Exiles in Arms: Night of the Necrotech

by Werner, C. L.

  “Your blood,” she cackled. “Your blood to restore my strength!”

  Taryn pushed against the floor with her feet, thrusting the back of her head into the crone’s nose. The witch shrieked. The clutching fingers released their grip on her hair as the witch wilted back to the floor, groaning in pain. She flailed blindly at the air around her with one of the knives.

  Then a chorus of piercing, unearthly shrieks roared through the dungeon. Taryn whipped about just in time to see the Reaper soaking up the spectral energies released from the smashed soul cage. Shrapnel from the helljack cut through the air, gouging across the floor and stabbing into walls and pillars. Taryn cringed as a jagged piece of debris came whistling past her nose and embedded itself in the pillar beside her.

  She scrambled over to the piece of iron, pressing her bound wrists against it. She tried not to think about the gruesome cords as she worked them across the sharp edge, tried to ignore what—or whom—they had once been a part of. Bit by bit, she sawed through the bindings.

  “I will drain every drop from your veins and twist the dregs from your beating heart,” the witch snarled as she came hobbling toward Taryn. Her right arm hung limp at her side, and she dragged her left leg behind her. Blood oozed from the wound her shattered rib made. Her face was a gory ruin, the nose nothing but bleeding pulp. Yet for all her injuries, the hag still stalked forward, confident she had the upper hand. She held a crooked knife between her fingers, after all, and Taryn was still bound.

  The witch realized her mistake when she drove the knife down toward Taryn’s face. The gun mage sprang, her bindings severed. She caught the hag’s wrist with one hand, arresting the descent of her knife. With her other, she grabbed the hag by her bony shoulder and slammed her face-first into the pillar. There was a meaty crunch as the sharp piece of iron embedded in the wall split the witch’s skull.

  Taryn glared at the twitching corpse, then reached over and pulled the magelocks from beneath her sash.

  “I think these belong to me,” she said. Turning away from the carcass, she made a quick inspection of the magelocks. One was loaded, the other empty. Briefly, she entertained the idea of looking for her cartridge belt, but the roar of metal crashing against metal convinced her there wasn’t time.

  The witch might be dead, but the helljack was still on its feet and determined to demolish Rutger and Rex.

  Rex staggered under the impact of the helljack’s harpoon. Again, the warjack was dragged across the floor toward the Reaper’s murderous spike. At least the arcane energies Moritat had endowed it with had dissipated, vanished when the helljack threw its master into the torture pit. This time Rutger was determined that the Toro would hear him. Despite the danger posed by the rampaging Reaper, Rutger dashed toward Rex, shouting up at the massive ’jack.

  “The pillar!” Rex turned its head and stared down at him. Rutger waved his arm at one of the pillars that supported the roof. “Wrap the chain around the pillar!” He made a rotating motion with his arm.

  Rex was dragged another few yards toward the helljack. Then the Toro rushed forward, dodging around the intervening pillar. Using the pillar as a fulcrum, the warjack once again reversed the role of hunter and prey. The helljack screeched, flailing about as the chain snagged around the pillar. There was a groan of straining steel. Then smoke erupted from the spool built into the Reaper’s arm. The tension in the retracting chain fell slack as the spool failed completely. Coil after coil of the thick anchor chain unwound onto the floor.

  “Rex!” Rutger shouted as he circled around the pillar. “Pull him in! Pull him in!”

  The Toro voiced an angry growl, venting steam from its grill. It seized the slackened chain and began to pull it toward the pillar, hand over hand.

  The helljack shuddered when the slack was gone, and the chain suddenly tugged at it. Without the warcaster’s guidance, it was uncertain how to react to this strange experience. There was enough awareness in its cortex, however, to recognize and react to an enemy. The howling Reaper didn’t try to oppose the pull of the chain. Instead, it charged forward, lunging toward Rex.

  “Behind the pillar!” Rutger shouted, then followed his own advice and darted behind the thick column. The helljack stabbed out with its spike but connected only with the column, gouging a chunk from its face.

  Rounding the pillar, Rex brought its fist smashing down into the helljack’s forearm, seeking to disable the piston-driven spike as it had on the smaller Reaper in Vulger’s mansion. The heavier armor of the larger helljack resisted Rex’s strike. The Reaper spun around with eerie speed and brought its spike slashing across Rex’s chest, crumpling the warjack’s armor.

  Rex tried to pull away, but the chain held it fast. The helljack reared back, arching its arm so it could stab the spike into the Toro at full force.

  Just as the Reaper was about to slam its attack home, there was the sharp crack of gunfire and the tension in the chain was gone. Rex went stumbling back, beyond the reach of the spike thrusting at its chest. The helljack lurched in the opposite direction, fighting to maintain its balance.

  Taryn blew smoke from the barrel of her magelock, gratified that the corrosive shot had snapped the chain. She smiled at the look of relief on Rutger’s face, then shook her head. “One shot!” she shouted. “Make sure Rex doesn’t waste the reprieve.”

  Rutger thumbed Jackknife’s activation stud. “Let’s finish him, Rex.” He waved the warjack toward the Reaper’s left, in the direction its disabled harpoon gun. To confront the Toro, the helljack would have to pivot. Rutger’s plan depended on it.

  The helljack snarled as Rex came pounding after it. The Reaper rushed forward to meet the warjack, turning to bring its spike to bear as the Toro tried to flank it. Rutger brought Jackknife slashing down on the helljack midturn, raking the blade across its claws. The arcane energy of Jackknife’s runeplate shredded them. The gripping talon lost, its whole weight pivoted in the direction of its compromised foot, and the Reaper crashed onto its side.

  Rex lunged at the fallen ’jack before it could try to rise. With its spike pinned beneath its own mass, the Reaper could only flail as Rex’s pounding fists ripped it apart.

  Rutger watched the monster’s destruction, taking pride in his ’jack’s strength and determination. He almost didn’t hear Taryn when she came up beside him.

  “‘Wrecks’ certainly lives up to its name,” she laughed.

  He turned toward her, caught her in a crushing embrace. She tried to squirm free before he squeezed all the air from her. When he did finally release her, Rutger could only stare at her with a look of almost incredulous joy. “Next time you get dragged off by Cryxian horrors, don’t count on me to bail you out,” he said.

  Taryn pointed a finger at him. “Next time I tell you we’re having nothing to do with Marko, you’re going to listen.”

  “A touching scene, Shaw.”

  The two mercenaries turned at the sound of Kalder’s voice. The bounty hunter stepped from behind a pillar. He must have used it for cover during Rex’s fight with the helljack. He had a pistol in each hand, one aimed at each of them.

  “We even found her alive. There’s a certain wealthy dame in Laedry who will be very happy to hear that.” Kalder’s laugh was like wind across a gravestone. “I’ll be happy too, when I get the bonus she’ll pay for live delivery.”

  Taryn glared at him. “I told you already, there’s nobody back there to pay you. I don’t suppose you’re willing to listen any more than you were in the Scrapyard.”

  “Not with what the duchess is paying,” Kalder said. “Money speaks a lot louder than somebody begging for their life.”

  Rutger nodded at the two pistols. “I see you’re as good as your word.” The bounty hunter gave him a withering smile. “I have a certain amount of honor. I told you how we’d play this.”

  Taryn arched an eyebrow when she heard that. She looked accusingly at Rutger. “What kind of deal did you make with him?”

  “If we rescu
ed you, I’d duel him to see—”

  Taryn spun around, her magelock in hand, glaring at Kalder. “Rutger’s no gunfighter, but I imagine you knew that when you proposed your deal.”

  “What good’s an advantage if you don’t take it?” Kalder said. He nodded his chin at the gun in her hand. “That one’s empty.”

  “Are you sure?” Taryn said. “I had two when they brought me down here.” As soon as she saw the twitch that pulled at Kalder’s mouth, she knew her bluff had worked.

  Kalder shook his head. “The arrangement is between me and Shaw.”

  “But it’s my skin on the table. I don’t ask anybody to take my place.” She matched Kalder’s cold smile. “Either face me or walk out of here alone.”

  “You know I can’t let you go,” the bounty hunter said. Taryn could tell he was still trying to study the magelock, to determine if it really was loaded.

  “It’s the only thing you can do,” Rutger said.

  Taryn laughed. “No, he has another choice. He can square off against me. If he wins, he’ll just have to settle for skipping this bonus he thinks a dead woman is paying him.” She darted her eyes toward Rutger. “Get Rex. Between the two of you, I think we can keep things fair.”

  Kalder glared at her. “I’m not using magic.”

  Rex came lumbering away from the junked helljack. Taryn enjoyed the way the bounty hunter squirmed when the ’jack’s optics glowered at him. “If it makes you nervous, I’ll hand the magelock to Rutger and use one of yours.”

  A cunning gleam flashed through Kalder’s eyes. Flipping the pistols in his hands so that he held each by the barrel, he stepped forward and offered Taryn her choice. Studying every flicker of expression on the bounty hunter’s face, she took one of the weapons. The balance was good. The weight told her it was loaded.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes on Kalder while handing off the magelock to Rutger. “I feel a little less naked with a loaded weapon in my hand.”

  Kalder’s eyes narrowed. “Nice trick. When I get you where you’re going, maybe they’ll let me stick around to watch what happens.”

  Slowly, Taryn tucked the borrowed pistol in her pants. Kalder made a show of doing the same with his, avoiding the convenience of the holsters on his belt. “Rutger, call it out,” she said. “We go on three.”

  She said it in a voice that made it clear there was no point in arguing. Things had gone too far for that. “One,” he called out in a voice far more steady than he felt. “Two . . .”

  He never called out the last number. In a blur of motion, Taryn’s pistol was in her hand and the roar of gunfire boomed across the dungeon. Rutger gaped in disbelief as Kalder pitched to the floor, his pistol still tucked in his pants. “You shot early!” he shouted, disgust fighting with relief for mastery of his voice.

  Taryn winced and clutched at her bleeding shoulder. “So did he.” She pointed at the holdout pistol in Kalder’s left hand, the bounty hunter’s last advantage. “He intended to shoot me with the hideaway, then gun you with the one in his belt. Probably taking the gamble that Rex wouldn’t know what to do if both of us were gone.”

  “Of all the dirty . . .” Rutger shook his head.

  “It’s a vicious world,” Taryn agreed, “and the worst thing is you can’t spot all the monsters just by looking at them.”

  Rutger let Taryn lean on him as he helped her from the old Orgoth dungeon. The wound in her shoulder wasn’t serious, but after her ordeal with the Cryxians, her strength was nearly spent. He knew just being out in the open air again, away from the necrotic stink of the Chatterstones, would improve her tremendously.

  He wasn’t worried about finding the way back to the surface. Kalder had shown him the marks the iron lich left. He could follow the trail. Rutger was depending on the threat of Rex to keep any of the “normal” denizens of the graveyard at a distance.

  “What’ll we do about that?” Taryn asked him, waving her hand at the dungeon they’d left behind and the Cryxian dead strewn about it.

  “Tell the authorities,” Rutger said. “Captain Parvolo or the Church of Morrow. We’ve done more than our part. We can let them clean up the mess.”

  Taryn laughed and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out an angle to make some money out of all this.”

  “Come up with anything?” Rutger asked. He felt a shudder sweep through Taryn’s body.

  “Yes,” she said, “

  EPILOGUE

  Pulling himself from the torture pit, Moritat probed the ugly holes the spikes had gouged into his flesh. The necrotech sniffed at the grimy filth dripping from several of the wounds. He’d have to start considering which pieces to remove and replace. It was fortunate he was in a place that presented so much fresh material to work with.

  The monster’s spidery legs clattered across the dungeon floor as he flitted between piles of corpses and the risen’s mutilated remains. He didn’t even pause at Azaam’s body or the mangled ruin of Lorca. He tutted regretfully when he saw the wreckage of the helljack, castigating himself for not pushing his theories still further and making such an outcome impossible. He consoled himself that he’d know better next time.

  Moritat clattered past the debris of his pistol wraith and stopped. A gasp oozed across his lips. He wagged a finger at the skeletal remains, as though warning them to stay where they were. The necrotech crossed the chamber and stared down at the body he’d noticed lying near the helljack. It was extremely fresh, but that was of less concern to Moritat than the array of holsters and pistols strapped to it. It had been a gunfighter or marksman of some sort. A kindred spirit to the pistol wraith.

  Moritat clapped his withered hands together and uttered an impish laugh. He’d have to gather up the remains quickly, before the essences drained away. It would be an intriguing experiment. He’d fused the spirits of three necromancers to make his iron lich overseer. There was no reason why he couldn’t merge these other kindred energies into a more powerful union.

  Yes, the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to Moritat. He’d set to it straight away. It might take some time to get any satisfactory results, but the necrotech had plenty of that.

  Time was but a disease. Moritat had immunized himself ages ago.

  GLOSSARY

  ascendant: A saint-like individual who has followed in Morrow’s footsteps and ascended to serve his faith as beacons of enlightenment. Individual ascendants are frequently chosen as patrons by Morrowan worshipers.

  Bellicose Island: The northernmost island of Five Fingers, commonly referred to as Bull Island. It is the most easily traversed of the islands and is connected to the Bold Shore of mainland Ord by a wide stone bridge.

  Berck: The largest and wealthiest city in Ord, home port of the Ordic Royal Navy and House Mateu.

  Blackguard: A group of rugged individuals who volunteer to keep vigil on the Chatterstones, a graveyard on Hospice Island of Five Fingers known to occasionally give rise to the restless dead, which emerge from its subterranean mass-burial crypts.

  Blackstone Island: One of the two westernmost islands of Five Fingers, along with Headmost Island. It holds Blackstone Prison and the Blackstone Quarry.

  blood hag: One of a group of elderly Satyxis who possess sorcerous power and who lead their culture’s most hallowed rites, such as sacrificing newborn males, initiating young girls in the harsh traditions of the Satyxis, and conducting the auguries by which they alter the fate of their people.

  Bold Finger Channel: The northernmost channel of Five Fingers as part of the mouth of the Dragon’s Tongue River, running between Bellicose Island and the southern coast of mainland Ord.

  Bolis, Scion: The patron of gamblers, smugglers, and fences. Bolis popularized gambling as a gateway to deeper vice and laid foundations for Five Fingers to become a haven of crime, manipulating both Cygnar and Ord to do so. He ascended in 271 AR.

  bonejack: The general term for a Cryxian light w
arjack, notable for being particularly swift and nimble.

  Buccaneer: An Ordic light warjack first used in 584 AR that is typically armed with a net and gaff hook and was designed to remain nimble and sure-footed even while moving along heaving ship decks.

  Bull’s Island: See Bellicose Island.

  burrow-mawg: An extremely aggressive nocturnal creature that resembles a cross between a badger and a large bat, with powerful jaws filled with dozens of sharp, serrated fangs.

  Captain’s Island: The largest and most populous island of Five Fingers, holding the center of government as well as the office of the Lord Governor and the headquarters of the Fingers Watch.

  Chaser Island: An island of Five Fingers noted for its markets, which sell produce and locally made goods such as tools and weapons forged on neighboring Bellows Island.

  Chatterstones: A district of Five Fingers on Hospice Island, notable for a large mass graveyard created during a terrible plague. Undead sometimes emerge from this graveyard.

  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.

  cortex: The highly arcane mechanikal device that gives a steamjack its limited intelligence. Over time cortexes can learn from experience and develop personality quirks.

  Crabbeggar Island: A squalid island west of Crane Island, home to the less successful of Five Finger’s fishermen.

  Cryx: An island kingdom of necromancers, undead, and pirates off the southwest coast of Immoren; also known as the Nightmare Empire. Cryx and its ruler, Toruk the Dragonfather, have no problem sacrificing their soldiers to set up a greater victory elsewhere.

  Cryxlight: A yellow-green glow associated with the necrotic energies utilized by the forces of Cryx, also known as balefire.