The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,26

Caine reached out and placed a hand to it ...

Dark. Cold. Nothingness. Caine found himself floating in a void. He spun about by will alone, peering this way and that.

There.

A singular point of light. He kicked to steady himself, scrambling to keep the light in sight. Slowly, he pulled himself forward. As he neared the light, he perceived the darkness concentrating itself around him. A convergence of pure will in the non-space began to form, like smoke, silhouetted by the growing light ahead. The form began to take on the aspect of a man. He saw it went so far as to mimic his duster, until at last it was a mirror of his own shadow.

He compelled the shadow to yield the light to him. It did not. He sensed defiance, or perhaps curiosity? Was it testing him? The shadow was so bold, even, to push back. Caine’s ethereal form dug in, and fought to move forward. Again the shadow resisted, keeping him from the light. Willpower was his only muscle here, and with all that he had, he heaved. He surged forward, bracing for impact. Instead, the shadow vanished. He crashed upon the light, surprised.

The light was in fact a window floating within the nothingness of this place. He now gazed from it, and saw Ewan. There, standing before the window on a bed of straw, the old man watched him, hands-on-hips, while he himself was just out of sight. The man looked alien here, a strange caricature, skewed and warped. With effort, he swiveled the view of the window, until he was able to see his own body. Beneath the window, his arm reached past the line of sight. He saw his own face twisted with effort. He tried to focus on it … until ...

Caine blinked. He looked over at the mechanik, eyes wide.

“This one’s got some mischief in it,” he said, breathless, and withdrew his hand from the cortex chamber. The mechanik nodded, smiling. Setting his goggles back upon his sooty cheeks, Ewan patted the metal beast, and snapped the hatch shut.

“Right. Does it have a name then?”

Caine nodded.

“Ace.”

As the sun slid from a cloudless sky, a cool breeze blew in from the lake. Caine left his jacket open to the chill, as sweat trickled down his forehead. Reevan and his team were moving like shadows ahead, fast as wind through the rough terrain. Ace loped behind him with a gait something like a primate, sometimes hacking brush away with his broad axe. The warjack’s smokestack puffed sooty black smoke from time to time, the only sign the beast was working at all to keep up. Caine marveled to see something so big move so uncannily quiet.

Up ahead, Reevan signaled a halt with a hand gesture and turned to watch Caine’s progress. He had done so several times, and while he neither complained nor chided, he did meet Caine each time with a leering smirk that said enough. It was time to even things up. Tapping his innate power, space bent around him in mid-stride, and he appeared this time ahead of the waiting sergeant. Finishing his stride, he glanced back at Reevan. The ranger sergeant, however, returned his smirk with a frown, and waved him back.

“We’re here, sir,” Reevan said in a whisper, as Caine scrambled back. He indicated a break in the trees to their right. Caine turned to his new warjack, and willed him to stay back. Ace obliged, slinking into a copse of trees. Once within, he disappeared entirely.

“You and your men, stay put. I want to talk to their leader alone. If they get spooked, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting clear, but don’t hesitate to give me some cover fire. That goes for you, too, he thought to Ace. The metal beast acknowledged by quietly chambering a round in the breech of the Longarm.

Caine peered over Reevan’s shoulder, seeing the mercenary camp for the first time. The mercenaries were well disciplined, and intent on remaining hidden. Absent were the campfires, and loud talk amongst men common to an encamped army. These men moved about in silence, using shuttered lanterns. They betrayed only the occasional glimpse of light as tent flaps were momentarily opened with the coming and going of their occupants.

Into this hideaway Caine strode, guns holstered. With a breath, he stopped, and closed his eyes. He listened. He could hear the footsteps of the soldiers as they moved to and fro, or talked within their tents. Opening his eyes