region in the extreme north of Maras-Dantia. In a fantastical ice palace they discovered Sanara, who proved benevolent, unlike her tyrannical sisters. She was held captive by the Sluagh, a pitiless race of near immortal demons who had pursued the instrumentalities for centuries. Unable to defeat the Sluagh, the orcs were imprisoned by them.
Their saviour appeared in the form of the mysterious Serapheim, revealed as the legendary sorcerer Tentarr Arngrim, father of Jennesta, Sanara and Adpar. Through him Stryke learnt that Maras-Dantia was never the orcs' world, or the natural world of any of the elder races. Arngrim's ex-lover turned enemy, the sorceress Vermegram, brought orcs into Maras-Dantia to create her personal slave army. But the magical portals she opened also swept in members of other races from their own dimensions. Ironically, Maras-Dantia was and always had been the home world of humans.
Stryke's visions were not insanity but glimpses of his race's home world, brought on by contact with the powerful energy generated by the instrumentalities.
Tentarr Arngrim, trying to make amends for what humans had done, created the instrumentalities as part of a plan to return the elder races to their home dimensions. But the scheme was dashed and the stars scattered.
The sorcerer helped the Wolverines escape, and they managed to take the instrumentalities back from the Sluagh. A portal was located in the ice palace's cellars, and the sorcerer guided the band to it. But as he prepared to send them to the orcs' dimension Jennesta arrived with her army. A magical battle with Arngrim and Sanara on one side and Jennesta on the other ended with Jennesta consigned to the portal's fearsome vortex. The sorcerer queen was either torn apart by its titanic energy or flung into a parallel dimension.
Jup, the dwarf member of the Wolverines, chose to stay in the world he knew rather than cross to his race's home dimension. He and Sanara went off in hope of escaping under cover of the anarchy that engulfed the ice palace. For his part, Tentarr Arngrim elected to stay in the crumbing fortress and hold the Sluagh at bay while the others got away. Thrusting the instrumentalities into Stryke's hands, he set the portal for the orcs' dimension.
And the Wolverines stepped into the vortex…
1
Bilkers were the second most dangerous species in Ceragan. They had teeth like knife blades and hides as tough as seasoned leather. The only thing greater than their fearsome strength was their aggression.
The bilker being stalked by two of the most dangerous of Ceragan's inhabitants reared on its massive hind legs. Its scabby head brushed the crest of a tree that a flick of its barbed tail would have been powerful enough to fell.
'Think we can take it alone?' Haskeer whispered.
Stryke nodded.
'Looks like a mob-handed job to me.'
'Not if we're smart.'
' Shit's smarter than a bilker.'
'You should be all right then.'
Haskeer shot him a mystified glance.
They were fine specimens of orc adulthood, with imposing shoulders, expansive chests and a muscular build. Their craggy faces bore proudly thrusting jaws, and there was flint in their eyes. Both had fading scars on their cheeks where the tattoos signifying their rank, the marks of enslavement, had been purged.
The bilker thudded down on to four legs. It gave a watery growl and resumed lumbering. Trampling shrubbery, grating bark from trees it rubbed against, it began moving along the bottom of the valley.
Stryke and Haskeer emerged from the undergrowth, spears in hand, and followed stealthily. They were downwind, catching the noxious odour the beast exuded.
The orcs and their prey meandered for some distance. Occasionally, the bilker stopped and clumsily turned its head, as if suspecting their presence, but the orcs took care to stay out of sight. The creature gazed back along its wake, sniffed the air, then trudged on.
Passing a small copse, the bilker waded a pebbly stream. On its far side was a broad rocky outcrop, dotted with caves. To carry on the pursuit, Stryke and Haskeer had to break cover. Keeping low, they dashed for the shelter of a lichen-covered boulder. They were within five paces of it when the bilker swung its head round.
The orcs froze, mesmerised by the beast's merciless, fist-size eyes.
Hunters and hunted stood transfixed for an age. Then a change came over the creature.
' It's bilking! ' Haskeer yelled.
The colour of the animal's skin started to alter. It took on the hue and mottled appearance of the sandy granite wall behind it. All except its swaying tail, which aped the green and brown of an adjacent tree. With increasing rapidity the bilker was blending into the background.
' Quick! ' Stryke shouted. ' Before we lose it! '
They ran forward. Stryke lobbed his spear. It struck square in the creature's flank, drawing a thunderous bellow from the wounded beast.
Camouflage was a bilker's principal defence, but far from all it relied on. Its fighting capacity was just as effective. Turning head on, it charged, the spear jutting from its bloodied side. As it splashed back across the stream, its cloaking ability, triggered by self-preservation and working overtime, continued to mirror the terrain. But with concealment giving way to attack, it functioned chaotically. The bilker's upper body still imitated the rock-face, while its bottom half mimicked the water. Charge gathering pace, its hide shimmering bizarrely, the creature's lower quarters seemed almost transparent.
Stryke and Haskeer stood their ground. Haskeer had held on to his spear, preferring to use it as a close range weapon. Stryke drew his sword.
They stayed put until the last possible second. When the bilker got close enough for them to feel a gust of its rank breath they dived clear; Haskeer to the left, Stryke to the right. Immediately they commenced harrying the animal from either side. Haskeer repeatedly thrust his spear, puncturing flesh. Stryke slashed with the blade, his strokes deep and wide.
Roaring, the bilker lashed out at them, spinning from one to the other, its great jaws snapping loudly. It raked the air with its claws, coming perilously close to shredding orc heads. And it brought its tail into play.
Haskeer felt the brunt. Whipping round shockingly fast, the tail struck him a glancing but potent blow. It knocked him flat and almost senseless, and parted him from his spear. The bilker moved in to finish the chore.
Stryke darted in and scooped up the spear. With a heave he drove it into one of the animal's hind legs. That proved enough of a distraction for Haskeer to be forgotten. The bilker turned about, its drooling jaws wide open, looking to tear its antagonist apart. Stryke had hastily sheathed his sword before reaching for the spear. Now he groped for it.
A throwing knife zinged into the side of the bilker's snout and the beast recoiled. It was enough of a sting to hinder the advance on Stryke. Haskeer was on his knees, plucking another knife. Stryke wrenched his sword free. The bilker came at him again. He saw inky black orbs floating in jaundice-yellow.
Stryke plunged his blade into the beast's eye. There was an eruption of viscous liquid and an unholy stink. The bilker mouthed a piercing shriek and pulled back, writhing in agony.
Haskeer and Stryke moved in and set to hacking at the animal's neck. They struck alternately, as though hewing the sturdy trunk of a fallen oak. The bilker thrashed and howled, its hide transmuting through a succession of colours and patterns. One moment it faked the blueness of the summer sky, the next it copied the grass and earth of its deathbed. It briefly wore the image of Stryke and Haskeer as they laboured to stifle its life with their blades.
Just before they parted its head it settled for a coat of crimson.
Stryke and Haskeer backed off, panting. The bilker twitched, blood pumping from the stump of its neck.
The orcs slumped on a downed tree trunk and regarded their kill. They breathed the pure air of victory, and relished the way life seemed brighter, more immediate, after a kill.
They sat silently for some time before Stryke became fully alert to where they were. A stone's throw away
