On a bleak day, the river water appeared as a long, meandering, silver vein through the landscape. Flanked by overhanging trees and rock pilings, it was quite a settled place. Insects buzzed and hummed, and there were many croaks and groans from crags and crevices. Among the pebble embankments and clots of reeds, there were rough tracks forged by the Orks.

  On the southern bank, which bordered the Field of Arches and its many ridges, a band of Orks trekked to the east. Many were armed with big shooters and rocket launchers. Clad in studded armor with spiked, metal plates fastened to their arms, shoulders, and legs, they clanked loudly along. Theirs was not a tactical formation but a loose column, their weapons held every which way. All were unconcerned, including the Nob who led the way. He was occupied with gnawing the chop of squig meat spiked on a metal pole.

  None gazed across to the northern bank, although it would have been fruitless even if they had. The barrels of long rifles, wrapped with cameleoline netting, protruding from the crags and treetops were invisible to them. Even as the wind blew hard, scattering leaves and bending trunks, the weapons did not sway.

  Maerys followed the Nob through her lens. She watched as flecks of saliva and small shreds of meat fell from his gaping mouth. It was not the first time she had observed Orks this closely. Each time made her stomach turn, for she had to become acquainted with every unsavory detail of the target. From the disgusting, bulging sinews to the jagged teeth covered in a sheen of spittle, it was enough to make even the most hardened Aspect Warrior regret their breakfast.

  “They walk this trail with such carelessness,” said Meslith, squatting on a lower branch. “Undoubtedly, they are familiar with its ebbs and flows, but do not respect them.”

  “Go-Klamma may have placed what’s left of his host on alert, but he does not understand the threat this river poses to an intelligent foe,” responded Maerys. She lowered her long rifle but used the barrel to keep the leaves parted. Pulling her hood slightly back, she leaned forward and gazed to the west. The waters flowed out of sight, dropping off suddenly at those distant cliffs. “This river runs past the Warboss’s settlement. Were it to be followed, a force might plunge their dagger directly into the heart of his seat.”

  “Should we remain or forge ahead?” asked Kalvynn over the link. The Pathfinder was hunched on the embankment beside a rock. Pressed against it, he appeared as another, half-buried boulder. Even as insects crawled all over him, he was as solid as the stones. “It might be prudent to continue onward and scout the way.”

  “I would prefer the whole of the band would come with us,” said Maerys. “For that, I would seek the coalition council’s vote of approval. For now, we wait for Hardtoof.”

  Ever since Grog-rod left with the majority of the heavy infantry and armor, another had replaced him as go-Klamma’s lieutenant. Tirol had heard the name Hardtoof the day he sneaked into the settlement, but had failed to find him in the brief civil war that had ripped through the city. Further observations by Amonthanil’s squad had identified the large beast by a large mortar on his mechanized back. He had taken to his duties well, inspecting the outposts in the valley, adding more defenses to these posts, and conferring with patrols.

  It was an hour’s time before the patrol finished scouting and retraced their steps. As they trundled back, complaining loudly about the long, uneventful walk, engines rumbled in the distance. A collection of buggies, wartracks, and trucks approached the riverbed from an outpost behind the nearest arch-shaped ridge. The largest was a bright red battlewagon with a gripper claw and a turret armed with a cannon. Additional armor plating was attached to the hood; painted white, the jagged plates resembled a snarling Ork. One by one, Orks dismounted from the vehicles as the patrol clambered up the bank.

  “Irlikae, can you sense him among their foul ilk?” whispered Maerys.

  “Dip your hand into the pebbles on the shore, so obscured by the sand,” whispered the Void Dreamer, concentrated but distant. “Cleanse them in water and they will shine brighter, yet they will still be an undistinguished pile in your palm.”

  “Had I heeded Scholar Arhas in my youth, I might have understood that,” said Kalvynn.

  It was enough to make Maerys smile. She studied the Orks one by one. Some wore heavier armor, others crude plates. There were a few large ones, but most were of medium size. Mekboys prowled around, augmented with heavy shooters, grenade launchers, and micro-cannons on their backpacks and gauntlets. Where was the mortar? Had the Ork decided to entrust his lackeys to this mundane task?

  The hatch atop the main turret opened. A large Ork peered out and shouted at those below. All spun around suddenly. At first, only the speaker’s head was visible. Slowly, he raised himself out to address the patrol leader. He leaned over, pointing down at him and shouted. There! The mortar! Simple, nearly stupid in its design, yet it was still a potent weapon. Maerys shifted her rifle and let the reticle line up over Hardtoof’s head.

  Her ears twitched. Maerys’ head snapped up. A squadron of green-colored Wave Serpents and Falcon transports swept over the treetops! Each appeared as a blaze as the rear-mounted turrets and the shuriken cannons mounted below the cockpit opened fire. The sharp wings cut through the Orks caught in the open and countless buggies exploded.

  Maerys put her eye back to the scope. Hardtoof dropped down into his turret, rotated the cannon, and returned fire. The vehicles that survived the initial attack started to roll backwards, shooting the entire time. But the Falcons were too agile, gliding in semicircles and round back to attack again. Two waves of Fire Prims, one shooting right over the Rangers’ heads and another following the path of the Falcons, joined the fight. Enemy vehicles turned and fled. Instead of pursuing, the Falcons discharged their complements of Guardians and Aspect Warriors. Protected by the Fire Prisms, more heavily armed than their Falcon cousins, they charged the nearest ridge. Ork huts burned and towers collapsed. Defenders were slaughtered in their masses.

  She could not watch. Lowering her scope, Maerys’ eyes flashed and burned. Hardtoof’s battlewagon was well out of range. By the time he assembled reinforcements, the Biel-Tan troops would fall back behind the mountain. “Should we assist them?” asked Meslith. Maerys did not respond, for a fleeing Ork caught her attention. He slid down the riverbed and started to make his way west once more. Maerys hooked her legs on the branch, swung downwards, and, suspended upside down, lined up her sights. She squeezed the trigger and the shot tunneled through the Ork’s skull. He felt unceremoniously into the water’s edge—dark blood seeped into the river.

  Maerys straightened her legs and shifted her weight in midair so she landed on her feet. As she stood up, she slung her long rifle over her shoulder and pulled back her hood. Across the river, back smoke rose from the smoldering wrecks. Behind them, the tracers from Ork weapons were swiftly overtaken by streams of shuriken fire. The last of the huts exploded and all that was left of the outpost were burning buildings. Biel-Tan troops boarded their Falcons and then, with the Fire Prims beside them, flew by overhead. As the formation passed, the wash from their anti-gravitic engines rustled the tree stops and created depressions in the river water. Fine mist was cast in the air and the drops rained down on Maerys’ face and coat. She watched until the lights faded into the darkening sky.

  “No,” she said as Ork engines growled in the distance, “We make for the camp.”

  ***

  The mountains near Hoec’s Perch had become the bastion for the Host of Gea. Guardians and Aspect Warriors dwelled within caves. Wild Riders pitched tents over their jetbikes and slept out under the sky. Vehicles were cloaked or departed for the safety of the fleet through the few Webway Gates that studded the surrounding valleys At the foot of the mountain range was a large, pitched tent, its thick fabric bearing the colors of each Craftworld as well as their icons.

  Maerys waved between the red armored Saim-Hann guardians and their white-armored Biel-Tan cousins. Black Guardians of Ulthwé, more robust and fearsome than their counterparts, stood vigil among the other tents and small facilities rising before chanting Bonesings. Corsairs loped about or lounged among themselves, the martial value of the Asuryani absent.

  Vehicles emerged from a nearby Webway Portal. More Wave Serpent transports, Night Spinner self-propelled artillery, and Fire Prisms. Other gates flashed as small bands of Saim-Hann Wild Riders flowed out, their crimson banners fluttering. But then, the blue-white vortex of a large gate spun. A long, green, bisected prow, curved in the manner of a knife’s edge, protruded from its depths. The armor slanted upwards at the end of the prow, encasing the cockpit. At the top was another cockpit and the housing for a trio of heavy monofilament spinner cannons.

  Many stopped to gawk at the super-heavy grav-tank. Biel-Tan guardians and Aspect Warriors paused to beat their fists against their chests. But the other Aeldari gazed scornfully at the behemoth; many wiped their hands over their eyes in disgust or suggested their animus by running their hands up from their stomachs to their mouths. Maerys herself spared no gesture and stormed towards the Autarch’s tent.

  Passing Dryane’s Blade Sworn, she threw the flap open. Tapestries bearing the war hosts’ icons hung from mounts at each corner. Other fixtures bore glass orbs filled with bright, active sand similar to those on the Sandstorm and Keeper of Sorrows. The lights swirled and roiled over themselves, creating a shimmering gloom. In the center was a wraithbone table shaped to resemble the landscape they now found themselves in. A collection of green lights clustered at the western end of the map in front of the mountains. Pinpricks of individual lights dotted the landscape before it. To the east, blue lights marked the Aeldari positions among their own protective range and Hoec’s Perch.

  The table shook as Chief Oromas brought his fist down upon it. “Postpone your attack! We had not agreed upon any major action!” he yelled. “You have shown our hand to the Orks!”

  “Speedboss Go-Klamma already believed there were forces present to attack him,” said Yltra, unimpressed with the Saim-Hann Autarch’s bellowing. “The target, although strategic, was paltry in size. It did not warrant a vote. I tire of cutting down these straying patrols, I need more.”

  “Perhaps to the warmongers of Biel-Tan the target was insignificant,” said Caergan. “But our force is hardly a fifth of the Orks’ host. We cannot afford rash, conventional acts such as those.”

  “I am for lineal action, Autarch Caergan,” cut in Oromas, shaking off the hands of Arganel and Kelriel. “It is the disregard for this council that infuriates me.”

  “Only the Band of the Kurnous is allowed to assassinate worthy targets? Why?”

  “It is not about the worthiness of the foe,” said Dryane calmly. “It is a matter of strategy.”

  “My lords!” All faced Maerys, her hands curled into fists and her eyes fiery. Irlikae finally caught up and hurriedly assumed a similar posture beside the Pathfinder. Venturing further into the tent, Maerys pointed back to the entrance. “A Void Spinner? Of all of Vaul’s creations, why has Biel-Tan brought one that has been so perverted?”

  The other two Autarchs and the High cast their revolted gazes upon Yltra Vass. She glared back at them, equally disgusted. “This moon once belonged to the Aeldari Empire,” she said. “It was first polluted by humans and now has been desecrated by Orks. If we wrest it from their grip, we will have to cleanse it.”

  “The engine was meant to seed worlds with life anew,” said Caergan. “Yet what does Biel-Tan do but sow death? You do not seek reclamation, only scourge.” Yltra’s annoyance shifted to anger. She braced herself and slid her sword partially out of its scabbard with her thumb.

  “My blade is sharp,” she warned. “My reach is long.”

  “Are the lives of your own people not precious to you?” asked Maerys. “We cannot reduce ourselves to such wasteful threats!”

  “Let us not suffer such desultory bickering and end it with a vote,” said Dryane, hastily. “The Void Spinner may only be pressed into service by unanimous vote of this council.”

  Before Yltra could respond, Maerys, Caergan, Oromas, and Dryane all raised their hands in favor. The Biel-Tan Autarch let her sword fall back into its sheath and her scowl followed. A moment passed, allowing all to regain their composure.

  “Very well, if the purpose of this council is to be preserved, I acquiesce to this decision,” she said. “However, I propose my second attack be carried out.” She motioned to the green lamp closest to the Aeldari position. “This outpost is parallel to the installation my force just destroyed. If we destroy it, it will reduce the Go-Klamma’s capacity to patrol the land between us and their main settlement. We can claim those ridges for ourselves and force the Orks to attack, bleeding them.”

  The Autarch waved her hand and a white line appeared over the mountain range. “I shall lead a direct assault with an armored vanguard to saturate the target with overwhelming fire. Oromas, a detachment of your Windriders flanking from the northeast previous outpost will scatter any forces that survive that initial attack.” Her finger traced a red, glowing line from their base around the mountains and onto the Field of Arches.

  “Clan Bri-Seori can appreciate such an attack. It would be best to stage it at dusk or dawn, when the light is thin,” said Oromas.

  “To pause now is to let the enemy gain strength,” said Yltra. “I wish to strike now, while these mon-keigh are still bewildered.”

  “I am against it,” said Caergan. “The conventionality of this attack’s goal reduces its meaningfulness. Let us strike with speed from places unseen, let us bleed and harry the foe.”

  Maerys leaned over the table and studied the trajectory. The maneuver brought the Saim-Hann force close to the ridge where the first outpost had stood. She remembered the sound of approaching reinforcements. She suddenly saw an ancient cat-like beast charging across a plain in her mind. With great confidence, its teeth bared and eyes focused, it sprinted at a frightening pace towards an unsuspecting piggish prey animal. Before the cat could reach it, another of its kind leaped out of the high grass and barreled into it.

  The Pathfinder blinked as the vision ended. She looked at a worried Irlikae, whose green eyes flashed with her power. Maerys nodded in agreement. “We had ranged up the river near those outposts, hunting the Big Mek Hardtoof,” she said. “As we departed, we heard approaching Ork reinforcements. That outpost is now alerted and there are more Orks in the vicinity.” She traced the red line with her forefinger. “If the Saim-Hann attack follows this trajectory, it will be exposed.”

  “What does the Outcast know of war?” asked Yltra. The annoyed Autarch did not give Maerys time to respond. “If I should require counsel for banditry and elusion, I will come to you.”

  “Pathfinder Desrigale is an equal member of this council, Autarch Yltra,” countered Dryane. “You must treat her as such.”

  “You’ve not cast a vote, High Count.”

  “I have not? Pardon me. It is my wish this attack is launched.”

  Caergan and Maerys both stared at the Corsair in shock. Dryane smiled amiably, entirely unconcerned with his decision. Just as the Pathfinder was about to approach her old friend, he subtly twisted his hand below the table’s edge. Yltra chafes at the pace of this war. Much of this council’s decisions have been made in defiance of her suggestions and beliefs. If we continue down this path, she may desert the coalition. What then, of your goals, Maerys? Her hands tightened into fists but Maerys bit her tongue. Dryane’s hourglass, suspended on the chain hanging around his neck, spun faster. It is true, the coalition should not act in this fashion, but these are the concessions we must agree to to preserve it.

  “It is settled. Kelriel, I bestow the honor of leading the Windriders into battle,” said Oromas. The Saim-Hann princess stepped forward and brought a fist to her chest.

  “I, Kelriel Freeshield, shall bring fury and fire down upon the fiends,” she declared loudly. But her dark jade eyes fell to the map and followed the red, shining line around the mountain. It was close, too close, to where the green light once blinked. She knew, just as Maerys knew, Orks were still there. Trepidation, not fear, was described by her flitting eyes and the tremble of her locked fist, noticeable only to Maerys.

  “Biel-Tan and Saim-Hann are to battle side by side once again!” declared Yltra. “To war!”

  Yltra and Princess Kelriel exited the tent. Maerys and Irlikae followed and watched the two warriors gather their hosts. Biel-Tan guardians hurried to board their craft while Saim-Hann Windriders formed up. Those Bri-Seori Wild Riders, rowdy and boisterous, howling war cries, eagerly activated their jetbikes. Bonesingers walked among the sleek, anti-gravitic war engines, inspecting their twin shuriken catapults, cannons, and scatter lasers. Flags rose among the Saim-Hann warriors and oaths were shouted. Shining Spears, those Aspect Warriors who mastered the jetbike, joined the red host. Clad in brilliant white armor, they locked their laser lances to their gauntlets and donned their helmets. Larger Vypers slid or descended into the formation; operated by a crew of two, these heavier craft were equipped with fearsome starcannons and missile launchers.

  “You were not able to stop them.” Maerys and Irlikae faced Oragroth, Tirol, and Fyrdra, who had waited outside the tent. Maerys shook her head. Tirol walked by her and nodded towards the gathering Falcons, Fire Prisms, and Wave Serpents at the foot of the mountain.

  “Yltra is an Autarch used to uncontested command,” he said. “Her condescension towards this council is matched only by her martial ability. She will never respect the council, not until she sees the others as battle-worthy. Dryane and Oromas have gained her approval, but you?”

  Maerys gazed back at the Saim-Hann host. Kelriel conferred with her cousin Arganel, several Shining Spears, and some of her lieutenants. Although she looked formidable in her red armor, that disquiet still shimmered before her.

  “Oragroth, get Alimia and her Shroud Runners,” ordered Maerys. “Acquire all the Raptor jetbikes you can find.”

  “How many of us will be joining the attack?” asked Oragroth, slyly.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “The Band of Kurnous will ride,” said Maerys. As her followers departed, she jogged over to the Saim-Hann warhost. Hornets, smaller yet similar in profile to the larger Falcons, now joined the assembly. The bisected prows led to a single cockpit with cannons and other heavy laser weaponry mounted on either side. Some bore Saim-Hann’s red, while others sported the hourglass of Dryane’s host.

  Kelriel had dismissed her lieutenants and was about to put on her helmet when the Pathfinder held up her hand. “Princess, my band will ride with you,” she said.

  “It is welcomed,” she said evenly. “Yltra may disapprove but the Path of the Outcast speaks to us Wild Riders. One must live part of the old life if they are to understand the new.”

  “You know as well as I the path Yltra planned for you is treacherous,” said Maerys. “You are a young warrior, and eager, but you do not strike me as one to so blind to an error.”

  Kelriel’s eyes widened and Maerys thought she would lose her temper. Instead, the princess looked around and ensured none of her fellow warriors were close enough to hear. She drew closer to her and, being of a taller and more athletic frame, leaned down to Maerys’ level.

  “I am unafraid of the enemy, and to attack the Orks from two sides will ensure swift destruction of the outpost,” she said. “But I do believe the course is needlessly perilous. If there are mechanized forces there, they could plunge directly into my flank. We could withstand the attack, but we would lose Windriders we otherwise could have saved.”

  “Then you should have raised your voice in opposition to the plan,” despaired Maerys.

  Kelriel’s eyes fell, her thick eyelashes obscuring her eyes. “The Outcast has a voice unchained,” she said. “You may speak and travel as you wish. All is honor and family in the Saim-Hann. To have opposed it would have appeared as dithering, even cowardice. I would have brought shame to myself and my house.”

  It is all about face, thought Maerys. But she could not dwell on it, she felt a strong presence approaching. She knew it was Yltra. “I know another way, princess,” said Maerys. “The river.”

  “So you mean to fight with the Saim-Hann, Desrigale?” asked Yltra, forcing the Pathfinder to turn. The Autarch wore simple yet finely crafted heavy armor studded with rounded supplemental segments. Her mandiblaster helmet was adorned with a feather fringe around the crown and the red eyes of her visor glowed hot.

  “I wish to take the Windriders up the river, past the Ork positions, then cut around behind them. Those inspecting the first site will not expect a force to pass behind them, and we will reduce their ability to support the other post. With the speed of these craft, we will lose little time.”

  Yltra’s face was hidden behind her helmet yet her expression might have been plain to see for Maerys. Yet, that hard, uncompromising front softened. The Autarch nodded at Kelriel. “What do you make of this?” The Wild Rider exchanged a glance with Maerys, then raised her chin.

  “Desrigale has seen the ground herself. I dare not doubt the eyes of a Ranger.”

  “If you believe it is right, then so be it. Begin your flight.”

  Maerys and Kelriel clutched each other’s wrists momentarily before the former departed for her host. Their formation of two-seater Raptor jetbikes, their engines hot, waited at the front of the main body of Windriders. Instead of wearing hoods and masks, the Band of Kurnous had donned their tall, pointed helmets. Alimia, clad in red, motioned to the empty rear seat. Climbing aboard, Maerys secured herself and then took her own orange helmet from her kit. She ran her hand over the white facial plate and blue eye-lenses before she placed it over her head.

  Irlikae approached the Raptor beside her own, checking her shuriken pistols. Fyrdra stopped her and pointed at the weapons. “Are these the arms you wish to wield?”

  “My powers are my arsenal. I may not be as adept with these, but—”

  Fyrdra took one of the pistols as she mounted her own Raptor. “You may prefer to wield your gifts instead. For my sake, that is, for I do not wish to find a shuriken lodged in my back.” Irlikae only nodded in agreement.

  One by one, jetbike engines roared and they lifted off their props. Arganel the Striker maneuvered his craft beside his cousin’s before shouting across to a strong Vyper pilot on the left flank. “Kaibrae! Do you plan on taking many trophies this day?”

  “I would not call myself the Stealer if I did not!” she called back before covering her voluminous blonde locks with a helmet.

  “For Saim-Hann, we strike as the serpent!” shouted Kelriel. She raised her fist into the air, causing the Wild Riders to cheer. Alimia engaged the engine and their Raptor shot out ahead of the main host.

  Uncoiling like a snake, the formation drew abreast of the mountain range and sped towards Hoec’s Perch. Land and sky were but a blur in those first moments. Such speeds were terrifying and exhilarating. Wind rushed over Maerys, assailed and crushed as fierce waves. Yet she clung on and allowed her eyes to adjust. The blur dissipated and the crags, trees, and hillocks became clearer even as they flashed by. But the power of the host, its speed, the ferocity of its warriors, energized Maerys. Each thrill crackled through her like a lightning bolt. How could she not lean back and hold her arms out, however briefly. Oh, but to catch the wind in her palms and to wield its power, that would surely be the gift of Kurnous.

  They flowed around Hoec’s Perch, streamed northward, and then shifted easterly towards the riverbed. During the maneuver, Maerys felt a bright, lofty energy. She looked left, right, then upwards. Above her were ranks upon ranks of Biel-Tan Swooping Hawks! Matching Alimia’s speed and descending steadily was Dochariel. Maerys reached up to him and flattened out her hand. The Exarch brushed his fingers across her palm before he ascended once more. The sky warriors rose higher and disappeared into the bleak sky.

  The force shifted direction and tightened its formation. Those Hornets and Vypers that had flown above the Windriders dove to ground level. Flooding into the riverbed, they skimmed the top of the water, casting sheets of spray. Maerys’ coat was saturated, but her only thought was to remove her helmet and feel the water upon her lips.

  “We’re passing the Ork outposts now,” said Alimia over the link. “They haven’t spotted us.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Maerys, peering through the passing trees. What had been an inferno was now a thick column of smoke. Orks climbed on the ridge to look down at where the outpost once stood. Others picked through the wreckage and ripped weapons from the hands of their dead brethren.

  “They’ve held their fire, which is encouraging to me,” joked the Shroud Runner. Maerys smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Are you ready, Alimia?”

  “I have been ready since I first left Saim-Hann.”

  Alimia banked the Raptor hard, drifting it across the surface of the river. Her feet shifted on the pedals and she throttled the engine. A burst pointed the bow of the craft up at the trees and a second flare propelled it forward. Amid showering spray and flying leaves, the Aeldari host flowed over the treetops and fell to the valley floor. The column spread out into a great formation, leaving shredded grass and dust billowing behind them.

  Maerys trained her long rifle left. Orks jumped and pointed at the speeding Aeldari. Even over the scream of the engines, she heard the reports of their shooters. Muzzle flashes flared and grisly tracers of red and green whizzed by. Centering her mind, she channeled all her ability into the scope. All moved slowly as she lined the reticle up with a Nob’s head. The Ork roared as he ordered his soldiers back to their vehicles. She squeezed the trigger and the monster’s head snapped back.

  Vyper turrets swiveled and laid a punishing fusillade against the enemy armada. Buggies, trackers, and warbikes were blown to pieces or set afire. Dochariel and the Swooping Hawks swept over the battlefield, dropping grenade packs amid the enemy and their vehicles. Shrapnel tore through green flesh and ripped through armor plating. Without cover and their mounts in flames, Orks attempted to scatter. Windriders and Shining Spears plowed through them, sending Orks flying in all directions. Some of the Shining Spears fired their laser lances point-blank into the enemies, separating their torsos from their waists. Shuriken fire frayed the Ork survivors.

  The second outpost laid ahead. Autarch Yltra’s armored forces flowed up and over the ridge. Wave Serpents slowed to allow squads of guardians to flow out onto the top of the ridge. They brought with them numerous weapons platforms and poured relentless fire into the buildings below. Fire Prism cannons blasted holes through enemy vehicles and hut walls. One blast hit a fuel depot and the entire yard erupted into a fireball. It engulfed and consumed countless Orks and many surrounding sheds.

  Gunners in the tall towers trained their heavy twin-linked shooters down onto the attackers. Heavy shells tore through the air. Small, white streaks appeared on the armor plating of Hornets and Vypers as they struck. Maerys stood up, locked her arms, and focused on the southern tower. An angry Ork, protected by a helmet forged from the armor of a tank, roared as he swept the twin-linked shooters back and forth. Setting the reticle on his eye, Maerys breathed in, exhaled, and fired. The Ork’s eye popped and he swayed, limp, and tumbled over the side.

  But as Alimia drove the jetbike by, another Ork jumped on the gun and resumed firing. More of his comrades lined the railing and braced their own automatic weapons on it. The top of the tower turned into a ceaseless wall of flashing muzzles. Maerys felt rounds strike the chestplate of her mesh armor; the plating stiffened and spread the impact out. Larger Orks clustered at the railing and aimed their rocket launchers into the teeming Aeldari, swarming around the encampment like angry insects. Instead of leading their targets, the Orks launched frag-missiles indiscriminately. Hot shards of metal scattered in all directions. Windrider squadrons were forced to separate, dividing the might of their weapons. A few fell from their mounts, their armor decimated by the hail.

  “Turn and make another attack!” Alimia whipped the Raptor around and charged at the tower. Maerys knew she could send ten rounds in as many seconds into those occupants but it would do little to decrease their fire. Alternatives; there was no fuel tank or ammunition case at the bottom of the tower. Some of the Orks carried grenades on their harnesses. One loaded a fresh rocket into the front of his launcher, and the small munition protruded from the barrel.

  Maerys braced the barrel of her long rifle on Alimia’s shoulder. She squatted low and centered herself. Again, the flowing Aeldari around her slowed, their red vehicles reduced to richly-colored streaks as if they were painted upon a canvas. Her fingertip slid onto the trigger. She breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. The Ork’s face filled her lens, his face frozen in absolute unbridled rage. She trained the sights over the rocket and she gently squeezed the trigger.

  The round struck the very tip of the warhead and it detonated in the tube. Shrapnel sliced into their green hides, cutting throats, severing arms, opening stomachs. Orks tumbled over the sides from the concussion, still firing their weapons. Secondary explosions from the rounds carried by the wielder overtook the tower and obliterated the top. Broken beams, sheets of metal, and lumps of flesh cascaded through the air as Almia and Maerys passed by.

  As the Saim-Hann riders tore through retreating Orks with streams of white shurikens, the Biel-Tan Fire Prisms pushed into the outpost. Many of the huts already burned and several depots had been destroyed, but the Orks already manning the barricades, bunkers, and towers remained steadfast. Some sallied out with rocket launchers and hand grenades to overtake the line of anti-gravitic tanks. Aspect Warriors marched between the vehicles and created a bulwark before the counter-attackers. Black-armored Dark Reapers unleashed a storm of small missiles, blowing Orks to pieces. Supported by Dire Avengers who nimbly fanned out and cut down those beasts who survived with shuriken catapults, they advanced steadily into the base.

  Those warriors in blue armor escorted their darker brethren and their heavy vehicles past the Ork barricades. Prismatic particles fluttered around the Biel-Tan cannons, the large cell growing blue. Each discharge sent a blue-white streak across the grass and into buildings or defense works. Targeting the base structures, the Fire Prisms weakened the structural integrity of those huts and strongholds built on top of it. One such castle-tower, its windows occupied by Ork gunners and glittering with muzzle flashes, groaned and shook with each impact. As the bottom buildings crumbled, it swayed and leaned. Timbers snapped, rooftops slid off, and Orks fell as it finally collapsed.

  As it broke into several sections, all shattering and exploding, the top landed on the backs of three large warehouses. Flames arced and roiled, seemingly rolling through it. The fire was aided by the rapid advance of Fire Dragons, clad in armor as furious as their weapons. Fusion guns beamed fierce golden rays of energy that melted armored redoubts and bunkers. Orks unfortunate enough to be struck had their flesh charred and sloughed from their bones.

  But just as the warehouse appeared the doors flung open and dozens of fast wartracks, buggies, and bikes flowed out. Angry red-painted Orks cried ‘waaagh!’ as their weapons blazed and engines roared. Many swung axes over their heads or shot their pistols into the air. Fire Dragons scattered, but many were caught by a blade or crushed beneath a track. Heavier wartrucks and battlewagons followed, some of them scorched or still afire. Turret-mounted cannons and shooters opened fire, forcing the Aspect Warriors to seek cover or fall back.

  Orks jumped off of the trucks at close range. Those who survived the shuriken fusillades closed in for hand to hand combat with the Aspect Warriors. Shrill shrieks pierced the air, prevailing over the tremendous exchanges of plasma and lead. Warriors clad in bone-like armor leaped over the front ranks of Dire Avengers and cut into the Orks with power swords. Their movements were deft, fluid, unreal to any eye but an Aeldari’s. Swiping and chopping, the Orks could not land a blow. A swing at a perfectly centered target fell through air and then one thrust from a shining, blue blade ended the attacker. Bodies heaped over one another and Howling Banshees stood atop it, fighting down the other side.

  Some of the larger vehicles were decimated by blasts from Fire Prisms. Others escaped their field of fire and attempted to charge through the Aeldari raiders. Windriders and Hornets banked around them like river water around a stone. Vyper turrets engaged, destroying wheels to render them immobile or knocking out turrets to slack their fire.

  Maerys ducked as an enemy warbuggy exploded and cartwheeled over their Raptor. Two other Raptors shot by. Oragroth rode in the seat of the first and Long Livae in the second. Both their Saim-Hann Shroud Runners sped towards a clanking battlewagon which had driven to a stop. Although an appetizing target, it had become an island fortress in a sea of mechanized duels.

  “Oragroth, Livae, halt your attack,” said Maerys. But there was silence on the other end of the link. “It is too dangerous, focus on the enemy buggies.” The Raptors parted and flew by either side of the vehicle. Both Oragroth and Livae jumped onto it and shot the Orks who climbed out of their turrets. One fired its pistol at the Kurnite Hunter but he kicked it away, drove the barrel of his long rifle into his maw, and fired. Livae climbed towards the top turret where an Ork reached out of a firing slit with a grisly dagger. She in turn dodged the blow, drew her own knife, and shoved into the slit. The Ork arm went limp.

  Oragroth pulled a grenade from his belt and lobbed it. Livae caught it, forced the turret hatch open with her rifle, and dropped the explosive in. By then, both Raptors had looped back. As they retreated, the grenade detonated the ammunition instead, causing fire to pillow out of the ports.

  Ork survivors banded together either on foot or in the surviving vehicles. Their base was an inferno and they faced shuriken fire from the ridge above and the restriction of the Aeldari Windriders. Spinning in circles, the formations tightened against the Orks, constricting them as if they were a serpent squeezing the last life from its prey.

  A red battlewagon broke out of the last stand. Hardtoof had returned before the attack! Alimia immediately shifted her course. “I see him!” shouted the Shroud Runner. “He is ours!”

  Maerys was not sure if she were invigorated by the sight of Oragroth and Livae’s assault or the frenzy of the battle entirely were seeping into her veins, but she let out a war cry of her own. Clutching Alimia’s shoulder plate, she leaned forward into the wind.

  “We will leave his corpse for the worms!” Maerys bared her teeth as they raced towards the target. Suddenly, Maerys’ narrowed eyes widened and she looked to her right. Charging for them was an Ork booster-blaster, a fast attack vehicle. Flames erupted from its engines as the wild-eyed driver forced the buggy into overdrive. The rear, turret-mounted rivet gun swiveled in their direction. Alimia banked the Raptor hard as huge spikes hurled towards them.

  Streaks of blue lightning struck the booster-blaster. It ripped the tires to ribbons, ripped the engine apart, and scorched the Ork driver. Swerving and toppling over, the buggy turned into a smear of flame before them. Irlikae’s Raptor swept just overhead and the Void Dream stood on the back. Forming a bolt of lightning in her hand, it elongated and then vibrated with energy. As if throwing a javelin, she launched the ethereal flare at another buggy, sundering it in half.

  “This is Kaibrae, I am in need of assistance! My gunner needs to be evacuated!”

  Back towards the thickest fighting, a Vyper has stopped and rested on its braces. Others closed in to assist but heavy Ork fire drove them back. Some of the survivors attempted another breakout and fractured the circular flow of the jetbikes. Dozens charged towards the immobile jetbike.

  Maerys looked back at Hardtoof’s battlewagon. It was further away now, but that distance could be covered in a short burst. A similar surge could propel Maerys and Alimia directly towards Kaibrae. She looked back at the Vyper, still assaulted by buggies and Ork infantry.

  “I will not trade one soul for an Ork,” said Maerys. “Turn, Alimia.”

  The driver banked, engaged the thruster, and fired the main gun. Alimia immediately forced the jetbike to brake as they swept in beside the Vyper. Maerys dismounted and discharged her long rifle into a trio of attack Orks. Kaibrae had opened her hatch and provided covering fire with her own shuriken pistol. Jumping onto the craft, Maerys found the hull pockmarked with slugs. A single shot had penetrated the gunner’s chest plate. He breathed uneasily as blood seeped from the wound. Maerys released his harness, hooked her hands under his arms, and heaved him out.

  “Hand him to me, Maerys!” Fyrdra waited below, arms outstretched. Behind her, Alimia and her fellow Shroud Runner turned their Raptors and blazed shurikens into the enemy.

  “They mean to close!” shouted the former. Maerys handed the wounded Aeldari down to Frydra, jumped down, and held him by his arm. Together, they carried him over to Alimia’s Raptor and fastened him to her seat.

  “Get him back to Hoec’s Perch and bind his wounds,” ordered Maerys over the carnage. As her comrades departed, joining the many egressing raiders, she turned back to the Vyper, slung her rifle into her hands, and fired rapidly into the Orks who wished to tear Kaibrae from her cockpit. One jumped onto the bow with a pair of stick bombs. Almost immediately, a red jetbike flew towards him. Arganel the Striker leaned out from the seat of his jetbike and with a single stroke of his power sword, cleaved the head of the Ork from its shoulders.

  The Wild Rider swept beside the Vyper and pointed to the ridge. “The last of the mon-keigh are launching a suicide attack against the ridge!” he yelled, pointing. “Clear them off before they overrun the Guardian Defenders attempting to evacuate!”

  Maerys climbed onto the Vyper, slid into the gunner’s seat, and lowered the hatch. “I’m with you, Kaibrae,” she said.

  The pilot turned the Vyper, engaged the engine, and followed Arganel. Together, they plowed through those few Orks remaining on the field. Those who had broken out had decided to assault the guardians above. It may have been a suicidal charge, a spiteful last act to claim as many Aeldari lives as possible before they were finished. Maerys saw Dochariel and the Swooping Hawks fighting hard to defend the guardians as they boarded their transports.

  Those few Ork warbuggies that survived were easy targets for Maerys. She gunned them down, leading the targets as they attempted to flee. Soon, the immediate vicinity around the burning outpost was clear. Kelriel’s jetbike then came into view, along with several of her Windriders and the Raptors of Maerys’ band. An angry Nob in the rear of the Orks struggling over the rocks and crags stood up and fired at them. Kelriel drew ahead, slashed the Nob’s chest open with her sword, and then unleashed torrents of shurikens into the surprised Orks.

  Kaibrae banked wide and slow as she flew upwards, then tilted the craft towards the right. Maerys easily trained the turret down towards the Orks and barraged them with a hail of shurikens. Thousands of rounds pelted the enemy, mincing their armor and slicing through their exposed flesh. But like a green wave, the Orks kept rolling up the ridge. They lost all care for themselves and did not seek cover. It was that last burst of primitive bloodlust so characteristic of those monsters. Even as they fell in droves, they crept closer to the last of the guardians.

  A fearsome cybork led the way, his arms replaced with clunky, metal cleavers. He stormed towards the guardians, amazingly resisting the smaller rounds of their shuriken catapults. Maerys focused her fire on the snarling, frothing monster. Just as it leaped at the last squad of guardians, the burst caught in midair. Its massive chest exploded and he was torn in two, his halves falling limply on the rocks. Blood covered the stone and grass.

  The last Wave Serpents departed and the remaining warriors of the Windrider host joined them. Dochariel spiraled through the air with his comrades, waving to Maerys as he did. She returned the gesture, then traversed the turret to look back. What was left of the outpost was an inferno. A final tower collapsed in on itself and a fuel tank exploded. Dozens upon dozens of wrecks littered the valley along with hundreds of bodies. Smoke rose from patches of burning grass.

  “Oragroth, what of our band?” asked Maerys over the link.

  “Not a single Ranger has been left on the field, living or dead,” he responded. Maerys shut her eyes briefly and clutched her spirit stone, relieved.

  “Thank you for saving me and my gunner,” said Kaibrae over another helmet link. “I am in your debt. But I grieve you have lost your target.”

  “When marked, no target will escape a Ranger, no matter how long it takes.”

  “So, Desrigale,” came Autarch Yltra’s hard voice. “You stayed until the very end. I did not believe you would. The Orks may return, but once they realize this ground is imperiled and they’ve no means to anchor a defense, they will fall back to their next pickets. Then, our own forces can occupy the ridges and dominate the valley with their fire. Only forty warriors lost, and a Fire Prism and a few jetbikes as well. It is worthwhile for what we have gained.”

  But Maerys removed her helmet and gazed sadly into the valley. She shook her head as she ran her fingers over her spirit stone.

  “What is there that equals an Aeldari’s soul?” she asked, but her voice was lost in the wind.