Inferno

16

The veil between the worlds is thin as gauze, unbridgeable as an ocean. It separates an incalculable number of realities, an infinite array of glittering pinpoints hanging in the velvet firmament. Seen closer, if that were possible, they reveal themselves as globes. Some are barren rocks, or beset with volcanic activity, or icebound. A few are fertile.

Two species lived beneath the blue skies and pure white clouds of one such world. The race of humans had carved out a far-flung domain, the Peczan empire, now suffering its first setback despite its great military strength and possession of magic. The newly liberated race of orcs, cause of that humiliation, occupied a more remote, much smaller segment of the planet. Bolstered by their reawakened martial spirit, they were resolved never to fall under human dominance again.

The orcs’ land was Acurial. Taress, its largest city by far and the capital, had borne the brunt of the recent occupation. Free at last, the populace determined to erase all trace of Peczan’s regime. Buildings that had been commandeered were returned to their original purpose. Structures built by the empire were being torn down, with detention camps, torture facilities and execution blocks the objects of particular fury. Guard stations, billets, signposts and anything else pertaining to the overthrown were demolished and consigned to bonfires, along with portraits of Peczan bureaucrats and military chiefs. Marble busts were pounded to smithereens.

At the same time, Taress was rebuilding itself. Invasion and rebellion had devastated many parts of the city, and legions toiled on reconstruction.

The main square had been one of the first areas to be reclaimed. Work there took a commemorative form. Statues had been erected. The tallest, although in many ways the simplest, honoured the late Principal Sylandya. Acurial’s ruler before Peczan’s occupation, and leader of the resistance, her martyrdom was the spark that gave fire to the revolution. She was shown seated, but didn’t give the impression of being enthroned, as would be expected of a head of state. Her attire and demeanour were humble, her expression mild. The sculptor had made no effort to flatter her memory by disguising her advancing years, as might have been the case with a more vain subject. Her frame was slight, even frail. Yet she exuded an unmistakable authority.

Two orcs stood at the monument’s base, looking up at the figure. They were twins, male and female, and less than thirty summers old.

“What would she have thought of this?” Chillder wondered.

“Not much, I reckon,” her brother replied. “Our mother had little time for the conceits of power. It was one of her many virtues.”

“So was dealing with the mountain of parchmentwork that plagues us now.”

“Not as exciting as fighting as rebels, is it?”

“No, Brelan, it’s not.”

“But it’s what running a state’s all about. It has to be done.”

“You’re more like mother than I am in that way. I think you like shuffling paper.”

He smiled. “Like I said; it has to be done. Taking care of the formalities is a price we pay for getting our freedom back.”

“I wish she was here to guide us through it,” Chillder said, nodding at the statue.

“Me too.”

“And if it hadn’t been for that bitch Jennesta,” she added bitterly, “she would be.”

“I know. But our mother’s death wasn’t in vain. If she hadn’t perished as she did the revolution might never have happened.”

“I’m not sure about that. Either way, Jennesta went unpunished, and that sticks in my craw.”

He gave her a moment, then, “Come on,” he urged gently, “we ought to be moving.”

They headed across the square.

“Of course, she might have been,” Brelan said.

“Who might have been what?”

“Jennesta. Punished. For all we know, the warband reckoned with her.”

“Or they might have suffered the same fate as our mother. The frustrating thing is we’ll probably never know.”

They arrived at the shadow of another monument, and slowed to a halt despite the pressing nature of their business. It was larger than Sylandya’s, though squat rather than tall, and housed on a pedestal no more than waist height from the ground. Five life-sized figures were depicted; four orcs, one of them female, and a dwarf. They were in heroic poses, weapons drawn. To the rear of the group was a low stone wall that acted as a backdrop. This bore a carving along its entire length, showing a further twenty or more of the principals’ comrades. Controversially for many in Taress, it also showed a human.

The front of the monument was strewn with necklaces of fangs, pots of wine, embellished weapons, sketches of the heroes, not all of them crudely executed, and other offerings. In a not very orc-like gesture, there were even some bunches of flowers. The monument’s base carried a plain inscription reading “ The Wolverines.”

“And what do you suppose they would think about this?” Brelan asked, echoing his sister’s earlier question.

“Haskeer would have liked it. Not sure the others would care much.” She turned to him. “Where could they have gone, Brelan? Do you think they’re still alive?”

“Well, you can bet they didn’t return to their so-called northern lands. I never did buy that. As to whether they’re still alive…” He shrugged. “Who knows? I’m just grateful they came here when they did.”

“Except for the human. The slimy one.”

“Standeven.”

She nodded. “Orc killer.”

“Maybe.”

“How can you doubt it?”

“You’re probably right. But I can’t help thinking even he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to murder one of us in our own land.”

“The pity is we let him get away with it.”

“There was no proof.”

“How much did you need?”

“That’s all water under the bridge, Chillder, and something else we can’t do anything about. Now can we get a move on? We’ve a problem to deal with, remember.”

They resumed their journey.

The streets leading off the square were bustling. Extensive rebuilding work was going on and laden carts jammed the thoroughfares. Passers-by stared as Brelan and Chillder passed, and some waved. They were public figures now.

As they walked, Chillder said, “I sometimes wonder whether we should be doing all this work.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Peczan’s pride took a battering. How do we know they won’t invade again, if only to save face?”

“We’ve got as many hands putting up defences as rebuilding. More. If the humans come back we’ll know it, and this time they’d face a population ready to fight.”

“Would they? Grilan-Zeat’s gone now. What worries me is that our warlike spirit’s going to fade along with the comet’s memory.”

“I don’t think so. Our folk have had a taste of the freedom that fighting brought them. They won’t easily forget that.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Trust me. We’ve more important things to worry about, not least trying to replenish our plundered treasury, thanks to Jennesta.”

“And now this… strangeness. What the hell’s happening, Brelan?”

“Damned if I know. Maybe we’ll learn something from this new event.”

They pushed on, moving away from the centre and entering less crowded streets. The further they went the more they saw of the defensive measures Brelan referred to. In piazzas, or open spaces where buildings had burnt down during the uprising, citizens were being drilled. Mobile road blocks, consisting of hay wagons loaded with rocks, stood at the side of major avenues. Rooftops were utilised as lookout points, and in some places purpose-built watchtowers were under construction. The threat of re-invasion was being taken seriously.

At last the twins reached a district previously given over to cattle yards and storehouses. Now a contingent of Acurial’s newly-created regular militia were stationed there. In addition to an armed populace, a standing army was thought desirable, and former resistance fighters made up its nucleus. It was early days for the force; their uniforms were makeshift and their weapons ill-assorted. Their quarters were at a rudimentary stage too, and in common with the rest of Taress the area was a building site.

Waved through the compound’s gates by saluting guards, Chillder and Brelan made their way to a recently erected barracks block. They were met outside by an officer, a comrade from the resistance days, who unlocked the barracks’ door and ushered them in.

“Not that there’s much to see,” he said.

There were only minor signs of disorder in the deserted interior. A couple of the cots were askew, a chair was upended and a few items of kit were scattered across the floor.

“This has been left exactly as it was?” Brelan asked.

The officer nodded. “Just as you see it.”

“How many?”

“Eleven.”

“When?”

“Some time during the night. We only knew when they didn’t show up at reveille.”

“You’ve searched the camp?”

“Of course.”

“Were any of them… dissatisfied in any way?” Chillder said.

“These weren’t troublemakers. They were as solid and as loyal as any we’ve got.”

“Their arms went too?” She pointed at an empty weapons rack.

“Yes.”

“You’ve told no one about this?” Brelan said.

“No,” the officer replied.

“Good. Keep it that way. You can leave us now. And thanks.”

When the officer had gone, Chillder turned to her brother. “How many times does this make?”

“Seven, I think. Possibly eight. That’s just from Taress, mind. There are a few unconfirmed reports from outside the city. With this new lot I reckon we’re talking upwards of seventy militia having gone missing, that we’re aware of.”

“So what are we dealing with? Desertion? Hostage taking?”

“As far as we know there’s no reason for any of them to have deserted. And I can’t see abducting armed bands of warriors being that easy a task, particularly from inside a compound like this.”

“Did all the others go in similar ways?”

“Some did. From their quarters, just like whatever happened here. One group went out on a patrol and never came back. There were a couple of cases of disappearances on guard duty, and one where four, I think it was, vanished from a weapons dump. There’s no real pattern. Except nobody saw anything.”

“Could Peczan be behind this? Might they have got agents in and-”

“Humans trying to hide among a nation of orcs? I don’t think so, Chillder.”

“Or could it be our own kind? Traitors doing the humans’ bidding.”

“It’d take a lot of them, not to mention a pretty big conspiracy. I don’t want to think there could be that many traitors. I don’t believe there are. There might be one or two turncoats, for some twisted reason, but not on this scale.”

“There’s another possibility. Have you noticed the smell in here?”

A faint sulphurous aroma hung in the air, mingled with the scent of the barracks’ new wood.

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on, Brelan; you know what it is.”

“Magic?”

“ Yes. Couldn’t that be it?”

“I can’t see how. Humans have mastery of magic, not orcs, and like I said; where would humans hide in Acurial?”

“Jennesta’s not human. This could be her doing.”

“The same thing applies. I mean, she’d stick out, wouldn’t she? Anyway, I don’t believe she’s still hanging around. The mob would tear her to pieces, never mind her sorcery. That’s not a risk she’d take.”

“ What then? Who’s doing this?”

“Whoever or whatever’s responsible, we’re going to have to brace ourselves for more of the same.”

“You reckon?”

“We’ve no reason to think it might stop. Whatever it is.”

“How do we protect ourselves?”

“Short of gathering the entire army together and watching each other’s backs, I’ve no idea. And who can say if even that would work?”

“There must be something we can do, Brelan.”

“We don’t know what we’re trying to protect ourselves against. All we do know-”

“Is that our comrades have disappeared as surely as the Wolverines,” she finished for him.

He nodded, looking grim.