Stan Nicholls: Inferno

Serapheim shook his head sadly. “There are limits to even our abilities. Some things must take their course. I’m sorry.”

Desolate, she returned her gaze to Pepperdyne. He tried to speak again, and Coilla had to put her ear to his mouth to catch what he said. Whatever it was, it brought the flicker of a smile to her face before grief replaced it.

Stryke, Jup, Spurral, Pelli Madayar and Standeven stood in the semiarid wastes of a drought-ridden slice of Maras-Dantia. The sun beat down without mercy, the air was verging on foul.

“This isn’t fair,” Standeven whined. “You could at least have brought me somewhere other than Kantor Hammrik’s fiefdom.”

Stryke pointed across the desert. “I reckon if you walk for about three days in that direction you’ll be out of it.”

“I’ve no supplies, no proper clothing, no-”

“Here’s a bottle of water. You better make it last.”

Standeven snatched it. “I was as upset about what happened to Jode as any of you, you know.”

“Yeah, right.”

He was still whining and muttering curses when the others vanished and left him to it.

Stryke, Jup, Spurral and Pelli looked out at a considerably more pleasant world. It was blessed with fecundity and almost entirely unspoilt. In the valley below was a small village of round huts and longhouses. Smoke lazily climbed from cooking stoves, and in an adjacent field cattle were grazing.

“A world comprised solely of dwarfs,” Pelli said, sweeping an arm at the scene. “The Corps has had contact with the inhabitants before, and we’re on good terms. They’re expecting you down there. Just mention my name.”

Jup and Spurral thanked her, then turned to Stryke. Pelli moved off to a discreet distance.

“Well, we’ve already had our goodbyes,” Jup said, “and you know I’m not one for emotional gestures, so I’m offering you my hand, Stryke.”

Stryke took it in a warriors’ grasp and squeezed hard.

“You and your I’m not one for emotional gestures,” Spurral teased as she shoved past Jup. “Well, I am.” She gave Stryke a powerful hug, her head not quite up to the level of his chest. “Thank you, Captain. For everything.”

“And you,” he returned.

Spurral had tears in her eyes. Jup pretended there was a speck of dirt in his.

They didn’t linger, but set off down the hill to their new life.

Stryke and Pelli watched them go.

“Is Coilla going to be all right?” she asked.

He sighed. “I hope so. There’s a great sadness weighing on her now. But just before we came here she told me about something that I think is going to keep her mind off it for a while.”

“I trust time will heal her. Oh, there’s just one more thing, Stryke.” She held out her hand.

He dug into his belt bag and produced the instrumentalities. For a moment he studied them, then handed them over.

“Sorry to part with them?” she asked as she slipped them into her tunic.

“No.” He thought about it. “Well, yes and no.”

She smiled. “They do have an enticing quality. But the Corps is right. They shouldn’t be abroad.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Come on, let’s get you all home.”

In the months that followed, the destruction Jennesta had brought to the orcs’ settlement on Ceragan was cleared up. New longhouses were built and corrals repaired.

The more personal hurts took longer to fade.

Stryke wandered through a fine summer’s day. The sky was blue, the birds were singing, there was abundant game in the vales, forests and rivers.

He passed Thirzarr, sitting at a wooden bench outside their lodge, chopping a carcass with a razor-keen hatchet. They exchanged a smile. Nearby, Haskeer was fooling on the grass with Corb and Janch, the hatchlings fit to burst with laughter. Stryke increased his pace a little at that point, lest Haskeer collar him to say, once more, how right he’d been about Dallog.

Wheam and his father, Quoll, were sitting on the steps of the chieftain’s longhouse. Wheam was plinking on his battered goblin lute. Quoll was acting as if he enjoyed it.

Farther along, in a quieter corner, he spotted Coilla sitting on the ground by Pepperdyne’s grave, a spot she still came to frequently. He went to her.

When she saw him she said, “What do you think Jode would have thought of it here?”

“I reckon he would have liked it. Might have been a bit of a change from what he was used to though.”

“I don’t think he minded change. None of us should. Didn’t somebody say the only thing that stays constant is change?”

“Probably. And it’s just as well you feel that way.” He reached out and gave her greatly swollen stomach an affectionate pat. “Because nothing’s going to be the same again.”