The admiral looked at the lich without comment. His arms slowly unfolded, and the old scro rubbed his hands together before him, as if to warm them in a cold wind.

"What proof do you have that anything you have said is true?" asked Halker.

The lich tilted its head halfway to one side. "Proof?" Slowly, the lich reached for its side, dipping a skeletal hand into the lone pouch on its belt. "Proof?" it asked, and pulled out a heavy, round disk on a short chain. It set the disk and chain on the table before it. The disk appeared to be cast from bronze and was greatly worn. A few deeply carved geometric patterns remained on its weathered surface, forming a three-pointed star design.

"Proof," said the lich. "To examine it you arc allowed." The lich stood back with careless grace.

The general and admiral stared at the item without moving for it. "What is it?" asked Vorr, more out of curiosity than anything. He still craved an excuse to destroy the lich.

The lich gestured toward the disk. "Pick up you may."

The admiral weighed the risks, looked at General Vorr, then sighed heavily and reached for the disk. He touched it-and froze in midmovement. His eyes took on a glazed, unseeing look as he stared off into space.

"Admiral?" asked Vorr, glancing away from the lich. Seeing that the black-robed scro could apparently make no reply, Vorr tugged his sword from its sheath and took a heavy step toward the lich, who retreated. "If he's been cursed," Vorr said, his voice thick with promise, "you're garbage."

"Your admiral unharmed is," hissed the lich, eyes bright with angry green flames. Its hands rose, fingers spread. "But if closer you come, on your flesh the worms will feast tomorrow. Prepared for your treachery I was, gray orc meat, long before my ship here landed."

"What is happening to the admiral?" The words came out as Vorr moved in on the lich, his voice starting soft and growing in strength until he was almost shouting. His sword arm swung up, the tendons standing out on the back of his huge, hamlike fist as it gripped the pommel.

"Stop," said Admiral Halker flatly. Vorr froze, sword poised and ready to cut off the lich's hands. He held his position, waiting for more.

"Stop," said the admiral again. "Cease. This…" Vorr heard the admiral swallow. "This thing is speaking in my head, and I… I don't want to miss what it is showing me." The lich slowly stepped back, almost out of General Vorr's range but now backed up to the wall. The three of them held their positions for what seemed like an age, with the general's sword arm lowering slightly.

There was the sound of something being laid on the table. "General Vorr, put away your weapon. Now."

Licking his lips and feeling that he would regret this, the general did as he was told. The lich waited at the wall a little longer, its gaze focused on Vorr alone.

"Tomb of Dukagsh," said the admiral. Vorr looked at him sharply and saw that the admiral was a pale yellow now. "The things I saw. What is that?"

The lich moved from the wall, but not by far. "It by the hands of the ancients was built," it said. "Through the eyes of the Spelljammer it lets you see, world after world. Buried in the dark asteroid with the cloak this was, under the ice. This alone I kept when my servants then traitors became. Weak now this relic of old is, and not long to last. It my last clue to the Spelljammer is."

General Vorr suddenly reached down for the disk and chain himself. He picked it up in his thick fingers as the other two looked on. After looking it over for a few moments, he held it to his head, then put it down.

"You, too, through the Spelljammer's eyes see?" said the lich. "What revealed to you was?"

Vorr hesitated. He'd seen nothing, of course, being immune to the influences of magic. "Impressive," he said, and glanced at the admiral, waiting.

"It was startling, to say the least," said the old admiral, quickly covering for Vorr. "I saw a small green world below me, and there was a voice in my head that said the world was called Torus. The world was round but had a hole through it. It was so clear when I saw it."

"Sufficient proof now you have?" inquired the lich, edging closer to the table where the disk and chain lay. "Now my servants you will become, my cloak to rightfully rescue from the touch of a groundling human?"

Vorr felt something inside him snap. "We're not servants to any being but our own kind, Skarkesh," he said, his jaw tightening. "You'd best drop that word from your vocabulary before it gets some of your thin, little bones broken."

"Brave the gray giant's tongue is," retorted the yellow-eyed lich, stepping back and raising a hand toward him. "Will so brave the tongue be if in flames it is wrapped?"

Vorr's hand went for the hilt of his sword.

"Stop it!" bellowed the scro admiral. He slammed a fist onto a wooden tabletop. "By the Holy Tomb of Dukagsh, you will both cease this damned bickering! If we are to work together, then we are going to start now!"

The admiral pointed a withered hand at the lich. "Skarkesh, you threaten us once more, and not even a wishing ring will save you from us. I won't tolerate that kind of crap from anyone, especially not a dead wizard. If you want slaves, you can get them dirt cheap at any marketplace, and you can treat them however you want. But if you want a wildspace navy to back you up, you're going to pay through your eye sockets for it, and you're going to cut out this krajen dung about us being your servants. If we decide to help you-and I mean if we help you-you're not going to become our little brass god. If you don't like it, you can load your big rock-diggers out there back on your ship and get your bone-white ass off our planet. Do you understand me?"

General Vorr waited, watching the lich. His hand still hovered over his sword hilt. The next time he pulled it out, he'd use it, the admiral be damned.

The lich made no immediate reply, but the yellow-green light in its skull burned furiously. It lowered its hand quickly, reaching some decision. "Money and gems you may have," it said, its voice devoid of emotion. "Magic you may have. Slaves you may have. The cloak, not. For the cloak much I have suffered, too much to see in other hands it held. To me the cloak must go. Agree you must."

The old scro tilted his chin up. "We'd have no use for a gods-damned cloak. It's yours, but we'll have to work out the basics of what you're going to pay us. Trust me that it will be a king's sum, but if we accept your mission, we'll make it worth the cost."

"Then agreement we have?" asked the lich, appearing to have no trouble with those terms. "You my serv-my helpers on this quest will be? Soon we must leave if so, on to the Rock of Bral."

"General Vorr and I need to talk first," the admiral said, his anger appearing to dissipate. "But we need to talk alone. Will you excuse us?"

The lich was taken off guard, but it recovered quickly. It reached down and snatched up the bronze disk and chain, then sidestepped to the door. With a last look at the two, it pushed the door open and stepped outside.

With a nod from the admiral, General Vorr reached over and shut the door lightly, allowing them to hear any noises in the other room. The general trusted his ogres to raise a shout and attack if the lich made any hostile move. They wouldn't be able to do much to stop it, but once Vorr came out, the fight would be over. The ogres would have to handle the umber hulks on their own, but Vorr had faith in them.

Halker leaned against a table and massaged his pale, watery eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "Paranoid bastard, isn't he?" he remarked.

Vorr said nothing, still feeling the raw heat of his anger, but he nodded.

"I think our undead friend is insane," said the scro, looking up at the general, "but I also think he's telling the truth. I can't describe what happened when I touched that medallion. The vision I had was so real that…" He raised his hands helplessly. "The damned thing convinced me. Maybe he enchanted the medallion to do that, just to fool us, but I don't think so. He has nothing to gain. I think he needs us."