“Yellowjackets,” Roe breathed as she rose.

Sam stood, too. He knew Yellowjackets from seeing them on tridcasts of corporate settlement wars. They were small, fast, one-man helicopters that carried more than enough armament to take on a light armored vehicle.

Sam discovered that the Yellowjackets also mounted searchlights when shafts of light began to stab down from the craft as they swept over the camp. Sam counted six bright beams cutting across the open ground.

He and Roe were outside the area illuminated by the lights, for the moment undiscovered. She held something out to him.

“Take it,” she said, stepping away.

He grabbed it reflexively with both hands. Looking down. he saw it was her shotgun. As though it were red hot, he opened his hands in horror and let it fall to the ground. No more guns, he had sworn. He expected Roe to say something. but she had already vanished into the darkness.

The weaving lights had spaced themselves into a circle that bathed most of the clearing in harsh glare.

“By the authority of the High Prince of Tir Tairngire, I order you to surrender without resistance. Do so immediately and you will not be harmed.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Sloan broke the tableau by sprinting for the Caravaners. As he ran, he screeched, “You ain’t taking my mind.”

“Remain where you are,” the disembodied voice boomed. “This is your last warning.”

Sloan ignored it. He pulled an automatic rifle from under the seat and spun on his heels. Locking the stock under his elbow, he triggered the weapon, ripping a burst at the chopper with the loudspeaker. Sloan’s rifle stuttered in a piping tone, piercing the steady thump that came from the whirling blades of the surrounding aircraft. Higher-pitched whines shrieked as the weapon’s slugs tore at the craft’s fuselage until, in a shattering of glass and a shower of sparks, the lead chopper’s searchlight winked out.

“Mother, be got me,” the mechanical voice said. Sam was sure the voice did not intend for those on the ground to hear. After a moment, it spoke again as though in reply to a question. “They’ve drawn blood, Bran. They can damn well drink it. All units, lights out. Fire at will.”

The clearing plunged into darkness as the hovering choppers extinguished their lights as one. Before the after-images had faded, red tongues of fire erupted in place of the lamps. Heavy slugs tore gouts of earth in lines across the camp.

Kurt, racing for cover against the other van, was thrown to the ground when one copter’s fire caught him. A second craft’s machine guns sought his downed form, slicing through him and leaving him dismembered on the bloody ground.

Sloan Opened up again, firing wildly into the night. Tracer rounds from his gun flared orange in the darkness. He shouted incoherently as he fired. The Elves responded forcefully. Fire illumined one of the Yellowjackets briefly turning it into an alien insect god of destruction as it launched an air-to-ground rocket.

Time seemed to freeze for Sam. He saw, or imagined he saw, the slim, deadly shape leave the launch tube. As the rocket cleared the tube’s mouth, its fins extended, snapping into place to control its flight. The missile roared toward the van beside which Sloan shouted and raved. Hanae had been sleeping inside that van.

At that instant, Sam saw her face appear at the door. She was bleary-eyed and her hair tousled, looking disoriented by the turmoil and destruction Just as Sam started to shout a warning, the missile struck.

Thunder split the night.

The Caravaner bucked under the impact and roared into an instant inferno as the warhead detonated. Sloan was lifted into the air and flung away, arms flailing.

Sam ran forward, but then tripped and fell sprawling. He looked back to see what had made him fall. In the flickering light, he saw Sloan’s face, rigid with hate and fear. The runner’s hair was half-burned away on one side. His body was nowhere in sight.

Sam scrambled to his feet and staggered once more toward the burning van. Its roof began to sag from the beat, and noxious smoke poured from the pyre. The interior of the van was incandescent with the heat of the conflagration. A sudden spout of flames drove him back. A large hand closed powerfully on his arm. Sam tried once to tug free before turning to see Chin Lee’s tusked face.

“You can’t help her now,” the Ork yelled over the roar of the fire and the thunder of the circling helicopters. Come on, head for the trees. The fragging Yellowjackets can’t follow us there.”

The Ork released him and sprinted for the shelter of the forest. Sam gave the van another look. Chin Lee was right. He could no nothing for Hanae now.

He was alive and she was not, but Sam would make someone pay for that. As they ran for the trees, the second van exploded in a ball of flame that climbed into the sky. Fleetingly, he saw the silhouette of Black Dog scrambling away in the other direction while the angry Yellowjackets buzzed over the clearing, filling it with fire and lead.

Chin Lee was well ahead, just passing the first tree when a slim shape rose up to meet him. The Ork started to swing his assault gun around, but the figure stepped close, brushing the muzzle up and away. A black-clad foot snaked out and the Ork crashed to the forest floor.

The fires revealed the attacker as an Elf. He stood over the stunned runner, panting slightly. Then he casually lifted one hand and sighted down his extended forefinger at the Ork. Arcane energy sparked from his fingertip.

Chin Lee screamed and clutched his arm. The Ork’s hand came away slimed with goo. He yowled louder as the goo spread across his chest and up his neck. The cries died in a bobbling wheeze as his face turned to mush and slumped away from his softening torso.

“A fitting end to such an abomination,” the Elf mage pronounced.

Sam had not stopped running, his legs pumping, though his eyes were locked on the horror before him. His mind was so numbed by the terrifying display of magic that he didn’t realize be was heading straight for the Elf until it was too late. He barreled into the mage and they both went sprawling.

He pushed himself away, kicking at the other to untangle their legs. This Elf had just turned a living person into a puddle of slime. Sam had no doubt that he would gladly hand him the same fate.

The Elf had gathered his wits and was trying to stand. Seeing a fallen branch, Sam grabbed for it. Swinging as he scrambled to his feet, he struck the Elf in the head. The rotten wood of the branch shattered on impact. Fragments and surprised insects exploded in a cloud, sending the Elf staggering back, more confused and startled than hurt.

Sam turned and ran.

“Go ahead and rabbit, renegade. You’re meat for the hunter.” The mage began a spell chant. He spoke it loudly, obviously intending Sam to hear.