Stan Nicholls - Inferno

“Looks can be deceiving,” Weevan-Jirst reminded her.

“Still, it’s hard to believe anything nefarious could be going on in this kind of setting.”

“Yet we know it is.”

She gave up on his obduracy and held her peace.

They had wandered away from the body of their unit to explore the options and decide which way to go. There were no roads that they could see or any signs of habitation. Pelli thought the place was like an enormous garden.

“What’s that?” Weevan-Jirst said. He pointed to a nearby hill.

There were figures on it.

Pelli strained to see. “They look like… goblins.”

“So they do.”

“I wonder how they fit into this.”

“We could ask them.”

“Is that wise?”

He gave her the goblin equivalent of a condescending look. “They’re my own kind. I’m sure I can converse with them in a civilised manner.”

“All right. We’ll go up and-”

“I think it would be best if I did this alone. My folk don’t always react well to other races.”

“As you wish. But take care. I’ll either be here or back with the others.”

He set off and she watched him go. But she didn’t leave. She was curious to see how he would handle it.

As he walked by a cluster of bushes a figure leapt out and began to struggle with him. Shocked, Pelli called out and rushed to help. As she approached the figure ran off.

She arrived at her second-in-command panting. “ What… happened?”

He showed her his arm. It had a gash across it and the blood was flowing freely. “He attacked me.”

“Who did?”

“A goblin.”

“Was he trying to kill you?”

Weevan-Jirst was binding his arm with a field bandage he’d produced from his belt pouch. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was senseless. He leapt out, slashed my arm and made to run off. I tried to stop him but he got away.”

She noticed movement on the hill. One figure was running up it, towards the others. “Is that him?”

He looked. “I suppose it could be. I’ve a mind to go up there and-”

“I think it would be wise not to.”

“They’re goblins. My kind. Why would he do that?”

“There are good and bad in all races. And I’m beginning to suspect who they are and their relationship with Jennesta.”

Before she could go on he said, “Does one of them have a bow?”

She looked. “I think he might. We should either get out of here or be prepared to defend ourselves magically. He seems to be aiming this way.”

“Then he’s a fool. No archer on any world could achieve a shot like that. The distance is too far and the angle’s wrong.” There was the sound of something cutting through the air. “Why does he think-” A spasm shook him and he let out a strangled gasp. A black arrow jutted from his chest.

“Weevan-Jirst,” Pelli said, stunned. “ Weevan-Jirst!”

He fell. She went down on her knees to him, felt for a heartbeat, not the easiest task through a goblin’s carapace, then tried the vein in his neck. He was dead.

She looked up to the hill again. The archer and the others had gone. Her thought was that anybody who could use a bow like that, over such a distance, commanded a strong form of magic and was best avoided. Keeping low, and still numb from what had just happened, she hurried back to the others.

The area Serapheim occupied buzzed with activity as the diverse force readied itself for battle. Serapheim’s apprentices, perhaps a dozen in number, had joined its ranks with the intention of using their magic in aid of the cause.

Stryke stood apart from all that with three others. The band had been dismayed when he told them he wouldn’t be fighting alongside them. But once they knew why, they were approving.

He had decided to take Gleadeg, Coilla and Pepperdyne with him on the mission Serapheim had allotted. The human he might not have chosen, good a fighter as he was, but Coilla insisted that they stay together, and Stryke wanted her along. None of them had any idea where Standeven was, or particularly cared.

There was a commotion. A chorus of “ They’re here! They’re here!” went up. Stryke and the others rushed to see what was happening.

On the plain that stretched out not far from Serapheim’s villa, a force was advancing. They recognised Jennesta at its head. Her human troopers from Acurial were with her, along with shuffling human zombies and the more sprightly orc kind. There was a mass of flotsam and jetsam of various races she had recruited from the world of islands, including what looked like the remnants of the Gatherers. Racing to join them at the rear was the goblin Gleaton-Rouk and his piratical gang.

Stryke knew Thirzarr was somewhere in the horde but couldn’t spot her. At least he hoped she was there. He didn’t like to think about what had happened if she wasn’t.

Jennesta’s army was even more ragtag than the one Stryke was a part of. But hers outnumbered his by at least two to one.

“Stryke!”

He turned and saw Serapheim approaching, and he wasn’t alone. Pelli Madayar was with him, along with her multi-species Gateway Corps comrades.

“I have granted admission to a group I think you know,” Serapheim explained.

“Hello again, Captain,” Pelli said.

“What are you doing here?” Stryke asked suspiciously.

“I’ve long felt that your band has been a mere pawn in this game. The Corps’ principles, and my training, have prevented me from acting on that impulse. But recent events have made me question my impartiality. There comes a time when a side has to be chosen and to hell with the consequences. I’ve decided… we’ve all decided that yours is the one to offer our services to.”

Stryke thought about that for a moment, then said, “Glad to have you aboard.”

The two armies faced each other.

For Jennesta it was the culmination of the revenge she sought to inflict on her father and the hated Wolverines. For the defenders it was a matter of survival.

Hostilities started from a distance, using a combination of magic and arrows, the former blocking most of the latter. Streaks of energy, yellow, white and red were exchanged, resembling a hatchling’s coloured streamer caught by the wind. Shimmering defensive bubbles were up, cast by Jennesta on one side, the Gateway Corps on the other. The difference being that Jennesta’s was to protect her and a small coterie, while the Corps was trying to shield everyone.

When the sides finally began to advance it wasn’t at a charge. The pace was more deliberate, almost stately, save for the taunts and foul curses each side rained on the other. But ultimately they had to meet, and when they did it was bloodily.

The roof of Serapheim’s villa was an excellent vantage point. From it, Stryke, Coilla, Pepperdyne and Gleadeg had the best view of the battle. All of them would have liked to be there.

Serapheim came to them. “There,” he said, pointing. “You can just see Jennesta over on the far side. Having set the fighting in motion she’s retired to a safer distance.”

Stryke looked, but had to strain his eyes. He could make out Jennesta. There were others with her, and he thought one of them might be Thirzarr, but he couldn’t be sure.

“You must get to her,” Serapheim continued. “You can either go round the field of battle-”

“Too long,” Stryke told him.

“Or through it, I’m afraid. Shall I assign you some extra bodies to help?”

They looked at each other and Stryke answered for all of them. “No. We can manage.”

“I hoped you’d say that. We can’t really spare anybody.”

Coilla gave a gentle dig. “Some army.”

“Valiant as they are, it isn’t them we’re relying on. It’s you. Take care.”