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aps three hundred h the durosteel by particle cannons A firefight rages on the raap exists between the wall and shield Her great guns are silent Harnassus may already be dead
If they take the city, if they take down her shield generators, the Ash armada can reinforce them, and lower torchShips and Annihilo herself across the south My ar the storm and be met with oblivion
Screwface understands “I’ll scout forward and see where we should hit” He jue to cross the boulder field below in small bursts
I turn back to my men
They can hear the battle if not see it Less than a third of the force that set out for Tyche joins me on the hill Many lie dead in the Plains of Caduceus, or were swept away by water or wind on our path to Tyche Alexandar is gone Rhonna and Colloway sent into the storm It has been nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve seen Thraxa Only Felix is left ast my Gold Howlers
I feel the despair
“Where is the Morning Star?” a Green pilot asks His hair has already started to fall out His un even work?
“It is on its way,” I say “We e of metal I will—”
The Green’s head disappears Screa munitions slam into my men froes a hole throughI go down hard
Spitting dust fro desert cloaks fall from a cliff hundreds of meters above Bursts of air co theers’ open cockpits to drive razors through the top of my pilots’ skulls, or land behind them to scalp off their faces or claioes down
In less than ten seconds, I am the only one alive except for a pilot they pull from his cockpit to vivisect on the shoulder of his own mech
Rough hands cutravBoots The pilot screams above me A boot stands on my throat as the man in the Pale Mask treads the sand to squat in front of ine solvent on iant sunburnt arms looms with a blowtorch
“It’s him,” a heavy Obsidian voice confirms
“Gratitude, Falthgar” The Fear Knight takes off his gloves and puts them in a pocket of his scorosuit It is a simple radiation-resistant and water reclamation suit No araudy embellishments His cloak is tattered and eaten by the desert His forearloveless hands pallid and thin as spider legs He leaves his ed with hair of serpents No matter which way he turns his head, the child’s eyes stay focused on me The Pale Mask
“You asked o,” the mask warbles “It was on Mars before we lost her You asked, what do I fear? I fear a ood For he can excuse any evil” He holds up a hand to feel the wind “What have you done?”