“Greetings, Wolverines,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, and a pleasure to welcome some new faces.” He looked to the Ceragan recruits, Spurral, and Pepperdyne and Standeven. Then he took on a more solemn tone. “Allow me to commiserate with you on those who fell on the way here. I know the loss of your comrades must be a grievous burden.”
“I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” Stryke told him.
“Yes, I have. You deserve no less. But come, let’s do it in more comfort than standing here.”
He led them to a white marble villa. It was elegantly fashioned and tastefully furnished, and it was hard to credit it all as a product of magic. In a room the size of a banqueting hall he invited the Wolverines to rest themselves and take refreshments. Several young male and female humans, similarly dressed in blue robes, appeared with trays of water, juice and ale, and platters of bread, cheese, fruits and freshly roasted meat and fowl. It was hard to believe that the food and drink, like the villa and the world in which it stood, literally didn’t exist.
Serapheim let them pick at the food and take some of the drink before moving on to weightier matters, despite the obvious impatience of Stryke and several others.
At last he said, “I can understand your frustration and your puzzlement at the turn events have taken.”
“Can you?” Stryke replied frostily. “We signed on for this mission to get our revenge on Jennesta. But it all got a lot more complicated than that, didn’t it?”
“Not really.” He raised a hand to gently forestall Stryke’s objection. “You signed on with two objectives in mind. One was helping to liberate the orcs of Acurial, and you achieved it. You should be proud of that. It again gives the lie to the slander that orcs are selfish, purely destructive creatures. As to the second prong of your mission, settling with my daughter, that was and remains the prime purpose of the assignment.”
“There’s still hope that we can do that?”
“Every hope. It’s why you’re here. And let me add, Stryke, that I’m fully aware of the situation your mate, Thirzarr, is in. Her wellbeing is as important as defeating Jennesta, and I give you my word that every effort will be made to reunite you.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if I hadn’t agreed to this crazy scheme.”
“If anything I’ve done has been responsible for putting Thirzarr in danger then I apologise. That was never my intention. But you have to understand that she would have been in danger anyway, sooner or later. From Jennesta. We are all in peril because of my daughter. You know of her scheme to create an army of obedient zombie orcs?”
“Course I do,” Stryke replied angrily, “Thirzarr’s one of them.”
“No, she’s not. She’s being held in a state between normality and mindless servitude. It suited Jennesta to have it that way, so she could more easily manipulate you. Or so she thought. Her demise would see an end to the hold she has over Thirzarr, and all the others who have fallen under her influence.”
“We kill her-”
“And they live, yes.” He looked around at the others in the room, all of whom were intent on what was being said. “Some of you, particularly those new to this warband, might find it difficult to understand how I can talk so calmly about the death of my own flesh and blood. But Jennesta is no longer my daughter. It’s as if I had never fathered her. I renounced her long ago, and my heart is heavier about that than you can imagine. The fact is that I helped bring evil into being when she was born. My only wish is to put that right.”
“You tried once before,” Stryke reminded him.
“Yes, and somehow, by some fluke, she survived the vortex. This time my thought is to serve her a fate from which there is no escape.” He fell into a kind of reverie for a moment, undisguised sorrow in his eyes. Then he roused himself. “But about her plan for a slave army. Do you know who inspired that idea in her?”
“No. Should I?”
“In a way, you already do. I’m afraid we’ve been a little deceptive with you, Dynahla and I, and for that, too, I offer my apologies.”
“What do you mean?” Coilla asked, finding her voice.
Serapheim turned to Dynahla and said, “Shall we show them?”
The shape-changer smiled and nodded. He stood, and immediately began to transform.
The band watched in awe as the process twisted and contorted Dynahla’s body. At the end of it they were looking at a handsome, some would say beautiful, woman. Only her crimson hair was retained, tumbling to her milky white shoulders. It was hard to estimate her age, but she appeared to be in the prime of life for a human.
“Allow me to introduce Vermegram,” Serapheim said. “My mate, my partner, my bride. And Jennesta’s mother. She is as old as me, which is to say very old… I hope you’ll forgive my indiscretion, my dear… and as high an adept in the ways of sorcery as I am.”
“Why?” Stryke said. “Why the deception?”
“To protect her, and your band. If Jennesta knew that you were consorting with her mother, whom she despises, she wouldn’t just have toyed with you, or with Thirzarr. The likelihood is that you’d all be dead by now.”
“I’m sorry,” Vermegram said. “We weren’t trying to trick you. It just seemed the safest way to offer you some protection and guide you through this world.” The band found it hard to get used to the soft, almost melodic voice of someone they had thought of up to now as a male. “As to my inspiring our daughter’s obsession with raising her slave army, I think at least some of you know a little about that from Serapheim. Basically it was because I tried to do something similar myself, a long time ago, when Maras-Dantia was still as fair as this artificial world. Unlike Jennesta my intentions were benign. I wanted to do good. But as the old saying goes, the road to Hades is paved with the tarnished gold of noble intentions. I was damned for that and I’ve been trying to rectify the error ever since.” She glanced affectionately at Serapheim. “We both have.”
The silence that followed was broken by Haskeer asking bluntly, “Are you a real fetch or what?”
Vermegram smiled. “I’m human. Basically. I wasn’t born with shape-changing abilities; I acquired them as a result of my magical studies.”
“Your kids-”
“Why do they vary so much in appearance? Why does Jennesta look the way she does? Why did her late sister, Adpar, turn out a hybrid? And she was another bad lot, I’m ashamed to say. It was because of tampering with myself, altering the very core of my being, when I took on the power to shape-shift. There were unanticipated consequences. One of which was that I passed on certain unusual traits to my offspring. Only my youngest daughter, Sanara, has a normal human appearance. Fortunately, her path has always been one of good, unlike her siblings.”
“Which reminds me,” Serapheim said. He reached out a hand. A velvet bell cord appeared from thin air. He gave it two tugs and it disappeared.
“Nice trick,” Coilla muttered.
A door opened and Sanara entered. She was wearing a similar set of blue robes to her father’s. When she saw Jup she made straight for him, throwing her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Spurral looked on flint-faced. Jup was blushing. Then Sanara waved a greeting to the other band members who remembered her and took a seat by her parents.
“Vermegram and I cannot confront Jennesta’s forces alone, for all our powers, because hers have grown at least as strong,” Serapheim explained. “My own, I confess, are wavering. As this pocket universe is kept in existence by the force of my will, I find I need the additional mental strength of my apprentices, the young people who served you the food, and the support of what’s left of my family.” He exchanged smiles with Vermegram and his daughter. “Sanara is one of our allies in this fight. Would you like to meet some others?”