all the excuse he needed to crack skulls and sever limbs with his axe. He preferred the living opponents. The zombies were basically dusty demolition jobs with little fight in them. The orc zombies were livelier but still lacked a spark. Haskeer had no qualms about fighting them.

  Jup and Spurral were side by side, as usual, working in unison with staffs and knives. They made a point of seeking out goblins, and were duelling with a pair of them, staffs against tridents. Nearby, the Ceragans fought together, with Dallog leading them. Wheam stood with his father, and he had made the supreme gesture of leaving his lute back at the villa.

  Gateway Corps members were all over the battle, discharging magical punches that downed men and caused the human zombies to explode in clouds of dust. Pelli Madayar was fighting conventionally, something the Corps was required to be proficient at. She finished off a Gatherer with a sword thrust and, spinning, bumped into Wheam. They exchanged nods and turned to their fresh respective opponents.