unsteadily, but without compromise. Any who got in their way, even if they were allies, were ploughed through, or even felled. Some of Jennesta’s human zombies, slower to shift, were simply cut down. Gripped by the sorceress’ enchantment, the orcs recognised no barrier in obeying their mistress’ will.
Gleaton-Rouk and his goblin crew were also beginning to join the fight. But he was unable to use his bow, the second source of magic Dynahla had detected, both because of the crush and the fact that it hadn’t been daubed with blood. Stryke worried that it soon would be.
Outnumbered as they were, the Wolverines had one thing going for them. Unlike Jennesta’s widely diverse followers and collaborators, they were a unified force, accustomed to fighting as an entity. It gave them a slight edge in the mayhem. Not that it meant they would prevail against such odds. So far, the band had been lucky. But Stryke knew it was just a matter of time before they started taking casualties.
He wrenched his blade from a goblin’s chest and let the creature topple. Then he looked to Thirzarr. She was unmoved, physically and apparently emotionally. But it was Jennesta, at her side, who drew his attention. She was staring fixedly at something beyond Stryke. He turned, and saw Dynahla returning her gaze.
In that instant there was a blinding flash of light. It was so intense that everybody stilled, and the fighting halted. Even the enchanted orcs slowed to a shuffling crawl. When Stryke’s vision cleared he made out what was happening.
Jennesta and Dynahla were engaged in a duel of sorcery. They were battering each other with shafts of energy. Both had hands raised, palms outward, their faces rigid masks of concentration. The beams of magical vigour they generated pulsed with coloured light; primarily scarlet in Jennesta’s case, green in Dynahla’s, though other, subtler hues swirled within them. A sulphurous aroma began to fill the air, and the beams gave off blasts of heat.
One of the sorceress’ human zombie slaves, a Wolverine axe buried in his back, staggered into range of the alluring stream. Lurching forward, he came into contact with it. He immediately ignited, a sheet of orange flame quickly spreading to cover his entire body. Blazing head to foot, moaning pathetically, the creature was consumed, collapsing into a heap of ash and yellowed bones.
Dynahla was sweating freely. Jennesta wore an expression of extreme attentiveness. The rich tints of the energy they threw at each other grew more vivid and the heat given off increased. All those looking on remained mesmerised.
Still maintaining her magical defence, Jennesta raised a hand and made a gesture. Some of her followers started to move, sluggishly. She repeated the signal with an angry insistence. This time they all responded. Stryke thought they were about to resume the fight, and readied himself. Instead they disengaged and swiftly pulled back. Wary of what might happen next, he motioned his band to do likewise. They obeyed and came to him.
The two sides were soon apart, the space between littered with Jennesta’s dead and wounded. Stryke’s glance flicked left and right, checking the Wolverines. They were all panting from the exertion of combat. Several had injuries, a couple of them harsh, but none seemed dire.
As if by unspoken agreement, Jennesta and Dynahla simultaneously ceased their clash. The beams snapped out of existence, leaving tracelines on the eyes of all those watching. Jennesta let out a sigh and looked drained. Dynahla was exhausted. For a second or two his features blurred and flickered, before settling back to their familiar form. He swayed, and might have fallen if Jup and Noskaa hadn’t taken hold of his arms and steadied him.
There was movement in Jennesta’s ranks. Gleaton-Rouk and his clan were withdrawing to the rear. The human zombies lumbered after them, along with the enchanted orcs and the smattering of other races from her diverse horde who were still standing. They kept going, and were lost to the night.
Stryke suspected a ploy, reasoning that they might be circling to attack from another direction. But moments passed and it seemed they had retreated altogether.
Jennesta and her human troopers remained, with Thirzarr fixed at the sorceress’ side. Stryke resolved to order a charge, seize his mate and put an end to the charade.
He noticed that Jennesta was holding something. At first, it was hard to tell what it was in the poor light. Then he realised she was slotting together the duplicate set of instrumentalities.
Their eyes met. Jennesta smiled.
Stryke cried out Thirzarr’s name and lunged forward.
The last star clicked into place.
Jennesta and her force disappeared.
19
Pelli Madayar’s intuitive sense, a natural receptiveness sharpened by years of training, detected a certain disturbance in the ether. She had no doubt what it meant.
The Gateway Corps unit was at sea, pursuing its objective. Pelli left her cabin and sought out her second-in- command, the goblin Weevan-Jirst. She found him amidships, alone at the rail, standing stiffly. He wore a severe expression.
“There’s been a transition,” she told him.
“Really,” he replied without turning to look at her.
“Yes, and by all indications it’s Jennesta, using her counterfeit set of instrumentalities.”
“And what would you have us do about it?”
“Do? Follow her, of course.”
“What about the orcs, and retrieving the artefacts they have? Wasn’t that supposed to be our mission?”
“There’s a difference. The Wolverines’ possession of instrumentalities is dangerous, I don’t deny that. But there’s no sign that they’re using them maliciously. Jennesta, on the other hand, has evil intent. I judge her the greater threat. We can deal with the orcs after we settle with her.”
Now he did tear his eyes from the star-speckled night sky and looked at her. “What does Karrell Revers have to say about all this?”
That was something she had hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I haven’t communicated with him about it.”
“Why?”
“There were practical problems.”
“Ah, yes. The loss of the crystal.” He was referring to the most direct and reliable method of contacting headquarters.
Pelli had told him, after flinging the crystal overboard in a moment of anger, that it had been lost. Which was true in a way. “Yes,” she answered, holding his gaze.
“But there are other means of communicating with our commander.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“Means which you alone can exercise, as possessor of the highest magical skills among those of us present.”
There was something about Weevan-Jirst’s tone that made Pelli wonder, for the first time, if he could be envious of her. In reply, she simply nodded.
“Since you… mislaid the crystal,” the goblin went on, “it would seem we must fall back on your talents to contact Revers.”
“If we were to commune with him, yes we would.”
“What do you mean?” the goblin hissed.
“I see no need to seek his guidance in this matter.”
“ I do. Moreover I demand my right as second-in-command to speak with him myself, as laid out in the Corps’ constitution.”
“Those same rules state that the commander of a unit such as this has complete discretion when it comes to operational decisions.”
“So you are denying my rights.”
“Only your right to constantly question my leadership,” Pelli came back irritably. “And we won’t achieve our goal if we keep pulling in different directions.” She took a breath, softened and went for conciliatory. “Look, we have our disagreements, but we both want this mission to succeed. Can’t we put aside our differences and go forward in
