Sigil of the Wolf - Prologue. Prologue

Former Imperial Garrison World, Amsus Hegemony

The wind-blown snowdrifts swept as far as the eye could see across an ancient ocean, long vanished into an age of memory. The snow drifted as the cold wind stirred it up, swirling it around in a brief flurry before setting down to form a new pattern in the snowdrifts. It was a world that lay in a long forgotten corner of the Amsus Hegemony, ceasing to exist as a functioning participant of the galaxy when a shift of its axis plunged it into perpetual winter. The Great War had passed that planet by, leaving it untouched, as had all the wars before.

A shadow descended out of the heat-less sun, the Amsus Raptor switching to its turbine engines and skimming low over the drifts. It stirred up clouds of snow in its wake as it sped towards its destination laying upon the horizon, a massive structure of steel girders rising out of the plains of snow like a stricken claw gripping upwards towards the heavens.

The Raptor swooped closer to the ground, drawing attention from a herd of shaggy haired creatures that migrated southwards. Some of the beasts turned their great heads and stared up at the strange bird-like vehicle as it shot overhead. It was an unusual sight to them unaccustomed as they were to anything in the pale grey sky but clouds.

The icy fortress drew closer as the small craft angled itself for a final approach. Curling about the great guard spires, it arced up to hover above the broad landing platform. Its wings folding, the Raptor touched down with a whine of its VTOL engines that reverberated throughout the structure, brilliant floodlights illuminating the area as the Raptor's boarding ramp descended.

The troops that spilled out quickly covered the area, securing the fortress's outer defences, taking up firing positions and searching the area around them, assault rifles cocked and ready for anything. The only insignia upon their uniforms marked them as members of the High Commander's elite strike force. The emotionless aliens moved about with a deadly purpose, handling their weapons like the effectively trained killers they were. The abandoned garrison was secure.

The strike force commander stood at attention at the foot of the ramp, his eyes surveying the efficiency of his strike force's activity. Satisfied at their performance, he drew a deep breath and turned to face up into the belly of the small frigate.

"Well executed."

The man that stepped down the ramp and out onto the platform wore the black uniform of an Inquisitor, the epitome of terror to the lower Amsus ranks. They were bred to lead, and the troopers to follow; the strike force commander would obey its orders without question, as they all did. It was the nature of their design. The Inquisitor's polished, knee-high boots clicked on the steel plates as it led the way across the platform towards the darkened entranceway of the great fortress, the wind stirring its heavy uniform trench coat and threatening to sweep the high-peaked black cap from its head. At a signal from their commander, the Amsus troopers took point, entering the fortress, carbines at the ready.

The Inquisitor ignored them as it marched silently through the black hallways lit only by the flashlights mounted on the troopers' carbines. The impassive creature seemed unimpressed by the aura of mystery that surrounded the great fortress. Its steel grey eyes seemed distant, lost in its own thoughts. One evil walking into the lair of another...

The commander felt nervous, as much as an artificial construct could feel, his scent glands releasing a warning to his men to proceed with caution. He drew out his automatic pistol, the cold metallic grip of the weapon offering him a minute sense of security, but he knew it would be of little help in a place deeply seeded with an ancient force that made its presence felt in the awesome majesty of the fortress walls.

The echo of approaching footsteps was the first indication of the returning point man. The trooper snapped to a rigid attention and, in the close clipped tones of all Amsus, made his report:

"We have located the chamber."

There was no further need to waste time, and the Inquisitor marched directly along the route discovered by the scout, pointing to the great steel blast doors that barred its way as a couple of the troopers moved forward to push the worn and rusted doors open with a tortured squeal from the hinges.

The Inquisitor strode down the length of the massive hall that formed the heart of the fortress, towards the lone crystal edifice that dominated the centre of a massive dais engraved with ancient scripts. The many facets of the crystalline lattice glittered seductively as it reflected the light from the carbine TAC-lights, beckoning him closer.

The strike team assembled in defensive positions around the chamber, holding back to watch the black-clad Inquisitor mount the dais steps. Collectively holding their breath, each could feel the fear inspired by the immensity of the chamber, the click of safety catches echoing around the hall.

The Inquisitor ran its hand over the crystal's cold surface, feeling the smooth edges beneath his touch as he caressed the exterior. At last his long search was at an end, the goal his master had outlined to him was in sight. He moved around to where a black plate had been set into the crystal's surface. He smiled; all was exactly as it should be, from the location through to the Peligian script upon its surface. His master's instructions had been specific.

The activation device was simple, and it laid the flat of its hand against the cold metal, a feeling of elation gripping its heart: it had succeeded.

The strike force commander watched in awe as the crystal shimmered and melted, forming into a pool of radiance on the chamber floor. The brilliance faded to leave a woman standing amidst the remnants of the crystal edifice. She seemed out of place in that desolate location, with high cheekbones and human features. She was clearly of a noble class - Imperial, probably; the well-cut clothes were styled in a fashion long passed. Her short, close-cropped, bleached golden-coloured hair seemed to suit her well, complimenting her attractive timeless features.

The Inquisitor smiled as he stepped forward,

"Milady, welcome back to this realm of existence..."

His sentence dissolved into a gurgle as a shard of the crystal edifice drove itself into his throat, a blinding blur of motion that he hadn't expected. As he fell to his knees he saw a flicker of cold recognition in her chilly blue eyes.

He gurgled, trying to pull it free, feeling the icy coldness spreading through his veins, his movements slowing as his blood began to freeze, his jaw trying to mouth a command to his troops.

The strike force commander stared shocked at the image of an Inquisitor falling to the floor as his lifeblood flowed out of him and froze. His instinctual training made him begin to pull the trigger of his weapon. The other troopers began their own retribution for the assault on their leader.

The woman didn't blink an eye as the slugs ricocheted off of a crystal barrier that had formed around her. The whine of bullets and the bark of gunshots soon echoed into silence as the troopers emptied their weapons uselessly.

Sephradon smiled. She was free again after so long, and the screams of the dying troopers heralded her return.

* * *

Enarbrem sul'Rikard looked up from the autopsy table, his spectacles balanced on the end of his nose. She was free; the enormity of the power that she radiated sung through the cosmic connection that bound all things together.

The former Imperial Chancellor smiled to himself, cold and wolf-like as he bent back to examining the Polian corpse in front of him, removing and weighing some unidentified organ and taking notes on a pad of paper, satisfying his curiosity about the mysterious species.

The Inquisitor, standing patiently for his attention, ignored the gory mess that was before him, refusing to interrupt his master while he worked.

"You have something to report?" Rikard asked, beginning a complicated series of cuts, exploring more of the anatomy of the race that claimed it was the highest form of life in known space.

Inquisitor Thalak inclined his head, "I have located Taine..."

"Uh-uh!" Rikard admonished, gesturing with his scalpel, "Highlord Taine, he has earned his title. After all, he did manage to take the Haligonian Jump Nexus away from us."

"Yes Master," Thalak bowed his head again, knowing full well that the failure was his. He should have killed Taine when he had the chance, back in that apartment in San Francisco, before the man had become a hero.

"Taine is currently operating behind Imperial lines, dealing with the remnants of the Commonwealth Pirate Barons, reporting directly to Walker von Karin."

"Problematic," Rikard mused, gritting his teeth as he pulled on a stubborn bit of sinew that coiled its way around the complex twelve-chambered heart. "How exactly are you going to kill him if he is safely behind enemy lines?" The former Chancellor looked up again, "Not that you could kill him when he was behind our lines, or even right in front of you."

"I am uncertain as to how I should proceed," Thalak admitted, "So far our attempts to have an agent infiltrate the Imperial command structure have failed..."

"Your attempts have failed," Rikard corrected, "My attempt," he smiled chillingly, "Worked all too well."

He set the scalpel down and moved to clean his hands in the simple metal sink, "The Highlord, like all true warriors, will not be content to remain hidden behind the Imperial lines forever. After all, his greatest victories against us were when he was in our midst."

Rikard moved to dry his hands, looking again at the Inquisitor, "Their forces are bogged down, we outnumber them a hundred to one, and so far they are stalemated at their pitiful beachhead. The fledgling Imperial government will be pressuring Walker von Karin for some kind of result, and so far his only 'ace in the hole' is the intrepid Captain Taine." Rikard smiled, "I wouldn't worry, he will be back within our reach before too long. And when he is," he set the small towel down, "He will fall into a trap that will allow me to deal with him personally."

Thalak nodded his head. "Shall I send orders to have the fleet stand by?"

"There is no need," Rikard replied, slipping on his uniform tunic, "Order five of my Praetorian to assemble and prepare my shuttle for departure. The Fleet Marshals have their orders. I want the Empire stopped no matter the cost. If we can contain them long enough the Archduke will have no choice but to commit his most valuable resource to the field... and like any game of chess, that is when I take it from him."

The doors to the lab slid apart as he approached them, clasping the uniform tunic closed as he marched. Discretion would be required, a finesse that would close the trap around his prey by weaving threads so thin that they could not be seen until it was too late.

The Amsus were not creative enough for the delicate manoeuvring required. Politics and creative thinking had been stripped away from them. They were as he had designed them, the perfect soldiers, dedicated and loyal to his command, carrying out the bidding of their High Commander and his Inquisitors. They were efficient killing machines, crafted from flesh and blood, birthed from their queens and sent forward to enforce his will.

Rikard motioned with a hand causing the giant doors at the far end of the hall to draw back, the massive slabs of steel grinding aside, opening on his audience chamber where his guests had been waiting for an hour: the representatives from the Polian Alliance, there to discuss the technology exchange. The 'superior' beings paced restlessly around the large empty chamber, waiting for a moment of his time.

There was a certain maliciousness in making them wait, and as their leader turned, his powered exo-suit clanking on its inverted legs. Rikard offered a cold and unapologetic smile.

"I have little time," he said simply, glaring into the leader's face plate, knowing, after his autopsy of one of their kind, what the mysterious race looked like beneath it.

The creature gestured with its middle arm, its voice forming the wet slaps of the words. Arrogant to a fault, they refused adamantly to lower themselves to speaking a lesser language.

Rikard snarled as he returned the creature's glare. "You are in no position to make demands of me!" Rikard intoned, his voice remaining calm and deathly quiet. "I have extended my offer to your synod: the protection of the Amsus fleets in exchange for your technology and armaments."

The Polian clenched its middle fist, as his other hands tightened around the vicious staff weapon it was carrying: a long, two-and-a-half meter shard of dark crystal, sandwiched between intricately carved wood. It spoke again, its words angrier now.

"Is it my fault," Rikard replied, gesturing with his hand as he brazenly walked into the middle of the circle of creatures, "That your kind failed to stop Kardiac from decimating your fleets? Or Captain Taine from destroying your moon and finishing the job?" He turned. "Your synod asked me for help, I am offering it to you. Accept or decline, it really doesn't matter to me. However, if you were to return to your masters without this alliance..." Rikard knew Polian politics all too well; he knew the price they exacted on failure.

The creature relaxed its grip on its staff weapon, setting it to rest as it straightened up, its voice haughty now, almost regal.

Rikard bowed his head. "I am glad we could come to an arrangement. Your technical teams will join my research colonies on Ordessus, and production will commence immediately." He motioned to Thalak. "My Inquisitor will make the needed arrangements." He paused, a grin broadening on his face, "...and I want a set of Propylons."

The creature made to protest, and Rikard lashed out. A simple gesture of his hand suspended the proud creature in the air, held so tightly by the pressure that it was unable to move. The others rushed to lift staff weapons, but they were torn from their hands by another gesture from the Amsus High Commander. The weapons clattered to the marble floor, skittering away as the Polians looked desperate, realizing exactly how outclassed they were.

Rikard snarled, letting them taste exactly what superiority truly was.

"You will bring me a set of Propylons." Rikard repeated quietly, "I will broker no further argument from your kind."

He released them, stepping back as the heavily armoured creatures crashed to the floor, beating a hasty retreat from the chamber.

He heard the clapping begin almost as soon as the Polian delegation was shown from the room. He tensed, turning to face her, standing back beside his doors. It was definitely her. Somehow she had acquired a simple white dress that fit her figure, sweeping up to cover her head in the current Earth fashion. Her vanity, at least, was one constant.

"Now you make pacts with our enemies Enarbrem, have I really been gone so long?" Her voice - the only thing about her that remained truly hers - was cracked with age. After all the advances, all the surgeries, he could barely recognize her, especially after three hundred years. But there was no forgetting that voice.

"You have," he said respectfully, "I regret not restoring you sooner."

"I see you haven't lost your capacity to lie, Enarbrem." She glided into the room, a serpentine grace in the way she moved, "Do the Polians know you are lying to them about your alliance?"

"They know," He responded, "but they are a desperate people, willing to do anything to survive."

"Strange of you to help the weak to survive," she responded, resting her hands on his shoulder and draping herself about him, pressing close.

He felt her warmth, as she felt his cold skin beneath her touch. And she drew back; three hundred years had changed a great many things.

"Why did you bring me back?" She asked, coyly running a finger along his ear.

"I was lonely," he replied sarcastically as he turned to face her, ignoring her attempts at seduction, "and I have need of you."

She laughed at that point, bitter and cold. "You stood by and watched as they imprisoned me, you could have stopped them... you could have..."

"What?" Enarbrem raised an eyebrow, "and revealed myself?" he caught her hand tightly, pulling it down away from his face, "Make no mistakes in thinking that I owed you anything. The Empire is gone now, only a pitiful memory remains. I rule here, and if you enjoy your freedom, you shall serve me, because if you do not..." He stared at her, showing her the smallest fraction of the power he had become in the hundreds of years after the fall.

She gasped, shivering in the coldness that emanated from him, feeling her own considerable strength as nothing more than a droplet beside an ocean. He could engulf her with ease; she'd only felt power like that from...

"The Immortal Emperor..." she murmured.

"...is dead," Rikard finished, his wolfish smile returning to his lips as he released her. "Now I have a shuttle to catch..."

"But..." Sephradon cradled her wrist looking about her, "What do you want of me...?"

"To do what you do best," Rikard replied as he walked the length of the audience chamber. "Exact your vengeance against those that put you in a box and left you to rot."