Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Dark Convergence - Dave Gross
Dark Convergence - Dave Gross
DAVE GROSS
Cover by
MATHIAS KOLLROS
CONTENTS
MAP............................................................................................................................ vi
THE FIRST HARMONIC..................................................................................... 1
THE SECOND HARMONIC.............................................................................25
THE THIRD HARMONIC.................................................................................46
THE FOURTH HARMONIC............................................................................70
THE FIFTH HARMONIC..................................................................................90
THE SIXTH HARMONIC...............................................................................109
THE SEVENTH HARMONIC........................................................................133
THE EIGHTH HARMONIC...........................................................................153
THE NINTH HARMONIC..............................................................................171
GLOSSARY............................................................................................................179
MAP
The wagon creaked as the team pulled it along the muddy path winding
south from the Dragons Tongue River. The horses snorted plumes of mist
in the cool autumn air. A pair of half-shuttered lanterns glowed on the
wagons front posts on either side of the drivers seat. Their yellow light
reached just beyond the hooves of the lead horses, barely illuminating the
leafless branches of the surrounding woods.
Canvas tarpaulins covered the wagons bulky cargo, except for a giant
mechanikal limb lying on top. Lantern light glimmered over brass gears
connecting the upper and lower lengths of the steel-and-chromium arm. A
double-pincer formed a clawed hand at one end, while a ruin of mangled
gears and axles jutted from the other.
High on the drivers seat sat two hulking figures, their cowls pulled low
over faces muffled by scarves. Through the wool, the driver whistled The
Last Maiden of Caspia as he held the reins loosely in hands encased in
blue steel gauntlets. The passenger sat silent and still but for the jostling
when the wagons wheels dipped into ruts and bounced over roots.
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The drivers eyes widened as he spied something moving onto the road
ahead. He stopped his whistling.
Uh, oh.
With a sound of ratcheting gears, blue-white lights appeared on the
path before the wagon, moving in two distinct figures. Two humanoid
shapes stepped forward, glowing panels set into their legs, arms, and
torsos. On each head glowed a single unblinking eye, brighter than all the
other lights upon their bodies except for one: a stylized icon of a womans
face on each chest.
The driver reined in the team as six more figures stepped into the
wagons path. The interlopers remained ten yards away, stepping back to
maintain their distance as the wagon slowed and halted.
Whos there? The driver opened the shutters on the nearest lantern.
Light shone on the steel bodies of the intruders.
They looked like fanciful suits of armor inhabited not by men but by
brass mechanisms. Heavy steel blades jutted from the backs of their right
hands, a compact battery of six firearm barrels on the left. They raised their
left arms in unison, pointing them like pistols at the driver and his passenger.
Halt! called a flat, mechanical voice.
I just did, said the driver. You can see I dont want any trouble. His
voice echoed deep and muted, as if from inside a steel helm. He turned
toward the sound of coiled springs and heavy footsteps approaching from
behind the wagon.
An enormous machine emerged from the woods to block his retreat.
With every step of its four crustacean legs, its internal mechanisms
whirred and clicked. Lantern light warmed its chromium-plated surface as
it turned its ovoid torso to keep the apparatus on its right shoulder trained
on the driver. A rack of razor-sharp saw blades fed a whining compartment
inside the contraption. At the end of its left limb, a symmetrical pair of
heavy pincers clenched and releasedan operative version of the arm lying
on the wagons bed.
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Step down, said one of the clockwork soldiers. The tenor of its voice
was the same as the first speakers, but its cadence differed. Make no
sudden moves.
The driver looped the reins around the brake and raised his armored
hands. I promise youll have no trouble from me.
As the driver uttered the code phrase, Artificer General Sebastian
Nemo emerged from behind the tree where he had been hiding. He
flicked a switch on the side of his storm armor. A dull thrum rose to a
high whine as lightning flickered on the galvanic coils on his back. Tongues
of electricity cast the bare branches of the trees into stark relief against
the night sky. Nemos white hair floated on the static field, his blue eyes
brightening as the charge increased.
At the same time, five heavy blades crackled with lightning beside him.
Six blue-armored soldiers rose from the concealment of the camouflaged
ditch, dry leaves rustling as they slipped out from beneath the tarpaulins.
Just off the path behind the wagon, Storm Chaser Caitlin Finch and
another half-dozen Stormblades appeared. The men held heavy storm
throwers at their waists, the storm chambers keening as the guns coils
glowed brighter.
A brilliant, white flash rose to the north. An instant later, a heavy
impact shook the ground, followed by another. A gradually accelerating
rhythm thundered up the path behind the wagon.
The wagon driver shrugged, his hands held high as he spoke to the
clockwork intruders. Now Ill keep my promise, fellas, but I cant speak
for these other folks.
Lower your arms and surrender, said Nemo. He activated his tempest
accumulator. Lightning leaped between the weapon and the voltaic coils
of his armor.
He means you, said the driver. He pointed a steel-clad finger at the
clockwork soldiers while keeping his hands raised.
Half of the clockwork soldiers fired on the wagon.
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Slender projectiles shot from the batteries on the backs of their hands.
They broke apart to form dozens of tiny missiles that swarmed their
targets.
The driver covered his face with both gauntlets and dropped to one knee,
presenting the smallest possible target. The projectiles tugged at his cloak
and spit sparks from his armor as they formed a buzzing cloud around him.
Up on the drivers seat, the passengers head jerked backward. His body
slid sideways onto the seat and jerked as the swarm continued to ravage
his corpse.
The remaining clockwork soldiers turned toward Nemo. Before they
could fire, a blue-white circle of runes flashed around his outstretched
hand. Three white arcs lashed out to wrack their mechanikal bodies.
Simultaneously, five more arcs lanced out from the storm glaives to shock
and burn the clockwork soldiers. Their metal bodies twisted in spasms
before clattering to the ground.
At the rear of the wagon, the enemy warjack turned to target Nemo,
seemingly unaware of the rising light and thunder approaching from
behind. As its monocular lens fixed on his eyes, Nemo felt the prickling
sensation he always experienced when a fellow warcaster was near. The
feeling remained faint, and his adversary remained hidden.
She may not have revealed herself, Nemo thought, but she was surely
watching.
Stormblades fired lightning into the chromium-plated warjack. The
white-hot arcs scarred its chassis and twisted its pincers, but the apparatus
on its right shoulder continued to whine and spark as a steel saw blade
clicked into launch position.
No you dont! Finch ran forward, thrusting her staff like a lance. Its
crackling head unleashed a wave of coruscating energy across the warjacks
body. The whine from its saw-flinger wound down.
Get back, Adept! bellowed Nemo.
Finch backpedalled.
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The thunder arrived, and with it came twelve tons of steel and lightning.
More than twice the height of a tall man, massive arms pumping at its
sides, the blue-and-gold Thunderhead charged the enemy warjack. Whitehot energy surged out of its lightning chamber to cascade across the coils
on its back and shoulders. From there the lightning leapt down to feed all
of its power into a pair of massive steel hands.
Nemo guided the Thunderhead with his thoughts. It grabbed the
enemy and heaved it up off the ground, only to turn and smash it down
again. The impact deformed the warjacks multi-jointed legs and sent a
shower of dirt across the path.
Clicking and halting, the enemy reached up with its pincer hand. Before
it could catch hold of the Thunderhead, the larger warjack lifted it again,
smashing it down even harder than before. The saw-flinger cracked open.
Steel discs, each two feet wide, spilled out onto the ground. The chromium
warjack coughed, its limbs moving in short, erratic gestures.
The Stormblades stepped out to cover the fallen foe. One of them shot
the twitching pincer arm a single time, watched it twitch again, and stilled
it with a final arc of lightning.
Careful with that! barked the wagon driver. He stood and pulled back
his hood to reveal the golden face of a Stormblade helm. Raising the beaver
to reveal his black-bearded face, the driver turned to Nemo and said, Sir,
didnt you want to take it intact?
Nemos bushy white eyebrows leaped as he recognized the speaker.
Blackburn! I told you to put volunteers on that wagon.
Yes, sir, said Blackburn. I was my first volunteer.
Nemo fumed. That job was far too dangerous to risk my senior officer.
Yes, sir.
It would be one thing if I had an entire company at my disposal, but
with so few
He fell silent and watched as another Stormblade stepped up to
examine the fallen passenger. The infantryman pulled back the fallen
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figures hood to reveal a burlap sack, on which some prescient jokester had
drawn a frown and large Xs for eyes. Straw spilled out from holes in the
front and back, where the buzzing projectile had passed straight through
the stuffed head.
My second volunteer, said Blackburn.
Nemo started to say something more, but he closed his mouth and let
the sour twist of his mustache demonstrate his displeasure.
He didnt want to reprimand Blackburn in front of the troops. Nemo
knew the morale value of Blackburns willingness to assume risks he would
not ask of his men, but he had enough mutiny on his hands with the storm
chaser he still sometimes thought of as his apprentice despite her having
risen to the arcane rank of Adept.
Turning away from Blackburn, Nemo barked, Finch!
Finch straightened from where she had been leaning over the defeated
warjack. She ran to Nemo, holding her staffher tuning fork, as she
called ita trifle higher than necessary to avoid tripping. It was one of
many awkward gestures that prevented Nemo from thinking of her as a
grown woman rather than a girl.
Caitlin Finch was not only an adult, she had also proven herself time
and time again, especially in combat. She was already becoming known
as one of Cygnars finest arcane warriors. Nemo only hoped she would
survive her increasingly daring behavior on the battlefield.
Finch moved to stand before Nemo and saluted. Sir!
The Devil Dogs lost four men recovering the first of those warjacks.
What were you thinking to move so close to this one? He raised an eyebrow,
hoping the gesture would be enough to make Finch reevaluate her action.
Sir, I was thinking it was about to cut you in half with one of those
spinning saws.
Nemo could hardly object to that point.
He and Finch had examined the first of the captured warjacks
together before leaving it for the mechaniks at their impromptu camp.
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hard the day before with a scant few hours of sleep. It was no wonder his
body rebelled. Anyone would have experienced the same, he thought.
Even a much younger man.
Nemo looked where the soldier pointed through the tree branches.
Flying east toward Calbeck, a V of seven winged women fled the area. The
smallest of them led the way, her body seeming even smaller in comparison
to her expansive wings. The larger figures, their own size conversely
exaggerated by their tiny wings, shielded her with their bodies, each in
turn gliding behind her in a perfectly synchronized rotation.
By old habit, Nemo raised a hand to hurl lightning after them. With a
weary sigh, he closed his fingers to form a fist. It was no use. By the time he
could release his spell, they would already be out of range.
Finch appeared by his side.You dont think she knew it was a trap, do you?
Nemo smoothed his mustache as he considered the question. She is
certainly more cautious after her encounter with the Dogs, he decided.
She wouldnt have risked these troops if she knew for certain. Yet she
committed only one of the type of warjack we have already captured, not
one of the other models our scouts have spied in the village. Also, she and
her flying guards remained out of sight during the confrontation. She must
at least have suspected the possibility of a trap.
At least we have these clockwork soldiers, said Finch. Maybe now we
can learn why they all have the Face of Cyriss on their chests.
That was the same question that gnawed at Nemos imagination.
The various cults of the Maiden of Gears usually struck him as cliques
of harmless intellectuals: mathematicians, engineers, mechaniks, and
astronomers. There were aberrations, as evidenced by the Witchfire Affair
some years previous, but nothing to suggest that Cyrissists posed a threat.
Nemo had never imagined them to be capable of fielding an army, much
less of capturing a Cygnaran village so swiftly.
Sir, said Blackburn. He cupped a few brass objects in the palm of his
gauntlet. I dug these out of our second volunteer.
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Nemo leaned close, squinting to see them in the light of his storm
armor. At first glance they appeared to be clockwork toys shaped like weird
insects. On closer inspection, he saw they were half-cylinders connected
by a tensor spring. What appeared to be wings on either end were actually
tiny blades. Between them, like the proboscis of an evil insect, perched a
sharp drilling cone.
Nemo took a pouch from his waist and held it open. Blackburn poured
the queer projectiles inside.
Clear the wagon, said Nemo.
The major already had his knights dragging the fallen machine-men
toward the rear of the wagon. One of them lowered the tailgate while the
others untied the ropes securing the tarpaulins. They pulled away the canvas
to reveal a shell of chicken wire formed roughly in the shape of the enemy
warjack. They rolled the decoy out to make room for their new captives.
Removing the light cargo did nothing to jostle the war wagon, with its ironreinforced bed of oak planks designed to bear a load of many tons.
Nemo once more guided the Thunderhead. It lifted the defeated
warjack with an attitude of tender care and carried it to the wagon.
Stand back, Nemo warned the men. As they moved aside, the
Thunderhead laid the warjack on the wagons bed. The wagon sagged, its
spring suspension groaning under the enormous weight.
With the larger cargo in place, the Stormblades began laying the clockwork
soldiers into the spaces between the warjack and the wagons sideboards.
Lightning had mangled some of them almost beyond recognition, but a few
remained essentially intact. Their flickering lights suggested their power
sources remained operative, even as their bodies were disabled.
Sir? Blackburn offered Nemo a perch on the drivers seat. Nemo ignored
the majors proffered hand and climbed up unassisted, hissing as another
back spasm punished him for his pride. Blackburn climbed up beside him.
He released the brake and slapped the reins. The team strained against the
greater load, but gradually the wagon moved south and then east.
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10
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the wagon, missing only the arm that Nemo had planted as a lure atop
the tarp.
Mags circled the table like a coroner examining a murder victim. She
wore a sleeveless shirt under her leather apron, revealing tattoos of cogs
and gears on either shoulder. The designs on either side converged toward
the center of her flat chest in an increasingly complex pattern of clockwork.
Mags eyes narrowed at the symbol on the fallen soldiers chest. Thats
funny. The Maiden of Gears.
Nemo nodded. Cyrissists.
Mags peered into the brass cogs of the soldiers torso. She hefted its
blade and firearm assemblies with an appreciative grunt as she felt their
weight. As she let go of them, she clutched her swollen knuckles and hissed.
Are you all right? asked Finch.
Its just the arthritis, said Mags. This close to the river, I can feel the
damp in my joints. She touched, first through the rag, then with her naked
hand, the lightning scars on its integral greaves and pauldrons. Behind her,
Finch craned her neck to see what the mechanik was doing.
How long since you took them down? asked Mags.
Half an hour, said Nemo. He set the soldiers head on her worktable.
The only heat I can feel is from its burns. She touched the still-glowing
symbol of Cyriss on its chest. Is this the power assembly?
Nemo nodded. That is as good a guess as any. It glows with a light
resembling what Ive seen in other Cyrissist devices.
It looks a bit like your work, old man. Have you been copying the
other students work again?
Finch gasped and swallowed a laugh.
Relax, kid, said Mags. Im just being amusing.
I am not amused, said Nemo.
No, you hardly ever are. Thats the problem with you, said Mags. She
winked at Finch. Try not to catch what hes got, kid. Especially in this
outfit, you need to learn to live a little. Before you die.
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Nemo scowled to warn Mags that he was in no mood for levity. What
are your first impressions of the mechanisms?
Well, theres obviously a clockwork element to the motor functions.
But theres no way these boys are just wound up like spring toys. She
twisted and pulled at the Face of Cyriss on the soldiers chest, but it
remained fixed. These power units on their chests dont look big enough
to keep them going for any length of time. The one on the jack you snuck
into camp earlier has already faded. Either they dont work for very long, or
else theres another power source in there somewhere.
Perhaps the power comes from the tower, suggested Finch.
Nemo opened his mouth to disagree, but he stopped himself. The rest
of the new enemys technology was so advanced that he could not discount
the notion of power fields delivering energy to the nearby clockwork
soldiers. An interesting idea, Storm Chaser.
Finch tried and failed to hide a smile at his praise and his use of her
title. Nemo tried to ration such compliments to avoid inflating her ego, but
this one slipped out.
Now youre talking magic, I cant keep up anymore, Mags said in mock
complaint.
Heres something more mechanikal for you to study, said Nemo. He
tossed her the bag of spring-loaded projectiles.
Mags stepped forward to catch the bag, but her mechanikal leg
screeched and held her back. Dammit!
Nemo also reached for the falling bag but gasped in pain as another
back spasm struck.
Finch caught the pouch before it hit the ground. She passed it to
Mags, shaking her head as her gaze flicked between the mechanik and the
warcaster. Should I summon a nurse?
Finch! they warned her in unison.
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Aurora
Sabina flew especially too close. Aurora felt that at any moment the razorsharp tips of her broad wings might shear through her lieutenants shorter
brass wingsnot that losing the appendages would cause them to plummet.
The wings provided only guidance. Aurora and her bodyguards flew by
virtue of Auroras own enhancement of the arcane displacement fields, the
same gravity-defying devices that reduced the load on Convergence vectors
and allowed certain of them, along with servitors, to hover above the ground.
Through years of study and experiment, Aurora had discovered the
means to miniaturize the displacement field emitter and enhance its range,
installing the improved devices in both her bodyguards clockwork vessels
and her armor. Thus equipped, she and the clockwork angels could soar
high above the surface of Caen. When she had presented her invention to
the Constellation, the convocation of the wisest minds in the Convergence
had bestowed a new title upon her: Numen of Aerogenesis.
Aurora banked, diving to escape the mother hens, as she had
sometimes thought of her winged bodyguards in the weeks since arriving
in Calbeck. A pang of guilt spoiled Auroras mischievous delight at the
unspoken comparison of her bodyguards to the birds whose filth stained
the streets of the town. Her elite clockwork angels were peerless in combat
and unquestionably loyal. They were nothing like the dirty animals pecking
for seed in their squalid yards.
Foremost among Auroras bodyguard was Sabina, one of the most
veteran warriors of the Convergence. For well over a century she had
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15
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with less magnificent wings. She had chosen only the most skilled warriors,
and each had already fought at her side in over a dozen battles.
When she had first unveiled the angels, Directrix remarked on the
resemblance between Aurora and her bodyguards. Do you not think it
self-indulgent?
Self-reliant, Aurora had dared to correct the iron mother. She restrained
herself from noting that no one understood self-reliance better than a girl
whose mother had abandoned her mortal body when the child was only
three years old. Now Directrix pressured Aurora to go into the priesthood,
rather than helping her daughter join her in clockwork perfection.
Another prominent Convergence warcaster still remaining in his
living body was Axis, known as the Harmonic Enforcer. The fanatical
warrior had joined the Convergence when Directrix spared his life after
eliminating the other leaders of his radical sect. He had since proven his
loyalty countless times, often in battle at Auroras side. Axis erratic temper,
however, led many to question his sanity. While she saw him as a beloved
if unhinged uncle, Aurora was unsurprised he had not been chosen to take
on a clockwork body.
Yet Aurora deserved the transfer. Her innovations alone should
have earned her the honor. Each time she saw others receive a perfect
clockwork body, she seethed with resentment. Axis sought to soothe her
disappointment by reminding Aurora that her youth was the reason the
Constellation had not yet chosen her. In time, he said, she would have what
she desired.
Sabina drew up beside Aurora, shaking her head in exasperation. As
they circled the upper tower of the astronometric nexus, the Baleful Moon
reflected off Sabinas perfect, chromium face.
Before her bodyguard could speak, Aurora dove again, this time
hurtling through the scaffolding toward the great gears and axles driving
the towers geomantic stimulators deep into the earth. She folded her
wings at precisely the right instant to pass through without touching the
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support pipes. A mischievous smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she
heard the tip of Sabinas brass wing chime against the iron.
The astronometric nexus was as complete as necessary for the mission,
but Aurora had ordered the servitors to leave the scaffolding in place. She
hoped its presence would provide the illusion of an unfinished construction
and thus inspire less urgency in the Cygnarans.
Despite Auroras capturing the entire population in one swift action, a
mercenary company had discovered their presence sooner than calculated
worse, they had captured a vector and two servitors. The Cygnaran Army
had responded even more quickly than the most conservative projections
of Auroras mission schematics. When one of her clockwork angels had
spied the Cygnarans transporting the captured units across the Dragons
Tongue River, Aurora had hoped for an unexpected opportunity to recover
her captured forces. Instead, she had fallen into a trap.
Now the enemy commander counted another Monitor and a squad of
reductors among his captives. The loss of the clockwork soldiers stung the
most, for they were no mere automatons; they were human personalities
enclosed in clockwork vessels. To lose a vector or servitor was to lose a
machine; to lose a clockwork soldier was to lose a soul.
Though the Cryx had been destroyed or driven off and the mercenaries
had returned to count their coins and bury their dead, Aurora knew that she
now faced a far greater threat: the nescient savant named Sebastian Nemo.
Even before capturing his most recent prizes, the Cygnaran warcaster
had apparently studied many examples of captured or salvaged Convergence
technology over the years, turning that knowledge to the improvement of
his nations weapons. It was thus no surprise that the latest Cygnaran war
machines glowed with the same voltaic light that supplemented the springwound gears of Convergence constructs.
Nemo had proven as crafty in the field as he was learned in the
workshop. While at Sabinas urging Aurora remained to the rear of her
ambush force, she had still been surprised to see Nemo personally spring
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his trap. If he had left the matter to subordinates, Aurora would have
swept down with the clockwork angels to defeat them utterly. Yet once she
saw the arcane runes of his spells and the devastating power of his chain
lightning, she hesitated.
At the sight of the Thunderhead running up behind the wagon, she knew
her strike team was too small to take on a fellow warcasterespecially one
such as Sebastian Nemo. While his age might fool some into discounting
his battle prowess, Aurora knew his most dangerous weapon was his mind.
Aurora consoled herself with the knowledge that she had lost another
Monitor, not a different model of vector. Nemo would have no new vectors
to study if Aurora could help it. The man was dangerous enough without
allowing him to unlock more secrets of Convergence technology.
Aurora led her bodyguards in a dwindling spiral until they swooped
beneath the legs of the tower. In the shadows of two of the tower legs stood
the Transfinite Emergence Projectors, Auroras battle engines. Behind a third
leg lurked the titanic Prime Axiom. Aurora smiled to imagine the reaction
of the Cygnaran troops if she were to reveal the colossal. Part of her hoped
that would not be necessary. Another part hoped very much that it would.
Aurora rose, curling her wings to rise and stall just as she flew onto the
aerie Syntherion had built for her. An instant later, her bodyguard landed
to either side.
Four of them took up guard positions at the corners of the observation
deck, where the automatic stairs emerged from the tower legs. Beside the
stair openings, lift tubes rose into the upper reaches of the tower.
In the center of the aerie, a curtain of rippled steel concealed the central
pavilion. At a gesture from Aurora, the veil descended to reveal her personal
sanctum. She stepped into the pavilion, Sabina at her side. Moments later,
the veil rose back into place.
Aurora set her polynomial staff in a chrome-and-brass rack suspended
from the ceiling. Once in place, the weapons shape combined with the
intricate shape of the rack to form a work of abstract art.
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The days exertions had left Aurora filthy with sweat and grime. She
longed to feel clean again, to scrub away this daily reminder of her imperfect
human body. Even more than that, she wished to wash away the memory
of failure and retreat. She moved to a steep tub and opened the brass water
fixtures. Steaming water poured from the tap.
A pair of modified accretion servitors rose to hover beside the tub.
Unlike clockwork soldiers, and like the vectors, servitors housed no
human consciousness. Instead, a series of brass cards dictated their default
behavior. These servitors had been designed long ago by Aurora herself,
both as an exercise in programming cards and as a personal indulgence.
A chirping sound at the veil announced a visitor. Sabina went to a panel
hanging from the ceiling, pressed a button, and listened.
As the tub filled with steaming water, Aurora walked to a circular dais,
beside which stood a featureless brass model of her body. As she set foot
on the topmost tier, four more modified servitors floated down from their
perches in the ceiling. Two of them descended to grip her armored legs.
Their whirring screwdrivers unfastened her chromium boots, and she
stepped out of them.
The two other servitors grasped her steel-and-brass wings. With a few
economical ratcheting motions, they detached the wings and drew them to
the ceiling, where built-in appendages reached down to tighten screws and
probe for damage.
Numen, said Sabina with a smart salute,First Prefect Pollux and Prime
Enumerator Septimus to see you. Shall I tell them you are indisposed?
Not at all, said Aurora, raising an arm to allow a servitor to grasp her bracer.
But
Send them in.
Sabina turned her unreadable face back to the panel and spoke quietly.
Aurora shook out a cascade of dark brown hair as the servitors removed
her helm. They floated over to set it, along with the rest of her armor, on
the brass replica of their mistress.
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The first visitor to enter was Pollux, First Prefect of Auroras reductors.
His mechanikal voice box was already engaged as he entered the chamber.
With the utmost respect, Numen, I must protest the use of my soldiers
in this highly danger
With a click and a whirr, his voice fell silent as his optic lens fell upon
Aurora. The utility pincers pulled away the armor from her legs and hips.
Pollux froze, his reductors body as still as a statue.
Do continue, First Prefect. Aurora handed a servitor her utility belt
and the skirt hanging from it.
His vocal apparatus clicked on and off several times. Pollux turned his
head away from Aurora and remained silent.
Dont just stand there, said Enumerator Bogdan, pushing past the
stationary soldier. The tail of his vestments whispered across the chamber
floor between the clanking steps of his battle armor. He had left his
weapon, shield, and helm behind. Inside Auroras pavilion, he carried
on his belt only a blowtorch, spanner, and the other tools with which he
repaired troops and vectors in the field.
An abstract sculpture above Auroras bed caught Bogdans attention.
His gaze flicked to the next in the series. He smiled as he admired each in
turn until at last he saw steam clouding the sculpture hanging above the
bath. His heavy eyebrows shot up.
He turned slowly toward Aurora as the servitors removed the last of
her armor. He slapped a hand over his eyes. I beg your pardon, Numen.
Your guards said we should enter. I had no idea you would be
Prime Enumerator Septimus stepped past the veil on four mechanikal
legs. His consciousness resided within a chassis similar to those of the
enigma foundries, clockwork priests tasked with salvaging the souls of
fallen warriors. Three pairs of human-shaped arms lay folded in serene
gestures on his lower torso. To either side of his essence chamber, which
illuminated the Face of Cyriss, two shoulder units housed his personal
astronometric nexus. Their geomantic calculations informed the priest of
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the relative positions of the moons, the sun, and the planets at all times.
Between them rose a sculpted neck and a serene, androgynous abstraction
of a human face.
Aurora stepped down from her armory dais. Well?
As she walked to the bath, Pollux continued to turn his neck rotor to
avoid seeing her nude figure. Bogdan peeked through his fingers as Aurora
stepped into the water. Prime Enumerator Septimus appeared oblivious
both to Auroras nakedness and to his colleagues discomfort. Our scouts
have not yet reported the return of the units you assigned to recover the
lost vector.
Aurora sank down into the bath, hoping her face betrayed none of the
irritation the clockwork priests question aroused in her. She delayed by
sprinkling bath salts into the water.
An impatient clicking sounded deep within Septimus chassis.
No, Prime Enumerator, said Aurora. The transport of the captured
Monitor was a trap. My bodyguard and I narrowly avoided a confrontation
with the enemy warcaster.
What about my troops? Pollux stepped forward, still averting his gaze
from the bath.
The Cygnaran ambush captured them along with the second Monitor
I bought to free the first.
Oh, no, said Bogdan. The priest pulled at the fingers of his gauntlets,
abandoning all pretense of looking away from Auroras naked body. What
a catastrophe!
It was a calculated risk, said Aurora. She drenched a sponge in water
and used it to soothe her aching neck. Nemo himself participated in the
ambush.
So it was he you spied across the river, observed Septimus.
Condensation from the steam beaded on his immotile face.
Nemo must have been the one who sent the mercenaries to search the
Wythmoor for our forces.
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It was an effort to keep her amusement off her face, but Aurora secretly
reveled in the effect her informal audience had on Bogdan and Pollux.
Their discomfort underscored a truth she had long suspected: Even
after transference to his clockwork vessel, Pollux felt uneasiness at her
immodesty; Bogdan remained a slave to his flesh; yet Septimus, over two
centuries interred in a succession of clockwork vessels, had sloughed off his
carnal impulses.
The flesh was vulnerable, imperfect. Aurora felt her longing for
transference more keenly than ever.
She stepped out of the tub and dried her arms and legs before cinching
the towel around her body.
Numen, please, said Pollux. He stepped closer, his optical lens fixed
directly on her face. Will you negotiate for the return of my reductors?
Aurora returned his monocular gaze. She admired the fervor with
which he spoke for his troops. His custodial instinct reminded her of the
protectiveness that Sabina showed for her.
No, Prefect, she said with some reluctance. His voice box clicked, but
before he could protest, she added, To petition for an exchange so soon
would give the enemy an impression of weakness. But I promise you, when
the time is right I will make every effort to recover their essence chambers.
After a moments hesitation, Pollux nodded and stepped back.
The iron mother has entrusted you with a great responsibility, Numen,
said Septimus. May the Maiden of Gears guide your calculations.
Aurora smiled as she nodded acknowledgment of his blessing. She
knew perfectly well that Septimus or one of his minions reported her every
move to Iron Mother Directrix. Insofar as the iron mother was the current
leader of the Convergence, that was only proper. But it was also infuriating
because Directrix was her mother, whose control Aurora felt she would
never escape.
We all understand the pressure on you must be a great burden, added
Bogdan. If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to call upon me.
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24
Sebastian Nemo sat up, wincing at the pain he still felt in his chest.
His hand drifted unbidden to the crescent scar inflicted by the Cryxian
stalker that had struck him down. If not for the intervention of Victoria
Haley, Nemo surely would have died among the stark trees of the
Thornwood. His fingers slid along the ragged edges of the scar across
his belly.
Nemo had survived only by a divine miracleor rather, by several
miracles. The concerted efforts of several Morrowan priests had finally
healed his grievous injury. Despite their assurances, he knew in his heart
he would continue to feel the pain of the wounds until his dying breath.
Until then, they would not stop him.
He swung his legs over the side of his cot and felt the cold grass beneath
his naked feet. The startling sensation reminded him that reinforcements
and the relative comforts of their supply wagons, one of which he hoped
contained his carpethad not yet arrived.
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Torchlight slipped in beneath the tent flap. Nemo pinched the bridge of
his nose and squinted at the shadow of the soldier standing outside. Well,
what is it?
The mans feet shuffled. The tent flap opened. A fresh-faced soldier
peered inside. Begging the generals pardon, I didnt say anything, said the
young man. Sir.
Nemos lips tightened, but before he could frame an admonishment, he
realized the guard was not to blame. It was the sound of his given name
that had pulled him from slumber. No one in campexcept brassy Mags
Jernigandared address him so.
Sebastian, he thought he had heard. Whatever else dissolved with the
memory of the dream.
Was it Wilhelmina he imagined had called to him? Madeleine? He
struggled to picture the faces of his wife and daughter. It had been so
long since he had seen either of them, his memory transposed upon
their features those of otherslovers, apprentices, colleagues, friends,
and enemiesa ceaseless parade of faces briefly glimpsed, then
vanished.
Mina had died of rip lung a few months after taking Maddie and
abandoning their home. He had not even been present for her death.
Instead, he had been far afield, defending Cygnar.
At least, that is what he had told himself in his younger days. Now he
was able to admit that what he was really doing was avenging the death of
the brother who had died while under his command. Decades had cooled
his need to punish the enemies of Cygnar, to prove himself worthy after his
great early failure. What remained was a highly ingrained reflex to serve his
country to the best of his ability.
Some mistook it for duty. Nemo knew it for what it was: an old habit,
one he could never shake.
Even when Maddie had been returned to him, it soon became obvious
that Nemo could not care for her while remaining in the kings service. He
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sent her to be raised by his sisters in Shieldpoint, thinking it for the best.
When he visited, he found her sullen and uncommunicative, even though
his sisters letters described the girl as lively and brilliant. Once she came
of age, Maddie left home and swore never again to speak to the father who
had chosen war over his family.
Nemo had sought her out, of course. He had listened in the darkened
reaches of the high gallery as she defended her dissertation on ancient
literature. When he had learned a young man was courting her, he had
made inquiries until he was assured of the mans character and that of
his family. He had anonymously sent gifts on their wedding and on the
birthdays of their three children, two boys and a girl, until he had learned
Maddie always discarded them.
He had almost spoken to her, once, long after her own children had left
home. Standing across the street from Maddies rare book shop in Corvis,
he had glimpsed her through the storefront glass. The rain had melted
her image before him, but he could see that she had spied him. He had
hastened away, feeling guilty as a peeper. He had not returned since.
The only immutable image he retained was of Maddies blue eyes, fixed
like a pair of pole stars in a dissolving sky.
Do you require assistance, sir? asked the guard.
No, nothing. Close the flap! Youre letting in a draft.
The very fact that he had dreamed told Nemo he had slept longer than
expected. When he was at work on a technical problem, he could go for
weeks without more than the occasional nap. After the hard ride from
Point Bourne and the hasty preparations to lure more of the clockwork
intruders into a trap, his body was exhausted.
If only he could still his mind long enough to let it recover.
As he pulled on woolen stockings, Nemo mused that his trap had
been only partially successful. He had hoped to observe the leader of this
clockwork army in action. After her brief encounter with the Devil Dogs,
however, the flying warcaster had become cautious.
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The technology permitting the warcaster and her winged guardians to fly
astonished even Nemo, who had first examined the peculiar science of the
Cult of Cyriss from items salvaged from one of their abandoned, subterranean
temples. Studying them had inspired some of his own refinements on
devices like the mighty Thunderhead. The similarity between the Cyrissist
devices and his own voltaic creations instilled a deep curiosity in Nemo, but
the defense of his country left him precious little time to pursue his interest.
War came first.
Nemo accepted the fact that he would sleep no more that morning. He
donned the rest of his clothes and stepped outside.
Where is the mess? he asked.
The soldier indicated one of the camouflaged tents. Sir!
I will don my armor when I return. Have an attendant ready. He
walked away as the soldier saluted.
Inside the mess tent, one member of the kitchen patrol added flaked
oats and dried apples to a boiling pot, while another patted out discs
of dough for griddle bread. A third spied Nemos entrance and began
preparing a pot of tea.
Youre up early, old man, said Mags Jernigan. The mechanik sat alone
at the center of a long mess table.
Nemo took a seat opposite the mechanik. Youre up late, old woman.
You cant call me that, she said. I was born twelve and a half days
after you.
Id forgotten that.
One of the men came over and laid Nemos silver teapot and a plate of
biscuits on the table. Would you care for breakfast, sir?
Nemo waved him off.
Mags commandeered the pot and poured for Nemo. Ill never forget
the birthday party they threw for the two of us after that battle at Bleeding
Rock Gulch. I bet Stryker a hundred crowns Id get you drunk before the
night was over.
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her missing breasts and his chagrin that he had not done more to help her
acquire a better prosthetic. Yes, after our briefing.
What briefing? she asked.
The one youre giving on the clockwork soldiers, said Nemo. It takes
place in the map tent, and it begins in an hour.
Despite himself, Nemo savored the sound of Mags running back to the
workshop, but he winced at the squeals her old mechanikal leg let out
at every second step. He could have fixed it himself, if only he could
find the time for something less urgent than a threat to the country.
Soon, he promised himself, he would make that time. Hell, he would
make her the finest mechanikal leg in all of Cygnar. Despite their merry
war, Mags was more than a friend to him. She was the closest thing he
had to family.
That thought brought a pang of guilt to his stomach. How many
promises had he madeand brokento his family? Mags was right to
give him a hard time, even if she took an indecent pleasure in tweaking
him.
Nemo sometimes wondered why he surrounded himself with
incorrigibles like Mags Jernigan and Ford Blackburn instead of more
disciplined soldiers. He knew the answer, even if he didnt like to admit it.
Irritation forms the pearl. Your best ideas always come after someone
has made you grumpy. Thats what Mina had always said to him, back
when she still loved him.
It felt like a thousand years ago.
Nemo shook away the nostalgia clouding his thoughts. It was crucial
that he focus on present issues, not his past failings.
While his small company awaited reinforcements from Point Bourne,
Nemo felt vulnerable so close to the Cyrissist force holding Calbeck. Part
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Nemo waited a few seconds before entering the map tent precisely on time.
He was satisfied to see Sergeant Jernigan, Storm Chaser Finch, and Major
Blackburn awaiting him. They stood between the partially disassembled
body of an enemy warjack and a dismantled clockwork soldier. Beside each
of them stood a glassy cylinder, the larger one dark, the smaller glowing a
steady blue-white.
Go, he said without preamble.
Mags held a meaty hand over the soldier. First off, theres no power
core. No firebox, no storm chamber, no nothing that I can identify,
anyway.
But how? began Finch.
Finch, said Nemo. Listen first. Ask questions later.
You always pick the feisty ones, dont you? said Mags.
Continue, Sergeant.
Here, said Mags, peeling away the back plate of a clockwork soldier.
This is definitely a power junction. No, before you ask, it isnt a generator.
Where is the power source? said Nemo.
This. Mags touched the blue-white cylinder she had removed from
the soldiers chest. It glowed as brightly as it had when Nemo had first seen
the clockwork soldiers. The big ones we pulled out of the warjacks have
already faded. Im guessing they keep the soldiers ticking way longer than
the big units.
How long?
She shook her head. I cant tell you that without a proper workshop,
more samples, and more time. For the warjacks, Id wager were talking
hours, not days. Definitely not more than a day or so. These guys? Like I
said, theres no way of telling in this field workshop.
How did these warjacks capture Calbeck if they can operate for only
a few hours?
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I dont got that figured out just yet. Their power junctions look like
theyre receiving power from more than just this unit.
Receiving? That suggests
Yeah, the main power source is independent of their bodies.
Transmitted from the tower?
Seems the most obvious possibility. Anyway, theres other interesting
stuff.
From a small crate, Mags lifted a clockwork soldiers head and connected
it to a brass-and-chromium module she had removed from the chest. She
picked up the glowing cylinder. One cap glowed beneath an etched Face
of Cyriss, which Nemo took for the front. On the back, he spied a contact
plate that matched one on the box.
Nemo took the cylinder from Mags. The power source?
Its more than that, said Mags. She gestured to the matching contacts
on the box and cylinder. Give it a try.
Nemo fitted the cylinder to the box. As they made contact, he heard a
faint hum from within the chest module. The ocular lenses on the soldiers
head remained dim and blank.
Nemo set aside the cylinder and fetched a pair of narrow pliers from
Mags worktable. He removed the head from what he was beginning to
think of as a spinal axis and began clearing lightning-twisted metal from
the aperture.
Finch picked up the cylinder and hefted it. Could this be a sort of
cortex?
Mags and Blackburn shrugged. Nemo offered only a noncommittal
grunt as he continued to work on the head. He cleared the blackened
conduits that seemed least integral to the connection and reassembled the
head, spinal axis, and power exchange. At last he retrieved the cylinder
from Finch.
When he fit the cylinder to the power exchange, a voice box in the helm
squawked. The ocular lens flickered with blue-white light.
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Aurora
Aurora oversaw the attack from the southern edge of the observation
deck. Sabina stood at her side, the rest of her bodyguards behind them. Far
below, Convergence forces fired on the Cygnaran camp.
Even as she stretched out her thoughts to direct the Ciphers in their
bombardment, Aurora sensed the tension in Sabina. Aurora no longer
joked that her bodyguards were wound too tight. Those who had resided in
clockwork vessels as long as Sabina found such puns more pitiable than witty.
Numen, Storm Lances to the east, said Sabina.
Aurora saw them. A dozen mounted knights rode out of camp in
an obvious attempt at a flanking maneuver. With their lightning lances
ignited, there was no missing them in the early morning light.
Rather than draw back the Ciphers, Aurora reached out to one of the
heavy vectors. She changed its servipod mortar from bombardment to
flare mode and fired a shot directly over the cavalry. A blazing white flare
descended toward them, less to direct additional fire than to remind them
just how visible they were.
With the remaining Ciphers, Aurora continued punishing the camp
with a combination of anti-personnel and trench-breaking mortars.
The bombardment shells fell among the tents, flinging shrapnel in all
directions, felling soldiers who failed to reach shelter in time. Elsewhere,
the penetrating shells left enormous craters in the ground, hindering
movement.
A shell fell directly on a tent, blowing scraps of canvas and a cloud of
sod into the air. Aurora noted no sign of furnishings or human remains
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The shriek of a chain gun rose from a trench at the edge of the Cygnar
camp. Aurora felt a flash of irritation at the realization that her servitors
had failed to locate both the trench and the presence of a heavy gun. What
else might they have missed?
The anger barely warmed her cheeks before transforming into a pang of
guilt. She knew full well the limitations of the servitors when she assigned
them the task of scouts. Unlike vectors, which she controlled directly, or the
autonomous clockwork soldiers and priests, servitors were limited by their
situation response algorithms. They could harbor only the most succinct
lists of conditional commands encoded from the small brass sheets fed
them that provided their instructions. Even the most advanced servitors
could not approach the ability of a living soul to comprehend what it saw
and relay that information in a cogent manner.
Aurora should have sent troops to scout the camp before mounting
her rescue operation, but she had focused her attention on the ill-fated
recovery mission. The result was poor intelligence on the camp, as well as
the loss of another Monitor and eight of her reductors.
Even without First Prefect Pollux to remind her, Aurora knew she had
no one but herself to blame for these mistakes.
Numen, Commandos, said Sabina. She pointed west, at the edge of
the same woods where Nemo had ambushed her strike team.
At first Aurora noticed nothing, but then she perceived the faint
movement of men through the woods. If not for the autumns stripping of
the leaves, they might have been invisible from the observation deck.
Shall I warn Prime Enumerator Septimus?
No, said Aurora. She had ordered the clockwork priest to keep those
troops in reserve while she used the vectors to probe Nemos defenses.
Well keep the soldiers in place behind the Ciphers. I want to see how
these Cygnarans react to the reflex servitors.
Confident she would hear that reaction when it came, Aurora returned
her gaze to the east.
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While the surviving cavalry withdrew out of range of the Mitigator and
Diffusers, two of the storm lances dismounted and ran back to the fallen
riders. One needed help to walk, but both had slipped out from under
their fallen steeds.
Despite their efforts, the rescuers couldnt free the horses from the razor
nets. Aurora kept her face still as the fallen horses thrashed, the blades
digging deeper into their legs. When the futility of escape became clear, one
of the rescuers raised his lance and fired a mercy shot into a horses skull.
Aurora flinched. She cast a surreptitious glance to the side to see
whether Sabina noticed her reaction to the animals death. If she had, she
betrayed no sign of it.
After euthanizing the second horse, the rescuers fled on foot. If she
allowed them to retreat unchallenged, Nemo might think her weak.
She returned her attention to a Diffuser, targeted one of the retreating
men, and fired. A homing ripspike cut through his chest and dropped his
limp body to the ground.
As the lance fell from his hand, something twisted in Auroras gut. She
couldnt decide whether it felt just or pathetic that he was the one to die
after saving his men and dispatching their horses.
In either event, she had not given the appearance of weakness.
A flash of lightning drew Auroras gaze to the center of the Cygnaran
camp. The Thunderhead was on the move. As it tramped through the camp,
two pairs of smaller warjacks fell in beside it. Aurora recognized them from
the identification plates she had studied. They were Lancers and Fireflies.
The former would extend the reach of their warcasters spells, while the latter
could fire bolts of lightning, like the Thunderhead and their controller.
Where is Nemo? said Aurora. She squinted down at the field but
couldnt spot him.
Aurora imagined the hand of the goddess had directed Sebastian Nemo
to this first substantial conflict with the Convergence. Prime Enumerator
Septimus had told Aurora that Cyrissists from several factions in Caspia
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had made repeated overtures to the Artificer General. Such a keen mind
would have made a splendid addition to the leadership.
Or a splendid triumph to the one who defeated him.
Here he comes, said Sabina.
Nemo and his assistant emerged from behind a long tent. A platoon of
Stormblades followed, their glaives igniting as they ran.
The Thunderhead leaped the trench, followed an instant later by the
Fireflies and Lancers. The smaller warjacks clutched sizzling electroglaives or war spears in their right hands. Upon the Fireflies left arms were
mounted storm blasters, lightning already flickering along the weapons
coils. The Lancers held up their shields and ran past the other warjacks,
exposing themselves to a charge from the Ciphers.
Aurora would not be lured into another trap. She reached out her thoughts
to direct the Ciphers to retreat. This time, Nemo could come to her.
With his apprentice at his side, Sebastian Nemo leaped the trench
behind the warjacks. For an instant he seemed to hover above the gap, his
hair lifted and illuminated by the lightning arcing from the coils on his
back to the head of his mechanikal staff.
The brief image caught Auroras breath. Twice now she had glimpsed
her enemys snow-white hair. Once she had even been close enough to see
the deep lines in his aged face. She wondered how someone so old could
appear so vital, so full of physical power.
The Stormblades followed the warcaster over the trench, glaives or
storm throwers in their arms. A moment later, trenchers poured out of
their concealment, carbines held high as they ran forward at angles, leaving
room between them for the chain-gunner to cover their advance.
As the vectors withdrew, Septimus ordered his obstructors into
position before them. Once they stood before the vectors, the clockwork
soldiers interlaced their scalloped shields to form a shield wall. There
they stood with teleflails raised, ready to smash any who approached
their line.
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Aurora returned her thoughts to the Ciphers, adjusting their aim to fire
upon the advancing Cygnarans. Explosions rained dirt and sod over the
Thunderhead and Fireflies, but none landed a direct hit.
A quiet whirring told Aurora that Sabina had magnified her vision as
she peered down at the warjacks. For the thousandth time, Aurora rued
her mortal eyes. She should have brought a spyglass, but lifting it to her eye
would only remind her bodyguard of her fleshy body.
Not even a scratch, said Sabina.
Another bombardment servipod volley obliterated a pair of trenchers,
painting their nearest comrades red and black.
An explosion in the western wood drew Auroras attention. Another
followed, this time with the agonizing crack and scream of a felled tree.
Amid the clamor of snapping branches came the cries of the commandos
who thought they were approaching undetected. The reflex servitors had
performed their function, detecting their movement and flying straight
toward the men to explode on impact.
Nemo raised his weapon. Beside him his apprentice raised her own,
guiding lightning from the warcasters galvanic coils and directing it to the
Thunderhead before them.
A blazing circle of runes appeared around Nemos body, slowly rotating
as he filled himself with arcane power. From both his staff and his empty
hand, lightning leaped skyward and vanished. The voltaic storm reappeared
at the far end of the advancing Cygnar line, where it shot out from one of
the Lancers.
The bolt shot into the nearest obstructor, raising the clockwork soldier
off the ground in a hideous dance before leaping to the next. The second
soldier stood firm as the lightning blackened its shield, and still the lightning
traveled along the line. Before it was done, two obstructors lay jerking on the
ground, while the others closed the gaps to retain their shield wall.
Before Auroras mind could process the swiftness of the attack,
Nemos storm flashed again, this time from the opposite Lancer. The
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Witchfire Affair, Ive always said they would show their true colors one
day.
So you have, agreed Nemo. Considering recent events, he felt no need
to dispute the knights assertion, although he had never before shared the
depths of Gearys distrust of the cult.
To Nemo the Cyrissists had seemed an unorganized society of eccentric
intellectuals and craftsmen. In worshipping a goddess of science, they
appeared merely to celebrate their professionsand, frankly, themselves
more than posing a legitimate danger to the Morrowan faith, much less
to the public at large. That an isolated faction of them had once served
a darker cause had never alarmed Nemo. After all, even the church of
Morrow counted traitors, murderers, and worse among its faithful.
The moment Geary had learned that alleged necromancers were found
among the Cyrissists, he could barely contain his animosity. Nemo admired
the mans passion, but it seemed indiscriminate.
May I see them, these clockwork soldiers? said Geary. The rims of his
eyes were startlingly pink against his pale skin. He had sometimes been
mistaken for an albino.
After I have finished inspecting the reinforcements.
Of course, said Geary. Of course.
Nemo led Geary through the camp, Finch at his side and the ensign at
the knights. Nemo saw Geary nod approvingly at what he saw all around
them. Nemo was also pleased to see how efficiently the soldiers responded
to the recent attack.
Both those who had accompanied him to Calbeck and the newcomers
had already repaired or removed the damaged tents. No wounded were to
be seen, for they had been carried into casualty tents designated by Major
Blackburn.
To the north, trenchers were already at work expanding the defenses. To
the east and south, Nemo saw at a glance that rifle and commando officers
were mustering their troops for an envelopment action after consulting
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with Blackburn. All around them, the camp continued to grow as soldiers
dug latrines and erected additional shelters.
How many storm lances, Finch?
Ten, sir, not including those we already had, she said. She had lowered
the goggles to protect her eyes against the dust. The pressure on her nose
altered her voice so slightly that no one who didnt know her well would
have noticed.
Nemo considered doing the same, but he thought it discourteous when
Geary had no such protection.
As they walked through the camp, Finch counted off Stormguard and
Stormbladesnoting how many of them carried the heavy lightning guns
known as storm throwersas well as riflemen, grenadiers, commandos,
medics, field mechaniks, and support troops.
Look, sir! Finch pointed at a wagon piled high with crates along with
a warjack covered in tarpaulins. The distinctive storm blaster of a Firefly
jutted out of its concealment. Above the curved line of its shoulder, a trio
of distinctive rods projected above the load, bobbing where their wielders
sat concealed on the wagons tailgate. Stormsmiths!
Nemo nodded, hoping for the best. Ideally, he would have summoned
veteran crews, men and women who had fought beside him before. After
the conflict in the Thornwood, however, he feared too few of them survived
for him to be choosy. He would have to make do with whomever the Lord
Commander had seen fit to send from where his forces were recuperating
in Point Bourne.
Many stormsmiths were not only brilliant but also disciplined,
professional, and reliable. Yet a troubling fraction of the most talented
arcanists and mechaniks were also somewhat, for lack of a better term,
eccentric. Some of the latter sort simply lacked basic social graces,
and their behavior was annoying at most. By comparison, however,
some could make Sergeant Mags Jernigan seem the epitome of military
discipline.
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I cant even tell anymore, said Nemo. How old do you think he is,
Finch?
Pretty old, she said. Twenty-eight, at least.
Nemo sighed.
As he returned his gaze to the spot Benedict had vacated, Nemo started
at the unexpected materialization of three storm callers standing in midsalute before Caitlin Finch.
Jimmies! cried Finch, returning their salute with a non-regulation
flourish.
The stormsmiths wore identical long blue coats and held their storm
rods at identical angles. Nemo groaned inwardly as he recognized their
relatively young faces.
These three he knew all too well.
Most stormsmiths were considerably more experienced than journeyman
warcasters. They were among the most adept practitioners of advanced
mechanika, their ranks filled by the most proficient mechaniks and arcane
mechaniks, including those specializing in storm sciences. It was rare to
encounter one under the age of thirty, but now and then a prodigy emerged.
These three had graduated from the Strategic Academy together.
Or rather, Nemo often thought, they had somehow escaped.
Baker, Smith, and Hurndall reporting for duty, sir! cried the one
Nemo thought was Hurndall. He looked different now that his long blond
hair had turned bright blue.
Nemo frowned at the notion of a Stormsmith Smith, but he knew
remarking on the unfortunate name would only evoke some shaggy
dog story with the punch line Smith. Instead he narrowed his eyes at
Hurndall. What the hell happened to your hair, Stormsmith?
During a recent visit to the Order of the Golden Crucible in Fharin,
sir, there was a slight misunderstanding. It actually makes for quite an
amusing anecdote, if you would care to hear
Tell me you arent the only stormsmiths Stryker could spare.
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No, sir, said Baker or Smith, whichever one was the ginger. Four
more are coming with the Storm Striders. Pond and McCoy are with the
Fireflies. Jones and Troughton and their assistants have the storm towers.
How many Fireflies and towers?
Two of each, sir, said the other one, Smith or Baker.
That was something. In fact, it was more than something. While Nemo
might have quibbled over his selection of storm callers, Stryker had sent
much more galvanic armament than Nemo had imagined he could spare.
He hoped the Lord Commander hadnt been rash in depleting his garrison
while Cryx remained an unchecked menace.
Nemo released the specialists to Finch. When she dismissed them
with a warning to have their gear ready for inspection within the hour,
their precisely sequential salutes and Yes, sirs! caused Nemo to raise a
suspicious eyebrow. He could never tell whether these pranksters were
insolent or just mentally peculiar.
As they departed, Nemo asked Finch, Jimmies?
Because their first names are all James.
I thought one was Gerald.
Honorary Jimmy.
Exasperated, Nemo turned back to Chaplain Geary. The Precursor
knight stood a respectful distance away, but his eyes gave away his eagerness
to see the captives.
Come. Nemo beckoned to him. Let us start in the workshop.
As they returned westward across the camp, Finch pointed toward the
map tent. Sir.
Standing beside the guard were four mechaniks, their fearful eyes fixed
on Nemo.
Of course, said Nemo. Mags Cyrissists.
Cyrissists? said Geary. You have some in your army right now?
If we disqualified them, wed lose half our best mechaniks. Besides, the
king has granted them the right to practice their religion freely.
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Two guards on the western perimeter have been killed, torn to pieces by
those little saw-projectiles we faced last night.
What of the vectors?
Blackburn turned his head at an inquisitive angle.
The enemy warjacks, man. Are they still here?
His head bobbed in understanding. Yes, sir.
What exactly happened?
Were still gathering reports, but we know a squadron of clockwork
soldiers struck the workshop during the attack from Calbeck. From the
footprints, we see they retreated to the west, presumably to return to
Calbeck. I have rangers tracing their steps.
Nemo thought of the known Cyrissists under guard at his map tent.
How many more were present now that reinforcements had arrived?
How do we know our own people didnt take the automatons and
leave voluntarily? Nemo glanced at Geary. He hated asking such a
question, especially in front of the Precursor chaplain, but he needed the
answer.
Weve found prints leading from and back to the western wood. They
look like they came from more clockwork soldiers. There are signs of a
struggle in the workshop, including a small amount of blood. Blackburn
emphasized small amount, perhaps in consideration of Nemos friendship
with Mags. I dont think our people gave up without a fight. More likely
they were captured.
Did no one witness this kidnapping?
None that Ive yet found, sir. There was a great deal of confusion
during the attack.
What of the commandos you had covering the west?
Blackburns face hardened. The survivors report seeing movement on
the way back, but they had their hands full returning the wounded. They
encountered more of those floating spheres, different from the ones you
captured. These flew straight toward the men before exploding.
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Aurora
hastened to keep pace with her, their heels clicking on the deck. In Sabinas
absence, they remained silent unless Aurora addressed them.
Despite her best efforts, Aurora could not see the scouts her angels
reported creeping up to the very edge of the village before being driven
away by her troops. One had reportedly come close enough to speak
with some of the prisoners inside the schoolhouse before a reductor
patrol spied him. Somehow the ranger still managed to escape, even
through the doubled guard of obstructors and eradicators along the
perimeter. She felt a grudging admiration for the mans feat. Perhaps
the legend of the Cygnaran rangers contained more truth than she had
ever realized.
With the village surrounded, Aurora no longer felt the need to
conceal her strength. She had already directed the Transfinite Emergence
Projectors to step out from beneath the shelter of the realignment node.
Permutation servitors orbited their gun platforms like moons, ready to
dart forward and intercept enemy fire.
She moved the Prime Axiom out from behind the riverside leg of the
realignment node. Aurora felt the dull thrum of its massive displacement
field as it glided across the streets. The titanic construct knocked the
corners off of houses as it passed, its massive drill vices held safely above
the rooftops. Those same drills had bored the pit beneath the node,
allowing the optifex to install the realignment conduits and the geomantic
translocation apparatus.
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Aurora guided the Prime Axiom to trample an empty salt house for
the benefit of the spies she knew had surrounded the village. She wished
she could hear the gasps of the Cygnar forces as they witnessed its sheer
physical power.
Nemos reinforcements had arrived sooner and in much larger numbers
than she had expected. The forces of Cygnar had earned their association
with lightning in more than one way. Still, there was no cause to despair.
Aurora reminded herself that the present Cygnaran forces still numbered
little more than half the strength of her Convergence army.
She could not help shuddering at the ferocity Sebastian Nemo had
displayed in response to her probing attack. Even before she revealed
her reserve, the man had to have understood that he was grossly
outnumbered. Rather than withdraw from her attack, Nemo had
responded with a swift and direct assault on her forward units. In such a
brief exchange, he had destroyed or disabled a surprising number of her
most valuable units.
He had not done so without losses, of course. Aurora was pleased with
the effectiveness of the Mitigator and Diffusers. And the reflex servitors
had caused shocking casualties among Nemos fearsome commandos;
she wished she had requisitioned more of the deadly mines for perimeter
defense. Unfortunately, they destroyed themselves in performing their
tasks. She would have to place the remaining dozen reflex servitors
carefully.
A hiss at the southwestern lift announced Sabinas return from the
upper chambers. She approached Aurora and bowed. Numen, the last
of the essential construction is complete, but the optifex have only begun
the preliminary calibration. They cannot give a definite timeline for the
realignment.
Aurora filled her lungs with a cleansing breath. She had miscalculated
in provoking Nemo. Even outnumbered, with his reinforcements he could
prove a genuine threat to the operation.
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She needed to change her tactics. She had more than enough prisoners
to exchange for her captured vectors, servitors, and soldiers, but she
hesitated to offer them too soon after the mornings skirmish. Aurora
wished only to deal from a position of strength.
A triad of clockwork angels landed on the eastern side of the observation
deck. Sabina went to receive their reports while Aurora returned her
attention to the expanding Cygnar camp.
Long gunners continued marching into the Cygnaran camp from
the direction of Point Bourne. At last report, hundreds had swelled
the ranks of Nemos army, along with trenchers, commandos, and
the rangers who had already dissolved into the woods and hollows
surrounding Calbeck.
Aurora made a mental note to increase the flying patrols across the
river. She doubted even the celebrated Cygnaran long rifles could reach so
far with any accuracy, but she had been surprised often enough for one day.
Numen, said Sabina. Even through the mechanikal voice modulator,
Aurora could hear the trepidation in her tone.
What is it?
Prime Enumerator Septimus requests your presence in the village
below.
Does he? said Aurora. The clockwork priest should have presented
himself or requested an audience with Aurora, not summoned her. She
saw her mothers hand in this latest provocation. Was she testing Aurora
or simply undermining her attempt to succeed at something other than
the priesthood.
Numen, there is something else.
What is it?
This morning, before the strike on the Cygnar camp, Septimus
requested the service of four wings of angels.
For what purpose?
He refused to say, so of course I turned him down.
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No, she decided. While the clockwork priests summons might itself
be a political maneuver, he was certainly wise enough to support it with
a meaningful occasion. Perhaps he had intelligence to share. It was even
conceivable that he genuinely required her guidance.
Where is he? asked Aurora.
In the temple.
Of course, thought Aurora. He would call her to the one place where his
authority was more obvious than hers.
Very well, said Aurora. She went to the eastern edge of the observation
deck. An unbidden surge of annoyance prompted her to run, throwing her
armored body over the edge to plunge downward.
Numen!
With a swift calculation of distance, time, and the acceleration of gravity,
Aurora spread her wings to enjoy the tug of air beneath her razor-sharp
feathers, but only for a few seconds. As Sabina cried out behind her, she
activated the displacement field and glided down to the streets of Calbeck.
She landed lightly, but her wings raised a cloud of dust from the street.
Her sudden appearance startled a patrol of reductors. Upon seeing her, the
unit prefect bowed. The troopers followed his example. Aurora ignored
them and walked along a street of empty shops.
Sabina and the rest of her bodyguard landed behind her, silent but for
the scrape of their brass wings closing.
The sweet smell of ale wafted from the open doors and windows of a
tavern. Auroras soldiers had previously used the building to house captives.
Some sought to ease their fear by drinking, several to the point of sickness.
Aurora had approved Polluxs request to relocate the prisoners lest they
kill themselves with fighting or excessive drink.
Such fragile bodies we are born into, thought Aurora. She could hardly
wait to be shed of hers.
And yet she enjoyed the smell of malted barley. The thrill of the brisk
autumn air was another sensation she would miss. Even Forge Master
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Behind the altar, the Vault of the Enkheiridion had been torn from the wall,
replaced with the Face of Cyriss. The holy book of Morrow lay open at one end
of the altar. Otherwise, the trappings of Morrow remained in their accustomed
places throughout the chamber: pews, candles, fonts, and a choir.
As Aurora approached the altar, she saw the lightning-twisted bodies
of six reductors lying at its foot, along with the arms and lower body of
a seventh. An eighth stood at attention to one side, its chassis marked
with the fresh cuts and seared weld marks of recent repair. At the sight of
Aurora, he made a clumsy bow.
Accretion servitors hovered over the steel husks of the other reductors.
They had already removed four gleaming essence chambers from their
chests. Two of them worked together to open a fifth.
Three miserable-looking people sat behind the rail of the choir, flanked
by a pair of vigilant reciprocators. The clockwork soldiers held their
scalloped shields to form walls on either side of the captives, their halberds
held ready in an unspoken threat to any who dared to leap the rail.
The prisoners wore the heavy leather aprons of mechaniks. Black grease
highlighted their fingernails and smudged their faces. Two were men, one
tall and bulky, the other lean with a pox-scarred face. The third was a
woman whose muscular shoulders bore tattoos of gears and pistons.
What have you done, Septimus? Aurora had already apprehended the
situation, but she wanted to hear the clockwork priest admit what hed done.
Numen, I used the confusion you inflicted on the Cygnaran camp to
recover our lost comrades. In the process, my soldiers were able to recover
all but two
Whose soldiers?
The prime enumerators voice box clicked off, the clockwork equivalent
of a mans biting his tongue. When the ambient hiss returned, Septimus
said, Convergence soldiers. Under your command, Numen.
And do I understand correctly that you sought to enlist my clockwork
angels in this unauthorized mission?
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Once more, Septimus clicked off his voice modulator rather than speak
in haste.
Enumerator Bogdan stepped forward. The fault is mine, Numen.
In relaying Prime Enumerator Septimus request, I may have expressed
myself poorly. Any confusion is entirely my fault. I beg you to blame me,
not the prime enumerator.
There was more than enough blame for the two of them, Aurora
thought. But she would not be fooled by this transparent effort to make a
scapegoat of the lackey.
Aurora stepped past Bogdan, her sudden motion forcing him to retreat
so quickly he almost tripped over his own robes. She looked down at
the holy book. Septimus had left it open to an illustration of Ascendant
Corben, patron of alchemy, arcana, and astronomy.
She wondered what Septimus was scheming. To Cyrissists, Corben
was the most sympathetic of the ascendants. Many converts had come
wearing medallions of Corben before exchanging them for tokens of the
Maiden of Gears.
The twin gods Morrow and Thamar had been revered as Cyriss-inspired
savants long before humans discovered the existence of the Maiden. Thus
it was little surprise that many continued to worship Morrow even as they
delved deeper into the equations of the perfect deity.
Aurora turned back to her bodyguard. Take these prisoners to separate
confinement in the village.
Numen, if you will permit me to explain, began Septimus.
You are here to direct the troops as I command, said Aurora, not to
second-guess my decisions by taking prisoners without my orders.
Septimus rose an inch on his silent pistons before bowing his head. As
you say, Numen.
Aurora stepped close, whispering into his aural receptors. And if your
action prompts the enemy to attack before we have completed the geomantic
realignment, it is you, not I, who shall have to answer to the iron mother.
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69
A murmur through the camp first alerted Nemo. He and Blackburn saw
the nearest soldiers staring north. Turning, they had their first glimpse of
the colossal.
It was easily the size of a Stormwall but without the smokestacks of
its Cygnaran counterpart. The familiar blue-white light radiating from
points all across its body marked it as a Convergence machine. Even if
there could have been any mistaking its identity, the glowing Face of Cyriss
removed all doubt. The giant constructs arms ended in trios of enormous
drill points, each large enough to render a heavy warjack into scrap metal.
Two massive units above its shoulders appeared to house some unknown
weapon. Nemo noted the circular apertures, but he could not deduce the
contents from the unusual shape of the apparatus.
Ill send another rider to Point Bourne, Blackburn said without
tearing his eyes from the thing.
DARK CONVERGENCE
Nemo nodded mutely. The very fact that the Convergence could field a
colossal warjack elevated the current standoff from a skirmish to a threat
against all of Cygnar.
Sir, said Blackburn. He pointed to the base of the colossal, where a
haze of dust blew away from the three mighty arches that served as its legs.
Tell me Im not seeing what Im seeing.
Morrow, Nemo whispered. It hovers.
By creating Cygnars mighty colossal warjack, Nemo thought he had
ensured the nations dominant position in warjack technology for years
to come. Even the creation of similarly sized machines by the other
countries and factions of Immoren had not diminished that advantage.
The Stormwall remained the pinnacle of military power.
Or Nemo had believed until today. One glance at the massive hovering
machine told him he was years behind, not ahead.
Nemo held out little hope of the Lord Commander sending any
additional reinforcements, let alone a Stormwall. Perhaps we can avoid
a full-scale conflict, he said. The fact that they are revealing a colossal
suggests they wish to intimidate us.
Or that they know our rangers have surrounded the village and would
have identified it at any moment, said Blackburn. They couldnt have kept
it a secret for long.
Nemo nodded again. One of the things he liked about Blackburn was
the speed with which he comprehended the most likely cause of any tactical
situation. In some ways, the major reminded him of how Nemo himself
might have turned out if he had not divided his life between military action
and technical research.
By that perspective, Mags Jernigan might have represented his other
half. Nemo hoped her Convergence captors were treating her more gently
than he had treated the clockwork soldiers. The revelation that living souls,
not mere mechanikal constructs, inhabited their bodies continued to gnaw
at his belly.
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Nemo and Blackburn continued on their way to the tent where they
had confined the Cyriss-worshipping prisoners. Chaplain Geary stood
outside, chatting with the men standing guard. Ah, General Nemo, he
said, gesturing to the tent flap. Shall we?
The mechanik sat on a three-legged stool. A pair of Stormblades stood
behind him, their weapons deactivated but no less intimidating. It was
perhaps excessive to assign this duty to two of the elite knights, but Nemo
had found the very presence of such men a useful method for softening a
subject before interrogation.
Sir! The mechanik rose to salute. The Stormblades clamped heavy
gauntlets on his shoulders and pushed him back down on the stool.
What is the Convergence? said Nemo.
Sir, like I said earlier, I dont know. I never heard the term before. I
was as surprised as anyone to see the Face of Cyriss on those clockwork
soldiers.
You had seen such soldiers before.
No, sir. Never.
Nemo removed the token the guards had taken from the prisoner.
It was a lozenge-shaped pewter fob, slightly smaller than an ascendants
medallion. On its back were stamped interlocking gears. Its face bore the
countenance of Cyriss, the clockwork goddess.
Nemo recognized it because he had been given a similar token a few
years earlier, in the first of several attempts different branches of the cult
had made to enlist him. He had even attended a meeting, which differed
from the awkward social gatherings of his academic and technical
colleagues only in the opening and closing invocation of the Maiden of
Gears.
Thats not what your friend told us, said Blackburn.
I dont know what you mean.
Nemo restrained himself from looking at Blackburn and giving away
his ploy. The other prisoner had said nothing to indicate this man was
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holding back information. Still, it seemed too soon for such a bluff. Rather
than retreat from it, Blackburn turned to Geary. What is the Churchs
view of this cult, Chaplain?
We opposed the decision to permit a temple in Caspia. For all his
many virtues, King Leto has been a most permissive monarch. After these
shocking events, I can only imagine he will reconsider his gentle treatment
of the cult and its members.
Nemo watched the mechaniks face for a reaction. He was frightened,
surely, but the implied threat to his cult did not seem to shake him.
Its all completely harmless, said the man. We meet for stargazing and
to discuss the circuits of the moons and planets. Most of us dont even
believe that the goddess resides on the planet Cyriss.
What about you? said Geary. What do you believe?
I still go to church. I still live my life according to the teachings of the
Enkheiridion. The society is just I dont knowinteresting. Like a hobby.
What do they promise you?
Nothing! I mean, they teach how to live in better understanding of the
world around us. Some believe the goddess will come to Caen one day, and
we must be prepared to perfect ourselves for her arrival. But I really dont
know much more. Im not even a member of the awakened.
What is that, some sort of inner circle? said Geary. These cults always
entice the weak and selfish with promises of inclusion in elite groups.
Its just what they call you when youve devoted yourself completely
to Cyriss. But like I said, I still go to churchreal church, the Church of
Morrowwith my wife and our children.
What I want to know said Blackburn. He stopped to listen to a
commotion outside.
Stop him! shouted a man.
The whine of storm weapons sounded outside the tent.
Stay here, Nemo told the guards. He and Blackburn left the tent.
Outside, the reinforced camp rang with shouts of alarm.
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Over here! cried a man near the map tent. Storm glaives rose and
ignited as a squad of Stormblades ran toward the disturbance.
No, here he is! Another voice shouted near the mess tent. A deep
green illumination filled the structure. A moment later, the tent swelled as
a sudden gust blew through it without disturbing those to either side. The
canvas pulled up, tearing away from its stakes to rise like the wings of an
angry giant hawk. Dust and dead grass whirled up to form an obscuring
cloud.
Blackburn ignited his glaive. Nemo switched on the voltaic generators
on his armor and felt the electrical field lift his hair and bristle his mustache.
Behind him, Chaplain Geary lifted his mace and looked to either side.
By the time they reached the mess tent, the sudden windstorm had
subsided. Stormblades came stumbling out from the tents interior, choking
on the dust suspended in the air.
What is it? demanded Blackburn.
An intruder, sir, reported one of the men.
Only one? said Nemo, making no effort to disguise his disbelief.
We arent sure, sir.
Where did he go? said Blackburn.
The Stormblades looked around, still blinking in the dust.
There she is! cried a guard from the direction of Nemos personal tent.
She? thought Nemo. Perhaps there was more than one intruder after all.
They ran out of the dust cloud to see more Stormblades rushing
toward four more galvanic halos bobbing over the crest of a tent. The auras
surrounded the heads of a familiar staff and three storm rods.
Finch, thought Nemo. And her Jimmies.
As they ran out from behind the tent, Finch pointed at one of the
Jimmies. The young man stopped and planted his storm rod in the ground,
holding it tight as lightning danced upon its head. Finch directed the other
two to spread out. Her armor was already engaged, the crest of her staff
crackling with energy.
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One flew away, its contents scattering across the grass. The other lunged
across the avenue like an angry phantom. It fell upon Finch and the
nearest stormsmith, pulling them down and dragging them across the
ground.
One of the other Jimmies cried out. Nemo saw his storm rod fall and
caught a glimpse of the intruder pulling back the butt of her weapon as the
young man fell stunned to the ground. Once more the blackclad looked
toward Nemo. Even at a distance and through the swirling dust, Nemo
saw the startling green of her eyes.
In an instant, she had vanished again.
Stormblades! Escort formation on the general! Blackburn turned to
Nemo and added, She means to kill you, sir.
No, she doesnt, insisted Nemo. And I said I want her taken alive.
But, sir
No excuses.
Finch and her Jimmy clawed their way out of the windblown canvas.
They looked up as another whirlwind rose among tents twenty feet farther
away.
After her, Blackburn ordered the Stormblades. He shook his head at
the ones who stood nearest. Not you four. Remain with me to protect the
general and Chaplain Geary.
Finch and her stormsmiths also chased the whirlwind, but Nemo
sensed a ruse in the swirling wind. The druid had to know how visible it
was. She must have run in a different direction.
Alive, I said, he reminded all nearby.
Before anyone could cry out, a dark figure flew at them from the side.
The Stormblades began to raise their glaives, but the woman leaped to
run up their extended arms. She jumped off one mans heavy pauldrons,
somersaulting toward Nemo.
Blackburn shoved his way in front of Nemo, deactivating his glaive even
as he raised it to strike with the flat. He stopped his blow as he saw the
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blackclad fall to the ground in a three-point landing. She bowed her head
and laid her weapon on the ground.
She looked up and tugged off the scarf concealing her features. Her face
was deeply freckled, in contrast to her bright emerald eyes, which Nemo
now saw were flaked with gold. An errant lock revealed hair the color of a
maple leaf in autumn. Her tiny face gave the impression of an adolescent
girl, but when she spoke it was with the husky voice of a grown woman.
Sebastian Nemo, she said. I have come to warn you about the foes
you face.
Stormblades rushed up, their hissing weapons ready to strike. Blackburn
waved them back, but he remained between the girl and Nemo.
Nemo patted Blackburn on the pauldron and stepped around the man.
He gestured for the woman to stand. She left her axe on the ground, but
Nemo noted a long curved dagger hanging from her belt beside a variety
of druidic talismans. And to lead my soldiers in a reckless chase through
our camp?
They would have delayed me from seeing you, she said. My message
cannot wait.
What is your name?
Bronwyn.
Finch and her stormsmiths ran up to witness the exchange. The ginger
one picked leaves and tufts of brown grass from his hair.
General Nemo, said Chaplain Geary. You mustnt listen to a word this
savage says. The Circle Orboros has sworn to wipe out all of humankind.
Not all of humankind. Just the rotten parts, said Bronwyn. With a
gleam in her eye, she added, Like fat priests who live like parasites upon
the labors of their fellow men.
You said you came with a warning, said Nemo. That would have been
more useful before the Convergence had occupied one of our villages.
The Convergence, said Bronwyn. Is that what you call them? Still,
you do not know the full danger of their intentions.
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Why would you warn us, druid? said Geary. Why should we believe
a word uttered by a minion of the Devourer Wurm?
Nemo wished the man would be silent, but he had no wish to shame
him in front of an outsider. He looked at Bronwyn and said, Answer the
man.
There is an expression among the Dhunians, she said.
Trolls and gobbers, scoffed Geary.
Chaplain, said Nemo.
Geary bowed his head and stepped back. Nemo hoped he would remain
silent without further reminder.
The Dhunian people, said Bronwyn. They say, the foe of my foe is my
friend.
Thats not only a trollkin saying, said Nemo.
A reminder that the Dhunian people are not so different from your
own.
Not our own, Nemo noticed. While human, the druids had turned
their backs on civilization, causing many to think of them as a breed apart.
Nemo had often wondered whether that division was a conceit created by
Menite priests or the druids themselves. In either event, it appeared the
feeling of estrangement was mutual.
So you have come on behalf of your Circle? said Nemo.
No. Most of my brothers and sisters would as soon watch you and the
Cyrissists destroy each other. After you are dead, they would be content to
mend the wounds you leave upon Caen.
But not you.
These Cyrissists are not like the others you may have encountered.
They do not beg permission to build their temples within your cities.
For centuries they have prepared their forces in secret, rarely allowing
anyone a glimpse of their clockwork creations. They plan to reshape the
world to suit their schemes. To do so, they will desecrate the arteries
of the world.
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Aurora
stepped outside of the temple with Mags Jernigan. The mechaniks artificial
leg squealed with every step. By contrast, Auroras bodyguard moved with
the barest whisper of metal.
With a gesture, Aurora released Jernigan into to the custody of the
reciprocator prefect. Take her to the staging area.
What does that mean? said Jernigan, more fear than defiance in her
voice.
Dont worry, Margaret, said Aurora. Soon it will all be over.
In the short time they had talked, Aurora had developed a certain
sympathy for this peripheral-cult Cyrissist. Between her mechanikal
aptitude and keen intellect, she was a fit candidate for indoctrination to
the Convergence. Aurora even liked the brief glimpses of crass humor the
woman had demonstrated. If Jernigan had found the opportunity to prove
herself earlier, she might already be serving in an optifex directive. More
likely she would be leading one.
A clockwork angel descended from the astronometric nexus to land
nearby. She approached and bowed. Numen, First Prefect Sabina awaits
your orders on the pinnacle.
Aurora nodded. When Sabina had reported an hour earlier, Aurora had
sent her away to await her pleasure. She remained irritated that her most
trusted subordinate had failed to report the prime enumerators scheme.
Sabina was the last person Aurora would have imagined Septimus
could turn against her. If he had somehow managed to influence even her
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But to what end? If his motive was to undermine Aurora, why would
Septimus cast away the advantage he had earned among the troops by
subverting her orders?
Capturing the Cygnaran mechaniks was the most provocative action
the Convergence had taken since occupying Calbeck. If Septimus team
had rescued the reductors without taking hostages, the action would have
remained beyond reproach. To take credit for the rescue, Aurora would
also have to accept blame for the kidnapping.
It was an elegant trap.
With a start, Aurora realized she had already taken the bait. By not
correcting First Prefect Pollux, she had allowed him to assume she had in
fact given secret orders.
Only a priest as experienced as Prime Enumerator Septimus was
capable of such subtlety. This time, however, he had underestimated
Aurora. She saw through his scheme, even if understanding had come late.
Gripping her polynomial staff, she ran forward and leaped into the
air, wings spreading. A hiss of chromed steel and brass told her that her
bodyguards followed close behind.
Even in her rage, Aurora calculated the spiral path around the
southeastern leg of the realignment node. She pushed the arcane
displacement lever to its utmost position to eke out every ounce of speed.
The clockwork angels strained to keep up.
Aurora landed on the observation deck. The instant they saw her, the
guards bowed.
Where is Prime Enumerator Septimus? she demanded.
The nearest guard glanced upward. He retired to his meditation
chamber, Numen.
With a shrug, Aurora folded her clockwork wings and stepped into the
nearest lift, standing dead center, directly beneath the emergency hatch on
the ceiling. Two of her bodyguards entered and squeezed in to either side
just before the aperture hissed closed.
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Aurora moved the control lever up. The cylindrical chamber rose,
guided by a combination of pneumatic pressure and rack-and-pinion
mechanisms. After a jolting start, the lift ascended with increasing speed
until it slowed at the control room level. Aurora lifted the lever again to
continue the rise to the next level and Septimus meditation chamber. The
lift slowed again. This time she waited for the doors to hiss open.
Stay here, she told the guards.
Aurora walked swiftly down the plain steel corridors. The door to
the prime enumerators meditation chamber stood between two masks
of Cyriss, each as tall as one of Auroras bodyguards. Sensing her
presence, the door emitted a soft chime. Aurora waited, yet it remained
closed.
Septimus? she said, knowing the doors audio conveyer would deliver
the message to the rooms occupant. She waited with rising impatience. At
last she snapped, Override, Aurora, Numen of Aerogenesis.
With a whisper, the doors opened to reveal a dark chamber. As her eyes
adjusted to the dimness, Aurora saw the universe.
The stars performed their steady migration across the black hemisphere
of the walls. The instant Aurora recognized the constellation known as the
Hunter, she saw the whole familiar pattern. Astronomy had been one of
the first subjects she had mastered as a young girl, instructed by the most
learned priests and a constantly changing battery of tutors drawn from all
reaches of western Immoren. No scholar was too good to be summoned
before the human progeny of Iron Mother Directrix.
In the center of the room hovered a sphere representing the sun, its
surface glowing brighter as Aurora stepped into the room. Around it
orbited the planets, just high enough not to strike a visitor on the head.
The Eye of the Wurm floated near Aurora, while Lucant hung close to
the sun. Across the room, Cyriss passed across the constellations. Between
them, Caen followed its celestial path while orbited by the moons Calder,
Laris, and Artis.
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Beneath the sun lay the prime enumerators seat, a concave stool
surrounded by alcoves for his four mechanikal legs. It was unoccupied.
From the ceiling above Septimus seat hung a cluster of tubes and
cables, terminating in a small panel on which rested the communication
apparatus. With its single black key, Aurora knew, the prime enumerator
could send and receive coded messages to the iron mother.
That such a privilege was forbidden to Directrixs own daughter still
pricked Auroras pride. Hating the sight of it, Aurora turned away from
the device.
A clockwork vessel stood to one side of the chamber, unlighted and
unmoving. For a second, Aurora wondered whether it was a ruse, the prime
enumerator himself pretending to be his own spare body in a pathetic
effort to avoid a confrontation. But no, such a trick would require that he
conceal his other body somewhere else. Besides, it was absurd to think of
influential priest employing such a childish trick.
Aurora crept closer to the clockwork priests vessel, its head bowed in
prayer toward the stars depicted on the wall. Its multiple human-shaped
arms appeared deceptively gentle. If they were anything like the arms of
the enigma foundry on which Septimus vessel was based, she knew they
could crush steel as easily as remove an essence chamber.
Aurora reminded herself that it was the mind, not the body, that
endangered her. She leaned closer to look for any sign of activation. She
couldnt see the essence chamber.
As she reached around to feel for it, the door hissed open behind her.
She turned to see an enumerator standing in the doorway, battle helm
secured, tuning rod in hand.
Numen, said a hollow voice from within the helm. The priest set aside
his weapon and removed the helm. It was Bogdan. What brings you to the
prime enumerators sanctum?
I might well ask you the same question, Enumerator.
I came to report on the progress of the calibration.
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apparatus while the other clung to the rail of a catwalk encircling its
voltaic globe.
When it reached the nearest side, the smiths directed the Strider to
crouch before lowering a ladder and descending from the observation deck.
Sebastian Nemo emerged from a nearby tent, followed by his apprentice.
Together they ascended the battle engine. The apprentice took the controls.
The Strider lurched forward, obliging Nemo to grab the railing.
As he turned his head to shout at the driver, Aurora could barely
suppress a smile. I know just how he must feel.
Numen! Sabina protested. Wont you reconsider this business? The
only reason he would insist on bringing his Storm Strider is
I know, I know, said Aurora. You fear he will assassinate me. But you
forget the hostages.
Actually, Numen, I was about to say he wants to provoke us into
revealing more of our own machines. Remember, he has used our
technology to improve his own before.
Youre right, said Aurora with a sigh. But we must meet him on equal
footing, as much to demonstrate our strength as to counter any treachery
not that I expect any. Nemo will learn little enough from observing the
Transfinite Emergence Projector. He has already spied it from a distance,
and he wont see it in action unless
Numen?
Unless we fail, said Aurora. And then he will see the capability of
every one of our war machines.
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Finch guided the Storm Strider over the center trenches while Nemo
peered across the battlefield. The enemy warcaster and a single guardian
approached the neutral line, but not on a vehicle. The winged warriors
glided forward, their impatient progress confirming Nemos hypothesis
that their wings were superfluous to their ability to fly.
They had not come alone.
The Convergence machine resembled nothing so much as a watch
tower built upon the carapace of a titanic crab. Composed of the same
peculiar alloy as the enemy warjacksor rather, vectors, Nemo reminded
himselfthe battle engine crawled forward on two parallel rows of manyjointed legs. They moved in the synchronized manner of a centipede, giving
the tower the appearance of gliding across the battlefield.
He thought it curious that the Convergence commander had agreed
to his outrageous demand that he meet her atop his Storm Strider, but
perhaps the spectacle amused her. He had offered the condition expecting
her to reply with a counter-offer, yet she had simply accepted it. Perhaps
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shed had the same thought he had: if the negotiations failed, having the
Storm Strider on hand would make the swift destruction of her enemy
that much easier.
Nemo welcomed the opportunity to view the Convergence construct
at closer range.
The Storm Strider lurched slightly as Finch over-reached to cross a
crater left by one of the artillery vectors.
Sorry, sir.
Steady on, Finch. Youve nothing to fear. Although she had never
operated one before, Finch had picked up the Storm Striders controls with
impressive alacrity. While it was not his custom to let it show, Nemo was
perpetually impressed with his storm chaser.
Right you are, sir. The two of us alone facing this warcaster and
her lieutenant and a war machine of unknown capabilities. What could
possibly go wrong for us?
Try to be less amusing when we enter negotiations.
Yes, sir. Caitlin H. Finch. The H is for Humorless.
Finch had become more inclined to whimsy since the recent clashes
between Khadoran and Cryx forces. He had seen such gallows humor
before, and he had to admit that a little levity was sometimes better than
the fatalism that afflicted some veteran officers. Even so, he worried that
the appearance of the Jimmies might have incited a deeper streak of
idiosyncrasy than he desired in his adjutant. Silence will be your most
welcome contribution to the exchange.
Shall I at least make an intimidating face?
Finch
Understood, sir.
As the Convergence machine drew near, the last traces of caprice
drained from Finchs face.
As their winged foes hovered near the construct, Nemo noted once
again how the enemy warcaster and her bodyguard differed. Apart from
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standing a foot taller, the guardian was obviously a construct. The eyes
of her too-perfect face glowed with the same radiance projected by the
vectors and other clockwork soldiers. Her mechanikal nature was evident
at every joint, especially the abdomen, where a complex central axis joined
the pelvic unit. Nemo suspected the juncture allowed a wider range of
motion than a human body, and certainly much greater power.
Of more concern were the razor-sharp blades upon her forearms,
similar in shape to the brass wings spreading from between her shoulder
blades. Perhaps they were ornamental. At best they could provide only
a slight advantage in guidance, but more likely they were weapons or an
unorthodox extension of her armor.
Despite the confounding design of the clockwork angel, it was her
mistress whose appearance arrested Nemos attention.
Even before they drew close, Nemo felt the warcasters extension of her
thoughts across the battlefield. He fancied a pair of great, invisible wings
stretching out behind her clockwork ones, long feathers dipping down
to touch each of the vectors on the streets of Calbeck behind her. For a
fleeting moment, the woman reminded Nemo of Victoria Haleyperhaps
because of her proud bearing, but beyond that he couldnt explain why. He
felt an ineffable familiarity about her presence.
He sensed that the Convergence leaders connection to the vectors
differed from that of other warcasters he had encountered. Her touch
seemed both lighter and purer. He wondered whether that was because of
the nature of the vectors or because of the warcaster. Perhaps, like Haley,
she was a prodigyor an anomaly.
While she appeared short compared to her towering bodyguards, the
woman was a good six feet tall. The silvery armor left only her face and
shoulders exposed. Her platinum-white helm concealed her hair, but her
eyes were bright and blue as a welders flame. She grasped a peculiar staff
in one brass gauntlet. The weapon bore superficial similarities to Nemos
tempest accumulator, yet it had a more elegant design. It did not crackle with
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galvanic force as his weapon did when activated. Instead, he saw in its power
modules the steady blue-white glow of the enigmatic Convergence energies.
Nemo felt a grudging admiration for such a fine-looking work.
Nonetheless, he was certain his own weapon, which he had designed and
constructed personally, was more than a match for hers.
The warcasters most breathtaking features were, of course, her wings.
The partially exposed gears at the major joint revealed their clockwork
construction, but some other invisible propulsion must have been
responsible for their flight. Nemo noted the telltale sheen of a personal
power field around both the warcasters body and her wings. He knew she
must have detected the same defenses surrounding him and Finch.
As formidable as these Convergence figures appeared, Nemo wondered
whether he should have delayed the parlay longer, giving himself time to
consult further with the blackclad Bronwyn. What the druid had told him
already was too full of vagaries and likelihoods. What he wanted were
more facts, facts that he could gain only by close encounter, whether in
negotiation or combat.
Finch pulled back on the Storm Strider controls, turning the battle
engine forty-five degrees west as they had agreed. The enemy battle engine
halted less than ten feet away, turning forty-five degrees west as well. Nemo
noticed with some chagrin that their opponents remained hovering a good
four feet higher than he and Finch stood. The storm chaser anticipated his
desire and raised the platform to put them on equal footing.
The Convergence warcaster smiled at their adjustment, not quite
enough to offer insult.
Artificer General Nemo, she said. Long have I admired your work.
I am Aurora, Numen of Aerogenesis. This is my lieutenant, Sabina, first
prefect of my clockwork angels.
My adjutant, Storm Chaser Caitlin Finch, said Nemo. You have
intruded on Cygnar territory and taken captive subjects of His Royal
Majesty King Leto. Why?
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What clues are these? asked Nemo. I presume you mean something
more scientific than druids runes or the writings of the Enkheiridion.
Aurora raised an eyebrow, apparently recognizing the bait he had laid
before her for what it was. As my prime enumeratoryour Morrowan
priests would call him a vicar, I believestood within the rededicated
temple of Cyriss, he took pains to preserve the Enkheiridion. While we do
not share your devotion to Morrow and Thamar, we recognize by certain
ciphers and diagrams in their writings that they are among Immorens
most influential nescient savants. So are certain of your ascendants and
scions. Ascendant Corben, for example.
Nemo steeled himself against another wave of flattery with the
implication that the Convergence considered him in a category with the
gods and their most revered servants. Yet also he saw the direction of
Auroras argument.
Are you suggesting that Cyriss is the deity of human progress?
Thats a narrow but not invalid description, she said. Considering
that you view the Maiden of Gears through a veil of misinformation and
half-truths, it is actually rather astute.
For the first time in decades, Nemo felt patronized. His hands ached
as he realized he gripped his staff and the Storm Striders rail hard enough
to whiten his knuckles. He released the rail and made an effort to hold his
staff more loosely.
Not bad for an ignorant savant, Finch whispered beside him.
He turned on Finch, angry to be mocked from both sides until he saw
her face. She raised her chin in a nod of support. Finch was not disparaging
but defending him.
Nemo paused to subdue his irritation. Aurora had said she was raised
among the Convergence. If she had demonstrated the talents of a warcaster
early, no doubt the priests of her order had nurtured her themselvesand
perhaps sheltered her from the rest of their society. The Convergence as
a whole apparently remained isolated from the world. How much more
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isolated had Aurora been? Perhaps she had meant no offense. More likely
she simply lacked the usual social graces, like a less clownish version of one
of Finchs Jimmies.
As Nemos irritation wrestled with a sudden pity for the Convergence
warcaster, Finchs gaze fell on something beyond the enemy battle engine.
She nodded toward it. Sir.
Turning, Nemo saw the Convergence soldiers had formed a line of
prisoners before their own ranks. Clockwork soldiers bearing shields,
halberds, maces, curved blades, and stranger weapons stood behind a
row of women and children. Squinting, Nemo sought some sign of Mags
Jernigan among them. There she stood near the center.
What are you doing? said Nemo, his suspicions once more heightened.
He braced himself to vent the full power of his revenge upon this winged
warcaster if her soldiers executed the prisoners.
What do you think Im doing? said Aurora. She raised her staff. Im
offering my gesture of goodwill.
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Aurora
Nemos eyes widened as Aurora raised her polynomial staff to signal
the release of the prisoners. His weathered hand relaxed its grip on his
own weapon as he saw them begin to walk away from her soldiers.
In the relaxing sinews of his fingers, Aurora saw that Nemo had been
poised to channel every last ounce of his power into a storm of retribution
had she ordered the prisoners to be executed rather than freed. She never
intended to commit such an atrocity, but she had to admit to herself that
she had staged the release in a deliberately provocative manner. Thinking
of the scorched ruins of her troops, she decided she had gone as far as she
dared in her effort to keep her adversary off balance.
She had managed to anger, soothe, intrigue, and frighten him in a far
shorter period than she had hoped possible, although she regretted her
graceless argument of religious protection. She never thought he would
accept it at face value, but she had underestimated his impatience with the
give-and-take of diplomacy.
It was time to alter her tactics, at least for a short period. Nemo seemed
intrigued by the little she had revealed about the Convergence, but she had
hoped for a stronger reaction. There was much more she could safely tell him.
It was time, however, to let him ask before she revealed more. Until he
resumed control of their conversation, Aurora decided, she would draw
out the parlay. Every minute she gained was another minute closer to the
success of her mission.
I like your Storm Striders, she said. The mechanikal elements are a
trifle crude, perhaps, but for raw power I have seldom seen its like. Is this
another of your contributions to the Cygnar arsenal?
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He had asked just the right question. No one has to join us to benefit
from the advances we achieve. You yourself are proof of that principle. How
many of your military designs have proven to have applications benefiting
society at large? And how many of your own technological achievements
are founded on the knowledge you gleaned from Cyrissist temples?
No one shared those achievements with my people. We discovered
them only while investigating criminal behaviorincluding signs of
necromancy.
Aurora nodded, maintaining an expression of reluctant admission.
Not all who gain knowledge are well suited to employ it. The Convergence
rejects the dark sorcery of the Cryxians.
Then why would anyone look to your hidden temples for secrets
related to cheating death?
Aurora hesitated, knowing that her next words would shock the iron
mother and all the members of the Convergence leadership should they
learn she had spoken them to an outsider. In the pastthe distant past
certain misguided members of our order studied Cryxian technology.
Anyone who pursues such subjects is not guided by the Maiden but by
their own imperfect understanding of her ciphers.
Once more, Sebastian Nemos face grew still. Aurora knew she had
surprised him with her frank admission.
Striving for perfection is no guarantee of success, said Aurora. You
must have experienced failures of your own. Have you not learned as much
or more from them as you have from your triumphs?
Are you admitting that your ability to store a human soul inside a
clockwork soldier is based on Cryxian necromancy?
No, said Aurora. Necromancy is the antithesis of the Cyrissist
philosophy. We are dedicated to preserving the uncorrupted noumenon,
what you might think of as the mind and soul. But yes, there was once
a rogue forge master who dared to study Cryxian helljacks and liches.
When her transgression was discovered, she was cast out as a heretic. Our
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prominence in his mind. Surely a brain as abundant as his was its own form
of Constellation, an assembly containing multitudes of specializations.
Nemo was not only one of Cygnars foremost warcasters. He was also
a master tactician, an engineer and mechanic capable of overseeing and
correcting the efforts of his countrys greatest specialists. He was a polyglot
of sciences: kinetic, electrical, hydraulic, and arcane. What a treasure
his mind would be, if only he could be enticed to join the Convergence.
Perhaps where others had failed in their overtures to the famous Sebastian
Nemo, Aurora could succeed.
A moment, please, said Nemo. He gestured to Finch, who lowered the
Storm Strider into a crouch as the rider drew near. Unarmed but clad from
head to heel in blue storm armor, the man stood in his stirrups and raised
a leather satchel above his head. Finch took it from him. The rider saluted
and wheeled his horse around to return to camp.
Finch passed the satchel to Nemo, who opened its clasps and peered
inside. He lifted an essence chamber in one hand, weighing it. This is the
intact mind of a man?
It contains his natural thoughts and emotions. His soul, if you will.
His noumenon.
Nemo returned the chamber to the satchel and secured its clasps.
Think of it, said Aurora. You have glimpsed only a fraction of our
technology, but you must see that it is far beyond your own. That is no
slight on you, General. That is the difference between one brilliant mind
locked inside a prison ofwhat?seventy years?and a hundred
brilliant minds working in concert over centuries.
Nemo passed the satchel to Aurora, but Sabina intercepted it. She
turned away, shielding Aurora with her body in case of a booby trap.
Sabina opened the satchel and examined its contents before turning back
to nod at her commander.
Auroras eyes were on Nemo. After he released the satchel, he rolled his
knuckles with a wince.
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Do you feel the weight of years upon your bones, General? Now
imagine that weight lifted. Imagine your mind secured within a body that
feels no pain, one that can be replaced or improved at any time. Knowing
what you are capable of creating now, think of what you might do in
another hundred years.
How old are you?
What?
You look no older than my assistant. How old are you, Finch?
Twenty-seven, sir.
Are you older than twenty-seven? Nemo asked.
I The question took Aurora by surprise. No. I am twenty-five, but
already I have more accomplishments
Why do you hesitate to abandon your human body?
I dont. I am eager for the transference.
How old must one become before having ones noumenon transferred
to a clockwork vessel? Is it an honor reserved only for the aged?
The Fluxion Directorate believes, in their wisdom, that all souls should
mature in their birth bodies before making the transition.
You do not share their opinion, do you?
The selection is not without its imperfections, said Aurora. Even the
Fluxion Directorate can be swayed by sentiment, and there is a political
element
Sabina leaned close to her ear and spoke in a mechanikal whisper.
Numen, perhaps we should return to the realignment node.
Sabina had just allowed her to make any excuse she wished in order to
withdraw from the unwelcome turn in the conversation.
Should I continue this discussion with someone else? said Nemo.
Perhaps you should confer with a superior?
I speak for the Convergence, said Aurora. Her jaw clenched so tightly
that she almost hissed the words. But we have said enough for now. You
may return to your camp.
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Upon returning to camp, Nemo sent Finch to return the Storm Strider
and order the Jimmies to perform one last inspection of both battle
engines. He wanted them ready for action on a moments notice. Despite
the indeterminate results of the parlay, he could not shake the sense that
another attack could come at any time.
He shuddered to think what he had learned of this Convergence.
Despite Auroras protests to the contrary, he shared Chaplain Gearys
concern: the entombment of souls within clockwork bodies amounted
to necromancy. His skin crawled when he thought of these technological
equivalents of iron liches.
As Finch maneuvered the Storm Strider delicately through the growing
camp, Major Blackburn approached Nemo.
Our troops have completely surrounded Calbeck and dug trenches to
the east and west. The false transports have completed their assignments,
and weve seen no indication that the enemy has detected the ruse. Scouts
across the river report no sign of Cryx or any Convergence emplacement
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apart from the power station already secured. A small group of rangers
remain there, reporting by visual signal on the half hour.
What of the camp?
The workshop and other key tents have been moved farther from
the front lines. Weve placed the refugees in tents just south of the main
camp, he said. Chaplain Geary was eager to confer with you after the
parlay, but I left him in charge of the physical and spiritual well-being of
the villagers.
Well done. Much as Nemo valued the chaplains counsel in private,
he wished another conference with the druid without Gearys presence to
divert the course of his inquiry. Blackburn was as perceptive an officer as
he was brave. What about Mags? Sergeant Jernigan.
Shell have a goose egg, but Geary healed her first thing. The minute he
was done praying, she insisted on returning to duty.
And you let her go?
I left that decision to Geary. From what I heard as I got away from
their argument, he was losing.
Nemo suppressed a chuckle. Considering how Mags treated her general,
he imagined the Precursor knight never stood a chance. Very good. Meet
me in the map tent in an hour.
Yes, sir. Blackburn saluted, but his eyes lingered on Nemos face.
What is it?
If you dont mind my asking, sir, when was the last time you ate?
Nemo began to ask Blackburn whether he was a storm knight or a
boarding house matron, but he stopped himself. It was not the first time
Finch or one of Nemos other officers had to remind him to eat.
To them, it was a matter of self-preservation, Nemo thought. When he
went too long between meals, he was more likely to tear a strip up one side
of a subordinate and down the other.
That will be all, Major.
Blackburn snapped off another salute before retreating.
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Deeming it best to take the edge off his hunger before questioning the
druid, Nemo stopped at the mess tent. At his appearance, the infantry
soldiers already dining stood at attention.
At ease, said Nemo. He waved off the private who leaped up to clear
a table for his personal service and pointed at the soup pot. As the soldier
began assembling a tray, Nemo shook his head again. Just the bowl, a
spoon, and a hunk of that black bread. No, a smaller hunk. What do I look
like to you? A skorne titan?
Behind him, a young soldier tittered before stifling himself.
Nemo turned to glower down the table. The diners fell very quiet. For
a moment, the only sounds were the clack of spoons on bowls and the
cautious slurping of soup. With one last slow survey of those assembled,
Nemo took his soup and left the tent, suppressing his own smile at the
effect of his disapproval. One might have thought hed trained a storm
cannon on the troops by the way they cowered under his gaze.
He sopped the bread and chewed on it while walking to the tent where
he had left Bronwyn. As he approached, he saw a pair of soldiers standing
outside the tent, one holding the gnarled staff of the druids axe-like
weapon.
Eager though he was to question her, Nemo didnt want to begin the
interrogation with a bowl in his hands. He wolfed down the remaining
bread and soup and thrust the empty bowl into the arms of a passing
soldier.
Nemo entered the tent to find the druid sitting, not on the stool they
had provided for her but on the bare ground. With her head bowed,
her black cowl concealed her face. She had her fingers entwined in the
brown autumn grass, not tightly as though she were clinging to the
earth, but gently, as though she were feeling for some subtle message
from the earth.
Nemo took the stool for himself. As he sat, the druid looked up at him.
What were you doing? he asked. Communicating with someone?
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who applied them for the benefit of others. That was the key difference
between Morrow and his sister. Thamarites strove for personal, not shared,
advancement. After his interview with Aurora, he suspected she had more
in common with the darker twin.
How have your people dealt with these vectors before? said Nemo.
Surely you must have some experience to
A terrific report sounded from the southern side of camp. Nemo
pushed out of the tent to see a plume of smoke rising near the new location
of the mechaniks shop.
Keep her here, he told the guards as he moved to gain a better view.
First he spied the massive figure of a Stormclad staggering away from the
source of the explosion. Its right arm was gone, along with its battle blade.
A web of voltaic energy cascaded across its chassis before vanishing. At
least someone on the scene had the good sense to move the warjacks away from
the blast, thought Nemo.
The pale smoke cleared enough to reveal the ragged chassis of the
Thunderhead. At its feet lay the fallen body of the second Stormclad.
Nemo lowered his goggles to spare his eyes from the fumes.
Another deafening report shook the camp. The explosion blasted
Nemo with hot and noxious wind. Nemo recognized the sound as a firebox
explosion. The walking Stormclad fell forward, propelled by the explosion
of its own fuel reservoir. Red and white coals showered the nearest tents,
setting them ablaze. A cloud of black smoke billowed from a point near the
original detonation.
The clamor around the camp grew louder. Before it could dissolve into
chaos, Major Blackburns voice called out orders for rescue, fire control, and
enhanced perimeter security. His nearest officers took up the cry, relaying
the orders to their lieutenants and then to all the soldiers throughout the
camp. The rest were shouts of coordination, not panic.
Injury here! cried one man.
More buckets here! shouted another.
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side, while the other lay on the ground ten yards away. Deep rents in the
chassis made Nemo fear the damage might have reached the cortex, in
which case the warjack would be a total wreck.
Nemo mourned the damage almost as much as the wounds he had seen
on Mags. Every warjack with which he connected felt more like a living
creature than a machine, this one more than most. He had practically rebuilt
the Thunderhead from top to bottom after the battle at the Temple Garrodh.
While that experience gave him confidence that he could do so again, it
would require many days, not hours, to make the warjack field-ready.
The question of how it had exploded troubled him deeply.
Four years ago, when he was first developing the lightning-powered
warjack, Nemo had twice destroyed a prototype by overcharging its
galvanic coils. Yet he had solved that design defect, as well as the problem
of providing sufficient shielding to the warjacks cortex. To cause this recent
model to explode would require far more than a mechaniks error. Finch
had been correct in her initial reaction.
It could only be sabotage.
Despite the damage to its firebox, the Stormclad that had escaped the
second blast appeared salvageable. The one on the ground, however, was a
complete loss. Fortunately, its sword arm remained intact. It would take a
great deal of effort, but the mechaniks could affix it to the other Stormclad.
For the Thunderheads explosion to have caused so much damage to all
three warjacks, they had to have been standing close togetherfar closer
than safety protocols permitted. Whoever had done this knew that much
and had arranged them accordingly. It was becoming increasingly clear the
saboteur was one of Nemos own troops, making the act not just sabotage
but treason.
Bring the reports to the map tent, Nemo said before leaving Blackburn.
Finch followed in silence.
They made it less than halfway to the map tent when a dark figure
rushed toward them, cloak swept back like a pair of black wings. Finch
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raised her weapon to defend him, but Nemo merely scowled as the druid
skidded to a halt before him. Behind her came a pair of guards, wide-eyed
and breathless. Sir, look out!
I came to offer help, said Bronwyn. She stood at ease, eyes half-lidded,
breathing as easily as if she had not just sprinted away from a pair of armed
soldiers.
Nemo glowered past her at the guards who had failed to keep her confined.
One of them wore the druids pouch and dagger at his waist. The other held
her gnarled axe. How long has she been out of your direct custody?
No more than two minutes, sir! said the first man.
They are not to blame, said Bronwyn. I would have been here sooner,
but they proved most vigilant, then swifter than I expected. It took some
time to elude them.
You say you wish to help, said Nemo. What help can you offer?
I heard the screams of the injured. If you will return my pouch, I can
assist in treating them.
Not for a second did Nemo trust the blackclad. In any other
circumstances, he would have liked to see how easily she could escape
detainment after he had her clapped in irons. Yet he knew the druids
wielded powerful healing, both natural and mystical. While Chaplain
Geary spent his prayers on Lieutenant Benedict, perhaps Bronwyns care
would improve Mags chances of survival.
Give her the pouch, said Nemo. Take her to the casualty tent. And
try not to lose her this time.
Sir!
Nemo and Finch returned to the map tent, where Blackburn joined
them to report a total of six casualties, three of them serious. All but the
journeyman warcaster were mechaniks, and all of those but Mags were the
newly arrived field mechaniks.
Finch pursed her lips at Nemos frown. Do you think they targeted the
mechaniks?
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tin tray of soiled bandages. Nemo winced at the sight. He added his own
silent prayer that Benedict might survive.
He went to the partition on his left. Even before he touched the
partition, he smelled the noisome fumes gathering behind the tarp. As he
opened it, he saw Bronwyn crouching beside Mags Jernigans cot.
The druid had peeled away the bandages and laid lines of damp,
crushed herbs along Mags horrific burns. As Nemo watched, Bronwyn
took another wad of chewed leaves from her mouth and laid it upon the
back of Mags burned hand. No matter how potent the druids craft, Nemo
feared Mags would soon need more than a mechanikal leg.
The druid had built a little fire upon the floor. Above it simmered a pot
of water infused with Morrow-knew-what. Bronwyn cast another handful
of herbs upon the roiling surface and used a birds wing to fan the steam
toward Mags.
The mechanik lay half-unconscious. Her lips moved, and she moaned
some barely articulated word Nemo could not decipher.
He paused in the entrance. Bronwyn turned to look at him. Close the
flap. We must not let the healing vapors escape.
Nemo stepped inside. How is she?
Very bad, said Bronwyn.
What is that vile concoction? He preferred his potions and tinctures
prepared in a laboratory, not in a druids cauldron.
It will help her sleep.
I need to speak with her.
Bronwyn sighed and laid the wing over the mouth of the simmering pot.
Her burns are very deep, she said. I could do more so close to a ley line,
but that machine tower is interfering with the natural flow of energies.
We will drive these invaders away.
By then it may be too late, said Bronwyn. Even if she survives, the
node may be damaged.
How? said Nemo. How can they do that?
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Not even our most learned potents know for certain, said Bronwyn.
Wherever we have fought these Cyrissists, they have left the world
wounded. We can feel the weakness in the land.
Nemo cared little about the effect the Convergence had on the
blackclads, and it must have shown on his face.
Wounds upon the face of Caen harm all who live upon it, whether or
not they know how to draw the power out of the land. And do not forget
that the Convergence forces use these powers to drive their machines. Are
you not concerned about what they hope to achieve with the harm they
wreak upon the world?
Nemo was indeed concerned.
This winged woman, said Bronwyn, what is she called?
Aurora murmured Mags.
Mags, can you hear me? Nemo reached for her hand, saw how little
skin was left, and changed his mind. The slightest touch would likely bring
her only agony.
Bastian.
Did you speak to Aurora in Calbeck? he asked.
Yes, she said slowly. Nemo couldnt tell whether it was reluctance or
injury that drew out the syllable.
What did she say to you?
She said shed release the women and children, said Mags. And I
could go with them.
Thats not all she said, is it? What did she promise you?
NothShe didnt promise me anything.
Mags, you werent the only one hurt in the explosion. Four of the
mechaniks are badly injured. Benedict was hurt worse than you.
Benedict? Hes still just a boy. Her voice cracked.
Why did you move the warjacks so close together?
After I saw all those machines in Calbeck, I just wanted to be sure we
were prepared
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With every word, Nemo heard more and more falsehood in her voice. I
know it was you, Mags. What I dont know is why. What did they promise
you?
The tarp parted as Chaplain Geary stepped into the room. His eyes
narrowed as he looked down at Bronwyn and her simmering potion. They
narrowed further as he saw Mags Jernigan was awake.
How is Lieutenant Benedict? Nemo asked.
Geary shook his head. Im sorry, General. His wounds were too great
for even the divine power of Morrow to mend.
Forgive me, groaned Mags.
Nemo whirled on her. What did they promise you?
Mags lifted her ruined arms an inch or so before her strength failed.
Nemo had his answer.
A new body, he said. Thats it, isnt it?
Tears streaking her burned face.
All at once, he understood. Like him, Mags had long suffered from the
infirmities of old age. She had given her leg for Cygnar and her breasts for
no good reason but the indifferent cruelty of cancer. The military life had
always rankled her. How much had she resented him for failing to speed
her requisition for a better leg?
The last pity he felt for her injuries melted away, replaced by rage. No
one could sympathize more with the indignities of age, injury, and disease,
not to mention the perpetual weariness of one who had devoted an entire
life to the army. But one thing Nemo could never forgive was a traitor.
He turned his back on Mags and pushed his way by the canvas divider.
Bronwyn followed him out. What do you want done with her? Whatever
you wish, I will do it.
Nemo looked down at druid. Was she asking whether he wanted her
to kill Mags? Or was that some dark fancy born of his own impulse for
retribution? Let her sleep. I want her fully recovered and fit to face courtmartial.
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Aurora
Aurora and Sabina returned from their inspection of Calbeck. Unlike the
animal clamor Aurora had heard when she first arrived in Calbeck, this sound
only seemed chaotic. As she listened closely, Aurora perceived the mathematical
precision of the hundreds of different clicks and whines. In its way, the apparent
cacophony was as beautiful as any symphony, as holy as any equation.
Numen! cried Sabina. While her chromium face betrayed no
emotions, Aurora heard the exultation in her lieutenants mechanical voice.
The realignment has begun!
Unlike her lieutenant, Aurora could still smile. Even as she allowed
herself to do so, she thought ruefully on the manner in which Sebastian
Nemo had turned her words against her. Her smile froze upon her face, as
cold and reflective as those of her clockwork angels.
Aurora wondered whether she was truly as transparent as Nemos
barbs suggested. Verbally, she had always been able to outmaneuver others
with great ease. Yet most of those around her, she understood, were minds
encased in mechanikal bodies, devoid of the fragile human senses that
confused and injured their emotions. Beyond them, she was surrounded
only by insensate machines, beautiful in their functional perfection, but
incapable of offering challenges.
Even as she recognized her disdain for others who continued to await
the honor of transference, like Enumerator Bogdan, Aurora could not
understand why she must share their fate. More than anyone, she had
proven herself worthy of a perfect physical vessel.
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Still, there was something about Nemo that allowed him to strike at
her heartor, more aptly, at the very core of her thoughts.
Did he possess some special insight into her psyche because of his great
intellect and achievements? After all, he and she were not so different in
that regard. Auroras own title, Numen of Aerogenesis, was proof of her
greatest accomplishment: flight. Was that not every bit as worthy as any
technological advance that Nemo had made for the Cygnar forces?
Numen! cried Sabina.
The tower loomed before her. Aurora banked, veering away before she
could strike the southeastern corner.
She shook her head to dispel the useless recriminations that plagued
her mind. Focusing once more on the sound of giant gearsthe sound
of progress toward completion of the Great WorkAurora performed a
perfect barrel roll and swooped beneath the arches to fly up into the shelter
of her aerie.
Her officers awaited her arrival. To either side, her clockwork angels
stepped in to flank her. Sabina took her position two steps behind Auroras
right shoulder.
Prime Enumerator Septimus stood before Aurora, Enumerator Bogdan
just beside and behind him. No other enumerators or optifex joined their
leaders, for they were all devoted to the operation. Only in the event of
an attack would they emerge to tend the vectors and clockwork soldiers
defending the site.
First Prefect Pollux stood beside other first prefects of each type
of clockwork vessel: the shield-locking obstructor, the eradicator with
protean shields on both arms, the reductor wielding a swarm projector
on one arm and a retractable blade on the other, the javelin-launching
perforator, and the deadly reciprocator with its massive protean
polearm. The clockwork soldiers greeted her arrival with a perfectly
sequenced bow. The observation deck shuddered as they moved their
feet in unison.
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arrayed as you directed, throughout the village. The Prime Axiom stands
guard before the Cygnaran central lines with a Transfinite Emergence
Projector on either flank. Wherever you fly, vectors await your command.
Three optifex directives, each with three accretion servitors, stand ready to
support the vectors. The fourth directive remains with the astronometric
nexus to monitor the realignment from the control room.
Very thorough, Enumerator.
Numen, said Sabina. The clockwork angels stand ready to defend you
in combat.
I want four trios with me and four to either flank, First Prefect, said
Aurora. Set one trio on the tower roof, and have your two most capable
trios report to me on the pinnacle for special orders.
A faint click from her voice box indicated Sabinas surprise, but she
said, As you command, Numen.
Prime Enumerator, where are the steelsoul protectors?
They remain on guard throughout the realignment node, Numen.
Shall I assign them to the field?
Take one to support the front lines, said Aurora. Station the others
here, one by each lift.
It shall be done, Numen.
Return to your stations, said Aurora. Not you, Enumerator Bogdan.
You will escort me to the control chamber. I wish to observe the realignment
process.
As you command, Numen.
Bogdan led the way to the lift tubes. After whispering a command to
one of her subordinates, Sabina followed at Auroras heel, two more of her
bodyguards trailing at a more discreet distance. Three other trios went to
the remaining lifts to meet them in the tower above.
The lift brought them to the control level. Aurora folded her wings
tight to navigate the narrow passages. Bogdan scurried before her, opening
the control chamber door before standing back to usher her inside.
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The optifex manning the various stations had exchanged their battle
helms for goggles with tinted lenses shielding their eyes from the steady
glow of the control panels. A few had donned elaborate multi-specs, their
transferrable lenses forming shining petals around their eyes.
Bogdan led the way, swatting aside those optifex who remained so
engrossed in their work that they failed to notice the arrival of their leader.
They bowed and stepped away, or when necessary pressed themselves into
shallow niches between the machinery to allow Aurora to pass.
One relatively spacious corner of the chamber was dedicated to a large
sphere representing Caen. A chromium-plated Face of Cyriss orbited the
globe.
Both monitor and shrine, the sphere depicted the planets seas in
brushed steel. The known continents were etched in brass, while the
fathomless reaches of the globe remained blank. Dark lines indicated rivers
and lakes, while glass filaments formed a blue-green network across the
globe.
Those were the key to the Great Work: the paths known among the
savage druids as ley lines but which Convergence engineers understood as
the network of geomantic power. When the worshippers of Cyriss brought
them into proper alignment, they would bring the goddess to Caen itself,
where she would establish a perfect, permanent order.
Here, Numen. Bogdan turned away from the globe and indicated a
mechanikal board with his staff. Most of its surface was filled with gauges
and dials indicating the depth of the geomantic probes, the heat stress on
the main axle, the current torque ratio, and other critical values.
Bogdan indicated a vertical groove on one side of the panel, a thin sheet
of brass slowly rising from bottom to top. As the towers probes drilled
deeper into the earth, intersecting with the flow of geomantic energies,
the Node nudged their course into a new alignment. As Aurora watched,
another card clicked into place. At a glance, she calculated its progress.
Twelve percent? she asked.
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Numen, said Sabina. She stood close and inclined her head toward
Aurora. The gesture was beginning to annoy Aurora, since her first prefects
height made her appear like a mother leaning down to speak to a child. It
is my duty to protect you from all dangers, not just in combat.
You will tell me not to trust Bogdan.
No, Numen. I know you do not trust him. I would suggest you tread
more carefully when you seek to pit him against the prime enumerator. If
he tells Septimus what you have said, surely the prime enumerator will
inform the iron mother.
Do you think I fear her?
No, Numen. If you feared her, I would have no need to caution you.
Dont worry too much about the priests, she said. There is no more
concentrated source of gossip and intrigue in all of the Convergence. It
is precisely because of Bogdans weak position that no one will take him
seriously if he speaks of my inquiry. He has more to lose and far less to gain
by informing on me than by confiding in me.
If you say so, Numen. Your calculations are far more precise than
mine.
Numen! called a bodyguard. There is motion among the Cygnar
forces.
Aurora went to the southern edge of the observation deck. Another unit
of infantry dashed forward to occupy the nearest trench. It was difficult to
discern movement at such a distance, but by the way they carefully dropped
down, Aurora had the impression the trench was already full of soldiers.
To either side of the trenches, the Storm Striders moved forward on
crablike legs. Between them, Nemo and his assistant guided their light
warjacks andto Auroras surpriseone of the heavy warjacks she had
thought destroyed in the explosion. The Stormclad moved with a slight
hitch in its step, but it appeared intact despite discoloration on the shoulder
of its sword arm. Aurora wondered whether Margaret Jernigan herself had
repaired the machine. If so, Nemo might have another surprise soon.
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132
Nemo raised the tempest accumulator above his head, and his army
leaped into motion. All of his officers knew what he wanted: a swift,
disorienting strike to the center, followed by a tactical turn directly toward
the Convergence tower. Nemo was certain the weird structure held the key
to whatever the enemy forces wanted in Calbeck. If he could bring it down,
they would have no further reason to remain.
Or so he wagered. He ran forward, ignoring the complaints of his
aching back.
On his right ran Caitlin Finch. Her earlier jocularity had vanished,
replaced by the grim determination Nemo had so often seen on the
battlefield. Lightning flickered up and down her weapon. The instant
he wished her to augment his control of the warjacks, she would be
ready.
On his left ran the druid, Bronwyn. He could no longer discern her
expression. The moment they had readied themselves for the advance, she
had raised her hood and covered her face with her black scarf. She dragged
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the weapon behind her, blade upward. Nemo could hardly imagine her
wielding it in the melee, but he had seen the power of her spells.
To either side they were escorted by storm knights. Major Blackburn led
the Stormguard on the right, leaving the left to his Stormblade captain and
the storm gunners. Mace held high, Chaplain Geary ran with the captain.
Behind him came his ensign, holding the Precursor knights banner high
so all would know where to find the chaplain.
Nemo cast his thoughts wide, running the salvaged Stormclad and the
Fireflies up the center, resisting the temptation to let the light warjacks
outpace the heavy. He kept the Lancers as far as possible to either side,
giving him the widest possible range to channel his spells across the field.
Beyond the Lancers, the stormsmiths drove the Striders just close
enough to support the warjacks with their lightning cannons, but far enough
to either side that they could make a quick dash to the east or west flank.
Against such uneven odds, Nemo needed the ability to shift tactics swiftly.
As they ran across the field, the Convergence soldiers formed ranks
to stop them. The foremost bore odd scalloped shields. Nemo saw the
purpose behind their design: With a click audible even across the field, each
crescent-moon shield locked into the next. The result was a continuous
wall of steel held before the soldiers, each of whom also wielded long maces
and unusual halberds.
As the halberdiers raised their weapons, Nemo once more experienced
an epiphany: The axe-blades of the halberds slipped down, allowing the
spearhead to project that much farther.
Beyond the wall of clockwork infantry, Nemo saw the angels take to the
sky. He spied Aurora among one of the three groups. While the other two
groups spread out toward the flanks, the Numen of Aerogenesis and her
guardians flew toward Nemo. She remained out of range, but he knew it
was only a matter of time before he must face her, warcaster to warcaster.
And though she knew his reputation, Nemo thought Aurora might be
surprised just how far his lightning could reach.
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A flash whitened the battlefield from the west. An instant later, another
struck from the east. Tendrils of lightning lashed out from the Striders
storm cannons. Their tips danced among the outermost soldiers in the
shield wall. Steel limbs, fragments of brass, and shattered maces and
halberds leaped up from the stricken sites.
The rest of the line moved forward until they came into the range of
Nemos battlegroup.
With the slightest mental nudge, Nemo activated the Fireflies storm
blasters. Galvanic bolts leaped out to strike the center of the shield wall. The
lighting shattered its targets before leaping to the victims nearest comrade.
Another blast, and they would start punching holes in the shield wall.
As rifles fired from the east and west, Nemo sent the Stormclad straight
into the middle of the clockwork defenders. Perceiving his foes through his
warjacks sensors, he felt like a giant wading into battle. Before it closed, the
Stormclad raised its generator blade. Lightning curled around the sword
and lashed forward, tearing apart a halberd-wielding soldier before leaping
past to obliterate another behind it.
More fire barked from the east. A moment later, the western woods
echoed the sound, and a rising din of shouts told Nemo the infantry
charged in from either side. The soldiers ran past the Convergence battle
engines even as blue-white rays screamed down to tear the men to pieces.
Brief flashes high above the ground showed where the orbiting servitors
intercepted incoming shots before falling, ruined, to the ground.
Nemo paused for an instant, considering the damage to the clockwork
soldiers front line. They had suffered somewhat more to the east.
Half-closing his eyes, Nemo shifted his focus to the Lancer on his right
flank. Drawing on the arcane channels he had developed through years of
study, he summoned a circle of blazing runes around his body. By force
of will, he poured lightning through the arc node inside the Lancer. The
storm lashed out into the clockwork soldiers, leaping from one steel body
to another until several more lay scorched and mangled on the ground.
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Far behind the clockwork troops, three explosions rang out, one after
another. The sounds told Nemo his rangers had begun breaking the
prisons in Calbeck. From east and west, the infantry drove inward to join
them, capturing the outer streets to control the exodus of captives before
the fighting reached the village center. With their attention focused on his
swift assault, the Convergence forces would now have to choose between
defending their position and recovering the escaping prisoners.
The remnants of the Convergence shield wall parted to allow an assault
team through. Heavy clockwork troops bearing shields on both arms
rushed forward. As they charged, heavy triangular blades shot out from
their shields.
The storm gunners blasted a few of the attackers to the ground before
they closed the distance. The others crashed against the knights. The
blades of their protean shields punched through the Cygnaran armor,
leaving mangled bodies on the ground
The Stormblades struck back, but most of their glaives clashed against
the impenetrable shields. Those that slipped past severed steel limbs and
left brass viscera scattered in their wakes.
Nemo returned his attention to the Stormclad. With the heavy blade
he cut a mace-wielding soldier in half. He reached out with the warjacks
open hand to crush the head of another.
And then the colossal stepped forward.
It roared like an army of engines, the earth trembling beneath the
force of the displacement field under each of its titanic legs. Clockwork
soldiers scrambled to avoid being trampled. Trios of giant conical drills,
each larger than a light warjack, jutted from the ends of its arms. It
advanced, shrugging its shoulders like a fist-fighter, drills shrieking as
they spun.
From one of the heavy units mounted on its shoulders, a projectile fired
with a sharp pneumatic report. A monstrous harpoon shot through the
chassis of Nemos Stormclad. An instant later, its heavy tow cable jerked
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the massive warjack forward, dragging it across the battlefield toward the
Convergence colossal.
Even as Nemo directed the Stormclads open hand to grasp the cable,
the warjack slammed into the colossal. Nemo barely had time to raise
the generator blade in a futile gesture of defiance before one of the triple
drills fell upon it, grinding the blade and the arm beneath it into steel
filings. The shriek of sheared metal carried across the battlefield. Friend
and foe alike turned to see the warjack struggle as the second drill arm
fell upon its back.
As the Stormclad was destroyed, another harpoon shot out toward the
west. The tip of the weapon fell short of the crackling orb of the lightning
cannon, but where a stormsmith had stood, only a haze of blood remained.
As the colossal reeled in its harpoon, the surviving stormsmith pulled back
on the drivers yoke to move the battle engine farther from the lethal foe.
Nemo heard the crack of another loud pneumatic report, this time
from the main body of the colossal. A second and third followed in rapid
succession. To his left, the bodies of three storm knights flew backward,
each impaled by a long steel spike. The colossal coughed again, and four
men died on the right.
Spread out! Blackburn shouted as he recognized the danger of the
clustered projectiles. An instant later, men to either side of him leaped
backward, their bodies transfixed to the ground. As Blackburn turned
to shout an order, Nemo saw the deputys lieutenant impaled through
the mouth, his back arched at an impossible angle as the spike bent him
backward.
Blackburn choked, reached for the man, and stopped himself. Instead
he shouted his order to the next officer down the chain. Then he turned
back to the enemy to continue fighting.
Even Sebastian Nemo, veteran of a hundred dire battles, had seldom
seen such devastating power unleashed against such vulnerable targets.
The destructive power of the Convergence war machine caught his breath,
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distracting him long enough that he was surprised to hear Finch cry, Look
out, sir!
Instinctively he crouched and raised the tempest accumulator to
guard his head. Steel rang against steel as he threw himself to the ground.
Tumbling, he looked up to see one of the clockwork angels rising once
more, her razor-sharp sword still crackling with the static aura it had
caught from his staff.
Cursing his own inattentiveness, Nemo rolled back to his feet, wincing
as he felt a sharp pain in his hip. He was not injured, he realized. He was
simply growing old.
And he was determined to keep growing old, which meant first staying
alive.
His eyes sought the next attacker. She came at him from the west,
blade held to the side, ready to sweep through his neck. He braced himself
to parry the blow, but a sudden blast of invisible force threw the winged
assassin off course. It flipped her over, redirecting her invisible propulsion
field to throw her to the ground. Before she could rise, the three nearest
Stormguard fell upon her. Their voltaic halberds cut open her steel-andbrass body as the lightning danced among her gears. She lay unmoving on
the ground.
Nemo turned to see the druid Bronwyn rise from the crouch from
which she had hurled her spell. She turned away without so much as a nod
to acknowledge that she had saved his life, axe raised to strike at another
clockwork soldier menacing a storm knight with its bladed shields.
Above Bronwyn, a third clockwork angel dove toward Nemo. He
raised his staff, ready to trigger a lightning strike, but he withheld the bolt
because Bronwyn remained dangerously close. Unlike Finch and the storm
knights, the druid wore no storm armor and thus had no protection from
his lightning.
Instead of risking striking Bronwyn, Nemo waited for the angel to close
with him. He thrust the head of the staff toward her, trying to deflect her
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course before she could decapitate him. His staff pierced her shimmering
power field to strike her steel shoulder, but not hard enough to knock her
aside. Nemo ducked his head as her blade penetrated his power field and
sang against the galvanic coils on his back.
They crackled and sputtered. The generator whined and surged, but it
did not fail.
Not yet.
As the clockwork angel soared back into the sky, Nemo waited until she
was high above the fray before flinging the lightning after her. The white
arcs burned away her wings and one arm. For an instant, her hovering
field continued to operate, carrying her limp body across the field before
dropping her among the Cygnar soldiers.
Another wave of clockwork infantry surged forward to support the first.
At a glance, Nemo saw that the infiltration of the village had not distracted
them from his attack. Ignoring the escaping captives, the Convergence
forces focused all their attention on repelling the Cygnaran army out of
the village, especially away from the tower.
Nemo had hoped to divide their focus, but protecting the tower
was their priority. Somehow he needed to entice Aurora to turn her
attention elsewhere. He knew a way, but it would not come without
great cost.
Finch, bring that Storm Strider to bear on the colossal, he pointed
east. He shouted a similar command toward the other Strider in the
west, where the officers relayed it, shout to shout. He saw the lone
remaining stormsmith on the battle engines platform receive the order.
The man looked back at Nemo, his goggles giving him a surprised look.
The man did not balk. Instead, he nodded emphatically to acknowledge
the order.
Nemo recited a silent prayer for the man. He hoped the Striders range
was great enough to strike the colossal with their lightning cannons while
keeping the stormsmith out of range of the harpoon.
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The storm knight infantry clashed in melee with the clockwork soldiers.
The Stormblades and storm gunners fired into the fray, heedless of their
comrades, whose armor shielded them from the lightning.
As the Storm Striders maneuvered into position, Nemo briefly noted
the placement of his Lancer warjacks before focusing all his attention on
the Fireflies. He moved them just into range of the colossal and unleashed
their storm blasters. Lightning leaped in to dance along the colossals right
arm, scoring the chassis beneath with irregular black lines.
The western Storm Strider fired its cannon, following Nemos lead in
boring deep wounds along the colossals flank. One of the giant machines
triple drill bits flew away spinning, but the other two continued tearing
apart the Stormclad caught in its embrace.
At the colossals feet, three light vectors rushed up to reach their probes
toward the colossals wounds. Armored menclockwork or human,
Nemo couldnt tellran forward to clamber up its massive legs, welding
torches and spanners swinging from their belts.
Trying not to think of Mags Jernigan, Nemo lashed out at them.
Another volley of electrical energy from the Fireflies threw a mechanik
from the machines leg. Another melted the limbs off a repair vector.
Rifles continued to bark from the east and west, their previously
cascading volleys breaking up into sporadic fire as soldiers picked targets
of opportunity. More and more of it moved from the troops on the ground
to the tower dominating Calbeck. Nemo saw brief flashes of energy as an
invisible shield deflected the gunfire. From what he could see, not a single
round penetrated the power field.
Spherical servitors flew from the tower out toward the long gunners.
Some sprayed luminescent green fluid over the soldiers, highlighting their
positions. Others exploded, throwing shrapnel and limp bodies in all
directions.
Aurora appeared again, soaring toward the colossal with her bodyguards
on either side. Beneath them, a squad of disparate vectors followed on
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the ground. No two were alike, but they moved in unison, obeying their
warcasters silent command.
The Convergence colossal turned toward the western Storm Strider
that was continuously raking its body with claws of lightning. It hovered
toward its foe, the earth beneath its shadow churning in the powerful
displacement field.
The stormsmith pulled back the Striders control yoke, desperately
trying to maintain the advantage of range while staring up in awe at the
looming colossal. What the driver didnt see was the Convergence battle
engine intercepting it from the west.
Nemo called out a warning, even as he realized there was no way his
voice could be heard from such a distance. The knights relayed his message
across the line, but it was too late.
As the tower-shaped Convergence battle engine drew closer, two of
its orbiting servitors swung into position on either side. They flashed
with blue-white light, fixing the Storm Striders weapon with seemingly
harmless beams of light. Then the battle engines own cyclopean lens
opened and blazed.
A steady beam of blue-white radiance speared down, striking the
crackling orb of the Striders lightning cannon. The silvery globe shook
and blackened, trembling in its rig. Three of its lightning nodules
dimmed as another one burst, galvanic energy spilling out to leap across
the catwalk.
The Strider shot back, diverting its lightning from the colossal to the
battle engine. One of the orbiting servitors zipped into the path of the
lightning, bursting in a shower of molten steel but sparing its battle engine
the brunt of the bolt.
The Convergence engine stalked the retreating Strider, trying to herd
it back into range of the colossal. Nemo could see from the mans frantic
gestures that the driver perceived the danger. But without a co-pilot to aid
him, he found the colossal drawing closer and closer.
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Aurora
to the Prime Axiom. If she had not distracted him, Nemo might have
destroyed them all along with the optifex. Fortunately, between the surgical
strikes of her angels and the damage she had caused to his nearest Storm
Strider, Nemo had failed to eliminate the repair units.
That was a critical mistake. Between the Galvanizers and the optifex
directives, Auroras most powerful machine would remain in the battle.
She glanced east and west to monitor the attacks from the flanks. At
any moment she expected more stormsmiths to emerge from the screen
of woods, yet none had appeared. Their absence troubled her, despite the
near proximity of her Modulator vector.
Tempted though she was to surprise Nemo with the one vector immune
to his favored lightning attacks, she knew it remained vulnerable to the
blades of the soldiers around him. She would save it for the right moment,
when Nemo felt he had the advantage of the storm, and she could show
him how wrong he was.
Behind her in Calbeck, Cygnaran infantry withdrew from their rescue
mission, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Aurora had committed only
a token force to oppose them. As she had directed, Pollux assigned a few
perforators to put up the appearance of firing on the fleeing villagers and
their rescuers, although they had instructions to aim not for the unarmed
prisoners but only the soldiers. The more pointless goals Aurora presented
to the Cygnarans, the less attention they would devote to the one thing
that truly mattered: the realignment node.
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Sebastian Nemos swift assault had taken its heaviest toll on the
clockwork infantry. Aurora looked down to see reductors and perforators
lay down a field of covering fire to keep the storm knights at bay as Prime
Enumerator Septimus directed his enigma foundries across the field.
The foundries resembled Septimus except in a few key features: their
additional limbs were similar to the repair probes of the Galvanizers, and
upon their massive shoulders rested batteries of receptors for salvaged
essence chambers.
Each also carried an empty emergency vessel, primed to receive the soul
of a human optifex orshould the unthinkable occurAurora herself.
Such battlefield transferences were far from ideal. Unlike the Anima
Corpus Procedure, they could fail or damage the mind of the subjector
so the priests cautioned those who might recklessly throw away their lives
in battle to gain eternal life inside a clockwork vessel.
In one moment of intense frustration, Aurora had considered the
prospect of death as a means of circumventing the fluxion directives
permission, but she had immediately rejected the notion. Not only would it
require accepting the stain of defeat, but also the very idea of purposefully
allowing herself to die remained abhorrent. If she ever fell in battle, it
would not be because she allowed it to happen.
Wherever the clockwork priests went, they paused to retrieve the essence
chambers from the broken bodies of the fallen obstructors, eradicators,
and reciprocators. With the help of their hovering accretion servitors, they
salvaged what they could of the damaged clockwork infantry. With speed
and economy to shame Immorens greatest field mechaniks, they returned
the essence chambers to the refurbished combatants and returned them to
the fight.
Elsewhere, optifex directivestrios of priestsfocused their efforts
on repairing injured troops. Two directives remained near the Transfinite
Emergence Projectors, though the Cygnarans had failed to cause significant
damage to either of the battle engines. The permutation servitors orbiting
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back that stored portion of her mental strength and pouring it into the
Diffuser.
The light vector fired shot after shot. As each ripspike emerged from
the barrel of its high-tension launcher, fins sprang up on its base. Guided
by Auroras thoughts, they twisted to guide the missiles over and around
the intervening storm knights, bringing them unerringly toward their
target. Four ripspikes sank deep into the Lancers steel carapace, but only
half their job was done.
Each imbedded spike sent silent signals to the nearest Convergence
vectors, clockwork vessels, and priests. Sensing their designated target,
the perforator prefect moved his troops forward and launched a volley
of protean javelins toward the Lancer. The armor-piercing missiles tore
the warjack to shreds, cutting off Nemos reach on the western side of the
battle.
Aurora sent her Assimilator gliding eastward toward the remaining
Lancer. Unlike the globe-like Corollary, the upper chassis of the heavy
vector resembled human shoulders with asymmetrical arms. As it
approached, storm knights and Cygnaran infantry stepped forward to
block its path. The hovering vector fired its tri-barreled cannon into the
enemy troops. As its segmented javelins arced just above the soldiers,
Aurora triggered their charges to shower the troops below with a horde
of tiny projectiles, each buzzing with a pair of razor-sharp saw blades. The
dissevering microswarm left a cloud of blood and steel filings above the
fallen bodies, clearing the way to the Lancer.
Once the path was clear, Aurora sent her lightning-charged Modulator
gliding past the Assimilator and took to the sky.
Numen! shouted Sabina, flying after her with five more angels close
behind. Should we not remain close to the Conservator?
Aurora ignored her. While the ablator blades and bucklers of the heavy
vector provided another layer of personal security, Aurora wanted a better
view. She wanted to see how Nemo reacted to her counter attack. If it had
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worked, she hoped she had drawn the attention of his remaining Storm
Strider and Fireflies away from the Prime Axiom.
The Strider moved to the east, away from the colossal. Then both the
storm gunners and the Fireflies redirected their attacks not to her attacking
vectors but to the Galvanizers and priests repairing the Prime Axiom. A
white net of voltaic destruction danced at the feet of the Prime Axiom.
Gears and blades flew off the Galvanizers, while optifex shook in a brief,
fatal dance before falling to the ground.
Surrounded by the telltale runes of a warcaster, Nemo channeled
another spell, adding his own lightning to the storm. Bolts of electricity
coursed through the surviving Lancer and blacked the Axioms legs as it
finished off the repair units beneath it.
Aurora cursed herself under her breath. Shed been rash to place so
many of her critical repair units in such a small area. In a few flashes of
lightning, Nemo had nearly obliterated her capacity to repair her most
powerful units.
Strobes of light alerted her to a new threat from the east.
Somehow the stormsmiths had advanced to the front of the Cygnaran
lines, their storm towers summoning dark clouds above the Convergence
forces. As the artificial wind blew away a tarpaulin, Aurora realized they
had advanced under the guise of Cygnar infantry, revealing their weaponry
only after they had reached their positions.
And there were twice as many on the eastern flank as she had expected.
Damn him, snapped Aurora. Once again Nemo had concealed the true
movements of his troops. She had expected stormsmiths on either side, but
instead they were concentrated on one side. Their lightning fell among the
Convergence troops as the Storm Strider closed to support them.
Once they had swept the field clear of soldiers, the Cygnaran troops
turned their attention to the Transfinite Emergence Projector. Smoke
from the long gunners sent a dark cloud into the sky, and blinding white
fingers leaped from the Striders cannon.
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Look out, sir! cried Caitlin Finch. She thrust her staff upward. Its
blinding discharge leaped up but came nowhere near Aurora.
Then Aurora spied Nemo, a ball of lightning cupped in one hand, his
spear shaking with energy in the other.
For an instant, she feared to approach him.
Aurora barely glimpsed the black-robed figure before an immense force
struck her from below. It flung her off course, tumbling her over the blue
line of Cygnaran soldiers. Some of the troops had the presence of mind
to turn their weapons upon her. Sizzling bolts lit up her force field and
smothered her in a shroud of energy.
Screaming, Aurora rolled, curling her wings around her body while
pushing her geomantic propulsion field to the limit. In an instant, her
desire to kill turned into a need to escapeto flee these unpredictable foes.
Behind her, more clockwork angels cried out and fell to Cygnaran
lightning. A shadow covered her, but before she could raise her staff to strike
it, she felt Sabinas hands upon her arms. The prefect sheltered Aurora with
her body and added the force of her own arcane displacement to hers.
Numen, you are injured!
Aurora shrugged her off. Im fine, she snapped. A moment later, she
blinked as a trickle of blood ran into her eye. Touching her brow, she felt
the warm steel of her helm, half-melted under the touch of a galvanic
beam. Along with her weakened force field, it had served its purpose.
Auroras flesh was burned and bleeding, but not seriously. She threw off
her damaged helm. Her hair spilled loose and whipped across her eyes.
Two more clockwork angels joined them as they retreated from Nemos
force. Where are the others? asked Aurora.
They defended you to the last, Numen, said Sabina. Her mechanikal
voice box clicked, stifling any further emotion.
Aurora looked back to see a few mangled wings among the furiously
hacking storm knights. One silvery arm reached up to ward off the blow of
a crackling glaive, but the blade fell. An instant later, so did the arm.
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Aurora had seen death before, but it was never easy to see one of her
troops fallespecially her angels. She gave up the last of her plan simply
to defend the site.
We shall sweep the field of these storm lords, she swore, and our enigma
foundries will recover the soul essence of our fallen from among the graveyard
of our enemies.
Once she had returned safely behind her own lines, Aurora again
surveyed the field. Even without benefit of her full attention, the Prime
Axiom had reduced the captured Storm Strider to so much scrap metal.
Ribbons of steel fell through the grinding triple-drills of its arms. Another
harpoon lashed out, narrowly missing a Firefly but cutting an advancing
rifleman in half.
The Modulator finally came within range of the Firefly. Aurora reached
out with her mind, projecting her thoughts through its interface node
and thence into mechanikal action. As the power of its voltaic nimbus
generator surged, she caused the vector to raise both of its galvanic arc
emitters to throw beams of pure electricitynot at the warjack, but into
the nearest Cygnaran forces.
The Modulators emitter surge speared two lines of Cygnaran soldiers.
Neither armor nor human bodies could halt the beams, which flowed
through each victim to drive into the next and the next behind him. The
stricken soldiers leaped up, jerked for a moment, and fell limp beneath the
merciless rays.
With a savage grin of triumph, Aurora turned to see what Sebastian
Nemo thought of her own storm-flinging vector.
He had left his earlier position. In fact, Aurora could see no sign of
him until she spied the storm knights and the entire command unit of the
Cygnaran army running full-tilt through the wall of dust rolling in from
the east.
There, in the haze where the stormsmiths and Strider had cleared the
field of Convergence defenders and toppled the Transfinite Emergence
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152
The steel-shod feet of Nemos storm knights banged on the steel steps,
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Nemo reminded himself that they were only temporarily allied with
this blackclad. Much as he was relieved to hear that she was unfamiliar
their technology, he did not wish to dispel any more of her ignorance.
If we stop whatever this tower is doing, said Nemo, This Aurora will
have no more reason to remain.
Bronwyn nodded and continued running up the automatic stairway.
Despite the exhilaration of traveling so quickly upward, propelled as
much by the moving steps as by his own muscles, Nemo felt a twinge of
impatience that he was not leading the charge. After the carnage outside,
he had expected the surviving storm knights to allow themselves a moment
of relief, to prove less eager to die as heroes. Instead, the troops hastened
to put themselves between the enemy and their leaders. Two of them had
even shouldered their way past Major Blackburn, who Nemo imagined felt
the same frustration.
Nemos pride bristled at the thought of himself as the protected rather
than the protector. It was prudent. It was regulation. It just never felt quite
right.
To either side of the escalating stair, plain steel plates lined the stairway,
which rose in an elegant, graceful curve toward the tower center. Flexible
tubes hanging like laundry lines emitted a steady luminescence. The exposed
bolts on the panels suggested the absence of an intended outer layer, perhaps
ornamental. Despite the elegance of its basic architecture, the tower entrance
seemed incomplete. Nemos impatience flared as the automatic stairs stopped
moving. The knights ahead of him tripped, recovered, and continued to run.
Caitlin Finch followed close behind, elbowing Bronwyn whenever the druid
tried to slip past her. Behind the women, Chaplain Geary followed with his
ensign and more storm knights bringing up the rear.
With a sudden clutch and grind, the stairs reversed course. Nemo
and his soldiers found themselves in the position of salmon swimming
upstreamonly weighted down by armor.
Hurry! Nemo urged those ahead of him.
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To the other side, two storm knights fought the other sentinel. One locked
his glaive against the halberds shaft, driving the weapon up to allow his
companion to drive the tip of his blade into the foes exposed abdomen. The
sharp edge keened across metal and gears but barely scratched the chassis.
Get back! shouted Finch.
With one last shove, the knights threw themselves out of the way. The instant
they were clear, Finch drove the tip of her staff against the sentinels throat.
Lightning cascaded across the steel body, sending it into a paroxysm of shock.
Now! cried Finch. Together with Blackburn, the men swept their
heavy blades down, shearing off the clockwork guardians arm and cutting
a deep wound into her steely chest. A few springs and gears leaped from
the injury. The defender sank to the floor with a sad, diminishing whirr
that dwindled into an electric sigh before it died.
Nemo looked beyond the fight.
Before them spread a great circular platform, its center cloaked in a
shimmering steel curtain. To either side, the platform looked down on
the village of Calbeck and the surrounding battlefields. From here, Nemo
realized, Aurora and her officers had been observing them while remaining
hidden from his sentries in the camp. No wonder theyd had such good
intelligence on the location of their mechaniks workshop.
Thinking of Mags and her betrayal hardened Nemos resolve. He
turned, eyes searching for a portal or any sign of a control room. Another
of the steel sentinels stepped out from around the western passage. She
hefted her polearm and charged, fearless of their greater numbers.
Nemo pointed his staff and let the lightning flow. The guardian kept
running, even as gears popped red-hot out of her shoulder joints. Halfway
to him, she faltered. He released another surge, breaking her chassis open
and scattering her internal components across the deck.
As he halted the galvanic beam, he heard another crackling behind him.
Finch raised her own staff. Looking past her, he saw she had demolished
with the aid of Blackburn and his knightsanother tower defender.
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Send two men around to guard the other corners, Nemo whispered
to Blackburn. The major conveyed the orders with hand gestures, and the
knights obeyed instantly.
Nemo triggered the button beside the door. The panel slid aside. Humid
air rank with ozone and body odor wafted into the corridor.
Inside, the chamber glowed with light from low panels and high displays.
Armored figures, most with their helms removed, squeezed between
clockwork apparatuses and exposed conduits passing through vents that
descended from the ceiling and plunged into the lower reaches of the
tower. A few of the rooms inhabitants wore complex optical apparatuses
through which they peered at tiny mechanikal displays.
A bespectacled man turned toward the open door, his magnified eyes
widening as he recognized intruders. He opened his mouth to alert the
others, but arcane runes already orbited Nemos hand. Lightning sputtered
like hot bacon grease in his cupped palm. He flung the energy into the
room, squinting as it flashed outward to transfix all the occupants and fill
the chamber with light.
The rooms occupants shuddered and slumped to the floor. Instruments
leaped out of their panels and scattered across the floor, trailing sparks.
Blackburn rushed in with his knights, checking the corners for unseen
defenders before touching the necks of the fallen in a search for survivors.
There were none. After the major called the all-clear, Nemo entered with
Finch, Geary, and Bronwyn close behind.
After his first step into the control room, Nemo felt perspiration slick
his face as the heat enveloped his body. Through the clutter he spied
another door on each of the other three walls of the chamber. He turned
his attention to the devices crowded inside.
Most of the panels displayed banks of levers and dial gauges,
illuminated by the blue-white luminescence he had come to associate
with Convergence constructs. In several places the symbol of Cyriss
appeared among the instruments, but its placement seemed the result
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hanging from the chambers ceiling. He recognized the sun, the moons,
and upon a far wall, a globe marked with the Face of Cyriss. Its interior
light glowed in sympathy with the ley lines indicated on Caen.
So too did the curving lines upon the walls. Nemo stepped back for a
larger perspective on the relationship between the implied orrery and the
suspended globes.
They are repositioning these ley lines in sympathy with the passage of
Cyriss, he said. But why?
To draw the power of their goddess to Caen? suggested Finch.
Bronwyn wrinkled her nose at Finch, but then she appeared to consider
the notion. Perhaps.
Outrageous, said Chaplain Geary. It must mean they are preparing
for some sort of arcane holy war. They are gathering power for their
warcasters.
No, Nemo said slowly. Despite the emphasis on ley lines on this
globe of Caen, there are no similar courses of energy indicated on the other
planet. These lines seem to describe gravitational patterns.
As Nemo considered the possibilitiesdivine, scientific, and arcane
alikea cold dread gathered in his stomach. Weighing what he had seen
and heard of Aurora, her callow attempts at manipulation, her passionate
advocacy of her cult, and its emphasis on immortality, he began to formulate
the most awful hypothesis.
What is it, sir? said Finch.
They are not trying to summon the power of Cyriss, he said. They
mean to bring the goddess herself to Caen.
Finch blinked. They can do that? No, never mind that. Why would
they do that?
To rule her own domain, said Bronwyn, her voice filled with awe.
The Cyrissists reject the balance between this world and the next. They
wish their goddess to rule this world alone, while the other gods reside in
Urcaen.
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And what of us, who live our lives in hopes of serving Morrow in
Urcaen? said Geary. What do they intend to do with the faithful?
What do all conquering faiths do with heretics? said Blackburn.
A shout from outside drew Nemos attention to one of the closed doors.
Blackburn moved toward it, but it opened before he reached it. The guard
stationed outside fell inward, his throat slashed. Behind him stood one of
Auroras clockwork angels, bloody sword poised to strike again.
An instant later, the other doors opened to admit two more clockwork
angels from opposite doors, bloody swords at their sides. From the third,
Aurora stepped into the room. Behind her, Nemo glimpsed the brass
wings of more of her bodyguard.
You are too late, said Aurora. I have already crushed your army, but
I have no wish to destroy you. Surrender, Sebastian Nemo. Surrender
yourself to the truth of the Convergence, and join us.
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Aurora
Aurora searched Sebastian Nemos blue eyes for any sign that he
saw through her bluff. The same quality that made him valuable to the
Convergence was also what made him so dangerous: his intelligence.
He stood beside the globe of Caen. All the clues he required to
understand the Great Work lay before him. Even a mechanik like Margaret
Jernigan would have been able to deduce their meaning in time. The
question was whether the warcaster had been in the chamber long enough
to understand those clues.
Nemo responded by raising his staff, activating its charge, and smashing
its butt down onto a control panel.
No! Aurora leaped toward him. A knight interposed himself, raising
his crackling blade.
Destroy it all, Nemo shouted to the others. She seeks to delay us.
Aurora shoved the knight away. He fell back, but only for an instant
before lunging at her again.
As the runic halo of her spell surrounded her, Aurora drove the head
of her staff into the mans breastplate, crushing the steel deep into his
abdomen. With a gasp, he dropped his blade and fell to one knee.
Continuing her furious motion, Aurora slammed the butt of the staff
against the head of another knight, an older man with the sigil of Morrow
displayed prominently on his white armor. He crumbled.
As the woman called Finch smashed a geomantic conduit, Aurora
levered the staff to sweep her legs out from under her. With a startled yelp,
the adept hit the floor.
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As Finch fell, the blackclad leaped toward Aurora. Turning to strike the
druid, Aurora felt her wings catch on the surrounding conduits. Even so,
one blow from the center of her staff sent the small woman tumbling away.
Auroras bodyguard held back, recognizing her frenzy and waiting for it
to end before joining her in the fight. Aurora had one more target to strike,
and his attention was locked on the rooms controls.
Aurora swung the polynomial staff with all her might. Scant inches
from his skull, Nemo caught the blow upon his own weapon, lightning
crackling along its length. He shoved back with surprising strength. His
eyes narrowed, and for an instant Aurora saw arcane runes circling in his
irises.
As her spell faded, his struck.
A brutal impact sent her hurtling across the chamber. Auroras own
body became the projectile with which Nemo destroyed the room. Her
sharp wings severed cables and vents, shredding the fine interfaces of the
control panels.
She crashed against the chamber wall and crumbled to the floor,
shaking her head to clear it from the tiny explosions of light that dazzled
her vision. She had seen nothing of the origin of the blast but knew it came
from Nemo.
Bronwyn, get out! cried Nemo. Geary, you too!
Someone grabbed Auroras arm and lifted her to her feet. Numen,
leave him to me.
Beyond Sabina, Aurora saw the rest of her bodyguards moving in to
attack.
The first angel raised her blade to strike the white-clad Morrowan, but
rather than block with his mace, the man lowered his head and bull-rushed
her out of the chamber.
Another bodyguard stabbed at the druid. The diminutive woman
tumbled backward, rolling back to her feet while retaining hold of her
gnarled axe. She gestured with her other hand at the clockwork angel
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standing between her and the chamber door. With a halo of green druidic
runes and a whoosh of invisible force, she blasted the angel out into the
corridor. Without giving her opponent a second glance, the blackclad
rushed out the opposite door, after the Morrowan.
Theyre clear! shouted Finch.
Simultaneously, the adept and her master raised their staves. Threads of
lightning shot forth, leaping from console to panel, through the storm armor
of the knights, crisscrossing the room in a blinding web of deadly force.
Stop! Aurora leaped forward in a vain attempt to block the lightning
with her body.
Sabina dragged her armored body along the wall, her own steel body
jerking as lightning coursed into her steel frame. No, Numen. You You
must escape!
With the last word, Sabina shoved her out the chamber door and into
the passage.
Acrid smoke and a stench of ozone followed her into the corridor.
Through the thickening haze she saw the sparks continue their devastating
work as orange flames blossomed on the control boards.
Sabina crawled out of the control chamber. She struggled to rise and
activate the switch shutting the door.
She slumped against the corridor wall, cradling her sword arm against
her chest. Aurora knelt beside her. Sabina.
Hurry, Numen. You must escape to report to your to the iron
mother.
Aurora pulled Sabinas arm over her shoulder, shrugging her wings
out of the way. It took all her strength to help the clockwork angel stand.
Together, they staggered to the lift. Aurora slapped the button to summon
it, but before the doors opened she heard a sound of fighting in the adjacent
corridor.
Another of her bodyguards, Mina, fought a Cygnaran knight, not
the white-clad Morrowan but a big man in blue storm armor. Aurora
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recognized the severe dent she had left in his breastplate. Raising his glaive,
he struck a two-handed blow against Minas wrist, lightning augmenting
the damage from the heavy blade. The angels binomial blade leaped from
her grip and skittered across the steel deck.
Aurora gripped her staff and moved toward the fight.
Numen please, said Sabina. Her mechanikal voice popped, since
the lightning damaged her voice box. Allow me.
Gripping her sword in her good hand, Sabina ran haltingly toward
the knight, even as he raised his blade to finish his foe. Sabina parried
the blow awkwardly, revealing worse damage to her arm than Aurora had
realized.
The knight kicked Sabina away. As Mina scrambled after her dropped
weapon, the knight pursued her. Reversing his glaive, he brought the point
of the crackling weapon down between her brass wings. The whirring of
gears within her chest cavity sputtered, coughed, and ceased. Aurora heard
the crack of glass and saw the luminescent fluid of the essence chamber
pour out beneath her body.
The knight had not just defeated her. He had slain her, irrevocably.
With an angry screech, Sabina thrust her blade up through the knights
damaged breastplate. The blade plunged through the mans chest and out
the back, briefly giving the impression he had sprouted a wing of his own.
He sank to his knees, lips moving in a prayer or curse.
The lift doors opened. Aurora stepped inside the tube. Hurry, Sabina!
As her bodyguard staggered toward her, the door to the control chamber
opened once more. Smoke billowed out. Caitlin Finch emerged, coughing.
Squinting through the lenses of her goggles, her eyes widened at the sight
of the knight kneeling nearby, his blood spreading across the deck.
Blackburn! she cried. Chaplain, come here quickly! Her gaze turned
toward Sabina and Aurora. Lightning snapped up and down the length of
her staff.
Sabina, run!
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Instead, Sabina looked back over her shoulder. Finch saw her, raised
her staff, and unleashed its lightning.
The blast lifted Sabina from her feet and held her for an eternal instant
above the deck. Its charge blasted the brass feathers from her wings and
shook her wounded arm out of joint. Sabina fell limp as a discarded doll.
Aurora shrieked her loss and fury. She raised her staff and took a step
toward Sabinas killer. Her hands turned to ice as her heart seethed with
vengeance. She would tear this adept to pieces.
Aurora stopped as she saw Sebastian Nemo step out behind Finch.
Behind him came another pair of knights, galvanic blades in hand.
Fear overcame her rage. Aurora rushed back into the lift, grabbing at
the lever even as lightning caught the closing doors. She pushed the lever
up and held it there, even though she knew the gesture would not speed
her ascent.
Trying to control her breathing, she thought of a way she could strike
back at her foes still trapped within the astronometric nexus. She reached
out with her thoughts. Her mind touched the interface node built into the
control room. Despite the damage Nemo and his adept had caused, it still
functioned.
The instant Aurora triggered the nexus self-destruct protocol, the lift
shuddered and halted. Her heart skipped a beat as she imagined Nemo had
somehow trapped her to share his fate, but an instant later she remembered
the escape hatch in the ceiling. Knocking it open with her staff, she rose up
through the opening, folding her wings close while rising by virtue of the
arcane displacement field. She continued to rise until she emerged on the
tower pinnacle. She ran to the edge and leaped away.
She had only enough time to recall her army to the geomantic
translocation chambers below the tower. Swooping low, she called out to
Pollux, Bogdan, and finally Septimus as she spied them organizing the
withdrawal among the remains of her army. Her command was simple.
Home!
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Aurora raised her voice for all the nearby troops to hear. We return
home in triumph! she cried. Our work here is done.
A halfhearted cheer stirred among the troops. Another tremor from
the node above silenced them.
Aurora knew she deserved no better, but the tepid response still burned
her cheeks with shame. She reached for the controls with her hand even as
she reached out with her mind to the interface node inside the device. She
triggered the geomantic translocation apparatus.
She felt the invisible field folding her material essence into a point
inconceivably small. She could not feel the motion as the geomantic
translocation apparatus hurled her and the rest of the army across a
vast distance. An instant later, the same energies that had transported
the thought of them restored their bodies. The survivors of the battle of
Calbeck stood high in the Wyrmwall Mountains, beside one of the several
strategic repair stations they had left in the wake of their southern advance.
Far to the north, Aurora knew the astronometric nexus was already
destroying itself. She wished she could observe the blinding pillar of light
that marked the final destruction of the realignment node. It had served
its purpose. While she had tempted Sebastian Nemo with many truths
about the Convergence, Aurora had no wish to leave him so much more
technology to study. The man had already proven himself so dangerous.
But not dangerous enough to stop her. Despite the intolerable losses to
her army, Aurora had succeeded. The alignment was complete. Her mission
accomplished, the Convergence was one great step closer to completing the
Great Work.
170
The morning after the battle of Calbeck, Sebastian Nemo stood at the
edge of the ruined village. He received the reports of his officers while the
enlisted troops dragged a few remaining vesselsfor some reason he could
not think of them as bodiesinto designated areas divided by type.
There were precious few clockwork soldiers and vectors remaining. The
rest had vanished beneath the tower as hidden charges brought it down
into a heap of debris that continued to smoke.
The final destruction of the tower came soon after, even as the Cygnaran
forces scrambled to escape the blast radius. Even those cautious enough to
turn away suffered burns from the incandescent flash of the towers final
blast.
Only a few lonely buildings remained standing on the outskirts of the
village, and those were blackened by the heat that had all but destroyed the
remains of the Convergence colossal and battle engines, along with most of
the fallen clockwork soldiers.
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Nemo wondered how many essence chambers had perished with the
disposable bodies. How many dead had the Convergence suffered? His
forces had endured more than he cared to consider.
It would be days before Nemo dared send pickers into the wreckage.
He held little hope of recovering substantial salvage. The control room, the
ingenious automatic stairs and pneumatic-mechanikal liftsall had been
consumed.
For all the regret he felt at the loss of such precious technology, Nemo
most wished he had been able to retrieve that globe of Caen. Even apart from
its intrinsic scientific value, its map of ley lines would have proved critical
in anticipating and countering the future schemes of the Convergence.
Could they really intend to bring their goddess to Caen? Nemo would
not have believed such an absurd proposal if he had not seen the incredible
geomantic technology these Cyrissists wielded. He would not have thought
anyone capable of such an audacious dream before meeting Aurora.
He weighed the positives. Whether by the blessing of Morrow or
random chance, Nemo had learned of their presence in time to oppose
Auroras army. He had driven them off Cygnaran territory and learned
enough of their design to heighten watchfulness throughout the kingdom.
A storm knight captain brought him the initial casualty report. Just
the weight of the several pages was cause for despair. Nemo knew he
would have sacrificed far fewer lives with a less aggressive response to the
intrusion, but then he would not have stopped Auroras scheme in time.
Not that he was certain he had done so.
Sir, said Caitlin Finch. She threw a perfunctory salute as she ran to
him, breathless from gathering the reports of her stormsmiths. Is that the
new status on the wounded?
Nemo knew why she asked. One of her Jimmies had suffered grievous
injuries from a swarm of buzzing projectiles. The stormsmith had been
first on the amputation triage, but he had remained weak and feverish
throughout the night.
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Nemo passed her the wounded list and continued scanning the much
shorter list of those who had died of their wounds. His gaze fell upon a
familiar name: Lieutenant James Baker.
He lowered the page and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Sir?
Nemo handed her the page. Im sorry, Finch.
Her eyes widened for an instant, but then she nodded. Thank you, sir.
And Im sorry about Major Blackburn. I know you were old friends.
Old friends? Nemo wasnt sure that was true. He had liked Blackburn
and admired his courage. In the past years, hed had little time for anything
resembling friendship unassociated with the army: apprentices, comradesin-arms, a few eccentric officers here and there.
Troublesome sorts, like Mags Jernigan.
Nemo had seen her name on a list immediately after the battle: the
missing.
During the battle, a squadron of Auroras winged swordswomen had
attacked the camp. They had scattered the refugees to cause confusion,
but their true target had been the tent where guards had confined the
treacherous mechanik. They had slain her guards and had flown away with
her.
The rangers had not been able to pick up her trail anywhere. The report
both angered and relieved Nemo. Mags deserved nothing so much as to
face a court-martial and answer for her crimes. The result would certainly
be execution.
And then Nemo would have one less friend alive in this world.
Yes, Finch, he said at last. Blackburn was a good friend.
One of the ranger sergeants approached. Sir, the druid is gone.
Nemo nodded, expecting the news. There was little reason for her to
remain after we disabled the tower. Her assistance was valuable, but she
never offered her allegiance, only her help with this matter.
Shall I assign a team to follow her?
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Nemo shook his head. To send even his best rangers after a blackclad
would be a waste of time and talents. No one could find a druid in the
woods who did not wish to be found.
Send another team across the river. If the Convergence burrowed
away, they must have come up nearby. With any luck, he thought, Aurora
will lead us to another of their hidden temples.
On second thought, he decided, that would certainly take a miracle.
The Convergence had remained hidden for hundreds of years. Surely they
would not reveal themselves now only to open themselves up to attacks on
their sanctuaries.
Yet it was Nemos duty to find them. This Aurora, for all her power, had
made mistakes. She remained young and brash. For all of the advanced
technology at her disposal, she could be defeated.
Chaplain Geary approached. Beside him, Lieutenant Benedict hobbled
along on crutches.
Geary stepped aside to allow Benedict to approach. The young man
saluted with a bandaged hand. Reporting for duty, sir!
Nemo eyed Geary. Is this man even fit to leave the casualty tent?
There werent enough guards to keep him in his cot.
Nemo stopped himself from chiding the chaplain for letting his patients
run roughshod over him.
General, Im sorry to have missed the action, said the young warcaster.
After his recent experiences, Nemo supposed, it would no longer do to
think of him as a journeyman.
While he knew he could defeat Aurora again, Nemo knew he might
not be the next to face her. He could not be everywhere at once. What he
could do was prepare the younger officers, the Finches and Benedicts. He
could teach them what he had learned and trust them to carry on the fight
with or without him.
Dont worry, Lieutenant. Something tells me youll have your chance,
said Nemo. And perhaps sooner than you like.
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Aurora
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her daughter for something other than excellent reports from the optifex
who tutored her.
The fluxion directive also wishes a further explanation for the
inexcusable losses among the troops we entrusted to your care.
As I have explained Aurora began.
As you have described, Directrix corrected her. If your report were
satisfactory, it would require no further explanation.
My report was complete and accurate. If you think otherwise, I
demand to know the reason.
You make no demands of me, Numen, said Directrix. Her metal
face revealed no ire, nor was there the slightest strain of anger in her
modulated voice. You make no demands of the fluxion directive, nor of
the Constellation.
Yes, Iron Mother.
Directrix studied her face. I see that you wish to say something to me.
Aurora wished it were not so obvious. She wanted a face like her
mothers, one that could perfectly conceal her thoughts. She wanted a voice
that betrayed no emotion. She wanted a perfect physical vessel, and she
wanted it on her own terms, not her mothers.
Iron Mother, you orchestrated the plan we all strive to fulfill. No one
can deny your achievement. And you have guided the Convergence with
great foresight and cunning. But the time for plotting is past. Now that
we have revealed ourselves to the world, we need warriors to lead the way.
We need to maintain our technological advantage. Already we have all the
priests we require. What we need now are inventors and warriors.
Inventors and warriors like you?
Exactly.
Your advances in aerogenesis are undeniably impressive, said Directrix.
Yet you left the Prime Axiom, two battle engines, and countless troops
behind in a clash with a clearly inferior force.
No one could have expected Sebastian Nemo to arrive so
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178
GLOSSARY
Animus Corpus Procedure: The process by which a persons soul is
Artis: The smallest of the three moons of Caen. See also Calder and Laris.
ascendants: Saint-like individuals who have followed in Morrows
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Caen: The world containing the Iron Kingdoms, Immoren, Zu, etc.
Sometimes contrasted as the material world as opposed to the spiritual
world of Urcaen.
Calder: The largest and brightest of Caens three moons. Its cycle is used
as the basis for the duration of months for the calendars used in western
Immoren. When people refer to the phases of the moon they are generally
speaking about Calder. See Artis and Laris.
Caspia: Capital of Cygnar and called the City of Walls. The only human
city not to fall to the Orgoth.
Church of Morrow: The organized religion of the god Morrow, the largest
and most widespread faith in the Iron Kingdoms. This is the majority faith
in the nations of Cygnar, Khador, Llael, and Ord. The Church of Morrow
has considerable wealth and influence.
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cortex: The highly arcane mechanikal device that gives a steamjack its
limited intelligence. Over time cortexes can learn from experience and
develop personality quirks.
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the Cygnus on its flag. Generally considered the most prosperous and
technologically advanced of the Iron Kingdoms.
Cyriss (planet): A planet discovered in 283AR that orbits the sun far
from Caen. Worshipers of the goddess Cyriss believe this planet to be
inhabited by or an embodiment of the goddess.
chaos, hunger, and predation that is described as the great ancient enemy
of Menoth. Also called the Beast of Many Shapes, the Devourer is said
to exist in every beast that hunts other living things as well as natural
destructive phenomena such as lightning, earthquakes, floods, and
wildfires. In some myths, the Wurm is seen as the male embodiment of
nature, while Dhunia is the female embodiment. Viewed by Dhunian
races as their divine father.
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Dhunia: The primal goddess of fertility, the seasons, and nature and
Stone which separates Cygnar from Ord and is relied upon by a number
of river towns such as Point Bourne, Tarna, and Five Fingers.
Enkheiridion: The book written by the Twins, Morrow and Thamar, and
deemed the holy book of the Church of Morrow. The pages of the original
Enkheiridion were written by these beings before they ascended to divinity
over twenty-five hundred years ago.
essence chamber: A mechanikal device that houses and protects the soul
of a Convergence faithful. It also serves as an apparently inexhaustible
power source for clockwork vessels.
Eye of the Wurm: The brightest celestial body in the night sky aside from
Caens three moons, eventually determined to be a small planet near Caen
but farther from the sun.
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can transmit matter from one area to another utilizing the network of
geomantic flows beneath Caen, allowing for extremely rapid transport of
people and materials. This machinery requires tremendous stored power
and therefore is activated infrequently and only for vital tasks.
individuals that have adapted well to the cities of men. Most gobbers are
around three feet tall. Gobbers are known to have undeniable aptitude for
mechanikal devices and alchemy.
Caens geomantic energies into perfect alignment and thereby allow the
goddess Cyriss to physically manifest on Caen.
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Immoren: The continent containing the Iron Kingdoms, Ios, Rhul, the
Skorne Empire, and the lands between them. Much of Immoren remains
unexplored, and its inhabitants have had limited contact with other
continents.
Iron Kingdoms: Initially the four nations founded after the Orgoth
iron mother (or father): The leader of the Convergence, chosen every
jack marshal: A person who has learned how to give precise verbal orders
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Laris: One of the three moons of Caen, larger than Artis and smaller than
Calder.
Llael: Once the smallest and easternmost Iron Kingdom but largely
ley lines: Another term for the mystical energy flows beneath the surface
of Caen. Referred to as geomantic flows by the Convergence.
Menoth: The primal god credited by Menites with the creation of aspects
of the world itself, including the division of the water from the land, the
ordering of the seasons, and most importantly the creation of humanity.
Menoths gifts to humanity included fire, agriculture, masonry, and the
written word in the form of the True Law, his divine commandments.
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Morrow: One of the Twins, brother to Thamar, and a god who was once
between life and death and certain energies inherent in both the soul
and the bodies of the dead. An art largely reviled across most of western
Immoren, necromancy is classified as black magic and deemed illegal but
is still practiced most prominently by arcanists of Cryx as well as by some
Thamarites. Necromancy is considered profane by both Morrowans and
Menites as well as by several other religions.
nescient savant: The Convergence term for those great thinkers and
Nine Harmonics, The: A set of broad and simple tenets that form the
Ord: The kingdom on the western coast between Khador and Cygnar,
largely neutral in the recent wars and seen as a haven for mercenary
companies.
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Tongue River between Corvis and Five Fingers. It is famed for its steampowered locks by which riverboats can traverse a significant change in the
rivers elevation. Recently this city was invaded by Khadoran and then by
Cryxian armies.
both to defend Cygnar and to uphold the values of their faith. They
consider it their duty to attend to those slain in battle, lest the bodies of
the dead be desecrated and animated through unholy rites.
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of configurations and sizes, used for both labor and warfare throughout
the Iron Kingdoms, Cryx, and Rhul.
localized storms and call down targeted lighting strikes upon their foes.
The stormsmiths signature gear relies on technology originally invented by
Sebastian Nemo and is unique to Cygnar.
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Convergence who is noted for his particular skill and his capability in
innovating new technologies and the fabrication of the large and complex
machines required for the Great Work. He is credited with improving
vector displacement drives to facilitate floating machines of war.
Thamar: One of the Twins, sister to Morrow and a goddess who was once
mortal but who ascended to divinity through occult study. Also known
as the Dark Sister, Thamar is a widely despised god who emphasizes
self-interest, self-empowerment, subversive acts, and freedom from the
restraints of conventional morality.
trollkin: A hardy and intelligent race that live both in their own
communities in the wilderness and within cities of man. They possess
a complex and rich culture, including their own written language. Most
trollkin worship the goddess Dhunia.
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of Caen. Most of the gods reside here, and this is also where most souls
spend the afterlife. Urcaen is divided between protected divine domains
and the hellish wilds stalked by the Devourer Wurm.
the power of the mind. With proper training warcasters become singular
military assets and are among the greatest soldiers of western Immoren,
entrusted to command scores of troops and their own battlegroups of
warjacks in the field. Acquiring and training warcasters is a high priority
for any military force that employs warjacks.
for war. Some warjacks use power sources other than steam and are not
technically steamjacks but are still referred to as such as a matter of custom.
192
Acknowledgments
Great thanks to R. Scott Taylor for shepherding the launch of Skull Island
eXpeditions, Matt Wilson for keen story suggestions, Douglas Seacat for
sharing the secret lore, Zachary Selman Palmer and the Warp One gang
for WARMACHINE tutorials, and Simon Berman, Will Burke, Aeryn
Rudel, Jason Soles, and everyone else at Privateer Press who helped guide
this stranger through the wilds of the Iron Kingdoms.
Special thanks to Lindy Smith for her endless patience in my writing
exiles. I promise to come back upstairs now.
by
Dave Gross
Miles Holmes
INSTRUMENTS OF WAR
by
Larry Correia
MOVING TARGETS
by
C.L. Werner
Dark Convergence
Copyright 2013 Privateer Press
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