It was almost too much to absorb. The goblins of Armistice were escaping into wildspace, a clan of bionoid warriors apparently had joined forces with the goblinkin, and the dreaded Witchlight Marauders had been released to feed. Vallus wondered if even the worst days of the first Unhuman War could compare to the threat now facing the elven people.

*****

The main deck of the ogre dinotherium rang with the sounds of battle. From the walkway above, a mismatched pair of generals observed the training.

Grimnosh was, as usual, immaculate: his studded leather armor had been freshly oiled, elaborately carved totems decorated his fangs and daws, and a fine cloak of night-blue silk flowed over his broad shoulders and set off the albino scro's striking white hide. Even the trophy teeth that hung from his toregkh had been polished until they gleamed. Superbly muscled and over seven feet tall, Grimnosh was an imposing figure who carried both his well-used weapons and his grisly scro finery with aplomb.

His counterpart, Ubiznik Redeye, hardly could have been more different. In contrast to Grimnosh's military bearing, the orc chieftain's stance suggested the crouch of a gutter fighter. Ubiznik was a hideous creature even discounting the scars that crisscrossed his face and sealed one eyelid shut over a sunken socket. A canny intelligence blazed in the orc's good eye, however, and the beastlike yellow hue and blood-red pupil underscored Ubiznik's fierce nature. He stood less than five feet tall, but his barrel chest and great limbs spoke of incredible strength. Layers of corded muscle bulged under a gray hide thicker than the toughest leather. The orc wore no clothing but a weapon belt, and his only weapons were a bone knife and a deeply pitted axe forged by long-dead dwarves. Indeed, in many ways, Ubiznik resembled a dwarf; centuries of living underground and battling the punishing gravity force of Armistice had chiseled Ubiznik's tribe from the same sort of stone. A closer study, however, revealed the generals' common heritage; both had the upturned snouts, pointed canine ears, and lethal tusks of their ancestor orcs.

Grimnosh observed the scene below with satisfaction. The "ice orcs," as the scro soldiers had named the newcomers, were coming along nicely. Weapon training had begun immediately, to the ice orcs' grim delight. Only a few of them owned battered blades or axes, and the Armistice orcs desperately coveted such weapons. They proved embarrassingly inept with swords, so Grimnosh had quickly switched their training to battle axes. These suited the ice orcs perfectly, and they sparred so fiercely that Grimnosh wondered if they were determined to chop each other into kindling. They had an utter disregard for wounds given-or received. As advance troops, the ice orcs were incomparable: brutal, barbaric, and totally devoid of fear or wit. Grimnosh was pleased.

For the most part, the ice orcs were adjusting well to life aboard the Elfsbane. Although their tough hide made the regulation scro armor redundant, Grimnosh had insisted that they be properly outfitted, from the lowliest orc foot soldier to the priests who kept vigil over the terrible monster stashed in the hold of the Elfsbane. The scro general knew the value of ritual and outward appearance to ensuring loyalty; already he could see the difference in the bearing and attitudes of the ice orcs. They seemed eager to assimilate into the ranks of the Elfsbane's crew. Only Ubiznik had resisted the encroachments of scro culture. Grimnosh was confident that the orc chieftain would come around. Despite his uncouth appearance, Ubiznik was a good officer who owned the respect and loyalty of his soldiers. Granted, his discipline did not produce the clean, precise order known to the scro, but Ubiznik kept his troops in line well enough with his grunted orders, hand gestures, and an occasion skull-shattering cuff. After Lionheart was in shambles and all the orc and hobgoblin troops had left Armistice behind, Grimnosh intended to see that Ubiznik received a real commission. The other scro commanders might not appreciate the elevation of the rough-hewn orc to general, but they could hardly argue with one Admiral Grimnosh. The scro's tusks gleamed as he smiled.

Ubiznik looked less happy. "No like," he grumbled. "Orcs want to kill elves, not bait snares."

The scro general nodded sympathetically, but he had no intention of changing his strategy. Why should he? The elven presence around Armistice was being systematically and efficiently destroyed. A few at a time, the goblin ships would leave the atmosphere shield and trigger the alarm. When an elven patrol ship gave chase, the cloaked bionoid shrike ships would close in and drop either bionoid warriors or the tertiary marauders to wipe out the elves.

"No like," the orc repeated. "Deal was, we fly with scro, fight many elves."

"And fight them you shall," Grimnosh agreed. "Once all of your tribe and your servant hobgoblins have escaped from Armistice, and once the elven high command is destroyed, you will be able to take elven trophies from a hundred worlds. First things first, my good fellow. As you yourself say, we have a deal."

Ubiznik grunted in reluctant agreement. The metallic click of mailed boots announced the approach of two scro soldiers. The ice orc watched warily as they snapped to attention and jammed their fists into the air, back side presented out so that their unit totem was displayed.

"Sky Sharks hail Almighty Dukagsh!" they barked out in unison.

Grimnosh absently returned the salute, but Ubiznik responded by slamming one fist into the palm of his other paw and grunting, "Gralnakh Longtooth!"

The orc's tribute to the great orc general of the Armistice Treaty was lost on the scro soldiers. Assuming that the barbarian had insulted them, one soldier snarled and let his hand settle on the grip of his short sword. Ubiznik didn't bother reaching for a weapon, and his single red eye blazed a challenge as he returned the snarl through a sharp-fanged sneer.

"At ease," Grimnosh told the scro calmly. "General Redeye's troops-and their heroic forebear-are worthy of respect. Surely we can allow for a few cultural differences?"

The scro's comment carried with it both a direct order and an unmistakable threat. With only the slightest hesitation, the soldiers crisply returned the ice orc's unorthodox salute.

"We received a message from your informant, General," one of the scro said, handing Grimnosh a slip of paper.

As Grimnosh read, a thoughtful look crossed his face. "It would appear that our friend is trying to redeem himself," he murmured. After a long moment of reflection, he turned to his orc ally. "Well, General, it looks as though you're going to fight elves sooner than we'd anticipated."

Bloodlust shone in the Ubiznik's red eye, and the ice orc bared his fangs in a fierce grin.

*****

Gaston Willowmere was tired and disgruntled. Everyone aboard the Trumpeter was serving double watches, and he was nearing the end of two very eventful and disturbing shifts. His only remaining duty was making a final round of the ship, and he made his way down to the lower deck to begin.

The elf was not pleased with the swan ship's mission, or with many of the directions the Imperial Fleet was taking. His own homeworld was a world of deep, ancient forests and sacred tradition. To one of his upbringing the breaking of elven tradition was a serious matter. Aboard this swan ship, they had done little else. They'd harbored an illithid, suffered the constant tinkering of a gnome and the lechery of that appalling gypsy. They were forced to acknowledge a human captain and look the other way when the human made a half-elf head navigator. When the half-elf was revealed to be a bionoid, no one was supposed to mind. It was beyond belief.