Inferno

27

It took all the skills of Pelli Madayar and her Gateway Corps unit to gain entry to the Sphere of the Four.

Now they stood under a scarlet sky, with a malleable, grey material serving as the ground beneath their feet. The plain spread out all around them, featureless except for the vast white building in the distance. It was a unique experience for the multi-species members of the unit and they were busily examining the terrain.

Weevan-Jirst sniffed the air. “The energy level seems extraordinarily high.”

“It stinks of magic,” Pelli agreed, more pithily. “I’m not sure that even our weapons could be entirely relied on here.”

“To find out we need to know which direction will take us to our quarry.”

“We have clues. There must be a reason why the only landmark is that structure over there. And I would say the star, or whatever it is that hangs above it, confirms our path. I can see no other signs. Do you agree?”

“Would it matter if I didn’t?”

“Of course it would. Unless you think me a tyrant.”

The goblin sidestepped her tacit challenge and merely said, “I concur with your deduction. We should be guided by the star.”

“Good. Now let’s move, and fast. If we’ve been led to a place like this, events must be coming to a head.”

“Then let us hope we’re in time,” Weevan-Jirst replied grimly. “Because if we’re not, the consequences will be dire.” He fixed her with his beady gaze. “For all of us.”

When they were far enough from the wall that they could no longer see it, and Stryke was satisfied nobody was chasing them, the Wolverines stopped to regroup.

Once the weapon had been checked and secured, the millipedes tended and minor injuries seen to, the band was allowed a brief period to stretch their legs.

Most just squatted or sprawled on the grass. But several drifted a short distance, including Coilla and Pepperdyne, who were deep in conversation. Stryke noticed that Dallog had also wandered off. He was standing farther away than any of the others, with his back to the band, and for once he didn’t have Pirrak with him. That individual, Stryke saw, was sitting by himself at the edge of the group. He decided to talk to him.

The new recruit looked uncomfortable when he saw Stryke coming, and stood, awkwardly.

“At ease,” Stryke told him.

“Sir.” He didn’t noticeably relax.

“Everything all right with you, Pirrak?”

“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t it be, sir?”

“Well, it should be, but I get the feeling it isn’t.”

“I’m fine.” The response was a little too quick and a little too edgy.

Stryke tried another tack. “The band’s treating you well? They’re comradely?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Dallog?”

There was a pause before he got an answer. “What do you mean, Captain?”

“He’s taking care of you?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Pirrak, maybe I’ve not been as easy to talk to as I should have been. But you know things have been frantic since we left Acurial.”

The private’s expression visibly stiffened. He said, “Yes, sir,” his voice taut.

Stryke put that down to the youngster’s callow nature. “My mind’s been on the mission, and on other things, and maybe I’ve been forgetting my duties to the band. But I want you to know that if you ever need to talk to me about anything, you can. Or any of the other officers. Though you might not want to make Sergeant Haskeer your first choice.” If Pirrak saw the intended humour in that, he didn’t react. “If Dallog’s not around, that is,” Stryke quickly tagged on.

“I understand.” As an apparent afterthought he added, “Thank you, sir.” There was a more genuine quality in that, and perhaps even a little warmth, than anything else he had said.

“All right. Just bear it in mind. And get a shake on, we’ll be moving soon.”

“Sir.”

Stryke turned and left him standing there, looking graceless.

Almost immediately he crossed paths with Coilla and Pepperdyne, on the way back from their tryst.

“See you were having a natter with Pirrak,” Coilla said. “Pep talk?”

“Kind of. Don’t know how much sunk in.”

“Does seem kind of woolly most of the time, doesn’t he?”

“He’s not the easiest of the new recruits to talk to,” Pepperdyne said, “but they’re all a bit green, aren’t they, Stryke?”

“I’d hoped they’d be a little more ripe by now. But I guess that’s what comes from letting Dallog keep them apart from the rest.”

“We carrying on now?” Coilla asked.

“Yes,” Stryke replied, “start rousing ’em.”

Coilla headed off for a bout of shouting, Pepperdyne in tow.

On impulse, Stryke decided to go over to Dallog.

When he came to him he saw that he had his eyes shut, and seemed to be muttering to himself.

“Dallog?”

The corporal came to himself with a start, and for just an instant appeared sheepish. But his crisp “Captain!” had its usual ebullience.

“What were you doing?”

“Praying.”

“Praying?”

“Asking the Tetrad to look favourably on our mission.”

Stryke knew it was something many in the band did. He did it himself occasionally when things looked rough, and he had turned to the gods more than once since Thirzarr was taken. But it wasn’t the sort of thing anyone talked about much. He tended to think of it as a personal matter and none of his business. So he simply said, “Sorry to disturb you, then.”

“No problem, Captain. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been talking to Pirrak.”

Dallog’s gaze flicked to the grunt in question, who was gathering up his gear. “Have you?”

“Yeah. And I’m still wondering if he’s fitting in.”

“Oh, that. Like I told you, he’s a little on the quiet side. Bit of a thinker, if you know what I mean. Not that it makes him any less dependable in combat.”

“Maybe not. But he’ll fight better if he mixes with the band more. All the tyros will.”

“You’ve already made that point, Captain.”

“Just so you know I mean it. There are going to be some changes in future.”

“If there is a future for us.”

“What?”

“I mean, I sort of figured this mission was a one-off. I don’t know if you have any plans for the band after that, or whether we’d be part of it.”

“I don’t know myself. And you could be right: maybe there’s no future for any of us. Who knows how this thing will pan out?”

“That’s a glum way of looking at it, Captain. I’m sure that under your command-”

“Yeah. We’ll see. Meantime, keep an eye on Pirrak.”

“You can count on it.”

“And get ’em ready; we’re moving out.”

They rode on for what could have been a quarter of a day, if they had any means of judging it accurately. The constant sun sat high in the sky, as it always did, and their sense of time was shot.

The landscape stayed the same, not quite lush and not quite scrub, until a change loomed. Ahead of them was the edge of a forest. It spread a long, long way to the west and east. Stryke halted the convoy.

“Through or round?” he asked Dynahla.

“Round is going to delay us a lot, and would probably be as perilous.”

“Forests are too good for ambushes. I don’t like ’em. Unless I’m doing the ambushing.”

“I could scout it for us. But if there’s no obvious trap in there-”

“You might not see it. I know. That’s why I don’t like forests.”

“Well, shall I?”

Stryke nodded.

The shape-changer took on a bird guise again, a small one this time, presumably to make it easier to negotiate the forest. They watched as it flew towards the tree-line, but lost sight of it before it got there.

There was such a long wait that they were starting to think they’d seen the last of the fetch. Then the bird reappeared, travelling at speed.

Back in his familiar form, Dynahla reported. “It’s big. Took me a while to get all the way over. I didn’t see anything that looked threatening, but that might not mean much. It’s pretty dense in parts, and dark.”

“We going to be able to get that through?” Stryke stabbed a thumb at the curious weapon.

“I think so. Though I expect there’ll be a certain amount of weaving about.”

“I suppose we’ll have to do it then.”

“Like I said, everything in this place has a purpose. The forest’s there because we’re supposed to enter it.”

“That’s another way of saying we will run into something.”

“Not necessarily. It could be just a forest. But it pays to expect trouble.”

“What the fuck,” Haskeer said. “We love trouble.”

“You’re unlikely to be disappointed,” Dynahla told him.

Stryke made sure everybody had at least one weapon close to hand, and got the archers to nock their bows.

They resumed their journey.

The nearer they got to the forest the more it came to dominate, and it became obvious that many of the trees were enormously tall. Entering it was like being swallowed by some gigantic beast composed of timber rather than flesh.

Mulch from untold numbers of rotting leaves carpeted the ground. That made for soft going, but slowed rather than totally hindered them. Generally, the trees were spaced sufficiently far apart to allow them to get through, although there were exceptions. Most obstructions could be steered round, but several times they had to backtrack and look for another way. Even so, they made reasonably good progress.

That came to an end when, by Dynahla’s estimate, they were about halfway. The area they were passing through was boggy, but deceptive because a covering of recently fallen leaves disguised the threat. The millipedes bearing only riders partially sank but scrabbled on. Seeing the danger, Stryke bellowed for the mounts pulling the weapon to be stopped. But it was too late. Under the weight of both the weapon and riders, the mounts floundered in the mire. The load they were pulling began to sink, and the band had to cut the millipedes free. By the time that was done, the weapon was stubbornly bogged down.

They tried hauling. But even the combined strength of the band couldn’t free the weapon’s carriage.

“We need something to lever it out with,” Haskeer said.

“We’re in a forest,” Coilla reminded him. “Take your pick.”

“That one should do it.” Stryke pointed at a nearby tree. “Get it down.”

Haskeer was first there. He swung his axe and whacked it into the trunk.

There was a distant wailing sound that stopped them all in their tracks. It was doleful. In its terrible despair it was almost beautiful. Others joined it, but they were angered, and soon the eerie chorus was one of fury.

“That sounds familiar,” Jup said.

“Yeah,” Coilla agreed. “Nyadds.”

“What are they?” Wheam asked. He looked spooked.

“Spirits of the forest. Or that’s what some called them back in Maras-Dantia. They’re forest fauns, and they’re all female. At least, nobody I know ever saw a male. They’re usually so bashful you wouldn’t know it if you walked right by them.”

“Except when you mess with their trees,” Stryke added.

“Is that so bad a crime?” Pepperdyne said.

“Each nyadd is bound in spirit to a certain tree. If it dies, the nyadd dies. When a tree’s hurt, like this one, they all feel the pain.”

“And they get very pissed off,” Coilla explained. “Jennesta’s said to be part nyadd, which should give you some idea.”

“What do we do, Stryke?” Spurral wanted to know.

“They sounded a way off, and we’ve still got to dig the wagon out. Let’s gamble on them taking a while to get here. Haskeer, the tree.”

“Seems almost cruel after what you said about the nyaads,” Spurral mildly protested.

“Got a better idea?”

“Hell, no.”

Haskeer’s axe bit into the tree. Several of the grunts joined in, and made short work felling it. Then they set to cutting the wood they needed. Soon they had a couple of stout levers, and a lengthy pair of planks to give the wheels traction.

Even with these aids it was a struggle freeing the weapon. Only once it was out and re-hitched, and the racket they had made had died down, did they realise that the wailing had stopped. The forest was silent.

Not for long. A crowd of figures emerged from the trees all around. They were tall, lean and olive-skinned, and their nakedness was partially hidden by ankle-length auburn hair. Their handsome faces were contorted with fury, revealing unusually white, and unusually sharp, teeth. They were armed; mostly with curved daggers, though some had snub swords.

A keening version of the wail went up and they raced at the band.

The nyadds had their fury. The wolverines had weapons with a longer reach. On Stryke’s order these were deployed. Nine or ten nyadds fell with arrows in their chests. It didn’t deter the others, and while the archers were reloading, the first of the attackers reached the band.

Stryke put down two with a single wide stroke. Coilla caught another with a throwing knife, and Jup leapt up to crack a skull with his staff. The dagger-wielding nyadds couldn’t get close enough to inflict much damage, but they threatened to overrun the band. More and more of them were streaming from the trees.

By a cowering Standeven, Pepperdyne lunged and ran-through an advancing nyadd. Nearby, Haskeer laid about them with his axe. Dallog’s unofficial unit were hacking in unison. But for all that it was like spearing fish in a barrel, the tide was relentless, with fresh attackers stumbling over the bodies of their fellows to get to the band.

“We’re not going to hold this for ever,” Coilla said as she slashed at a nyadd’s probing dagger.

Stryke parried a nyadd’s thrust, wrong-footed her and took off her head. Golden blood spattered his tunic. “Then we’ll go for their heart. Archers! Burnables! The trees! ”

They understood, and drew their flammable arrows. Flint sparks ignited the tar-soaked cloth and flame blossomed. The burning arrows streaked out and hit a dozen trees. Most took fire immediately.

An even greater wail went up from the nyadds. They backed off and stared in horror at the burning trees. As they watched, the orc archers loosed a second round, spreading the flame.

The nyadds weren’t simply routed; they forgot about the fight. Now many of them were showing signs of distress, and even pain. Some shook violently, some sank to their knees, some just collapsed. A cruel malady swept through them, and as the fires grew stronger their torment grew as well.

Here and there, nyadds were bursting into flames. In some cases they fell and burned, with a kind of sad resignation. In others, the fireswathed nyadds lurched and stumbled, and shrieked as they blazed. Some ran into the forest, illuminating its depths. The smell of charred flesh filled the air.

The Wolverines waded in and helped the process along with their blades. But what was happening to the trees was a more effective weapon. Shortly, only a handful of nyadds were left standing, and those not for long.

Stryke scanned the carnage. “Let’s get out of here!”

“What about this fire?” Spurral said, nodding at the burning trees. “We can’t just leave it to spread.”

“We’ve no time for fire-fighting.”

“You’d destroy an entire forest?”

“Look at it. I doubt we could put it out now if we tried.”

“And you’re not going to?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Dynahla interrupted. “You’re forgetting the magical nature of the world we’re in. This place takes care of itself. Only I think we should get out while we still can. The fire’s going to surround us soon.”

They left before it did. The fire burned on at their rear, throwing its light after them so that they cast long shadows. But before long it faded, then died as the forest overwhelmed all but its memory.

The band met no more hostility, and eventually came to the forest’s end.

They emerged on the top of a gentle slope running down to a green expanse. Crossing this was a dead straight artificial waterway. They couldn’t see far enough to say where it came from or went to.

There were several barges on the water, and one very large one tied-up next to a small cottage. This was weathered red brick with an unkempt thatched roof. Figures moved around it.

Coilla cupped her eyes. “Looks like… gnomes.”

“Miserable bastards,” Haskeer said.

“That canal runs north,” Stryke realised. “And they’ve got a barge.”

Coilla nodded. “Think it’d take all of us and the weapon?”

“I reckon. But we’d have to let the millipedes go.”

“Shame.”

“Let’s see if we can parley.”

They headed down to the waterway. The panic started before they reached it. Seeing an orcs warband charging towards them, mounted on giant multi-legged insects and towing a black tube, was enough to unnerve the gnomes. It sparked an exodus. They scrambled into wagons and headed off along the towpath at speed.

“Rude buggers!” Haskeer exclaimed. “They could have given us a hearing.”

Jup shrugged. “Saves us having to negotiate.”

Stryke didn’t waste time. They got the weapon onto the barge, which proved a tough task. Then the band embarked and they cast off, using the barge’s oars. There was a small sail too, and Stryke had it unfurled, despite little wind.

As they moved away they saw the liberated millipedes undulating towards the forest. Everybody was sorry to see them go. Except Standeven.