Chapter 28


Tucked behind one of the short ridges, the outpost seemed strangely bereft of life. On such a murky, rainy day, the orks would have kept torches and lanterns burning. Yet the firing ports were shadowy and the ramparts empty. Where were the cooking fires and the putrid smoke they cast into the sky? Roasting squig meat should have carried far on the wind. But the moist air was clean and each quiet raindrop was sweet upon the lips. Eerily, it was indeed quiet. Noise one typically heard from an ork encampment, however great or minor, was entirely absent. There were no brawls between nobs and subordinates, uproarious chanting and shouting, rattling of slug-throwers, or the explosive percussion of an engine starting up.

Embedded among the rocks, Maerys saw no shimmer, floating clouds of red through Hoec's Glimpse. Did it fail her? No, it was impossible for such sophisticated technology to falter. She removed the goggles, slick from the fine misty rain that fell over the western plateaus. Pushing a loose lock away from her eyes, she transitioned to her long rifle scope. This was out of habit, for the lens did not possess the vision of beyond's clarity. At the very least, the familiarity of it was a boon.

She scanned the bridges and spans between defensive walls, sentry posts, and the sandbag redoubts. All were empty. Again, she set her eyes on the guard towers. Usually, whatever these crude structures lacked in sophistication were made up by layers upon layers of thick scrap metal. Such was the gift of the ork, to turn refuse and junk into armor. To make a comparison between the subtle curves and gem-like studs of wraithbone structures to the wild, indeterminate, slipshod improvisation of the ork was to insult every bonesinger of her race. But there was still a raw brilliance to it that she could not ignore.

"The plating on the towers is bare," she said to Oragroth, prone beside her. "Every bunker, turret, and wall has been stripped. Even the stronghold itself is thin."

"There are no emplacements, no cannons or guns with which to make a defense," he whispered back. "There cannot be orks within, nor for leagues. It is just like the other ones we have come across."

"Certainty can only be assured if we inspect with our own eyes," said Maerys, amused they kept their voices so low. It was as if they did not wish to disturb the gentleness of the day. Like the rain, the wind was soft. Although much of Sú-il Bhán was rock and ravine, the grass of the plateaus became a cushion the ground absorbed the water. To sleep on wet earth was no great pleasure, but Maerys fondly remembered many rainy nights of sleeping out under the stars. Awakening from raindrops falling upon the cheek felt as though she were caressed by Mother Isha herself.

Such memories were too enchanting to entertain without losing the moment. Maerys stood up, moved from the crop of rocks, and the translucence of her cloak dissipated. Clad in the green and gray mottling of her coat and armor, she crept forward a few steps and turned. She held up both hands pressed together forefinger to forefinger. Then, she swept her arms to either side and both squads of rangers rose. Kalvynn led his squad southward around the ridge while Meslith spread her team out for a direct advance.

Cautiously, Maerys and Oragroth passed the first abandoned scrap-heap that acted as a bunker. The Kurnite brazenly approached the firing ports and peered within. Drawing away, he shook his head. Further into the small camp, Maerys found empty squig pens and cold campfires. Rangers slid into huts, their rifles up, but reemerged moments later. Each building was a shell, lacking stoves, beds, stores, weapons, and armor.

As Kalvynn's squad entered the camp and explored the stronghold, Maerys ventured further. She listened intently, for orks were noisy creatures. All she heard were the slight sounds of her fellow rangers creeping among the outpost. So quiet they were, only other aeldari could hear them.

The ground felt uneven underneath her boots. Maerys paused and knelt. Deep, long tracks left by wheels and tracks led out of the camp towards the west. Rainwater pooled in the small, individual troughs. Gazing out, Maerys studied the other ridges many leagues away through her rifle scope. Each one guarded another outpost yet there were no signs of life.

Thunder rolled, then. First through the sky, then again to the south. Maerys shifted her lens and saw Those Who Protect the Imperiled Pass. The two Revenant titans, accompanied by a combined war host of Biel-Tan and Saim-Hann, met an ork armored thrust in open battle. It was an uneven match, as much to Maerys' surprise, the orks were outnumbered. Vehicles were shredded and tossed about by the titans, while Fire Prisms and Windrider hosts cleaved through the remainder. In minutes, the aeldari force annihilated the enemy strike group, and proceeded back to their bastions.

"Go-Klamma sends forces south to outflank us, yet they are paltry and impotent," said Kalvynn. "He abandons his stations in the valley that leads directly to his base. Does he invite destruction for some purpose, out of glee, or has he lost all sense?

"As if the orks would have any sense," said one of the Varantha rangers. Oragroth, who had crouched beside Maerys to inspect the tracks, looked sharply back at the outcast.

"A hunter such as you ought to know that all creatures in this universe are capable of cunning. Primitive they may be, but the ork has his own sinister way of stalking and preying upon the enemy."

"You would do well to remember Lorn V, Kal," murmured Meslith, shouldering her rifle and gazing up at the sky. "The orks ensured our victory was purchased with much blood."

"The snows of Lorn V have long melted," said Kalvynn. "Yes, here, go-Klamma made a trap of an autarch's zeal, but we have paid him in kind. The blow that has been dealt is severe. He has lost his workers and his factories, and we have cut off access to the Imperial arsenal. His capacity to wage war falters."

"Even if there is one ork left alive, war will be upon us," said Maerys. She stood up then, balanced her rifle on her shoulder, and gestured to the west with her open hand. As the rain fell harder, a fog settled in the distance. Thick, impenetrable, the gray mass overtook the ridges. It seemed to Maerys as if there were a mysterious beast of old consuming the land itself.

She turned her back on the west and traced her steps back out of the post. The other rangers fell in on either side of her. "Tirol and his rangers were the only ones who infiltrated the ork city. They reported to me all manner of arms and resources. Lest we forget, although this host is divided and has been bled, we deal with an army many times the size of our own. Go-Klamma is not done with us."

The band left the outpost behind them and walked towards the east. It was peculiar to stand in enemy territory fully exposed and their heads high. Maerys found herself glancing at the nearby ridges and the other abandoned camps they explored. There was still no movement among any of them. How she wished to stride confidently over this land, yet her hand nervously fell to her spirit stone. The comfort it brought her was fleeting.

The approach of steady, quiet humming gravitational engines made Maerys pause. Around one of the eastern ridges came a forward element. Falcon and Fire Prism fanned out, turrets spinning slowly, and formed a perimeter. Biel-Tan guardian defenders, their white and green armor slick with rainwater. Black Guardians of Ulthwé stalked along the flanks, their black armor glistened in the weak gray light. Warlocks gazed grimly at their surroundings, their eyes rising to the bare ridges and vacant fields. Steam rose from their glowing witchblades and flicks of psychic energy resonated in their palms.

Mixed teams of Aspect Warriors formed the core of the small host. Out of the mass of ornate armor came Caergan and Yltra. Accompanying them was Dryane; while the Autarchs appeared alert and suspicious, he remained sullen and bored. Yltra approached Maerys and gestured to the outpost with a flick of her finger. Maerys slung her long rifle over her shoulder and then formed a ring with her fingers.

"Empty again," murmured Yltra, her gaze as hard as the boulders of the ridge. "He leaves the valley open. It is but an avenue that leads directly to the gates of his main stronghold. We would be fools to ignore such an uncomplicated path." She shook her head, dissatisfied. "We should not tread on it."

"It is a rare and surprising thing to hear a warrior of Biel-Tan exercise caution on the battlefield," remarked Caergan, snidely. Yltra glared lethally at her counterpart before she raised her nose indignantly.

"This Speedboss took advantage of my aggression once, he shan't do it again. Too many perished that day. We must expend as few lives as possible if we are to wage the true war on the world above us. If it means slowing our advance, then so be it."

"The seers assure me there is time yet. Where the wayseeker travels we know not but he is long from his destination," explained Caergan. "The orks ravage each other on Pail Shil-ocht. We will find a weakened host when it comes time to scour the planet for this rogue. I am in agreement that we should proceed guardedly, absorb the thrusts on our flank, and draw nearer to the Speedboss."

"The less we engage with the ork, the more frustrated he will become," said Maerys. "Our pace will force him to show his hand."

"And when the beast rears," said Oragroth, "we will plunge the hunter's lance into his heart."

There was a groan from behind the Autarchs. Dryane rubbed his temple as if suffering from some terrible malady. But his gaze shifted to annoyance as he approached the others. He took the hourglass he wore into his hand and shook it gently. The sand within swept around and flowed between the two halves.

"Below is the chopping block, the victim's head is upon it, and we hold the sword," he said. "You know I am not one to toss the lives of my corsairs away so frivolously. But I ruminate on the beliefs of the Saim-Hann: the surest, quickest way to end a war is to win it. The end of this battle is within our hands. Let us, by land and sky, put this ork city to the torch. I have much business to attend to."

As the words left his mouth, his lips curled into a scornful smile. He faced the north, where the great sinkhole was. Although many days had passed since their assault on the encampment, thin tendrils of smoke still rose from the remains. The fires had burned long after the last buildings fell and the embers glowed hot as spirit stones were uncovered. Yet, he did not gaze down that direction for the thought of these precious gems. The grin he wore was too cynical and egotistical. The triumph in his eyes was not of the martial variety.

Maerys' fingers curled into fists. She walked around and stood before her old friend. The Autarchs looked on curiously while Dryane, momentarily roused from his thoughts, glanced at Maerys in surprise. Although she stood as high as any common aeldari, Dryane stood taller. Her eyes darkening, she glared up at the High Count.

"Do not act so eager to return to the void lanes," she said threateningly. "There are far greater purposes to be upheld than filling the coffers of your ships."

"Oh, how intimately you know me," he mused, entertained. "I merely plan for the future, dear Maerys. Although the ork colony there is naught but ash, below are the tunnels of the Imperial arsenal that once stood there. Within are the machines of war which the Imperium doth require. Imagine what a governor would trade to acquire an armada of tanks and enough arms to properly equip his army."

"You disgust me, corsair," growled Yltra. "Truly, you are an outcast from our people. Desrigale might have left the Asuryani but at the very least she stands for something." This she said, sweeping her arm towards the Pathfinder. "Even if I do not agree with all her acts and her dreams are capricious, she has an aspiration. A base cur such as yourself considers only profits."

"You castigate me?" Dryane gestured to the south. "Oromas flies freely in the south, far beyond his blocking positions to veil himself in the glory of the kill. But it is I who must stand before you and suffer your condemnation?"

"As wild and unpredictable as a son of Saim-Hann is, at the very least the chief acts to fulfill his assigned objective. He does not depart on flights of fancy that benefit no one but himself," criticized Caergon.

"It is such an easy thing to criticize another for his livelihood when you yourself needn't concern yourself with such things," sighed Dryane. "The Asuryani have the Paths. Walking them is your life, all you ever need you derive from them. Whether you stride from one to the other or tread just one for all your years, you have what you need. As for the corsair? I have my fleet, my crews, my soldiers, and my wealth. Always, I must acquire more and deal out the spoils, for we have no structure like your overly-cherished vocations. If I were to content myself with what I have, it would not sustain neither myself nor my followers. Some other felarch or aristocrat would remove my head from my shoulders to supplant me. Children of Biel-Tan and Ulthwé, you would gladly sacrifice your own lives for some cause but understand, I prefer my head right where it is."

"Enough." All turned to face Celasho the Singer. The masked Warlock strode up to the High Count and the crimson lenses of his helmet glowed. "Your egotism is unnecessary and unwanted. They may suit your void courts well but these are battlefields you stand upon. Such pretension will get you killed, and if not, it will see others slaughtered in your stead."

Dryane's handsome smile widened mischievously. His eyes, normally as bright as a sun, bore a shadow then. Long locks of damp hair that outlined his face made him appear all the more sinister. Standing over the Warlock, Dryane ran the back of his hand over the side of Celasho's visor as if brushing his cheek.

"My, don't you have a flair for the dramatic?" he teased. "You must have gained it in your days as a performer. What a shame you have naught but this rasp. Your voice could have been a wonder."

Celasho's hand tightened around the grip of his sheathed witchblade. A dark orb of energy gyrated in his other fist. Small, crackling lines of excess energy squeezed between his fingers. Dryane did not reach for his own sword, he merely raised his hands and let jolts of lightning pass between his palms. His grin was devilish.

"Enough of this foolishness," snapped Maerys. Both psykers allowed their powers to fizzle out and turned towards her. "We are allies here with a higher purpose. To allow ourselves to be so fractious would make us no better than ork, man, the dark ones, or those dwell beyond the Eye. I know you, High Count, to be a roguish but you have abandoned the vileness of the past. You would not have made me a companion nor treated the humans with compassion if you were heartless. Do not act as though you are now."

"I am a corsair, and when there is wealth to be acquired or a ship to plunder, I will take it," said Dryane. But the cold confidence of his expression softened. "But you are right. The arsenal can wait for now."

He turned without a word and left to board a Wave Serpent transport. The Autarchs did not spare another moment and rallied their followers back to them. As the grav-tanks slowly turned and drifted back east, Maerys watched them depart, her eyes heavy. Oragroth touched her arm to rouse her. He tilted his head kindly, causing the moisture that had built up in his many small braids to trickle freely.

"I know my lord well," he said. "He is of decent heart, but he is still a corsair. He is unknowable and fickle. Boredom is just as painful for someone such as him. Always will he need some preoccupation, whether it is battle, plots, or trade."

"Are you not a corsair also?" asked Maerys, smiling. Oragroth shrugged and pointed skyward. Crúba circled around overhead, silently gliding on the cool, wet winds.

"We Kurnites possess the hunt. It is not an Asuryani path, but it is a pursuit that drives me. Dryane is not of that school. We both know there is a chance he will spare whomever he can to dig out the human weapons. If he presses the council for it, it may breed resentment.

"It will set harmful precedents for his felarchs, and perhaps to others in the coalition," said Maerys. "I might have persuaded him to give up much of his wickedness before, but this was an effect of balance. To further deny him would be to create an imbalance."

"We could also destroy the arsenal," said Kalvynn, casually.

"And drive away our truest patron? You accuse the orks of lacking sense, but I begin to wonder if you are equally dim-witted," said Meslith. Laughter passed between the rangers of both squads. Maerys permitted herself a chuckle before waving and leading them on an eastern trek. Oragroth whistled and Crúba landed upon his arm.

"His words have some merit. Removing the arsenal would remove the temptation."

"The greater wisdom lies with Meslith," replied Maerys. "We should not act to circumvent our own. That would bring about the dissolution of this coalition. No, we should serve only the campaign, and to do so, we will act as rangers act.

###

True to the Autarchs' word, the Host of Gea had advanced slowly across the valley. Little by little, they progressed through the Field of Arches, destroyed the abandoned outposts, and created new bastions in their stead. Although these were built with defense in mind, the grav platforms were untested. Guardian defenders anxiously kept their eyes to the west, awaiting some kind of attack, although it never came. When Maerys passed by these sentinels, she felt the tension between them. It was thick, a weight upon the shoulders, crushing them little by little. The relief when a squad was selected to head south with the blocking forces was immense. It was as if a dam had broken and the waters behind it were allowed to roll freely.

Hoec's Perch, the Band of Kurnous's hideaway, was behind them now. The rangers were afforded not a place by one of the ridges but atop a wide hill in the more southerly part of the plateau. It was indeed rocky, but there were a few trees and vegetation for the outcasts to conceal themselves during the day. Maerys would have preferred a place with greater height to look over the land, but the Autarchs did not want the rangers near the frontline in case the orks attacked. She agreed with their logic, but she missed the view she gained from the mountain cliff.

As she and the others gained the top, they found the rangers gathering around campfires. They sat on felled logs, passed mulled wine, and ate their rations from small, ornate clay dishes. Many bore runes and the rich colors of their respective Craftworlds. Succulent fruits were split over roasted strips of dragon meat taken from Exodite Worlds. Much of the individual bands were mixed together and their chatter was jovial. Rangers poured each other drinks and ate from larger, communal dishes. The rain had passed and none seemed to mind their wet coats and damp seats.

"Strange," said Maerys to Oragroth. "Kalvynn, Amonthanil, and I formed the Band of Kurnous many decades ago. The time that has passed since that moment feels appropriate, it is a warm memory that brings great cheer to me. Yet, it seems a lifetime ago these other rangers first joined us."

"They hardly spoke to one another then," said the Kurnite. "We were divided from one another just as the Craftworlds are. But you see what victory brings a band, for the credit goes to all, not to one. Every individual shares in the jubilant success and ruptures the cordons between us. More will flock to us."

"The scouts return," said Alimia, standing tall and holding two cups of wine. She offered Maerys and Oragroth the drinks, then fetched two more for Kalvynn and Meslith. Other rangers rose and graciously furnished the two squads as well. It was warm, sweet, and just a little heavier than Maerys expected. It struck her stomach like a rock and the Pathfinder winced. Alimia threw her head back and laughed heartily. "It is a Saim-Hann brew favored by Wild Riders. It is made strong, just like my kin."

"It takes courage to drink it," said Maerys as she looked around. "Would you find find Livae? I wish to speak to the Pathfinders."

Alimia nodded and departed. Maerys drifted through the camp to find the others. Amonthanil was at a crowded campfire at the center of the hilltop. Some of the rangers from other cohorts had gathered around him as he adjusted the scope of his long rifle.

"Lorn V was not the first Ice World I ranged upon," he said, absently. "Nearly a century ago, I felt the call of my home Alaitoc and fought at the Battle of the Dawning Twilight. This was upon Betalis III, deep in the heart of Imperial space. Dangerous as it was to make the journey, Maerys, Kalvynn, and I were bonded by then, and they accompanied me. Craftworld Mymeara had come to find the armor of Irillyth, founder of the Shadow Spectres Aspect."

The other rangers marveled and spoke excitedly to one another. How could they not, for Irillyth was one of the Asurya, the Phoenix Lords. All were disciples of Asurmen, the savior of the Aeldari when the empire collapsed. These ancient Exarchs had created the shrines Aspect Warriors followed. To have discovered one's armor and the spirit within it was to revive a fraction of their species' history.

Amonthanil held up his hand humbly as he was pressed with numerous questions. "We did not delve into the mines that laced the planet like veins in a body. The Farseer Ben-Annath should be credited for retrieving the armor. We were but one part of a larger whole. It was quite the battle." He met Maerys' eyes, brought his hand over his mouth, then gestured to hers.

"The cold was as much a test as was the ferocity of the battle," she said. "Mymeara, Alaitoc, and an alliance of Corsairs and the Masque of the Winter Sun broke through the void defenses with ease. It was on the ground where the true test was. We were pitted against soldiers known as Elysians, and they are practitioners of stealth and ambush as we are. Combat on those snowy hills was savage."

"Once the armor was discovered and the ritual of reanimation completed, there was no need to remain," added Kalvynn. "The alliance retreated from the planet and the Imperials thought themselves victorious."

"Let them," said Amonthanil, waving his hand dismissively. "Ours was a higher goal."

"How strange for the reclusive Mymeara to make common cause with others," said one of the Ulthwé rangers, Cean-Nirr. "I did not think they would agree to aid no matter the cause."

"Look at our own alliance," said Nehánta, an outcast of Karan-Ske. "Why, look at our own band! It makes one wonder as to why our people have made no greater effort at reunification."

"When we are apart, and the distance of the void is vast, it is easy to forget each other's existence," said Maerys. "When we meet, though, we rediscover our voices. If only we kept speaking." She then smiled at Cean-Nirr and opened her coat. She plucked a pouch from an interior pocket and produced a teal ribbon. Attached to it was a spinel gem shaped as the Cursing Eye world-rune of Mymeara. "Distant they are, but Mymeara are aeldari still. This is the commendation they bestowed to us for our efforts at Betalis III. Even they understand the significance of such acts."

The rangers nodded understandingly. Maerys tapped Amonthanil on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. Just past the fires were a series of shelters tucked in among the rocks or under trees. Made from fallen logs and covered with mesh sheets, they were simple but comfortable with cushioned sleeping kits within. Fyrdra and Lotien knelt outside one underneath an evergreen that had cast many needles around them. Sleeping within the small shelter was Machthorn.

"We are not so different," Fyrdra was saying to the Bonesinger. Her hand swayed back and forth, guiding her channeling runes back and forth over the Exodite's body.

"You are a healer of flesh, I am a molder of wraithbone," said Lotien, dubiously.

"As I apply salve to the flesh, do you not weave wraithbone back together?" she asked in return with a knowing smile. "You create just as much as you restore. We are kindred spirits, no?" This made the smaller Lotien shrink even more beside her.

"If Kurnous and Isha saw fit to make us kindred, why were you made affable and I sullen?"

"Perhaps I am sent to you to make you smile." Lotien's lips moved as if he were mumbling. He took one of his long orange locks into his hands and played with the ends.

"Or perhaps I have been made to steal your smiles."

"You would not dare," teased Fyrdra.

Maerys knelt on Fyrdra's opposite side and pressed the back of her hand to Machthorn's forehead. The skin was hot in her palm. It reminded her of the ashes of that human's pipe. She drew her hand away and touched the burn scars on her skin. Looking up, she saw Fyrdra glance away from her hand. "Hunger is what ails him. Deprivation at the hands of the ork has left him malnourished and weak. Much of his back is sliced by lashes and without sustenance, he has been unable to resist infection. I have cured his flesh but he must be kept stable as his body learns once more to bear food. Rest is what he needs most and I will ensure he sleeps soundly."

Although his skin was tight over his bones and his face was sallow, Machthorn appeared at peace. His breaths were long and steady, his chest rose and fell easily. Maerys studied him, but soon her gaze drifted to the greatbow next to his blanket.

"How he summoned the strength to wield it I will never understand," she murmured.

"Twas not strength but will. Like outcasts, Exodites have it in great supply." Fyrdra looked at Maerys' hand again and made no disguise of it. "It would be but a triviality to mend that; the scar would not disappear, but the disfigurement would."

"Devote yourself to him along for now," ordered Maerys.

She continued to the center of the hilltop. Here, the ground was flat, wide, and clear of vegetation. A few boulders hemmed in the space, large enough to climb and sit upon. Irlikae sat cross-legged on one tall large stone, her brow furrowed and her eyes squeezed shut. Tirol leaned on the edge, his chin in his hand, staring at her.

"What drives you to peer ahead, Void Dreamer?"

"Because the sight offers better company than you, let me be," said the seer, tersely.

"Tell me what it is you see," said Tirol with a snicker. "Is it a future faraway or immediate? Do you see triumph or defeat, miracles or calamities?"

"I would tell you if only you answer one question." Irlikae opened an annoyed eye, but her smile grew mischievous. "Why is it you know so much of the natural world?" Tirol's smug grin instantly faded. He pushed himself off the rock and silently walked away from her. "That is what I thought." Seeing Maerys, Irlikae groaned, readjusted her, and closed her eyes again. "I truly cannot use my gifts when I am so easily disturbed. I miss my cavern."

"Use a shelter, or find another hill," said Maerys.

"As if I need to let my legs wander further. All I do with you rangers is walk and walk."

Maerys laughed as she knelt over a bare patch of earth. Tirol joined the other Pathfinders as they formed a semicircle in front of her. She drew her dagger and began carving figures in the dirt.

"Friends, we are flush from our success and were it the end of this campaign, I would indulge such festivities for many days. Alas, it is not over. Furthermore, we face an abatement of this conflict. Ratta go-Klamma has veiled his motives and the main host cannot charge blindly forward lest we expend lives needlessly. So I propose we once more commit ourselves to a great ranging."

Maerys drew a series of arches to denote the center valley and made a circle to its side to show the sinkhole. Then, above it, she drew the ork city and the mountains and bluffs behind it. "We must discover any traps go-Klamma may have laid and gain knowledge of his plans. This will require us to go all the way back to his stronghold. We are presented with the option to go west straight through the valley." She drew a line through the arches with her blade. "At a glance, it is expedient, but we would have to stop at each of these outposts for the foe."

"What if we travel northwest?" asked Kalvynn, kneeling and drawing his own knife. He drew a wide, curved line that led over the sinkhole, out into the northern plains, and then turned to the stronghold. "The land is unoccupied by aeldari and ork alike. The passage would be swift."

"The ranging that discovered the sinkhole encampment came along the northern edge of the valley. The counterattack that defeated Nod-Slash and then the raid on the colony followed the same course. There is a chance go-Klamma will reinforce his defenses on that route and send his stalkers there," said Amonthanil. "We do not wish to reveal ourselves. No patrols must be encountered."

"It is obvious we travel by air," said Livae, tiredly. "Irlikae has the right of it. We are worn out walking. An insertion from above near the orks would save us time and allow us to remain unseen."

"It is true, the Vampire Raiders deposited us right into the ork bases on Pail Shil-ocht," said Amonthanil. "Although, we were fortunately aided by the sandstorm."

"We must go by land," grunted Tirol. "If we ride along the wind, we will be blind to any schemes the orks are conducting on the ground."

"That leaves only the south where the ork armored assaults come from," said Meslith. "If we are meant to avoid contact with the enemy, why journey to the place he shows himself?"

"It is the route he least expects," said Alimia, grinning. "This is ground the orks believe they hold sway and would not suspect to make any advances, clandestine or otherwise, in that direction."

"I am obliged to agree with you." Maerys pointed her knife at Alimia then met the others' eyes. "We are presented with a path unknown, a path long, and a path risky. I am for the latter."

"It would be possible to divide the band. One group takes the northerly route, and the second treads the southerly road," suggested Oragroth. "If one is to be discovered, the other may continue unmolested."

"There is the chance both would be caught and if it comes to our blades, I would prefer the band united," said Maerys. "I ask if you agree. If we do, I will present this plan to the council." One by one, the Pathfinders brought their fists to their chests. Maerys rose and sheathed her knife. "Then it is settled. To prevent the deadlock, we will conduct one more ranging."

"That will have my backing."

All turned to see Chief Oromas, Aragnel the Striker, Kelriel, and Dochariel approaching. Oromas, his daughter, and his nephew were dirty and bloody from battle. It suited the fearsome red of Saim-Hann well and they were a glorious sight. Maerys exchanged bows with the chief, who then looked approvingly at the assembly. "I once thought the ranger a timid creature, but you have proven otherwise. You are seekers of battles, it seems, and I am happy to be wrong."

"The collecting of spirit stones is complete and many Saim-Hann souls were saved. Many were guarded by human captives who gladly returned them," said Araganel. "Now, truly, we see your wisdom behind the raid."

"It was an honor to share the battlefield with the Band of Kurnous," said Kelriel.

"The honor was ours," said Maerys. "I am happy to find an ally in Clan Bri-seori."

"I would aid you in your ranging and take you into the southern territory," said Oromas. "Come to me later and I will put forth my plan to convey you quickly."

As the three Windriders departed and the Pathfinders parted, Dochariel remained. He smiled graciously and took Maerys' hands in his own. He seemed more vigorous than ever before, his warm skin practically glowing.

"There were even Biel-Tan spirit stones among them. More than a few Aspect Warriors were humbled by the recovery. The Host of Gea's morale is higher than ever before. I beg thee, allow me to join you in this ranging."

"It would be a boon," said Maerys. "But I beg a favor in return. In the midst of my battle fury I understood that I am not the sword-bearer I once was. A blade is not worth carrying if one does not know how to use it. In the time we have here, I'd ask that you train me."

"Phoenix Lord Baharroth may balk that I would impart some of his blade-skill with someone who is not of his temple. But you once wore his wings and even if you do not bear them now, you know how to soar high, Maerys. Yes, I will train with you."

He smiled so widely that the soft skin around his eyes wrinkled. Maerys found that she had to match it, for it was irresistible. There was resolve, courage, comradeship, and joy resonating in every nearby soul. It made the air taste sweet. But a groan from behind her spoiled the taste.

Irlikae ran her fingers through her hair, irritably. Maerys let go of Dochariel's hands and ventured to her companion. She placed a hand on her back and leaned close.

"I feel something in the Warp," said Irlikae, stressed. "Stones are placed atop one another, threads are being woven. There are new fates before us and somewhere, I believe, there is a mirror to them. What we set in motion is reflected in another's life. These are futures I cannot yet see. It leaves me wondering, Maerys, unhappily so." But Maerys smiled and offered her hand.

"Fate will not wait and neither should we. Come with me and let us meet it together once more."