Inferno

18

The Wolverines’ main force, lead by Haskeer, were cooling their heels at the designated stop point. Too far away from Jennesta’s camp to see it, they were near enough to hear the signal.

The band passed time quietly checking or sharpening their weapons. Some took the chance to gnaw at the hard rations they’d missed out on earlier, and water pouches were passed round. A few stretched out on the sward, helmets pulled down to cover their eyes, and might even have been snoozing.

Unconsciously, Pepperdyne and Spurral conceded their status as outsiders and drifted together. They had marched side by side, and now they perched on a boulder a little apart from the others. Nearby, Haskeer was balling out Wheam for some minor infraction, but the necessity of keeping his voice down meant he got no pleasure out of it.

“You look grim, Jode,” Spurral observed.

“You don’t seem too joyful yourself.”

“Well, we’ve both got somebody to worry about, haven’t we?”

“True. Though maybe we shouldn’t.”

“What’d you mean? Oh, yeah. Jup and Coilla aren’t exactly novices when it comes to a fight, are they?”

“Exactly. Least, that’s what I’m telling myself.”

“Me too. But it’s Jennesta they’re up against, not some common foe.”

“We’ll all be going against her soon enough.”

“At least we’ve got Dynahla. He could help in that respect.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re doubtful?”

“We know he’s got magical powers, but are they a match for hers? In fact, we don’t really know anything about him beyond what he’s told us. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“The way I look at it, if Stryke trusts him-”

“Yeah, that’s what Coilla says. I hope you’re both right.”

Done with harassing Wheam, Haskeer wandered in their direction. He looked grim, too. Though in his case it was more or less normal.

“We were just talking about Dynahla,” Spurral told him. “What do you think about him?”

“He’s not one of the band. I don’t like outsiders.”

“That’s us told.”

Haskeer cast a contemptuous eye Wheam’s way. “At least you two can fight.”

“Rare praise indeed,” Pepperdyne said, “coming from you.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t wooing you, so don’t let it go to your head.”

“I think you’re being unfair on Wheam,” Spurral declared. “He’s not doing too badly.”

“How long do we have to live before he does well? If I had my way-”

A horn blast cut through the night air.

“Here we go,” Pepperdyne said.

The band came to life. Scrambling to their feet, they snatched up their weapons and shields.

“Move it, you bastards!” Haskeer bellowed.

The horn sounded again, its note longer and shriller than before.

They began running towards the camp.

Jup was lucky to get off a couple of blasts of the horn. He was too occupied to manage more.

Paradoxically, a small group confronted by a much larger one isn’t necessarily at an immediate disadvantage because, by necessity, the number of combatants who can engage at one time is limited. Not that that meant Stryke’s party was in any less peril.

Jennesta must have known Jup’s signal would summon the rest of the Wolverines, but seemed confident in her greater force. With a snap of her fingers she had sent a faction of her human troops forward, so that Stryke and his companions were faced by at least two opponents each. She herself held back, content to let her servants undertake the initial assault. Gleaton-Rouk was also still, a bow being a less than ideal weapon for close combat. In any event Shadow-wing’s enchanted arrows hadn’t been anointed with the blood of a foe.

Jup discarded the horn and brought up his staff, whirling it with enough speed and skill to befuddle an advancing trooper. Quick as thought he brought it down hard on the man’s head, cracking his skull. A second opponent instantly took over. Wary of the same fate, he kept his distance, swiping and jabbing at the dwarf whenever he could get near enough. They began to circle each other, looking for an advantage.

Silently thanking the gods that she always retrieved her throwing knives whenever possible, Coilla tried keeping her adversaries at bay with them. She struck true with her first throw, piercing a man’s neck, but her second went wide as her target dodged. Quickly grabbing another blade she set about making a better job of it. In the end, his evasion wasn’t up to her skill and the knife found his eye.

Eldo and Reafdaw fought in typical orc fashion by engaging in a slogging match. They battered at their opponents’ shields, steel ringing on steel, and drank up the returning blows. Initially, brute force quickly won out over finesse. One of the humans, his guard breached, went down with a gaping wound to his chest.

Stryke faced the most opposition, with three or four of the sorceress’ minions homing in on him. They were variously armed, but the most dangerous wielded a barbed pike, giving him more reach than Stryke’s sword. Feigning a move towards one of the other attackers, Stryke spun at the last moment and with a vicious swipe parted the pike-man’s hand from his wrist. Then he laid into the others.

His real fear was that Thirzarr would be sent against him again. But Jennesta hadn’t committed her to the fight. At least, not yet.

As her underlings went down, dead or wounded, Jennesta ordered replacements in, keeping up the pressure. Not the zombie orcs, however, who stood and watched with vacant, implacable expressions. Next to fending off Thirzarr, Stryke’s biggest concern was facing them. He didn’t know how the Wolverines would deal with having to square up to fellow orcs. He didn’t know how he would handle it himself. All he could do was battle on and hope his reinforcements weren’t much longer coming.

Stryke, Coilla, Jup, Reafdaw and Eldo were at full stretch, slugging it out with a succession of troopers and a few of Jennesta’s human zombie slaves for good measure.

There was a single exception. Dynahla. He remained still as the mayhem churned all around. A couple of troopers were confronting him, but from at least a sword’s length away, and seemed uncertain of their next move, thinking perhaps that someone apparently unarmed had to be dangerous. He took no notice of them, and had his eyes locked on Jennesta. She caught his gaze and returned it, an unknowable look on her face.

As he fought off a succession of challengers, Stryke weighed the option of getting to Thirzarr and dragging her clear, however hard that might prove. He glimpsed Jup from the corner of his eye and thought the dwarf could be considering the same move, and might aid him. Cutting down one of Jennesta’s shambling, once human zombies, its flesh rending like ancient parchment, Stryke edged towards his mate.

Then the balance tilted.

The Wolverines’ main force arrived, streaming out of the dark, bellowing war cries.

Jennesta reacted immediately. She unleashed her entire complement, including the magically enslaved orcs. All but Thirzarr, whom she kept at her side.

What had been a conflict became a battle.

With the only illumination coming from camp fires, and the brands carried by Jennesta’s followers, the light was poor. So it took the incoming Wolverines a moment to realise that those they were confronting included members of their own race. Some hesitated, albeit for a split second. Haskeer wasn’t among them. When his blood was up he was hell-bent on fighting anything.

The momentum of the reinforcements’ charge had them crashing into the enemies’ ranks. Haskeer was to the fore, laying about him with an axe in one hand, a long-blade knife in the other. The less nimble human zombies were the first to catch his wrath. He sliced into their limbs with his blade and used the axe to pound their heads, which in some cases exploded under the impact.

Spurral and Pepperdyne’s alliance continued as they entered the fray. He relied on his accustomed sword, and as usual abstained from carrying a shield, preferring to rely on speed and agility. She also kept to a familiar weapon, her staff, and used it to good effect. In a strategy she had developed with Jup, and which Pepperdyne had seen and admired, they worked together. So that when a chance arose, Spurral tumbled foes and Pepperdyne delivered the killing blow.

But for all their concentration on fighting, both still tried to keep an eye on Wheam. Although he wasn’t altogether in need of nannies any more. His fighting skills had developed and his confidence had increased. In any event he was part of a wedge driving into the enemy line, surrounded by comrades who were veterans. As he disappeared into the scrum, his beloved lute incongruously strapped to his back, Pepperdyne and Spurral saw the tyro ramming his sword the way of a trooper’s guts.

The battle fragmented as ripples of chaos ran through the warring mob. Jup and Coilla took advantage of it to fight to their mates’ sides. And Stryke got himself a little closer to Thirzarr, who remained immobile beside Jennesta. But the toughest opposition, the zombie orcs, were beginning to act. They moved forward a little unsteadily, but without compromise. Any who got in their way, even if they were allies, were ploughed through, or even felled. Some of Jennesta’s human zombies, slower to shift, were simply cut down. Gripped by the sorceress’ enchantment, the orcs recognised no barrier in obeying their mistress’ will.

Gleaton-Rouk and his goblin crew were also beginning to join the fight. But he was unable to use his bow, the second source of magic Dynahla had detected, both because of the crush and the fact that it hadn’t been daubed with blood. Stryke worried that it soon would be.

Outnumbered as they were, the Wolverines had one thing going for them. Unlike Jennesta’s widely diverse followers and collaborators, they were a unified force, accustomed to fighting as an entity. It gave them a slight edge in the mayhem. Not that it meant they would prevail against such odds. So far, the band had been lucky. But Stryke knew it was just a matter of time before they started taking casualties.

He wrenched his blade from a goblin’s chest and let the creature topple. Then he looked to Thirzarr. She was unmoved, physically and apparently emotionally. But it was Jennesta, at her side, who drew his attention. She was staring fixedly at something beyond Stryke. He turned, and saw Dynahla returning her gaze.

In that instant there was a blinding flash of light. It was so intense that everybody stilled, and the fighting halted. Even the enchanted orcs slowed to a shuffling crawl. When Stryke’s vision cleared he made out what was happening.

Jennesta and Dynahla were engaged in a duel of sorcery. They were battering each other with shafts of energy. Both had hands raised, palms outward, their faces rigid masks of concentration. The beams of magical vigour they generated pulsed with coloured light; primarily scarlet in Jennesta’s case, green in Dynahla’s, though other, subtler hues swirled within them. A sulphurous aroma began to fill the air, and the beams gave off blasts of heat.

One of the sorceress’ human zombie slaves, a Wolverine axe buried in his back, staggered into range of the alluring stream. Lurching forward, he came into contact with it. He immediately ignited, a sheet of orange flame quickly spreading to cover his entire body. Blazing head to foot, moaning pathetically, the creature was consumed, collapsing into a heap of ash and yellowed bones.

Dynahla was sweating freely. Jennesta wore an expression of extreme attentiveness. The rich tints of the energy they threw at each other grew more vivid and the heat given off increased. All those looking on remained mesmerised.

Still maintaining her magical defence, Jennesta raised a hand and made a gesture. Some of her followers started to move, sluggishly. She repeated the signal with an angry insistence. This time they all responded. Stryke thought they were about to resume the fight, and readied himself. Instead they disengaged and swiftly pulled back. Wary of what might happen next, he motioned his band to do likewise. They obeyed and came to him.

The two sides were soon apart, the space between littered with Jennesta’s dead and wounded. Stryke’s glance flicked left and right, checking the Wolverines. They were all panting from the exertion of combat. Several had injuries, a couple of them harsh, but none seemed dire.

As if by unspoken agreement, Jennesta and Dynahla simultaneously ceased their clash. The beams snapped out of existence, leaving tracelines on the eyes of all those watching. Jennesta let out a sigh and looked drained. Dynahla was exhausted. For a second or two his features blurred and flickered, before settling back to their familiar form. He swayed, and might have fallen if Jup and Noskaa hadn’t taken hold of his arms and steadied him.

There was movement in Jennesta’s ranks. Gleaton-Rouk and his clan were withdrawing to the rear. The human zombies lumbered after them, along with the enchanted orcs and the smattering of other races from her diverse horde who were still standing. They kept going, and were lost to the night.

Stryke suspected a ploy, reasoning that they might be circling to attack from another direction. But moments passed and it seemed they had retreated altogether.

Jennesta and her human troopers remained, with Thirzarr fixed at the sorceress’ side. Stryke resolved to order a charge, seize his mate and put an end to the charade.

He noticed that Jennesta was holding something. At first, it was hard to tell what it was in the poor light. Then he realised she was slotting together the duplicate set of instrumentalities.

Their eyes met. Jennesta smiled.

Stryke cried out Thirzarr’s name and lunged forward.

The last star clicked into place.

Jennesta and her force disappeared.