He wondered how the hell he came to be here.
Dynahla touched his arm and pointed. The road had taken a turn, and now they could see a tall hill, or possibly a mountain. On its summit stood a building. It looked like a fortress. On second thought, it might have been a temple. Then again, it wasn’t like that at all.
Pelli Madayar stood amongst the ruins of the crystal city. Weevan-Jirst was at her side, the rest of the Corps unit spread about them. The never-ending wind blew in from the plain, bringing a constant swirl of grey ash like fine snow. It all but obscured the feeble light of the ailing red sun.
“She was here,” Pelli asserted. “The traces leave no doubt.”
“And not just her,” the goblin replied. “It seems the warband was here too.”
“Yes, it does.”
“We abandon our search for the orcs to follow Jennesta and find ourselves back on the orcs’ trail after all. Is that not ironic?” There was an element of smugness in his manner.
At least he didn’t say I told you so, she thought. But she was damned if she was going to apologise. “You could say it was an example of unintended consequences having a positive outcome. As the two set of instrumentalities chase each other, we are on the trail of both. I call that an economic use of our resources. Anyway, I’ve said all along that if we found one group we’d find the other.”
“How very fortunate for you that blind luck should be so obliging.”
She ignored the jibe. “We’ve learnt something else. The Wolverines aren’t just world-hopping at random. They’re moving with a purpose. So either they’ve suddenly taught themselves mastery of the instrumentalities, which is unlikely to say the least, or somebody or something is aiding them. Not just that. We know Jennesta tampered with the orcs’ set and had a measure of control over them. That appears to no longer be the case. Whatever help they have is countering her influence, at least to some extent.”
“Yet another player. This is getting complicated. I would have said that if you were willing to contact Karrell Revers, now would be the time to request that another unit be put into the field. We could obviously use some help.”
“We’re quite capable of dealing with this ourselves. I’m competent to deal with it.” She hoped that came across with more confidence than she was feeling.
“If you say so.”
There was a stirring in the ruins. A bulky shape came out of the darkness. When it moved into the watery light it was revealed as one of the six-legged, multi-eyed fire-breathers. It came towards them, snorting orange flame.
Casually, Pelli raised a hand, palm outwards, and sent an energy pulse its way. The purple beam struck the beast and converted it into a cloud of minute fragments. They were instantly scattered by the persistent wind.
She felt a little ashamed of herself for slaying the creature. It was an act of pique, and in any event it couldn’t have harmed them as they were wrapped in a protective shield of enchantment.
“What do you think happened here, Weevan-Jirst?” she asked, as much to cool the mood between them as anything else.
“Who can say? I assume a conflict of some kind, given that all life-forms seem intent on destruction.”
“That’s a pessimistic view.”
“It is one I have formed through experience and observation. Wherever there is life, it courts death.”
“What about the Corps? We use force only when we have to, and for the good.”
“As you just did?” He nodded towards the spot the disintegrated fire-breather had occupied a moment before.
She had no answer to that, but granted, “Perhaps we do all have a primitive brute lurking below the surface, no matter how civilised our veneer. But surely that’s an argument for the Corps and anybody else that tries to bring some order and justice to bear?”
“How does that square with your sympathy for the orcs? They can hardly be called a constructive force.”
“It’s in their nature to be combative.”
“The same could be said of the creature you just killed.”
“I’ve no more affection for the orcs than any other sentient race, and no more hostility either. As I said, my interest is in justice, and my gut feeling is that they’re somebody’s pawns in all this.”
“How can you cast a species that lives for war on the same level as those that strive for tolerance?”
“I thought you said all life-forms were capable of death-dealing? Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”
“Some try to control their impulses more than others.”
“I’ve never met a race yet, no matter how savage, that wasn’t ultimately capable of some degree of compassion. Why should orcs be an exception?”
“Their actions speak for them.”
“With respect, the goblin folk don’t exactly have an untarnished reputation themselves. No doubt you’d argue that it’s unjustified, and your membership of the Corps is testament to that. But that’s my point. Everything isn’t black and white, as you seem to believe. Life’s messy. We do our best.”
Weevan-Jirst didn’t answer. He just maintained the inscrutable expression common to his kind.
She looked around, saw the broken towers, the mountains of wreckage and the desolation of a wasted world. “You know what I think? Suppose what happened here came about through an interworld conflict, because somebody who shouldn’t have got hold of a set of instrumentalities. I’m not saying it did, but it’s possible, isn’t it? In any case it can stand as an example of the kind of thing that can happen if we fail. I think that makes it a fitting reminder of our purpose. So let’s do our job, shall we?”
“I’ve never wanted anything else.”
“Then it’s time to continue the hunt.”
22
The nearer the Wolverines were carried up to the structure on the hilltop the larger they realised it was.
It had the look of having been refashioned and expanded over generations, each leaving their own mark by adding whatever architectural mode happened to be favoured at the time. The result was a curious hybrid of styles. Much of it was white stone. But there were sections coloured red or black, and extensions made of timber. It had a central needle-shaped spire, and onion domes embellished with gold decorations. There were a number of towers of various heights and different contours. An assortment of windows studded the many walls, some with tinted glass, jostling for space with balconies. Flying buttresses helped hold the whole affair together.
As the crowd climbed, so did their excitement. The chanting reached a new pitch, the drums beat louder, the horns grew more shrill.
When the band finally reached the massive plateau that stretched out in front of the building they found a scrum of beings.
“What do we do now that we’re up here, Stryke?” Coilla asked.
“Go in, I guess.” He looked over his shoulder at the mass pressing in from behind. “We’ve no choice.”
“Yeah, but take a look at the entrance. They’re only letting in small numbers at a time.”
She was right. At the great curved doorway stood a group of brown-robed figures. Their cowls were up and their features obscured, so it was impossible to see what kind of beings they were, beyond basically humanoid. They were strictly marshalling the flow. One of them, in distinctive blue robes, seemed to be a superior of some kind, issuing orders. From time to time he disappeared inside, presumably to gauge the situation.
“Not much chance of us all staying together while they’re doing that,” Jup said.
“Why don’t we rush ’em and blag our way in?” Haskeer suggested with typical forthrightness.
“I think we need something a bit more subtle,” Stryke decided.
“I can help,” Dynahla said.
“How?”
He explained.
Stryke nodded. “It’s worth a try.”