“Parnol’s an apprentice; a very promising one.” He laid a hand on the boy’s arm and fixed Jennesta with an even gaze. “And he’s under my protection.”
She didn’t think her father would have made that point if this Parnol was capable of defending himself magically at any high level. So he had to have another function. She was beginning to guess what that was. “Careful, Father,” she said. “You don’t have Sanara here to help you.” She flicked a glance at the youth. “And he doesn’t look comparable.” Parnol shifted uncomfortably.
“I’m warning you, Jennesta,” Serapheim bristled.
“Do it now.”
“What?”
“If you’re so confident you can defeat me, why bother with plots and schemes? We can settle this now. Right here.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he reasoned. “Reflect on the course you’re taking.”
“Oh, save your breath, old man,” she retorted disgustedly.
“If you can see the light,” he persisted, “as your mother did-”
“To hell with this.” She swiftly brought up her hand and lobbed a fistful of flame at him.
For all his age and brittleness, Serapheim was faster. A swathe of energy instantly appeared, embracing him and his apprentice. When Jennesta’s searing volley struck, it dissipated harmlessly. She summoned a defensive shield of her own and continued her fiery assault. At first, her father didn’t respond, until, under the increasing salvo, he retaliated. Blast and counter blast illuminated the cavernous barn.
It was all too reminiscent of their duel in Ilex, but Jennesta was determined on a different outcome. She invested all her concentration and considerable skills in overcoming her father’s defences. Yet despite her resolve, and Serapheim’s apparently diminished state, she couldn’t break through.
Then she noticed her father produce an object from the folds of his cloak. Or rather, a cluster of objects, interlocked. In a heartbeat she realised it was a set of instrumentalities. Her eyes widened at the sight. She burned with frustration at having what she most desired so near yet beyond her reach.
Her aggravation heightened when she saw that her father was manipulating the artefacts. He had them directed at Parnol, who was doing little beyond looking terrified. Jennesta guessed what was about to happen, and nothing in her magical armoury seemed able to pierce Serapheim’s barrier and prevent it.
In a rush she realised the flaw in her father’s strategy. The barricade of energy he conjured was focused solely on repelling magic, which left another possibility. But Serapheim was slotting the last instrumentality into place, and she had just seconds to do something about it. More in desperation than in hope, she acted.
The sunburst spell she unleashed was simple. It was merely the generation of an eruption of light, but blindingly intense. When she opened her eyes she saw that it had left Serapheim and Parnol in disarray, and both had instinctively turned their backs on her. But her father was still fumbling with the instrumentalities. Gathering up her gown, Jennesta plucked out the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. She drew back her arm and flung the blade with all the strength she could muster.
In that speck of time, two things happened simultaneously. Serapheim activated the instrumentalities, and his apprentice, still dazzled, lurched into the dagger’s path. Unimpeded by the shield, it struck the youth square between his shoulder-blades. Serapheim cried out. Parnol staggered from the blow, then whipped away by the power of the instrumentalities, he vanished.
Shocked by what had happened, his concentration broken, Serapheim lost his hold on the protective shield. As it dissolved, Jennesta began to conjure a further, lethal strike. Her father hastily adjusted the instrumentalities, and with a last look mixing sorrow and anger, he disappeared too.
She stood alone. There was disappointment at not having eliminated her father, and particularly at letting the instrumentalities elude her. But she judged it at least a partial victory.
The sulphurous tang of magic hung in the air. It mingled with the smell of burning timber, stray bolts from their battle having started several fires in the building.
She left it to burn.
Jennesta set out for Acurial not long after, and many were glad to see her go.
She had no way of foreseeing what would unfold there. No hint that she would triumph in her quest for the instrumentalities, yet see her other plans ruined, thanks to the intervention of the detestable Wolverines.
Nor could she imagine that she would eventually find herself on a corpse-littered beach on a world of islands, poised between the prospect of victory and having everything turn to ashes.
1
There was chaos.
All across the island, battles were raging between Jennesta’s loyalists and the Gateway Corps. Most of the dwarfs who inhabited the isle, and who had survived the initial clash, had fled to their boltholes or the upper slopes of the sacred volcanoes. Seashore and jungle resonated with the flare of magic and the ringing of blades.
The Wolverines were gathered in the strip of pebbly land between beach and tree-line, sheltering behind an outcrop of rock. They were still reeling at what Stryke and Coilla had told them.
Two of the band’s best scouts, Hystykk and Zoda, had been dispatched to discover Jennesta’s whereabouts. They returned crestfallen.
“She’s not where you last saw her, Captain,” Zoda confirmed. “There were too many of her troopers about for us to look much further afield.”
“So where the fuck is she?” Haskeer said.
Coilla shrugged. “Could be anywhere by now.”
“This island’s not so big,” Stryke told them. “We can find her.” As the effect Jennesta’s spell had on him wore off, it was being replaced by pure anger.
“Where’s she likely to have gone?” Pepperdyne asked.
Haskeer gave the human a venomous look. “If we knew that, pink face, we wouldn’t be flapping our gums here.”
“I mean, figure it out. It wasn’t as though she was actually winning the battle, was it? It was a draw at best. And it looks to me like that elf’s group holds the beach. So she’d maybe think twice before going for her fleet.”
“Makes sense,” Coilla said.
“Trust you to back him,” Haskeer muttered.
Coilla shot him a dagger look but kept quiet.
“So what does she do?” Pepperdyne went on.
“Goes inland,” Jup supplied.
“Not a lot of choice,” his mate Spurral added, lightly ribbing him.
Pepperdyne nodded. “Right. But is she going to tramp about in the jungle? I don’t think so. She’d make for something more practical.”
“The dwarfs’ village!” Wheam exclaimed.
The others had worked that out already, and he didn’t get the hurrah he expected.
“What do you think, Stryke?” Coilla asked.
“I think we’re wasting time,” he snapped, “when Thirzarr needs me.”
“Yeah. So, the village?”
He sighed. “As good a place as any, I s’pose.” To the rest he announced, “We’re moving out! We run into anybody, we cut ’em down!”
“Don’t we always?” Haskeer wondered.
“She won’t be alone,” Dallog warned, drawing another contemptuous look from Haskeer.
“I know,” Stryke said. “We can deal with it.”
“What about Jennesta herself?” Jup asked. “What happens if-” He saw Stryke’s expression. “- when we find her? How do we handle that?”
“I’ll think of something,” his captain returned gruffly, and without further word turned and set off at a pace.
The band fell in behind him.
Coilla slipped an arm around Pepperdyne’s waist as they walked. It drew looks.
“How bad was it back there?” he wanted to know.
“Pretty bad. I’ve never seen Stryke so… out of control.”
“He seems all right now.”