Inferno

15

Not every landmass in the world of islands was populated. But one such, nondescript like so many others, was hosting surreptitious visitors.

Jennesta didn’t want for comforts, whatever her followers had to cope with. While they bivouacked as best they could, her tented quarters offered a haven, and even a measure of luxury. But it was the privacy that she valued most when undertaking certain magical practices, as now.

She stood by a small table. On it sat a representation of the Krake; a miniature, crudely fashioned model. It was on fire. Flames played across its entire surface, but they would never harm the Receptive Matter Jennesta had used to fashion the creature’s likeness.

For a moment she was spellbound, literally. She willed the enchantment to unravel, until the link between her mock-up and the real beast was broken, and her control gone. She had been gazing at the flames. With a slight movement of her hand she extinguished them.

She didn’t see the encounter between the Wolverines and the sea creature as a defeat. She had harassed the orcs, as she had with the fauns, which caused them trouble and delay. It was an agreeable pastime. A satisfaction.

The Receptive Matter cooled instantly. If it had ever been hot. She picked it up, squeezed it in her palm and returned it to its usual shapeless, colourless state. It was displeasing to her touch, but had a sweet odour that was almost heady. She returned it to her precious stockpile, in its plain silver casket, then put the casket out of sight.

The effort of maintaining the spell had tired her. There would have to be sustenance soon. Preferably fresh, warm and still beating. But that would have to wait.

She wasn’t alone, although she could have been for all the awareness her captive had. Thirzarr was seated at the far end of the quarters. She was stiffly motionless, her gaze vacant.

Jennesta moved to the tent’s entrance, stopped just short of it and clapped twice, sharply. Shortly after, there was a scrabbling at the canvas flaps. A pair of her undead menials came through awkwardly, and awaited her pleasure, their expressions as vacuous as Thirzarr’s.

“Take her back to the others in their cage,?? Jennesta ordered, pointing at the orc.

One of the zombies obeyed, and began to shuffle in Thirzarr’s direction. The other was Hacher, who remained immobile. Sluggishly, he turned his head towards Jennesta and fixed her with a dull but even stare. She repeated the order, more firmly, but still Hacher hesitated.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jennesta snapped. “Do as you’re told!”

He slowly moved. Not towards Thirzarr, but Jennesta. She flicked a jolt of energy at him, as a herdsman might chastise livestock with a whip. The impact half spun Hacher, and he would have fallen if some buried instinct hadn’t surfaced and made him reach out to the table for support. His hand came down hard on its edge, causing one of his desiccated fingers to snap off. It dropped to the heavily carpeted floor.

Jennesta laughed scornfully. “Not much of an iron hand now, are you, General?” Her expression returned to harsh and she added coldly, “Obey my order.”

Hacher had been staring dumbly at his disfigurement. He looked up when she spoke, and after a moment’s wavering began to shamble in Thirzarr’s direction.

Jennesta told Thirzarr to rise. In her almost catatonic state she meekly complied, and flanked by Hacher and the other undead was escorted from the tent, the trio moving at a languid pace.

Almost immediately a human officer entered, bowed his head and begged Jennesta’s pardon for intruding.

“What is it?”

“Your… guest has arrived, my lady. Along with something of a retinue.”

“Send him in. Alone.”

“Ma’am.”

“And take that with you.” She indicated Hacher’s severed finger.

Doing his best to hide his distaste, the officer gingerly picked it up with his thumb and forefinger. He left holding it out in front of him, as though he were a nervous scullery maid ordered to dispose of a drowned rat found in a pot of soup.

Jennesta didn’t have long to wait for her next visitor. He strode in, his black bow slung over one bony shoulder, a quiver of arrows at his hip.

“I am Gleaton-Rouk,” the goblin declared sibilantly.

“Welcome,” Jennesta replied, a syrupy, artificial sincerity in her tone. “I’m obliged to you for accepting my invitation.”

“It wasn’t your words that brought me.”

“You found the gems and coin I sent spoke more eloquently. I understand. But that was a trifling gift compared to what you could gain.”

Avarice flashed in his dark eyes, along with suspicion. “What do you want of me?”

“Two things. First, I need an additional ship.”

“Why?”

Jennesta fought down the impulse to tell this creature to mind his business. “I’m recruiting a certain number of… helpers on my travels. I need another ship to transport them, and I understand you’re best placed to supply one.”

“It could be possible. If you make it worth my while.”

“I’ve no shortage of funds.”

“I will see what I can do. You said there were two things.”

“I take it that’s your famous bow,” she said, eyeing it and seeming to ignore his question. “It’s a handsome weapon.”

“It’s not for sale,” Gleaton-Rouk hissed.

She laughed. “I didn’t intend making an offer.”

“Nor can it be taken from me,” he added charily.

“Really? Don’t worry; I’ve no need of it.”

“Then why speak of it?”

“Partly out of what you might call a professional interest, as a practitioner of the ancient art myself.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Any power you might command would be no match for Shadow-wing’s.”

“Be that as it may, I didn’t ask you here to debate the efficacy of magic. The bow touches on the second reason I wanted to meet with you.”

“How so?”

“I know you used it recently to kill an orc.”

“What is that to you?”

“I commend you for it. I, too, have a blood feud with the Wolverines, and particularly with its leader. Working together, you and I could bring about a reckoning.”

“I’ve no taste for being recruited.”

“I said working together. What I’m proposing is an alliance.”

“You have a small army, and you claim magical powers. Why do you need me?”

“Because you have something greater than mere magic. You have a passion for vengeance. As do I.”

“Yet you seek an ally.”

“I need one I can trust. I’m surrounded by fools.”

“And what would we achieve?”

“We could pour pressure on the warband, and bring about the death of its damnable captain, Stryke.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I should hope that the sweetness of revenge would be reward enough.” She noted his expression and added, “Though of course I would also show my appreciation in the form of further riches.”

Gleaton-Rouk thought about it, and at length hissed, “I agree. Subject to the details being to my liking.”

“Of course,” Jennesta replied smoothly, reflecting on how best to betray this new partner. She had no doubt he was thinking the same. “And as a token of my good faith I would like to present you with a further pecuniary offering. As a down-payment, let’s call it.” Having looted the treasury before fleeing Acurial, her apparent generosity was of no consequence. Besides, she could always get more, one way or another.

The goblin gave her the tiniest nod by way of acceptance. “And for my part I shall make arrangements concerning the ship you require.”

“How long will that take?”

“It will be settled before the day’s end.”

“Then I suggest you return here to continue our discussion.”

Gleaton-Rouk nodded, and together they left the tent.

There was a lot of activity outside. Her troops were going about their chores, along with a few of the zombies. The latter were watched with suspicion and not a little bewilderment by Gleaton-Rouk’s entourage. They numbered about a dozen, and stood together not far from Jennesta’s tent, clutching their tridents.

As Gleaton-Rouk headed their way, Jennesta stopped him with, “There’s one more small matter to clear up.”

“What might that be?” he said, turning to her.

“When my delegation approached you to arrange this meeting, one of them was killed.”

“A regrettable occurrence. We had no idea who this group of humans were, or whether they were hostile. We thought to defend ourselves.”

“I see.”

“It was no more than you would have done yourself, I expect.”

“Your feud with the Wolverines is over them having killed some of your kin, is that right?”

He was puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken, but replied, “You know it is.”

Jennesta looked at his retinue. “These are your kin?”

“Some are, some aren’t. All are my clan.”

She pointed at a goblin. “Is he kin?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?” She indicated another.

“Him? No, we do not share blood.”

Without a further word, Jennesta raised her open hand, palm up, and placed its heel against her chin. Like a child dispersing dandelion heads, she gently blew. A jet of black vapour streamed from her hand. As it flowed it solidified into something resembling a cluster of catapult shot. Faster than the eye could follow, the cloud of shot flashed towards the goblin she had singled out. It struck with tremendous force, riddling his body with a myriad of tiny crimson explosions. Many passed clean through him. Instantly he was rendered little more than pulp, collapsing in a gory heap.

Such was the precision of Jennesta’s spell that the dead goblin’s companions, although standing with him, were completely untouched, except by their comrade’s blood. For an instant they froze, then they began brandishing their weapons, their faces twisted with outrage. Jennesta’s followers tensed and reached for their own blades.

“You took one of mine, I’ve taken one of yours,” she told Gleaton-Rouk, her voice strident enough to be heard by his retinue.

For the first time since he arrived the goblin leader wore an expression that betrayed his true feelings. It was disbelief and awe. But as the realisation of what he was dealing with dawned on him it gave way to the kind of grudging respect one bully feels for another. The whole thing was fleeting, and he quickly returned to seeming passivity, but Jennesta saw.

“I understand the need for… compensation,” he said, signing his bodyguards to stand down with a flick of his bony hand. They did so uneasily. “Let us regard this as a debt paid.”

“And I’ll levy no interest,” she replied, giving him a smile designed to be charming without quite achieving it.

“Until later then.” He bobbed his head. Glancing at the lightly steaming remains of his dead follower, he added in a softer tone, “You must teach me that sometime.”

“I might just do that,” she said.

They left, and she returned to her quarters.

Killing the goblin had fatigued her further. Not seriously, just enough to be annoying. But there was one more thing to do before she could take nourishment.

She ordered complete privacy, and in the cool of her tent enacted a ritual. One that forged a mental link with another party. Someone not too far away, and approaching.

Dynahla leaned against the rail on a quiet part of the orcs’ ship, head in hands, crimson locks flowing in the breeze.

“Hey.”

There was no response.

“ Hey. Dynahla!”

The shape-changer stirred and slowly turned.

“You all right?” Stryke asked. He was accompanied by Jup.

“Yes. I’m… fine. I didn’t know you were-”

“What were you doing?” Jup said.

“Communing.”

Stryke frowned. “You better explain that.”

“I was in touch with someone. Mentally, that is.”

“Who?”

“Serapheim.”

He was nonplussed. “You can do that?”

“Under certain circumstances. Though it’s not easy.”

“How do you do it?”

“We have a psychic link, you might say. It’s hard to explain.”

“You said Serapheim couldn’t talk to us directly,” Jup recalled. “That’s why you brought his message.”

“He can’t communicate directly with any of you. There has to be the link, and even with it, it’s difficult. But none of that’s important. What he told me is.”

“So spit it out,” Stryke demanded.

“He has an idea where Jennesta is, and it’s not far. We have to change course.”

“An idea?”

“More than that. A… sense.”

He slowly shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“I thought you wanted to find your mate more than anything.”

“I do. But I don’t know if I want a wild-goose chase based on a hunch.”

“Trust me, Stryke, this is more likely to be right than wrong. Besides, what other option do you have?”

“You said that about us going to Serapheim,” Jup reminded him. “And you said we needed him to help fight Jennesta.”

“Ideally, he’d be there. But she’s nearer than he is, and we need to seize this opportunity before she’s on the move again. What do you say, Stryke?”

“I thought we needed Serapheim’s magic to stand a chance against her.”

“We’ll have to make do with mine, and your band’s undoubted martial skills.”

He thought about it. “All right. But this better not be a waste of time. I’ll get Pepperdyne to alter course.”

“I was just on my way up to take a turn at the wheel,” Jup said. “I’ll tell him.”

“All right, go ahead.”

“ What am I telling Pepperdyne? About the new course, I mean.”

Stryke looked to the shape-changer. “Go with him, Dynahla. I’ll brief the band.”

Jup and the shape-changer made their way to the bridge in silence. As usual, Coilla was there alongside Pepperdyne. They were told of the change of direction and why it came about.

“Where exactly are we going?” Pepperdyne asked as he took out the well-thumbed chart.

“We need a southward bearing,” Dynahla explained, tracing a line with his finger. “In this direction.”

“There’s nothing there. Just like the last time we looked at this map, before setting our present course. You have a thing about invisible islands?”

“I don’t think anybody’s ever fully mapped out this world. There’s a lot more to it than this chart shows. Believe me, our objective lies there.”

Pepperdyne shrugged. “If that’s what Stryke wants.” He began spinning the wheel.

“I’m supposed to have a turn at steering, remember,” the dwarf said. He glanced at Coilla. “And yes, I can reach it.”

“I wasn’t going to say a thing!” she protested. “You’re confusing me with Haskeer.”

Jup smiled. “Yeah, I guess he’s the one who’d offer me a box to stand on, the irritating bastard.”

“I don’t think this is a good time for your lesson,” Pepperdyne said, “given the change of course. Sorry.”

“It’s all right. The prospect of a fight appeals to me more than playing sailors, to be honest.”

“I need to leave you,” Dynahla stated, as though their permission was needed. Nobody blinked, so he added, “See you soon.”

They nodded and the shape-changer left.

“What do you think, Jode?” Coilla asked in a low tone. “Is he on the level?”

“Dynahla? I don’t know.”

“This new course seems rum,” Jup said.

“And again we’re heading for somewhere the map says doesn’t exist. Though I can’t see what he’d get out of lying. We’d find out soon enough if there really isn’t anything there.”

“Might do to keep an eye on him though,” Coilla suggested.

“I’m already doing that,” Jup told her.

“Good idea,” Pepperdyne said. “There’s always a chance that-”

Coilla shushed him, finger to lips. She flicked her head to indicate the stairs. Someone with a heavy tread was coming up them.

Haskeer clambered into view. When he saw Jup his features lit up with something it took them a moment to recognise. It was a smile.

“Jup!” he boomed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“If it’s a scrap you’re after,” Jup said, instinctively balling his fists, “forget it. I’m not in the mood.”

“ A scrap? You wound me, old friend. Why would I want to hurt you?”

“Old friend?” Coilla mouthed.

“You couldn’t hurt me if I was a nail and you had a hammer,” Jup assured him. “What’s the game, Haskeer?”

“Is it a game to want the best for a friend?”

“You appear in an unusually good mood,” Pepperdyne commented dryly.

“And why not?” Haskeer boomed. “I’m surrounded by good companions, not least our human comrades.” He lifted a hand. Pepperdyne tensed. But instead of the expected blow he was rocked by a hearty slap to his shoulder that made him stagger.

“I thought you hated humans,” Coilla said.

“How’d you get that idea? Aren’t we all brothers in arms under the skin, ready to lay down our lives for each other?”

“You been drinking sea water?” Jup asked.

“Ever the joker, aren’t you, old pal? My Jup. My little Juppy Wuppy.”

“That does it,” the dwarf decided. “He’s gone insane.”

“If I’m insane,” Haskeer intoned gravely, “it’s with the passion of the fondness I feel for you.” He broke into a broad grin and lurched forward, arms outstretched. “Come on, gimme a hug!”

“Keep him off me!”

Haskeer stopped and began to chuckle.

“Just a minute,” Coilla said. “There’s something fishy about all this.”

Haskeer nodded. “Caught me.”

A change came over his features. They softened, shifted and reformed themselves. An instant later, Dynahla stood before them.

“Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist that.”

As their astonishment wore off, the others laughed.

“That was… impressive,” Pepperdyne admitted.

“You’re telling me,” Coilla agreed. “I could have sworn it was him. Except for the bullshit, that is.”

“How do you do it, Dynahla?” Jup wanted to know.

“How do you do farsight?”

“I was born with it. Like all my race.”

“But it improves with practice?”

“Well, yes.”

“Most beings are born with at least the potential for magic. True, it’s stronger in some races than others. It’s much more latent in orcs, for example, but it’s there. The trick is to develop it.”

“That takes willpower, right?”

“The dominance of the will is the least important factor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Imagination is much more important.”

“Is it?”

“What’s your favourite food, Jup?”

“Huh?”

“Let’s say… venison. You’re fond of it?”

“Yeah. Who isn’t?”

“Do you feel hungry?”

“Now that you mention it-”

“I reckon we all are,” Coilla said. “We’ve had no chance to eat.”

Dynahla smiled. “Good. So picture a haunch of venison, turning on a spit, running with juices. See it in your mind. Smell that delicious aroma.”

“You’re making my mouth water,” Jup confessed.

“Sink your teeth into the succulent flesh. Think of how good it tastes.”

“Hmmm.”

“Now let’s suppose that you can’t allow yourself to eat the venison. It’s very important that you don’t. Let’s say your life depends on not eating it. You must use your will to resist wanting to eat that meat.”

“Easier said than done when I’m this hungry.”

“Use the power of your will. Really concentrate. Refuse it. Close your eyes if it helps.”

He did, and they all watched in silence for a moment.

“How did you do?” Dynahla asked.

“Well…”

“Not too good?”

“You put a pretty tempting image into my head. It’s hard not to want it.”

“All right. Picture that hunk of meat again.”

Once more, Jup closed his eyes.

“Look at how delicious it is,” Dynahla went on. “It’s golden brown. Succulent. Smell that delicious tang of cooking meat. But hang on! What’s this? Look closely. The venison’s lying in a latrine. It’s covered in filth, and swarming with maggots and beetles.”

“Yuck!” Jup made a face. Coilla and Pepperdyne didn’t look too cheerful either.

“How easy did you find it to resist that time?” Dynahla said.

“No problem.” He looked a little queasy. “I don’t feel quite so hungry now. But what does it prove?”

“That sorcery is only partially about exercising the will. Much more important is imagining the improbable with enough intensity that you make it real. The imagination is stronger than the will. When you understand that, you’re some way towards understanding magic.”

Jup found that intriguing, and began questioning Dynahla about it. Engrossed, the dwarf and the fetch waved vaguely at Coilla and Pepperdyne as they left the bridge together.

“Quite a character,” Pepperdyne said.

“Impressive though,” Coilla replied. “It was the dead spit of Haskeer.” She grinned. “And you’ve got to admit it was funny.”

“Yes. But one thing worries me, just a bit.”

“What’s that?”

“Dynahla can impersonate any of us, perfectly. How comfortable are you about having someone like that in the band?”