looked to the screen and its five luminous points of light. Everyone followed his gaze. 'We take for granted the multiplicity of worlds. We don't know who first discovered their existence or the means to move between them. Some conjecture that it was an ancient, long-extinct race. Others among you credit your gods. We can speculate on that endlessly and never find an answer; any more than we will ever know the true origins of magic. But that doesn't matter. Our purpose is not to plumb the mystery but to bar irresponsible access to the portals.' He scanned their faces and saw resolve there. 'The Corps has never failed to recover known instrumentalities, or to punish those responsible for their misuse. This will be no exception. You all have your duties. Attend to them.'
The crowd dispersed.
He returned his attention to Madayar. 'We have to move quickly, before the artefacts are used again and we lose sight of them. Pick whoever you want for your squad and take any provisions you need.'
'Do I have discretion in how I deal with this?'
'Act in any way you see fit. And I know it's asking a lot of you, Pelli, but bear in mind it's vital that the existence of the Corps remains secret.'
'That won't be easy, particularly if we have to use force.'
'Try persuasion if you can. Though I've little faith in that approach working with orcs. They're beyond the pale. Remember, you serve a higher moral purpose. If it's necessary to exterminate any who stand in your way, so be it. You'll have weaponry superior to anything you're likely to run into in Maras-Dantia.'
'I hope it doesn't come to that. We elves like to think that few beings are beyond salvation. Surely even orcs are susceptible to reason?'
9
Stryke dragged his blade from the human's gizzard and let him drop. Spinning, he slashed the throat of another man-thing, unleashing a scarlet gush. Then he bowled into a third, thrashing at his sword with brutal, ringing blows.
To left and right, the Wolverines were joined in fierce hand-to-hand combat. Coilla and Haskeer dispatched two adversaries, she with a pair of daggers worked in harmony, he wielding a lacerating hatchet. Dallog impaled an opponent with the spar the band used to fly its standard. Underfoot, the withered sward was slick with blood.
It was dawn, and they fought in a makeshift campsite set in a hollow, screened from the trail by a thick copse. A covered wagon was parked, with over a score of horses tethered nearby. The same number of humans battled to defend it.
The conflict was intense but short-lived. With more than half of their strength downed, somebody on the human side yelled an order. They pulled back and fled.
'Let 'em go!' Stryke barked. 'They're leaving us what we want.'
Coilla glimpsed one of the retreating humans. It was a woman, and she had long, straw-blonde hair.
'See that?'
'What?' Haskeer said.
'Those humans riding off. One of them was a female. Young, barely adult.'
'So?'
'I think I've seen her before. Though I'm damned if I can remember where.'
'Humans all look the same to me.'
'That's true.' She shrugged. 'Don't suppose it's important.'
Stryke joined them. He was wiping the gore from his blade with a cloth. 'Well, that was a lucky meeting. For us.'
'Who do you think they were?' Coilla asked.
'Does it matter?'
'Notice how many of them were dressed alike? Could have been Unis.'
'So humans are still divided amongst themselves. Surprise. Let's get on with it, shall we? That wagon should have drinking water and victuals. And now there's enough horses for everybody. If we move ourselves we can reach Quatt today.'
For all that they were travelling south, and into supposedly milder climes, the terrain grew even more bleak. The trees were bereft of greenery, and a brook they passed ran yellow with filth.
'You sure we're on the right path?' Coilla asked.
Riding alongside, Stryke cast her a wry look. 'For the tenth time, yes.'
'Doesn't look much like the way I remember it, that's all.'
'This place's had four more years of being broken by humans. That takes a toll on the land. And they've spoilt the magic. Those bloodsuckers were one upshot of that.'
'At least Wheam seems to be on the mend.' She turned and looked back down the line to where Wheam and Dallog were riding abreast. The youth wore a miserable expression, as usual, and his neck was bound, but some of his natural olive-grey colour was back.
'What's this?' Stryke said.
Coilla returned her attention to the road. A small group of figures was approaching. Some rode a rickety wagon, most were walking.
Haskeer galloped to the front of the line. 'Trouble, Stryke?'
'I don't know. They don't seem too threatening.'
'Could be a trap.'
' Stay alert! ' Stryke warned the column.
Coilla shaded her eyes and squinted at the newcomers. 'They're elves.'
'And a mangy looking lot,' Haskeer added.
The party consisted of no more than a dozen. Those on foot trudged wearily. The wagon carried three or four old-timers, along with a couple of youngsters. All appeared fatigued and ill-nourished. They didn't react to the orcs in any noticeable way, or slow their somnolent plodding.
Leading them was a male. He was mature, although it was always hard to determine exactly how old an elf might be. His once fine clothes were shabby and he bore grime from too many days on the road.
When he reached the orcs he raised a painfully thin hand and his entourage ground to a halt.
'We have nothing,' he declared by way of greeting.
'We've no need of anything from you,' Stryke replied.
'Does that include our lives? It's all we have left.' There was only fatalism in his voice.
'We don't harm those who show us no threat.' Stryke eyed their sorry state. 'You're a long way from home.'
'What's brought a noble race like the elves down to this state?' Coilla said.
'I could ask the same of orcs.'
'We're doing all right,' Haskeer informed him gruffly.
'Then you're rare among your kind,' the elf returned. 'No race prospers in this land anymore. Except one.'
'You mean humans,' Stryke said.
'Who else? They are in the ascendancy and the elder races are being pushed back to ever remoter enclaves. Soon, our kind will retreat into myth as far as humans are concerned.'
Stryke could have told him that this was the humans' world by birthright, let alone conquest. Instead he asked, 'Where are you headed?'
'Few havens remain, and all in distant parts. We decided on the far north.'
'That's a bleak region to choose.'
'It will be no more bitter than life here has become.'
'You can't be all that's left of the elf nation, surely?' Coilla remarked.
'No. Our numbers are greatly decreased, but not to this extent. We are merely the remnants of one clan.'
'And the rest of your race?'
