This is just before the last battle that would end a conflict that spanned many years. Our heros would go on to aid in the winning of the day and help in establishing the rule of the Emperor. Anyway, the next story will be a complete one.

Now are the days when darkness threatens our Empire again and the hearts of men flutter in the shadow of ancient evil. Sleeping giants stir in their dank grottoes. The foot soldiers of plague and death stalk our fields. And the haze of smoke hides the sun.

Now are the days that strike fear into the souls of the bravest men. Our enemies believe destruction and desecration shall cow the men of the Empire; the knights of Brettonia; the elves of the great woods; the dwarves of Drachenfell. Our enemies believe we shall slip quietly into the eternal night and the lands we have loved and labored shall fall to them effortlessly.

Now are the days we persevere. Now are the days we warm ourselves with the memory of yesterday and the light of tomorrow. Now are the days we stand and, as in legends told to us by ancients around the fires of our youth, we fight for what we would preserve. We fight for what we would endure. We fight for what we would live.

Now are the days of heroes.

Brigid of the Order of the Silver Hammer
AVE SIGMAR

Brigid scowls at the cloudy wall separating her from Jacob's tower. "Coward." She spits and kicks a rock toward it.

"So this is where it all began." Mikhal stands with arms akimbo, surveying the site as if estimating its property value. "Or where the Hand began, rather." The rest began long before.

"Hmph." Brigid stalks like a tiger behind bars. The years have slipped past since the four of them stumbled into the Seven Sisters - dwarf, gladiator, priestess, and nomad - blithe and unaware of the ravages to be born here. Here silver eyes trace the lines of the army until she finds Ellis maniacally hopping and playing his skull bongos with his normal hand. For all of them, a cause began here. But for him, this ground is marked with his first slick steps into madness.

The dwarves around him dance as only dwarves can, pass around the drinking horns and share their last night as a full company. Brigid smiles and nearly steps to join them, but Mikhal holds her back.

"You've drawn more notice than you want already. You can scream with the dwarves at dawn."

She spins back on him, but a young adept's approach does not give her the chance to retort.

"Your Holiness, would you bless me before the battle?"

She strikes him with a backhand slap that sends him sprawling. "Take that to your enemies in Sigmar's Name."

"Thank you, Your Holiness." The adept spring up and runs, rubbing his jaw. Probably checking for loose teeth, Mikhal thinks.

"What was that?" he demands in an outraged whisper. To his astonishment, Brigid looks confused.

"The Hammer would kill him," she replies simply. "And I lack anything else. So you think he felt slighted? Hrm." She looks around. "Could you find a stout length of wood? I don't want Sigmar's own to go into battle without a proper blessing�"

Mikhal chokes between laughter and disbelief. "Brigid, the more I learn about you, the more I�"

"Salut Ulric!" A lanky Kislevi lopes up and bows to him. "Posadnik Errol is seeking you on business of the Imperial Tsar, Rudovolok."

Mikhal sighs. "Thank you, Kaludi."

Kaludi straightens and smiles - a ferral split revealing every tooth in his head. When he looks at Brigid, she can almost see his hackles rise.

We are only allies of convenience, she thinks, and may well see those fangs in our throat when the seasons turn.

"Well, Brigid," Mikhal bows to her as Kaludi leaves. "Another time. After the battle." His golden eyes meet her silver in a level gaze, as though he is willing that meeting to happen. "May your god preserve you."

"And yours be with you also. Ave Sigmar."

"Salut Ulric."

She does not watch him go, but paces back to Sigmar's ranks. The rest of the Silver Hammers want to be blessed and she must line up the whole company before finally sitting down for a fist of bread and cup of ale. Normally, she would eat nothing before a battle and is disgusted with herself for breaking her fast. But there is something about Ulric's paladin that makes her stomach weak as water. Ulric's dislike of her, probably, manifesting itself through Mikhal.

"Mikhal! Over here!" The giant of a man, once known only as Bonecrusher now having taken the name Errol the Grey, waves to him. "His Highness wants to talk to you!"

Mikhal ducks his head into the small arming tent. Karl is seated between an impossibly lavishly armored knight and an equally impossibly beautiful woman. They speak in a genteel language as they look over the maps in front of them. Karl rises as Mikhal enters and the pair bob to their feet in unison with him.

"Your Worship, you've met Geneveive." The brunette angel curtsies elegantly. "And this is Dupre deBretonni. He is the commander of our Bretonnian forces." Candlelight swims in Dupre's polish plate as he bows. By Ulric, these westerners are extravagant. "Please, sit." Karl does and the two on his flanks pop back into their chairs. What, do they rehearse this?

"I would like you to withdraw your Kislevi contingent to here." Karl stabs a finger onto the map. "From there, you will wait until the enemy approaches, then charge out and support our right flank." He begins to roll up the map. "You'd best get moving now. I want you settled well in before dawn."

Jehenne watches Mikhal appraisingly, almost amused. Is the Imperial Tsar setting him up in some western perversion of humor?

"If I may ask, Kuitsar, will it be only the Kislevi who are in hiding?"

Karl shakes his head. "If you have no complaint, I'd like our Imperial knights to ride in with your winged lancers. Between your priests and the cavalry, you should be able to spring quickly into the battle."

"No complaint." Mikhal bows. "We will move at once."

As if to demonstrate, he turns on a heel and leaves.

Jehenne shakes her head and laughs.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"^* Dupre asks.

"Seulement ce qui une paire �trange qu'ils feront. Comme diff�rents ils sont, et toujours tellement de m�me!"^** She sighs with a smile and melts both their hearts, pouring the blood down to other regions. Dupre breaks first.

"With your leave, your Majesty, I must see to my men."

"Granted!" Karl Franz almost pops up to hold the tent flap open for him, but his enthusiasm fall as Bonecrusher's massive hand draws it back instead.

"Your Highness," the gladiator turned mage bows. "May I suggest a tour of the army? The sight of their Emperor would do them endless benefit."

Karl ignores the beam of light that illuminates Jehenne's face when Bonecrusher appears and the soft doe's eyes the giant man makes at her. He refuses to acknowledge the warm change in the timbre of her voice as she endorses the idea and flatly denies ever witnessing the two of them undressing each other with their gaze.

I'm the Emperor, dammit. It's disrespectful.

"Lord Errol." He waves to his advisor as sweetly as he can. "Would you accompany me, please? I would appreciate your council."

"TAKE THAT YA BASTARD!"

Ellis cackles as he waters Jacob's lawn. The Slayers roar with him, compounding all forms of rude and obscene gestures toward the wall of the tower. Ellis downs another ale and incinerates the mug. "THAT'LL DO, BOYS! GIVE 'EM A GOOD DWARVEN SALUTE!" One of the slayers lifts his beard - his only semblance of garb - and waves his hips toward the tower. The Slayers roar again.

But, loud as the din thunders, it cannot drown out the black corner of his mind where something rejoices at its homecoming.

"COME OUT, YA BASTARD! I'LL KILL YA!"