To save causing them unnecessary alarm, Jurro was requested to proceed at some distance from the oncoming refugees. This he did with good grace, though they could doubtless see his hulking figure some distance off.

Brynd took a brief opportunity to interview some of the refugees, hoping to learn more of the unknown enemy. But most were escaping in advance of rumours rather than as a result of first-hand confrontation. Younger boys had the look of confused excitement on their faces, and discussed the possibility of the new race, of a rogue army, of Varltungs, of beings from other worlds, of gods. In the absence of fact, his men would have to ascertain for themselves what lay ahead.

For hours they rode on across the desolate island. Empty towns and villages were all that remained, framed by these vacant-looking skies. The wind picked up a little, stirring a fine powder that clouded the air immediately around them. They wrapped scarves around their faces, vision now coming through a slit.

All that Brynd might have learned about the geography was deeply covered with snow now. They could have been travelling in an alien world.

'We'll keep riding until we find something,' Brynd decided, after being questioned about their current objective. He needed a garuda, but there had been none on standby in Villiren.

Brynd cantered up to the Dawnir who loomed over the men about him. 'Is this everything you really wanted, Jurro – the military life, as we know it? Not always the most exciting experience.'

'It is for me. You forget I've been staring at the same four walls for so many years. None of the previous Emperors would allow me to leave my confinement.'

'Any of this prompt some memories then?' Brynd said. 'Nothing surfacing in that big head of yours?'

'Nothing, I fear, so far.'

'And what're you hoping to find?'

'Anything will do.'

Now wasn't the time to be deciphering Jurro's existential crisis.

Another quarter of an hour, and they were riding north again, and Brynd decided to spread out sections of the First Dragoons east and west, hoping to ascertain if there were any signs of life. They would converge at designated locations at every bell to report on any discoveries.

*

It wasn't long until bad news came. Brynd had waited for it long enough. First, a private had gone missing beyond the town of Portastam, which lay at the centre of the island's eastern plains. His riderless horse trotted to a troop of Dragoon soldiers out on a scout. Three followed the horse's hoof prints to investigate. Only one returned, caked in blood and slumped in his saddle. Finally his unit managed to persuade the shivering man to dismount, revealing that his breast plate had been severed cleanly by something phenomenally sharp.

He did not speak for an hour.

When the words came they were initially incoherent, like the mad incantations of a disturbed beggar on the streets of Villjamur. He juddered. Then he managed to gibber about carnage and slaughter.

Brynd quickly organized his remaining troops and readied them for combat.

Blavat spent a moment enhancing the metal armour of the Night Guard with a vald, but she could only strengthen Brynd's sabre in such a short space of time. He hoped that the technology of the Ancients would last long enough.

The plan would be to stay as one staggered unit, with the two flanks moving forwards, the centre slightly behind to form a pincer. The soldiers adjusted their armour and withdrew their weapons while the snow came and went in assiduous gusts.

Brynd shouted some final orders and the Jamur forces rode on.

*

Cresting a hill, they were presented with a small group of unknown creatures. In the thick of the snow it was impossible to determine what they were, but they were massed there like a regimental unit at the base of the slope, about fifty of them in all, and nothing else as far as the horizon. Brynd had to make a snap decision either to retreat or to charge, because his men were clearly visible now – and Nelum gave a nod to confirm what Brynd himself was thinking, so the call was given, and the Imperial troops, who outnumbered the creatures heavily, rode headlong into combat, hooves pounding against the snow.

Brynd's flank spread out along the side with Apium's waiting briefly then following suit, forming the classic pattern of a pincer attack.

The creatures stood their ground, tilting forward in a uniform movement.

Fifty of them versus over two hundred of the best Jamur soldiers.

Brynd's horse closed the distance to pull ahead of the opposite flank, instinct leading at this pace of combat. He brought down his cultist-enhanced sabre flaring purple through the falling snow and cleaved the first creature's skull. It buckled to its knees, but still was taller than any human. The other flanks connected, driving their horses over the enemy. The black armour of their enemy was now distinct against the snow as they lashed out with their claws when the Jamur forces were within range. Brynd could hear his troops howling and grunting all around him as he hacked his way through the enemy. Their shells cracked open and buckled under the ferocious impact of his blows. At first they seemed surprised more than anything, presenting not so tough a challenge, but his soldiers began dropping too. From the corner of his eye he spotted the head of a woman Dragoon getting caught in a giant claw and then her skull exploding as it clamped shut. These weren't the usual tribesmen armed with a few arrows.

Soon horses were collapsing around him in spectacular numbers, slamming their riders to the ground, where they continued to fight desperately. Brynd's flank was now severely diminished. But in the end the sheer number of Jamur troops began to prevail, and the last of the horrific creatures were slashed down.

As Brynd dragged his horse out of the bloody scrimmage, a quick head count told him there were only around a hundred Jamur fighters left in all. A hundred of his soldiers had died against just fifty enemy troops.

The survivors, men and women, were pulled from the pulpy mass of the dead and dying, and it wouldn't be long until the snow covered this dark stain on the landscape. Brynd was greatly relieved that most of his twenty Night Guard were still alive. He couldn't spot Apium though, so rode up to enquire of Nelum.

'There,' Nelum pointed over to one side.

Apium lay beside his horse, still alive, but in obvious pain, one foot still caught in the stirrups. Brynd jumped down, unhooked the foot, noting that his friend had prised off his breast plate and was gingerly fingering his chest. From the look of it, a fragment of enemy carapace had penetrated through his ribs.

Snowflakes melted on the febrile exposed skin.

'Blavat!' Brynd looked around for the cultist woman, then waved her towards him.

She dismounted, clutching some relics, placed them to one side. The red-haired man was attempting to speak, but produced only staccato puffs, and Blavat then examined the wound whilst Brynd examined her face.

'What d'you think?' he finally asked her.

'I think I can extract it, but it might have penetrated his lung.'

'Just do whatever it takes. What about the enhancements we have? Weren't they meant to help with things like this?'

'It's not that easy, since I have no idea what material the enemy's shells are composed of. It's nothing I've ever seen before, and might not be responsive to my relics.'

'Commander!' Nelum drew his attention, gesturing towards one of the creatures they had just vanquished.

He turned to Blavat. 'Just see what you can do here.' She responded only with a subtle head movement that could have meant anything. He was constantly prepared for his friends dying in combat, but it wasn't something Brynd wanted to face now, and not Apium.

Brynd strode over to Nelum, noticing Lupus standing next to him, bow in hand. Two of the creatures had survived, looking like crustaceans strayed from the sea. In some ways they looked partially human, each with two arms, two legs, but replacing skin were those carapaces which made them so formidable. They appeared charred, melted. So this was it then, these were the terrible creatures causing the genocide on Tineag'l. Right now, sitting in a mire of their dead and dying, they didn't look so impressive. Their bulbous eyes were lid-less as they twitched in sharp movements. But what interested Brynd most was their reaction as Jurro stepped alongside them with a book, some kind of bestiary, in his hand. 'New creatures, how exciting! Let me see if they are included in here… Damn this index.'

The two captives raked their heads round with clicks to acknowledge the Dawnir's presence, then seemed to

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