Inferno

I?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, Jode; my race lives for combat. It’s what we do. Or hadn’t you noticed? I’d have thought you’d understand, being a fighter yourself.”

“Only out of necessity.”

“And you get no pleasure from winning a fight? No rush of joy when you down an opponent?”

“Well… maybe. A bit. But I don’t relish putting my life on the line every day the way you do.”

“It’s in our nature. We fight, and we fight to kill. If death takes us, that’s the price we pay. Though we do our best to make damn sure it’s who we’re up against that does the paying. We trust to our skill, and to luck and to the Tetrad. If you want an orcs’ creed, that’s as near as I can get to it in words.”

“I’m not arguing about your nature, Coilla. That’s part of what I love about you, and I’d never change it. I only want you to be careful.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

Pepperdyne slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm in a gesture of mock exasperation, and they laughed.

“So what’s the plan?” he said. “How are we going about this raid?”

“Stryke’ll be briefing us shortly, but the idea’s to anchor well offshore and go over in boats. If we get there without being spotted we split into our two groups and the game’s on.”

“And if we are spotted?”

“Then it gets messy.”

It happened as Coilla said. All lights extinguished, the ship was anchored as far from the island as practicable. Dallog’s unit was left in charge. The rest of the band cautiously lowered the boats, and likewise in darkness, made for the shore using muffled oars.

The sea was obligingly calm. It did little to reduce the tension of the crossing. Eyes and ears sharp, silence imposed, they expected the alarm to be raised at any moment. But they reached the shore apparently unseen. There was no sign of Jennesta’s ships; the band assumed they were anchored on another side of the island.

The point at which they met the shore was rocky and too steep for a landing. So they moved along the coastline, keeping close, until they found a sandy beach. Clambering ashore, they headed for the shelter of trees, dragging the boats behind them.

To face Jennesta, they had to find her. Stryke sent out as many scouts as he could spare. Zoda, Prooq, Nep, Breggin and Orbon got the job. Treading lightly, they fanned out into the jungle. The rest of the Wolverines kept low and quiet, and waited.

It wasn’t a long vigil. The island was large, but Jennesta had seen no point in penetrating its interior to set up a temporary camp. Her force was located a short distance inland, and to the west. There were guards, of course; and Breggin and Zoda, who got nearest, thought Jennesta’s army might have grown. Stryke gave no time to wondering how that could be.

He ordered the band into its two groups. The larger, main force, lead by Haskeer, would follow the snatch squad but at a slower pace. At a prearranged spot it would stop and wait for its signal to attack. If the signal didn’t come, no one doubted they would go in anyway.

It was full night when Stryke headed off, with Jup, Coilla, Dynahla, Eldo and Reafdaw in tow, the latter pair carrying bows. Dynahla refused any kind of weapon beyond a small decorative dagger he always wore.

Coilla shot Pepperdyne a quick smile as they left. He returned a wink, braving Haskeer’s scowl.

The snatch squad travelled with measured speed, careful not to give themselves away. Soon they were out of sight of the main force at their rear. Following the scouts’ directions, they forged on through semi-jungle conditions, aggravating but far from impenetrable, until they came to clearer land. Moon and star shine were more plentiful here, and the band moved sure-footedly. At last they arrived at a grassy rise. Going up it on their bellies, they peeked over its crest at the vale below. They saw a cluster of tents, tethered horses, and figures outlined in the glow of cooking fires and armourers’ braziers.

Anticipating a possible refusal, Stryke left Dynahla out of dealing with guards. There seemed to be four, but they weren’t fixed. Their patrolling took them across the orcs’ path to the camp. Stryke thought to let Eldo’s and Reafdaw’s bows take care of them. The guards patrolled in pairs, which made the task easier. The trick was to eliminate one pair without the other knowing. That meant waiting until they were out of each other’s sight.

The four guards, having completed their rounds, were bunched together. Any attempt to drop them by Stryke’s two archers ran the risk of their targets raising the alarm before they could reload and reaim. But finally the guards parted, each pair moving away in opposite directions. Stryke sent Reafdaw and Eldo to the right, to shadow the duo walking that way. Hunters and prey soon disappeared from view. The other pair of guards, heading left, had also gone beyond seeing.

“How good are your archers?” Dynahla asked in a hushed tone.

“Good enough,” Stryke said. “It’s why I picked ’em.”

“What we have to be wary of,” Coilla explained, “is the guards going the other way.” She nodded to the left. “When they come back and don’t see the others-”

“It could be yelling time,” Jup finished for her.

Dynahla nodded.

They kept watching.

The wait was long enough that they were beginning to suspect something had gone wrong. Then Eldo and Reafdaw reappeared, giving the thumbs-up. At exactly the same time the two remaining guards returned. With frantic gestures Stryke and the others indicated this, and urged the grunts on. Doubled over, resembling loping apes, Eldo and Reafdaw started to run towards them.

The pair of guards returning from the left were in plain sight now. They were talking to each other, animatedly, and slowing. The absence of their comrades had been noted.

Eldo and Reafdaw arrived, breathing hard and scrabbling for arrows.

“Move it!” Stryke hissed. “ They know something’s wrong!”

The grunts had to rise above the crest of the hill to discharge their bows. As they did, one of the guards glanced their way and saw them. His mouth formed an “O.” It was too late. The arrows winged towards them, hitting true, and they went down without a sound.

“Come on!” Stryke ordered.

The squad scrambled over the rise and down into the vale.

They checked that the guards were dead, retrieved the arrows and hid the bodies in the undergrowth. That done, they pushed on to Jennesta’s camp, moving stealthily.

Using the shelter of a small copse, they had their first close look. They weren’t in a good place. There was well lit, exposed ground ahead of them, and at least a dozen troopers were working or lounging in it. Further back, in the shadows, Stryke thought he caught a glimpse of what might have been goblins, and perhaps other non-human creatures. The others saw them too.

“Looks like Jennesta has been beefing up her little army,” Coilla said.

Stryke nodded. He turned to Dynahla. “Feel anything? I mean, is she here? And where is she?”

“She’s here all right. Down that way.” He pointed to the westward end of the camp. “In one of those tents.”

“Doesn’t take a wizard to figure that out,” Jup said.

Dynahla ignored him and added, “We might be facing stronger opposition than we bargained for.”

“Maybe a few goblins and whatnot,” Stryke replied dismissively. “We can deal with it.”

“I didn’t mean them. There’s more than one kind of magic here.”

“You sure?”

“Quite. They’re of different orders, mind you, and different disciplines. Two unrelated races, probably. What Jennesta radiates is like a great black, angry ocean. This other source… I can’t identify. But by comparison it’s a lake. Filled with blood.”

“Sounds fun,” Coilla offered, deadpan.

“Facing Jennesta’s dangerous enough. Going against two wielders of magic… well, that’s asking a lot.”

“You wanna leave?” Stryke said. “ ’Cos if you’re not behind this you can get out right now.”

Dynahla’s gaze darted back to the camp, then returned to Stryke. “No. No, I’m in. And I’ll do what I can. I just wanted to warn you about what might be in store.”

“You’ve done that. Now let’s get going.”

He led them in the direction of the cluster of tents. Having to keep hidden, their progress was slower than he would have liked, but eventually they arrived opposite the tents. There was less obvious activity here, save the occasional trooper wandering through. The area was dimly lit, being some distance from the cooking fires, though there were one or two braziers.

“I guess that must be Jennesta’s tent,” Jup said, indicating the biggest and most ornate one.

“Has to be,” Stryke agreed. “Doesn’t mean Thirzarr’s there though. Any idea where she might be, Dynahla?”

The shape-changer shook his head. “It’s much harder locating a being who hasn’t any magical powers. What I can tell you is that Jennesta’s in this part of the camp, but she isn’t in that tent.”

“Can you tell where she is?”

“Not precisely. Except that she’s close.”

Stryke sighed. “All right. Then I guess her tent’s where we start.”

“All we have to do is get to it without being seen,” Coilla said dryly.

“I’d like to do that without having to tackle any of the soldiers and causing an uproar. So we stay put until it gets clearer over there.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“We’ll think again.”

Once more they waited, keeping well out of sight and never taking their eyes off the camp. As the night wore on, comings and goings grew less, apart from occasional guards making their rounds. There were no lights in the large tent they assumed was Jennesta’s. Nor did anybody leave it or go in.

“This is as good as it’s likely to get,” Stryke decided, eyeing the now deserted area between them and their goal. “We’ll get into the tent by the back.”

“What if it’s empty?”

“You’re full of questions tonight, Coilla. If it’s empty, we keep looking. Jup, got the horn handy?”

The dwarf patted the satchel at his waist. “You bet.”

“Be ready to use it when I give the word.” He scanned the camp again. No one was about. “We go in pairs. You and Coilla first. Move. ”

They scurried for the tent, making the most of shadows, and reached it without incident. Then they circled to its rear and were lost to view.

“Reafdaw, Eldo; you’re next,” Stryke said. “I want you taking care of the entrance. Can do?”

“No problem,” Eldo grated.

“Go!”

The grunts also reached the tent without trouble. Their position, at the front, was more risky, but they did a good job of melting into the gloom on either side of the entry.

“Now us?” Dynahla asked.

“Wait!” Stryke hissed, grabbing the shape-changer’s sleeve. He pointed.

A sentry had appeared from the far side of the camp, and he was walking towards Jennesta’s tent.

They held their breath as he approached. His pace was infuriatingly slow, but it looked as though he might bypass the big tent. That proved deceptive. When he was parallel to it, he turned and headed for the entrance. Stryke knew that at any moment Eldo and Reafdaw would be spotted. He tensed, ready to break cover and tackle the man.

“What do we do?” Dynahla whispered.

“Stay put. I’ll deal with it.”

The sentry was almost at Jennesta’s tent. Stryke half rose, hand on his sword hilt.

Eldo stepped into view, hands held up in apparent surrender. Startled, the sentinel drew his sword. But he didn’t raise the alarm. Eldo walked slowly towards him, and he was saying something Stryke and Dynahla couldn’t hear. Talking, holding the guard’s attention, the grunt kept moving, describing a sly circle that had the man turning until his back was to the tent. At which point Eldo stopped.

Reafdaw sneaked out of his hiding place, a knife glinting in his fist. Swiftly, silently, he crept up behind the guard. In one fluid movement he clamped a hand over the man’s mouth as he sunk the blade into the small of his back. The guard slumped to the ground. Eldo and Reafdaw quickly dragged his body away, dumping it amongst dense vegetation at the camp’s edge.

“Right,” Stryke said, satisfying himself that there were no more guards about. “Let’s get over there.”

He and the shape-changer rushed to the tent. Reafdaw and Eldo, returning to their positions beside its entrance, gave them a wave as they passed. Stryke and Dynahla went round to the back, and found Coilla and Jup waiting there.

“What kept you?” Coilla said, mildly irritated.

“We were writing poetry,” Stryke told her. “Now let’s do this.” He drew a knife. “Ready?”

The others nodded, and braced themselves for whatever might be inside.

Stryke jabbed the blade into the fabric and cut a long slash. He prised the two sides apart, making an opening big enough for them to look through. The interior was gloomy; only a faint illumination from the camp fires penetrated the tent cloth. Detecting no sound or movement, he slipped inside. The others followed.

Various items of plush furniture were scattered about, causing some stumbling in the dark, but it looked as though no one was there. Then Stryke spotted something.

At one end of the tent, in almost complete darkness, there was a shape. He padded towards it, and realised it was someone seated. For a moment he couldn’t make out who or what it was. Once his vision adjusted to the murk, he rushed forward.

“Thirzarr? Thirzarr!” He clutched her hand. It felt cold. “ Thirzarr!” He got no response. “It’s so damned dark in here!” he cursed.

“This might help,” Dynahla said.

He cupped his hands, and for the first time Coilla noticed how elegant and almost feminine they were. When he opened them again there was a purple fireball nestling between his palms, about the size of a hen’s egg. It bathed the scene in a soft, eerie glow. It showed them that Thirzarr was sitting rigidly, and her eyes were open, though they were glazed and unfocused.

“Thirzarr!” Stryke mouthed anxiously.

“Jennesta’s got her in a… kind of trance,” the fetch explained.

“Like the last time we saw her,” Coilla recalled.

“Can you bring her out of it, Dynahla?” Stryke asked.

“Possibly. But not here. We need to get her somewhere safe first.”

“What do we do?” Jup said, “Carry her?”

“We might not have to. Tell her to stand, Stryke.”

“Will she?”

“She’s in a highly suggestible state. The spell binding her should be answerable only to Jennesta’s voice. But a familiar voice, one she knows intimately, might be as effective. Try it.”

“Stand up, Thirzarr,” Stryke said.

Nothing happened.

“Maybe we should carry her,” Coilla muttered.

“Try again, Stryke,” Dynahla suggested. “A little more firmly. Order her this time.”

Stryke looked doubtful, but did it. “ Stand up! On your feet, Thirzarr. Now!”

She stood.

“As long as you don’t ask her to do anything complicated,” Dynahla added, “she should do as you say.”

Coilla snickered. “That’ll be a first.” She sobered when she saw Stryke’s face.

He addressed his mate, firmly but not unkindly. “Thirzarr, come with me.” He took a few steps, watching her over his shoulder. She moved too, albeit stiffly, and began to follow him. “It’ll be easier if we go out the front way,” he decided. “Check that it’s clear, Jup.”

The dwarf went to the entrance and gave a low whistle. Reafdaw poked his head in.

“All clear out there?” Jup said.

Reafdaw nodded and pulled aside the flap for them.

Stryke took Thirzarr’s arm and guided her. The others followed. Dynahla came last, closing his fist on the radiant fireball, snuffing it out.

Everything seemed quiet outside. Even the noises from the other end of the camp had died down.

“Now we get Thirzarr away and hidden,” Stryke told them. “Then we call the main force in. Come on.”

He headed for the perimeter as briskly as he could while still holding Thirzarr’s arm.

They were hardly under way when there was movement in the darkness at the camp’s edges. Figures emerged. A large number, toting weapons. They approached from three sides, and Stryke didn’t doubt more were coming in from the rear. The figures brought light with them, thrown out by blazing torches scattered about their ranks. It grew bright enough to reveal Jennesta in the forefront.

She halted ten paces short of Stryke’s party. Her followers took her cue and also held back.

“You’re full of surprises, Stryke,” Jennesta said. “I didn’t think you had the wits to find me. You’re certainly witless in believing you could walk in here without me knowing.”

“You would have known it.”

“Ah. This is a raid, is it? An attack with… six of you. Or are you counting on your mate bringing it up to the dizzy heights of seven?”

“What have you done to Thirzarr?”

“I find it so touching that beasts like you can display actual feelings for each other. Or what passes for them in your part of the food chain.”

“I’m taking her out of here.”

“I don’t think so. Thirzarr? Here. To me.” Jennesta pointed to the ground next to her.

Thirzarr lurched forward. Stryke tried to hold her back, but she shook loose violently. With a quicker pace than she had previously shown, she made for Jennesta.

“Thirzarr!” Stryke yelled. “Don’t! Stay here!”

Oblivious, she carried on to the enemy ranks and arrived at Jennesta’s side, then spun to face Stryke’s squad, her eyes still opaque.

“So nice to have you back, my love,” the sorceress purred.

Thirzarr had been obscuring Jennesta’s view of Dynahla. Now she saw him properly, and something like a flicker of doubt passed over her face.

Staring intently, she said, “The Wolverines become more motley by the day. Do I know you?”

“Do you?” the shape-changer replied levelly.

“I expect an answer, not a riddle.”

“It was an answer. Here’s a question for you. Do you know yourself?”

What might have been a troubled expression briefly visited Jennesta’s features. “Correction, Stryke: you’ve brought five fighters and one deranged human.” She looked to Dynahla. “You are human?”

The shape-changer said nothing.

“No matter.” She turned to Stryke. “Your best option is to surrender, here and now. Any other course won’t go well for you.”

Stryke tore his eyes from Thirzarr. “You think so?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt the rest of your band’s not far behind. But you’ll not prevail.”

He scanned her followers. Though they certainly outnumbered his band, he replied, “You sure about that?”

“That’s one thing I like about you orcs; you’re not shy of a fight. So let’s make it a little more interesting for you, shall we?” She raised an arm above her head, then let it drop, indolently.

More figures came out of the dark. Gleaton-Rouk led his goblin crew, numbering about a dozen. Behind them were the vague outlines of what the orcs still thought of as elder races; an assembly of diverse creatures of the sort they knew, and often fought, back on Maras-Dantia. Their number looked equal to that of the band.

Gleaton-Rouk carried his bow, Shadow-wing, with an arrow ready nocked. “I’m gratified to meet you again, Captain Stryke,” he hissed.

“You can go and fuck yourself.”

Jennesta laughed. “That’s it, you see? Always ready for a brawl. Very… orcish.” Her tone hardened. “But this isn’t a time to fight. Your only option is to surrender.”

“What I told him,” Stryke said, nodding at the goblin.

“You can be tiresomely stubborn.”

“We going to talk or fight?” From the corner of his eye he noticed Jup slyly edging a hand towards his satchel.

“You seem absurdly confident, given the odds.”

“We judge our enemies by their quality, not their number.”

“In that case,” she replied, smiling, “let me provide you with opponents worthy of your arrogance.” Again, she raised her arm.

The murk disgorged another group of creatures. Copiously armed, and warband-sized in number, they wore the same dead look in their eyes that Thirzarr had. They were muscular, flinty-faced and savage in appearance.

They were orcs.