A Secret Man of Blood

The Battle of The Line

Rewritten by the dark rash of dawn, the frosty sky slowly fills with colour above fortifications frantic with activity, its light chopped and fanned by the shadows of soldiers preparing The Line for defence. The Line is an unbroken series of forts stretching three-hundred miles from the impassable mountains in the north and five-hundred miles from the marshes in the south, and almost joining in the middle.

It was built simultaneously from north and south to hurry the construction, but the Night Elves have attacked just in time to stop the two linking up so there's a gap of several miles in the middle, which takes the form of a raised road. The raised road is as long and straight as an outstretched belt, linking the two sets of fortifications and originally intended as a foundation for the last stretch of forts but now manned heavily by Samarian soldiers.

Sig tampers with an improvised magic trick of his own construction, Squad and Anya watching him with trepidation. "I don't think that's such a great idea," Anya warns the Dwarf, who's liberally mixing chemicals.

"Don't worry, it's only the illusion of jeopardy," Sig assures them, winking as the device explodes in his face. Stroking his singed beard like a philosopher, he points to the heavens, confidently shouting. "I've made another discovery!" as he coughs out some soot. "If only I could monetise my brilliance. Revenue stream?" he snorts out a laugh. "More like a revenue river! ...Maybe I should have some safety procedures, though."

"That feels like bolting the stable door after the horse has legged it and exploded," Squad jokes, high-fiving Anya.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am...because the answer would disappoint you," Sig smiles, then sighs. "But this is a serious problem. A similar accident happened in Racambad and half of my audience were outraged: we had two complaints! My friend, lifelong nemesis, infamous supervillain and occasional co-conspirator The Puppetmaster wrote a damning review of my show in The Daily Complainer and he's never had the guts to apologise to my face...not even through the medium of the puppet! Though I did appreciate the even-handedness of the other press coverage," Sig declares, holding up a newspaper frontpage with a large picture of his face, clearly doctored to make him look evil and, below it, the headline: GUILTY BASTARD! "At least they let me tell my side of the story in the headline."

Anya smiles. "They really caught your likeness."

"Not in appearance, but they certainly captured my personality with the headline," Sig agrees.

There's a hush of appreciation and Elizabeth Clay, daughter of the emperor, approaches Squad and shakes his hand. "It's good to see you again, spectre." Her eyes flicker out to the field, where the enemy wait in silent, cobwebbed patience. "We can certainly use you."

"Your father says I've to stick with you—"

"And protect me?" Elizabeth Clay completes his sentence, with a smile. "Don't worry. I don't need protecting, and there are no restrictions on your movements. You've to go wherever the need is greatest – and that's an order."

She lifts up her hands to draw the attention of the soldiers.

"First of all, I want to introduce myself to you: you do not know me, I do not know you. But to beat this threat we must work together and therefore we must understand, and have confidence, in each other. I'm going to be the leader of this Empire one day, though hopefully not for many years, and I know every person here has been to the door of the furnace, witnessed it and then marched into the flames. I'm here to walk with you and to tell you that we're in it together. The future of this Empire is being forged by the blood of our friends, our colleagues, the people you know, and yourselves: you have planted eternal memorials to the strength of your friendship and the wrath of your enmity."