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“Do that again. Please. I’d love to break your kneecaps.”
    “ I like it when you talk dirty,” Kane groaned.
    “ All of you, shut up,” the woman growled. She turned back to Dillon and Cross.
    “ So you’re Southern Claw?”
    “ Yeah,” Dillon nodded.
    “ What are you doing all of the way out here?” she asked.
    “ Recon,” Dillon lied.
    Either the woman bought it, or she didn’t really care. She looked at Cross.
    “ I’m going to call my spirit back. I’d appreciate if you’d do the same.”
    “ I’d rather you didn’t call your spirit back,” Cross said, “at least not until you have that vampire safely contained.”
    She smiled. He pulled back his spirit. She was reluctant and angry, and he could feel how desperately she wanted to confront the witch’s spirit. Cross had to exert more will than usual in order to force her to behave. He sensed as the witch called hers back, as well, seemingly with the same amount of required pressure.
    The fiery chains around the vampire didn’t move, which meant that the woman’s gauntlet was wholly responsible for keeping the undead contained.
    I’ve never seen an implement with that much power . Of course, no one really knew the full extent of the Revenger’s resources, but they were unquestionably extensive. Black Scar itself was supposedly buried deep within the earth, a multi-layered stronghold of chiseled iron protected with incredible levels of magic and artillery.
    “ Your weapon?” Dillon said to Vos.
    Vos watched Dillon for a moment, smiled, and lowered his gun.
    “ You want to give me a hand?” he asked the ranger.
    Dillon complied, even though he didn’t seem overly enthused by the idea. He and Vos secured the prisoners and moved them away from the wreckage. None of the prisoners spoke while they were moved; they just kept their eyes to the ground.
    The witch’s name was Danica Black. She was a Warden of Black Scar and a Revenger, two facts that counted as marks against her in Cross’ mind.
    That’s right, make excuses , he chided himself. She’s even further out of your league than Warfield is. And that’s saying something.
    Cross stood at the ready while Black carefully adjusted the dials and switches on her arcane gauntlet, modifying the flaming chains that constrained the vampire and making them more stable. The chains never actually touched the creature: they just hovered less than an inch away from its pale flesh, ensuring that if the vampire tried to break free it would turn itself to ash.
    “ Is this everyone?” Cross asked as they moved away from the wreckage and into the trees. The dead forest was thin and open, and after a short distance they finally found ground that was devoid of debris. Sharp stones covered the frozen soil of the forest floor. There was only a small amount of snow on the ground in the forest itself, but Cross looked through the tree line to the east and saw fields of white. The air was bitter and cold, and even though they put some distance between themselves and the Dreadnaught’s wreckage the smell of burnt wood and fuel still hung thick all around them.
    “ This is all,” she said with a shake of her head. Soot and ash covered parts of her smooth face and hair. “All of the survivors of the Dreadnaught’s trip across the Reach. All six of us.” She smiled bitterly. “Shit.”
    Black paced about, kicking stones with her tall boots. Cross tried not to think about how much she looked like Warfield.
    Okay, stop it.
    Her spirit was there, tense and watchful. Cross’ own lapped at it, teased it with challenge.
    Dillon and Vos erected a crude camp, where they gave the prisoners – Lucan, Kane and Ekko – some water.
    “ This has been a really nice trip, Vos,” Kane nodded as he was handed the canteen. “Can we go to the beach, too?”
    “ Only if we get to see your girlfriend in a bikini,” Vos smiled.
    “ I thought you were my girlfriend,” Kane replied.
    “ Where are you bound for?”