The Maelstroms Eye Read Online Free PDF Page A

worlds and fleets in other spheres were rumored by scouts and spies to be under attack or to have fallen as well. The war was vast, and Vorr knew he saw only a small part of it. Few elves had escaped the butcher’s cleaver, and little word had spread so far to alert other spheres of the coming of the blade. Spiral itself had fallen so rapidly that it was unlikely any other elves in this sphere knew of it yet. The elves, who had once ground the humanoids under their silver heel, had grown careless and lazy. They paid for it now with their lifeblood.
    Still, Vorr reflected, if orcs and lesser vermin were to come along for the elf slaying, they’d have to pull their own weight. General Vorr carefully bled off his supply of naive orcish auxiliaries with every opportunity, sending them without qualm into deathtraps and ambushes. If Halker noticed the high losses among Vorr’s orcs and goblins, he said nothing. Halker was a full-blooded scro himself, and it was likely that he understood and approved. Vorr never saw the need to bring the topic into the open and risk finding out differently.
    A low knock sounded at the double doors, interrupting his thoughts. General Vorr’s left hand casually dropped beneath the stone desktop, blunt fingers fitting into the leather grip of the weapon there. He’d been fooled once by a half-elven rogue on a suicide mission; he’d not be fooled twice. “Enter!” he called briskly, his voice booming through the room.
    A lock clicked, and one of the half-ton doors swung silently open. The still air stirred to brief life. The door was held by the steel-armored arm of an ogre elite guard. The ogre, named Gargon, was unusually big, a head taller than the general himself, and he made a fine wrestling and sparring partner. Gargon never spoke, thanks to an arrow through his voice box, but Vorr considered that an asset.
    A scro platoon officer strode with efficient precision through the doorway and into the broad office, his black leather armor squeaking pleasantly. Stopping well across the room from the desk, the only piece of furniture present aside from the general’s thick wooden chair, the sergeant raised a black-gloved fist, forearm vertical and upper arm straight forward, the back of his fist directed at the general. A thick red spider emblem was clearly visible on the back of his glove.
    “The Tarantulas remember!” the sergeant shouted, his flat, porcine snout raised with pride. He spoke in perfect Elvish. “Almighty Dukagsh hail my general!”
    General Vorr grunted. “Speak.” Tell me something different and new, he added mentally. It was time for a change. Fate would be his guide.
    “Sit,” said the sergeant crisply, switching to the scro’s Orcish dialect. “Sergeant Hagroth bears news from Admiral Halker, who reports the sighting of a large flying vessel of unknown type approaching the camp along Victory Highway. The ship has signaled a desire to talk. We have scorpion-ship escorts with it now. The base is being brought to half alert. Admiral Halker requests your attention within the hour to meet with representatives of the intruders, dealing with them as is deemed best.”
    Fate actually listens to me, General Vorr thought with mild surprise. Tell Fate that you are weary with boredom, and it sends a cure. Was I better off being bored?
    Vorr let his hand drop from the grip of his concealed weapon and looked down at the green-skinned humanoid standing at attention across the room. Sergeant Hagroth’s black armor was cleaned and polished; the steel studs on the leather gleamed in the orange light from the tall windows. A scro marine’s marine. The armored scro showed nothing but supreme confidence.
    Far away, the elven voice arose to a shriek – then silence filled the room instead.
    “Describe the intruder, Sergeant.” Vorr had seen more than his share of unknown ships; it couldn’t be too weird.
    “Sir, the ship is built of stone blocks in the shape of a ziggurat. There