Stan Nicholls: Inferno

“He was no saint. He fell in with my scheme easily enough.”

“You mean he was young and green, and easily swayed. Or bullied. You slur Pirrak’s name. He died an honourable death.”

“Saving you,” Dallog sneered.

“Why did you do it?” Coilla wanted to know. “What did she promise you?”

“Something you could never offer. Something that’s wasted on Pirrak and Wheam and all the other whey-faced hatchlings I’ve had to wipe the arses of. She’s promised me my youth back. I’ll be young again, now and for ever.”

“You’re a fool,” Stryke told him.

“This is all very interesting,” Jennesta said, “but I was about to cut your mate’s throat.”

“Reward me now, my lady,” Dallog said.

She gave him a look usually reserved for dog shit. “What?”

“I’ve done all you asked, and more. We had a pact. I’ve fulfilled my part.”

“You don’t have a great sense of timing, do you? It may have escaped your notice but I’m a little busy at the moment, what with a war and everything.”

“My true loyalty’s in the open now; there’s no point in delaying. And with my youth restored I can serve you so much better. You can do it easily, I know you can.”

“Enough.” She extended her free hand. “Come then, claim your reward.”

Stryke and the others looked on impotently as Dallog, beaming, took a step closer and bowed slightly so that Jennesta could lightly touch his forehead.

“As age is your problem,” she said, “let this put an end to it.”

A change came over him, but not necessarily the one he was expecting. More wrinkles appeared on his face, not less, and his skin began to grey. Blue veins started to stand out on his neck, arms and the backs of his hands. His fingernails were turning yellow. The smile had vanished now and there was terror in his fading eyes. He tried to struggle, but whatever enchantment she was using prevented him from breaking free.

The others watched in horror as flakes of skin fell away and his face sagged. His body shrank, the bones showing through rice paper flesh. His rotting teeth dislodged as his mouth gaped in a silent scream. He shrivelled, his flesh turning to dust until his skeleton could plainly be seen. Then that crumbled too, falling like poured sand. In seconds he had been rendered to a scattering of ashes.

Jennesta was still holding a portion of his skull with discoloured skin attached. She casually tossed it aside and it shattered when it met the ground. “The old are such a trial, don’t you think?” she said.

“We’re taking a hell of a risk,” Pelli said as they got themselves nearer to their target.

“We can do it if we’re quick,” Wheam assured her.

“Are you sure you’re right about this?”

“Yes.” He pointed. “That goblin over there is some kind of healer, I reckon, and he seems to be looking after only Gleaton-Rouk. I’ve been watching him. And that bucket by him has got bloody bandages in it.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s Gleaton-Rouk’s blood.”

“No. But I think there’s a good chance. When we saw Gleaton-Rouk before I noticed that he had two bound wounds, on his upper and lower arm. But even if it isn’t his blood on those bandages it’ll be from some other goblin and that’s got to be a result, hasn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. But remember to close your eyes when I tell you to. You’ll be all right when you open them again. But if you don’t close them when I say-”

“Yes, I know. Let’s get going.”

The healer was off the battlefield and to the side, some way from his master though in sight of him. He was alone, and rummaging through a bag of kit. They got as close to him as they dared.

“Now!” Pelli ordered. “Close them!”

She closed her own eyes too, and cast what was basically a simple spell but a very effective one. It generated a burst of incredibly intense light that briefly blinded everybody in range. That meant more than just the healer, but they thought that was justifiable as it gave nobody a real advantage, except in the unlikely event of someone who happened to be fighting with their eyes closed.

The potency of the flash did its job. When Pelli and Wheam looked, the healer was rubbing at his eyes and blundering about. He wasn’t the only one.

“Quickly!” Pelli urged. “It doesn’t last long!”

Wheam darted towards the medic, dodging several of the temporarily sightless. He reached the bucket, grabbed a bandage and raced back. Then they lost themselves in the confusion.

Finding a corner of the field away from the still churning battle, Wheam got out the distinctive black arrow he’d found on the battlefield earlier. They smeared it with blood from the bandage.

“The next bit’s even trickier,” Pelli said.

“You can do it.”

“Let’s see.”

They made their way to where they had last seen Gleaton-Rouk. He was still there, and aiming his bow, seemingly at random over the heads of the combatants. The arrow flew, circled a couple of times and came down to strike someone in the crowd.

“That’s one more on our side he’s claimed,” Wheam remarked angrily.

“Come on, let’s get nearer.”

They approached the goblin as closely as they dared, and saw that the arrow sheath he wore was almost empty. But another, full one, stood on the ground beside him, presumably containing a store of arrows tainted with blood collected by his gang.

Pelli took their arrow from Wheam. “Guard my back, will you? This takes some concentration.” She added under her breath, “I hope nobody sees it.”

She laid the shaft across her outstretched palms and stared at it. Nothing happened for a second, then it twitched. The twitch became a more animated judder. Suddenly the arrow soared from her hands, and under her direction headed straight for the quiver. It did a neat flip and fell inside. It was all so swift that no one appeared to notice, least of all Gleaton-Rouk.

“Well done,” Wheam congratulated.

“We don’t know when he’ll fire it, or even if he will.”

“We’ve done our best. Now let’s get away from here.”

They rejoined the battle. But whenever there was a rare moment of stillness they glanced the goblin’s way. Twice they saw him loose arrows that seemed to hunt their targets like a living thing, and both times found them. Wheam and Pelli began to think their plan wasn’t going to work.

A bit later, in another brief pause that starved them of anyone to fight, Wheam nudged Pelli and nodded towards the goblin. He was drawing his bow again. They watched with no great expectation.

The arrow Gleaton-Rouk fired went way over the battlefield, made a couple of circuits and headed back in his general direction. He looked on, presumably to see who the latest casualty would be. But the shaft was coming towards him. When it was close enough for there to be no doubt of its goal the goblin’s expression turned to dread and he tried to run. The arrow took him square in the back. He went down heavily. Other goblins ran to him, but what they found looked pretty conclusive even from a distance.

Wheam and Pelli slapped their right hands together and let out a whoop. It was joined by a cheer from pleased onlookers.

Stryke was thinking of rushing Jennesta and overpowering her. It was a sign of his desperation that he would consider such an unwise move. The chances were that Thirzarr would suffer for it, and likely they’d all die. But Serapheim and his kin still hadn’t turned up and the situation was even more edgy after what Jennesta had done to Dallog.

He got the impression that Gleadeg, Coilla and Pepperdyne might also be thinking about attacking Jennesta. Catching their eye, he tried to convey through facial expressions how reckless a move that would be. He hoped they got the message.