Inferno ob-3

by Stan Nicholls

  Serapheim’s image vanished. The shimmer went out of the grains of sand and they fell, a tiny gritty shower pattering down to the beach.

  “What about Thirzarr?” Stryke demanded angrily. “He didn’t say anything about her. Where is she?”

  “Serapheim warned you that not all your questions would be answered immediately,” Dynahla said.

  “Lot of good that does me.”

  “But it doesn’t mean those answers can’t be found. That’s one of the reasons he sent me to you; to help you find the truth.”

  “The only truth I want is the whereabouts of Thirzarr and our hatchlings.”

  “If it’s any comfort, we believe your hatchlings are safe.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Serapheim has his ways of knowing.”

  “But he can’t tell me where Thirzarr is?”

  “Your mate is within the influence of Jennesta’s magic. It cloaks her, and makes her harder to trace. But Serapheim’s working hard to penetrate that barrier.”

  “What was that about us going to Serapheim?” Coilla asked. “Why should we want to do that?”

  “Because apart from me, he’s the only ally you can rely on,” Dynahla replied, “and the most powerful.”

  “So why didn’t he come here himself?”

  “There are good reasons. You’ll see.”

  “Where is Serapheim?” Stryke said.

  “Our way to him is on this world.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It isn’t far. But first we need to take to sea. And your ship must be repaired for that.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. But where are we going?” Stryke repeated.

  “West.”

  Pepperdyne still had Stryke’s map. He got it out and consulted it. “Where exactly in the west?”

  Dynahla looked, then pointed. “There.”

  “There’s nothing in that region. It’s just open sea.”

  “Only according to your map.”

  “I know this chart’s a bit vague in places, but-”

  “There is much it doesn’t show. Trust me.”

  Stryke wasn’t alone in wondering if they could. “What if we decide not to go with you?”

  “You’re wiser than that. You know you have no other option.”

  He had to concede that. But he didn’t say so.

  “What about that Gateway Corps outfit?” Jup said.

  “Yeah, what about ’em?” Haskeer put in. “They gonna cause us any more trouble?”

  “They’ll never stop hounding you until they gain the instrumentalities,” Dynahla explained, “or you kill every last one of them. Given how powerful they are, that’s unlikely, even for a warband of orcs. Of course, that assumes you can avoid the clutches of the Krake. Then you can steel yourselves to face Jennesta.”

  “Sounds like a piece of piss,” Coilla remarked sarcastically.

  Dynahla smiled mirthlessly. “Nobody said it would be easy.”

  14

  The Wolverines worked hard repairing their ship, labouring through the night and well into the next day, with Stryke driving them mercilessly. Shortly after noon they were close to having the vessel seaworthy.

  As the only really experienced sailor present, Pepperdyne was given the task of overseeing the work. Anxious to be under way, Stryke had him come ashore to report on progress.

  “How much longer?”

  “We’re all but done,” the human told him. “Just a few minor chores left, and we need to get supplies of fresh water over there, along with any food we can scavenge from the jungle.”

  “I’ve got the band working on that. You sure the ship’s up to the voyage?”

  “It’s not a perfect job, but it should serve.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  “Some of the repairs are only temporary, mind, and they’re not likely to last too long. I’d like to carry them out properly first chance we get.”

  “I don’t know when that’d be. For now we make do.”

  “And… the band.”

  “What about ’em?”

  “They’ve been working like dogs all night. They could do with rest.”

  “No time.”

  “They’re dead on their feet. If they don’t get-”

  “You take care of the ship,” Stryke emphasised his words with a finger jab to Pepperdyne’s chest, “and I’ll worry about my band. They’re used to hard work. Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then get back to it.” He turned on his heel and left the human.

  As he walked away, Stryke caught a glimpse of Dynahla, standing further along the beach and staring out to sea. Having no appetite or time for any more riddles he let the creature be.

  Then he spotted Haskeer, returning at the head of one of the foraging parties. They were rolling barrels towards the shore, and some carried sacks. He went their way.

  “Done yet?”

  His sergeant nodded. “Just about. There’s plenty of water, but lean pickings far as food goes.”

  “We’ll get by.” He looked to the group Haskeer had just been leading. “Thought I told you to take along some of the tyros.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t.”

  “That was an order, Haskeer. I want the new recruits mixing in more with the band; they’re not learning fast enough. Where do you get off ignoring me?”

  “You can’t rely on ’em. They’re greenhorns.”

  “What d’you expect if we don’t teach them?”

  “I’m a fighter, not a wet nurse. Let Dallog suckle his own brood.”

  “What is it with you and him? Why’re you so down on the tyros?”

  “Well, he ain’t no Alfray for a start.”

  “Shit, not that again. It’s time you got your head round Alfray being dead and gone.”

  “More’s the pity. And who we got instead? A puffed up, self-satisfied-”

  “Dallog’s not trying to replace Alfray. Nobody could.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “You’re being too hard on him. On all of them. The tyros have paid in blood on this mission. Ignar, Harglo, Yunst. All dead.”

  “And we lost Liffin, and now Bhose. Either of which were worth a dozen of those rookies. If you wanna talk about dying, Stryke, maybe you should look at the band.”

  “Meaning?”

  “As if it’s not bad enough having a bunch of learners to shepherd, we’ve a pair of humans tagging along.” He all but spat the word. “And one of ’em an orc killer back in Acurial.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “Yeah, right,” Haskeer sneered. “You gonna defend the other one, too, and what he’s up to with Coilla?”

  “Whatever Coilla and Pepperdyne do is no business of ours, long as it doesn’t endanger the band.”

  “You sure it won’t? This is a human we’re talking about.”

  “He’s done nothing to make me distrust him. The opposite, if anything.”

  “What he’s doing with Coilla’s enough for me. It ain’t natural, Stryke. It’s… sick. Now, on top of all that, we’ve got this fetch, or whatever it is, telling us what to do. Seems to me that all adds up to a pig’s ear far as this band goes.”

  Stryke was about to reply, or possibly end his sergeant’s rant by knocking his teeth out, when Haskeer stared past him and glowered. Turning his head, Stryke saw that Dynahla had silently arrived.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” the shape-changer asked.

  “Not for me,” Haskeer said. He shoved past them and strode away.

  Watching him leave, Dynahla said, “He has a lot of anger.”

  “We all do. What did you want?”

  “It looks as though the ship’s nearly ready.”

  “Almost.”

  “And we’ll leave shortly?”

  “Soon as we can.”

  “There could be a problem. I sense that the Krake is still nearby.”

  “That’s another
of your talents, is it, sensing things?”

  “I have some ability to do that, yes. Not unlike the farsight dwarfs possess, though somewhat different in nature. But how I know doesn’t matter. What’s important is what you’re going to do about the Krake.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Only that you’d do well to think of a strategy before setting sail. The creature might not bother us, but if it does-”

  “Yeah, I get it. That all you’ve got to offer?”

  “I might be able to cloud what passes for the beast’s mind, and slow it a little. But not much more.”

  Stryke remembered something. “I’ve got this.” He showed the bracelet Mallas Sahro had given him. “Could it help?”

  Dynahla studied the bracelet, then bent and sniffed. “Elf magic.”

  “You can tell by smelling it?”

  The fetch nodded. “Different classes of sorcery have distinct aromas, if you know how to detect them. As to the efficacy of this totem; it could ward off minor magical attacks. Though you shouldn’t expect it to offer any protection against Jennesta.”

  Stryke pulled down his sleeve. “And against the Krake?”

  “A creature like that operates on pure instinct. We need a more physical method of hampering it. Perhaps your band can come up with ideas.”

  “More time wasted,” he grumbled.

  “Better that than facing the monster unprepared.”

  Stryke had to agree.

  Ordering most of the band to keep at work provisioning the ship, he hastily got together a conclave of his officers. Naturally that included Dallog, despite Haskeer’s silent though palpable disapproval. He wasn’t keen on Pepperdyne and Dynahla being present either, but knowing Stryke wouldn’t tolerate any more arguments, he curbed his tongue.

  “We’re ready to leave,” Stryke told them. “Only we’ve got a problem. The Krake’s still out there.”

  “What makes you think that?” Jup asked.

  “Dynahla here can sense it.”

  “Really?” Coilla said. “You can do that?”

  “Yes,” Dynahla confirmed.

  “So how do we get clear of the Krake?” Stryke wanted to know. “Any ideas?”

  “We don’t,” Haskeer offered. “We kill the fucking thing.”

  “Any useful ideas?” Stryke restated, ignoring the sergeant’s offended glare.

  “Can’t we outrun it?” Dallog suggested, further stoking Haskeer’s annoyance.

  Pepperdyne said, “Unlikely. Not from a standing start, even with a strong wind. Which we don’t have off these shores. Though with a good enough diversion I reckon we’d stand a chance of getting away.”

  “Such as?” Stryke prompted.

  “Remember what the resistance used against the Peczan forces? Acurialian fire they called it, didn’t they? Perhaps we could use that.”

  “How?”

  “Same way the resistance did; as a barrage, and maybe we could tip spears with it, and arrows.”

  “That ain’t gonna kill the brute,” Haskeer objected.

  “But it might slow it down.”

  “Do we know how to make the stuff?” Stryke said.

  Pepperdyne nodded. “It’s similar to a weapon we had back on Trougath. Mostly it’s oil. The other part’s something mixed in to make the burning oil stick to its target. We used various things: tree sap, soap shavings, honey, certain gummy berries. Though I guess we’d need quite a quantity for something the size of the Krake.”

  “There are plenty of barrels of lantern oil on the ship,” Jup recalled, “along with pots and other containers to hold it.”

  “And lots more scattered around the settlement back there,” Coilla said, jabbing a thumb at the jungle.

  “All right,” Stryke decided, “we’ll try it. Let’s get that oil ashore.”

  “Why bother hauling it over here? We could do the making on the ship.”

  “And what happens if the Krake pops up before we’re finished? No, Coilla, I want us fully armed and ready when we set sail. So one party to bring the oil. Another to search out the tacky stuff to go with it. You seem to know about that, Pepperdyne, so go with ’em. A third party scours the settlement for pots and the like. The rest get making more arrows and spears. We need lots. And cloth or something, to wrap them with. Now move yourselves.”

  Jup and Haskeer gathered the rest of the band and got them into groups. Everybody had a task, including Standeven and Dynahla. The human scavenged for rags; the fetch helped mix the brew.

  Barrels were used to blend the oil and a variety of viscous fluids, some more successfully than others. Once they got the mixture right it was ladled into as many suitable vessels as they could find; pots, bottles, flasks, pitchers and jugs. Anything that would shatter on impact. Oil-soaked cloths, jammed into the containers’ mouths, served as fuses.

  Arrows and spears were made in prodigious numbers. This should have been straightforward, but proved tricky because the wood yielded by the jungle was of variable quality. Once hewed, their sharpened tips were hardened over flame. Nor were the band’s usual weapons ignored. Swords, hatchets and throwing axes were whetted, and bow strings tightened.

  All that remained was to test the Acurialian fire. Selecting a charged pot at random, Stryke positioned himself about fifty paces from one of the large, half buried rocks that dotted the beach. Fuse lit, he lobbed the bombard. It struck the rock near its crown and instantly exploded. The sticky, blazing oil covered a good two-thirds of the rock’s surface, its intense orange flame billowing black smoke. It carried on burning a lot longer than they expected.

  “They’ll do,” Stryke announced. He turned to Pepperdyne. “Is the weather right?”

  “Tide’s up and there should be wind enough. But if we don’t go right now it’ll have to be tomorrow. I wouldn’t relish steering through those straits in the dark.”

  Stryke bellowed the order and embarkation got under way.

  Once everybody was on board he had the containers lined-up ready on deck. Braziers were stoked, for igniting the fuses. Archers and spear-carriers lined the rails. Jad was dispatched to the crow’s nest, and other grunts swarmed on the rigging. The sails dropped and the goblin ship’s peculiarly embellished anchor was raised.

  Pepperdyne had taken the wheel. Coilla was at his side, clutching a bow. Stryke roamed the decks, scolding, encouraging, swearing. Dynahla stood alone at the prow, crimson hair flowing in the clement breeze.

  They set off.

  The band fell into a tense silence as the craft gradually started to move. Any exhaustion they had from working all night fell away as they scanned the waters, alert for the slightest sign of anything amiss.

  At length, and painfully slowly, the ship nosed its way into the open sea.

  “So far, so good,” Pepperdyne half whispered.

  Coilla dragged her gaze from the ocean. “Maybe all that work was for nothing.”

  The sails were swelling. They started to pick up a little speed.

  “At least we’ve got an addition to our armoury,” he said. “This Acurialian fire could be useful if-”

  They saw Dynahla’s head turn their way. The shape-changer was shouting something, but they couldn’t get the sense. A heartbeat later Jad was crying out from the crow’s nest and pointing. It was the prelude to a general uproar from those on deck.

  Ahead of them, and off to starboard, the water was troubled. A leathery dome broke the surface, larger than any they had ever seen on a temple or a tyrant’s folly. It rose inexorably, growing bigger, shedding water and glistening repellently in the light. Several tentacles appeared, thicker than a main-mast and garlanded with seaweed.

  Pepperdyne frantically spun the wheel. Sluggishly, the ship began turning to port.

  Dynahla was heading their way. Thundering up the stairs to the helm, Stryke got there first.

  “Can we lose it?”

  Pepperdyne shook his head. “Don’t know. Maybe if we’d been under way a bit longer…”
r />   The Krake was still rising, water cascading from its coarse hide. The ship rocked in the swell.

  Dynahla arrived.

  Before the fetch could speak, Stryke barked, “What was it you said about clouding that thing’s mind?”

  “How do you think we got this far? I’ve bought us a little time. Use it!”

  Pepperdyne applied all his skill to manoeuvring the craft. The Krake was still ahead and a lot nearer. It wasn’t in their path, but close to it. As the ship swerved to its new course, away from the creature, the Krake surged forward, as though to cut them off. It was hard to tell whose speed was the greater.

  They avoided a collision, but found themselves uncomfortably close to the beast. They were still veering. It continued to advance. The gap was closing fast, and the Krake’s tentacles stretched their way.

  “We’ve no choice now,” Coilla said, glancing at Stryke.

  “So we take the bastard.”

  Even though he was coming to know the orcs better than most other humans had, Pepperdyne was taken aback at the wild, almost crazed smiles Coilla and Stryke exchanged. The orcs’ hunger for a fight, whatever the odds, was as deeply ingrained in them as cruelty was in his own race.

  “Try to keep us clear of it!” Stryke bellowed.

  Pepperdyne nodded and bore down on the wheel. Coilla nocked a cloth-headed arrow. Dynahla clutched the rail and stared intently at the looming monster.

  Stryke made for the stairs and the deck below. The Krake was a writhing mountain now, blocking out the light. The air had a fishy stink to it.

  “Steady!” Stryke yelled at the band. “ On my order!”

  Spears and arrows were poised over the braziers. Torches were held ready for the bombards to be lit.

  A tentacle brushed the side of the ship. To the Krake, it was no more than a tap, like a hatchling’s gentle nudging of a toy boat. It felt like a small earthquake to the Wolverines. The ship listed violently. Several band members lost their balance and fell. Unsecured objects slid across the deck, and the port side took a drenching.

  “Now!” Stryke bellowed.

  The archers were first. A swarm of burning arrows streaked towards the groping tentacles. All struck. The range was close enough that many penetrated, sizzling as they delivered their blazing cargo. Those that didn’t pierce still left a stamp of fire on the creature’s moist flesh. The nearest tentacle, peppered with glowing, fizzling bolts, dropped back underwater. Another immediately replaced it, and a second cloud of radiant arrows soared its way.