Inferno

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…”

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.

The main bulk of the Krake, its ravenous eyes and gaping maw, could be seen clearly now beyond a growing forest of waving limbs. Arrows like darting fireflies sprayed them. Once the tentacles were running with flame they fell back, but the Krake was only slowed, not deterred.

Stryke was fearful that if it got into range the creature would dispatch tentacles under the ship to upend or crush it. And it was almost near enough to do that. His dilemma was that the Krake was still too far away for the bombards or spears to reach it. The point at which it would be near enough, yet not threaten the ship, was a fine judgement. All Stryke could do was urge on the archers and bide his time.

On the bridge, Pepperdyne and Coilla watched as the fiery rainbow of arrows arced towards the encroaching beast.

“The arrows can’t last much longer, surely?” Pepperdyne said, spinning the wheel.

Coilla had an arrow nocked herself. She applied flame, aimed and sent it winging to the Krake. “No,” she replied, plucking another shaft from her quiver. “I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long, the rate we’re using them.”

He looked to the mass of living flesh bearing down on them, then back at her. “I don’t know that we can get away from this thing.”

“If anybody can do it, you can.”

“I’m flattered, but your faith might be misplaced. The Krake’s moving nearly as fast as we are, despite what we’re throwing at it.”

“We haven’t thrown everything yet.”

He gave the wheel another hard tug. “Maybe we’d better start.”

Coilla unleashed her arrow.

A wave of displaced water swept in, rocking the ship again, and more violently than before. The orcs in the rigging had their work cut out hanging on.

Stryke judged the time right to strengthen the assault; the Krake seemed near enough. He just hoped his estimate of the gap separating them was accurate.

At his command, the band began lighting bombards’ fuses. A moment later they were flinging them hard, adding their power to the volley of arrows. The distance was a challenge, and took all the throwers’ strength, but most of the missiles found their target. On contact with the Krake they exploded with much greater force than the arrows. Some burst reddish when they struck, others yellow-blue or orange, depending on the glutinous liquid mixed with the oil.

“Best you can do?” Haskeer taunted.

Jup glared at him. “I might be throwing less than you, but at least I’m hitting the bastard.”

“Yeah? Beat this.” He lit a fuse, drew back his arm and took aim. With a grunt he lobbed the flame-tipped pot.

They watched it streak against the darkening sky. It briefly disappeared from sight in the confusion of explosions, flaming arrows, smoke and thrashing limbs. It showed itself again when a reddish-orange bloom erupted on the side of the creature’s gigantic head. Tendrils of fire rippled out from the blast, marbling the Krake’s leathery hide.

Haskeer shot the dwarf a superior smirk.

“Stand back,” Jup said, hefting a bomb.

He launched it like a discus, spinning round for momentum and letting go with a roar. The projectile soared high and fast. It, too, impacted on the monster’s glistening dome; a blood-red blossom, sending out rivulets of lava.

“Right,” Haskeer grated. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for a bomb.

Another wave hit the ship, sending a fierce tremor through it. The roll that followed was the most acute yet. Much of the clutter that was unsecured had already shifted to the port side. This bigger blow shifted some of the heavier objects, including the brazier Jup and Haskeer were standing beside. It toppled, spilling its red hot coals. As the deck was wet that wouldn’t have mattered. Except that the jolt caused Haskeer to drop the bomb he was about to light. The pot shattered and its content instantly burst into flames. Leaping back, they were lucky to avoid being splashed by liquid as tenacious as a limpet and as scathing as acid. But they were confronted by a spreading wall of fire. They set about beating at it, Haskeer using his jerkin, Jup a piece of sacking.

Several of the grunts had been given the additional task of firewatcher. For Standeven it was his only job, and one it was thought even he couldn’t make a mess of. As the nearest firewatcher he had to respond, and arrived clutching two buckets, one slopping water, the other filled with sand.

He took one look at the fire and froze.

Jup and Haskeer were on the other side of it, feeling the heat and unable to get to him. They had to content themselves with shouting curses. Standeven was oblivious.

Then Dallog was there with Wheam and Pirrak, and Spurral bringing up the rear. The buckets were snatched from Standeven and he was pushed aside, roughly enough that he went down and sprawled on the deck. They attacked the flames, thrashing it with clothing and sacks. Water was no good; pails of sand had to be chained over, until at last they were able to trample what remained of the fire and kill it.

Standeven was still on the deck, propped on his elbow, staring dazedly at the scene.

Haskeer dashed to him, grabbed him by the scruff and drew back his fist. “You bloody useless little-”

Stryke arrived, panting. “ Leave it.”

“This stupid bastard would’ve let us burn,” Haskeer protested.

“We’ve more important things to worry about. Get to your station.”

“But-”

“Do it!”

Haskeer gave Standeven a murderous glare, then let him go. The cowering, ashen-faced human slumped. Haskeer returned to the fight.

Casting Standeven a disgusted look of his own, Stryke ordered everyone back to their duties. He also had the spears brought into play.

The bombardment of the Krake carried on. What was left of the band’s hoard of arrows continued soaring its way. The bombs exploded incessantly, joined by a cloud of blazing spears.

The creature was on fire. Not in patches, as before, but totally. A fetid smell of charred flesh hung in the air. Punctured by numerous spears and arrows, the Krake slowed its advance, and stopped.

To cheers from the band it began to sink below the waves. When it was completely submerged the fire could still be seen, permeating the water with a ghostly glow.

Stryke raced up to the bridge. Dynahla was still there, surveying the scene.

“Is it finished?” Coilla asked.

“Don’t know,” Stryke replied, glancing at the turbulent water where the Krake had gone down. “But we’re not sticking around to find out.” He turned to Pepperdyne. “It’s up to you now, human. Get us out of here.”

Pepperdyne nodded and spun the wheel.

They headed west.