"Good evening, worthies," the elf said in a voice like velvet. "Going upstairs, are we? Well, perhaps you'd like to, er, chat with my friends and me before you depart." On cue, the other bikes arrived. Three of them, two Harley hogs and another quiet rice-rocket. The hog-riders were human, the guy on the Suzuki Aurora was an ork running for troll. All three wore the same mahogany leathers as their leader. The roar of the harleys was a physical pain in my ears and a thudding concussion in my chest. When one of the hog-riders revved his engine just for the frag of it, I felt Jocasta flinch beside me. My ears rang like gongs.