Maerys weaved between huts, leaped over heaps of metal timbers, and slid by bored orks resigned to guard duty. She navigated growing stockpiles of munitions, weapons, and vehicle parts. Gretchin sifted and searched through them, unaware of her presence. Some lifted their heads, thinking they heard the faintest footstep or felt a soft breeze, but none acted.

  She looked to her left as she ran. In between the crates she saw the band of slaves teeter back towards the pit. Even as she ran, she heard their agonized wailing and weeping. Cries rang out at the cracks of the runtherd’s whips. Nod-Slash led them and roared orders to the prisoners to keep moving. The meganobz stomped along, detached from the plight of the slaves and the cruelty of their captors.

  These were Go-Klamma’s guards. If he were not there, they were present on his order. Gliding through packed supply yards, Maerys finally understood. Her impromptu raid had aroused the attention of the Speedboss. Nod-Slash knew the aeldari were after the slaves and asked for greater security. Go-Klamma was keen to listen to subordinates and prioritized the workhouses of the sinkhole. He would keep every slave he could to continue producing material for his war machines. To ensure no more would be stolen away, he sent some of his best warriors.

  Pausing briefly by the rusted chassis of a gun wagon, she surveyed her surroundings. The enchanting blue hue of the night was gone then. An impenetrable darkness descended over the camp. Every swaying stack and tottering pile of crates became looming spires. Masses of firearms, axes, swords, and looted weaponry appeared as small hills that dwarfed her. The flashing lights of power tools were strange, vague blossoms of white that rose and fell behind walls and blockages. Such illumination only heightened the disfigured entities of the yard and made the orks who stalked through appear as shadow beasts. Lanterns glowed as miniature molten motes of smeared, orange light. It was like gazing back at one thousand, thousand eyes. There, small among the pillars of scrap and wargear, Maerys suddenly became aware of how alone she truly was.

  She drew breath and carried on towards her target. The tower crane stood on the slight slope that led up the miner’s road circling down into the cavity. Three identical machines stood further up around the mine, with an adjacent fifth standing over the supply sheds. Although they lacked the scale of those she had seen on Imperial worlds, they were still the tallest structures in the entire sinkhole colony. A gun tower like her fellow Rangers occupied was hardly a quarter of the size.

  She went by the first crane to the footing of the second. Only one ork loitered at the bottom, his back against the steel bracing and his head low over his chest. Maerys did not wish to waste time; she shouldered her long rifle and darted upwards. Even as her feet hit each run and her hands slid up the bars, she was silent. Halfway up, she glanced down at the path. The meganobz were almost underneath the crane.

  A tremendous shudder followed by a series of clanks and whirs from above forced Maerys to continue her ascent. At the top, she stood on a small platform that wrapped around the cabin. Seated within was a mekboy, slouched over the controls as he shifted the levers. Drawing her shuriken pistol and allowing her cameleoline cloak to return to its normal color, she tapped on the cabin glass. Grunting, the ork turned in his seat and lifted his armored facial mask to see. Maerys fired three times, shattering the glass and eviscerating the monster’s face.

  As the corpse slumped to the floor, Maerys stepped over it and took hold of the controls. It was a simple, nearly primitive design. There were no runes, merely arrows pointing in specific directions. She pushed the brake with some force—the crude metal bar was heavier than it looked. Then, she tugged the left-rotating lever over. The creaking, groaning crane spun back over the trail. Looking down through the lower cabin glass, she saw the meganobz were almost underneath it.

  “Maerys, why do you falter?” came Dryane’s voice over the link. “Did Irlikae not see this moment in her witch sight? Should we not have begun moments ago? Make haste with your signal!”

  “Patience, High Count,” she said and exited the cabin. Maerys opened one of her pouches and retrieved an explosive charge. “The prearranged signal has been altered.”

  “To what?” But Maerys did not reply then. She climbed up the ladder beside the operator’s cabin and walked along the counter jib. As she did, she dropped one charge after the other until she was at the counter weight. At the end, she fastened one more charge to the cables which ran to the rigging over the tower. She ran back along the counter jib, dropped down to the operator’s deck, and looked downwards once more. The meganobz were nearly at the mark.

  “This,” said Maerys and pressed the detonator. The charges exploded in unison, creating an illuminating flash behind the Pathfinder. As she heaved herself into the ladder well, the crane gyrated and shook. Every timber trembled and the stress caused the metal to scream. Above her, cables snapped, mechanisms came apart, and the long jib of the crane tore away from the entire tower. Below, the orks and slaves looked up, stupefied as it descended. The slaves and runtherds fled back while the meganobz, far slower in their great armor, attempted to escape further up the path.

  It was too late. Breaking up midair, the tower’s arm crashed into the earth. Waves of soil were flung upwards, timbers careened in all directions, and the meganobz were crushed beneath its weight. The dust settled, leaving a carcass of crumpled, piled steel before the mineshaft.

  Before the runtherds could react, Meslith and Kalvynn’s squads opened fire. Lances of blue and white light arced from the darkness, cutting down watchtower sentries and slave guards. Orks fired blindly into the night, training their firearms on shadowy nooks and vantages. One by one they fell until the few survivors joined Nod-Slash at the front of the column. Rather than fight, they started to retreat, firing wildly from their hips as they walked backwards.

  Maerys, halfway down the crane tower’s ladder, paused. Hooking her legs tightly around the rungs, she took her long rifle into her hands, leaned back, and brought the focusing lens over the leading runtherd. Nod-Slash was revealed so clearly in the scope she could make out every detail. The scars upon his green maw, the vibrant glow of his cruel eyes, the chains that rattled upon his breastplate. She remembered the hard battle along the Serpent. “Behold, the great slaver,” she said.

  The tower shook violently and threw off Maerys’ aim. Back and forth, the machine wavered. Timbers broke away and fell past her. Rusty bolts and screws shook free from their plating. Below, the support base cracked and more segments of the tower snapped and buckled. In a terrific series of ear-splitting crashes, the tower finally broke up and started to careen back towards the vehicle shops!

  Barely halfway down, Maerys was too high to let go. Clinging to what remained of the ladder, for it too was shattering, she hastily searched for options. The collapsing crane fell closely to the one standing over the supply yards. For a moment, it seemed as though it would strike the machine and bring it down as well. Yet, the fracturing tower shifted off to the side just in time, yet it would still be close. Maerys slung her long rifle over her shoulder, repositioned herself, and loosened her grip. She channeled all her energy and resonance, focusing on the diagonal bars and struts of the opposite crane. So great was her concentration that all around her slowed.

  As she came level with it, Maerys jumped with all her might. As the crane finally made impact with the ground, it crushed numerous sheds. The impacts ruptured fuel drums and millions of flashing sparks set the contents alight. Brilliant fireballs blossomed into the air and detonated munitions stockpiles. Explosions billowed beneath her as she caught the tower’s supports. High as she was, Maerys felt the heat on her heels.

  Overcoming the jarring impact which rattled her to the bones, Maerys checked her surroundings. Below, Kalvynn and Meslith’s team emerged from the ambush point and formed a cordon around the party of Exodite and human slaves. Nod-Slash and his guards had fled, leaving only a few confused orks. Irlikae drew in front of the cordon and, with her rune stones spinning around her, hurled lightning bolts at the monsters. One by one, they were struck down, parts of their bodies reduced to ash, their limbs severing from the impact. Once the way was clear, the entire party fled eastward.

  Alarm bells rang across the ork colony. The vision of beyond revealed growing clouds of angry red lights. There was no time to dawdle. Maerys grabbed the timbers that crossed between struts and ascended the tower. When she reached the operator’s deck, she drew behind a mekboy who leaned over the far railing. Maerys drew her sapphire sword and slashed the ork across the back of his leg, severing it. Then, summoning her strength, she slammed her shoulder into his back. The mekboy wailed furiously as he plummeted to his death.

  Maerys crossed the guard railing and ran along the thin metal walkway that spanned the crane’s jib. At the very end, she knelt and raised her rifle. The cages were all opened and the Band of Kurnous had begun escorting the slaves out of the pens. Some Rangers led individual parties, others stood by and directed the escapees. Standing at prearranged points along the trails leading back to the waterfall, they formed an escape route through the encampment. The rest stood vigil in captured guard towers and on ramparts, long rifles ready.

  Chattering gunfire approached from through the colony. Overcoming their initial shock, the orks rallied and prepared to counterattack. With torches held high, the blood-hungry mobs stomped down the roads. More emerged from their huts, armed and armored, roaring war cries. So many hundreds, so many thousands of them came under torchlight. There were no individual shadows on the faces of buildings, only massive, quivering blobs of moving darkness.

  She raised her rifle and set her sights on a mob emerging from the town gates. “Father Kurnous, I ask of thee to guide my hand and bless my aim to to be true,” whispered Maerys. “I am a hunter, cast in your image, born to find and fang the beasts which would threaten my kin. Lo, father, never have I named my long rifle, but hear it now: Slána-i-theoir, the Savior. Let it be the protector of the abandoned and the lost.”

  Maerys squeezed the trigger and the leading nob, struck through the head, dropped. The other leaders who attempted to take his place were cut down. Smaller orks, some hardly armored, formed the front ranks of the attacking party. Her lens found the weakest parts of their flesh. Each thinly-honed lasbolt penetrated thinner muscles of those in front and struck the ones behind them. Two, even three orks fell at a time. Yet on they came, undeterred and enraged.

  Now engaged, the entire Band of Kurnous fired at the masses of orks closing in on them. At this distance, their rifle lasbolts were merely lines of light. Tracer rounds answered, creating a bizarre exchange of blue, white, red, and green luminescence. From every angle, from above and below, these lights flew by one another. So close were they to one another, it seemed as though it were not orks and aeldari who fought, but mysterious beings of old, casting arcane energy at one another.

  “Maerys, more orks are closing in! Let me take my temple forward!” implored Dochariel.

  “My Wild Riders have made their oaths and thirst for orkish blood,” added Chief Oromas. “Why do you hold us back when we should be fighting?”

  “Hold! The timing must be exact!” she said. Irlikae had foreseen each response of the ork in their multitudes and glimpsed Speedboss Ratta Go-Klamma’s retaliations. This was not a battle but a duel. Each thrust of the sword had to be parried perfectly.

  She needed to slow them. Maerys lowered her scope and set her sights on kneecaps and feet. Each shot caused the wounded ork to flail and falter rather than drop, causing those behind him to trip and stumble. Even though the mob was delayed only for a few moments, it was enough to hold the tide back. Time would be purchased not in minutes but seconds.

  A blue flare launched into the sky. Maerys followed the trail with her scope to see Oragroth on a gun tower, waving his hand. Drawing her own handheld launcher, she fired a similarly-colored flare that arced over the camp.

  “Maerys, the cages are empty and Irlikae is certain no more are in the camp! We shall withdraw to the sanctuary,” said Oragroth over the link. “Will you be with us?”

  Before she responded, her ears twitched. Directly below the crane, activity had been minimal. Most of the orks in the supply yards had been killed or injured in the fires. Others were trapped in the wreckage of destroyed shops. But now, despite her high vantage, she heard the clatter of equipment, the tramp of boots, and angry snorting.

  A party of orks crept over the wreckage and down what remained of the path leading around the northern edge of the sinkhole. Although they carried sidearms, these were not typical ork boyz. They wore little armor, opting instead for studded jerkins over long white coats and vests. All wore a gauntlet covered with crude syringes, scalpels, miniature radial saws, forceps, and other bastardized medical equipment. It was a party of their torture-doctors, the painboyz.

  Their leader was larger than the rest. Much of his torso was replaced by primitive bionics. His stomach in particular appeared to be a small engine, complete with several exhaust pipes that pumped out steam. But wounds to his face hadn’t been healed, merely partially grafted back together. He was left with long, thin, green ribbons between his jaw and they fluttered each time he exhaled heavily. His stature, his wounds, they all seemed familiar.

  “Urrok?” murmured Maerys. He had survived! She and Oragroth had torn him apart with shurikens and blades! His band of malefactor surgeons must have brought him back from the brink of death and rearmed him. Instead of carrying a gauntlet of instruments, his entire hand was replaced with a bizarre assortment of devices. A grisly power-klaw hung from his massive right hand and it shimmered with dim, blue energy.

  Something burned within her. It was acrid, bitter, painful, but familiar. Maerys’ vision narrowed and her peripherals grew dark. Each breath she took became heavy and hot. Even her heartbeat seemed to deepen. It became thunderous in her chest, a hammering like that from the great Vaul-forges of Yme-Loc.

  Maerys slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked back along the jib. Just nearby was the trolly and suspended from it was the long, singular cable for the hook. The operator had left it suspended a few meters above the ground, poised to attach to a bundle of equipment.

  “Maerys, respond to my hail. Will you join us?” asked Oragroth again.

  “I will be a bit longer,” was all she said before stepping off the jib and taking hold of the cable. Maerys slid down at a frightening speed. The further she went, the hotter the cable grew. Her mesh armored gauntlets hardened to absorb the heat. Ignoring the smoke emanating from the friction, the Pathfinder kept her eyes locked on the orks below. Nearer and nearer she came. She did not hear the voices in her link.

  Just above the hook block, Maerys tightened her legs around the cable, stopping herself. Then, she let go, hung upside down, and drew her long rifle. Her muscles tensed and her finger grazed the trigger as the maddened doctors gazed up at her. Snapping her rifle from target to target, she cut down half the party. Before the bodies fell upon the ground, the survivors fired their pistols at her. Maerys unwrapped her legs and let herself fall. Turning as she did, she drew her power sword, landed upon one of the painboys, and drove the blade through his skull.

  She jumped behind the body, using it as cover as the others fired. Just as she withdrew her sword and readied her pistol with the opposite hand, Urrok’s power-klaw ripped through the corpse. Maerys jumped back just as the tips of the claws grazed her chestplate. Rolling to the side as he lunged again, she cut down the last of the other painboys with her shuriken. She spun around, ready to fire at Urrok, but he knocked her pistol away with the back of his hand.

  “If it ain’t youz again. Bet ya tot I wuz dead, but Gork n’ Mork ad’ otha plans.”

  “I should have ripped out whatever it is you have for a heart,” snarled Maerys. “How many Exodites lay upon your table? How many did you drain of their essence? No more will fall under your cruel knife, no more will you make experiments of those with souls.”

  “Ya fink ya can stop me? Ya got da drop on me before but tat ain’t da way it’ll go dis time.” He snapped the blades of his power-klaw together, creating a shower of sparks. “Youz ain’t gettin’ away wiff dem slaves. Even if yer do, I’ma make’un outta you. I’ll take yer apart, piece by piece.”

  Maerys roared and lunged with her sword. It clashed with Urrok’s claws. Upwards, downwards, and across they struck. He advanced, forcing her back, thrusting with the power-klaw and swiping with his gauntlet. The Pathfinder fought back, taking running jumps off crates or nearby barricades. Even as she threw all her weight behind her attacks, Urrok was taller and stronger. Each impact, no matter how savage, was resisted.

  The pair dueled down the path. They drew nearer to the eastern, open edge of the encampment. Maerys heard the sounds of her fellow Rangers firing from the clearing before the pond. Orks combined their fire as they conducted their assaults Grenades were exchanged and there were rapid detonations. Voices rang over the link but she did not heed them, there was only her opponent.

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  Maerys dodged again, avoiding the black syringes which protruded from Urrok’s wrist-mechanism. Leaping back, she widened the distance. She needed to breathe and reevaluate. Yet, the moment she landed, Urrok raised his gauntlet and sprayed brown chemicals from under-slung tubes. Even though she wore a helmet, an overpowering stench caused Maerys to hack and wretch. Her eyes stung and the urge to vomit was nearly overpowering.

  Through thick brown smog, Urrok emerged. He raised his power-klaw and struck. Maerys darted back, allowing the claws to sink into the dirt. She slashed at him, but Urrok raised his other arm just in time. The blade severed it at the wrist, letting his devilish machine hand drop to the ground. Urrok howled and swung with his injured arm. Although it lacked armaments, it was a mass of muscle, and it struck Maerys hard on the helmet. The blow was so heavy it ripped it off her head.

  Choking back the stench, Maerys drew Urrok out of the noxious cloud. Again they dueled and exchanged a flurry of blows. She could not gain the advantage. He was as fast as he was resilient. Maerys was accustomed to the blade, but her days as a Howling Banshee were far behind her. No longer was the sword an extension of her body, but a mere tool in her hand. A terrible pain crossed her stomach as Urrok struck her and there was another along her right side. Before she recovered, Urrok delivered another wound, slashing across her right cheek.

  Maerys staggered back and braced herself. Suddenly, something wrapped tightly around her neck and yanked her back. She slid across the ground and found herself looking up at Nod-Slash and the surviving runtherds! The massive creature held up the whip which coiled around Maerys’ neck and angrily pointed down at her.

  “Dis one’s mine, Urrok! I’ma make er’ pay!”

  “You ain’t da one who fought er’! Give ta ting back!”

  Maerys struggled to breathe. She had no pistol, nor could she bring her long rifle or sword to bear. She instead reached for her flare and launched it. The purple light bloomed brightly against the sky. Moments later, a strange, energetic hissing filled the air. Huge web-like bundles flew through the air. These clouds of wires slowly, almost lazily, floated towards the camp. Yet, when the first one struck a nearby fortified wall, the webs sliced through it and reduced it to pieces. Ulthwé Nightspinner artillery tanks, armed with doomweaver cannons, gathered on the cliff and fired into the colony. Monofilament thread cut through tower struts, penetrated bunkers, and slashed apart reinforced huts. One landed amid Nod-Slash’s cohorts, creating piles of bloody green chunks.

  As Urrok and Nod-Slash ran for cover, Maerys cut the latter’s lash and scrambled away. Her wounds burned as she ran between the falling webs. Running into the open, she found the Band of Kurnous spread out in a semicircle-shaped perimeter. Under withering fire, Maerys went to the rear of the formation and found the slaves huddled on the embankment of the bond.

  “Maerys!” cried Irlikae, standing near some of the injured Exodites. “You’ve survived!”

  “She is not unscathed, stand aside,” ordered Fyrdra. She forced Maerys to kneel while she summoned her runestones. Catching her breath, Maerys took Irlikae’s hand.

  “Name those who have perished,” she panted.

  “I cannot, for there are none. No slave or Ranger has fallen.”

  How Maerys wished to throw her arms up in exaltation of her band and their gods! What it would be to match Irlikae’s joyous smile! But there was no time. Overcoming the shock of the artillery barrage, the orks surged once again. A hail of gunfire struck the Band of Kurnous’s position, forcing all to lay down.

  Maerys tore away from her two compatriots and joined Oragroth by Tirol’s squad. With all the Rangers firing together, they created a scythe-like volley that rolled the orks back. Entire ranks of screaming orks fell under their barrels. Yet on they came, leaping over the growing bodies of their dead. Bullets fell all around the Rangers and their mesh armor hardened against the impacts. Some fell, wounded, and were dragged away.

  “Dochariel, now is your time!” Maerys fired a green flare and within moments, hundreds of Swooping Hawks jumped from the cliffs above. Illuminated in the glittering green glow, they descended upon the foe just as their namesake did. The first wave swept low, firing their leg-mounted grenade packs to break up enemy mobs. The next wave raced by, slaughtering orks in their hundreds with lasblasters. Some orks stood their ground and fired their heavy shooters at the attackers. Many nimbly dodged the bursts but others had their wings clipped and shattered. Those beautiful, heroic warriors fell to the earth and were hacked apart by axes.

  The Exarch of Descendent Claw Shrine dove from above. He drew his power sword and cleaved through a crowd of orks. So mighty was the fury of his strike that many of the monsters were cast through the air. Joined by other exarchs and members of his temple, Dochariel cut bloody swathes through the mobs.

  “Join them, Rangers!” cried Maerys, pulling away from Fyrdra. “Drive them back!!”

  Crying, the Band of Kurnous stood, fired, and advanced. Each fusillade was precise, weaving between the dancing bodies of the Swooping Hawks. There was harmony between the Rangers and these warriors. Lasbolts flew between legs and under arms, striking orks who attempted to mangle the Biel-Tan soldiers from behind.

  Dochariel slid forward, driving his sword into an ork’s belly. He withdrew it, and with the poise of a dancer, stabbed it backwards over his head into an ork burner. Maerys shot the ork through his skull, causing him to spin and trigger his flamer. Orks shrieked as they were consumed in the fire. The Exarch rolled towards an ork warrior, turned, and beheaded him. Another ork loomed behind him. Maerys raised Savior—the reticle was over Dochariel’s head. In that instant, his helmet turned. Although his face was hidden by the faceplate, she knew their eyes met. He tilted his head back, Maerys squeezed the trigger, and the shot struck the ork center-mass, killing him.

  The orks were halted on the outskirts of the clearing. Still catching Dochariel’s eye, Maerys waved him back. As the Swooping Hawks withdrew, she launched a golden flare. Bat-like shapes screeched overhead. It was the first sky host of Phoenix fighters. Plasma missiles bombarded the encampment, destroying entire blocks of huts and sundering emplacements. Orks regained their towers and fired flak guns up in retaliation. But the Phoenix fighters were too fast to hit, naught but mere flashes in the night. Again they struck, their missiles and pulse lasers ripping through the colony. Building crumpled over, the remaining cranes fell, and fires spread over the wooden remains.

  A second sky host of Vampire Raider arrived. They passed overhead and dropped dozens of Wasp assault walkers. Assembling into squadrons, the lines of war walkers advanced in front of the Swooping Hawks and Rangers. A devastating barrage of missiles, brightlances, and starcannons obliterated orks as they took cover amid the debris fields. Lasers and plasma swept through the ork defenders, now giving ground and fighting from atop the mounds of wreckage. Rocketeers found their marks, direct-impacting some of Wasps on their central, oblong-shaped cockpits. As these teetered over aflame, the other walkers widened their line and continued to rake the orks.

  The final sky host of Vampire Raiders landed. Ramps opened and disgorged hundreds of voidreavers. Felarchs rallied their bands and led them forward, shurikens and shredders blazing. Orks emerged from their cover, expecting to cross swords with the corsairs. Yet, just before contact, the receded like an ocean wave. Drawn out, the orks were ravaged by the Wasps and shuriken volleys.

  High Count Dryane appeared with Elsarsys the Wayseeker and Caellatela, the Illustrious. Clad in spectacularly ornate armor, they strode onto the battlefield with grace. Dryane went forward first, the runes leaving their slots on his armor and weaving around him. The hourglass that hung from his neck spun with otherworldly speed until it became a blur. He unleashed a torrent of violent Warp energy, devastating the enemies who dared approach him.

  As his two consorts added their own powers to the fray, destroying orks with psychic blasts, Maerys turned back to the slaves. “Board the craft and flee this vile place!” she yelled. “You have had your freedom restored to you!”

  The Rangers gathered up the slaves, both human and aeldari, and escorted them up the ramps. Those who could not walk were carried. Maerys watched as Tirol picked up two emaciated Exodites and helped them walk. Oragroth picked up a human child and Irlikae held the hands of two young women, both stunned from the battle.

  Fully loaded, the transports rose into the air and journeyed back east. When the final ship was away, Maerys launched another purple flare. The Nightspinners on the cliff ceased firing and throngs of Black Guardians of Ulthwé stormed down the paths to the sinkhole. Autarch Caergan led from the front with Crimson Talon, his red-bladed star glaive. Then, the ground shook. Trees were uprooted and the waterfall surged with greater fury. Those Who Protect the Imperiled Pass emerged and bombarded the ork facilities with shoulder-mounted missile pods. The Revenant piloted by Teltryan rocked the ork lines with pulsars; massive, rapid-fire lasers sheared through fortified bastions and reduced ork infantry to slag. Taphelran’s sonic lance attacks struck some of the remaining, taller structures of the town. Each wave caused the buildings to rumble themselves apart.

  Flooding onto level ground or taking up firing positions among the crags, the Ulthwé troops reinforced the corsairs. Caergan sliced his way through a crowd of orks, his heavy aspect armor absorbing heavy shots and axe blows. He took a running start at a nob, pierced his chest, and used his momentum to jump over the beast. In the same instant, he freed his glaive and drove it into a wounded ork. Joining Maerys, Dochariel, and Dryane, he gestured to the orks with his weapon.

  “We must bring about final ruination to this encampment,” he declared. “Raze everything!”

  “Into the fray!” cried Dochariel. “Fly with me, brothers and sisters, fly with me now!”

  The combined force advanced against the orks. Striding war walkers led the way as Swooping Hawks soared above their heads. Engines and factories exploded, fuel dumps ignited, ammunition cooked off. Some orks sat in half-finished vehicles and returned fire with cannons and heavy machine guns. Although some aeldari warriors fell, these stationary targets were swiftly destroyed or their gunners were eliminated by Rangers.

  Much of the sinkhole colony was aflame. What were once long avenues of huts and houses were naught by layers of wreckage. Interior walls, cut apart by doomweavers, piled up. Enormous mounds of debris rose, illuminated by the oceans of fire between them. Enemy gunners fired tenaciously from their last few towers. Orks that were in the cavity prior to the attack, harvesting the Imperial arsenal below their feet, finally emerged and navigated the crane’s wreckage. The green mass swept over debris and joined their brethren at the receding frontline.

  The battle became brutally intimate. Maerys and her Rangers fought alongside Black Guardians for each mound. Orks dug in among fallen walls, broken timbers, and misshapen piping. Fighting madly, they clustered together, lobbed handfuls of grenades, and chopped at anything that got close. Half-buried by debris, they appeared suddenly and grabbed the nearest guardians, ripping them to pieces in displays. Innards and blood splattered the ground and pooled from their bodies.

  The warriors of Ulthwé were indeed ferocious. Drawing ahead of the bloodthirsty voidreavers, they were unafraid to engage the orks in close combat. Storm guardians led the charge, gutting their adversaries with chainswords in brutal dances. When orks hunkered down, these shock troops drove them out with flamers and fusion guns. Gouts of flame flickered in and among the debris fields. Silhouetted by the walls of glowing fire across the sinkhole, orks thrashed and hollered in their fiery death throes. More guardians marched up the uneven slopes of blasted junk, heaving grenades and driving them out with shuriken fire.

  But the most ferocious of all were the warlocks, casting bolts of Warp-fire or voidfrost. Others levitated blocks of rockcrete and flung them at their foes. Tendrils of the warp gushed from the very ground or sprung from the air, lashing through orks and stealing their life-blood. Enraged heavies attempted to overrun them, but the witches of Ulthwé drove them back with psychic shockwaves. So powerful were these blasts that they cleared wreckage and sent armored hulks flying.

  Maerys led the Band of Kurnous forward. They nimbly scaled the rubble piles and advanced down the opposite side. Tirol savagely stabbed his way through orks, wasting no time for agile parries. He swung, gored, and chopped entire squads apart. Long Livae still used her long rifle and, dodging axe blows and sword thrusts, fired at point-blank range. Refusing to stay behind, Lotien struggled alongside them. Much of his powers were not made for war, yet he still found stone and wooden timbers to grasp with his mind and throw at the enemy. Fyrdra remained with him, her shoulder against his, firing both her pistols at any beasts who dared overtake the Bonesinger.

  Oragroth charged ahead, flinging a grenade down the opposite side of the mound they occupied. After it detonated, he jumped down and slashed with his saber. An ork grabbed him from behind but he deftly turned his sword, thrust backwards, and then upwards. Alimia leaped onto the back of the ork, opened its throat with her dagger, then whipped the blade into a tank-buster’s eye before he could fire upon a war walker. Meslith spotted a wounded guardian crawling away from his attacker. She shot down the ork then helped her kinsman to his feet. When a second fired upon them, she turned, leveled her rifle with one hand, and pierced its throat with a single shot.

  Relying upon her own long rifle, Maerys stopped at the crest of the hill. Amonthanil and Kalvynn’s teams were on either side of her. As Black Guardians and voidreavers advanced, they suppressed the gun teams at the next drift. Although they were reeling, the orks still attempted to hold fast. Instead of running out to meet the aeldari forces, they retrieved heavier weapons in an attempt to make a stand.

  Amonthanil’s aim was true and he struck a gunner firing an emplaced weapon. Falling back, hand still on the trigger, the ork ended up firing into an adjacent position, wounding several others.

  “Is that the best you can do, old friend?” asked Kalvynn over the din. “It is time to learn!”

  He fired at a rocketeer and instead of hitting his flesh, he struck the bundle over his shoulder. It detonated the rockets he carried, destroying both him and nearby tank-busters.

  “A basic shot, nothing more!” retorted Amonthanil.

  “Twas not a lesson in marksmanship, but the art of taking more than one life with one shot!”

  Maerys’ wandering reticle drew upon a target. Just as he was slain, a larger figure emerged behind him. Urrok used other orks as a shield as he waved go-Klammar’s green banner high. A cry of, ‘WAAAGH!’ rose over the battlefield. Waves of stormboyz jumped into the sky from behind the hill Urrok stood upon. In waves, they descended on the front ranks of the war host. Dochariel and his Swooping Hawks met them. Long arcs of soaring warriors struck at one another with axes and swords. Ork rocket packs exploded, Swooping Hawks were hewn in two.

  Again there came a deadly ork chant. A host of fast attack vehicles and gun wagons barreled towards the battle. Buggies leaped over mounds, tanks crushed wreckage beneath their tracks. Fresh troops spilled from the transport compartments and swarmed the aeldari’s left flank. They massed and grew into a seething, furious wall of flesh.

  Maerys launched two flares, one red, another green. The two lights crossed one and exploded. This was the sign for the combined armored thrust of Biel-Tan and Saim-Hann. Windriders led by Chief Oromas, Arganel the Striker, and Princess Kelriel, rode over the edge of the sinkhole and crashed into the ork infantry’s flank. Twin-linked shurikens felled entire lines while shrieker jetbikes armed with cannons blasted holes in their ranks.

  Oromas leveled his laser lance, knocked out an ork tank with the blast, and then ran several orks through with his power lance. With power spear in hand, Arganel stood in the seat of his jetbike, twirled the lance over his head, and liberated many ork heads from their shoulders. His cousin Kelriel instead hurled her power spear, piercing an ork through the chest. As she flew by the body, she retrieved the weapon and cleaved through a whole squad of orks.

  As Biel-Tan’s heavier force of Fire Prisms destroyed ork armor, Maerys set her sights on Urrok. The painboy planted the banner and retreated. In an instant, the Pathfinder found herself chasing after him. Dodging arcs of gunfire, leaping over grenades, ignoring the cries of her fellow Rangers to return, she chased after the torturer.

  Maerys sprinted down the road that led to the mad doctor’s lair. The entire colony was in desolation and these were some of the few dwellings still intact. With the battle fading behind her, she slowed her pace and listened carefully for footsteps and labored breaths. Approaching the hut in which he conducted his experiments, Maerys raised her long rifle and slid inside. She entered that horrible place once again, finding much of it repaired. Tools were laid out, bloody rags sat on the floor, and jars filled with intestines lined the wall. Maerys checked the entire quarters and found no trace of him. Just as she was about to leave through the rear door, she caught a gleam in the corner of the room. A small, open crate covered by a tarp sat by the counter on the far wall. She removed it and gasped, finding a pile of spirit stones. Curiously, she found an ornate leather quiver filled with wraithbone arrows. They were long and heavy, with massive, gnarled heads designed to pierce and devastate. In the crate was a powerful wraithbone warbow; its material was dense and thick, and it was almost as tall as her.

  She could not leave these here to be destroyed. Maerys fastened the quiver to the back of her belt and filled her satchel with the stones. Just as she reached for the bow, she heard the door creak. Maerys whirled around just as Urrok barged through. She fired two shots, hitting his chest and staggering him. Still strong, he delivered a solid kick to Maerys’ middle. Although her mesh armor hardened against the blow, she was thrown back against the wall. Gasping for air, she saw the power-klaw descend. Rolling and swiping with her sword, she managed to partially severe his hand.

  Howling, Urrok clutched his mangled arm and retreated. Maerys collected her breath and hurried after him. The painboy headed up the slope out of the encampment with other stragglers. It was a clean, open target. Maerys knelt and took aim, but felt an arrow slide out from the quiver. She half-turned and her eyes widened.

  “Machthorn!?” The Exodite grimaced as he planted the end of his warbow into the dirt. Shirtless and covered in soot, he hooked the bow string at the bottom limb. With might that defied his emaciated frame, he pulled the string taught and connected it with the top limb. He notched the great arrow on the string and pulled back. Green flecks of psychic energy rose from his arms and laced around the arrow. His brown, nearly auburn hair, drifted with the wind. He let fly, the arrow sang, and struck Urrok in the back of his head. The ork’s back arched, he staggered, then fell.

  “No longer am I yours,” said Machthorn. His eyes then rolled into the back of his head and he fell into Maerys’ arms. She pressed her ear to his heart. It still possessed a steady beat.

  “Desrigale, we must away.” The report of a fusion gun and a pained, ork cry made Maerys turn again. Autarch Yltra stood over her, armor scorched by the battle. “Go-Klamma and the Ripper come with an even larger force.”

  “Then let us stay and fight when we are strong.”

  “You are hungry for battle, but we are within this great sinkhole. This is no place to defend. We have attained victory this night; you would counsel me to give up this ground to spare lives. Now I counsel you. Let us go.” The Autarch departed and Maerys gazed back at the battlefield. All was smoke and fire. The grimey columns blacked out the stars and the flames reduced all to shadows. Maerys shut her eyes briefly, then picked up Machthorn and left the inferno behind her.