The mill was nearly a ruin, but it wasn't uninhabited. Behind the magically generated facade a special operations unit of the multispecies Gateway Corps had commandeered it.
The group's leader was another deception, in a way. Pelli Madayar, a youthful female of the elfin folk, had a petite frame and looks of such delicacy that she could have been mistaken for frail. It was a false impression. Her energy and strength were prodigious, her determination inexhaustible.
She was in consultation with a lieutenant, a short, stocky individual with the sour expression habitual to the race of gnomes. All about them, the rest of the unit busied themselves with various chores. Gremlins, centaurs, goblins and a satyr were present, along with pairs of brownies and harpies. A small band of pixies and several trolls laboured beside entities that might have been considered exotic even in such diverse company, including a chimera and a wendigo, creatures normally preferring solitude. It was testament to the Corps' mission that so various a collection of races had chosen to put aside their natural inclinations, and their differences, to join in a common purpose.
Mid-sentence, Pelli Madayar broke off, closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her brow. Then she excused herself and hurried away. Her subordinate understood, having seen her do the same thing many times before.
She climbed the slats of a rickety staircase to the mill's upper level. In one corner stood a barrel, larger than she could have got her arms around, its metal bands red with rust. It was full of rainwater from a breach in the roof, and there was a rainbow film on its oily surface. The water was filthy and foul-smelling, but that didn't concern her; it was still a suitable medium. In any event she had no option if this was the way her leader chose to get through to her.
Hands on the barrel's edge, she gazed down at it. The water immediately became agitated and began to gently bubble as though coming to the boil. Then it changed its nature. It became something other than simply water: a kaleidoscopic eddy of churning matter suffused with radiance. Shortly it settled and an image came into focus.
She was looking at Karrell Revers, supreme commander of the Gateway Corps, his likeness projected across an infinity of worlds. He was in late middle age, his close-trimmed beard and hair turning silver. But he was still enormously energetic, and acuity lit his eyes. Revers was exceptional among humans in being a possessor of magical abilities.
"Pelli," he said, "there's been a development." His voice had an echoing, ethereal quality.
Even though they were separated by an unimaginable void, she could see he was troubled. "What is it?" she urged.
"I told you we thought there could be another player in the little drama you have unfolding there, and that there are indications someone other than the orcs has the instrumentalities. Now we've detected a further anomaly, making for a new possibility."
"Yes?"
"There could be another set."
" Another? Here? How likely is that?"
"The odds are… incalculable. But I should sound a note of caution. Because this is unprecedented we could be misinterpreting the signs. Though I have to say it's hard to reach any other conclusion."
"So now we've got two sets to track down."
"Yes. Well… perhaps."
"Please, Karrell, help me on this. I can't operate properly if I don't know what — "
"I'm sorry. The thing is, it isn't clear. We're getting different magical signatures from what might be two sources. Their characteristics vary in a way we've never seen before."
"All right. So what do we do?"
"We're working hard on resolving this. But you can see this makes your mission even more vital."
"Yes, but what's my brief now?"
"Essentially, it remains the same. If you can recover the instrumentalities we know exist, those held by the orcs, or that were held by them, we can eliminate them from our search. The important thing is that you act quickly."
"I can see that."
"And I have to say, Pelli, I'm concerned that you haven't acted already."
"Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted, you know that. Also we've had to be sure that no innocents get caught up in this. Trouble's brewing here. Relations between the native population and their oppressors look as though they're coming to a head, and — "
"We don't concern ourselves with local affairs. It's one of the Corps' primary rules, as you're fully aware. I just hope it isn't some element of sympathy you feel for the orcs that's staying your hand."
"It's true I think they've blundered into something they don't understand, and in that sense perhaps they're not to be blamed. That's why I hope to use persuasion to get the instrumentalities back before taking the ultimate step."
"I've told you before that your compassion is understandable, and it reflects well on you." His tone came across as a mite petulant. "But these are orcs we're talking about. Some races are beyond the pale, even for the Corps. Your sympathy could well be misplaced. The outcome of your mission is more important than mere individuals. You must use all means to achieve our objective. Is that understood?"
"Yes, it is." She mulled things over for a second and added, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you. You gave me no orders about what would become of the warband once we've taken the instrumentalities from them."
"Assuming they survive their encounter with you and your superior weaponry."
"Yes, assuming that. Am I to return them to their home world?"
If she didn't know him better, Pelli would have thought the look Revers gave her was unduly hard. "You have no such orders," he told her.
Without further word he broke their connection.
5
Like a chunk of ordure floating in the middle of a cesspit, the great fortress at Taress never failed to draw the eye.
Its baleful walls and haughty towers subjugated the city as surely as the human invaders who had annexed it. Built long ago, by orcs when they were warlike, the pile had been turned from defensive to offensive by recent events. From a place of sanctuary to a place of dread. It stood as a perpetual reminder of the native population's loss of independence and dignity.
There was a great deal of bustle in its spacious central courtyard. A detachment of uniformed men, and some women, were square-bashing. Others were paired off in mock combat. Weapons were being issued, horses groomed, wagons loaded.
From the balcony of his quarters high above, the stern figure of Kapple Hacher surveyed the activity. His aide and probably closest professional confidant, the young officer called Frynt, stood beside him.
"Now we're training clerks and medics to patrol the streets," Hacher said.
"I understand more reinforcements are due for despatch from Peczan soon, sir," Frynt informed him.
"I'm not sure there'll ever be enough for Jennesta."
"Sir?"
"Taress is to be entirely purged of subversive elements, to quote our mistress's own words. How many troops do you think that would take?"
"With respect, General, you've often said that the troublemakers are a minority."
"I still think that's so. But it's a question of definitions. Who are the dissidents?"
"Isn't it our job to weed them out, sir?"
"Good question. But not one that unduly troubles m'lady Jennesta. Her view is that any orcs who arouse suspicion should be rounded up. And eliminated if they resist. In effect, they're all revolutionaries to her. So we have this ever increasing clampdown."