Some time later, the barrel was picked up by the shrike ship. The message brought excitement to them all, even the usually peevish wizard. Immediately he took out his scrying crystal to send messages to K'tide and to the Clan Kir members stationed on Garden. The moment they had so long awaited was at hand.

The swan ship was headed for Lionheart!

*****

A barrage of firepower-a final gift from the retreating elven forces-shook the massive frame of the ogre dinotherium. The ship-to-ship battle was over, but the crew of the Elfsbane had taken a severe beating. In the hold of the ship, a makeshift infirmary had been set up to tend the scores of wounded. The scro warriors endured their injuries with stoic pride, but the less disciplined goblins filled the air with a cacophony of groans and inarticulate oaths. Worse still were the kobolds; a pack of the tiny goblinoid creatures huddled together in whining, yapping misery.

At a safe distance, K'tide followed Grimnosh on his rounds of the troops. The scro general was livid over the loss of so many of his best fighters, and his veneer of culture could be stretched only so thin. K'tide doubted that Grimnosh would actually lose his temper, but the scro had a way of calmly issuing the most appalling orders when riled. Adding to the spy master's discomfort was the chill; the hold was deliberately kept cold to slow the flow of the goblinkin blood. K'tide's insectlike exoskeleton provided him little protection from the cold, and he drew his brown cloak closer as he moved stiffly after the scro general.

The sound of chanting wove through the cries of the wounded. One of the scro war priests was tending to a badly wounded half-orc, a female whose heavy leather armor- and a good deal of her brownish hide-had been split from gut to gizzard by an elven sword. Grimnosh stalked over to the priest and dropped a huge white paw on his shoulder. The priest stopped in midchant.

"Perhaps you might direct your efforts more judiciously, good father," the scro suggested, voicing the title with heavy irony. Grimnosh gestured pointedly to the two scro lying on nearby pallets. "Heal one of those."

"But which?" stammered the unnerved priest.

Grimnosh's brows rose, and his expression plainly inquired why it was necessary for him to tend to such matters himself. Nevertheless he crossed the distance to the wounded scro and stooped over their pallets. He took up and examined their toregkh's in turn, then rose to his feet. "This one," he said casually, pointing to one of the scro.

The general took K'tide's arm and drew him to the side of the room. "They'll be back," he said grimly. "We must have new troops. Do whatever you must, but I want the Armistice fleet."

"Surely the scro rulers could reassign a few squadrons to your command on a temporary basis," K'tide prevaricated. His people had been making regular shipments, and, in truth, the goblinkin were almost battle-ready, but K'tide had no intention of releasing the new troops. The alliance with Grimnosh was a convenient ploy, no more. In his opinion, this second Unhuman War was a marvelous thing. With the elves and goblinoids decimated, there would be more room in wildspace for his own kind.

"Just order up a few squadrons, eh?" Grimnosh glared at the spy master. "If the scro had troops to spare, do you think I'd take the risks involved with the Armistice plan?" the general asked with a touch of exasperation.

"But with a fresh supply of troops so near at hand, surely the scro command could make an exception for you," K'tide pointed out.

Grimnosh's tiny pause was telling.

"Your superiors do not know about the Armistice project," K'tide stated as objectively as he could. To reveal a trace of the elation he felt over this news would be courting certain death. Still, he could not resist adding, "I take it they would not approve?"

"The scro command approves of success," the general said. He spun and walked away, absently resuming his rounds of the infirmary. "Once I get the Armistice troops, I'll have the strength needed to launch an attack on the elven communities of Radole. Once we control this crystal sphere, we will go on to Realmspace. I must have those troops," he reiterated.

"But we must destroy Lionheart first," K'tide said firmly as he hurried to keep up with the scro.

"Must we? Perhaps you'd be so kind as to explain why," Grimnosh said with dangerous calm. He stopped to examine a black-hided scro warrior who, despite a number of grievous wounds, had propped himself against a wall in a ramrod straight pose. Even so, the scro's eyes were glazed and his breathing shallow. It was apparent to K'tide that the warrior would die if not tended soon. Grimnosh reached for the scro's toregkh. There were but five trophy teeth, and all but one were human or dwarven. The general dropped the trophy with a derisive sniff, then scanned the room.

"Oh, Nimick," he called out, spotting his gray-green adjutant in the doorway. "Be a good fellow and put this soldier down."

Nimick hurried to his general's side and carried out the order by running a single claw across the wounded scro's throat. He watched with detached pleasure as the black scro gurgled and fell heavily to the floor, then he turned to his general and saluted. "Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked, raising his voice over the yapping, howling anguish of the nearby kobolds.

"Actually, yes," Grimnosh said dryly. "You might jettison the kobolds. They're becoming rather tiresome."

Lacking Grimnosh's macabre sense of humor, the green scro took the comment at face value and gave a sneer of agreement. "Load them into the catapult, sir? The last of the elven ships might still be within range. Might as well get some use out of the miserable ankle-biters."

Grimnosh looked pleasantly surprised. "What a clever notion. You do that." His assistant saluted again and began to herd the unfortunate creatures above deck. K'tide watched this with a mixture of apprehension and relief. Having vented his ire, perhaps Grimnosh now would be receptive to K'tide's plans. Perhaps.

"You were about to explain your last impertinent comment, I believe," Grimnosh prompted.

K'tide did not consider the scro's choice of words to be a good sign. "The goblin navy needs additional time for training-battle training," he stressed. "Small raids, minor battles. If you send green troops against current elven strength, the goblins will be decimated and all the risks of the Armistice project will be for nothing."

Grimnosh did not miss the implied reference to scro command, and his colorless eyes narrowed dangerously.

"And think of this: What success would be more highly esteemed than the destruction of Lionheart?" K'tide hastily added.

The scro general regarded K'tide with cold, calculating eyes. "Let's say we do attack Lionheart. How do you propose to find the base, much less penetrate it?"

"We will send the weapon in aboard an elven vessel, an oddly appropriate one. The captain is a direct descendant of Aldyn Leafbower, the elf whose vile bargain condemned the Armistice goblins to an icy hell."

The albino chuckled, a harsh canine growl of genuine amusement. "Why, K'tide, you have the soul of a poet. Quite a valuable thing in a spy master, I must say. You must tell me how you plan to accomplish this miracle of poetic justice."

"We have placed an informant on board the ship."

"An elf? Is that so?" The scro's amusement deepened, but his eyes also betrayed his fascination with the concept.

K'tide shifted his shoulders, not committing either way. "The swan ship is being followed by some of my allies. The informant passes information on to them, who, in turn, relay it to me. According to my latest report, the ship is bound for Lionheart. They will put down on Garden for supplies, and we will load the weapon on board at that time. It has already been dispatched and is being held for the swan ship's arrival. Our informant is placed highly enough to get the weapon smuggled aboard and then see it released once the swan ship reaches Lionheart."