Three days later, Marshal Llewellyn and the other commanders were finally able to drag the human advance to a halt. A complex zigzag of strong points now pockmarked the tactical maps where human forces had dug in to hold off any Scraegan counter pushes, while stopping their own grinding advance. Other groups had to push forward hard to find a defensible position. The balance was delicate. Any units that ended up too far forward could be exposed to flanking attacks and surrounded.

Engineering Cadre teams deployed dangerously far forward to set up battlefield seismics, sub-sonic minefields and earthworks for militia units to hold. Heavy artillery needed secure locations to bunker down, their flanks guarded and with firing solutions on any lines of advance the Scraegans might use.

Ryke knew that by all normal metrics their drive south had been a success, despite the casualties rising exponentially on both sides. Despite the cost, they'd driven the Scraegans out of some of the strongholds, seizing the underground bases from which they could launch their guerilla strikes. The vast, craggy expanse of the Scraegar Labyrinth loomed like a shadow on the horizon, the enemy's greatest natural fortress.

But the new threat had changed everything.

He grimly read the reports of strikes on human supply columns, trying to discern some kind of pattern. There would be legions of support staff and analysts doing the same, but he couldn't help himself. The strange arthropod creatures lacked the intelligence of the Scraegans, which in some ways made them even more dangerous. The attacks came totally at random, few and far between right now, but enough to put a seed of dread in his gut. Things were getting worse – the human army was already stretched to maintain their current battle-line against the Scraegans. The last thing they needed right now was a second front.

The senior officers convened in the armoured safety of forward command, with the express purpose of stopping that from happening. Llewellyn, Harcourt and Hackley were joined by a phalanx of other commanders, including Major De Lunta, and a female field commander from Rubicon, Brigadier Vanyr. It was the first time he'd encountered this woman. He discovered quickly that she much preferred to be out in the field directing the armoured columns in person, rather than giving status reports.

Not for the first time, Ryke felt insignificant with so much brass on display. The lowest ranked officer by several rungs, he was only here because he was the one who'd put the plan forward in the first place.

Talk to the Scraegans. Find a way to broker a truce, at least a temporary one. Nobody else in the human army could claim to have come close to something like that. On the one hand, Ryke felt valued, eager to contribute. On the other, he wished to every Riverlord watching that someone else could have taken on this responsibility. He was trained to fight, not to talk.

"We're still seeing isolated skirmishes in our forward positions," Brigadier Vanyr reported. She was a tall, wiry woman with dark skin and a thick braid of black hair that coiled snake-like around her shoulders. She indicated the pulsing red dots on the three-dimensional battle display. "Our people have orders to hold their ground, but in some areas they're sitting a few hundred yards from Scraegan warrens. They test us every few hours – cannon barrages followed up by quick strikes, no more than a couple of packs at a time. They're probing for a weak point."

"Let them," Harcourt rumbled. "We can redirect support units from stable sectors to reinforce those hotspots in the short term."

"People are dying out there with every shot." Vanyr looked at the other officers grimly. "These are not positions we can maintain indefinitely. We either need to press forward soon to fully break the Scraegan line, or withdraw."

"You will hold your positions," Llewellyn told her. "For the time being. You're well aware of our new variable in this war."

"Oh, I'm aware." Vanyr placed her hands on her hips, looking at him. "There have been incidents along the western flank – they're getting worse."

"She's right," De Lunta agreed. "We've had to redeploy several Hunter-Killer squadrons to those sectors for rapid response. That means we're lacking some serious hammer-power for an assault."

"There won't be any assault in the near future," Llewellyn replied. "We are going to be turning all resources to dealing with this new threat. To do that, we need to untie the hand being held behind our backs by the Scragans. We need a ceasefire."

"And how in the Everflowing to you plan on achieving that?"

"We are going to send a delegation to the Scraegans," Colonel Hackley said simply.

De Lunta and Vanyr exchanged dubious looks before the Hunter-Killer replied. "A delegation?"

"Indeed." Llewellyn nodded sagely. "And I believe Sergeant Vannigan, given his history with the Scraegans, is the logical choice to lead it."

"Yeah, I'll go," Ryke agreed, hardly surprised by the declaration. "But I've love to know just a little more about our plan here. Where am I going?"

"Our intelligence has identified what we believe to be the centre of the Scraegan defensive command structure," Hackley said. She stepped forward and the fingers of one hand flashed over the holographic interface that controlled the battle display.

The map pivoted and zoomed on an area more than a mile distant from the front, a tangle of crags and rocky outcrops. According to the seismic mapping a massive web of tunnels festooned the ground beneath the surface defences, allowing Scraegan packs to flood quickly and easily back and forth along their lines. Another command from Hackley brought forth a series of still images that hovered above the display. Ryke tapped at the metal side of his jaw in thought as he examined the display.

Snapshots from long range Scout Cadre cameras showed more than one massive, hulking Alpha present at the nucleus, but one image caught his eye more than any other. It was just a glimpse, the creature only just visible at the back of the shot, but he couldn't mistake that steel-grey fur and mountainous size of the thing.

"The priest," Ryke muttered. "It's there."

"We can't know for sure if it's the same one you encountered," Hackley cautioned. "But even if it isn't, that caste seemed to outrank even the military Alphas. We saw it at Brekka. Our working theory is that they are some kind of religious leaders. If you can make contact with one again, that would seem to be our best shot at establishing at least a rudimentary dialogue."

"The last one of those things was at the bottom of a warren surrounded by toxic fog," De Lunta snapped, and Ryke could feel the anger simmering in the major's words. Everyone here knew that the last time they'd encountered one of the Scraegan priests it had killed their old commanding officers, Colonel Aggathor. To him it had been a brutal casualty of the war – to Major De Lunta it had been a deeply personal loss.

"The Scraegans are not going to let us stroll on in there," he continued. "Especially since last time we took their priest prisoner. How do you plan on even beginning to communicate?"

"We have enough recordings of their language to generate basic greetings," Hackley answered. "It's not much, but it ought to be enough to stop them opening fire on sight."

"Last time we had one Scraegan in a holding cell," De Lunta protested. "Ma'am, with all due respect, this is not the same thing. If they do just decide to open fire there'll be nothing we can do. I'd rather not throw away one of my best pilots on a suicide mission."

"Sergeant Vannigan will have protection," Harcourt interjected. "We will be providing a full guard of twenty Hunter-Killers, covered by heavy batteries from our lines. Should something go wrong we will be able to fight our way out."

Ryke grimaced as a thought occurred to him. He hung his head for a moment; sighed.

"That's a bad idea," he said.

"Sergeant?"

"You can't send me up there with a force like that," Ryke continued, looking up at Harcourt and shaking his head. "It'll look like an attack to them and they'll blow us to pieces. If we really want to guarantee that they won't shoot on sight I should go on my own. On foot."

De Lunta looked at him horror. "By the watching Lords, Vannigan! I'm not sending you out there like that."

"I don't think it's up to you, sir." Ryke swept a hand through his hair and sighed again, hating every inch of this plan but also knowing it was the only way they had a chance of succeeding. "I don't like it any more than you do, but one human on foot will never be seen as a threat to them."

"Ryke, are you sure about this?" Hackley asked and he felt a jolt of surprise when she used his first name. The break in formality through him for an instant before he gathered himself, straightening up and looking her in the eye.

"Yes, ma'am," he told her. "Someone's got to do this. We can't fight two wars at once. I take bigger chances than this every time I get into a Hunter-Killer. I can handle it."

Silence descended on the assembled officers for a moment. The commanders looked around, each seeking approval from each other. De Lunta still looked aghast at the prospect, but he didn't have the authority to stop it. Field Marshal Llewellyn clasped his hands behind his back and eventually gave a stiff nod of approval to Colonel Harcourt. The northern Hunter-Killer commander looked at Ryke, his brick of a jaw clenched tight. Then he trudged around the display table and walked up to him.

"Sergeant Vannigan, I don't think anyone would deny we've had our disagreements," Harcourt grated and thrust out a hand. "But it seems I misjudged you."

Ryke blinked in surprise, before quickly accepting the grip. He shook firmly and inclined his head to the colonel. "Thank you, sir."

Harcourt stepped back and saluted sharply. Ryke returned the gesture, for the first time not feeling a sense of irritation as he did so. After a moment he let his hand drop and cleared his throat.

"You know, even if I can pull something like this off," he said. "We'll still need a plan to deal with those things."

"You just do your best to convince the Scraegans to stop shooting at us," Hackley told him, a wolfish determination in her voice. "And let me worry about our new friends."

*

Brackenshaw felt thoroughly uneasy as she waited, pacing the confines of the secluded briefing room that had been set up in the forward command base. The chamber was barely ten feet square, with a circular table and dormant three-dimensional display in its centre. There were no windows and only one blank metal door provided and exit. This place stank of shadows; it made her skin crawl.

The summons from Colonel Hackley had been cryptic at best, and the Scout Commander wasn't even here. She'd been pacing this room for minutes now, alone, tension rising with every silent second that ticked by. All she knew was that someone had a mission for her, but the details were being kept under wraps to an almost maniacal degree.

She'd worked herself up into such a heightened sense of nerves that when the door finally opened her heart jolted in fright. She whirled around and to her surprise, saw an individual step into the room who couldn't have been out of his early twenties.

The young man wore the slim, jet-black body armour of the combat support specialists and moved with an easy grace beyond his years. A dark goatee surrounded his mouth between two dark shadows of stubble. He looked at her, waiting for a moment until the door slid shut behind him again. When the pair were well and truly alone he gave her a nod.

"Master Sergeant Kaydie Brackenshaw?"

"Yes, sir." She saluted, watching him intently.

"I'm Special Officer 1st Class Kelso Vannigan," he said, extending a hand with a mischievous smile. "I think you know my little brother."

Brackenshaw blinked in surprise as she shook his hand. "Sergeant Ryke Vannigan?"

"The very same." Kelso gestured to the chairs. "Take a seat."

She did as he asked, sitting down uneasily. As he sat opposite her, Brackenshaw leaned back in her seat, looking the spook up and down. The resemblance was there, she supposed; the same dark hair and cold, blue eyes.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?"

"Yes, I am. And why you're here."

"I've been given special dispensation from Colonel Hackley in this case," Kelso explained. "I needed someone for a particular mission, with a particular skill-set. She recommended you."

Brackenshaw raised an eyebrow. "Should I be happy about that?"

He chuckled darkly at that. "It's certainly a compliment, sergeant, but you might not be thanking her for it when I explain what we need from you."

"Well, isn't that inspirational," she muttered.

"You've been a soldier a lot longer than me," Kelso replied. "I figure you'd prefer to get the truth up front rather than have some blackwater shadow lying about your odds."

The bluntness of it caught her a little off guard, but she couldn't deny the logic. In the end she folded her arms and inclined her head.

"Alright then, what I can I do for you, Vannigan?"

"Both our positions thrive on information. In that much at least, we've got something in common. And neither of us has any information on those things that have come crawling out of the badlands."

"I'll buy that."

"Good. Because you and I are going to fix that problem." Kelso slid a large data-slate onto the table between them and laid it out flat, thumbing its activation switch.

A three-dimensional map display sprang into prominence between them and she instantly recognised the area – the warren where Ryke and his comrades had encountered the first of those arthropod monstrosities.

"You recognise this?"

"Yeah."

"I've had teams mapping this area as extensively as possible ever since Ryke's first contact."

"He does seem to have all the luck, doesn't he?"

Kelso smirked. "I'm not sure he'd see it that way."

"So what did you find out there?"

"We've been able to identify – at least we think we have – tunnels dug by the Scraegans, and tunnels dug by these things. The contours are different, the paths and structures designed for a different kind of body." He pushed a button and the display moved to a subterranean view, and several of the tangled tunnels glowed green. "Right now at this site we've seen no further Scraegan activity, or signs of the arthropods. That gives us an opportunity."

Brackenshaw felt her unease rising like nausea. "I don't like where this is going."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not overly thrilled at the prospect either," Kelso admitted. "But we have a duty to understand what is happening out there. I've requisitioned six single-person skiffs for this operation."

Another press of a button. An image of the vehicle in question flashed into view. The shape of it matched the normal Scout Cadre skiffs, but scaled right down to fit only one individual. A single seat reclined back in a cradle-like cockpit, protected from the elements by a thin canopy of blast-glass. An enormous booster was crammed into the rear section behind the seat, and three lifter engines studded the chassis facing downward. She didn't see any weapons to speak of, but then again, there was nothing you could mount on such a vehicle that would do much more than tickle a Scraegan, let along one of the armoured creatures. The whole thing was barely four meters long.

"These skiffs have been specially fitted for speed and manoeuvrability above all else," Kelso explained. He pointed at the blade-like nose of the vehicle. "We've installed auto-recording cameras and sensor studs into the forward section, and the rear compartment houses sonic charges that can be deployed defensively."

"So you want to take these inside the tunnels?"

"Exactly. One person with one of these can cover more ground in those networks than any Hunter-Killer ever could, while having the speed to get out of trouble." He turned the data-slate off, leaving nothing but the stale air of the room between them once more.

Brackenshaw nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. On one level the scheme sounded insane, but on another she found herself relishing the prospect of delving into the depths to unravel this new mystery.

"You said you had six of these?" she asked.

"Correct. Pick four people you trust who have piloting experience."

"Doesn't that leave me one short?"

"Oh, no. I'm coming with you."

"Oh." She straightened up at that, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "You sure about that? My people-,"

"I don't just sit behind a screen all day, sergeant," Kelso interrupted. "I've been working on developing these little beauties for a long time now. I've logged more flight time in them than anyone else on this planet."

"Alright, alright." Brackenshaw raised her hands. "So when we go into these tunnels, what exactly do you want us to be looking for?"

"It's simple really. We are going in there to find where those things are coming from."

"And when we do?"

An edge of pride slipped into Kelso's voice when he replied. "Then I'll send my brother in there to kill them all."