I

The ashwings know Rell is going to die. Over a dozen of the gray-pinioned carrion birds are shadowing his ascent, cawing their hunger and impatience. The sky above is turning red. Below him the gullies and ravines of the Defile are filling with shadow. He climbs on, dragging his exhausted body up a sloping expanse of barren rock, striving to reach the ridgeline before the sun sets completely. His fingernails are torn and bloody and his twisted ankle is purple with swelling. Rell pushes past the pain and keeps pulling himself upwards, inch by torturous inch. He knows he's failed, knows he'll never reach the hidden Tower in the heart of the Defile; knows he'll never get the chance to join the Sky Warriors in their wars amongst the distant stars. Still, he keeps ascending, determined to look upon the Tower before the end – at least then he'll know if it's real and not merely a rumour or a legend or a lie.

The shadows below Rell deepen. The sky is dyed as with blood; the ashwings wheel and swoop, waiting. He reaches the ridgeline, the last of his strength bleeding from his burning limbs. Panting, he lifts his dented canteen to lips and gulps down the final mouthful of water. A stunted tree, long dead and bereft of leaves, provides some relief. Resting his back against its gnarled trunk Rell looks out over the bleak labyrinth of jagged rocks and narrow ravines he'd spent the past four days traversing. The Defile is an unforgiving arid region claimed by no clan, and its pitiless desolation drains the will of the soul just as it leeches the life from the body. Still, Rell's heart swells a little. I made it this far, he thinks as the ashwings begin to settle on the dead tree's skeletal branches. He recalls passing the dried-out bodies and bleached bones of those who had come before him. I got further then they did. I got to see the Tower…

The Tower. Rell stiffens in alarm, his drooping eyelids snapping open. The sun is sinking. The Tower…the hidden Tower of the Sky Warriors…where is it? He tries to stand but his injured ankle will not support his weight. The ashwings watch as he collapses, clicking their beaks and ruffling their feathers. Rell groans and grinds his fists against the rock in frustration; he would have wept, too, but his body has no moisture to spare. He sees no Tower – sees no man-made structures of any kind – only pinnacles of broken stone rearing against the blood-red sky. A legend, then; or a lie – it no longer matters. Rell has nether the strength or the provisions to travel deeper in. Death is certain and he knows it, just as the ashwings have always known it.

"I tried, papa…" he whispers wearily through cracked lips, half-heartedly trying to console himself in the face of abject failure, hoping his long-dead father will forgive him for throwing his life away in pursuit of a false rumour. He pulls his sheepskin jacket from Herrek's canvas rucksack and draws it about his thin frame as the temperature begins to drop. "…even though there's no Tower after all, at least I tried…"

"The Tower of the Lost Ones cannot be descried from here, boy."

The voice is deep and metallic and seems to issue from the very stones themselves. Rell starts in shock. The ashwings emit a chorus of irate squawks and take to the air in a flurry of wings. The Sky Warrior has materialized out of the gathering darkness as if he'd been lurking on the ridge the entire time, waiting for Rell to arrive. The boy cowers against the tree as the black-armoured giant approaches him, terror quickly mingling with his wonderment. The Sky Warrior has no face – only a leering bone-white skull whose eye sockets glow with a sinister crimson light. He glowers down at Rell as if in judgment, his inscrutable gaze boring into the boy's soul as he takes stock of every weakness and failing.

Overawed by his sheer physical presence, Rell averts his eyes. He hadn't expected the Sky Warriors to look like shadow-shrouded monsters sprung straight from the myths of Old Night. The ones depicted in his grandmother's ancient history tome had all been wearing dark red armor and had been holding aloft great swords, each stylized figure noble and angelic. This Sky Warrior is nothing like them; he is like nothing Rell could have ever imagined.

"Look at me, boy," the skull-faced giant commands. Quailing, Rell forces himself to meet the crimson eye-sockets once more. The sun has disappeared. The ashwings are gone. Darkness rules the Defile.

"You did well to come this far," the Sky Warrior growls in his harsh metallic voice, "but you should have never entered this region, for in doing so your life is forfeit. The Tower of the Lost Ones is no place for aspirants; it is no place for any sane man. Why did you not journey to the Testing Grounds beyond the White Dunes? The warrior-sons of the desert clans who wish to join the Charnel Blades must prove themselves in feats of arms, not by wandering about the Defile until they perish from thirst or exposure."

Rell finds his courage and his voice at last; his throat is parched and each word is a torment to utter. "I'm not a warrior, lord. I was a thrall of the Dust Jackals Clan; my mother and I were taken captive during a raid when I was seven. The thrall-folk of the Jackals aren't allowed to bear weapons. Then five days ago my master, Herrek, led a successful raid on a Wind Reaver caravan; later he got drunk during the victory celebration – almost everyone did; he was with my mother in his tent, expecting me to unload his sand-rover like I always do. I stole it instead…crossed the ashflats at night and made it to the Defile before I ran out of promethium. I'd heard stories about a hidden Tower… how if you managed to find it the Sky Warriors would let you join their clan. I know I'm not a warrior, but I didn't want to live as a thrall, so I took the risk – I had to find a way to prove myself worthy somehow…"

Rell's voice trails off and he dry coughs wretchedly, his chest hitching in pain. The Sky Warrior is silent; he stands as still as a stone – a towering contemplative shape in the thickening gloom. "Please, lord," Rell rasps, his thoughts starting to grow disjointed, feeling as if he's about to pass out. "Can't you take me with you? I know I failed….I know I didn't find the Tower – but at least I tried…"

Wordlessly the giant reaches for him; his huge hands are also cased in armour and his grip is both unyieldingly firm and surprisingly gentle. He lifts Rell and cradles him against his chest as if he weighs nothing at all. The armour plates feel as warm as living flesh and the whole suit hums with mysterious technological workings. "I'm so thirsty…" Rell murmurs as his eyes drift shut, his exhaustion overcoming both his wonder and his fear.

"I know – so am I. Rest now. I will take you to my brothers."

The Sky Warrior begins to make his way swiftly along the ridgeline, striding – occasionally leaping – from rock to rock, his movements impossibly fluid and graceful, never once faltering or loosing his footing. Rell looses all track of time, lying limp in a half-swoon in the giant's arms. His mind wanders. He remembers his mother comforting him whenever his sleep had been troubled by bad dreams; he remembers his father hoisting him above his head and spinning him about, his bearded face smiling up at Rell as he squealed in delight. Then he remembers the Jackals' night attack, the panic and the screaming, his terrified mother clutching him to her breast as Herrek stalked towards them, the raider's blacksteel axe dripping with his father's blood…

Then the Sky Warrior lays him down; rough stone digs into his back. A soothing breeze brushes across his face. Rell considers opening his eyes then decides he's too tired and the darkness too comforting. He wants nothing more than to simply sleep. There is a faint hiss of depressurizing air. A deep breath is taken. "What is your name? And what was the name of your birth-clan?" the Sky Warrior asks quietly. The metallic distortion is gone; the giant's rich baritone voice sounds almost human now.

"Rell…Rell of the Dawn Hunters." Rell can barely bring himself to speak; he is so tried. Four days. Four days spent traversing the Defile on foot, lost and alone as he searched franticly for the Tower in growing desperation. Even though he's no warrior it still has to be a feat worthy of recognition; perhaps the Sky Warriors will make an exception for him due to his tenacity and resolve; perhaps he'll be given a second chance…

"Rell of the Dawn Hunters," the giant intones solemnly. "I will remember it." Had Rell opened his eyes at that moment his last sight would have been of the Sky Warrior's unhelmed face, his pale regal features marred by a plethora of scars inflicted by creatures more terrible then any monsters ever conjured in Rell's darkest nightmares. The Sky Warrior lowers his head and bares perfect white teeth; his cold blue eyes gleam like a dune-wolf's in the newborn night, filled with a deep and abiding hunger.

"You had no hope of ever ascending to the ranks of the Charnel Blades, Rell – but there are other ways to serve my brotherhood. Be at peace; your struggles are at an end. May Sanguinius' wings shield your soul on its final journey and may the Emperor account you worthy to abide forever in His eternal Light."

Rell smiles faintly, the gentle words of the Sky Warrior's benediction suffusing his soul as all physical sensation fades. Through the darkness he sees his father approaching, his bearded face filled with pride as he holds out a hand. "Papa…" Rell whispers as the Sky Warrior's fangs pierce his throat. He feels no pain. He takes his father's hand. Peace fills him. The darkness envelops them both.