"Shut up! Damn you to the Pits of the Nine Hells! Shut up!" Vorr roared. "Get our of here!"
Silence answered him. He no longer cared if she watched him. They'd settle this later.
He tried the double doors and found them immobile. Whatever spell the attackers had used on it before their entry into the command room had welded the doors together; his antimagical touch was of no help. The smoke was becoming a problem now since he had breathed so much of it, so he broke at the windowpanes to get more air. He next collected the altered spy reports that Usso had brought in just before the attack. Only a few of the papers were damaged, but all were ingible. Many of the unit banners and flags were burned to crispy rags, however; even one of the zwarth hands had been damaged, though not badly so. It was a shame.
There was a shout outside the double doors, followed by a thundering of feet. General Vorr stepped out of the way.
One of the half-ton doors split and danced free of its hinges with a thunderclap explosion, then both doors were smashed to the floor. Two hulking ogres, fully nine feet tall and covered in thick leather and armor plate, crashed into the room, hauling a huge wooden pole between them as their ram. The ogres' feet crushed and scattered the bodies around them. Behind the ogres came wild and frenzied shouts, and a force of armed ogres and scro poured into the room, swords and axes held high, led by Gargon himself.
For the first time in weeks, General Vorr felt like laughing, out it was entirely too much effort.
"You're late," he said. "Just clean this place up."
"You're late," Fleet Admiral Halker said with the trace of a smile, "but I understand you were busy."
"It's over with, sir." In newly cleaned armor. General Vorr bowed and stood at attention before his superior's cluttered desk. His arm had healed, but his shoulder still burned from the poisoned axe; he ignored it. "Two other guerrilla groups came in with the assassin team, directed at the prisoners' barracks and the war priests' armory, but all have been neutralized. We've taken only light casualties. Four ogres and seventeen scro died at the armory, and eight scro and eleven orcs at the barracks, among them a war priest on the torture team for the day. Our wizard Usso destroyed those attacking the armory, then assisted with mopping up those who had attacked me."
"The vermin of Spiral still have some fight in them, then," the old admiral said with some surprise, leaning back in his cushioned chair. He scratched at the thick gray fur on the head of the worg that sat at his side; the huge wolf panted, eyes closed in pleasure. "Any idea of where they came from, their main base?"
"None, sir. All those who personally fought me are dead now. The war priests will interrogate their spirits within the next few hours. I'll have them see you for their reports."
The admiral nodded absently. His heavy black robes shook as he patted the worg's head, the red spider emblem across his chest partially hidden in the folds of cloth. "I take it that there were no survivors among the other groups of intruders?" he said wistfully, with a pale gleam in his green eyes.
"Two, sir, from the group at the prisoners' barracks. They're conscious and ready for interrogation."
"Ah." The old scro gave a toothless smile, his snout wrinkling with satisfaction. "It is always good to have a chance to chat with the enemy. I will enjoy my work this evening, once we've settled things with our other visitors. Speaking of which, the one in command of the ziggurat is here now. He claims to have an interesting proposal for us."
Vorr bit back on his next remark. This must have been visible to the admiral, as the old scro waved a lazy hand. "Speak freely. The room is sealed with lead mesh, and no one can spy on us here, or so Usso has informed me. The pyramid ship's commander is in the waiting room with a few of his bodyguards-under our own guard, of course. The war priests are monitoring him-or it-for spying spells and such. I'd like to have Usso here, but he seems to have business elsewhere." The general took a deep breath. "Sir, pyramid ships are usually controlled by undead humans. I was involved in a boarding action against one in the Glowrings Sphere, before I came to this fleet. A lich in command there destroyed seventy-two boarders just by itself. Other pyramid ships are reported to be commanded by others of the living dead, working together to bring about an empire of the dead throughout wild-space. I advise the greatest caution in dealing with whatever being claims to command that ship. I put my marines on full alert because of it."
The old scro nodded again, his lips sucking in over his hardened gums. "Our visitor then lacks subtlety, General, as he has already revealed himself to be a lich, of human origin. He claims not to threaten us and further claims to know the location of, as he says, 'a treasure to fight for gladly you will.' His speech is curious, probably archaic. Anyway, he's said nothing about undead empires so far."
The admiral was lost in thought. His flat, yellow-green face lacked the scars that marked many other military leaders, but Admiral Halker had climbed the ranks with his own kind of power, rooted in magic, charisma, and a genteel sadism that made even other scro uncomfortable. He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. The worg licked its lips and watched, then settled down to lie on the floor. Halker adjusted his belted black robes, belt weapons, wheel-lock firearm, and magical paraphernalia, pampering his appearance. "Unless you have any objections, General," he said, motioning to the door, "let's go downstairs and see our guest to discuss this 'treasure to fight for.' " The admiral then looked up quizzically at his imposing subordinate. "Purely out of curiosity, how did your boarding force deal with that lich in the Glowrings Sphere?"
Vorr looked him in the eye. "I killed it," he said. The admiral stared at him a moment, then laughed. "Of course! Forgive my asking. You're a dream come true."
Being here is a dream come true for me, too, Vorr thought as he agreed modestly and headed for the door. I thought I'd never get away from the hell pit I grew up in. Sometimes, though, I've wondered if there wasn't a reason for things to be as bad as they were early on-a reason to suffer blow after blow, breathing the heavy fumes from Father's breath, or lying awake with Mother's demon-haunted shrieks ringing in my ears. I was already at the bottom of the pile for having a low-born orcish father and an insane ogre for a mother. I had to kill three scro before they would let me into their military school, no matter that I was stronger than any of them had ever been and healed ten times as fast. The Troll, they called me, and laughed-but rarely to my face. Then they discovered that I was immune to magic and poison, too. After that, they let me do anything and said nothing about it.
So, maybe there was a reason for things to be as they were. I've fought all my life, but I'm stronger now for what I've withstood. My own parents could not break me when I was helpless before them, but they were helpless enough later when I came home from military school and killed them.
The admiral had finished speaking as they reached the door. Vorr had no idea what the old scro had just said. It didn't really matter.
"Shall we be off, sir?" Vorr asked politely, opening the door ad stepping aside.
Chapter Three
"You may go in," said the elven guard politely, opening the door before Teldin's astonished eyes.
Teldin had no idea of what to say in return. He had prepared himself for an argument or for the kind of disdainful dismissal that he had once received from an old elf on whose ship Teldin had sought passage, many months ago on distant Krynn. But the guard had merely listened impassively when Teldin had asked for an audience with representatives of the Imperial Fleet, thought for a moment, then… Saying nothing, Teldin walked carefully through the door.