When the door had closed, the admiral turned to Vorr. "Whatever else we do on our little jaunt through the spheres," he said, "I want to see something done about the lich. He has made a fool of me before my officers. I want him to burn for this-not now, but one day, and soon. We've got the ships and the soldiers he needs to recover that cloak, but we'll have precious little of our command and respect if we let that filth pile get away with this. Start making plans for an assault on his pyramid ship, to be carried out at a future date."

"Yes, sir," said Vorr crisply. He had been toying with this very idea since he had first met Skarkesh.

The admiral craned his head at the papers Vorr held. "You may as well see if there's anything useful there. I don't want to lose Teldin's course, so you should get that first message to the helm. When you've done that, let's look at the second message and see what our… partner recommends as prudent courses to foil the elves. I'll meet you back here in one hour." The admiral slowly got to his feet.

Vorr headed for the door and saluted on his way out. Behind him, he heard the admiral call, "Remember that first order first, General."

I will, Vorr promised himself. I will.

The humanoid fleet took up a new, tighter formation as it set out in pursuit of the lone gnomish ship. Invisible now because of the thousands of miles between them and the humanoids, the four surviving elven warships tracked their foes. Before long, two of the man-o-war spelljammers moved in to reconnoiter the humanoid ships.

One ship came back.

"They found us, my admiral," said Captain Melwan, who just two days ago had been the second officer of the Free Wind's Fury. "We sustained considerable damage to the forward areas of both the main and battle decks in the orcs' initial volley. The Leaping Hurt lost its helm at once and was set aflame. We could not render aid. Captain Sirithea was wounded on the bridge, and First Officer Eal Dornal was killed by a shot outside the spelljammer's cabin. Three others were killed, sixteen wounded. I took command and ordered a retreat, using a false movement pattern to avoid giving away the location of our fleet. I had to assume after the attack that the orcs were able to track us as they wished, and we made all speed back once we were certain we were not being followed."

Admiral Cirathorn raised a finger from his command throne. "How do you know," he said tonelessly, "that you were not followed?"

Melwan, a tall elf with dull gray hair and eyes, hesitated. "Sir, our battlewizard's spells assured us that-"

"Are you certain?" Cirathorn's voice was quiet and ruthless. "Are you certain? You were, after all, detected while your ship was cloaked. If the ores could do that, how can you be sure they did not track you all the way back here?"

The captains and battlewizards in the Empress Dorianne's conference room looked at one another. The idea that a cloaking helm could be defeated was unthinkable. Cloaking helms were distributed by the Imperial Fleet to only a handful of ships, and these had never been known to suffer casualties while cloaked. If the cloak was dropped early, the ship could be attacked at will.

"Sir," said the tall elf, his face nearly white, "I did not order the Free Wind's Fury to uncloak. Our closest approach to the orcish fleet was five hundred feet from the trailing vessel, an ancient vipership. We suddenly encountered a minor nebula, and the enemy fleet opened fire upon us moments afterward. I took command-"

"Ahh." Cirathorn leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "I see now. The ores detected the image of your ship as you passed through the nebula. It is the same principle a groundling adventurer would use against an invisible foe- hurling a sack of flour in the air to detect the opponent's body after the flour coats it-only your ship blundered into a natural trap." Cirathorn leaned forward in his chair. "Why did Captain Sirithea allow the Fury to enter the nebula? Was she not aware that this would happen?"

"I… haven't any idea, sir," said Melwan. "She's in a coma and is being tended by-"

"I'm aware of her condition," said Cirathorn. His hands were clasped together in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of his throne. "I want your opinion."

The tall elf was silent for a few moments; "None of us saw the nebula, sir, before we entered it. It appeared suddenly as the orcish fleet was passing through it."

The admiral stared down at the new captain. "Could it be that the orcs have suddenly become rather clever and have merely found a way to detect our ships by, say, firing flour, dust, or other paniculate debris from their jettisons and catapults, in essence creating their own temporary nebulae?"

Melwan's eyes widened as he considered this. "Sir, after the incident, I did notice that our ship was covered with a fine white powder, which I assumed to have been from the nebula. We are still cleaning up the ship as well as repairing it, but I can have the material checked for its composition."

"Do so immediately," said the brown-haired admiral, his eyes sharp. "Report back before this watch is out."

Melwan snapped off a salute and left with his battlewizard within five seconds. When the door shut behind him, Cirathorn turned to the other elves in the spacious room beneath the crystal chandelier. Paintings of landscapes hung on the walls, softly lit by the chandelier's many candles.

"The ores have become much brighter since we last met them on the field of battle," the admiral said tiredly. He looked up without seeming to see anyone present. "Perhaps they are far smarter than we would like to believe. Perhaps they are far stronger and far better fighters, too. The loss of the Unicorn's Wing gave me pause, but this disaster while under cloaking has instilled me with dread. I have the gravest concerns for our safety, and for the safety of our entire Imperial Fleet and people. I believe a second Unhuman War is upon us, and we might not live to see it through."

The other elves stared at Cirathorn in shock and disbelief. "Sir," started one, an amber-haired male with a white mask painted on his face, "I don't believe the orcs could possibly have the intellect to plan such undertakings as you have described. We are speaking of orcs, and they are incapable of any form of foresight and planning beyond a day's time."

Cirathorn smiled grimly. "Then how have they done so well so far?" he asked. "In the old days, we would have consumed their fleet by now with but the forces we have here. Yet we harry them from hiding like guerillas, not like the lords of wildspace we imagine ourselves to be. We dare not approach them again in direct battle without an invincible edge, one that will allow us to crush them quickly and decisively. As of yet, we lack that edge. Even the firepower of this armada is not sufficient. We need something more."

None of the other elves spoke. Several looked away- whether in shame or thought, Cirathorn could not tell. It was obvious that no one had any new ideas.

Cirathorn let out his breath and leaned back in his throne. "We are less than a fortnight from this crystal sphere's portal. Teldin Moore and his ship will not likely be caught before then if he is able to use the powers of his cloak to take his ship out of harm's way. Once beyond the portal, it is twenty-nine days, with an error of three days, to Herdspace and the falmadaraatha. We must prepare ourselves as best we can for our next meeting with these orcs, or whatever they are calling themselves these days. We shall reconvene this evening for a discussion of tactics in such an event. You will each come prepared with at least two workable tactics, one fleet tactic and one ship tactic, given the caustic knowledge in which we have bathed ourselves this day."