It was the quiet that Ryke noticed first, the strange, void-like absence of thunder in Brekka's air. For days on end he had lived with the constant falling of shells, the bellow of engines and the screams of Scraegan furnace cannons.
Now there was nothing. Instead the low grumble of idling Hunter-Killer reactors mixed gently with heavy, snorting breaths of the massed Scraegan forces. The clatter of shifting masonry echoed through the streets, punctuated by licking embers that served as reminders of the carnage that had been unfolding on this very spot less than an hour ago.
As far as Ryke's ears were concerned it was bliss.
Word had passed ahead of their convoy to try and bring the fighting to a lull. The defending units dwindled down their fire, making no further effort to dislodge their attackers and trying simply to keep their distance. The Scraegan forces, while not stopping their assault outright, had seemed confused by the sudden slackening off from Brekka's defenders.
The skirmishing didn't full come to a halt, however, until the priest unleashed a bellow that even through the Hunter-Killer's audio filters made him wince with the volume. A long, undulating roar, it rose into the air, carving through the din of battle with ease and wavering in pitch at regular intervals. The call repeated three times as they marched on, the Scraegan clearly attempting to communicate with its brethren on the battlefront.
At first Ryke wondered if already they were being betrayed; if he had made a catastrophic misjudgement and the priest was only exhorting its people to fight all the harder. But then the sounds of battle slowly petered away and stunned reports trickled back from the front lines.
The Scraegan push had ground to a halt. In the positions they had carved the advancing packs finally halted, hunkering down and waiting. Ryke didn't actually believe it until they finally emerged onto the immense transit junction that led to the Forge and he saw it with his own eyes – the two sides staring each other down over the war-torn stretch of hell that both sides sought to secure.
Despite the relative quiet now the broad intersection where half a dozen main roads converged was a war zone in every sense. The ground beneath the feet of his mech had been shattered to rubble – even rebuilding the roads in the city would take months of work. Bodies were everywhere, littering the cratered graveyard of no mans land in the middle of the intersection. Huge, shaggy corpses mixed with the pulverised remains of militia soldiers, broken skiff carcasses and the occasional hulk of mangled metal that marked a dead Hunter-Killer.
But at least they'd stopped shooting at each other. In the front rank of the honour guard Ryke let his Hunter-Killer's enhanced optics scan the line of blasted buildings and trench works that the Scraegans currently occupied. Within Brekka's walls their digging abilities had been largely negated, the thick concrete and metal foundations of the city, as well as the tangles of pipes and power distribution cables making such tunnelling almost impossible.
Instead they'd resorted to more conventional warfare, and although a departure from their normal tactics, the evidence of their brutal adaptability was everywhere. A full minute trickled past in the grim quiet, like the holding of a breath before plunging underwater as the two sides surveyed each other, enemy to enemy – soldier to soldier.
"Alright, Sergeant," Reaver's voice said through the comm, making Ryke jump in his cockpit.. The Hunter-Killer commander was off to their right flank, having been dug in defending the vital intersection with his squad. "I think it's show time."
"Yes, sir." Ryke nodded, flexing his metal jaw nervously. "Sir?"
"Go ahead."
"If... if this goes wrong-,"
"We'll be ready, Lockjaw. Let's just do this and pray to the Riverlords it works. Reaver out."
Then the channel closed and Ryke was left to marshal the biggest moment of Brekka's history. Steeling himself, he nodded and opened his channel to the escort troops.
"Lockjaw to all units," he said, his voice coming out a lot more measured and calm than he felt. "Commence deployment. Bring the prisoner forward."
At his word the wall of Hunter-Killers split in half, those in the centre curving back and away to the left and right until they formed an armoured corridor. Through that corridor the Scraegan priest advanced, heavy steps echoing through the hell-torn streets, surrounded by a quartet of Scout Cadre skiffs and two crisply marching columns of militia. All around them the troops that had been fighting looked on with a mixture of amazement, shock and suspicion as the creature walked, its calmness almost as unnerving as its staggering size.
Ryke stepped from the line, along with the mechs piloted by Brigg, Thaye and Preese, lining up to face the priest as it approached them. It came forward slowly and deliberately, taking great care to make no sudden movements that might set off an itchy trigger finger. It didn't even spare a glance to the awe-stuck human soldiers that gawped from all angles.
The skiffs glided into a line as they slowed, the militia soldiers forming up into a two diagonally spaced ranks with the spines of their armour-piercing rifles pointed skyward. The Scraegan stumped to a halt facing Ryke, looming over him and looking down its huge scarred muzzle.
Bracing himself, Ryke inclined his head, forcing the Hunter-Killer's fifteen ton bulk into the slightest of bows to the colossal Scraegan. It dipped its head in reply before snorting and nodding towards the ranks of its kinfolk.
"Form up," Ryke ordered quietly.
The four Hunter-Killers of HK-Rupture took up their positions, him and Brigg to the left, Thaye and Scantlin to the right, spaced at three meter intervals with the priest lumbering in their centre. They turned to face the Scraegans and started walking.
Movement in the enemy line made Ryke's muscles snap tight with anticipation and he just barely resisted the urge to swing up his cannon in readiness. Several big forms milled around among the dug in packs of Scraegan troops until the line of shaggy bodies parted.
Out strode a towering Alpha, smaller than the four-armed priest but still immense in its own right. Its fur was the colour of burnished brass, visible through gaps in fire-scorched armour plating and a long, barbed furnace cannon barrel hung from its bulky right arm. In the left it clutched an enormous saw-toothed blade almost as long as Ryke's Hunter-Killer was tall. Eyes tinged with crimson locked onto them, narrow with calculating fury, and his machine's optics picked out the sizzle of heat in the creature's cannon. It was idling at a low charge, not ready to fire yet, but primed to be spun up at a moment's notice.
Four more beasts in barbed black armour accompanied the leader out of the Scraegan line – an honour guard of their own, it seemed. For all he knew this was the general who'd masterminded the entire assault on Brekka. Part of him wanted to leap forward, to strike the thing down in vengeance for all who had died in these past bloody days.
But he restrained himself. Vengeance would achieve nothing – not here and now.
"Easy, people," Ryke said quietly to reassure his companions. "Just keep moving; weapons cold."
"Quite a welcome party," Preese muttered. "Should've brought your girlfriend's shiner, boss."
"Still time for that," he chuckled, keeping his mech's pace even with the Scraegan priest as the two sides stepped across no-mans land.
Slowly, carefully, they closed the distance, moving through the sea of wreckage and corpses that separated the two forces. Ryke was thankful that the Hunter-Killer's shell blocked out the smell of death that doubtless hung over the place, easing gingerly around the shattered husk of a Hunter-Killer and trying not to look at it. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a mess of blood, bone and flesh that might once have been a pilot.
Gulping down his anger and his fear he pressed on, bringing the others with him and soon they were drawn up in a line opposite the Alpha and its guards. The enemy commander ran its eyes over them swiftly before its stare fell on the priest and it barked something in the Scraegan tongue. Ryke stiffened and looked up to his right at their captive.
The priest let out a guttural growl followed by a kind of snorting sound, before tossing its head. The Alpha's lips curled to reveal its blunt canines but after a moment it dipped its head in deference. In reaction to the motion the four guards behind it let the barrels of their furnace cannons drop to point at the blasted earth.
Then the priest looked down at Ryke. It brought its wrists together.
Replicating the gesture with the Hunter-Killer was a little awkward, but with so many Scraegans lined up before him Ryke couldn't bring himself to open the machine's protective shell. Instead he eased the bulky mechanical arms into position, wrists as close as he could get them, before pulling them apart and nodding.
"Move back, on my mark," he murmured through the comm. "Three, two, one... mark."
As one the four Hunter-Killers took a heavy step backwards, leaving the Scraegan priest alone – free to rejoin its people.
It looked back over its shoulder, staring at him hard, as though trying to penetrate the armour of his mech and gaze into his very thoughts. Broad shoulders rose and fall with a cumbersome breath and it gave him a final dip of the head before turning back and stomping towards its comrades.
Only now did Ryke become aware of just how hard his heart was thundering in his chest as the Scraegan reunion unfolded before him. As the priest reached its comrades a low roar like thunder rose up from the massed ranks of Scraegans beyond. He saw them, their muzzles raised to the sky, mouths open as they bellowed in triumph. The noise spread, from Scraegan to Scraegan, from pack to pack, echoing through Brekka's burning streets in a roiling storm that made the ground tremble.
"C'mon," Ryke whispered to himself. "Understand."
A shimmer of hope ignited in him when the priest did not simply march into the Scraegan ranks; did not simply vanish into the world and let the slaughter continue. It stopped in front of its kin and let out a guttural stream of growling words.
He watched, holding his breath in anticipation as the battle-scarred Alpha conversed with the priest, the latter looming a head taller than even the biggest member of the fighting Scraegan caste. Snort, snarls and rumbling growls echoed in the air as the two beasts spoke. Arms gestured with intent that Ryke could only guess at and the occasional louder bellow split the air.
It sounded an awful lot like an argument.
After a particularly aggressive torrent from the Alpha, the towering Scraegan priest rotated back to face the human line, dark eyes scanning the massed ranks of Brekka's troops, as though sizing them up all over again. Ryke wondered if the creature was calculating the true odds, the true consequences of carrying on this fight.
Its eyes lowered though, now lingering across the field of dead that littered no-mans land. It was difficult to really read the nuances of a Scraegan face, but Ryke could have sworn the priest seemed sad, its nostrils flaring, brows sloping outwardly down as it examined the Scraegan corpses. After a moment it snorted and shook its head, its neck rippling from side to side with surprising rapidity. It looked a lot like someone shuddering.
Then it swung back to face the Alpha. Its voice rose and in the tirade that burst forth Ryke discerned "All-Na" twice. Each time the word burst forth a dim echo rippled through the Scraegan ranks. Whether the priest invoked a god, an ancestor or something else entirely Ryke could not say, but the effect was immediate. The Alpha lowered its head, muzzle crunching and canines grinding in anger, but it did not meet the gaze of the other Scraegan.
When the priest finished, the Alpha raised its head once more, looking thoroughly chastened. Eventually it looked past the priest and nodded towards the human forces, muttering something in a subdued tone.
What happened next jolted Ryke's view of the world.
The priest stepped between the Alpha and the humans and he tensed, expecting a confrontation between the two colossal creatures. Instead, the priest reached out, laying one huge hand from its primary left arm on the thick shoulder-plate of the Alpha. Then it lowered its muzzle, touching its forehead to that of its comrade in a motion so gentle Ryke could barely believe it.
He did not hear what passed between the two next, but the effect was startling. After a moment of barely audible grumbling and growling the Alpha let out a deep snort of breath and jammed the point of its sword down into the broken ground. Then it released the blade and brought its free hand around to clasp the shoulder of the priest.
Ryke watched wide eyed, his mouth hanging open in amazement as the two Scraegans stood there, locking in an embrace – an embrace of friendship; of camaraderie; of kinship. It was not something he'd ever expected to see, not from the enemy.
The priest clenched its left fist and thumped it gently on the Alpha's shoulder plate before rising up to its full height once more. It looked down on the other Scraegan and nodded.
The Alpha nodded back.
It cast a bitter glance at the ranks of human soldiers before tearing its sword loose from the ground in a spray of rubble and mortar. Then it turned to face the massed ranks of its troops, holding the blade high in the baking sun where it glinted dully. A deep throated bellow ripped from its throat, soaring effortlessly across the smoke-filled air, before dipping into a stream of the growling, spitting Scraegan language. A break; then he heard the mysterious "All-Na" invoked once more.
This time the echo was deafening and for a moment Ryke wondered if the Scraegans were simply preparing for a charge, revitalised by the return of their talisman. But then the Alpha's voice dropped in volume. In a slow, almost reluctant motion it lowered the point of its sword.
Pointing away from the human lines.
A rumble of discontent passed through the assembled Scraegans but the priest stepped up behind its comrade, drawing up to its full height and unleashing a screaming roar that silenced any and all dissenters in their ranks. Quite descended once again, lingering over them for a moment as the Alpha remained standing, blade still pointing. Then it let out a single, sharp bark of command.
The front ranks of the Scraegans rose from their positions.
And turned.
And began to walk away.
Ryke stood there in silence, watching dumbstruck as the Scraegans began to withdraw before his eyes. It was like watching an avalanche subside, with rank upon rank of immense armoured bodies rising from deep trenches and spilling from shattered buildings before receding through the blasted, broken streets.
The barks of command echoed out over Brekka's rooftops as block by block and road by road the message passed across the battlefront. The last trickles of gunfire in the air bled away, leaving nothing but the steady rumble of Scraegan feet as they withdrew, bloodied and bruised but with their talisman liberated at long last.
He didn't dare speak; didn't dare jinx what was happening. His comm sizzled with expectant static as the Scraegan tide receded and he could not tear his eyes from the sight. The Alpha remained standing there, sword held high as it observed the withdrawal, challenging any to reject the decision. Behind it the bulk of the priest loomed, four arms hanging by its sides as it watched on.
It did not take long. Perhaps five minutes later that only Scraegan troops remaining in the intersection were the soldiers of the Alpha's guard, standing motionless as they awaited further orders. He saw the priest's shoulders sag – maybe in relief, maybe in simple weariness at having been held captive for so long.
The boulder of a head swivelled back to look at him – right at him – and it dipped slowly in acknowledgement. Then with a grunt of command it trudged off, the Alpha and its guards falling in to form a protective ring. Together they disappeared into the ruined outskirts of the city, leaving a line of stunned human soldiers in their wake.
"By the Everflowing River..." Brigg murmured. "I'm dreaming right?"
"Not unless we're all having the same dream." Thaye's voice was shaking with disbelief. "Ryke, you did it."
"Hold on." Ryke tried to contain himself, his voice cracking as he opened a comm to Major De Lunta. "Lockjaw-Reaver, come in."
"Go ahead, Sergeant." The reply was firm, but he could hear the undercurrent of surprise in the older soldier's voice.
"I... it looks like they've pulled back. Do we have confirmation from other sectors?"
"Standby."
He squeezed his eyes tight shut, willing and wishing all of this to be real. If the Scraegans really were pulling back it meant his audacious scheme had actually worked. It meant that for the first time a human being had actually negotiated with a Scraegan and succeeded. It meant... he couldn't order all the possible inclinations in his mind, not yet.
Instead he just sucked in a steadying breath through his teeth and waited.
"Reaver to all units," Major De Lunta declared across the wide-band, not about to confine the news to just the Hunter-Killers. The speakers of his mech blared out across the battlefield. "We have confirmation in all combat sectors. Scraegan forces are withdrawing. I repeat, Scraegan forces are withdrawing from the city. Scout Cadre spotters confirm they are moving back to the plateau and underground. Ladies and gentlemen, you can stand down. I repeat, stand down."
There was a moment, a tiny, silent moment that swelled with anticipation until it finally burst.
Then the noise started
It was laughter that finally overtook Ryke, disbelieving, joyous, hysterical laughter that shook his bones and made lungs ache. He slumped back in the Hunter-Killer cockpit and let it wash over him, his comm exploding with the frantic cacophony of his pilots: an animal scream from Thaye, Brigg's deep, weary, sobbing laughter; a prayer to the Riverlords from Preese and many others. Blinking back tears, Ryke opened the mech's outer audio filters and let them drown him in the cheers of the nearby Brekkan soldiers.
Those cheers poured through the city streets, ignoring rubble, ruin and flame as they went, echoing from stone and metal, and filling every building with their sound. From the smouldering outskirts to the defiant mountain of the Forge those voices could be heard. From the cracked wall tops to the sweltering machine bays of Stamm Basin men and women downed their tools and embraced, tears and cries and smiles and screams boiling together to acknowledge the enormity of what had just happened.
The battle for Brekka was finally over.