Kulp still stared, his face getting whiter, his mouth hanging listlessly. Felisin nudged him. ‘Kulp!’ He did not respond. She struck him.

Gesler was suddenly beside them, wrapping an arm around Kulp’s eyes. ‘Dammit, Mage, snap out of it!’

Kulp struggled, then relaxed. She saw him nod. ‘Let him go now,’ she said to the corporal.

As soon as Gesler relinquished his hold, the mage rounded on Hentos Ilm. His voice was a shaken rasp. ‘That’s the wound you mentioned, isn’t it? It’s spreading – I can feel it, like a cancer—’

‘A soul must bridge it,’ the Bonecaster said.

Legana Breed was on the move. All eyes followed him as he strode to the sterncastle steps, ascended and stood before Stormy. The scarred veteran did not recoil.

‘Well,’ the marine muttered, ‘this is as close as I’ve ever been.’ His grin was sickly. ‘Once is enough.’

The T’lan Imass raised his grey flint sword.

‘Hold it,’ Gesler growled. ‘If you need a soul to stopper that wound ... use mine.’

Legana Breed’s head pivoted.

Gesler’s jaw clenched. He nodded.

‘Insufficient,’ Hentos Ilm pronounced.

Legana Breed faced Stormy again. ‘I am the last of my clan,’ he rumbled. ‘L’echae Shayn shall end. This weapon is our memory. Carry it, mortal. Learn its weight. Stone ever thirsts for blood.’ He offered the marine the four-foot-long sword.

Face blank, Stormy accepted it. Felisin saw the muscles of his forearms stiffen as they took the weight and held it.

‘Now,’ Hentos Ilm said.

Legana Breed stepped back and collapsed in a column of dust. The column twisted, spinning in on itself. The air on all sides stirred, then swept inward, pulled to the whirling emanation. A moment later the wind fell away and Legana Breed was gone. The remaining T’lan Imass turned and lifted their gazes skyward.

Felisin was never certain whether she only imagined seeing the T’lan Imass reassume his form upon striking the heart of that wound, a tiny, seemingly insignificant splayed figure that was quickly swallowed in the inky darkness. A moment later the wound’s edges seemed to flinch, faint waves rippling outward. Then the lesion began folding in on itself.

Hentos Ilm continued staring upward. Finally she nodded. ‘Sufficient. The wound is bridged.’

Stormy slowly lowered the flint sword’s point until it rested on the deck.

A beat-up old veteran, knocked down cynical, just another of the Empire’s cast-offs. He was clearly overwhelmed. Insufficient, she said. Indeed.

‘We shall go now,’ Hentos Ilm said.

Stormy shook himself. ‘Bonecaster!’

There was obvious disdain in her tone as she said, ‘Legana Breed claimed his right.’

The marine did not relent. ‘This “bridging” ... tell me, is it a thing of pain?’

Hentos Ilm’s shrug was an audible grate of bones, her only answer.