"What if she has gone, Stryke?" Coilla said. "Maybe she did catch a ship. What then?"
He sighed and gave it some thought. "Maybe the rebels could help us find out where she's gone, and maybe we could — "
"Follow her to this Peczan empire? A fucking empire, Stryke. Want to fight one of those?"
"Or we could go back and carry on with the resistance."
"We've done about as much for them as we can, and you know it. And what do we do when the revolution's over? Go home, knowing we only coped with half the mission?"
"If she's really got away, we might have to."
"Shit on that," Coilla hissed.
Jup shouted and beckoned them over. Stryke gave the order to dismount, and the band went to him.
"Any luck?" Coilla wondered.
Jup nodded. He still had his hand half buried in the ground.
"Where?" Stryke said.
"A little inland and to the west."
"Sure it's them?"
"Well, farsight isn't like seeing a picture somebody's painted or a page from a book. It… it's hard to explain. Just say that what I'm getting is like a spread of gems on a black cloth. There's lots of 'em. That means a sizeable number of living things. Not animals either; they flare differently. And right in the middle of all that there's a big, blood-red diamond, pulsing like… well, I don't want to think like what."
"That's Jennesta?"
"I'd bet a year's pay on it. If we got paid. It has to be them, Stryke. But…" He looked troubled.
"What?"
"There's something else. Back the way we came, and further off, but even stronger despite the distance."
Heads turned in the direction he'd indicated.
"What you saying? Another force?"
"Maybe. I've never seen anything like it before."
"Could that be Jennesta," Coilla asked, "and the bunch westward somebody else?"
"No. They have a totally different… flavour. Jennesta's a murky diamond. Whatever this is, it's… a whole string of them, only shining white. If I was using my eyes for this I'd be blinded."
"Could it be natural?" Stryke said.
"Possibly. Sometimes you get a particularly strong impression from something like a large, fast-flowing river, or certain rich mineral seams. And of course we don't really know Acurial very well; there could be any number of things that affect farsight. Still damn strange though." He pulled his hand from the earth. "Like a second opinion from Spurral? Her gift's at least as strong as mine."
Stryke pondered the offer. "That won't tell us any more than we know, will it?"
"Unlikely."
"Then we'll hope it's natural, and harmless. Forget it. It's Jennesta we're concerned about. Let's head west."
As Jup had said the distance wasn't too great, Stryke ordered the band to lead their horses, the better to approach with stealth.
Their march took them into the lengthening shadows of evening. Until at last a pathfinder returned noiselessly to tell them the encampment was ahead.
It lay in a grassy hollow at the foot of a chalk cliff. There were guards, but they were easily dealt with. On their bellies, the band peered down at the camp from the cliff-top. There were perhaps a couple of hundred humans present, mostly uniformed. Three covered wagons stood to one side of the clearing, and a carriage, presumably Jennesta's, was parked near its centre.
"How we going to deal with that many, Stryke?" Coilla said.
"We've faced bigger odds."
"Hmm. Something wily might be better."
"You're our mistress of strategy. So strat."
She smiled. "I'll think of something."
Stretched out full-length nearby, Spurral idly worked her fingers into the sward. She closed her eyes.
" Shit!" The ground could have been boiling hot going by the speed with which she pulled out her fingers.
" Ssshhh! Keep it down," Jup whispered. He saw how she looked. "What is it?"
"I just used the sight. Think I picked up what you did, only this seems a hell of a lot stronger and closer. It's really intense, Jup."
"Where?" Stryke demanded.
She turned and pointed to the darkening plain behind them.
Stryke looked up and down the Wolverine line. "Anybody see anything out there?"
Nobody could.
"If that's another bunch of Jennesta's supporters," Coilla speculated, "it could be a flanking action."
"That makes us sitting ducks. All of you: back from the edge and down to the plain."
They withdrew, moving furtively. They knew Jennesta would have more guards stationed around the camp, and probably patrols. The last thing they needed was to alert them.
Back on the plain, they peered into the gathering gloom.
Haskeer glared at Jup. "You sure your female's right about this? I can't see a fucking thing."
" His female," Spurral told him, "is quite capable of speaking for herself; and yes, I'm sure."
Haskeer grunted but otherwise kept quiet.
They all stood motionless for several silent minutes, surveying the plain. Stryke wasn't alone in starting to think it was some kind of mistake.
It was Pepperdyne who pointed and said, "What's that?"
Stryke strained his eyes. "Can't see anything."
Coilla chimed in with, "I can! Look, just to the right of that stand of trees."
Something was coming out of the murk. As it got nearer they realised it was someone mounted on a white horse. A slight figure, lean and straight-backed.
It came near enough for them to make out what kind of being it was.
"What the fuck?" Haskeer exclaimed, voicing the amazement they all felt.
The rider was unmistakably of a race that didn't exist on Acurial.
Halting just short of the band, the rider lifted her hand in a gesture of greeting. "I'm here in peace. I intend you no harm."
Stryke found his tongue. "Who are you?"
"My name is Pelli Madayar."
"You're an elf."
"Very observant of you, Captain Stryke."
"How do you know my name? What the hell is — "
"There are some things you'll have to take on trust."
"Like a member of the elfin race turning up here?" Coilla said. "We need more than trust to take that in our stride. Where are you from?"
"That's not important."
"Is there a tribe of elves living in Acurial we didn't know about?" Stryke persisted.
"As I said, that's not important."
"If you're not from this land you must have come from… elsewhere."
"As you did."
Stryke was taken aback by that, as they all were. "You seem to know a hell of a lot about us."
"Perhaps. But I repeat: it's not my intention to do you harm."
Jup said, "You wouldn't have come from Maras-Dantia, would you?"
"No. My kind are not confined to any one world. No more than orcs are, as you have found."
"You with Jennesta?" Stryke wanted to know.
"No. My allegiance lies elsewhere and shouldn't concern you."
"Helpful, ain't she?" Haskeer muttered.
"There are some things it's better you should not know."
"Is that so? So how about we beat it out of you?"
The elf was unruffled. "I wouldn't advise you trying that. We don't want to hurt you."
Haskeer laughed derisively. "Hurt us? You and whose army?"
No sooner had he spoken than some of the grunts started shouting and pointing along the plain. A group of riders, about equal in number to the Wolverines, were emerging from the shadows. Many in the band went for their swords.
As the newcomers slowly advanced, their nature could be seen. There were goblins, trolls and harpies in their ranks, along with centaurs, gremlins, gnomes, satyrs, kobolds, were-beasts, changelings and individuals from many other races, including some the orcs hadn't seen before.
"This just gets creepier," Jup remarked, clutching his staff with ra
pidly whitening knuckles.
"Who the hell are you, Madayar, and what do you want?" Stryke demanded.
"We've come to parley."
"About what?"
"You have certain things that don't rightfully belong to you. Our duty is to retrieve them."
"What things?"
"She means the stars, Stryke," Coilla reckoned.
"Yes," the elf confirmed. "The artefacts more properly known as instrumentalities. They cannot stay in your possession."
"They're ours by right!" Stryke thundered. "We fought and bled for them. Some of us died on the way."
"Yeah," Haskeer added, "you want 'em, you rip 'em from our corpses."
"You have no understanding of their power."
"We've got a pretty good idea," Stryke said.
"No, you haven't. Not their real power, and what they represent. What you've seen so far is just a fraction of their true potential."
"All the more reason not to hand them over to the first bunch of strangers who come begging."
"We're not begging, we're asking."
"The answer's no," Haskeer told her. "Now fuck off."
She ignored that. "The instrumentalities pose a terrible threat. Our task is to make sure they don't fall into the wrong hands."
"And yours are the right hands, are they?" Stryke came back. "I don't buy that."
"In the name of reason, consider what I'm telling you. If you knew what you were meddling in — "
"So tell us."
Pelli faltered. "As I said, some things must rest on trust."
"Not good enough. You want something from orcs, you've got to take it. If you can."
Her tone became more conciliatory. "The ferocity of the orcs, and their bravery, are well known, for all that so many malign you. I know of your tenacity and of your valour. But you can't hope to prevail against us."
Stryke looked to the rest of her group, now at a standstill a short arrow's flight away. "In our time we've killed many from just about all the races in your ranks. Nothing I see makes me think you'd be any different."
"Don't judge us by your past experience, Stryke. Your instinct is to fight, I understand that. It's your birthright. But you don't have to surrender to that impulse this time. Rather than lift your blades against us, try thinking instead."
"You saying we can't think?" Haskeer rumbled.
"I'm saying that in the end you have no choice but to surrender the instrumentalities."
"Surrender's a word we don't grant," Stryke replied icily.
"Don't see it as surrender, but rather as a triumph of good sense."
"And if we don't?"
"Then I have to demand that you turn over the artefacts. Now."
"We don't take demands either."
"This is pissing me off," Haskeer fumed. "You're pissing me off, elf!"
"That's your final word?" Pelli asked.
Stryke nodded. "Any other parleying gets done with blades."
"I'm sorry we couldn't reach an agreement."
"What you going to do about it?"
"Reflect, and consult with my companions." She turned her mount and began to leave.
"You reflect away!" Haskeer shouted after her. "And all the fucking good it'll do you!"
In common with others in the band, several of the new intake had nocked arrows when the strange group appeared. Now one of them, raw and jumpy, accidentally let loose his string. The arrow shot past the retreating elf's head so close she felt the air it displaced.
Pelli Madayar swung about to look their way.
Stryke started to shout. He wanted to say that it was an accident. That the band would fight to the last drop of blood and without mercy, but had no need to put an arrow in the back of anybody under a truce. He didn't get the chance.
The elf pointed her hand their way, then swept it left to right, rapidly. A wave of energy, red-tinged, flew at the band as fast as thought. It hit them with the force of a tempest. All of them. The entire company went down, knocked off their feet as surely as if they'd been struck with mallets. With it, the wave brought pain that coursed through their bodies for a good couple of seconds.
"Gods," Coilla groaned as she struggled to get up.
" Stay low! " Stryke hissed. "All of you: head for the tree line. But keep down!"
They scurried for the trees, bent double, trying to zigzag and make themselves harder targets. Halfway there, the air above them lit up with intense, multicoloured beams of light. Rays crackling all around them, they put on a burst of speed and made it into the tiny wood.
"Anybody hit?" Stryke panted.
Miraculously, it seemed no one had been.
"Who the fuck are this bunch?" Haskeer said.
"Doesn't matter. Main thing is getting out of the way of their magic."
"A frontal assault's not on then?" Coilla ventured.
"What do you think? Magic that strong, we'd be lucky to get ten paces."
"They're coming!" Dallog warned.
The bizarre multispecies company was approaching, riding in a line, steadily.
"We'll get to safer ground and figure out how to fight this," Stryke decided.
Jup, who with a couple of scouts had penetrated the wood farther than the others, came dashing back. He was breathing heavily. "Not that way. Jennesta's troops."
"Shit," Coilla cursed. "They must have picked up on the racket."
"Great," Haskeer grumbled. "Jennesta and a couple of hundred humans that way, the freak circus over here, and us in the middle."
"What do we do, Stryke?" Pepperdyne badgered.
"Depends how you want to die."
Coilla shook her head. "No, Stryke. There's one other course."
He didn't have to be told what that was. But he hesitated.
They could hear Jennesta's army now, tramping through the wood and making no effort at furtiveness. The riders were much nearer, too.
"Hurry up, Stryke!" Coilla pleaded.
He reached for the pouch where he kept the stars.
Standeven stared, open-mouthed. "Surely you're not going to — "
" Shut it," Stryke told him as he began pulling out the artefacts. His other hand went to the amulet at his throat.
"There's no time!" Coilla yelled.
The Gateway Corps had reached the tree line. In the other direction, the foremost of Jennesta's troops could be seen moving through the wood, a spit away.
Stryke let go of the amulet and concentrated on the stars, quickly slotting them together in a random pattern.
The whole band instinctively gathered about him.
Standeven started to shout. The words were unintelligible and slick with panic. It almost drowned out the noise Wheam was making.
Stryke took one last look at the comet through the branches overhead. It shone like a nighttime sun.
Then he clicked the final instrumentality into place.
13
The bottom had dropped out of the universe.
They were living sparks, sucked through an endless, serpentine tunnel of light. On its supple walls flashed endless images of other realities, moving so fast they were almost a blur. And beyond, outside that terrible shaft, an even more breathtaking actuality: a limitless canopy smothered in countless billions of stars.
The band's only sensation was of helplessly falling. A ceaseless and unremitting plunge into the black maw of the unknown.
Then, after an eternity, they dropped towards a particular chasm, a whirlpool of sallow, churning light.
It swallowed them.
They landed hard. The collision with what seemed to be solid ground was bone-shaking. But they had no leisure to recover from the impact. Wherever they had fetched up was hostile. Murderously so.
The place was in the grip of a violent sandstorm. Trillions of grains of sand lashed them like shards of glass or tiny diamonds, bathing them in pain. The sand not only pummelled them, it all but blinded them: they could see practically nothing. It was hard to stand, let alone walk. The h
eat was terrific, and in no way mitigated by the never-ending, roaring wind. Even for a group of warriors as toughened as the Wolverines, it was intolerable.
Coilla was vaguely aware of other figures clustered about her. She happened to be standing next to Stryke when he slotted the instrumentalities together. If she hadn't, she probably wouldn't have been able to find him now. But by luck, when she stretched out her hand she brushed his arm. She took it in an iron grip.
Thrusting her mouth to his ear, she bellowed, " Get us out of here! "
Coilla had no way of knowing that was exactly what he was trying to do. The cluster of stars was still in his hands, and hampered by being unable to see what he was doing, he was battling to rearrange them.
After what seemed an agonisingly long time, choking with the sand filling his mouth and nose, he managed to slot them into another random assembly.
The void snatched them again. They were back in the swirling, never-ending spillway, taking a stomach-churning tumble to another unknown goal.
The band was pitched into a blizzard, having exchanged insufferable heat for unspeakable cold. All they could see was white. Stinging snow pricked them like innumerable needles. The temperature was so low they found it difficult to breathe. Stryke's fingers froze instantly, and it was all he could do to manipulate the stars. Teeth chattering, hands shaking uncontrollably, he finally altered them.
Once more, the cosmic trapdoor flipped open.
They were standing in torrential rain in a landscape that seemed to consist solely of mud that was nearly liquid itself. The air was uncomfortably humid. In seconds they realised that the rain was corrosive. It nipped at their flesh and singed their clothing as though it was vitriol. Stryke manipulated the stars.
A jungle embraced them. At first it seemed endurable. Then gigantic swarms of flying insects appeared, tenacious and hungry. They covered the band, fibrous wings beating, stingers seeking unprotected skin. Stryke manoeuvred the stars into another configuration.
They were deposited on a vast, featureless plain, the only variation being a distant range of blue-black mountains. Three Suns beat down, one of them bloody red. Of more immediate import were the two armies the Wolverines found themselves between. One consisted of creatures resembling giant lizards, with purple hides and flicking, barbed tongues. The other was made up of beasts that seemed to be a cross between bears and apes, only with four arms. Each horde numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and they were moving rapidly forward, with the warband squarely in their path, like a nut in a vice. Stryke fiddled with the instrumentalities.
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