ANCIENT LANCES
Alex Hammond

A DRY HEAT slid over the barren wastes with the rising of the sun. As light pushed at the edges of the darkness, the shadows fell away to reveal the dead in their many hundreds. Dakat City was nothing but rabble and corpses. Broken steel and concrete lay spread out on the baking sand. Only carrion insects moved about the devastation, nibbling on flesh, darting across dead eyes.
Al'Kahan looked out across the sea of carnage. His eye did not blink. Heavy artillery must have pounded the city for hours. The bunkers were torn open. The network of hives beneath the city would be running with blood. It would pool in the lower places. The smell of it would remain there forever.
His mare stirred beneath him. She had a heart of iron but liked the slaughter of innocents no more than he. Al'Kahan turned to face his men. Veteran tribesmen all, they were the best sons his home world had to offer. Each should know his steed as well as his steel. The philosophy of his people. The horse was their kin, their companion. Without it they could never prevail.
The battalion looked across at Al'Kahan, their dark eyes and rough hearts moved by the scene before them. They wore the marks of their clans upon their cloaks, carved from bone and stitched onto the hides of great bison. Beads of honour hung from their beards, holding the complex plaits in place. Al'Kahan spoke, his voice breaking the stillness of the spent battlefield.
This is our first and last day. Last, for we shall no longer be sworn to the sword of the Imperium. First, for we shall die or succeed. To die is to

pass on to the plains of our ancestors, to join them in the great hunt. To succeed is to be given a world to make our own.'
Al'Kahan stood upon the back of his horse, so that he could see the entire body of men. Lifting his eye patch he spoke. We own each battle. It has cost us one and all, brother man and brother horse. We are the Sons of Atilla. Our destiny stands before us.'
Al'Kahan dropped into his saddle and pulled hard on his reigns. His mare stood high on her hind legs and kicked at the air. In a second, the silence was broken for the last time on that day. Two hundred hooves struck the ground in unison, sending carrion beetles scrabbling and used shells flying. Al'Kahan's Atillan Rough Riders were on the move again.
They swept over the broken lands, skirting between battlefields. As they rode, they found only the dead, but the tracks of their enemies were all too clear. Heavy tanks and many infantry: this was an enemy unconcerned with subterfuge, an army of fire and iron.
'Honourable Al'Kahan?' A giant tribesman, Tulk, rode beside him, livid face scars denoting many kills.
'Speak, brother.'
'Those who lead the Prakash Xllth have made contact. They're being surrounded. Cut off on the salt flats. They will make their stand there.' Tulk grunted in disdain.
'They will fall if surrounded.'
'If the spirit of the hawk is with us, we may have speed enough to aid them.' the large tribesman said, looking to the sky.
'Indeed, if we fight with our ancestors by our side we could break the enemy's line. Create a weak point, from which they may make their push. Use the communicator: let them know that the sons of Atilla will save their hideless backs once again.'
CRESTING AN EMBANKMENT, the riders looked out over the Great Lake. Its life blood dried up, it shimmered in the haze of a high sun. A dark column snaked like a viper across the salt flats, heading inexorably for a much smaller, ragged mass. Al'Kahan paused briefly, his men arriving close beside him as he looked through binoculars at the forces ahead. He turned and called out.
'The enemy artillery is their key. Like a fist from heaven it has smashed every settlement we have passed. We must outflank it and destroy it. Our ancestors are with us today, this I know for a wind has travelled with us across this barren land. Feel it at your heels when you strike for their heart.' Al'Kahan raised his lance and readied it in the harness of his saddle. 'Save your lances for their artillery. Do not engage their main force. Ride like the wind, my brothers.'
Al'Kahan let out a deep, wordless cry, his voice holding strong. The riders followed suit, their voices rising high above the thick heat. Al'Kahan

felt a shiver pass through his bones, electric like the thrill of a kill. His lance felt good in his hand, like it had always been there. He was first to break the war cry and set his steed to battle. The pounding of the hooves rang about the great expanse. Tulk screamed their position down the communicator array on his back. A flare from the Prakash Xllth rose high into the air. A reply signal, they were prepared.
Al'Kahan's heart felt as though it was keeping pace with the rushing horses. The closer the enemy, the tighter he gripped his reins. His cloak spun and twisted in the air about him. His eyes wept with the sting of the rising salt from the flats and the wind in his eyes.
A shell landed close by. It sent a horse and rider spiralling through the air, the mare whinnying as it slammed to the ground. It died on impact. Its rider fell beneath a hundred hooves. Honed in battle craft the men spread wide. Another shell fell amidst them, its shrapnel slicing flesh and fur. But artillery fire could not compete with the riders' speed.
They were closing on their greatest threat. Ahead, foul Chaos Marines, their ancient armour warped and corrupt, skirted like giant cockroaches behind their machines. Here they nested, chittering, calling and screaming in a language that bore into Al'Kahan's skull, as though it was trying to devour him. All around them, screaming hordes of cultists howled insane hymns to their warped masters.
Al'Kahan's warrior's heart shuddered to look upon them all. He gripped his studded reigns tighter, letting the iron studs tug at his flesh. The pain helped distract him from the abominations ahead. Airborne jet bikes tore the sky apart as they ripped forward from within the enemy's column. Lasfire and bolter shells began to rain down upon the riders. Men were thrown from their horses, the beasts remaining riderless within the charge. Al'Kahan leapt the body of a dead horse, its skull raptured, a rider trapped beneath it.
The first of the riders had reached the enemy's line. They did well, their steeds ploughing through the line of cultists. Some were cut down, spurts of blood slicing through the air like jets of steam.
Tulk led a second wave. His men had stowed their lances in favour of lasguns. Every shot rang true, but few penetrated. In answer, hot metal shells ploughed into his unit. Horses fell, colliding with one another on their way to the ground. A few riders were able to leap free, but most were cut down or crushed beneath their mounts, their bodies dropping like building blocks smashed aside by a child. Their momentum had been stopped. Men had to take cover behind the dead and dying. The Chaos hordes cared only for the spilling of blood, and rained fire upon dead and living alike.
Al'Kahan wheeled around and drove his unit hard towards his fallen comrades. To remain stationary in battle was to offer victory to the enemy. Vaulting the piled dead, Al'Kahan rode along the Chaos line. He swung his

lance like a staff, keeping its explosive tip from striking. The fallen raiders took his cue and charged at the enemy. Atillans rushed the armoured Chaos Marines, their furs soaked in blood. Many were thrown high by the sheer force of the enemy's powered armour, but a few blows found their mark.
"We're slowing!' Al'Kahan cried, circling the fray and rounding up those riders who remained mounted. The ground shook, and for all but a moment, cultist and rough rider alike paused. Barbed tanks, bristling with weapons and equipped with savage scythes and ploughs, began to advance upon the Imperial Guard.
'Pull out! Move, damn you!' Al'Kahan called, leaning down from his saddle to snatch at the grasping hand of a fallen raider.
'Thank you, brother.'
Tulk, Al'Kahan's lieutenant grinned back at him, his sharpened teeth streaked with his own blood. It welled up from a gash on his tattooed face, a fresh memento of this battle and one that Tulk would certainly cherish.
They're not too tough once you've cracked them open!' he grinned.
The enemy tanks were almost upon them. Men were still trying to scramble free of the fray onto stray horses and the backs of their colleagues.
Al'Kahan swore. 'We need time.'
'It would be an honour, Al'Kahan.' Tulk said.
Al'Kahan kicked hard into the flanks of his horse and rode high over the mounting dead. He charged straight towards the first of the tanks. Flanks dripping with sweat and blood, Al'Kahan's mare struggled forward, irregular hoof falls alerting him to her waning strength.
'One more charge, daughter of Atilla,' he called to her.
Tulk stood upon the horse's back, arms steadying himself against Al'Kahan. He snatched a bulging satchel from the saddle and crouched. Al'Kahan rode alongside the approaching tank, its cruel blades spinning but an arm's distance away. Tulk paused for a moment only, then the giant tribesman flung himself forwards onto the grinding vehicle. Al'Kahan kicked at his mount and they burst forwards, throwing salt high into the air as they galloped around the rear of the machine. Tulk scrabbled up the top of the tank and threw himself back as a hatch burst open. Al'Kahan snatched a throwing disc from his belt. He threw the blade with abandon, not caring whether he cut down the Marine or gave Tulk a painless death. It ricocheted off the hull and up into the cultist's face. The man fell, gun pumping, back into the tank's innards. Amid screams, the vehicle spun wide and bucketed right. Tulk pulled a grenade from the satchel and popped its pin. He threw it deep into the machine and looked about, wild frenzy in his eyes.
Al'Kahan spurred his mount on. Tulk threw himself down a little ahead of his comrade. An explosion ripped the tank open, throwing Tulk into

Al'Kahan's horse's flank. All three collapsed to the ground. Two more tanks pressed onwards. Dazed, Al'Kahan turned, trying to catch sight of his men. A dull pain at the base of his spine drew his attention to his legs, trapped beneath the horse.
'Tulk?' The tribesman did not stir. The tanks rambled on towards the Atillan commander. Al'Kahan scrabbled desperately at the satchel at Tulk's side but could not reach it. He reached back and caught hold of his lance. Using it, the Atillan prodded gently at the satchel, praying the explosive tip would not trigger, setting the grenades off. The surface of the salt flats came away in large plates as the satchel dragged slowly towards him. The noise of the tank filled his entire body. Al'Kahan slowly drew the satchel close enough to open.
The shadow of the tank fell across him. Scythes and blades cut up the corpse of Tulk, harvesting flesh. Al'Kahan drove his hand deep into the satchel and pulled a pin. At the same moment, he braced the lance hard against the carved insignia on his armoured breastplate. Al'Kahan threw the satchel beneath the lead tank and let the vehicle's plough catch the tip of his lance. Flame and sulphur engulfed him for an instant as the lance tip detonated, throwing him backwards and away from the exploding tanks.
Al'Kahan floundered, tumbling backwards across the salt flats, unable to slow his momentum. He prepared for the sharp, crushing pain of hooves. Instead he found himself wrapped in something soft. The smell of home... fried bison and corn bread. Was this the hereafter?
Al'Kahan opened his eyes. Wrapped about him was a thick fur cloak. He had been scooped from the ground, two young riders supporting him between horses.
'We have you, honourable commander.' a young rider with tangled braids said.
'A steed! I need a fast mare. We must destroy their artillery.' Al'Kahan wheezed.
'Great commander-'
'I know I'm wounded. My chest is pierced, my life blood falls to the soil. If we do not fight we will lose this battle and my name will be dishonoured. Better to die than to live dishonoured.'
Ten more riders arrived to regroup, some carrying additional men.
'Gather the lances! And get me a horse!' Al'Kahan screamed.
An Atillan dismounted while others circled, sweeping down from their saddles to snatch up the unused lances of fallen riders. They lay, scattered like kindling, across the battlefield, daring the foolish to tread upon their explosive tips.
Al'Kahan propped himself up in a saddle. The sucking wound in his chest was like a blow hole, gouting forth blood and pain.

'Son of Atilla,' Al'Kahan called to the dismounted rider. 'Get behind me. Take your clan tassels and hold them hard to my wound.'
The rider held Al'Kahan tight, his grip stemming the flow. 'You hold my old life in your hands. Quite literally.' Al'Kahan coughed, feeling his life's blood wearing thin.
No cry was given. In this moment, actions spoke louder than any horn. Al'Kahan spurred the new steed forwards, the young warrior on his back bracing his wound and bearing several lances. The remaining riders followed suit, their steeds catching up with the old commander. They spread out with an unspoken synchronicity, pulling alongside one another. A line of riders, thirty strong, churned the earth as they flung themselves hard at the enemy.
'Ready lances!' Al'Kahan commanded. The artillery loomed closer. It was larger than he had expected. Giant cannons pointed skywards, seeming to stroke the bellies of the clouds. Mortars with gates as dark as the mouth of the warp grinned like daemons. Tracked platforms churned up the ground beneath them, ripping huge trenches into the ground. These machines were eager to belch their deadly shells upon the good men of the Emperor.
As they rode, the Atillans passed the lances from hand to hand with spider-grace. All were equipped twice over. The Chaos Marines and their cultist forces caught sight of the rough riders. They scrambled low across the ground, throwing themselves hard behind the rare pieces of cover that jutted, like blast craters, from the ground.
'Steady!' Al'Kahan called, air escaping both from his mouth and the wound. His head spun, oxygen depleted.
A barrage of laser and lead whipped across the riders. Explosions from mortars and grenades rent the ground. '
'Now!' Al'Kahan cried. On this mark, every man slid effortlessly to the right side of his horse, bodies pressed flat against his steed's flanks. Some horses were hit, some fell, but more rode on.
'For Atilla!' one warrior cried as the cavalry swept high and hard over the enemy lines. Ignoring their assailants, the riders doubled their speed. The pounding of hooves echoed deep into the earth. Sweat and blood were swept from horse and man, leaving thin red wakes in the shimmering heat. The riders lowered their lances. Artillery crews, still scrambling to load their cannons, scrambled for hand weapons. The Atillans let forth a single war cry, twenty sounding as though they were a hundred.
The explosive-tipped lances found their marks. Thick iron plates were torn from machines, hulls dripping with wires, gutted. Explosion after explosion, like a string of firecrackers, burst out across the battlefield. Rounds of ammunition, like rain from the heavens, filled the air. Al'Kahan threw grenade after grenade at stockpiles of munitions. The rear of

the Chaos army was engulfed in cleansing flame. Burning tracks and fragments of metal still fell as the Atillans moved on to cut down the fleeing.
AL'KAHAN RAN HIS hands across his chest. It had healed well. The scar was impressive, the largest on his battle-worn torso. The soft sounds of the bat-tlecraiser filled the room. Transparent plasteel windows, like the hollow eyes of the dead, looked out across the stars. Al'Kahan stared at a sharp blue nebula, crackling with lightning and flame. The lulling hum of the star-ship's engines and the glorious scene before him made Al'Kahan almost long to remain in deep space, almost.
He looked down a the large Imperial Eagle that hung from his chest from chains of gold. He could feel its weight through the layers of fur and hess-ian he wore. His cloak bore further trophies and medals, their shining metal like strange ticks amongst the pelts. Al'Kahan considered his reflection in the window. Broad plainsman's hat, trimmed with fur, single wild warrior's eye, long braided hair. He could hardly distinguish between his dark black locks and the snow leopard's mane he wore about the top of his cloak. Both were worn with age and dark from a thousand blood stains.
'Commander!' A voice from behind.
Al'Kahan turned about slowly. A commissar; dark leather coat, black peaked cap, trimmed and adorned with silver skulls; eyes like flint.
'Commander. I trust you have healed.'
'Indeed, Commissar Streck.'
"Your Imperial Seal fits you well.' The commissar turned towards the window.
'It feels good about my neck.'
'As well it should. You have served the Emperor well.' The commissar worked a crank, shielding the window and throwing the room into neon bright.
'A hundred battles.'
Time for you to take your place as lord of your own province on Dagnar II.'
'I look forward to such an honour.'
'Really?'
'I could be no less certain.'
'Interesting. I thought your people longed for their homeworld more than any other. The Ice Warriors of Valhalla long for the sun, the Alderian Shock Fighters hate their deathworld, the Gorchak Fire Sentinels thirst. But the Atillans never tire of hunting bison, warring amongst their clans... or at least that's what the Adeptus Ministoram have always held.'
'I'm sure they have their reasons.'
'Most assuredly.' Commissar Streck turned and made to leave the room, then paused. 'However... you have an irregular choice. In three days we will

dock with your home world. A unique opportunity. We need to take on new steeds and other supplies for your founding, then head off to Dagnar II, and from there on to Olstar Prime. If you were to stay you would not be dishonoured. You could return to your hunting grounds.'
Why?'
'Let me simply say that I have long maintained that with time a warrior of the Emperor comes to know only battle. I look forward to being able to prove this in a report to the Ministorum. A... test case, if you will.'
'I see.' Al'Kahan looked down at the seal on his chest.
The ship will dock for a week only.' Streck said. 'You have your Emperor's blessing.'
'ONE WEEK, COMMANDER,' Commissar Streck called from across one of the many loading bays of the massive space vessel. Al'Kahan did not turn to acknowledge the man. Rather he waded through the air, thick with fuel, towards the towering bay doors. He longed to feel the soft soil of his home-world beneath his feet, not lifeless steel.
Al'Kahan's furs, bundled upon his back, weighed heavily on his shoulders. Filled with gifts and trophies from the Emperor, they were foreign objects on Atillan soil. A twisting path of conduits and gantries crowded and cluttered Al'Kahan's progress. The Emperor's ship, even now, with its foul vapours and grinding noises, tried to hold him back from his homeland. The land to which his soul would be forever joined.
Al'Kahan reached the bay's vast external doors. Two men from the Prakash Xllth - boys only - stood at their stations by a smaller, man-sized doorway. One stepped before him. Al'Kahan pulled his papers from his coat and pushed them hard into the young Guard's forehead. The man stumbled backwards. Al'Kahan swept his feet from beneath him with a solid throw from his leg and spun about letting his heavy furs catch the other in the neck. The second fell to the ground just seconds after his companion. The papers, heavy with seals, fluttered down to land on the ground between the men. Al'Kahan stepped through and was struck by the winds of home. He held his breath and strode out onto the sloping walkway, then leapt down into the knee high grasses of the open plains of Atilla.
The massive space vessel towered from the grasslands. It would block out much of the sun as it rose, its shadows turning around the countryside like a giant sundial. The long grasses surged and crested in the warm evening breeze. They washed around Al'Kahan, slapping against his thighs as he strode on. The ship had put down next to a small Imperial outpost, which huddled in a wide, blasted-earth clearing. More a collection of scattered administrative buildings than an organised base, the buildings looked like squat dung heaps.
Worse still, like buzzing flies, Atillans were gathered in groups about the buildings. Approaching them, Al'Kahan saw that there were more

than he'd initially thought. Many lay huddled together drunkenly amidst pools of bile and filth. Some shivered around small fires. As Al'Kahan drew near, he saw that they did not cook desert hen or bison side, but something else, something more akin to a rodent.
Mongrels and beggars scuttled out of Al'Kahan's way as he strode on. The deeper into the quagmire of scorched earth and hastily erected bunkers he went, the more Al'Kahan worried he would never escape it. It was as though he were entering the heart of the dark plains, that dire place to which the dishonoured dead passed on. Smaller spacecraft, not bearing the glorious eagle of the Imperium, had landed here too. Rogue traders? Mercenaries? Pirates? Al'Kahan cold not be certain. All that he could tell was that these men were making a living off his people. From out of the side of one of these ships a pledge trader was at work. Beggars and wounded queued in a soulless line outside the small craft. A dark, heavy-set man was passing out food in battered tin bowls.
'Sister, what are you doing?' Al'Kahan leant in to talk to a woman in the queue. 'I am hungry, brother.' 'Where is your clan, your husband?'
'He left to fight for the Sky Emperor. I came here to find peace.' 'I see no peace.'
'Can I help you?' A trader type in long, mesh-armour robes strode forward to stand face to face with Al'Kahan. 'You have made beggars of my people.' Al'Kahan sneered. 'We offer them food in return for performing small tasks on our ship up in orbit.' the trader said pulling aside his coat. 'Join the queue or leave.' He revealed the handle of a laspistol underneath his garments. 'I know what this is.' Al'Kahan said to the assembled tribespeople. 'This is a ploy. These men are slavers, they will take you up to their ship to imprison the strongest of you and slay the others!'
'What? That is simply untrue!' The trader turned to face the crowd, his hands held open in a gesture of platitude.
Al'Kahan grabbed the trader by the back of the neck and thrust him forward to the ground. Throwing back the man's coat, Al'Kahan revealed a set of manacles at his belt. 'Look!' he called to the crowd. 'What merchant has need of these?' Al'Kahan drove the slaver's face further into the ground. Others drew near. Al'Kahan snatched the man's laspistol from beneath his coat. 'Back off!' Al'Kahan growled holding it to the back of the floored slaver's head. 'Return to your tribes!' he screamed at the beggars, 'This is no way for Atillans to live!'
Al'Kahan spat to the ground and strode into the night. The blank faces watched him go in silence. No one moved, no one left.

The eyes of his ancestors were beginning to appear in the heavens above him. He still recalled each pattern, each constellation, from that time many years ago when, with a boy's foolish notions of the glory of war, he had set forth into those stars to fight for the Emperor God. His ancestors would guide him, guide his own eyes to the hunting grounds of his people. Al'Kahan imagined what they would be doing - perhaps feasting after a great hunt, gathered around the fires. He would walk from the light of each hearth to meet with old friends and new warriors. Young men keen to gain their first scars on the field of battle. It would be so good to be back.
THE NIGHTS HAD passed slowly. Al'Kahan slept alongside the tired old mare he'd bought from a trader back at the outpost. The animal was as scarred and wrinkled as Al'Kahan himself. Its breath was shallow when it slept, a constant reminder of his own mortality. He found he had somehow lost the knack of lighting a fire, and had had to use Imperial Guard-issue flame flares to keep himself warm.
There were few signs of his clan on the plains - the marks made by the herds were old, and there were no fresh horses prints either. On the third night, though, he came across an old camp, tents bunt to the ground, and clan banners buried in the dirt. There were no bodies. Amidst the charred remains, Al'Kahan found a lasgun, its charge burnt out. It bore no markings. Had his people taken to using the weapons of the Imperium?
On the fourth night, Al'Kahan wound his way along Kapak Canyon's massive ridges. It was a wide gulf, as though the finger of some god had stripped back the earth revealing its inner workings. In the valley there were channels like arteries, boulders and outcrops like cancers and ancient caves like hollow sockets. If his clan had been attacked this would be their place of refuge. It had been that way for hundreds of years. Only the Hawk's Shadow clan knew of the tunnels and the ridges and could hide here for many days. In a hidden valley, through the disguised arch of a rocky outcrop, he saw at last the familiar tents of his clan. They were smaller than he recalled, more ramshackle. A few mongrels fought over a bone in the moonlight. He could see no guards.
Al'Kahan gritted his teeth and dismounted. He strode on, his arms wrapped tight around the fur bundle he had brought from the ship. The dogs ran away barking into the night as he approached. A young Atillan, facial scars still fresh, stepped from the shadows, his sabre drawn.
'Back off,' Al'Kahan mumbled.
'You are in the territory of the Hawk's Shadow Clan.' The boy stepped closer, bringing his sabre to bear. 'You will back off
'I am Al'Kahan. I am one of the Hawk's Shadow.'

'There is no one by that name amongst our clan.'
'You are too young to know any better.' Al'Kahan proceeded to continue past the boy.
'Drop what you hold or my sword will drink of your blood.' the boy snarled.
'No. I am Al'Kahan!'
The boy lunged at him. The old warrior stepped aside, grabbed hold of the boy's arm and smartly lifted upwards. The boy let out a high scream, dropping his sabre, and clutched at his shoulder joint.
'It'll snap back in.' Al'Kahan sneered.
Taking up the fallen sword, Al'Kahan strode towards the nearest hut. Tribespeople had run out at the screaming of the boy. The warrior slashed back the curtain across the entrance to the tent.
'Alyshfa!' Al'Kahan called for his wife.
A battered tribesman stood up, casting aside his furs. His face and body were scarred and wan.
Al'Kahan slit open another tent. She was not here either. A woman sat surrounded by many children her face worn, her eyes red from crying. The babes were thin, they began to cry and scream.
Al'Kahan entered more tents. With each slice of the sabre, the tragedy of his tribe was revealed to him. Outsiders slept with tribesmen. Stinking carcasses, some many days old, were being used for food. Horses were lame.
Alyshfa!' Al'Kahan called, slashing open another one of the wretched hovels. A man sat bolt upright from beneath a mound of furs, a terrified look in his eyes. There was a familiar woman's form at his side.
'Alyshfa! Your husband has returned!' Al'Kahan yelled as the man leapt up and snatched at a hunting lance resting high against the roof.
Al'Kahan brought his sabre down on the tribesman's outstretched hand. It fell to the floor. The tribesman let out a howl. Al'Kahan grabbed him by his braids and threw his naked frame out of the door.
Al'Kahan!' a sombre-eyed woman, her hair greying, shouted back at him. Her skin read like life's map, a map Al'Kahan could hardly read. He half-recognised her as she snatched hold of his hand.
Al'Kahan spun hastily to face the tribesmen entering his door and shoved Alyshfa back onto the bed. One of the advancing tribesmen swung hard towards Al'Kahan's head. He ducked and wrenched a fur rug from the ground, tripping the tribesman who crashed through a large water vase. The floor flooded. Another man rushed Al'Kahan. He stepped into the warrior's path and smashed the hilt of his sabre into his face.
'Come on, you whelps!' Al'Kahan barked out of the hut. 'Let's see how many it takes until you show me your respect!'

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain across the back of his skull. Staggering around he saw Alyshfa above him, a heavy iron pot held tightly in her hand, a streak of his blood on its hard base.
AL'KAHAN OPENED HIS eyes. Above him he saw blankets hanging from the support beams of the leather tent. His head was throbbing. He lay on the ground in the damp furs. Alyshfa sat on the ground beside him, holding a sabre to his neck - the sabre he had given her on the day he left.
She had aged more than he. Her eyes were as though they had seen the horrors of the warp, her hair streaked grey and knotted. She still had a noble bearing, but it seemed as though she was struggling to maintain it, to save face before him.
'You hit me.' Al'Kahan reached to feel the crown of his head.
'You were destroying my tent.'
You are my wife,' Al'Kahan mumbled. He could taste the blood from his cut lip.
4Vas! I was your wife.' Alyshfa placed the sword at her side. "When a wife's husband departs on a sky ship, she becomes widowed. She may choose a new husband after the time of mourning.'
You are no longer widowed. I have returned.'
'I mourned your passing. A fool, you took to the stars. You fought for the Sky Emperor. You left. What more is there to say?'
'I have returned to my people. I see that they need me.' Al'Kahan sat up slowly. It dawned on him diat he was arguing with her as though he had only departed yesterday. She had her temper still, as he had his. Some things on Atilla had not changed.
"We are fine without you, Al'Kahan. Your place is no longer amongst us.'
All the traditions have been forgotten. I was attacked by a boy, too stupid to know the rales of hospitality. Who is headman now?'
'Po'Thar is dead. Like I said, a lifetime has passed since your leaving. Our tribe is no longer glorious. We starve, our tribesmen are but boys. Traditions are our last concern.'
That saddens me.' Al'Kahan stood gingerly. 'It is a pity. Our traditions are what make us Atillans.'
There are new traditions. Things are changing.' Alyshfa handed Al'Kahan a damp rag. He placed it on his head.
They have changed all too much. Where are all the men?'
They rode against the warlord, Talthar. Our herd was stolen and they sought to bring it back.'
Al'Kahan paced around the perimeters of the tent, trying to clear his muddled head. He peered outside the flap. A crowd had gathered outside, they stood back from the tent as fhey caught sight of Al'Kahan. There were very few able warriors, ten at the most.
'Our warriors were defeated?' he asked Alyshfa, turning back to the room.

'Survivors told of a fortress, of weapons bought from sky traders. They rode against it and tried to attack, but could not assail its walls or defeat their guns.'
'Where is your... husband?'
'With the wisewoman. She is mending his wound.'
'I can pay for a new hand.'
'He is proud. He will neither take your money nor let a machine replace his flesh.'
Al'Kahan regarded the woman he had only known as a girl. She wore the sorrow of his tribe like a veil, but beneath it he could still see some inkling of pride.
He strode out of the tent. The crowd staggered backwards, some men reaching for sabres. Al'Kahan held up his hands. They stared intently at the figure who had arrived a frenzied madman.
'Come dawn,' Al'Kahan said, 'come dawn we will make plans to renew our tribe.'
'WELCOME, THE ONCE-proud tribes of Kapak Valley' Al'Kahan stood upon the back of a horse, looking out over a rabble of wounded men, boys and women who had turned against the traditions. 'I am Al'Kahan. I have served the Sky Emperor and have returned to rejoin my people. Here I have found nothing but sorrow and tears. This warlord refuses the ways of our people by plundering and stealing bison and setting rock and stone to earth to make a fortress. These plains belong to all. Our ancestors divided them equally, so that we could all be free to ride the lands and eat of their harvests. This Talthar is an enemy to us all, an enemy to our traditions, to our ancestors.'
The few warriors present stirred in their saddles. Many spat into the earth, their sharpened teeth glinting in the stark light.
'I came home seeking the traditions I had long held in highest honour in my heart. On other worlds Atillans fight, united by their love for their homeland, their brother horse and the freedom to which we aspire. I say that this warlord, Talthar, is little more than a brigand. I say we ride against him. I say we string him from the gates of his own damned fortress and let the carrion feast on his innards. Through battle we will know the truth. In battle we will find victory. By battle we will save Atilla's soul and restore the tribes to their glory!'
Faces turned away and heads dropped. The ground was stirred by soulless hooves, dragging against the earth.
'Do not turn away! You must trust in the ways of the ancestors. We will overcome this man. He is no daemon. His fortress is but earth. Our steeds tear up the earth as they ride; his fortress is nothing!'
'It is no use, Al'Kahan.' Alyshfa's husband, Ke'Than, turned to him from his saddle. His dark braids and scarless face betrayed his youth. His eyes

were keen and tough, like black pearls. Ke'Than jabbed his stump in the departing crowd's direction. 'Their spirits are broken.'
They no longer have the hearts of true Atillans.'
Things have changed.'
'Changed for the worst, Ke'Than.'
'Perhaps, but then nothing lasts forever.'
Al'Kahan jumped to the ground. He reached down and grabbed a handful of rich, black soil. 'I have travelled to many worlds and one thing never changes. There is always war.' Al'Kahan stood casting the dirt aside. 'If change is what Atilla wants then change is what she will get. Go and talk to them. Tell them I know how to crack open this fortress.'
FEWER HAD COME than before. Al'Kahan looked out into a crowd of faces, grim and unimpressed. He looked to the low ridge above him. There Ke'Than sat, awaiting his instructions.
Al'Kahan turned to the crowd. 'Not even stone is impenetrable.'
He waved his sabre in the air and KeThan kicked his steed into life. The beast thundered across the ridge, throwing up earth all about it. Ke'Than gripped hard to the reigns and lowered his hunting lance in the crook of his injured arm towards a broad boulder before him. The warrior braced himself as a great explosion ripped through the stone. Shards of rock, like leaves from a tree, fell down around the assembled riders.
The crowd gasped.
Al'Kahan held up his own hunting lance. 'I have twenty of these explosive heads. Your lance shafts are not as strong as those of steel, so they will have to be reinforced. But with them we can break open that fortress. We can defeat this warlord.'
THE CHILL WIND of dawn passed through Al'Kahan's hair. It moved the long grasses that grew on the highest parts of each hill. Below him, a morning mist was starting to rise. Around Al'Kahan were gathered fifty riders from the broken clans of Kapak Valley. Riders of varying ages sat atop a mixed rabble of mares and geldings, their faces filled with grim determination. They were few. The boys amongst them had never seen battle, nor ever killed a man.
Al'Kahan turned to face them. His stallion shifted beneath him. His eye passed along the row of riders before them.
'I will not lie. Today, we ride outnumbered. Today, we fight against a superior force, behind walls of stone. Today, we may lose our lives.' Al'Kahan reached around to the furs he'd brought from the starship.
'But these are things you all know.' He started to unwrap the large bundle. 'I promise you this: whilst this day may not be fought in the traditional way, you will not dishonour your ancestors. They will look upon you with great joy - for you fight to free their sons, the founder's children - our brothers who lie in the bowels of that fortress.

'Let me promise you this also.' Al'Kahan produced a plasma rifle and several grenades from the furs, their Imperial Guard insignia plainly visible, 'With these weapons we will conquer! We will ride with the force of a thousand and crack open the walls of their fortress like lightning from the heavens. We will split their heads and bring the full fury of the clans upon them!'
The riders cheered. Al'Kahan swivelled his horse and plunged down into the mist towards the plains in which the fortress sat. White tendrils quickly enveloped him as he dived, near blind, down the steep incline leading to Talthar's fortress. The riders followed into the miasma, the sound of their steeds and beating hearts the only sign that they did not ride alone.
After what seemed like many hours, the ground levelled out and the mists thinned. The fortress, the size of a small star cruiser, loomed ahead of them. It was jagged and sinister, and pieces of scrap metal soldered to iron stakes rose in vicious angles from the ground before it. These would slow down the cavalry. Its walls looked climbable, for the stone was roughly hewn - but peppered with murder holes and lookout towers as it was, this would be nigh-on impossible. Al'Kahan's men slowed; struck dumb with apprehension, some began to falter. Strong actions were needed.
Al'Kahan, plasma rifle in hand, unleashed a volley of burning power that ripped though the iron stakes and lit up the entire valley in white light. The tense air was filled with static. His men rallied and rode like the crazed, relying on the experienced warrior's skill with the rifle to destroy the pikes that threatened their charge. Al'Kahan desperately tried to destroy each barricade before his men collided with them, but some riders struck the barbs. But he kept on firing; if the charge was slowed, they would become bottled up and be shot to ribbons.
The riders rode on, the remnants of the deadly barricades now just ash. Men appeared at the fortress walls. Shotguns and rifles added dull staccatos to the high-pitched cry of Al'Kahan's plasma rifle.
'Face away!' Al'Kahan cried as they neared the fortress. Imperial Guard-issue flash grenades rose high into the air, detonating at spaced intervals like fireworks. The men behind the barricade screamed, blinded by the flash. The riders resumed their charge.
'Lances!' Al'Kahan cried out over the sound of his weapon.
The riders obliged, lowering the explosive tipped weapons to face the stone walls. 'Level up!' The riders pulled alongside one another, creating a convincing line. The hooves, like thunder to the lightning of Al'Kahan's weapon. A storm of retribution was in full sway.
Too late, the doors to the fortress opened to release the warlord's own riders. Al'Kahan's men braced themselves as their lances struck the wall. The tips exploded, ripping great holes in the stone. Sharp rabble ripped

at their faces and tore at their furs. One rider fell beneath a hail of debris; his mare kept running. The warlord's riders swept around to follow Al'Kahan's men.
'Hawk's Shadow and Desert Thorn take the compound! The other clans with me!' Al'Kahan cried above the havoc. The riders separated. Al'Kahan's force turned and prepared a charge.
The enemy riders had the better speed. 'Keep going!' Al'Kahan called, pulling four grenade pins. He threw low and hard at the oncoming riders. Startled faces broke into screams of fear as the grenades hit the ground and went off, tearing earth and flesh. The enemy charge fell short. Now his riders had the momentum. Horse met horse, rider set upon rider and a desperate battle broke out.
Al'Kahan wielded the plasma rifle as a club, knocking a rider to the ground to be trampled under the churning hooves. Sabres flashed as Al'Kahan's men jostled with the warlord's. The slow press of horse's bodies was like a giant python, gradually constricting around the battlefield. Men desperately clung to their steeds; to fall was to die under this crush. One of the warlord's men made a rash for Al'Kahan, sprinting across the backs of several close-pressed horses. Al'Kahan turned and released a volley from the plasma rifle. It went wide, barely slowing his attacker.
The rider leapt upon Al'Kahan and they both slid towards the ground. His attacker stabbed again and again with a short knife. Al'Kahan felt the blade penetrate his side. Without thinking, he smashed his forehead into the attacker's face. Al'Kahan rolled to one side and let the screaming man fall beneath the stamping hooves of his enraged mount.
After regaining his saddle, Al'Kahan saw that his men had gained the advantage and had all but finished what remained of the warlord's cavalry. Al'Kahan pulled at the dagger in his side.
THE MEN OF Hawk's Shadow and Desert Thorn hurdled through the holes in the shattered wall and passed into the warlord's compound, Ke'Than at their head. The place was filled with the booty of war; strange machines traded from merchant pirate's lay sprawled about the fort, while coal-black pipes, like spilled entrails, made riding hard. Women and children ran for the mud huts and stone houses that lined the walls. A mass of warriors armed with pistols and sabres rushed from their barricades. They looked shell-shocked and desperate.
Ke'Than snatched his sabre from his saddle and swung it high above his head. With a clean stroke he beheaded an oncoming warrior before the man had a chance to react. Another drew a shotgun on him. The weapon cracked out across the air. It clipped Ke'Than in the shoulder. Barely noticing, Ke'Than brought down his sabre hard. The warrior brought his shotgun up to parry the blow. From the back of the horse the blow was savage. The warrior's wrist snapped, the shotgun singing free from his

hands. Both warrior and weapon fell to the ground, the gun misfiring as they collided together. Soft tissue sprayed across Ke'Than's face and he turned away. Around him, his clan had the advantage over the remaining warriors. In the distance, a dark shape appeared on the far side of the melee.
4Vho is it?' Al'Kahan arrived at Ke'Than's side.
Talthar, the warlord.' the other sneered.
Covered in dark furs, criss-crossed with black straps and leather harnesses, Talthar charged forward on the back of a giant black stallion, a whirling chainsword in one hand. Al'Kahan groaned out as the foreign weapon sliced through sabres and limbs alike. The warlord's face had a crazed look, his scars and toothless grin slick with the blood of Al'Kahan's men. With tearing precision, he cut down five men in but a few seconds.
'Here!' Al'Kahan screamed and drew the warlord's attention. The warlord commenced a charge. Al'Kahan spurred his horse towards him. They crossed the short distance neither slowing, their eyes wild.
Al'Kahan leant and whispered to his mount; 'Brother horse, I thank you for your spirit and blood.'
The warlord was upon him, the chainsword spitting gore. Al'Kahan pulled hard against his mount's reins. The inexperienced creature buckled and fell to the ground, the momentum from its charge causing it to slide hard into Talthar's own steed. The black stallion stumbled over the sliding Al'Kahan. In this instant, Al'Kahan jammed the butt of his plasma rifle against his shoulder and fired. The white blue light, mercury bright, cut up through horse and rider. Talthar screamed as his leg was engulfed in searing agony. His monstrous steed crashed to the ground on top of Al'Kahan.
The old warrior felt a biting pain scream through his leg. Something had torn and his foot was bent at a weird angle. Close by, Talthar howled. He was still alive, covered in the gore of his steed, his chainsword cutting a path through the smouldering flesh about him. Al'Kahan rolled to one side as the savage weapon tore through his cloak. He dragged himself across the ground, his tired arm muscles straining to move his substantial bulk.
'I will... have... your head!' Talthar wailed, dragging himself after Al'Kahan.
'You have offended our ancestors! You will die!' Al'Kahan shouted back, looking for a weapon.
'You are no different to me.' the warlord shrieked, swinging the chainsword wildly. 'You offend our ancestors with your alien weapons.'
'Never!' Al'Kahan cried, reaching his plasma rifle and snatching it up.
The warlord swung, the whirling blades of the chainsword spinning furiously towards Al'Kahan. Al'Kahan fumbled with the rifle. It had not charged fully He brought the gun up to meet the chainsword, waiting for

the biting pain of its serrated teeth. The sword dug deep into the rifle's fuel cell. A flash of white-blue flame leapt up the sword and through the warlord's body. He screamed briefly and collapsed, a charred husk.
Shaking the noise from his head, Al'Kahan looked up through the gore and saw a group of riders assembled above him.
Ke'Than grinned down. 'We are victorious, mighty Al'Kahan. You have restored us to glory!'
A LARGE FIRE burnt high that night. The thick scent of bison meat filled the air for miles around. The broken tribes were united, joined to sing of blood and glory. None would pass to sleep without the aid of ale. One soul was not present: the greatest of the Hawk's Shadow, Al'Kahan. Once the wisewoman had done her work, the old war commander passed from the camp quietly, early in the festivities, his leg braced. Al'Kahan left his old hut and disappeared into the darkness of the Atillan night.
At dusk on the next day, Al'Kahan found himself at the starship, the air fouled with its noxious fumes. By one of the entry gates, a lone figure stood. Al'Kahan dismounted and approached.
'I thought as much.' Commissar Streck said. 'I could see it in your eyes the day that you left.'
'I owe as much. Without the Emperor's weapons, we would not have won.'
'Ah yes. You defeated the tyrant. Good for you.' Streck shifted slightly; his black coat creaked. Why not stay and be their leader?'
'I no longer know this place.'
'You are one of us, then?'
'No.' Al'Kahan strode past Streck towards the towering starship. 'I am an Atillan.'