PART ONE

he setting sun striated the sky with bands of fierce gold to fiery red in the west and mellow lavender to deep rich blue above and eastward. Two young girls ran across the beach, their bare feet all but immune to the cold, wet sand. They raced back and forth with each wave squealing in delight and mock anguish as the water rushed against the paltry, uneven walls of their hand-patted sand castle. At first the verge of the surf explored the barrier, then the press began in earnest until at last the water breached the buttress and began grinding down the imagined magnificence of the seaside palace, blurring it into a mere ripple of sand in the surf. One of the young girls shaded her eyes and espied a strangely misty ship coming from the Windwatchers Passage black in silhouette against the resplendent sun. She tilted her head uncertainly; few ships came to Ingrane to visit or trade, and certainly none were expected. Still, shed occasionally heard her parents speak quietly of reavers and Satyxis, and although shed never met any such things, she knew her parents would want to be informed. She turned toward the small village and cupped her hands around her mouth. Mumma! she yelled. Theres a ship coming! Her duty done, at least in her own mind, she and her sister began running through the waves as they dissipated against the strand. She did not realize that the sound of the rising tide had drowned her words, and her warning had gone unnoted. Come ong, Sassy, said one in the abbreviated language shared by the twins. Wed better. Oh, Sissy, said the other twin exasperatedly, Poppas not. Vickyshe refused to answer to the name Sissy for anyone but her sisterturned back toward the village of Ingrane. Even though Sassy wasnt afraid of anything and Poppa sailed and fished in the dead of night, Vicky was dreadfully afraid of the dark, always had been, and she didnt want to tarry any longer on the beach. In the village, the warm glow of whale-oil lanterns shone through the windows and promised her safety and security. She began to walk briskly toward home, breaking occasionally into a trot.

SACRIFICE

Sassycalled Gloria by everyone but her twin ignored the fearfulness of her sister and continued to play in the surf as the sun slowly departed the sky. Soon she looked up and saw the mist-shrouded ship riding the surf into shallow waters. Having spent all her life on Frogs Bight, her otherwise inexperienced mind knew much of the waves and the sea, and she knew the ship had moved far faster than the wind and waves had allowed. It was wrong for it to be so close. In the waning light, she saw the ship was pitch black, not just in silhouette but even where its hull was illumined by the last glow in the sky. With one last nervous glance at the ships black sails, Gloria sprinted toward her village.

Aboard the ship, Skarres lip curled in cruel satisfaction. As befit a Satyxis pirate captain, she wore only minimal armor. She had a black studded leather hauberk strapped tightly across her breasts. It provided protection for her vitals and left her midriff tantalizingly exposed both for ease of maneuver and for the reaction her taut, curvaceous waist evoked in her foes. A similar skirt cut short with a slight slit along the outside of one thigh provided negligible protection but conveyed an undertone of vulnerability and accessibility to throw opponents off their guard. Black boots with a steel shim secreted along the front protected her long legs from easy yet potentially crippling strikes. She wore no helmet; her two thick, curving horns provided more than adequate protection for her skull. In any event she wanted nothing to conceal her finely featured face and her long, flowing tresses of blue-hued black. She stared at the lights of the village of Ingrane drawing rapidly closer as the ship sailed toward shore. Deathrippers fired? she asked without turning her head. Necrotite furnaces full tilt, milady, answered her first mate, a Satyxis of rather smaller stature. Bane Thralls adeck? Yesm. Roust the shore party. Now.

Theyre already assembled, maam. She spared her aide a brief smile as she turned to face the gathered reavers: four speedy Deathrippers to corral anyone fleeing, six expendable bane thralls for heavy fighting, and two dozen Satyxis raiders musky with the smell of their excitement. Right, dregs. Now hearken, Skarre began, unlimbering her lacerator whip from its position at her hip. This is a fishmongers village. There arent no hobnailed Cygnaran troopers within a hundred leagues Im reckoning, so dont worry yourselves overmuch on discipline. Do what you want with the lubbers. Have your fun. Toruk may gainsay, but youve earned it. She stepped forward, uncoiled her chain whip, and gave it a single lash. The barbed links of the scourge rasped a bright furrow across the weathered wooden deck of the pirate ship. Theres only one forewarning, she said. Were looked out for a child of five years. I want that house monkey alive and unharmed. The crew shifted uncertainly; the strangeness of the order put them on edge. Belay that! she bellowed. My augury shows that the whelp of midsummers eve five years past is a powerful soul. That little lubber is our sole purpose in landing, so pluck me that brat and bring it back alive and unharmed. You will do nothing to that child! But dissented one Satyxis crewer. Skarres whip shot out like a serpent of lightning; the serrated blades speckling its length whistled through the air like a hundred poisoned arrows. The curling lash ripped open the crew womans belly vertically, starting just below the umbilicus and opening the way for the speeding tip to whiplash inside. The heavy tip of the lacerator snapped within the abdomen with a liquid crack, shredding the diaphragm, aorta, and trachea. Skarre yanked her whip back. The insubordinate Satyxis managed to cough out a spray of blood before she fell face-first to the deck into an expanding pool of her own blood. She was already dead before her fair head bounced on the heavy wooden planking. There are no buts, said Skarre. Anyone and anything else is plunder as you please. But that child. To me. Alive. Unharmed. Fail, and you answer to the keel, then to Toruk. Am I clear? The crew nodded silently. Even the Deathrippers. Shipshape, said Skarre. The ship beached itself on the wet sand with a hissing sound. Skarre smiled. Shore leave! she hollered with a wild grin, and she vaulted herself over the railing.

Gloria ran as hard as she could, but the village seemed farther away than it had ever been before. She saw movement to either side of her: dark shadowy things that bore a baleful green fire moved swiftly to bracket the village. Behind her she heard hoots and cackles, loud cracks, and the heavy clank of steel. She looked over her shoulder and saw a horde of horned demons chasing her, closing fast on their long legs. Suddenly Gloria understood why Sissys nightmares haunted her so. If they were anything like this Gloria redoubled her efforts. Her little legs flew across the ground; her own pain and exhaustion had become immaterial. She screamed as she reached the outermost houses of the village, raising the alarm. She was certain she could not run all the way home before the demons grabbed her. Instead she sought to hide, elude them, and sneak home another way. She knew a great way to get around without being seen from the village; she had used it many times when her father had come looking for her when she stayed out too late. She ran headlong for a few houses, and then she ducked around a corner to regroup. In that brief pause, her strength failed her. All of her exhaustion rose up at once to seize her nerves. She started panting uncontrollably, her knees and hands began to tremble, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She heard screams. Terrified yet needing to know how close the demons were, she peered around the corner of the house. She saw the demonsfemale, horned, all but nakedcharging into the town. Nearby one knocked down a young man, straddled him, and started wriggling while choking the life from him. Across the way another lashed out with some sort of whip and flayed the face off a young woman. Others ran into the village, urging themselves forward with language far viler than Poppa ever used even when out of Mummas hearing. The raiders charged into the town; some even ran past the spot where Gloria hid. The smell of blood and viscera trailed in their wake, and as it came, Gloria had to flee. Panting in fear and exhaustion, she turned away to run around the village and back home.

Vicky was heading home from her aunts house looking nervously at the dark starry sky when the first yell carried through the night. Against the noise of the

ever-present surf, it was hard to tell what the cry was: fear, joy, exasperation, or worse. A number of villagers quickly ran from their homes bearing lanterns and torches and headed toward the shore just in case someone had been caught by a freak undertow or lost something valuable in the surf. In a hard place like Ingrane, it was always better to be safe. Vicky timidly trotted alongside the others fearful to go far in the dark but equally concerned it might have been Glorias small voice crying out in the night. The villagers easily outpaced her, their longer legs unburdened by fear. Vicky watched their varied lights bob down toward the surf; she watched them fade into the growing darkness. Vicky drew up short and raised a trembling hand to her mouth. The setting sun had been completely erased, and no stars shone in the night sky to the west. Confused and fearful calls started carrying through the night, then yells and screams. One, a gasping repetitive wail, ended far too abruptly for Vickys courage. She ran for home. She pumped her little arms and legs wildly and desperately threw a piping scream of her own into the night. She ran up the beaten-earth path through the disorganized village. Breathing hard with adrenaline surging through her preadolescent muscles, she ran straight for her familys tiny villa at the far end. She screamed with every exhalation and panted with exertion. She ran through the gatenothing more than a gap in the rickety picket fence surrounding the house and a pair of outbuildingscalling for her father. Poppa! Poppa! Sommats wrong! Sassys in trouble! The front door to their house flew open, and Vicky saw her fathers burly form outlined against the firelight, a wooden mug forgotten in one hand. Whats that? he bellowed. His forcible voice was filled with concern yet demanded immediate compliance. I told Sassy to come home, but she dint, Vicky babbled, and now theres no stars at the water and Im scared! Make her come home, Poppa, cause she needs a whupping! Poppa strode across the small yard to the gate where Vicky grabbed his trews and tried to sink out of sight, burying her face in the safe, familiar smell of her father. She heard him exhale through his teethhalf whistle, half hiss. That aint right, he said. For the first time in her life, she heard uncertainty in his voice. He pushed her off and used his mug to bang the tin gong hanging next to his shingle to raise the alarm. Raiders! he bellowed. His commanding

voice boomed through the night. Raiders! Everyone out! Then he dropped the mug and ran back inside, reappearing a mere moment later with a huge blacksmiths hammer in one callused hand, a bright firebrand in the other, and a weathered iron helmet atop his head. He ran out of the house, and rather than try to push past Vicky, he turned and leapt the fence easily, barking orders to his fellow villagers as soon as he hit the street. Vicky! called a female voice. Are you all right? Wheres Sassy, Mumma? she wailed. Im scared! Are you all right? demanded her mother, bordering on the hysterical. The lantern in her hand swung crazily back and forth with the force of her question. Yes! yelled Vicky, stamping her foot. Wheres! Sassy! Get inside! snapped her mother, roughly shoving her in the direction of the door. Gloria stumbled around the outside of the village using an old deer trail she and Sissy had often used to evade scrutiny when trying to get into or out of the house surreptitiously. She was tired, scared, and on the verge of being sick with the horrific scenes now forever burned into her young brain. She panted heavily, and each exhalation carried with it a whine of fear and agony. One hand clutched her side while the other limply batted at branches and other obstacles crossing her path. Inside the village more wails and shrieks pierced the night making her blood run cold. As she staggered along the path, her little feet flopped one after the other heedless of the noise she made. Surely she was as quiet as a mouse in comparison to the chaos that reigned within the lamplight of the town. Just then a rancid smell insinuated its way into her nostrils: a cloying brew of ash and decay. She drew up wondering what could cause such a soiled odor. Then she heard a branch snap nearby. She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. On any other night, she would have dismissed the sound as coming from a deer or woodchuck. Not this night. This night she knew it was something else. She held her breath and heard a steady sibilance somewhere between a serpents hiss and the sound Poppas furnace made when he was forging. She heard a whirr like a hummingbird that came and went. Then she saw a poisonous green glow cast upon a nearby tree trunk; the unholy aura grew in strength. She gasped realizing she had crossed the path of one of

the unknown shadows she saw earlier. She wanted to run, but her legs hesitated. Then it surged out of the darkness of the night. The hellish glow flared brightly to outline a huge, ravenous maw filled with long, curving fangs each as long as her arm. It moved with the metallic sounds of grinding and clashing. The hideous jaw opened wide to devour her. She ran at last, if too late. She got all of five or six steps before the monstrous beast snatched her up in its yawning mouth. Pain flared through her as the powerful fangs crashed into her young, lean body. It tossed her up in the air to adjust its grip on her and began stomping back toward the center of the village. Held sideways in the creatures maw, Glorias head and knees flopped painfully with every jolt. She struggled against the creature, but it held its jaws tight. Ow! she grunted as she fought against her captor. Stop it! Youre hurting me! At once the creature halted and tossed her out of its jaws. She tumbled across the ground, and every injured joint and bone in her body burned in pain. She looked up at the creature, and her five-year-old brain demanded justice. You hurt me! she screamed again. The creature took a step forward and hesitated. It clashed its maw uncertainly. Gloria pulled herself to her feet as best she could. Limping badly and bleeding in several places, she started to make her way home.

Standing in the center of the nominal street that bisected the village, Baus Haley knew he had to rally his people for them to have any hope of surviving the night. Several huts nearer the shore were already ablaze, and the suddenness and ferocity of the attack left his people panicked. Everyone would look to him; he was the de facto lord of the town (such as it was) as well as its largest and most outspoken citizen. Baus held his heaviest blacksmiths hammer high in the air and bellowed out a call to rally his fellow villagers. Just as he finished, his wife came at him and clawed at his shirt. Wheres Glory? I dont know where Glory is! Find her! he barked. You have to help! Shes our child! Baus shoved her away. You worry about our children! Let me tend to everyone elses! GO! After a few chaotic moments, Baus managed to rally a half dozen or more stout and stalwart men about him armed with fishing spears, woodsmans

axes, and good, solid boat hooks. He led the small formation to the heart of the village walking shoulder to shoulder in a tight pack down the center of the vague area that served as the main street. The lanterns and torches held by the villages defenders cast little light around them and seemingly none ahead of them Though no light gave clue as to what lay ahead, the screams of terror and cries of pain gave more than enough warning. The raiders appeared in front of the group, seeming to materialize right out of the darkness that had been gradually enshrouding the village. The men gasped and hissed in surprise, and some took an involuntary step back as their foes came before them. Although they had all heard of the Satyxis, it was for many the first time they had seen one. Two of the demonic females glided forward with catlike grace. One trailed a bloody scourge of barbed chain behind her; the other wielded a long, wicked sword. The one with the sword brandished it, slowly turning it so lantern light flickered across its blade like lightning. Baus heart failed him as he saw the unearthly beauty of the womans face. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her bare shoulder, and one curl nestled tantalizingly in her cleavage. He was struck by the way her hips rocked back and forth as she closed. In a flash he felt the warmth of his wifes smile, smelled her scent as they snuggled in bed, heard the laughter of his children, and regained his fortitude. Savagely beautiful as the Satyxis might be, he had sworn a vow to only his wife, and he held the vow to be more precious than his own life. This vile creation threatened to undo his honor, and he would not allow it. He rose to his full ponderous height, and he watched the lead Satyxis recoil as she realized her allure had failed her. Roaring like a bear, Baus swung his hammer in a fierce two-handed swing. His bellow clashed with the Satyxis cryevery bit as shrill as his was booming. The raider was faster than hed expected and more daring as well. She thrust her sword through Baus side and tried to draw back before his hammer fell. She misjudged, and her cry of victory abruptly ended with the terrible crunch of cracking bone as Baus blow broke her skull at the base of one of her horns and drove the shards of her rack into her brain. Aint so pretty now, are ya wench? bellowed Vickys father ignoring the wound in his side. Rallied by this display of courage and prowess, the other villagers surged forward to tangle with the other raiders emerging from the nightmarish blackness.

Cringing, Vicky covered her ears against the horrid noises resounding in the night: grunts, cries of pain, the noise of blades cleaving flesh, or worst of all, the broken sounds of people who knew they were dying and were helpless to stop it. She tried to avert her eyes as well, but she could not help peeking around the corner of the doorjamb. For many long, terrifying minutes, she could see nothing. Then her father and a few other villagers came into view slowly giving ground to the raiders as whip chains cracked overhead. She had to watch her father. She had watched him the previous winter when a pack of starving wolves had risked attacking the village, but that had been more exciting than terrifying. Somehow shed known hed win the day. He had to win because he was only facing a pack of dogs. This dark night was utterly different. She could feel it in her bones. She had to watch as he worked his mortal trade upon the raiders. It seemed like a lifetime to her; every passing second was an aching, agonized day of fear. Every so often her eye involuntarily darted to one side or the other as one of his companions fell, but she tore her eyes away as if doing so would prevent the same fate from befalling her father. It seemed like ages that she watched and heard all the while trying to do neither. She prayed fervently that Morrow might be watching this drama with divine concern and fervently begged the god that everything would be all right. Let her father drive back the sea wolves, and let Sassy be alive. She snapped herself out of her reverie of fear unsure how long her mind had been frozen in panic. A pool of oil that spilled and ignited when one of her fathers cohorts had died burned brightly outside the yard. It cast wavering shadows all about, and the flickering flames smeared the details of the fight like bright rainwater running down a windowpane. Her father was almost the last of the defenders left on his feet. He staggered and panted, and a long dark patch stained the side of his shirt and one side of his trousers. He defiantly held a torch and used it to keep the danger at bay while he swung his hammer in ever more wild blows to smite the enemy. She remembered once, at his anvil he had spoken of hammering iron into obedience, and for a moment she thought of him chastising the evil raiders. With her utter faith in his paternal prowess, hope rose in her soul that this dark night would turn out all right, the evil would be driven back, and tomorrow would dawn just like any other day. Then it stepped forward.

At first Vicky thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, for she saw a nightmare in the tenebrous darkness shrouding the shore. However, when she saw her father react as well, she knew it was all too real. At almost seven feet tall, it was a huge creature easily larger than anything Vicky had seen in her short life. It was clad head to toe in chain- and platemail, and every move it made resounded with the iron linkages holding the armor together. Every step sounded like a ships load of heavy iron chain dropping to the ground. With every heavy iron move it made, darkness sloughed from the creature as if it were filled with ash and pitch. It carried a great double-bitted axe in its hands trailed low to the ground. It had a blade as heavy as a hammer curved like a crescent moon, and it glistened with the blood of innocents. A gobbet of flesh, perhaps a section of entrails, hung from the blade near the twisted haft of the weapon and dragged in the sand. Worst of all was the creatures face, or the lack thereof, for it was a skeletal creature emotionless in appearance. Its mouth was forever drawn back into a fixed snarl devoid of love or hate. It stepped forward neither hunkering tensely as did her father nor swaggering cockily as might a legendary champion in the stories told of the war against the Orgoth. It simply stepped forward as if it were walking to work. Its gait was nothing less and nothing more than businesslike. Vicky realized that although it was supposed to be dead, it was here to kill the villagers, and it would do so as carelessly and easily as she ate her morning oatmeal. It was at that moment Vicky at last understood her fathers lectures. Although in her idealist innocence she had once denied it, there was indeed evil. She realized every tiny compromise she made against what was honorable and good would be another tiny little step down a path that would lead, ultimately, to the abomination now standing before her father. In that moment her terror also drove her to a deep and desperate faith in Morrow. Please, she prayed, send it away. One of the other men of the village charged forward with a battle cry that sounded more like a womans hysterical scream. Vicky saw the undead thing turn with startling speed, twist the axe around, and whip the blade upward. A dark spray flew into the night air, and the mans cry ended with a gurgling squeak. Terrified, Vicky could not avert her eyes as the two halves of the villager flopped to the ground. The muscles twitched spasmodically as if unaware they had just been killed. Then, miracle of miracles, Vicky saw her mother burst forth from the darkness enshrouding the shore

limping badly but carrying Gloria in her arms. Vicky gasped in shock and relief. She ran into the yard and cupped her hands around her mouth to yell to tell her father that they were all right, and they could all just run away when it closed upon him. Her father swept his blacksmiths hammer up feinting an overhand blow, and then he pulled his elbow to the side to sling the heavy hammerhead around in a lateral backhand strike. His body twisted with the force of his swing, but the creature was faster. It raised the axe up in time, angled the crooked haft to catch the shaft of her fathers hammer, and guided it harmlessly over the things skull. Vicky saw the hammer grate along the axes handle until it struck the heavy blade; at that instant the skeletal foe arced the axe around in a tight circle. She saw her father stagger back. His arm was raised to the sky, and blood spurted forth from the place where his powerful blacksmiths hand had been just a moment before. Shock and anger started to sweep over her, but just then she heard her mother shout, Vicky! Run! She staggered for a second torn between wanting to run to her father and flee for cover with her mother and twin sister. In that moment she saw her father killed as he stood, cleft in twain from his shoulder to his hip. She looked to her mother to yell at her, and saw her stumble and fall, spilling Sassy on the ground. The huge armored nightmare began to stride over to them, and Vicky saw her mother look up through her disheveled hair and yell once more, RUN! Vicky turned and ran for their housethe only place of security and safety she knew. Their house with the familiar scent of salt and straw was where her bed was. Their house where she would wake in the mornings to the sound of her mother singing softly to herself as she baked bread was where she and Gloria would sit in their fathers lap snuggled on each side beneath his powerful warm arms and press their ears to his chest to listen to his great heart beating out his abiding love for them. She desperately hoped their house would somehow save them from that thing stalking the village. The front door hung open, and light from the unattended fire spilled out into the fenced-off yard. Vicky ran through, pivoted, and slammed it shut with all her might, then she turned and started running to her bed. As she dived onto her bed and grabbed her covers, she saw the door swing open again still shuddering with the force of her action. She jumped up and closed it once more, then reached her small hands up to throw the bolt and seal it shut. She grabbed the

bolta simple piece of iron that pivoted on a pin and started to swing it around so that it would fall in the latch. She had to stand on her tiptoes to try to urge it over the top, and her frantic haste to be done with it made her efforts even less effective. Just as she thought she got it locked, something smashed into the door and threw it open, sending her tumbling backwards across the wooden floorboards of their house. She screamed in terror certain her life was about to end. Vicky! She looked up and saw her mother once again lying on the floor. The woman gestured fiercely with one bloodied hand. Get in the fruit cellar! she hissed. Now! Panicked, Vicky scrambled over to the trapdoor set in the wooden floor and flipped it open. She dropped down into the darkness of the small, cool area carved out of the hard clay upon which their house rested. She scrambled to the corner furthest from the opening and pressed herself against the wall holding her knees tightly and nervously chewing on the collar of her dress. The light of the fire shone weakly down into the fruit cellar and was cut into ribbons by the slats of the wooden floor. Dark shadows marked where her mother lay. Her mothers shadow shifted marked by the grating sound of wool on rough wood. She leaned toward the door and flopped back in, then kicked the door closed with her leg. Vicky saw her mothers shadow wriggle closer to the hatch, gasping in pain. Footsteps approached from outside. Please, prayed Vicky, let me live. Let them not notice that Mumma put me here. With a cry of exertion, Vickys mother dropped a second bundle through the trap into the fruit cellar: Gloria. The small girl landed with a heavy thump and a grunt of pain. The trapdoor flopped closed just as someone kicked the front door open. In here, you say? The voice was female, but the tone was far from feminine. Boots clacked across the wooden slats. Vicky chanced a look up and caught a glimpse of horns rising high above a voluptuous mane of hair. The boots trod directly overhead and sent small showers of salt-smelling sand onto Vickys head. A metal chain scraped along the floor behind clinking and rasping. There aint nought in this pisshole but a lubbin whore! shouted the voice. Like bleedin dragon dung there aint, said a second voice entering the small hut. I saw the wench stow a youngun in here.

Vicky heard her mother whimper as the two snapped. intruders began to squabble. Aint nought here, capn. We done lashed the place from the rafters to the floorboards, and there aint no places left to stow a brat. Skarre looked all around the room, and indeed, Captain Skarre was getting nervous. The raid everything had been torn apart. Even the thatched roof had been going on too long and had been even less had been shot through with whip holes. Growling with organized than shed expected. Already several huts exasperation (and no small amount of trepidation), near the surf were engulfed in flame, and she came to she grabbed the woman by her collar and pulled her find they hadnt been adequately searched. If there had close. Listen, you lubbin whore, she started. been any children hiding somewhere in those huts The woman, broken and bleeding, still had some Still, she had some desperate hope all would turn fight in her. She reared back her head and butted out for the best. She heard that one of the locals had Skarre square on the nose. The Satyxis captain heard been seen carrying a child of perhaps the right age into the unmistakable sound of cartilage crunching. the villa standing on the largest hillock of the village Roaring in surprise, pain, and anger, she dropped the overlooking the entire area. Already several Satyxis woman and fell back. She raised one hand to her nose had entered the villa, and others were surrounding it only to discover it had been flattened. Her hand came to prevent escapes. away very bloody. She intended to ensure nothing else went wrong. She snarled and reversed her grip on her dagger. As she approached the front door to the house, she heard two of her people squabbling inside. She snapped her scourge into the center of the main room as she entered, and the argument immediately ended. Vicky looked up as her mothers shadow fell across Capn, said her people in unison. her. What had happened? Had she managed somehow The reaver captain walked slowly to the center of to defeat the raiders? She dared not raise her voice to the room and stopped. She sniffed loudly and spat. ask. Well? She heard two heavy steps thick with menace. A We aint found nought, capn, said one. throaty growl of unbridled animal rage was followed She gave them a wearied look. Rip the place down by one swift whisper of steel through the air. to the keel, she said. Vicky barely refrained from vomiting when a wave Her crew began their work with abandon. They of warm liquid poured over her like the surf. tore up the bedding, smashed the cabinets, and Trembling in shock, Vicky heard the pirate captain destroyed anything they liked. Meanwhile the captain yell, Tear up the floorboards! Overhead, chain whips moved over to the woman lying on the floor. She was cracked against the heavy timbers and sent shards of terrified, injured, and exhaustedjust the way Skarre wood down upon the children. liked her victims. In the slatted darkness, Vicky saw Gloria reach one Wheres the little suckling toad? she snarled. trembling hand toward her and whimper, Sissy Ill never tell you, you bitch! replied the woman. Vicky held her breath and pressed even tighter She spat in the pirate captains face. into the wall, if it were possible. She did not react to Skarre licked the spittle off with her long tongue. her sisters plaintive cry. She did not reach, she did not Aye, you will sing, little bird, she said, and she set whisper, she did not even shake her head. She only aside her whip and drew a long, crooked dagger from prayed. Please, let them get her, she begged, brutally her boot. With the skill of long experience, she poked, and realistically. Let them get everyone, but please gouged, and sliced with her dagger targeting the dont let Sassy give me away! largest and most sensitive nerves in her victims body. Just then one of the horrid people cried out, The hapless woman screamed, cried, and begged her Trapdoor ho! and the trapdoor flew open casting to stop, but when offered the option, she obstinately unwanted light on Glorias prone form. A bloody hand refused to reveal the location of her child. with long, lacquered fingernails shot down through Capn? interrupted one of the other Satyxis, the trapdoor, expertly grabbed Sassys hair, and hauled Capn! her bodily out of the cavity shrieking and kicking in Skarre looked up with eyes of fire angry the pacing terror. of her interrogation had been disrupted. It would make Vicky cringed in shame and relief. Even a touch of it that much harder to break the woman. What? she vindication tortured her heart; if only Gloria had been

afraid of the dark and come home sooner, the two of them might well have been able to hide safely in the cellar with their mother. Right! said the captain. She tromped out the door yelling, Fire the whole village! All aweigh! Launch before the tide changes! Within seconds all was quiet within the house save for the growing crackle of fire and the steady dripdrip of warm blood slowly draining on the young girl. Outside Glorias defiant cries faded into the distance leaving in their wake only a few intermittent anguished moans from the few survivors that carried through the night. It was an hour before Vicky dared move. By then all she was able to do was fall forward into a fetal position and cry until the pain and exhaustion coerced her into a troubled sleep. Sassy

I have a shot to ruin those wankin bastards across the channel. Im going to join the Cygnar military, damn you, so either you let me pass or tell me where I can send your widow some flowers. The sergeant stood there for a moment, then slowly nodded. You might pass muster after all, he said quietly. Make your mark here.

Victoria started from her reverie and stared with panicked eyes at the old man who glowered at her from behind his desk. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the lacquered wood. IIm sorry, she stammered. Would you repeat the question? The man snorted disgustedly and leaned forward on one elbow. He set the other elbow on the desk and absently slapped his hand against the broad sergeants stripes that graced the other arm. I said, missy, he said condescendingly, that you mighten have a touch of what they done call The Gift, but formin up with the Cygnar military is a damned far cry from stevedoring. He stood up and leaned forward on his fists, and his shadow fell across Victorias face. What puts you in mind that a claydoll midge waif like yerself would be worth a cup o piss to us? Victoria crossed her arms and raised her head to stare at the blustering soldier. Listen, Sergeant Nosehair, she said levelly, I survived the Scharde Invasions. My soul died when I was five, and my hearts just been beatin time since. They killed my family, burned my village, and drove me further into darkness than any mortal should ever travel. I swore a vow back then, and now, thank Morrow, I have the chance to fulfill it and pay Cryx back for what they done to Ingrane. See, Ive been half-dead for thirteen long, buggered years. I cant even recollect what it was like to laugh. Ill give Cygnar everything I have left, every last bit of my life, my body, and my energy if it means

PART TWO
So youre the new journeyman? Yes, Lieutenant Caine. Journeyman Victoria Haley at your Whatever, muttered Allister. Youre the one who comes when I shout journeyman. Understand? Yes, sirrah. Caine struck a match, lit his cigarillo, and flicked the still-burning match aside. He reached one gloved hand to take Haleys chin and turn it to his face. The rough glove grated on her skin and smelled of stale cordite and tobacco. Allister snorted, and Haley involuntarily gagged on the smoky odor of his breath. Youre a dreggled urchin, he said. He turned and started to walk off. Youll wash out. Nemo must still be mad about the kitchen incident to saddle me with the likes of you. After a brief hesitation, Haley followed. What are my duties to be, sirrah? she pressed, ignoring his denigrating remarks. Caine snorted again. Duties? he answered. His cigarillo waggled in his chapped lips as he spoke. Do what I tell you. Try not to get killed. I dont fear that, said Haley bravely. In a blink Allister Caine vanished. Haley stutterstepped in surprise, then she felt the cold iron kiss of two inch-wide gun barrels pressed into the soft flesh behind each ear hard enough that she rose onto her toes. Caine put his lips to one of her ears, and his unshaven face prickled her skin. Youd best get afraid, little missy, he hissed. If you arent good and terrified, youll be nothing more than blade wash within two minutes of battles start. He shifted to her other ear. Out there, therere two kinds of people: those who are afraid, and those who are dead. One of the big advantages the other side has is that those who are dead are often still moving. your pack and kit and regulars! Not five minutes gone, and theyre all primmed up purty, creases sharp as a sword, everything perfectly stowed. Bells, the army ought to plop your grinning pie hole on the enlistment broadsheets! Sure, said Brock with a chuckle. Then everyone would think bein a Trencher was just a glorified campout. Mornin, Sarge, he added as a third soldier walked up to the enlistees tent. Hey, Sarge, take a gander at Brocks kit, here! said Chaz. Its so preened Id swear you could Come now, Chaz, said the sergeant, dont you know Halfshanks got a touch of the art? Does he now? Well if that dont make you a chuffed duck! No wonder youre so strapped and loaded. Brock shrugged. It makes things easier, sure, but You going to apply for an apprenticeship? pressed Chaz. Huh? Are you? Brock shrugged again. Leave off, Chaz, said the sergeant more softly. He sent his papers in well over a year ago. Aint heard a babys toot out of it, neither. Well, if that aint just a boot in the teeth, groused Chaz. Why do you reckon? Brock drew a deep breath and let out a long sigh of frustration. I figger its on account of cause I aint no highborn type. No riches, no status, no history, no family name to speak of at all. I mean Halfshank, what kind of a family name is that? Sounds like I done lost a leg. That aint no heroic highborn type of name. That aint fair, said Chaz. You deserve a chance, Id say. You got the art just like anyone else in the school. Talking of which, I have news, said the sergeant. Whats that Sarge? I hear the lieutenants got hisself a new journeyman. Really? said Brock eagerly. Whats he like? She, corrected the sergeant. I swear, Brock, youre amazing. She? echoed Chaz. Bollocks! Just what we need, Brock Halfshank cracked a slight smile. Oh, its some hoity-toity high-born lady prancing around nothing, really, he said. like were all her butlers. At least the gentlemen know Nothing? echoed Chaz incredulously. Look at that sometime the stable needs mucking, but those

HONOUR

damsels Worsen that, interrupted the sergeant, I think someone will be humpin her pack. Id dare say she dont weigh much more than what youve got stowed there, Brock. Brock scratched his scalp. So whats the word, then, Sarge? he asked. Word is were patrolling the coast. Theres rumors of a pirate ship. I hear the lieutenant is taking the high-falutin blades, knights and mages, and leaving us common fightin folk with the greener and a couple light jacks. Typical, grunted Chaz. Caine doesnt much care for the likes of us. Aye that, said Brock. Do you think shell throw coat the way the last journeyman did? The sergeant looked at the men levelly for a breath then said, Break camp, boyos. Cygnar is moving out. Right, said Chaz. He clapped his comrade on the shoulder. Well, then, Brock, Ill just let you and your magical art strike the tent then, shall I? I may as well get some use out of your magic if the headquarters dont want none of it.

Night had fallen, and without the suns rays, the breeze carried a surprising chill. Thin clouds rolled in across the sky, slowly concealed the stars and moons, and left the campfires of Haleys detachment the only illumination for miles around. Victoria walked along the edge of the camp looking out into the darkness. Twelve years of nightmares had ensured she couldnt walk in the night alone. She pulled her greatcoat tighter and looked back across the camp. Reflected in the warm, cheery glow of a score or more fires, the soldiers of her troop gathered to chat. Rather, to grouse, truth be told, for a good grouse was the privilege of the grognard. No one could grouse like an experienced soldier, especially an old Trencher. Hottest damn snowstorm I ever felt, the saying went. She looked their grizzled faces and saw pain and suffering carved into every weatherworn crease of their unshaven faces. Ever since the loss of Gloria she had felt so old as to be withered; here among the soldiers, leading them like Caines dancing marionette, she felt no more than a child. She also never felt more alone. They were her soldiers. She was to lead them, but she could sense the way they looked at her when they thought she wasnt paying attention. Sadly she expanded her consciousness to reach out to the cortex of the nearest warjack. Warjacks were

dull creatures, but not for lack of intellect; they were dull because their minds were built for one thing only. Her mind was different. She let her consciousness slide into the warjack. It was like diving into a cool pool of alcohol, and it sounded of the fading ring of a great industrial bell. The warjacks eyes flared briefly as its mind roused to her presence, but she withheld it from making any telltale movements. She used the warjack to listen to the talk of the soldiersher soldiers, her responsibility. Any contact was better than none at all. Three weeks, she heard a soldier say. His voice sounded tinny through the filter of the warjacks cortex. Three bloody weeks its been that that twopinch tarts been trudging this stinking battalion back and forth across and around Cape Mercir chasing the tide. Cor, dont let the officers hear you call her a tart, righto mucker? What else is she good for, then? Skinny little body like that. Well, if she were a tart, she might have a smile once in a while. You know what Im saying? Sure, not for the likes of you. Youve got the face of a thousand-mile boot, you have. Shut your flaps, bumfluff. Youd best be happy we aint done naught but march. Time comes for a fight, shes throwin coat and heading for Caspia. If were lucky, shell get to roust a few bandits or sommat afore she sees real action. Give her a chance to get blooded, maybe grow a few inches so wes dont up and step on her in the midst of a scrum. You aint even gave her a chance. She done graduated like every other officer. Maybe Maybe Id give her a grain if she werent so standoffish. Damn aristo ladies are all alike. Never done a hard days work in her life. Haley snorted and pulled herself out of the warjack. Funny, she thought. They see me as different when Im much like them. Where I am different they forget the jacks are almost a part of me. She looked up in despair and saw darkness had covered the nighttime sky; the encroaching clouds were smothering the last of the stars overhead. She groaned deep within her throat, turned, and strode into the camp toward the group upon which she had been eavesdropping. As she walked up to the campfire, her light frame made little noise compared to the crackling fire and grumbling soldiers. Im tellin you know, said one of the soldiers venting his frustration, when we hit the scrum, Id

druther have someone like Caine in charge. Even though he doesnt give a nit for the likes of us, hes a codger who can stand toe to toe with the likes of me, and Haley walked into the center of the group and stood right next to the fire. The soldiers jumped to attention. She looked around at the group; each one stood taller than she even with the exaggerated heels of her boots. I dont like this cloud cover, she said. It stinks of Toruks minions. Inform the officers to prepare defensive positions tonight. Understood? The soldiers mumbled out a broken chorus of Yesm. She looked around the group once more. One other thing. All this marching is wearying, dont you think? Id like a sparring partner tomorrow morning. Someone to test myself against. She shrugged. I guess you could say this is your chance to go toe to toe and lay into a warcaster without any fear of repercussions. Do I have any volunteers? After a few long heartbeats of silence, she dismissed them.

predawn light Why? asked Skarre. Two reasons. First, the growing dawn will conceal the glow of the necrotite furnaces. Second, with the false dawn, they will relax their guard believing the threat of sneak attack has passed.

The darkness was near complete such that even an owl could not have seen the two shadows gliding from the surf onto the sandy beach. This heres the final test, murmured Skarre to her companion, for both of us. For me, tis a test of how well Ive laid the field for you, dancin the brig off the coast. And for me, how much I have learned from Asphyxious, said Deneghra. Wrong, said Skarre. For you, tis both your test and mine own. What do you mean? Ill not leave your failure to be my failure, said the Satyxis pirate queen. If your shore party botches this raid, Ill make damn sure your failure will see you dancing in the seaweed while I have my acquittal. You might failjust this once, of coursebut I never fail. Neither do I, said Deneghra. I guess the only thing left you have to fear is my success beyond your capacity to contain me. Skarre laughed long and loud. You should have been whelped a Satyxis, dearie. I ken your style. Tell me how you will do this. With your maneuvering, we have managed to separate the warcaster Caine from his apprentice. I strike, therefore, at the apprentice to gather material with the greatest efficiency. The attack begins in the

For Haley, the dawn broke with the sound of a chain gunner opening fire. She bolted from her bed wearing nothing but her underclothes and rushed for the tent flap. She stuck her head outside. She heard shouts, the sound of a long gun, and the unmistakable keening hiss of necrotite furnaces. It was a terrible sound locked into her every waking and sleeping moment for a dozen years. Across the tent her handmaid also rose though somewhat more panicked. What is it? Cryx! shouted Haley at the top of her lungs. She leapt over to her armor stand. Miss, your greatcoat! called her handmaid, fumbling for the thick garment among Haleys trunks. No time! said Haley, sliding her arms into the splayed-open armor. But the furnace, youll burn your back! said the handmaid, flapping the greatcoat loose as she ran over. Haley shrugged into the armor and swung her hands around to the small furnace nestled against her spine. She roared her determination as arcane power lanced from her hands into the furnace, igniting the coal with the heat of its energy. Stray bolts spilled out of the armor and cut their way through Haleys trembling back. Loosen the cocks, ordered Haley. Trembling, the handmaid obeyed. Haley reached over her shoulders as best she could, constrained by the bulky armor and the rods holding the heavy plates upright. Gritting her teeth against the forthcoming pain, she touched her fingers to the boiler and sent an even greater surge through the water, heating it up rapidly to the boiling point. She heard her handmaid cry out in pain as she caught just a bit of the arcane bolts. Gasping, she turned to her assistant. Get up and pull the rods! she ordered. My people are dying out there! Somehow the handmaid found the resolve to stand and yank back the bars holding the warcaster armor in place. The heavy metal plates sagged onto Haleys small frame; the furnace wasnt yet running hot enough for the arcane field to support the armor entirely on its own, and the young woman groaned with the weight.

She grabbed her mage sword and staggered from her tent into the predawn barefoot and in her bloomers. Outside the camp, Deneghra laughed in sadistic joy. This was the first time she had truly been allowed to indulge herself and run amok with Cryxian bonejacks. Her mind was fragmented into the cortices of almost a dozen different Deathrippers running pellmell into the sleepy Cygnaran camp. Her vision swam with disjointed images that her manic mind struggled to knit into a cohesive whole. It felt like she was a pack of rabid dogs running, charging, biting, savaging, and searching for prey. Every move was instinct, every surge of power was a reflex reaction, and every channeled spell was a spontaneous eruption of hate. With a frenetic energy, her mind guided the chaotic attack, not reining it in but managing to contain the surge so the attack did not explode and disperse all its momentum. On top of it all, her warcasters mind could taste the savor of the necrotite furnaces. The vile taste of anguish and death burning to fuel her desires created an overwhelming sensation of power. Deep down within her, she realized this was where shed wanted to be all along, and she would never tire of the feeling until the entrails of the whole world lay splayed open at her feet. Satisfied with her progress, she cast herself entirely into the cortex of one of her jacks to become it in all but name. She had two powerful legs structured of bone and necrotechnology with no muscles to tire or sinews to snap. She had an alchemically treated prognathous jaw equally equipped for biting and thrusting. She sensed a Cygnaran nearby and lunged forward like a tatzylwurm, buried her fangs into his belly, and ripped upward to shower herself in glorious ichors. She sensed the victims blood boiling away on the soul furnace within her monstrous ribcage and felt the heinous, sensual drip of viscera from her powerful teeth. So beautiful, she thought, so close to perfect. Ah, if only the bonejacks had tongues. Then a strange sound erupted across the campa series of double thumps sharp and deep. What was that? she heard Skarre hiss. Deneghra snapped her mind back to herself and cast out to enter a half dozen bonejacks scattered about. Through the eyes of one, she saw a brief shadow of towering darkness then a flash of yellow in the instant before the bonejacks cortex shattered. Thump-thump! Then another of her bonejacks was destroyed, and another. Warjacks said Deneghra, confused. Warjacks? said Skarre. He didnt tell us she had

warjacks! The pirate queen yanked a dagger from her boot. And he calls himself an informant. Oh, hell pay for holding out on me. Me! Skarre considered for a moment. Youve done well, Deneghra. Regroup your forces, kill as many as you can, and get back to the ship. I have some business to attend to with a certain young man So saying, the Satyxis warcaster slipped away from Deneghras side leaving her student to fend for herself. As she watched her mentor leave, Deneghra wondered if this, too, wasnt part of the test.

Standing amid the smoldering wreckage of a repulsive bonejack, Haleys mind stalked the battlefield. She had linked to each of her Chargers including the annoying one with the intermittent blackouts. However, her mind shared the consciousness of only one Chargers cortex, the one furthest from her where the fighting was hardest. She was a passenger on the mechanikal creation, an advisor to the enchantment animating the three-ton iron beast. She let the warjacks cortex maneuver about the battlefield and swing its devastating hammer at the chittering, hissing bonejacks; all she needed was the left arm. This she swung about freely, firing devastating double-barrel volleys at anything in sight. Once she was certain the warjack was in no imminent danger of loss, she pulled her soul back to herself. Her warcaster armor was running balls out and was nearly weightless on her shoulders. Sweat ran freely down her back, and she felt the first painful itch of burn blisters starting to rise on her fair skin. Pumping arcane energy into the sword she carried, she began to walk the field to rally her people, direct her officers to organize the troops, and return her command to some semblance of order. Occasionally one of the Chargers would fire off a double round or swing its hammer in an earsplitting crash, but it did seem she and her people had managed to steal the momentum of battle, if only for the moment. She offered up a silent thanks to her father for the example shed carried in her heart all those years. As the dawning sky grew brighter, Haley took a more careful look at the campground-turnedbattlefield. Their position was a disaster. It was neither flat nor had it a commanding view. Rather the area had a series of low-lying ridges and slopes that offered ready concealment to the small, fleet bonejacks still prowling the area. They had chosen this spot the

previous night for the protection the ridges afforded from the winds crossing the Windward Peninsula; the blood of her command staining the sand attested to the fact that selecting a site for comfort instead of defensibility had been a grave mistake. She ordered her subordinates to gather around. Report, she demanded. As near as we can reckon, said the first sergeant, there still may be upwards of a half dozen Deathrippers in the area, and we dont know what else the Cryxians might be bringing up. Warcaster? demanded Haley. No ones seen one, said the first sergeant, but you have to know hes out there somewhere. Thats what worries me: why attack with just your jacks? I agree, said a corporal. We got to get out of here before the Cryxians hit us again. Haleys eyes narrowed. Everyone present or accounted for? Pshaw, said the first sergeant. Weve gathered all the people who are still around, but theres no way we can get an accurate casualty count, not with those bonejacks still nigh. Youre sure you have everyone? asked Haley. As sure as I can be in a scrum like this.

shared where their weapons were. It was possible the Cryxians might leave without investigating it; they were not known for plunder as living armies were. Then he looked at the Cygnaran flag flying from the pole planted next to their tent flapping in the steady wind. Would the Cryxians leave such a symbol of defiance to remain unmolested? Not bloody likely, he thought. If only I could take it down without being seen, he thought. The simple cantrips he knew wouldnt make the flag fall naturally. Even if he could bring himself to make the blue-and-gold flag fall into the dirt in the first place, his petty little magic could only make it lay itself out flat. No wonder the high command doesnt want to apprentice me, he thought.

Bugger me raw, what do we do now, Sarge? hissed Chaz. Shhh, came the quiet reply. Lie still. A dozen troopers lay in a shallow bowl of earth in the lee of a sharp boulder. Theyd dug a few desultory slits when ordered the night before, but now they wished they had dug deeper. They yearned for better concealment from the Cryxian nightmares scurrying around just on the other side of the low rise. But I dont even have my damned forgelock, said Chaz eyeing the pup tent that stood just under the rise in plain view of the battlefield. The double thump of a Charger sounded, followed by the lone crack of a long gun. The fighting is moving farther away, whispered Brock. The crunch of dead grass sounded near at hand, and a sibilant wail grew in volume. The Trenchers pressed themselves even closer to the earth as they heard the irregular footsteps of a group of Deathrippers pass by on the other side of the rise a mere ten yards from their position. Stay still, boys, whispered the sergeant so softly it was all but inaudible. Our luck is holding. Brock looked up at the pup tent he and Chaz

Were not leaving, said Haley flatly. Pardon? said the first sergeant. I said were not leaving. I will not piddle my first engagement, especially not to the Cryxians. She turned to another trooper nearby. Soldier, go fetch my boots; I cant keep fighting this scrum in bare feet. The soldier saluted and ran off. Why not withdraw, if I may ask? asked the first sergeant. Because Im not going to let them have the corpses of our people. Theyll have a lot more corpses if we try to hunt them down, blustered the sergeant. Theres still plenty of bonejacks out there. I will lose some, but I will leave none, said Haley. There may still be survivors out there. Dont be so proud, said the first sergeant. Weve got all our jacks, lets I DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE JACKS! yelled Haley. Silence rang across the battlefield for a few heartbeats. Excuse me? I said I dont give a damn about the jacks, First Sergeant, and if you persist in failing to hear me, Ill bust you back to latrine duty. Is! That! Clear! Yesm. In fact, I think I want your wing right now. Excuse me? Your wing! Right now! The sergeant hastily pulled his dagger and cut the gold wing-shaped patch off his uniform sleeve and handed it to Victoria. She jammed it into one gauntlet of her armor. Ill see if I cant find someone better to

wear these wings, she muttered. By the time she was done, the soldier had returned with her boots. She put them on over her bloomers then climbed a low rise and scanned the battlefield. The chitters and venting of the bonejacks cast a threatening aura over the dawning day. Suddenly she raised one arm and pointed. Sergeant, whats that? Its a Cygnaran flag, he said. By the time he was done, Haley was already sprinting forward with her chargers thundering at her heels. She ran pell-mell over the battlefield leaping past startled bonejacks. She kept the only undamaged Charger at her side, leaving the others to clean up the Cryxian mechanika in her wake. The flag flew from a tall pole planted next to a jagged boulder that stood atop a low rise. As she neared her goal, a swarm of bonejacks rose up from their concealment to rush the slight hill. She heard yells, a single gunshot, and screams. Heads down! she yelled as she unleashed a torrent of lightning upon the small horde of Deathrippers. She aimed the thunderstroke at the densest mass of Cryxian jacks, and the electrical power leapt from one to the next fusing metal, blasting bone, and rupturing contemptible necrotite furnaces. At her command the Charger began firing its cannon while its mechanikal cortex directed its massive hammer to flatten dirt and necrotechnology alike. As one, the remaining Deathrippers turned on Haley like a swarm of giant mechanikal rats. Her world turned into a desperate fever of activitya keening song of necrotite hissing punctuated by the thumpthump of the Chargers dual cannon. She bolstered her armors protective field by willing it to withstand the assault of the fangs chewing at her from all quarters. She fell down, overwhelmed by the weight of their numbers. She desperately swung her mage blade, but from her supine position her weak blows had little effect against the steel armor of the bonejacks. Then a great shadow fell over her like a tombstone. An iron hammer landed just to her right and shook the ground with the sound of thunder. It withdrew just as abruptly, and the rising sun shone through where the hammer had fallen. The darkness of the bonejacks was flattened almost beyond recognition. A handful of Cygnaran Trenchers charged through the gap, grabbed Haley with strong and callused hands, and dragged her free of the Cryxian swarm while her Chargers pounded the evil constructs into shapes that, while no less disgusting, were infinitely more palatable.

Deneghra looked at the unfolding drama and called her remaining bonejacks back to her. They were easily replaced; the loss of a half dozen or more would scarcely merit a mention. The knowledge she gained by watching this young warcaster, however, was another matter. That was valuable. I will have to find out your name, young one, she said, because you intrigue me. I want you for my own. With a wave of her hand, she vanished.

Beggin your pardon, lady, said the sergeant, but you came just in the pinch. A few moments later, and wed have been jack fodder. With a hiss of pain, Haley pulled herself out of the warcaster armor. As she staggered free, the gathered soldiers saw that the once-fine material of her nightshirt had been charred from white to the color of dark toast. She rolled her shoulders back to keep the burnt shirt from touching her skin. Her trembling hands stayed raised at her side as if of their own accord. If I were a lady, Sergeant, she said, Id never let you see my bloomers. Now send someone to fetch me some balm. Half a dozen soldiers dashed to the task. If I may be so bold, lauh, warcaster, howd you know we was up there? Haley swallowed hard, and her face pinched in pain. Its not often you see a flag flying stiffly against the breeze, Sergeant. Whose idea was that? The sergeant looked confused for a moment. Then his face brightened, and he barked, Trooper Brock Halfshank, front and center! In a matter of seconds, a young trooper had pushed his way through and stood before Haley at attention. As sweat had plastered much of her nightclothes to her svelte body, he judiciously stared into the air over her head. That was you? asked Haley. Yesm! That was brilliant, soldier. Youve the art, then? Yesm! Haley nodded and smiled in spite of her pain. Thats what I like. Very clever. Ill recommend you for warcaster training, soldier. She tossed him a strip of cloth cut into two arcing wings. In the meantime,

Id like you to wear these. I think theyd look good on you.

PART THREE
is whole body trembled with helpless desire, shuddered like a thoroughbred, and strained like a hound ready to be loosed from the leash. Had he not already been lying on his back, he surely would have collapsed. Despite the chill night air on his half-naked body, the soldier felt uncomfortably warm. Part of his mind, looking for any escape from his predicament, noted how very black was the gulf between the stars. Sharp lacquered fingernails traced delicate arcane designs in the hair beneath his navel. This is what youve been waiting for these last few years, isnt it? she said in a knowing voice. You deserve a more personal acknowledgment of your loyalty. The sergeant pulled his eyes away from the sky to hazard a look down the length of his torso. The face that met his gaze was VictoriasCaptain Haleys but the voice, the voice was something utterly different, sultry and indulgent like black satin and leather. His mind buzzed with sensation, reeled with conflicting emotions, and no words would come. His head flopped helplessly back to the ground. The smell of dewy earth warred in his nostrils with her scent. You like this, dont you? A pause. Hmmm? she added in a throaty purr. He gasped and arched his back. Yes, he panted. Just tell me, and Ill finish. she said. Westwatch, he gasped helplessly. Were going to Westwatch. He closed his eyes in pleasure and regret as she started to move with his reward.

LOYALTY

The first sign of trouble came when a haystack convulsed and spewed out a thick wad of pungent mucus. The odious spray arced through the air and struck a Cygnaran soldier squarely on the cheek, and within the span of a few panicked breaths he lay dying on the field. His face and one eye dissolved away to expose his melting brain to the setting sun. The haystack erupted as a horde of mechanithralls boiled out of it like ants from a damaged hill. At the center of a skirmish line comprised of two

full squads of Long Gunners, Captain Victoria Haley gasped. Ambush! she yelled, passing one hand slowly in front of her in an incantation of warding. The line of Long Gunners erupted with blastingpowder explosions that sent heavy lead bullets to strike the shambling creatures approaching. Elsewhere around the Cygnarans other haystacks likewise yielded the undead abominations lurking within them. Bloody boots! yelled one of the sergeants. The farms a bumper of Crynks! The thralls surged forward, mindlessly intent on killing their prey. At least the Cygnarans preferred to think of them as mindless. To have a normal brain twisted and warped so grotesquely that a friends mind would gleefully turn on his comrades for all eternity was a fate too horrible to consider. Haleys instincts turned her around, and she saw even more thralls surging from the rear. They were surrounded. Drawing upon her arcane training, she unleashed several waves of massive electric blasts, ripped huge holes in the approaching forces, and opened a means of escape. She glanced over her left shoulder. Forgelock bullets tore livid, gushing holes in the bile thralls that had launched the first shots, and several other Long Gunners put inch-wide chunks of lead through key anatomical locations of several of the charging mechanithralls. Then the Cryxian monstrosities reached the gunners. A bane thrall, easily a foot and a half taller than anything else she had seen, charged directly toward Captain Haley. It was clad in ancient plate and bore aloft a huge axe that reminded her of her fathers. Its venomous glowing eyes were the only part of the thrall that could be seen clearly through the darkness it wore like a shroud. With every heavy clanking step, darkness sifted its way out of every armored seam like black dust shucking off a moving warjack. The cloud of darkness roiled around the beast like a sentient thunderhead. She was unready. Her back was toward the bane thrall, and her spear was out of position gripped only in her off hand. The bane thrall raised its massive axe for a brutal

strike. She had no time to raise her spear for a parry. Instead she took a lesson from her former instructor, now a comrade, Allister Caine. Her stance concealed her right arm behind her. In one fluid motion she drew her hand cannon, cocked the striker with her thumb, whipped the pistol up, and fired. The massive projectile struck the undead creature square in the forehead, sending its old-fashioned helmet spinning into the evening sky and shattering its skull. It fell backwards with its legs still pumping. Then it got back up. Ichor and rotting gray matter dripped from the wreckage that had once been its brainpan. The impact of the augmented bullet had blown a hole clean through the skull as well as removed the top of the cranium, leaving enough of the sides to make its head look like the food trough of a corrupted pigsty. Its eyes still glowed with a malevolent blaze. With its right hand, the bane thrall pulled a stringy gobbet from in front of one eye. Haley curled her lip. Well, thats disgusting, she muttered. The bane thrall stepped forward, and its huge stride closed the gap as it swung its axe. Haley parried with the iron haft of her Vortex Spear, and her arms trembled with the power of its blow. She feinted with the haft and head of her spear to gauge the creatures experience and reflexes. Although it was far faster than she would have expected from something long dead, it apparently had little in the way of experience. Instead it relied heavily on its size and weight to protect it. As they sparred, the ill-tasting darkness that wafted from the abominations every crevice began to swirl around Haley, drying her throat and tickling it with maddening itches. Fearful that the distraction could spell her doom, Haley put a quick plan into action. She feinted to her right, leaving herself open. The bane thrall swung for her and exposed its own right side. Haley quickly spun, knocked the creatures elbow aside with the butt of her spear, and spoiled its aim. As she came around, she thrust her spears blade into her foe. She felt the alchemically treated blade puncture the thralls armor as it drove its way in, then she poured her spirit into the electromechanikal generator concealed within the weapons head. Pressed by her soul, the generator surged with pure energy, and released it into the cursed and contaminated body of the bane thrall. There was a violent hum as the power intensified, then the bane thralls torso exploded in a noisome blast of burgundy blood and pallid flesh. Haley staggered back retching and wiping away the wet goo that spattered her face. As the parts of the animate corpse tumbled to their final repose, Haley

realized the sound of sporadic gunfire had abated. Worried, she glanced quickly right and left and saw many of her devoted Long Gunners engaged in close combat with twice their number of thralls. She knew they were no match. Long Gunners bore only the lightest armor so they could move quickly about the battlefield, slide rapidly to a key position, and just as rapidly abandon it when the enemy drew too close. Their handcrafted wheel loaders were balanced for long-range shooting, not melee, and the short swords they traditionally carried as a side weapon would avail them little against a foe that did not bleed. Desperate to save her command, she closed her eyes and reached out with her soul for every Cygnaran she could reach. The fervor with which she stretched her soul was excruciating; it felt like she was dislocating herself and rending the ligaments that bound her brain together. She briefly touched the hearts of her command and imbued just a little bit of herself into them: a touch of her skill, a patina of her magic, a thought propelled by the warcasters urgency. She prayed that it might be enough. Strike! she screamed. Her voice was empowered by the agony within her. As one, her remaining troops leapt to the attack. Their movements slipped through time just a little faster than was normal, and they handled their long guns like veteran pikemen. Across the field, their movements were coordinated into a whole; they tore gaps in the lines of the attacking thralls and gathered themselves into cohesive and organized groups. Haley staggered with the exertion. Then with a primal roar, she suppressed her pain and exhaustion and launched herself at the nearest thralls. The furnace on the back of her warcaster armor hissed at full power, wreathing her in an arcane protective shield as her vortex spear, ablaze with actinic light, thrust and sliced through armor, bone, and rotting flesh alike. No longer beset on all sides, the Long Gunners in the center of each small group unleashed deadly shots from their wheel loaders to spatter the vitals of other thralls across the landscape. With every fallen thrall, another gunner was free to employ his wheel loader as a gunner should, and within a few moments the ambush had been destroyed. Haley looked about the farm field. Twisted corpses ruined by necrotechnology lay scattered about finally receiving the rest their distant deaths should have earned. Amid the wreckage of their bodies lay over half of her command. Some were mortally wounded, some twitched as their nerves fought futilely against their death, and some were torn asunder by the

terrible claws of the thralls. Sergeants! bellowed Haley. Front and center! One sergeant immediately hustled over to her and saluted, ignoring the nasty gash across his arm. Wheres the other sergeant? asked Haley. As if in answer, a cry of mourning carried across the field. Captain Haley I must The cry was cut of by a fit of coughing. That sounded like im, said the sergeant. He dropped the salute to point across the field. Them there soldiers is tendin to im, Id wager. Haley turned and looked. Two soldiers flanked a third who lay badly wounded on the ground. His head was propped up on his haversack. The wounded soldier raised an imploring arm toward Haley, and she saw a sergeants gullwings on his sleeve. Lady he gasped, and his arm dropped. Haley trotted over, the arcane effects of the warcaster armor making her gait smooth and even despite the fact she bore well over a hundred pounds of mechanikal iron plating. She knelt by the man. Gaping wounds in his chest and abdomen oozed blood; his life had run out minutes ago, and it was only through sheer will that he yet breathed. She caressed his cheek with one armored gauntlet. Im here, Sergeant, she said. The warwitch, he gasped. Forgive me, Captain I couldnt resist. What do you mean? asked Haley. Resist what? He coughed, and blood spattered those gathered around. She made me made he winced and moaned. The warwitch I told her our movements. It was a trap. Anger at the betrayal surged into Haleys mind, yet was the dying sergeant even to blame? Haley knew full well the power a warcaster could have, especially a vile amoral villain like Deneghra. Slipping through the darkness, she could ensnare just about anyone she pleased. She looked anew at the veteran soldier. The wounds that scourged his body were not the badges of a coward. Despite his betrayal, he had remained with his people. More so, he had fought hard, sacrificing himself to atone for his weakness and to save his troops from his failing. Here in his final moments, despite whatever geases with which Deneghra had shackled him, he had done his duty and given his commander the name of her foe. You fought well, soldier, said Haley gently yet with a commanding overtone that allowed no dissent to her words. Rest ye in honor and peace. Wait! he gasped. More bloody coughs wracked his body. He sagged as his body lay bereft of energy

save for his eyes, which burned with urgency. One hand flailed up to grip her iron-clad forearm. She she claims she is your sister The last word faded from a mere whisper to the last rattle of a dead man as his hand softened its grip and slid from her bracer, leaving four smears of blood in its wake. Haley rose, staring in shock at the troopers eyes. His dilated eyes stared into infinity, but the insistent look locked on his face brooked no doubt his words were Morrows own truth. Staggering back, Haley looked around, but her eyes saw nothing. Her mind was turned inward, replaying the nightmare shadows of the past and tying those visions to the tribulations of this day. Her sister? After all these years, Gloria is yet alive but turned to the will of Toruk? Could that happy little girl have been molded and shaped by Cryx into the reviled warwitch Deneghra? No, murmured Haley shaking her head in disbelief. It cant be. She wouldnt, not ever. She wouldnt betray Poppa that way. She said that just to toy with him, to torment me it has to be a trick Unwilling to explore those dark possibilities further, Haley snapped herself from her reverie and scanned the field. Form up! she bellowed. Her troops, already having gathered close, ordered themselves rapidly. Deneghra is out there somewhere, she said. This trap was hers. That means we have more trouble headed our way. Burn the dead quickly, for we make for Kesselgate before the traps other jaw springs. Now move! Steeling themselves to the grisly task, the Cygnarans looted the ammo and forgelocks from the dead, quickly stacked the corpses into piles intermixed with hay, and set the lot afire. Within minutes they had formed up and were force-marching to Kesselgate five long leagues away. As their lead scout crested a rise, he saw a veritable legion of thralls awaiting them in the next vale. They turned and began making for Westwatch as fast as they could, for anything was better than trying to hide from the forces of Cryx at night. A shadow lurched at the top of the rise silhouetted against the nighttime sky. A Cygnaran Long Gunner raised his forgelock and took careful aim, sighting on the area between the undead creatures glowing eyes. A hand gently gripped his shoulder. Stand down, soldier, said Captain Haley. They havent sniffed us out yet. Dont give our position away. With a long tense sigh, the soldier slowly lowered his weapon. Haley patted his shoulder gently. Easy, now. If

they dont find us by sunup, well be fat and happy. If not, I dont think plugging one thrall will avail us much. The surviving Cygnarans had been run to ground a mere league from Westwatch. Two stragglers had been overtaken, and as they discharged their weapons, Haley knew heir small column had been located. Rolling hills made up this portion of Cygnar, and scattered farms and groves of trees broke apart the tall grassy landscape. They had been able to use the terrain to find some shelter, and they hunkered now in an abandoned farmhouse. No lights or fires gave away their position. The soldiers concealed themselves carefully, wary that Cryxian eyes might better pierce the unwelcome darkness than did the eyes of the living. Captain, whispered the soldier. Do ye reckon theyre still huntin, or have they sniffed us out and are gathering up? A general shifting of troopers indicted everyones thoughts had been running along the same vein. Truly I tell you I dont know, soldier, said Haley. On the other hand, I dont see that it makes a nit of difference. The soldier smiled grimly. Fair enough. The remaining hours of the night passed as slowly as a smothering nightmare. The troops dared not pace, dared not speak, and dared hardly even to breathe lest the noise attract the attention from the groaning, howling things stalking the darkness. As the sky began to lighten with the promise of the coming day, it illuminated an unwanted sight: hordes of misshapen silhouettes rising all around the farmhouse. Well, boys, muttered the sergeant, I guess that answers our question, dont it? Prepare for volley fire, lads, said Captain Haley. If we can make enough of a ruckus, itll attract the attention of the regiment in Westwatch. You can bet your arses that Coleman will come at the double if theres promise of a scrum. A round of dark chuckles ran through the derelict farmhouse. Looks like bile thralls over here, Captain, said a soldier. Right. Everyone to the east wall then. Jackbooted feet quickly scuffed across the wooden floor. Haley drew her hand cannon and held it at the ready, casting enchantments to aid her soldiers aim. Volley fire. Ready She aimed her handgun. Fire! Seven Cygnaran firearms loosed their deadly bullets and dropped several of the vile creatures.

Fire! Several more fell. Fire! Now quick, lads, to the north wall! The exhausted troops ran to the north wall and saw a large pack of thralls in the open moving as quickly as they could to the dilapidated house. Ready, fire! ordered Haley. She watched in satisfaction as a large knot of thralls collapsed as heavy Cygnaran missiles ripped through their ranks. South wall! Move! They played cat-and-mouse with the advancing Cryxian thralls, but for a change the cat lay in the center smiting the approaching mice with volley after volley of large-bore lead shot with magically enhanced aim. After several squads of thralls had been decimated by these maneuvers, Haley realized there was no way her fatigued troops could maintain that level of exertion. Theyd marched all day in search of the Cryxians, been ambushed and lost half their number, then forcedmarched all night trying to evade Deneghras dragnet of walking dead. Each time she ordered her troops to volley fire from a different wall, their reactions were slower, the loading sloppier, and the steps more stumbling. Fortunately, the Cryxians paused in their assault to spread themselves out, making themselves ineffective targets for volley fire. During this brief respite, Haley ordered her tired soldiers to key firing positions around the house and gave the order to fire at will. Feeling no weariness, the Cryxian hordes advanced again. Slowly their lead thralls drew closer and closer to the farmhouse; when one thrall fell, the next was able to take several more steps toward the Cygnaran farmhouse before the next gunshot hit. Bile thralls began bombarding the defenders with their caustic sludge. A few soldiers were slain outright while the misses spattered the immediate area to cause painful and distracting burns. Haley ran from wall to wall launching a wave of magical lightning whenever the thralls drew close, but ultimately she too began to flag from exhaustion. Then after what seemed like days of desperate fighting, the first thralls reached the walls of the dilapidated house. Their arrival was heralded by the scream of a soldier abruptly cut off as a heavy axe clove his skull in twain. The bane thrall forced its way through the window, and the soldiers nearest turned to engage even as Haley ordered them to stand fast and fire. One fell to the bane thralls brutal assault before she slew the wicked beast, but the loss of three rifles along that side of the farmhouse, even for the scant minute they fought the thrall, meant the forces of Cryx could no

longer be stopped in their approach. Its like being part of a crumbling dam, Haley thought as she fought against the growing hordes. One by one her companions fell around her, giving their lives to save their captain. Despite the brightness of the growing day, Haleys world dimmed with each death. This is it, she thought. I cant kill them all. She shook her head in self-reproach. I was a fool to make this march without warjacks. Then a new volley sounded across the farm fieldsthe air-rending crack of a dozen storm glaives unleashing a wave of raw electrical power into the Cryxian throngs. The massive thunderclap was immediately followed by the basso thump of heavy cannons. The Cryxian thralls faltered, torn between the immediate task of killing Haley and the greater threat of the Cygnaran reinforcements. With those noises, Haley felt a glimmer of true hope. She could sense the humming of warjack cortices at the periphery of her second sight. She heard more thumps, and then heavy shells started dropping all about the farmhouse thundering the air, shaking the earth, and causing dust and splinters to fall from the walls and roof. Damnit, Coleman! she yelled over the din. She cast a combat incantation and poured her soul into the warcaster armor to bolster its protective effects. Were still in here! The farmhouse erupted in fire and shrapnel. Despite her protection, the concussion knocked her into a wall, which shattered with the impact of her armored body. Splinters of wood, twisted shards of metal, and parts of bodies both fresh and decrepit flew through the air. She felt the mechanikal field about her sputter and flicker as it stood against the explosion. She tried to pick herself up but only managed to push herself to her hands and knees. Her armor seemed heavy, and steam whistled angrily from a small hole in the boiler on the back of her custombuilt armor. She glanced about for her Vortex Spear hoping to use it as a crutch, but before she located it the building collapsed utterly.

Commander Coleman Stryker bounded across the blackened field of twitching, hissing, oozing, and stinking wreckage surrounding the lone farmhouse. Firing so close to the farmhouse had been a calculated risk but a necessary one to wipe out the hordes of thralls that had teemed like beetles all about. His heart dared not beat until he could discover whether Haley

was living or dead. The main body of thralls had turned from the farm to engage the Cygnaran reinforcements from Westwatch. Seeing that his troops were doing just fine without him, he felt no qualms about abandoning his position to search for Haley. He would have done it no matter the situation; Haley was a precious jewel regardless of how she perceived the innate worthiness of her own inner soul. The few thralls lingering near the farmhouse withdrew before him, wisely conserving their existence for another day. Thralls knew better than to waste themselves without adequate numbers, and a fresh Cygnaran warcaster was well beyond their capability. Coleman clambered onto the slanting wreckage of the house and began digging down. His high-powered warcaster armor enabled him to throw even sizeable walls aside with relative ease. Toward the thralls, of coursethere was no sense in wasting projectiles. He saw a hand clad in the gauntlet of warcaster armor. Haleys. With a growl he lifted the spine of the houses roof and pushed it aside to reveal more of her. He knelt beside her, pulled back her hood, and gently drew her tousled hair out of her face. Haley? he asked none too quietly. Victoria! Are you standing on me or somethin, Coleman? she grumbled, her voice sluggish. Get your manky feet off me! Taint me, he answered, though its about the whole house. Hang on, Ill get you loose. Another minutes effort freed her entirely from the wreckage. Your boilers knackered, mucker, he said. Hang tight. He deftly worked the bolts that held her armor together, lifting the heavy plating from her torso. Ta, she said. I can breathe again. Think I give a toss? said Coleman with a wry grin. I just dont want to misplace any of this priceless mechstuff. He leaned the ruined back plate and boiler against the jagged edges of a wall. Sod off. She started to push herself up, leaving the front half of her armor on the ground. Coleman looked back at his troops handily pushing the Cryxians back. Looks like the dregs are throwing coat. Listen, Im going with the troops to help wipe them Crynks all out, right? Dont want any getting away. Youre okay? Haley sat up and nodded slowly. Sure. No bleeders, no broken bones. She sighed and winced. Right, maybe a cracked rib or two, but Im solid. Good. Coleman clapped a mailed hand on her shoulder. You rest easy. Well be back for you.

Deneghra glided along the landscape like a panther. Her hips moved sinuously, and her barbed spear lashed back and forth like a stiffened tail. She squinted against the morning sun, her lip curling into a snarl. She hated the sunlight. It sent heat, revealed secrets, burned skin, and banished fear. Warm, dry air was so much harder to breathe that she sometimes wished she were undead, but she had to see what had happened. She had to find out for herself. The wreckage of scores and scores of thralls lay on the field as an ugly harvest of the Cygnaran rifles. Even though they were her thralls, she was still pleased with the sight; she reveled in all destruction. Her remaining thralls fled toward the coast, following her final command and enticing Colemans soldiers to pursue. As she approached the center of the carnage, she saw a solitary figure in the wreckage of an old farmhouse. The features were invisible in the daytime glare. Still, Deneghra had a sense As she drew closer, she saw it was indeed the warcaster called Haley. The figure sat resembling as a picture of dejection and exhaustion. Her head hung low, and her lank hair dangled like a weeping willow. She wore no armor and held the haft of her spear in one limp hand. Deneghra did not understand why the death of those weaker than her would drain the morale of a warcaster; was that not the purpose of a warcaster: to kill the weak? Deneghra looked around. The bloody and bluish skin of the dead made her more excited and energized. Well now, Haley, said Deneghra moving into striking distance. It seems I finally have you where I want you. Haley nodded slowly. Deneghra reached for one of the soul cages at her waist. Specially prepared for this moment, it was carefully crafted to capture the soul of a specific warcaster. She brought it around and hooked it to the front of her belt. You can make this easy on yourself, she said as she adjusted the malevolent device, but I must admit I hope you dont. In a flash Victoria surged from her seat, snatched up her heavy spear, and lunged straight for Deneghras neck. With her head turned, Deneghra reacted too late. The heavy spear point struck her at the bridge of the nose, carving a deep slash into her forehead and flipping her horned helmet from her head. Her head snapped back and she caught a glimpse of Haley

spinning, then the heavy haft struck her full on the temple. There was a flash of white, and she stumbled to her hands and knees. My sister, huh? Haley snorted. What a bloody barrowful! But Vickie, began Deneghra. No stroppy dreg of Cryx can even speak of my sister. Die, wench! For the first time in her lifethat portion of her life not forever locked away from her memory Deneghra felt fear. Please dont kill me, she pleaded. Born of desperation, a lone small bubble of memory trickled to the surface of her shrouded brain. Haley raised her spear for the killing blow. Please dont, Sissy Haley faltered. Deneghra burst into action. Taking advantage of the way her vile armor enhanced her strength and agility, she tumbled away from Haley and bounced back to her feet well out of striking distance. Haley closed, but her heavy spear slowly sagged in her grasp. She shook her head uncertainly. Gloria? she whispered. Her eyes crinkled in conflicting emotion. Deneghra chuckled and quickly wove one of the many dark incantations she had learned from the iron lich Asphyxious. She opened her mouth and licked her lips, and a shadow of black erupted from her tongue. It weaved toward Haley like a water snake, then lunged forward and latched onto her umbilicus. Haley screamed and doubled over, dropping the spear. Deneghra stood tall, breathing in and swallowing as her shadowy black tongue grew darker and darker. Haley gasped clutching her belly, and the blood drained from her face. She began to sweat and collapsed to her knees. Deneghra stepped forward using her spear Sliver to flip Haleys spear well out of reach. She snapped a roundhouse kick at Haleys face, breaking her jaw with the mechanikal power of the blow. She raised Sliver and brutally smashed Haleys chest with the butt end of the weapon, breaking ribs and puncturing a lung. Even as Deneghra pulled Sliver away, Haleys very shadow reached up to bind her to the earth. Thats better, she said as she waved the pulsating sorcerous tongue into nonexistence. She raised the special soul cage and poured her arcane energy out to activate it, whispering profane words of power in some inhuman tongue. Ive worked long and hard on this, sister, she said as the soul cage began to pulsate with greenish black

shadows. Its designed expressly for your soul. It takes so much work; I hope you appreciate the effort Ive gone to. Haley tried to spit at the warwitch, but the spittle failed to clear her chin. Dont be so petty. Soul cages to snare anyone who happens to die close at hand, those are easy to make. But one keyed to a specific soul, those are difficult. She knelt down beside Haley. But they do offer one significant advantage: I can harvest you while youre still alive, just to ensure I dont miss a scrap. She loosened the intake valve. The mechanikal device began to gasp horribly. You see, my dear twin sister, you should never have been. Somehow you came to be in the womb with me, and in so doing you stole half of my power. Now I want it back. All of it. She loosened the intake valve another half turn. Bye-bye. Deneghra loosened the valve another full turn, and Haley cried out in anguish. The warwitch laughed with glee and anticipation as Haley writhed in torment, struggling futilely against the cold, shadowy bonds holding her in place. Then Deneghras enjoyment faded, and concern clouded her brow. She felt a tugging at her insides, and her heightened witchs senses warned her she was in dire peril, fast approaching the black chasm of death. She looked down at the soul cage. The interior had begun to glow with a mixture of gold and purple light. She clutched at the iron surface heating up with its wicked activity. No she murmured. The pain grew. She saw the approaching void opening wider to swallow her whole. No! With one hand she raised Sliver to strike Haley dead, but in her heart she knew she would not have enough time. Her strength was ebbing too rapidly. NOOOOOOOO! she wailed and drove the spear as hard as she could into the soul-sucking mechanikal cage. Sliver pierced the exterior, but the baleful thing resisted. Deneghra leaned everything she had into the blow, twisting the cage with her other hand to work her spear into it. At last the mechanikal circles gave way, and the enchantment failed. With a strange gasping sound, the soul cage gave up the two halves of the soul it had been so hungrily devouring. With a snap that trembled her insides from her toes to her brain, Deneghras soul returned to her body. She collapsed backwards, and her eyes squinted against the glaring bright sky. Slowly, agonizingly, yet with a great sense of relief, she rolled back to her hands and knees. Her ears rang, throbbing like the piston legs of a

warjack. Deneghra raised her head and saw that the thrumming came from more than her ears. Coleman was rapidly closing with a trio of Defenders running at his heels. He was coming to save Haley. Too shaken even to consider fighting another warcaster, Deneghra flew her hands into ritual arcane shapes and became as a spirit, incorporeal, a shadow of her normal self. No longer encumbered by her body or armor, she fled the area leaving her foe sobbing openly in the empty field of death. The warwitch paused at the top of the rise and looked back. I have underestimated you for the last time, sister, she thought. Next time we meet, I bring death. This I swear upon the scales of Toruk.

PART FOUR
sphyxious skull rotated smoothly, hovering within its housing in the mechanika that gave the iron lich form. Send her in. A young woman entered. Her walk was agile and sure, the stride of someone who wore authority like a tailored cloak and breathed power like others breathed air. She had dark hair cropped short and pulled into a tight, unsightly bun at the back of her head. She wore only clothesshe was one of the few people comfortable enough in the presence of the lich not to appear in full regaliabut though her clothes were entirely black, they were expertly sewn and their simple design flattered her svelte physique. Per protocol, she took three steps after entering and knelt, one hand on her knee and the other pressed to the floor in a fist. Her head she kept deeply bowed. Deneghra, the lich said, the whispering, sibilant sound emanating from somewhere near his midriff. Rise, honored one. Deneghra rose. Without her horned helmet, the bright scar that marred her pale forehead was blatant. Beneath the white stripe, dark and narrowed eyes burned with embers of the hatred that was the center of her life. I am surprised to find I still carry your favor, my lord, she said. He stared at her for a moment, his skull and skeletal armor utterly unmoving. He knew it irritated her that she could not read his expressions as she could everyone elses, and he took every opportunity to remind her subtly of that. I have forged thee from a lump of clay into the weapon thou now art, Deneghra, he said. Thou hast been my favorite undertaking. How couldst thou not still hold my favor? Deneghras hand started to rise to the scar, but she aborted the reaction, thinking it a sign of weakness. Because I have not yet reclaimed that which my sister stole from me, she said. I have failed. Asphyxious loomed closer, the green aura of the necrotite furnaces flaring brightly. Do not display such weakness again, he snarled. Thou hast not failed, neither hast thou succeeded. The testing yet proceeds apace. But I Thou wilt have failed when thy body lies upon

COURAGE

the field of blood, continued Asphyxious, crushing her words callously. Thou wilt have succeeded when thou standest over thy sisters body. Remember, time stands with us, not them. Deneghra stood in silence. I have something which I shall show unto thee. He turned and started to leave. And what is that, my lord? Turning, Asphyxious extended his hand, his fingers like a broken, blackened rib cage. Why, a celebration of thy birthday. And the festivities shall be held in the crucible of our victory.

What in Morrows sorrows is that? asked Allister Caine. Sits on me, said Haley. She shifted her stance and planted the butt end of her vortex spear in the ground, then let the haft rest in the crook of her arm as she studied the battlefield. From the rise upon which the warcasters stood, they surveyed a broad open swath of the Thornwood stripped utterly bare of trees. The helljacks and bonejacks had left nothing but splintered shards of stumps in their wake, creating an open wasteland of ruined wilderness. Only that morning the last of them had crawled away from the ravaged site to avoid the Cygnaran army. The Cygnarans had dared not pursue and wreck the Cryxian jacks, for a sizeable Cryxian force lay gathered on the other side of the open field. Worse yet, armies of Khador and the Protectorate had also arrived, a foursquare of enemies gathered in nearly perfect symmetry. Above their heads, the banner of Cygnar twisted in the wan breeze. Across the field, on three similar hills, three other hated symbols waved likewise. What most demanded attention, however, was the ancient monument in the center, something akin to a temple. Six curving obelisks rose to the sky, spaced evenly in a hexagram, like a serpents fangs or the limbs of a skeleton waiting to crush those within. In the exact center was a black dais inscribed with

ancient runes. Not only had the area been deforested, but the hills had been roughly leveled as well for a solid quarter mile in every direction. As near as they could reckon, the hillock upon which they stood was nothing more than a pile of dirt shifted away from the strange plinths. Why Cryx had wanted the area flat remained a mystery. To Haleys left, Commander Adept Sebastian Nemo lowered his field glasses and settled his goggles over his eyes. As he raised his arm to do so, the electrical effects of his warcaster armor caused his hair to flare up like a silver aura about his face. Neither have I an idea, he grumbled. It may well predate the Orgoth Invasion. That Cryx has an interest in it means nothing good to anyone of Immoren. Tis a fine thing we arrived to wrest it from their bony claws, though Id rue the Menites seizing it, as well. Id not be so brassy, said Haley. Captain? asked Nemo coolly. The odds of four armies all camping here at the same time aresmaller than a midge in the Bloodstone Marches. Its no coincidence. Our spies had good intelligence, captain, said Caine with a condescending sneer. So yes, that were here is no coincidence. And Im sure that the others are consoling themselves with the same words, pressed Haley. Two of them, at least. Ill give bullion to bullets that someone wanted us all here. There was a pause of several heartbeats. Lieutenant Caine? said Nemo. I want a detailed sketch of the battlefield. Tomorrow will be an iron rain for certain, and I need to know the ground. Aye, said Caine tensely. He pulled out his map case, called over an orderly to act as his desk, and got to work. Haley looked at her commander, who stood with arms crossed, one hand rubbing his stubbly chin. He glanced sidelong at her and gestured her over with one finger. You are right, captain, he said quietly. One of those three planned this. It might be Cryxian guile, but if so, why risk a find like this? Id reckon theyd prop such a trap elsewhere. It might have been Khador, but such manipulations seem unlike them. While Irusk is a better hobnail than I on the field, I dont think either he or his damned queen are capable of the sort of subtle skullduggery a feat like this requires. The Protectorate? asked Haley. Possible. Perhaps they seek to barter with us for their emancipation. But then again, that would be uncommonly civil of them. And recent events have shown that relations between them and Khador have been ruined.

Perhaps they hope to appease Cryx, trade support this day for safety tomorrow. Not a bloody chance, blustered Nemo. Not even the Grand Scrutator is that foolish! Nemo sniffed. At least, not so far as I reckon, he added quietly. Even so, were all here, said Haley. I have good reason to hate them all, but in truth Id almost sell Cygnar to either hand just to see Cryx utterly undone. The question is, can we trust Khador and the Protectorate to understand that Cryx is the greater foe?

Trust? bellowed Orsus Zoktavir. He clapped Kommandant Irusk heavily on the back. Ha! Good one!

High Exemplar, you hope for too much, Feora said. Both countries are overrun with Morrowan heathens. Enlightenment and trust may come only after a great flensing.

Asphyxious chuckled. At least we are clear on who our enemies are, he said, his voice tinged with anticipation, and who will be our allies.

Id sooner invite the Pirate Queen to tea than trust any foreigner, said Nemo. Make no mistake, captain, we are on our own here. From his position a short ways away, Caine snorted. Alone, just like Cryx, eh? he said without taking his eyes off his work. Indeed, said Nemo darkly. But at least they are certain of their position, whereas we can still hold some faint hope that Severius or Irusk will The thought trailed off. Will what? asked Haley. Develop some social skills, offered Caine. Nemo held up one finger as would a professor at the Strategic Academy, which, in point of fact, he had been. Cryx knows they have no allies, he said. For everyone else, the situation is murkywe could risk a temporary truce, for examplebut for them it is clear. They have no help here, nor can they hope to betray anyone, for none will trust them. So? asked Haley.

So they are the only ones that have the luxury of being able to plan such an event as this without fretting that some portion of their scheme might fall apart. Then you think Cryx is behind this? Yes, captain. I am certain of it. He surveyed the field, nodding slightly to himself. Whatever else happens, Victoria, he added, turning to her, we must be certain that we do whatever it takes to thwart the designs of Cryx. We must give our utmost. He waved his hand in dismissal. Go. Make preparations. We meet again in two hours. Haley turned and strode toward the Cygnaran camp. As she passed Caine, furiously working on his sketch, she heard him chuckle. Jolly birthday, Haley, he said.

The thunder started rolling just before dawn, as Khadoran artillery served as reveille for the four armies. Not that any of them had slept. Within minutes Cygnaran mechaniks had all the boilers running balls out, and journeyman warcasters moved squadrons of warjacks into position. Black smoke rose from the coal furnaces but then, weighed down by the dampness of the dewy air, slowly sank back to earth and filled the camps with a gray mist. Victoria Haley, now turned twenty-six years old and having nothing to show for her day but an extra slice of undercooked bacon at breakfast, ascended the hill to where Nemo had set up his command post. As she rose, the low-lying morning fog abruptly ended and she found herself beneath a clear sky with the horizon just starting to lighten in the east. When she crested the hill, she saw the battlefield below them enshrouded with a light haze that glowed softly in the light of Calder, which was just past the full. Across the field, a pale green pulsating glow betrayed the Cryxian positions with their vile necrotite engines. Red and gold shone beneath the mists to either side as Menite and Khadoran forces started to move. Commander Adept Nemo stood atop the hill. To one side aides prepped his armor to be donned. The armors electrical generator whined as it accelerated to full power, and as Haley approached her commander the armor began to hover over its cross-shaped support. Nemo slid on a padded greatcoat and walked over to his suit. Are you ready, Captain? he asked as he slid his arms into the heavy iron gauntlets. Aye, sir. Excellent, he said, wriggling himself into his

armor as his aides pulled the supports out. The plan remains as we decided last night. You move out and secure the center of the field just on the far side of the Orgoth whatever-it-is. You act as a stumbling block to our enemies plans; keep anyone from taking control of that place. Caine leads the skirmishers and fast jacks and acts as our cavalry reserves, quick and hard-hitting. I lead the main body with the heaviest jacks. Once the others engage you, well see the best way to counterattack them and rout their forces. Haley forced a smile. Youre looking forward to this, arent you? Nemo blew out a heavy breath. Were asking a lot of you this day, Haley, he said. His aides drew the armor closed about him and began fastening the latches that held it in place. Youll be the mouse among moorcats. You cant let anyone have that circle down there. I just wish I could tell you why, but we dont know what it is. It wouldnt make a difference. Well hold it. My troops are ready. Then get to it, Captain. Theres no time to waste. Journeyman Brock Halfshank is already down there, rousting some jacks. He started deploying the trenchers to my order round about midnight. My long gunners await below. Thats why I came up the front side of the hill, not up from the camp. Nemo flexed his arms. The generator on his back hummed as he started exerting his control over the mechanikal fields. Then why are you up here yammering away at some old man? he asked. To make you feel better. And to carry any words to the troops. Tell them tell them that they are the line, the eye of the storm. Everything that rages about them is stuff and nonsense. Its all just for show. Their duty, protecting that cairn, is what matters. Aye that, said Haley. She tossed off a perfunctory salute and began jogging down the hill. The steady chuff of her armors furnace helped her mind to focus on the impending chaos, and the weight-countering effects of the warcaster armor made the descent smooth as well as easy on her knees. She was impatient to get back to her troops before the battle began in earnest, but her own tactics gave her to wondering. Shed snuck her troops into place around the circle of obelisks, but it was an ancient ruin; Orgoth, or perhaps earlier. That Cryx wanted to plumb its secrets indicated that it was possessed of no small magic. And magic of that sort tended to attract unwanted visitors. Mightnt there be some of those yet about, in spite of Cryxs presence? Worse yet, there must be fell beasts acting as camp followers of such a

despicable force as theirs. As if in answer, a bellowing roar resounded from behind a nearby boulder and a hulking, furry shape surged out from the predawn shadows and charged her. Haleys heart shuddered in her breast. A gorax? Warpwolf? And here she was, caught unawares by the beast, alone within her own lines. Whatever it might be, she had only a split second to react. She leveled her spear to the barreling creature. She also started to drop the butt end to brace against the ground, but the thing was faster than she thought, and it struck the point of her spear before she was fully set. The impact staggered her, knocking her off balance, but she managed to recover by planting the butt end of her spear into the ground. The attackers momentum carried it off the ground for a moment, and Haley was able to use that extra sliver of time to get her feet in under her. Then her eyes caught the crescent glimmer of two huge axes in the creatures burly arms. A Khadoran manhunter. Startled, she started to retreat, instinctively clutching her spear and pulling the impaled manhunter along. He swiped at her neck with one great axe, but she ducked to the right and twisted her spear to the left to throw the strike off. He swung with the other hand, and the blade carried through the protective field of her armor and marred the surface of her breastplate. Haley backed off, shifting her grip hand over hand backwards, putting as much space between her and the manhunter as possible, until she held one end of the spear with the business end still in her attackers gut. She was barely out of his reach, and every time he tried to move away, she stepped forward to keep her weapon firmly planted in his body. The two of them shifted in the predawn, Haley trying to maintain the stalemate as the manhunter slowly bled to death, he trying to use axe strikes and shifts of weight to loosen her grip on the spear. She wished she could spare one hand for the briefest instant to cast a spell upon the Khadoran, but she feared the legendary speed of the manhunters. Her mind searched about for a warjack to summon, but though she could sense their glowing cortices in her minds eye they danced just out of her range. With half her mind working on an alternate means of getting away, Haley found herself outmaneuvered so that she stood backed up against a tree trunk. The manhunter grinned, and pumped his legs forward in the dew-damped earth, pressing the butt end of the spear into the wood. He pushed his body down the

long weapon to where the halves met at the steel haft, drawing inch by bloody inch closer to Haleys neck. Then Haley grinned. Her vortex spear planted firmly against the tree trunk, she let go and yelled out her incantation, gesturing with both hands. Raw magical power arced from her palms and ravaged the body of the manhunter. He screamed a gargling cry of frustration as the twisting fingers of energy carved blackened furrows into his muscles. Then, with her strength spent channeling the fear and fury of her soul, Haley sagged. So, too, did the manhunter, smoke rising from his still-open mouth. Haley gripped her spear and pushed the Khadoran over, then braced one boot on his body to pull the spearhead out. Bugger me, she muttered. Best get to the front lines, where its safe.

The Cryxians attacked at dawn. Thats queer, said Brock. Why did they bollix around until it was light? Sits on me, said Haley. But I dont like it. She scuttled over to the long gunners and trenchers, hunkered low to minimize the chance shed be spotted. Spit and polish, boys, spit and polish. The Cryxian forces formed into a long, narrow wedge and marched unimaginatively right at the strange Orgoth cairn. Ranks upon ranks of thralls lurched forward at a shamble like a dark tongue of roiling insects. The clanking of their armor and the spongy noises of their decaying flesh carried across the empty field. What in bloody Urcaen do they think theyre doing? said Brock incredulously. There aint no thought nor nothin about that. Haley glanced about the battlefield and saw that both the Khadorans and Menites were reacting to this bold move while Cygnar carefully deployed itself in a more neutral posture. No helljacks, either? With Morrow as my witness, Ive no idea what Cryx is up to, journeyman. But it does seem that the imperialist whitenuts and the groveling zealots dont intend for them to take the cairn. And Id reckon Nemos plum chuffed to see the three of them fighting it out without him. The Cryxian army marched closer, but as it approached it split in two, half moving to each side, interceding between the cairn and the two other armies. A smattering of bonejacks acted like sheepdogs, herding the thralls in the rights directions. Soon Haley and her troops could see nothing at

either hand but ranks of thralls, and beyond them the banners of the other approaching armies. Thats just not good, muttered Brock. Watch my neck, Halfshank, Haley ordered. She closed her eyes and expanded her consciousness. To the front she sensed a tremor of power, the Cryxian thing that led this teeming mass of thralls. To either side she sensed the unique auras of warjacks, Menite and Khadoran, each twisted with the timbre of their own arcane locks; and the souls of other warcasters, murmuring in unknown tongues not quite audible. She rose herself higher and higher, then opened her eyes. Her mortal eyes vaguely saw the battlefield around her, pre-ruined by Cryxian mechanika. A nearby chain gunner swiveled his weapon and checked the sight. But her warcasters soul saw the battlefield from up above, a view so panoramic she felt like a bird. And she saw that the Cryxians had indeed placed themselves in two thin lines between the Orgoth cairn (and its Cygnaran defenders, carefully dug in and camouflaged, even the light warjacks) and the approaching Khadorans and Menites. The two mortal armies closed on the Cryxians, most likely thinking they were trying to prevent the undead horde from holding the cairn. She watched as the armies closed, the heavy drumbeat of the gargantuan Khadoran warjacks providing a counterpoint to the anthems sung by the Menite masses. The two forces closed on the Cryxians like a great vise, and the thrall formations started to ripple in the face of the approaching forces. Then the undead started to fall back, slowly at first, but ever more rapidly. Haley snapped herself back to her body. The thralls are retreating. Damn, spat Brock. They never throw coat. Its a bluff. I know, said Haley. Theyre baiting the others, and its working. Cryx has to have a warcaster nearby. Find it. She turned to a nearby trencher. You, fetch me a long gunner. Halfshank scanned the center of the Cryx line with his field glasses. Got it, he said. He gestured with one hand. Asphyxious, or Im a wanker. I make it about 180, 200 yards. Bugger me, Haley cursed. Theres no way we can Wait, spotted a skarlock, said Brock. He gestured toward the Menites lines. Right there, maybe 85 yards or so. Hard to spot; got us a stump between us and it. Haley smiled with relief. Right then, the trencher returned with a long gunner. Maam? he said,

touching his forelock respectfully. I need you to plug us a skarlock, said Haley. Round 85 yards. Aim for its neckbone right below the skull if you can, but take what fate deals you. She cast a spell as Brock directed the long gunner toward his intended target, then she lay one hand gently on the back of the snipers neck. She split her concentration and let a part of her consciousness roam free, soaring toward the skarlock. Woah me, said the long gunner appreciatively. I gots me the eyes of a bloody hawk. Just line up the shot carefully, murmured Haley. She saw with his eyes and hers as he lined up the shot, overlapping the rifles sights with the closer view provided by Haleys spell. The skarlock stood on the far side of a shivered stump directing the Cryxian forces at Asphyxious behest. When it was visible, it looked like a skeleton with gristle and skin stretched over its misshapen bones. Macabre spikes rose from his ribs, and a coif of mail covered its head. As the two of them aimed the long gun, the skarlock raised a soul cage and loosed the valve. It was the longest it had stood still, even if only a small portion of its head was visible. In that moment, the two images of the target lined up. Fire, whispered Haley. But the flame was already erupting from the snipers barrel. The two of them watched as the lead ball struck the skarlock in its desiccated neck right where the voice box used to be, punching a vertebra or two with it out the back side of the undead creatures neck. Startled by the impact, the creature staggered into full view. With the sudden loss of support, the skarlocks head flopped forward. Skin and gristle tore, and the head continued to tumble, peeling a long strip of skin up the side of the skull and over, until at last the head fell to earth. The decapitated body followed it soon after. Nice shot, said Haley, releasing her hand from his neck. At the exact same time, the long gunner said, Thank ye, maam. The journeyman pulled his glasses around to the Menite front. There we are, he said happily. Now the thralls are standing to. Well, thats one side, said Haley. Now for the other. She reached out one hand toward the Cryxian lines falling back before the Khadorans. She held the pose for a moment and then fired a blast of arcance energy into the air. At that signal, a half-dozen Cygnaran chain guns opened fire on the thralls down the length of the Orgoth temples perimeter. With their backs facing the unexpected assault, even the bonejacks were easy prey for the fearless trenchers, and chunks of meat and iron flew in a grisly cloud

over the thrall line. Letos wolfhounds are having a feast today, said Brock. Indeed. Lets look to our own now. Halfshank, move over to the pinion position and hold fast; I expect that the Cryxians will be paying their respects promptly.

Many were the soldiers who collapsed in fear and sorrow upon seeing a battlefield clear and bright the morning after. But for those surrounded, the thickening smoke was another enemy, a curtain of emptiness that made their isolation seem ever more pronounced.

The attack from Cryx did not materialize, at least not as soon as Haley had expected. Still, the Cygnarans found themselves surrounded quickly. Commander Adept Nemo tried to run four warjacks across the cairn to reinforce Haley and her people before they were completely cut off, but it was too late. Haley abandoned the plan of keeping the other armies away from the cairn and looked instead to remaining an immovable stone of Cygnaran resistance. The other commanders were more shortsighted than Haley had hoped. The Khadorans and Menites each overran the thralls that stood arrayed against them. They overran many of the Cygnaran chain gunners as well, although a scattered few beat a hasty enough retreat to reach Haleys defensive perimeter. She hoped that more of them had made it back to the main body, for on the far side of the Orgoth cairn, Nemo had begun moving aggressively against their foes. Once theyd disposed of the thralls and the odd unfortunate Cygnaran, the Khadorans and Menites clashed violently in the midst of the ancient Orgoth creation, whatever it was. Warjacks towered over the mass of humanity. Flame pikes inscribed circles in the air, Khadoran bombards thudded heavily amidst the screams, and the ugly sound of metal hacking and piercing flesh was as constant as a waterfall. The forces of Cryx hung back, letting the two foes bleed each other over the ruins, while Nemo tried to discern how best to commit his forces to rout his foes at the smallest cost. Haleys soldiers and her handful of light warjacks kept the enemy forces at bay for the time, while she took every opportunity to send a wave of lightning cascading through the Cryxian ranks, just because she could. Between the powder of Khadors great cannon, the oily flames of Menoths fury, and the steam and smoke from a hundred coal furnaces, a heavy haze settled over the battlefield, the so-called fog of war that every soldier knew by sight and smell. While it was a curse to commanders, it was a blessing for the foot soldier, for it obscured detail at even short distances and made the conflict seem more manageable, more survivable.

For several long, heart-pounding hours, three large armies surrounded Haley and her troops, each trying to break the back of the other two. Occasionally the forces would smash into the thin Cygnaran line only to fall back in the face of withering fire. Haley feared for Halfshanks life and wondered if his position were merely encircledas if the word merely could apply to the monstrous machines and undead abominations at all points of the compassor if he and his soldiers had been crushed. The start of the fall came when the Menites seized the Orgoth cairn. A long, dense line of Cryxian thralls and bonejacks had stormed the cairn in a moment when it had been relatively unattended. In response, Menoths followers launched a massive assault; a veritable cloudburst of skyhammer rockets fell upon the Cryxian positions, fiery missiles coalescing from the ever-thickening smoke of the battlefield. The furious barrage was followed immediately by a wedge attack of Flameguard led by Feora herself and bolstered by a seemingly endless wave of zealots, gray shadows against the somber haze. The battlefield erupted in fire, shrapnel, blood, and horrifying, caustic venom. Once the Cryxians had fallen back, Feora consolidated her position by seizing the trenchers field fortifications. The Menite priestess organized her Flameguard, interspersing cleansers among the regulars, forming the shields into a wall, and advancing upon the Cygnaran position with Menoths fury blazing a path before them. The Menites moved in, an awesome wall of righteous might heralded by flaming death. Captain Haley saw in an instant that to remain in place would be suicide against the unstoppable force of the Protectorate; the shield wall would stop much of the Cygnaran bullets, while the cleansers fire could burn any trencher in his hole. Haley took a hasty moment to cast a shielding spell to protect her people, then sprang forward. Cmon, gravediggers, she yelled, waving her spear. Lets put muddy iron up their powdered bums. To the fray! Haley charged out of the shallow diggings, a dozen trenchers at her flanks, bayonets fixed. To either side the chainers opened up, doing their best to keep the

Menites huddled behind their shields. The charging Cygnarans wove through the torrents of fire that the cleansers brought to bear. Haley heard screams on either side of her as her men died. She dodged between two arcing cascades of flames, closing on the line, then another cleanser thrust his weapon between the shields of his companions in the line and enveloped Haley in a gushing fireball. The heat blistered Haleys skin and singed her hair, but the ablative effects of her armors mechanikal protection kept her alive. Her intense training and frank disregard for her own life kept her mind focused, and she used the comparative safety of cover to pause and unleash a wave of raw electrical power to rip a bloody gap in the Menite lines. As the oily smoke of Menoths fury dissipated, Haley saw the ruined, twitching bodies of a halfdozen or more Flameguard in front of her. Curiously, the cleanser still stood, staggering with surprise at the lightening that had just burst forth from his gushing fires. Haley raised her hand cannon and cracked off a shot, punching a hole in the face of the cleansers allconcealing helmet. What Haleys sorcerous green eyes saw next chilled her soul. The Menite warriors head snapped back, spraying blood in an arc from the mortal wound, his limbs spasming wildly. The cleanser fell to the ruined battlefield, but as he fell Haley saw an afterimage of his surprised visage, his real face, his human face, eyes wide and mouth agape. It was as if the Menites all-concealing armor fell to the ground like autumn leaves, stranding his naked body to the world, a wan golden aura of the life that had just been wrested from him. The pale image lasted for a mere half second before being pulled away by ethereal winds, sucked up into the air, whirling into a spinning collection of motes, and at last being drawn into the dais of the Orgoth cairn like water down a drain. Great Morrow, gasped Haley. She quickly reloaded and fired again, striking a second Menite cleanser in the back. Her projectile tore a hole in the storage tank on his back, and the pack exploded with the damage, ripping another flaming, screaming hole in the Menite line. She reloaded and fired a third time, aiming at another cleanser to her other side, taking him in the hip and felling him. The Menite advance faltered, and Haley took that moment to bellow, The cairn. Its a massive soul cage. Everyone out. Her message was intended for friend and foe alike, for as much as she hated the Menites and the Khadorans, shed never wish either the terrifying torment of the soul cages. She rallied her troops back to the entrenchments and the remaining Menites

likewise withdrew to consider the new implications. The relief was short-lived, however, as the Khadorans chose that moment to try to seize Haleys position for their own. Belching steam and thick black smoke, two Destroyers and two Juggernauts thundered to the attack. The ground trembled with their charge. Haley knew her soldiers, despite their bravery, could not last long against such monstrosities. Even as she grasped the danger of the situation the lead Destroyer reached the foxhole of one of her trencher teams. She saw the fire spitting nonstop from the upraised barrel of their chain gun. The Khadoran jacks metal armor sparked with the impact of the numerous bullets, but it ignored the damage and aimed its massive bombard squarely at the soldiers and fired at point blank range, disintegrating the trenchers in iron, thunder, and blood. Havoc! bellowed Haley. Knowing there was no chance left of any of them surviving the hour, let alone the day, her people threw themselves at their foes, seeking only to maximize the damage they inflicted before they fell. Haley sent part of her consciousness into the arcane trance, sensing the four blood-red Khadoran cortices that lumbered about. Despite the arcane locks layered upon them by their creators she could still interfere with their operation. She smote the furthest one with a jarring blast of electricity. The energy grounded itself through the magical protection and jolted the warjacks processes, filling its mind with jibberish. Then she spun an arcane web around her position, an intricate magical seine that snared all her enemies, consigning them to watch helplessly as time slid rapidly past. Slowed, the Khadoran warjacks moved even more ponderously. The lead Destroyer staggered. Haley saw her long gunners blasting at the lead Destroyers vulnerable areas while a second team of trenchers charged in to ruin its legs completely. The second Destroyer was slowly firing shell after shell into the battle haze in the general direction of the Cryxian forces. Haleys sole remaining Lancer, though badly damaged, charged it. One of the Juggernauts waded through the wreckage of the Sentinel it had just felled and began stalking about, smashing its axe into anything remotely human-shaped, which, after such a long engagement, meant that it was spending much of its energy splitting corpses. The fourth Juggernaut came after Haley herself. Nine tons of thick, riveted iron plate loomed over her, wrapped in a shroud of black smoke. Although its head was mounted low in its heavy chassis, the

Juggernaut still scowled down on the warcaster; its visor glowed with reflected coal fire against the black shadow of its ominous body. In stark contrast, mist spilled from the frost-coated chamber that powered its ice axe, a grim reminder of the frozen lands from which the machine hailed. Yes, it had been slowed by her sorcerous skill, but its massive iron paw and chilling axe were still very dangerous. Haley darted about as the Juggernaut struck at her, jabbing with her spear at steam vents, hydraulic lines, and gears. Its axe sprayed showers of cold and bloody mud whenever it struck the ground, and its gargantuan hand ripped great furrows in the dirt as it tried to snare the elusive warcaster. Haley severed one of the two massive cables that connected its head to its chassis, but the Juggernaut clumsily pressed the assault. Then a magical tremor warned Haley that a Khadoran warcaster had slipped into the creatures mind. Before she could disrupt the link, the Juggernaut smashed its axe to earth just barely to Haleys left. She dodged, but the warjacks massive paw came in from the right, catching her against the heavy, hoary blade of the ice axe. Haley felt the huge fingers close about her. Her armors field hummed with stress, and Haley mentally urged the furnace on her back to burn hotter. The fields resistance began to collapse beneath the inexorable pressure of the Khadoran jack. Haleys armor began to buckle. Desperately she slashed with her vortex spear at the other cable connecting the head; at such close range she split the cable easily. The warjacks head sagged, opening a gap to the interior of its torso. Inside, she saw a portion of the steam boilers smooth wall. She lunged with her spear at the core of the construct, fueling her strike with every ounce of arcane energy she had left. She felt the tip of her spear break the skin of the steam boiler. Its integrity compromised, the metal boiler ripped apart in a second as the high-pressure steam inside blasted its way to freedom. The explosion blew the Juggernauts left arm out at the shoulder, sending it, as well as Haley still clutched in its fingers, twenty yards across the battlefield. Haley cried out in pain as the heavy metal fist twisted her legs beneath it upon impact. A hail of shards and parts fell all about. Thankfully, she landed atop the hand. She pried the artificial fingers apart to free herself from the dead machines grasp and pushed herself to her feet with a groan.She looked around. Twenty yards away the Juggernaut lay on the ground, its body splayed open like a jagged metal rose. One of the Destroyers also lay nearby, its coal and oil burning brightly, somehow destroyed by her troops. She could not see the other

two warjacks in the thick smoke that now covered her position, nor could she see any of her own people yet alive. Just then, a huge iron plate soared through the air and landed noisily nearby. The bright red paint on the scrap showed long, deep parallel gouges. Curious and concerned, she expanded her mind. And she found her answer. She sensed them closing, knew their presence despite the smoke of battle. She felt their vile cortices squirming at the edge of her consciousness, greasy, cold, and unclean. Four helljacks. Slayers. She saw them approach, first appearing as shapeless shadows through the sulfurous haze, dark but with a poisonous green halo. They closed in, their six-ton steps shaking the ground, their eleven-foot frames looming over her like mountains. Panting, her knees trembling with exhaustion, Haley focused her will and slowed the approaching Slayers, causing time to skate easily past them. They closed, albeit slower; the temporal ripples made them look as if they walked beneath the water. Once the effects of her sorcery took hold the Slayers advanced only a few more strides, then their warcaster shifted their course to either side of Victoria, moving to surround her. It was a move uncharacteristic of Cryxian warcasters, and a chill sweat broke out on Haleys brow. She momentarily thought of trying to flee, forcing her aching legs to carry her away from the slowed jacks, but then she saw a familiar silhouette resolving from the thick smoke of battle. Deneghra. Haley knew there was no escape for her now. If she turned to run, Deneghras long, cruel spear would pierce her in the back. If she tried to summon reinforcements, Deneghra would loose her helljacks to tear her to shreds. But thanks to the Cryxian queens obsession with power, Haley had a reprieve of at least a few more minutes. There was still hope she might escape this battlefield, even though that gateway led through Deneghras bloodied corpse. If only she werent so exhausted from the fighting. Deneghra walked toward her intended victim, her abdomen undulating, her hips swaying back and forth as smoothly as an eel swims. She let the blade of her long iron spear trail carelessly in the dirt. The soul cages at her waist swung freely, occasionally letting out an empty clank as they collided. She stopped a mere five yards away, planted one foot on a large scrap of metal, and struck a pose. You look like a badly whipped mule, sister, she said, scratching her navel. You look like a cheap dockside whore, replied

Haley. Deneghra sent one of her hands down the outside of her long, lean thigh, and brought it back up the inside. She trailed her armored fingers across the front of her leather skirt. Funny, she said, I feel like a victorious warcaster. All this viscera, its so exciting. Blood enough for a long, luxurious bath. She giggled. And you act like a cheap dockside whore. Oh, sister dear, she sighed, you really are a biddy. Youd make a perfect, sour maiden aunt, stuck on top of the pillar of so-called virtue youve constructed on the lies your people foisted on you. Your soul will be better served by being freed from the shackles you so willingly wear. My soul is at peace, Deneghra. Peace? she scoffed. Your soul is mummified. Look at you, the grim warcaster, bound by duty and honor and devoid of any pleasure. She drew this last word out into a purr. Killing isnt a tasteless chore, its an exaltation of your power, the power you keep in a Cygnaran kennel. And men why, manipulating men and women alike is another expression of power, like killing. She giggled again. Do you have any idea how delightful it is to strangle a man with your bare hands? She drew in a shuddering breath, her eyes half-closed with the memory. Is that how you cope? Bleeding anything you can touch to make your past seem normal? Haley sneered in revulsion. You know nothing of my past, sister, said Deneghra. It is I who know you, you pathetic crimpbunged wench. Is that so? If you know Im your sister, you must know something of your past, and how that Great Lizard and his dead henchmen used you. Haley shook her head slowly. Once, long ago, Gloria, you were sweet and beautiful. So sad that now theres nothing left but a broken soul. Broken indeed, snapped Deneghra, the languor suddenly gone from her demeanor, for you stole the other half! Blades slowly rose behind her back, the long witch barbs of her warcaster armor rising until they created a circle of defense. They looked like the wings of a great skinless bat, long talons with no membranes. Haley took a deep breath to give herself some energy and steel her resolve. Im your better half, bitch, she said grimly. And for the sake of our parents, Ill see you sent to Urcaen. She raised her spear defensively, gripping it with both hands. She moved the spears tip to carve out a symbol of Morrow in the air before combat commenced, channeling her arcane power through her piety to petition Morrows

protection against her unholy sibling. Deneghra whirled her spear around her waist and snarled like a wolf. I will be whole, she snapped. She paced back and forth, the wicked barbs on her back rising and falling as if flexing their muscles for an impending strike. She held her spear with one hand, spinning it up and down, side to side as she appraised her sister. A wry smile twisted her face. She paused in her pacing. Say, sister, do you know this man? she asked conversationally. Her free hand strayed to one of the ornate soul cages that hung from a chain. With a deft twist, she opened the valve and a thin hiss leaked out, screeching like a man in pain. Haaaallleeeeeeeeey! Haley recognized Halfshanks voice, even though it had been twisted and hollowed by the dark magics of the soul cage. Her eye darted to the side in remembrance and regret, and in that instant Deneghra struck. The warwitch flashed her hand forth, slinging a dense spray of putrid ochre acid at Victorias face. Haley instinctively raised her left arm to shield her eyes, even though the majority of the acid ricocheted off the armors energy field. Yet as her arm was raised Denegrha followed through with a perfectly aimed strike, hitting Haleys protective shielding at the exact .spot the acid had hit. Deneghras black spearhead penetrated the defensive magics and struck Haleys armored gauntlet at the elbow. The blow struck with such force that it snapped Haleys arm straight and twisted the metal armor, almost tearing the reinforced hinge loose. Haley staggered back, her arm numb from the impact, yet thankful that her sister had not penetrated the enchanted iron. She tried to flex her arm to restore feeling but discovered that the attack had all but locked her armors elbow joint; she could only move her arm with intense effort. Grinning madly, Deneghra followed up with another spell, clawing at the air with her free hand. Bloody trails of energy erupted from her palm, aiming for Victorias abdomen. The Cygnaran warcaster reflexively pressed the tip of her vortex spear down, and as the corrupt spell approached, the spear drew in its power and grounded it out harmlessly into the dirt. Seeing her sister still exposed, reaching forward with but one hand on the long spear, Haley thrust her spear at the Cryxian, using her left arm, despite its immobility, to strike the haft of the spear at the last instant, changing its axis of attack. But without the full use of her limb, the strike at the haft was as a childs slap, and Deneghra easily parried the attack. Is that the best you can do? Deneghra laughed.

Its a wonder I havent yet killed you. Haley backed up, now genuinely afraid. Her left arm, stiff and inflexible, could no longer help her wield the sixty-pound vortex spear. One handed, she reversed her grip with a deft move and hoisted the spear over her shoulder for downward strikes. It was not as nimble a position, but it packed more power. Her left arm she kept free for rapid magical attacks. Frustrated that her spell had been absorbed, Deneghra began to move in. Such a slow step, sister, said Haley. Are you afraid of me? Deneghra spun her spearhead in a slow circle. Fear? Not in the slightest. But your soulmy soulis powerful. I need to ensure that I weaken you enough that you do not escape after death. I must ensure that this time, no untoward events prevent me from reuniting the sundered halves of my power. Haley let fly with two arcane bolts from her free hand. The first was a snapshot toward Deneghras face, meant only as a distraction. The second, which followed immediately after the first, was a heavy stroke, driven by the force of Victorias personality, and struck Deneghra squarely in the pelvis. The force of the blow took the warwitchs legs out from under her and she fell prone. She managed to push herself up to her knees just as Haley closed to impale her through the back. Although the Cygnaran warcaster thrust with all the force she could muster from her enhanced armor, the blades across Deneghras back flashed out and deflected the blow, and the Cryxian killer rolled to the side unscathed. Haley pressed her advantage, stepping forward and striking again and again at Deneghra as she crawled, stumbled, rolled away from the spears lethal blade. Haley sensed her foe reaching out with her soul, felt the grotesque pulse of Cryxian mechanika as the warwitch portioned out her consciousness to activate one of the Slayers that formed the ring of iron around the two combatants. With a thundering step, the Cryxian helljack stepped forward, huge scything claws raised to rend Haley into strips of steaming meat. The Cygnaran turned to face her new adversary, charged it, then raised her arms wide, opening herself for an attack. The unhealthy green light that shone from the constructs necrotite furnace vents glowed brightly as it swept its great talons toward Haleys undefended torso, looking to shred her into three or more separate pieces. Haley froze in place, her teeth clenched. And behind her, she heard Deneghra shriek No! A wave of nausea swept over Haley as Deneghra poured her arcane power into the cruel Slayer,

stopping its wicked blades mere inches shy of Haleys armor. Victoria had counted on that; while she hated the beast her sister had become, she had also learned to respect her power and cleverness. And in that split moment between the warjack stopping and Deneghra recovering her composure, Haley struck. Her spear was already raised high, and the fell automaton stood mere feet away, frozen in place by Deneghras desperation. Haley plunged her spear into the narrow gap between two plates of its massively armored torso, wedging an opening for herself. Reaching out with her awareness, she sensed the core of the helljack, its corrupted mechanikal brain, and leaned her weight into the spear to drive it further through the hydraulic lines and wires, until at last the razor-edge spearhead struck and began to part the rune-inscribed layers of metal that made up the warmachines cortex. At that moment, she poured what was left of herself into sending a massive wave of energy down the haft of her vortex spear, utterly frying the Slayers cortex. Behind her, Haley heard Deneghra scream as the warjacks dying brain reached back through the warcaster linkage and tried to save itself. The things fell consciousness disintegrated in the forefront of Deneghras mind, dragging any thoughts and memories within reach into the void as it evaporated. The six-ton jack dropped heavily to the ground, sending Haley stumbling backwards. The necrotite furnaces cracked upon impact, releasing a wave of green gaseous matter shrieking into the sky. Gathering her fading strength, Victoria ran past the fallen jack toward the Cygnaran camp using her spear as a sort of crutch. Once more she interposed temporal slippage between herself and the other helljacks. They turned to pursue, but were too slow. Ahead, through the eye-stinging smoke and ruined fields, she heard the clarion of a Cygnaran war horn, and for a moment thought she saw a shred of blue. She felt her legs weaken, her armor and spear drag at her suddenly enervated frame. She saw the shapes of two helljacks move to cut her off and, though still slowed by her spell, the Slayers moved with an energy she lacked. Haley set herself, turned, and faced her sister, Deneghra. Then she felt the tug of magic, and a shadow rippled past on either side of her like contaminated water pouring down jagged rocks. Ahead, from the bloody shadows of a darkened crater left by Khadoran bombards, Deneghra rose up. She tapped her long black spear in one hand like a schoolmarm ready to whip a troublesome student.

There will be none of that, she said. This day I will have your soul, even if it kills me. Haley almost smiled. Thats a halfway decent deal, she said. Deneghra readied her spear and moved in, her lean legs stepping catlike over each other and crossing the ruptured terrain with ease. Haley felt frustrated, momentarily uncertain which stance to take. If she stood with her left shoulder forward, shed present a narrow target, but her inflexible left arm would be exposed. With her right shoulder forward, shed have no power to put behind her spear. Facing her foe directly, she maximized the size of Deneghras target. She moved to a sideways position, then hesitated and reversed herself, then did so once again. In that moment of indecision, Deneghra charged. She led with her spear fully extended, aimed right at Haleys left shoulder. Haley reacted immediately, twisting to the right to pull her body out of the way while making an awkward parry to the left with her spear. She hoped to rip at Deneghras abdomen with a pulling cut as the warwitch backed away. But Deneghra didnt plan to leave. She allowed Haleys parry to push her. With the witch barbs on her back fully extended she spun in close, and the cruel curved blades of her armor sliced Haleys arm and cheek and stripped the heavy vortex spear from her hand. Deneghras back slammed into Haley, and as Haley teetered from the unexpected impact the Cryxian butted Haleys face with the back of her horned helmet. Stunned, Haley staggered. Deneghra pressed backwards, pushing Haley off her feet, and the Cygnaran warcaster fell to the ground. With a victorious cry, Deneghra spun around and savagely struck with the spike mounted at the butt of her long Cryxian spear. Her attack struck Haleys elbow right at the crease in her armor. The spike pierced through the thick padding covering the soft spot and, with Deneghra leaning her full weight behind it, glided through the ligaments of the joint, pressed through muscles and sinews, and sank well into the ground. The tiny necrotite accumulator embedded just above the spike flared brightly as it sensed the blood, summoning the darkness of the shadows to rise from the ground and bind Haley into place. Victoria screamed as insubstantial coils of blackness curled around her arm. Deneghra rocked the spear back and forth, further separating Haleys bones and adding to her agony. Haley writhed on the ground, forcing her left arm to bend the armors hinge. She clawed at the bloody joint in a vain attempt to pull

the iron spike from her elbow. Deneghra knelt down beside her victim and leaned close. Thats it, she said cockily. Treasure your last few moments as a weakling. Deneghra gripped the solid haft of her war spear with both hands and pulled it free, yet the shadows that held Haleys arm held fast. Deneghra stood up, flipping the spear in her hands so its serrated blade caught the light of the fires that burned about. All those years wasted, she said with mock compassion. All those years spent training to fight me, and for what? So you can bleed to death in defeat? Poor girl. And what has all that sacrifice given you, my dear? Victory? She chuckled. Pleasure? Of course not. Youre as bad as those Menites. Meanwhile I have tasted of nothing but victory, and reveled in every moment of it. Deneghras voice began to croon, to seep its way into Victorias heart, worming its way in via the agony in her arm. Ah, but it has given you something, hasnt it? Its given you the illusion that you matter. That you could make a difference. But it the end, sister, you will die. Despite your dreams, you will not stop Cryx. No, in fact, by dying, sister, you will grant me even more power to pursue my dreams. Deneghra knelt down again, hands tenderly wrapped around her black spear. Just think, she whispered as her finger gently stroked the cold iron haft, in your death, you will undo everything youve done in your life. All those minor little victories you won? They will mean nothing. Poor Victoria. You could have better served Cygnar if youd just hanged yourself in the ruins of our parents house. Haley knew it was true. Shed defeated countless Cryxian horrors in her life, but theyd all been minions, minions that the Dragonlord Toruk could easily replace. But a warwitch such as Deneghra was priceless, and her power would more than double this dark day. Despair, cold and deadening, flooded through Haleys heart and drowned her warriors spirit. Her body sagged, no longer acknowledging the pain from her mutilated elbow. Her head flopped back in the blasted mud, and she stared sightlessly at the steely sky, a lone tear of shame and exhaustion forming at the outer corner of one eye. She could feel the cortices of the three remaining slayers nearby, reflecting the cold darkness that was the soul of her sister. With a barely audible tsk, Deneghra stood up. She flipped her spear into ready position and used it like a crowbar to pry the armor away from Haleys right arm, whistling softly to herself. Without Haleys soul guiding the mechanikal field, the rivets of the plate were no match for the persistence of Deneghras weapon, and soon she had the armor pried away,

exposing Victorias pale flesh to the wan sunlight. The distant rattle of a volley of long guns rolled across the battlefield. Some small portion of Haleys mind noted that the sounds of battle had diminished greatly. It was almost over. There we go, said Deneghra softly to herself. You wont be needing this any more, now will you? She thrust the coarse blade of her spear into Haleys right shoulder just above the joint, then began relentlessly sawing the jagged blade back and forth, tearing through the ligaments that held the arm in place. The pain reached Haleys brain as through a miasma of darkness. A slight whimper escaped her throat, and her eyes continued to drip salty tears to the ground. Why hadnt she seen that everything shed done, her whole life, from hiding in the house through training her body and soul all the way to this moment, all of it had been to yield up more power to the forces of Toruk? The world would have been better served if shed never been born. With a jerk to get through the last ligaments and muscles, Deneghra finished her grisly task. She touched her spear to the bloody stump and shadows rose, constricting the wound. Cant have you bleeding to death, she muttered, at least not yet. I want your soul ripe for the cairn. You do realize that youre in the Orgoth cairn, dont you, my dear? Coldness seeped into Haleys body, and she began to shiver. She knew she was dying. Her left arm was all but useless. Her right arm was gone, leaving nothing in its stead but a shooting pain that ran up Haleys jaw. And her meticulously honed magical skill was about to be harvested by the perverted shell that had once been her sister. She realized now that she missed her family, had missed them terribly for years, but had buried the emotions beneath layers and layers of hatred and selfreproach and Cygnaran military discipline. Deneghra was right. She hardly counted as being alive, let alone being herself. She was a Cygnaran military cog, and for what? So that in the end her death would serve the enemy. She wished she could see her parents one last time, see her sister Gloria one more time, even knowing that such a meeting would be tainted with the sadness of knowing that her life was doomed to failure. To hear her mother, to see her father, just to feel their love radiating out to her. It had been so long. With the right arm cruelly amputated, Deneghra stabbed the butt spike of the spear into the ground. With a happy little grunt, she bent over and picked up Haleys arm for inspection, but as she raised it, the twitching fingers formed themselves into a fist. Deneghra sneered derisively at this curiosity and

flung the offending appendage away. Yet that act of defiance by a piece of dead meat prodded a deeply buried memory up from the dark and gloomy well of Haleys childhood. It rose like a crystal bubble from the muck of her repressed past toward the surface of her mind. She remembered seeing her father fighting as hard as he could, steadfastly refusing to yield an inch of ground to the raider whod ruined her life. Shed since learned that the odds were overwhelming, and understood that hed known that from the start. Yet in the face of his imminent doom, he had fought like a wild bear for the sake of his loved ones, without reserve, without doubt, without remorse. What he had fought with was not power, but honor. And although he had been killed that dark night, Haley realized that he had never been defeated. The memory of her father shone like a piercing sunbeam on her current shameful state, igniting her pride and burning away the despair that weighed her down. By damn, she swore, no child of Boss Haley is going to die like a coward. At that moment, Deneghra plunged the blade of her vile weapon into Haleys left shoulder. Haley screamed. In pain, it is true, but more so in rage and self-reproach. It was the scream of the final blow. Knowing she was doomed Haley reached out with all her soul. She held nothing back, as it did not matter any longer. She reached out to the nearest cortex, a rancid, squirming green thing made of writhing layers of tainted metals and abominable runes. Steeling herself to the task, she gripped the cortex tightly with her mental fingers and pried apart the layers of protection, blasting away the obfuscating enchantments, and forced her way into the foul creations mind. She became one with her most loathsome enemy, but it was by her choice, not Deneghras. Startled, the malevolent iron beast spoke to her in a tongue long lost to the world, the very syllables of which made mortal skin crawl. Ignoring its words, she smote the creature with a psychic blast of fury, whipping it into unquestioning obedience. For a moment, in her minds eye, she saw. Looking down at the battlefield from a height of eight feet or so, she saw her desecrated body sprawled in the mud, her eyes crushed tight above a twisted mouth of fierce concentration. It almost reminded her of the look of childbirth. She saw Deneghra standing over her dying flesh. The warwitch turned about, her eyes wide, her mouth twisted in shock and amazement. Haley tried to speak,

but the only noise she managed was to hiss some foulsmelling necrotite steem from the helljacks vents. She lunged forward with one of the Slayers mighty claws and snatched up Deneghra by the chest, pulling her a foot off the ground. The helljack had its thumb under one of the warwitchs arms, and two of its three fingers under the other arm. She could sense Deneghras armor failing under the pressure. All she had to do was squeeze. Squeeze. She focused her concentration even tighter, desperately trying to maintain control of the Slayer. Her grip was slipping, the mechanikal cortex and Deneghra alike trying to drive Haleys soul from its position of dominance. She could tell her chance had already slipped away. She yanked her soul back to her body, leaving Deneghra and the Slayer to fight each other for control. Casting right, she saw her vortex spear lying on the ground mere feet away. She reached for it with her mind, pulled it toward her, and leveled the blade to slice at Deneghra. She pushed the spear forward, then raised her legs to catch the haft. She poured everything her furnace and soul had left into her legs; one foot caught the butt end of the spear, anchoring and driving it back, while the other foot kicked at the side, sending the razorsharp blade scything in a deadly arc. The spearhead sliced through Deneghras taut, unarmored abdomen, parting the pallid skin, finding a soft disk of the spine to sever, then traveling most of the way through the viscera on the other side of the backbone. Deneghra shuddered only twice. Dark blood poured from the massive wound like a cataract, followed by sagging garlands of intestine. Then her wailing, bitter soul was sucked away by the Orgoth cairn. Haley kicked at the spear once more, driving the blade through the last portions of Deneghras body. The vortex spear clattered to the ground as Deneghras lower half crumpled to the dirt. Victorias legs likewise flopped to the ground; the last of her energy utterly spent. She fought the encroachment of unconsciousness for a moment. Part of her wanted to surrender to the void, just to be free of the pain, but she couldnt let that happen in the cairn. She saw the helljack stagger in uncertainty, Deneghra flopping in its grasp. Then a volley of bullets spattered on its armored bulk. One of the heavy bullets struck the helljacks eyepiece, shattering the Cryxian glasswork; another ruptured a steam line that connected its arm to its necrotite furnace. Casting one last cold glance at Haley, the mechanikal construct turned and lumbered

away, carrying Deneghras torso forgotten in one clawed hand. Haley couldnt tell if the thudding she felt was coming from its massive feet, or the beating of her heart. At last she closed her eyes and wept.