Army of Shadows

27

If the Wolverines thought they would engage the strangers conventionally they were soon disabused of the notion.

Even before the group of boats hit the beach their multiracial occupants were on the offensive. Variously coloured beams of intense energy flared. Bolts struck the sand, throwing up clouds and gouging deep pits. They seemed to be shots designed to get the firers' eye in. The next round came a lot closer to the band.

On Stryke's order they ran to shelter behind a scattering of large rocks occupying the space between beach and island proper.

The Wolverines replied with arrows, some flaming. They were sticks against a hurricane. Some of the bolts were obliterated by piercing energy shafts. Others simply evaporated before they got near their targets. The orcs saw that this was because an almost invisible energy shield of some sort shimmered around the beings wading ashore.

"We're not touching 'em," Coilla said.

"At this rate we'll be overrun," Dallog warned. "What'll we do, Stryke?"

"Maybe we'll have better luck hand to hand with them."

"Dream on," Haskeer growled. "Those wizards are too powerful for steel to make any headway. Use the stars and get us out of here."

"No. Even if I wanted to, the band's scattered all over the place. We'd leave half our strength behind."

"Here they come!" Coilla shouted.

A good dozen of the attackers were drawing close. Pelli Madayar was at their head. Behind her tramped a colourful assortment of elder races.

"There's a couple of fucking goblins with 'em!" Haskeer exclaimed.

"Should have known those bastards would have something to do with this," Jup snapped.

The advancing party were still spraying the area with their magic beams.

"Ready to engage!" Stryke ordered.

Orcs drew second weapons, nocked bows and primed slingshots.

When they were no more than ten paces distant, Pelli Madayar held up her hand. The group stopped, as did the bombardment.

"We don't have to do this, Stryke!" she called out.

Ignoring the others' gestures to stay put, Stryke stepped out from behind the rock. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"We're not your enemies, whatever you think. You know what we want. The instrumentalities, that's all."

"All?"

"You can save yourselves further grief very simply. Just hand them over."

"Like hell we will."

"You have no right to them."

"And you do?"

"Morally… yes."

"Fancy words from somebody who just tried to kill us."

"We weren't trying. Look, if you're worried that giving up the artefacts means we'll leave you stranded here, don't be. Maybe I can arrange to have your sent to your home world."

"Maybe? That doesn't sound too promising to me."

"I have to consult a higher authority."

"This is my higher authority," Stryke told her, holding up his sword. "And it says no."

"Be sensible. What you've just seen is only a taste of the power we command. If we turned it on you full force you wouldn't stand a chance."

"We'll play those odds."

Pelli sighed. "This is so pointless. Why are you so intent on wasting your lives for the sake of — " She stopped, as though hearing a voice no one else heard. Then she turned to look out to sea.

A small armada of ships were making for shore.

All of the strangers turned to look, contemptuously offering their backs to the Wolverines. The band, too, came out from their shelter and stared.

"This place is as busy as a whorehouse on payday," Haskeer muttered.

It was obvious that the arrival was as much of a surprise to the strangers as it was to the orcs.

Feeling as though he'd been virtually dismissed, Stryke backed off and rejoined his crew.

"Who the hell's knocking at the door now?" Coilla said.

"I don't know. More Gatherers?"

"No," Pepperdyne told them. "Definitely not Gatherers. Look!"

One of the fleet of five ships was engaging with the strangers' vessel. And it was doing it magically. Vividly hued beams shot from craft to craft.

Seemingly having forgotten the Wolverines, Pelli and her ill-assorted group began jogging towards the shoreline. Before they reached the waves they were sending out shafts of their own.

"What the fuck is going on?" Haskeer demanded.

"Looks like our enemy has an enemy," Stryke replied.

"Which would be fine," Jup pointed out, "if our enemy's enemy wasn't our enemy too."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Take a look at that ship coming into shore, the leading one. It's prow-on. See? Now do you notice somebody standing there, right at the front, bold as shit?"

"Yeah," Haskeer said, blinking and with a hand shading his brow.

"Recognise who it is?"

It was Coilla who answered. "Jennesta," she whispered.