The Devil's Pay (Dogs of War) - By Dave Gross Page 0,12

Cryx was a nauseating stench and a seeping field of heavy, green-yellow gas.

“We’re not done yet,” called Sam. “Lister, get me a casualty report. Crawley, reform on me. Gully, Foyle, about face!”

By the time the warjacks once more faced the retreating battle, Lister reported no serious casualties.

“Right, then,” said Sam. “Let’s take down that other Corruptor.”

As they caught up once more, the remaining helljack had a screaming halberdier in its pincer. With its other arm, it blasted a squad of retreating riflemen with its necrosludge cannon. The viscous shell struck one of the Steelheads bursting the man’s body into a cloud of bloody gore and yellow-green corruption. The nearby men screamed as the infernal vapors melted the flesh from their bones.

“Foyle, charge!” called Sam, running beside Gully. The Dogs followed.

Before the ’jack closed half the distance, the Corruptor held up its wriggling prisoner. The man’s mouth opened wide. Instead of a scream, bilious vapor escaped the opening. He shook his head from side to side, arms shaking as they rose into twisted claws. Black energies crackled around his fingers, shriveling the flesh even as they conjured dark magics.

“Move back!” boomed the voice of the Steelhead commander. “That’s the work of an iron lich!”

Black flames leaped from the captive’s hands, shooting in an arc across the misty battlefield. They fell near a mounted figure, barely visible through the haze. His horse danced away from the necromantic fire, but the evil flames struck a nearby rifleman. The man howled as an ashen specter rose out of his body to fly back toward the source of the spell. His emaciated carcass fell to the ground.

“Oh, Morrow,” muttered Burns. “It’s a soultaker.”

Foyle reached the Corrupter, his stun lance skating off the helljack’s smooth breastplate. The Talon reached back for another strike, but the Corruptor turned.

“Dammit,” cried Sam. “Gully, charge! Dogs, with me!”

This time she ran ahead of the heavy Nomad, raising her sword as she charged.

The Corruptor dropped its captive’s spent carcass and reached for Sam.

Foyle slammed the helljack with his targa shield, but the Cryx ’jack stood fast. It shoved the Talon back with its cannon arm, pincers clacking in anticipation of a deadly embrace.

Just before the helljack reached her, Sam darted to the side and dove through Foyle’s legs. Tucking her sword in a deft and practiced move, she tumbled forward to come up from below. The Corruptor turned, but the light warjack raised its lance, parrying to protect its marshal.

Sam thrust her sword upward, the blade crackling with electricity as its point stabbed just beneath the helljack’s yellowed tusks.

An instant later, Gully’s battle blade swept down, severing the helljack’s necrosludge cannon from its reservoir. The Corruptor struck back by clamping its pincers around the Nomad’s sword arm.

With a shout, the Devil Dogs threw their remaining nets. Most hit their mark, binding the Corruptor’s legs together and locking its equilibrium to a single point. The helljack tipped. The first of the Devil Dogs leaped upon its body before it hit the ground.

“Mind the venom!” Crawley warned Dawson as the private smashed the glass containers. The corrosive fluid hissed as it burned deep into the loam.

“Yes, Sergeant!” Dawson raised his pick to strike again, stabbing deep into the seams of the helljack’s armor.

Nearby, Steelhead rifles fired in the opposite direction. As the Cryx thralls withdrew, their sergeants ordered the riflemen to regroup behind the halberdiers. One called out that the main body of the Cryx forces had withdrawn to the north. Another whistled for silence and pointed at the Devil Dogs swarming over the fallen Corruptor.

Sam wiped her blade clean of oil and sheathed the weapon. “Casualties?” she asked Lister.

The big lieutenant counted with his thumb upon his fingers. “Where’s Swire?”

“Here, Sir,” said a soldier standing up from behind the Corruptor’s boiler.

“All present and ambulatory, Captain.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Thunderous hoof beats approached. A huge man rode out of the mists from the east. Over one shoulder he carried a battle blade nearly large enough for Gully. From his other hand hung a scalloped black bowl containing three skulls and a mass of flesh and metal viscera, or so it appeared at first glance. As the man rode closer, it became apparent that his prize was really a cluster of the severed heads of the iron lich overseer that had been commanding the Corruptors. Three iron-rending blows had cut them from the top of the creature’s armored body.

Burns whistled low. “I heard Brocker was a monster with that blade, but I’ll be