Cautiously, they edged forward, swords raised.
“Careful,” Haskeer cautioned, “might be more.”
The figure came on. It didn’t so much walk as lurch, and it gaped at them. With an effort, it raised an arm. But then it staggered,
legs buckling, and fell. The ground was uneven, and it rolled a way before finally coming to rest.
Warily, Haskeer and Stryke approached.
Stryke lightly toed the body. Getting no response, he booted it a couple of times. It lay still. He crouched and felt for
a pulse in the creature’s neck. There was nothing.
Haskeer tore his attention away from the cave. He was agitated. “What’s this thing doing here?” he wanted to know. “And what
killed it?”
“Nothing obvious I can see,” Stryke reported, examining the corpse. “Here, give me a hand.”
Haskeer knelt beside him and they turned the body over.
“There’s your answer,” Stryke said.
The human had a knife in its back.
They ventured into the cave to make sure there were no more humans lying in wait.
There was a lingering smell of something like sulphur in the surprisingly large, high-roofed interior. But the gloom proved
empty.
They went back to the body.
Stryke stooped, took hold of the dagger and tugged it from the corpse’s back. He wiped the blood on the dead man’s coat. The
blade had a slight curve, and its silver hilt was engraved with symbols he didn’t recognise. He thrust it into the ground.
They turned the body over again. The colour was draining from its face, making the ginger hair and freckles all the more striking.
The human wore an amulet on a thin chain about its neck. It bore symbols different from the ones on the dagger, but they were
unfamiliar too. There was nothing in the pockets of the corpse’s jacket or breeches. Nor did it have a weapon of any kind.
“Not exactly kitted out for a journey,” Haskeer remarked.
“And no stars.”
“So much for them being a key.”
“Wait.”
Stryke pulled off one of the man’s boots. Holding it by the heel, he shook it, then tossed it aside. When he did the same
with the other boot, something fell out. It was the size of a duck’s egg and wrapped in dark green cloth.
The object bounced and landed nearest Haskeer. He made to reach for it, but checked himself. “What if —?”
“He doesn’t look too dangerous,” Stryke said, nodding at the corpse. “Same probably goes for whatever’s in his boot.”
“You never know with his kind,” Haskeer replied darkly.
“Well, we have to find out some time.” Stryke scooped the thing up.
Once the cloth was unwound, instead of some smaller version of the stars, as they half expected, they found a gemstone. Whether
it was precious, or deceiving glass, they couldn’t say. It covered an orc’s palm, and it was weighty. One side was flat, the
other multifaceted, and at first they thought it was black. Looking closer, they saw that the gem was the colour of darkest
red wine.
“Have a care,” Haskeer warned.
“Seems harmless enough.” Stryke ran his fingers across its shiny surface. “I wonder if —
Shit!
” He tossed the gem away.
“What is it? What happened?”
“Hot!” Stryke complained, blowing on his hand and waving it around. “
Damn
hot.”
The gemstone lay on the grass. It appeared redder than before.
“It’s doing something, Stryke!” Haskeer had his sword out again.
Stryke forgot his pain and stared.
The gem had a glow about it. Suddenly, silently, it sent up a beam, not so much of light as something resembling smoke. Disciplined
smoke, pale as snow, that flowed in a perfectly straight column, untroubled by the evening breeze. At the top of the column,
taller than the orcs, the creamy smoke formed a large oval shape. It swirled and shimmered.
“It’s a hex!” Haskeer yelled, and would have dashed the gem with his blade.
“
No!
” Stryke protested. “Wait!
Look
.”
The pillar of smoke issuing from the gem had changed colour from white to blue. As they watched, the blue gave way to red,
and the red to gold. Every few seconds the hue changed, so that the column hosted all colours in rapid succession. In turn
these bled into the egg-shaped cloud suspended above their heads, giving it a rich vibrancy.
Haskeer and Stryke were mesmerised by it.
The coloured haze took on the appearance of solidity, as though it were a canvas hanging in the air. A canvas upon which a
deranged artist had hurled pots of paint. But order soon swept away the chaos, and a distinct feature came into focus.
A human face.
It belonged to a male. He had shoulder-length auburn hair, and a beard, trimmed short. His eyes were blue, his nose hawkish,
and his well shaped mouth was almost feminine.
“It’s him!” Haskeer exclaimed. “Serapheim!”
Stryke needed no confirmation. He, too, instantly recognised Tentarr Arngrim.
The sorcerer was of indefinite age to an orc’s eye, but they knew him to be much older than he appeared. And no matter how
alien a race humanity might be, the man’s presence and authority were obvious to them, even filtered through an enchanted
gem.
“
Greetings, orcs
.” Arngrim spoke as clearly as if he stood before them.
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Haskeer shouted.
“I don’t think he can hear you. This isn’t… now.”
“What?”
“His likeness has been poured into that gemstone somehow.”
“You mean he
is
dead?”
“Just
listen
.”
“
Don’t be afraid
,” the wizard’s image went on. “
I realise how foolish a thing that is to say to a race as courageous as yours. But be assured that I mean you no harm
.”
Haskeer looked far from comforted. They kept their swords raised.
“
I’m speaking to you now because the stone was designed to be activated once it detected the presence of Stryke
.” Arngrim smiled, adding mellifluously, “
I hope this is so, and that you can hear my words, Captain of the Wolverines. I can’t see or hear you, as should already have
been explained by Parnol, the emissary who delivered this message. He’s a trusted acolyte. And don’t be deceived by his youth.
He’s wise beyond his years, and brave, as you’ll find
.” The sorcerer smiled again. “
Forgive me if this embarrasses you, Parnol; I know how you dislike a fuss
.”
Stryke and Haskeer glanced at the messenger’s body.
“
Parnol’s role, as I expect he’s already told you, was not only to bring you the gem, but to act as your guide, should you
agree to my proposal
.”
“Guide?” Haskeer said.
“
What Parnol wouldn’t have told you is the nature of the task
,” the sorcerer continued. “
I judged it best to present that myself
.” He paused, as though collecting his thoughts. “
You believed me to be dead, perhaps. The circumstances in which we parted must certainly have led you to that conclusion.
But I had the good fortune, and the necessary skills, to survive the destruction of the palace at Ilex. My story isn’t important
at the moment, however. Of much more significance is the reason I’ve sought you out, and the point of this message
.”
“’Bout time,” Haskeer grumbled.
“Ssshh!”
“
On the principle that a picture outweighs a torrent of words, consider this
.”
Arngrim vanished. He was replaced by a kaleidoscope of images. Scenes of orcs being whipped, hanged, burnt alive or cut down
by cavalry. Orcs fleeing, their lodges plundered and their livestock scattered. Orcs herded like animals, to internment or
slaughter. Orcs humiliated, mocked, beaten, put to the sword.
In every case, their tormentors were human.
“
I feel shame for my race
,” said Arngrim, his voice accompanying the imagery. “
Too often we act like beasts. What you see is happening now. These outrages are taking place in a world similar to yours.
But a world less fortunate, where orcs are dominated by cruel oppressors and have had their freedom stolen, as yours was
.”
“Orcs fucked over by humans,” Haskeer muttered. “What’s new?”
“
You can aid your fellow creatures
,” the sorcerer told them. “
I’m not saying it would be easy, but your martial skills, your valour, might even help bring about their liberation
.”
Haskeer grunted charily. Stryke shot him a glare.
“
Why would you want to undertake such a mission? Well, if the plight of your orc comrades isn’t enough, look upon something
else you know
.”
The scenes of persecution and destruction faded. They were replaced by a female form, not entirely human, nor totally of any
other race. Her eyes were somewhat oblique and unusually long-lashed, and they had dark, immeasurable depths. Her aquiline
nose and shapely mouth were set in a face a little too flat and broad, framed by waist-length hair the colour of squid’s ink.
Most striking was the texture of her skin, which had a faint glistening of green and silver, giving the impression that she
was covered in minute scales. She was beautiful, but her allure was just this side of freakishness.
“
Jennesta
,” the wizard supplied unnecessarily.
The sight of her chilled Stryke and Haskeer’s spines.
“
Yes, she survived the portal. I don’t know how. And even though she’s my own offspring, my bitterest regret is that she lived
.” Jennesta was shown riding a black chariot at the head of a triumphant parade; addressing a frenzied crowd from the balcony
of a palace; presiding at a mass execution. “
Let me be blunt. Her continued existence is a bigger problem than the fate of your kin, no matter how dire their situation.
Because if left unchecked, she’ll enslave more, of your kind and mine. Alone, I’m unable to defeat Jennesta. But it could
be within your power, perhaps, to stop her, and to gain your revenge. If you choose that path, Parnol will thoroughly brief
you. But he’ll need the instrumentalities you possess if he’s to be your guide. His journey to your world was one-way. I trust
you still have them, else the enterprise is doomed before it’s begun
.” Arngrim smiled again. “
Somehow, I think you do
.”
“Know-all,” Haskeer mumbled.
A fresh image emerged: five perfect spheres of different colours, each the size of a newborn’s fist. They were fashioned from
an unknown material. All had projecting spikes of variable lengths, and no two spheres had the same number. “
The instrumentalities, or stars, as you choose to call them, have remarkable powers. Greater even than I was aware of when
I created them. Though perhaps I should have known, given how bringing them into being drained me of so much. It was the kind
of achievement sorcerers have only once in a lifetime. I could never construct another set. But note. Although rare, the instrumentalities
are by no means unique
.”
“Does he mean there’s more of ’em?” Haskeer whispered.
“Must be. How do you think he got here?” Stryke jabbed a thumb at the corpse.
“
Parnol would use the stars you hold to navigate the portals
,” Arngrim explained. “
For instance, to reach the place you last left, Maras-Dantia, they would have to be manipulated like this
.” As he spoke, the spheres came together in a way that seemed implausible, if not actually impossible, and formed a single,
interlocked entity. “
To travel to the land I showed you requires this configuration
.” The stars executed another improbable manoeuvre, ending again in one piece. “
And to return to where you now are
…” They shifted and locked together in a different but still perfect combination. “
Attempting to use the instrumentalities without having first set them causes them to act randomly, and that can be very dangerous.
But you’ve no need to worry about how they operate. That’s Parnol’s job
.” His voice took on a graver tone. “
Your duty is to guard them as you would your own lives. Apart from being your only way home, they must never fall into the
wrong hands. I urge you to accept the task I’ve outlined, Wolverines. For the sake of your kind, and for the greater purpose
.”
The light went out of the enchantment. Instantly, the column of smoke was sucked back into the gemstone. Evening shadows returned,
and the quiet.
“I’ll be fucked,” Haskeer said.
“You put it like a poet.”
“
Greetings, orcs
.”
They swung back to the gem, blades ready. It was glowing again.
“
Don’t be afraid, I realise how foolish
…”
The stone began fizzling. It throbbed with a grey luminescence.
“. . .
a thing that is to say to a race as courageous
…”
A greenish vapour was streaming from the gem. It crackled and spat.
“. . .
as yours. But be assured
—”
There was a loud report. Fragments of gemstone shot in all directions.
Stryke went over and prodded the smouldering remains with his sword tip. The dying embers gave off a fetid odour.
They stood in silence for a while, then Haskeer said, “What the hell do you make of all that?”
“It could be what we need.”
“What?”
“Do you ever feel… ?”
“Feel
what
?”
“Don’t get me wrong; finding Thirzarr, coming here, having the hatchlings… they’re the best things that ever happened to me.
But…”
“Spit it out, Stryke, for fuck’s sake.”
“This place has everything we hoped for. Good hunting and feasting, comradeship, tourneys, our own lodges. Yet, now and again,
don’t you get a little… bored?”
Haskeer stared at him. “I thought I was the only one.”
“You feel that way?”
“Yeah. Don’t know why. Like you say, life’s good here.”
“Maybe that’s it.”
Perplexity creased Haskeer’s brow. “Whadya mean?”
“Where’s the danger? Where’s the
enemy
? I know we skirmish with other clans sometimes, but that’s not the same. What we’re missing is a… purpose.”