The Way of Caine (The Warcaster Chronicl

In the shadows of the stable, something moved. Something big. It puffed steam and whispered with grating iron. Caine saw the embers of its eyes staring back at him as he entered, and smiled. The elder mechanik, Ewan, stirred at his bench, tired, but doggedly at work on the frame of a metal forearm. Assisted by two of his gobbers, he was ratcheting a manifold into place on the limb. At the sound of Caine’s feet, the mechanik turned. Sliding his goggles to the top of his stubbly head, he revealed heavy bags under his eyes.

“Is it ready, Ewan?” Caine asked, a thumb in the direction of the shadowed hulk.

The mechanik wiped soot from his cheek, and passed the arm to his gobbers. They proceeded to feed ammunition into the gun mounted on the shadowed hulk. Ewan watched them and then turned to Caine with a nod.

“Aye, sir. A rare prize, that one.”

The mechanik called the red-eyed shadow forward, and it replied with a hiss of steam. Into the light of the downcast lamp it took its first step. Then another. The hunch of its metal back swelled head and shoulders above Caine, though its red eyes met him level. It hissed steam from its vents, and stopped gingerly. It grasped an axe in its newly attached arm, while the other was a long-barreled cannon of a design Caine had never seen. The lean contour and sweep of this beast was, for that matter, entirely unfamiliar. In keeping with the covert nature of Caine’s mission, it had been washed over in drab black, and absent from its shoulder plates was the traditional insignia of Cygnar. The sharp beak on its face lent the appearance of a bird of prey, if only it had been given metal wings to match. At the base of the single smoke stack at its back, some manner of arcane device had been mounted. In appearance, it was similar to the arc nodes some warjacks were equipped with, those being mechanika derived to augment the sorcery of the controlling warcaster. This device was not quite the same. Caine stared at it, bemused.

“They call it the umbrella,” Ewan said.

Caine cocked his head, glancing at the mechanik.

“Engage it, and you’ll find this hulking thing will nearly vanish. Stick close enough, and the umbrella should shelter you too. A handy ward against unwanted eyes, or so they tell me. Yours will be the first field trial,” the mechanik chuckled, much to Caine’s consternation. “As you may have been appraised, that gun is called a Longarm. It’ll put a hole in iron plate three inches thick from as far away as two locomotives end to end.”

Caine whistled in appreciation.

Smiling, Ewan threw down his rag. “I thought you’d like that. Are you ready then?”

Caine nodded, taking a breath. Imprinting a warjack made possible the mental link between warcaster and machine. It was also something of an ordeal. To imprint with a ‘jack was to see through its eyes and to feel its thoughts. Simple as such thoughts might be, given they were only a basic, sorcerous facsimile of consciousness, some warjacks presented a stronger personality than others. It could be overpowering. Caine had come to see it as mounting an unfamiliar horse; you never knew what to expect, and getting bucked was not out of the question.

Ewan approached the metal beast, and tugged it to one knee with the grip of an access handle near its neck. The glowing eyes did not wander from Caine as Ewan pulled, but neither did the machine resist. As he opened the shoulder brace, the mechanic reached in to loosen an interior lock. Within the shielded chamber he had opened, Caine spotted an orb of tempered steel. Known as the cortex, it was the mind of the beast. Within, it awaited him. Caine reached out and placed a hand to it ...

Dark. Cold. Nothingness. Caine found himself floating in a void. He spun about by will alone, peering this way and that.

There.

A singular point of light. He kicked to steady himself, scrambling to keep the light in sight. Slowly, he pulled himself forward. As he neared the light, he perceived the darkness concentrating itself around him. A convergence of pure will in the non-space began to form, like smoke, silhouetted by the growing light ahead. The form began to take on the aspect of a man. He saw it went so far as to mimic his duster, until at last it was a mirror of his own shadow.

He compelled the shadow to yield the light to him. It did not. He sensed defiance, or perhaps curiosity? Was it testing him? The shadow was so bold, even, to push back. Caine’s ethereal form dug in, and fought to move forward. Again the shadow resisted, keeping him from the light. Willpower was his only muscle here, and with all that he had, he heaved. He surged forward, bracing for impact. Instead, the shadow vanished. He crashed upon the light, surprised.

The light was in fact a window floating within the nothingness of this place. He now gazed from it, and saw Ewan. There, standing before the window on a bed of straw, the old man watched him, hands-on-hips, while he himself was just out of sight. The man looked alien here, a strange caricature, skewed and warped. With effort, he swiveled the view of the window, until he was able to see his own body. Beneath the window, his arm reached past the line of sight. He saw his own face twisted with effort. He tried to focus on it … until ...

Caine blinked. He looked over at the mechanik, eyes wide.

“This one’s got some mischief in it,” he said, breathless, and withdrew his hand from the cortex chamber. The mechanik nodded, smiling. Setting his goggles back upon his sooty cheeks, Ewan patted the metal beast, and snapped the hatch shut.

“Right. Does it have a name then?”

Caine nodded.

“Ace.”



As the sun slid from a cloudless sky, a cool breeze blew in from the lake. Caine left his jacket open to the chill, as sweat trickled down his forehead. Reevan and his team were moving like shadows ahead, fast as wind through the rough terrain. Ace loped behind him with a gait something like a primate, sometimes hacking brush away with his broad axe. The warjack’s smokestack puffed sooty black smoke from time to time, the only sign the beast was working at all to keep up. Caine marveled to see something so big move so uncannily quiet.

Up ahead, Reevan signaled a halt with a hand gesture and turned to watch Caine’s progress. He had done so several times, and while he neither complained nor chided, he did meet Caine each time with a leering smirk that said enough. It was time to even things up. Tapping his innate power, space bent around him in mid-stride, and he appeared this time ahead of the waiting sergeant. Finishing his stride, he glanced back at Reevan. The ranger sergeant, however, returned his smirk with a frown, and waved him back.

“We’re here, sir,” Reevan said in a whisper, as Caine scrambled back. He indicated a break in the trees to their right. Caine turned to his new warjack, and willed him to stay back. Ace obliged, slinking into a copse of trees. Once within, he disappeared entirely.

“You and your men, stay put. I want to talk to their leader alone. If they get spooked, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting clear, but don’t hesitate to give me some cover fire. That goes for you, too, he thought to Ace. The metal beast acknowledged by quietly chambering a round in the breech of the Longarm.

Caine peered over Reevan’s shoulder, seeing the mercenary camp for the first time. The mercenaries were well disciplined, and intent on remaining hidden. Absent were the campfires, and loud talk amongst men common to an encamped army. These men moved about in silence, using shuttered lanterns. They betrayed only the occasional glimpse of light as tent flaps were momentarily opened with the coming and going of their occupants.

Into this hideaway Caine strode, guns holstered. With a breath, he stopped, and closed his eyes. He listened. He could hear the footsteps of the soldiers as they moved to and fro, or talked within their tents. Opening his eyes again, he looked at the pale moonlight upon a row of tents. Stepping carefully to avoid any twigs, he followed the row. There, at the end of the row, another larger tent. Surely, the commander’s quarters.

Drawing close, he heard a heated conversation within. A man and a woman argued. He paused, listening.

“... again today he does not come. We must consider …” the woman’s voice sounded tired.

“What? Would you have us leave, Lily?” the man answered, his voice thick with a Caspian twang.

“We are now a week without pay, father. The men are more restless by the hour. If he does not come to us, why not go to him?”

“You well know that goes against the terms of the contract …”

“Father,” the woman’s voice pleaded. “It is a contract he has already breached. Let him renegotiate at … wait … is that …?”

“Let us discuss this later. I sent for Luthor. He approaches, most like.”

Caine heard footsteps nearby. He saw shadows moving in the moonlight, a patrol on approach. So much for that, he thought. He stepped from the shadows as he heard the last of the soldiers pass him by.

“Hallo there!” he called out.

The men whirled about, fumbling for their rifles. Caine waved them down.

“Easy, now. I just want a word with whoever’s in charge.”



“What exactly do you want, Captain?” the young commander asked. They were at the clearing just outside her large tent, its large flaps had been drawn back to cast long shadows. She stood before him in a unique suit of plate and sipped from a tin cup filled with steaming coffee. Her armor had extensive armatures built over it, ending in bizarre claws at the feet. The way she had limped out of the tent, Caine wondered if the armatures might be compensating for missing parts. Whatever the case, he approved of what he could see of her. Long blond hair, tied into braids, and piercing blue eyes that regarded him like a hawk. Even the scar that ran chin to scalp had a certain appeal. He wondered what a smile might look like on that face. He saw only weary exasperation now.

“A simple thing, really. I want you to tell me what you’re doing here, Commander Von Baum, was it?” Caine said lightly, a wry smile on his face.

The woman sighed. A haggard but formidable man emerged from the tent, also with a coffee in his hand. He was similarly dressed, though his own armor was not nearly so strange. He made up for it with an enormous long sword strapped to his belt. He stroked a bushy grey mustache and narrowed his eyes at the sight of Caine. The young woman looked back at him with a shrug.

“Did you hear him father?” she asked. The man grunted, looking at Caine.

“I’m Hector,” he extended a firm hand, which Caine shook at once. “We’re under contract, Captain. Sorry to have wasted your time, but we’re not doing anything illegal here,” the old soldier said softly.

“Perhaps not,” Caine replied. “But it is clear you are doing everything in your power to stay hidden. I find that a mite suspicious.”

“Suspicious is not illegal, sir. Our client has stipulated discretion, nothing more,” Lily protested. Behind the tent, Caine heard the sound of metal grating, and the puff of steam being released.

“Perhaps I might take it up with your client, then. Care to point me their way?” Caine asked, still smiling. Lily rolled her eyes at this, but her burly father only chuckled, putting a hand to her shoulder.

“You know we don’t have to tell you that, lad.” He said, shaking his head in amusement. Caine studied the worn leather of the man’s face. This pair wasn’t going to give him anything, he thought with a sigh. Perhaps a change of tactics was in order.

“Have it your way.”

The clank of heavy jointed limbs was getting closer. Caine saw two sets of glowing red eyes coming toward the light. Caine felt Ace out in the shadows. The warjack tensed, drawing a bead on the advancing machines. Its eagerness to open fire scratched at the back of Caine’s mind, but Caine resisted the urge with an emphatic No.

“Let’s get something straight,” Caine growled. “Slink down as low as you like, we know where you are now. We’ll be keeping an eye out. Step out of line, and our next chat will be less ... friendly.”

As Caine finished, the hulking shadows of two Mule warjacks limped into the light. Each brandished a spiked mace longer than Caine was tall, while their other arm mounted short-barreled cannons. They flanked their young master, and steam hissed from them like angry bulls. He could feel they were eager to charge. It must have been a great effort for her to keep them at bay.

“Argiv! Hedo! Steady on!” she said with verve, her steely gaze fixed on Caine. “It is unwise to threaten me, Captain. They … are … very protective.” The elder mercenary, Hector, coughed, but remained silent.

Caine smiled. From the copse, he peered into Ace’s mind. The light warjack had already lined up a headshot on the nearer of the two mules.

Lily narrowed her eyes, still fighting to keep her warjacks restrained when Hector put a hand to her shoulder. “He’s not alone, dear,” he said, squinting in the still blackness.

“Just remember what I said,” Caine said. With a wave, he turned his back to her and stepped off into the shadows.



“I admire your sand, sir, most certain. I should very much like to have seen her face when you gave her your back, as you did.” Reevan shook his head, a wry grin upon it. The ranger sergeant was a shadow in the pale moonlight. Caine nodded, a half smile in response, and compelled Ace to his side.

“This is where we part ways, Sergeant.”

“Sir?”

“Take your boys back. I’ve an errand to run. We’ll see what our new friends are up to tomorrow.”

Reevan nodded, pulling his cloak tight against the cool night air. “Good hunting, sir.”

Caine and Ace ran.

Through peat fields and along the road headed north, they neared the border. As the evening before, Caine knew well enough to bypass the border gates through the woods. He sidestepped only a single patrol this time. He wondered if Ace had been overcompensation. At length, he neared the same hillock overlooking Merywyn as the evening prior. Slowing their pace, he took a breath. Peering out from the cover of brush, his face grew severe, vexed.

“Bloody hell.”

There were … hundreds of them. He stepped back into the brush. Ace watched him with a cocked head, sighing softly with steam. Caine paced a moment, and then looked back upon the wide clearing that formed a belt around the west half of Merywyn. Under the light of torch posts, Llael’s corps of army engineers worked at the nearest extent of the belt, only a dozen yards away. They were setting wooden fence posts, and unfurling wire spools. Closer to the city walls, what looked like two full battle companies of Llaelese regulars, along with numerous heavy laborjacks, were moving supplies. Amongst the mill of soldiers, a series of large brown tents were taking shape, poles lifting the heavy canvas from within.

“They’re pitching a bloody field camp!” Caine hissed an oath. Rebald had been right. Looking up at Ace, he regarded the umbrella upon its shoulder with a scowl. “I’d have been better to try this last night. Now I’m supposed to trust that thing against them?” The warjack raised its broad axe, and pushed the brush back as it did. It indicated a few hundred yards ahead, nearer to the shore of the Black River. The engineer’s perimeter hadn’t reached that far, and the light of the gas lamps was spotty. Caine nodded at the gesture, pulling his chin. “Ech. I reckon that’s as good as we get, eh?”

Ace shrugged. Caine looked ahead to the base of the city walls where a heap of refuse from the army camp lay in piles. Empty crates, barrels and large canvas wrappings had been gathered and abandoned. Adjacent, a large culvert protruded from the wall, large enough to shelter Ace. Every now and again, a heavily burdened laborjack would limp over to the heap from the main staging area, and add to it, though it was otherwise ignored. Caine looked at his warjack skeptically.

“Well, are we doing this or not?”

Ace lurched forward without hesitation, breaking from the edge of their cover. As it did, Caine watched the umbrella begin to stir. A series of vents along the cover of the device glowed cool white, and a haze like heat distortion began to ripple the air around the warjack. By degrees, Caine watched as it increased, until Ace was no more than a strange anomaly in the space before him. Neither visible nor invisible, it was actually uncomfortable to even try to look at. From within the bubble, he could feel his warjack urging him on, impatient. With a groan, he obliged, stepping into the bubble of shimmering distortion. As he did, Caine saw the world around him take on a strange aspect. From this side of the umbrella, the world had somehow become muffled and even a little out of focus.

Slowly, stepping together, they began to walk into the clearing.



Caine saw the refuse heap ahead, only another dozen yards away. His skin crawled, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Though they had threaded the needle thus far, there were still dozens of men moving around him. They had wound a precarious path through the gaps in the light, pausing several times as soldiers passed around them. He cringed each time, but the umbrella had held. Another few yards gained.

Until.

A lone corpsman stepped into sight, walking behind a trash laden laborjack. As the lumbering metal beast unloaded its refuse, Caine saw the man reach for something in his service jacket. The laborjack turned about with a series of clockwork lurches, and stepped back the way it had come. The corpsman did not. Out came a silver flask, and with a sheepish look the way he had come, the man took a long pull.

Caine waited for the corpsman to leave, but he didn’t, his eyes roving about until they fixed directly on the space distorted by Ace’s umbrella. With another pull from his flask, his face twisted into a mask of bewilderment.

Caine internalized a curse. What now? Pull the man into the umbrella and cut his throat? What other choice did he have? Caine willed Ace forward, ready to strike. For his part, the corpsman stepped a pace closer, mouth agape. Caine drew his service knife and tensed.

The man suddenly looked with horror at his flask and tossed it to the ground. He whirled about and ran back to his crew with a whimper. Caine followed Ace, stepping past the slowly draining flask.

At last, the refuse heap was theirs. Eyeing the culvert, he ushered his warjack within. Ace easily pushed aside rusted bars, and in a moment its bulk was hidden from sight.

“Wait here until I get back. This shouldn’t take long.”

Caine began to climb.



Caine shimmied from the drainpipe to a toothing stone, and from there reached across to grasp the slit of a murder hole. Safe from the light of the torches below, he was nevertheless not out of danger yet. Another story above, sentries marched along the ramparts. He could hear their chatter and smell the smoke of their pipes. He concentrated, looking to the next murder hole. It was too far to reach, at least by climbing alone. Bending space around him, he pictured his hand gripping it. An instant later, so it was. He braced himself in his new position and looked for the next handhold. An adjacent loop hole was in reach, and he slid slowly across, then grabbed another drainpipe. Shimmying a few more feet up, he saw the roof of a parapet just over the heads of the sentries. Yards above, perhaps, but close enough for him. He caught his breath a moment, and gathered his focus before risking another flash forward.

There.

In an instant, he found himself upon the eaves of the parapet. He paused to catch his breath, watching the sentries below like a spider from its web. Sure that they had not seen his passing, he crawled the rest of the way to the summit of the parapet. The view of the city from this height was spectacular. He peered over the rooftops below, recalling his directions from Rebald. There was a little pub down the south side, not far from here. He marked a path, and started slinking forward.

“Do y’see that!” a sentry shouted, somewhere below him. Caine spun around, clutching at a weather vane. He looked at the guardsman, expecting their eyes would meet. Instead, it was to the south woods the man pointed. Other sentries were gathering to his call. Caine followed their gaze out over the dark of the wilds. He saw the rolling hills, woods, even the swamps of Cygnar to the south. He did not, however, see what the fuss was over.

He was about to turn back to the city when a flash of pyrotechnics lit the night sky in the distant south. Then another, and another. There was no mistaking cannon fire, even from this distance. It was a battle. Squinting to spot where they were coming from, a sick feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach.

“Bollocks. I’ve got to go back,” he whispered.

With a groan, he let go the weather vane, and flashed down. The sentries heard only a faint whoosh at his passing. As he appeared on a drainpipe above the trash heap, he let himself fall, aiming for some discarded canvas wrappings. He grunted on impact, and came up sputtering. Ace poked his head from within the culvert, curious. Caine was already on his feet, and pumping his legs as fast as they would go across the belt. He could feel its thoughts probing his own as he ran.

Umbrella? it asked.

“There’s no time! RUN!” He thought back, running past some bewildered corpsmen.

“Hey! You can’t …” one of them shouted. In the next instant, the man was nearly trampled as Ace bounded past, the earth shaking with its heavy footfalls. Around the camp, the alarm went up. Llaelese regulars came running, weapons at the ready. Too late. The odd couple of Caine and Ace had dashed, flashed and leapt their way clear of the belt before a single shot could be fired, or anyone could figure what had happened.



Caine leapt over brush and puddle alike, running faster than he’d ever been pushed at the academy. Sweat poured down his face, and here and there, he flashed forward where the marsh would have stuck him in. He vanished mid-stride, appearing yards ahead on a tilted tree trunk. He ran up the ramp it created, higher and higher. At the end, some twenty feet in the air, he leapt clear of a wide pond below. He struck the soft ground on his feet and kept running without breaking stride. Ace was born for this. It easily kept pace alongside, through puddle or brush.

They were nearly there.

He could hear the strange mortar fire of the enemy, and see it just over the trees. He had to keep going. It may have already been too late, but he had to try.

When Caine at last broke into the clearing, he found the blank faces of a half dozen weapon crews manning both mortar and field gun batteries. He had crashed into the back end of a mercenary line, and his surprise was mirrored on the faces of the hardened men before him. For a moment, they were speechless, their eyes looking up at the shadowy hulk in his wake. One by one, they began to fumble for their sidearms, shouting as they did.

Caine looked at Ace with a feral grin. He ran forward, his Spellstorms drawn and spitting fire. To the left and right of his approach, men fell, their weapons unfired.

Ace advanced, firing as it went. The overpowered Longarm pulped a mercenary as he tried to duck behind his mortar. The man crumpled without a sound, oozing blood into the wet ground.

Only a single shot resisted their charge. A trooper aimed and fired at Caine, a second too late. Caine had already vanished in smoke, to reappear behind the stunned man. Caine executed him from behind with a single blast to the base of his skull.

Looking around, he heard battle raging beyond the thicket, into the baron’s estate. He looked at Ace, shaking his head.

“Just what do you suppose this is all about?” Ace offered no reply, watching his master in silence.

“That makes two of us, then.” Caine shook his head and reloaded his Spellstorms, while compelling Ace to scuttle the abandoned guns. The agile warjack obliged, bringing his broad axe down in three fluid strokes. As he did, Caine saw company coming.

“Why have you men stopped firing? We are on the verge of assaulting their position!” The shout of a woman sounded through the woods. It was her voice. With it came red eyes in the tree line, and the smell of smoke in the air. Trees cracked and snapped as they came, and Caine compelled Ace back to cover. Like a shadow, his ‘jack disappeared.

“What have you done? What have you done?” A woman’s voice shouted from the other side of the thicket. Lily Von Baum regarded the carnage with shock, brandishing a cruel looking grenade launcher. Her wide eyes narrowed as she spotted him. The claws of her platemail snapped down, digging into the earth. So braced, and leveled her grenade launcher his way. Caine groaned.

Thump thump thump!

Shells whistled in the sky, and burst spectacularly overhead. Reflexively, Caine flashed away, narrowly avoiding the barrage. Her claws unfolding back up, she limped toward him, bathed in a halo of light. Her launcher cracked open, and she slid more shells home, before snapping the weapon shut again.

“What a waste of blood! We came to talk to the baron, only to find your men waiting in ambush!” she shouted, scanning the woods around her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Caine shouted from cover.

“Liar!”

Caine dashed across the thicket, from one tree to another. As he did, he lined Lily up with both Spellstorms and snapped off a pair of shots. Deadeye shots each, he focused his magic to make them count. The muzzle flash of his Spellstorms gleamed with rune-halo, and their shots spit forth to strike her square in the face.

She didn’t flinch.

The nimbus of light around her dimmed, but deflected the shots away. Her eyes flashed as though charged by the attack and she gestured to Caine’s tree with her weapon. Like a locomotive, her towering Mule warjack, Argiv, began to speed forward. A churning, earthshaking charge, Caine leapt out from his tree and ran headlong to meet it. The two raced toward one another. At the last second, Caine leapt up, his foot catching the head of the beast like a stepping stone. Into the air he vaulted, a wide arc. His guns trained, they spat once more at Lily.

From out of the thicket, Ace answered Argiv’s missed charge. A single shot blasted from his Longarm, and the mighty Mule’s head and the hull behind it erupted in scything metal shards. The beast stumbled, but did not fall. For her part, Lily reacted to the loss of her beast’s cortex with a shrill cry.

“If you’re so innocent, lay down your weapons! We can end this now!” Caine said from the cover of a new tree.

Whump Whump Whump!

Three shots whistled down. Caine was a heart beat too late this time. The shells detonated overheard in a spectacular airburst, and he reeled with the concussive force and overpressure. His armor’s power-field dimmed, and he staggered back, firing blind as he went. Crouching by a stump, he tried to shake off the fireworks still bursting in his eyes. She saw her opening. Claws retracted, she stepped forward while reloading with practiced movements. She marched on him now, fearless. She was soon mere yards away.

“I think we’re well past that, Captain.” Her voice trembled with building rage. “My family has never had cause to trust your flag, and you’ve reminded me of that today. More to the point, I’ve lost assets and time! I’m not leaving until that welching baron pays us what he owes, adjusted for this fiasco! Are you satisfied to know he is our client? At what cost do you have your answer?

Headless Argiv stumbled on still, before tripping into the swamp. His fire doused, he stirred no more. Hedo, however, was far from done. The second Mule stamped in after the reclusive Ace. Ace fired again as Hedo came on, blasting the Mule’s mace into shards a second before it was brought down over his head. Yet Hedo was undeterred. He dropped the shattered weapon, and lunged at Ace in a lopsided melee. With contempt, Hedo reached forward with a great iron fist, and picked Ace up by the Longarm. Ace flailed at the larger warjack with its axe, but Hedo shrugged the blows off and began to drag the lighter ‘jack from the thicket. The Longarm was soon bent in half in the futile tug of war. With a great heave, Hedo tossed the smaller machine out into the clearing. Ace landed badly, rolling head over heels. Mighty Hedo strode after its fallen foe, its own cannon blasting Ace’s mangled Longarm to bits. He trampled over Ace, without breaking stride. The Mule’s attention shifted to Caine.