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 staff—her “tuning fork,” as she called it—a 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 Cygnar’s 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. The saw-flinging apparatus was perhaps its deadliest feature. He wanted to know more about those who had created such a weapon and what they intended to do with it.
Even so, Nemo could not allow Finch to take unnecessary risks in a misguided, if laudable, effort to protect him—no more, he admitted to himself, than Blackburn could demand volunteers for a job he considered too dangerous when he could take it on himself. Recognition of his own hypocrisy did nothing to assuage his concern for Finch’s safety. “I require your obedience, Finch, not your protection.”
“Sir, if I may speak freely—”
“You may not.”
He knew what she intended to say. She’d been telling him for months that he should leave the fighting to the junior officers—the younger officers, like her. While usually Finch couched her advice in courtesy, she had increasingly skirted the edge of insolence, even daring to mention his own paternal attitude toward others under his command. If he allowed her to continue, she would soon join the Devil Dogs in referring to him as “the old man” or even less respectful monikers. While he could tolerate a certain amount of informality among mercenaries, he would not let it creep into his army.
“Yes, sir.”
Nemo looked up to the night sky. The heavy clouds of the previous days had dissipated. The stars twinkled through the gauze of a few wispy clouds. Artis, the smallest of Caen’s three moons, fled from Calder, the Lord Moon. The Baleful Moon, Laris, had not yet risen above the concealing woods.
A more superstitious man might have taken that for a good omen, but Nemo was not searching the sky for a heavenly portent. He could still sense the presence of an enemy warcaster, even though he could not see her.
“There!” cried one of the Stormblades. He pointed eastward, through the naked canopy.
Nemo ran to join the man, wincing as a muscle spasm caught his back. He had spent the entire day preparing this ambush, and he had ridden 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 don’t 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 wouldn’t have risked these troops if she knew for certain. Yet she committed only one of