"Ah hell," grated John, checking the ammo on Hill's rifle. "This mission is getting worse by the second."
"Think of it this way," said Vekken, hoisting his twin-barreled weapon, "if nothing else, today you have gained a rare insight into the Halcyon personality."
Sheppard's radio crackled. "Colonel!" cried McKay. "They're sending in reinforcements!"
"Thanks for the update, Rodney," John replied dryly, "but we're a little busy right now. We'll talk later, if we don't die horribly first."
The Hounds were coming toward the hill in a silver wave, laying down everyone who stood against them. Sheppard started firing, moving forward with the L85 at his shoulder, advancing down to meet the attackers.
Ronon took a second to draw a bead on one of the armored warriors as it loped up the shallow hill toward him. Truth be told, there was a part of the Satedan soldier that had wondered about the figures in silver plate when he'd first laid eyes on them, a part that measured himself against them and wondered what they might be like in a fight. So far, he hadn't been very impressed with the quality of Halcyon's fighters; the bluecoats and tancoats were a poor match for a seasoned veteran like him, badly trained recruits who seemed to fight more with numbers and scattershot fire than they did with anything like skill. But these ones, these Hounds, they were something different. Just from the way they moved, he could see they were dangerous. The name was a good one, because these warriors sprinted across the ground like attack dogs let off a leash; and they didn't kill with the cold detachment of a career soldier. The Hounds were savage, and they liked shedding blood.
The lead Hound bobbed and he fired at it. The energy bolt clipped the warrior and he stumbled, but kept coming. Dex grimaced, for a second wondering if he had neglected to switch the particle magnum's beam setting from low-level stun intensity to the higher killing force. The second shot hit home and a red glow flashed over the metal chest plate as the Hound went down, a final snarl echoing from inside its helmet.
Sheppard was having similar difficulty, the ballistic projectile weapon in his hands barking as he fired bullet after bullet into the advancing enemy. "Next time, I'll bring armor-piercing," he quipped.
Vekken worked the muzzle of his weapon and twisted the choke on the gun to narrow the cone of fire. Steam clouds spat as the rifle ejected a swarm of steel needles and Ronon saw one of the Hounds blown back off its feet to tumble back down the hill.
The three of them kept up the firelight, but the Hounds were too fast. They came into hand-to-hand range and threw themselves at the three men, clawed hands out. Ronon had his sword at arms and beat back a warrior who went for his throat with a vicious downward slash. Armor plate distorted and the blade tore a rent in the chain mail beneath. Dex had a momentary impression of dark, oily blood, but then he was moving on to his next challenger, dispatching it with a point-blank pistol blast. On they came, storms of claws and spitting fury, mad with bloodlust. He could taste a harsh metallic scent in the air from the aggressors, and it flashed a warning in his memory; but he was too deep into the fight to dwell on it, mov ing from second to second, trading sword blows for kicks, punches for claw strikes. It was all instinct now, all down to one simple equation. Fight or Die.
He heard Sheppard snarl as a Hound came at him; a ripping discharge of bullets from the colonel's rifle slammed into the torso of the warrior and it spun away, trailing blood. For his part, Vekken had reversed his grip on his gun and was fighting off a pair of growling Hounds with the spiked butt of the stubby weapon.
Claws raked his back and Ronon roared in pain, turning away from the blow and swinging the short sword. The Hound that struck him dodged backward, unwittingly falling into Sheppard's field of fire. The colonel saw Dex's situation and took the sliver-armored attacker down with a burst of shots.
Ronon returned the favor as another Hound reared up behind Sheppard, ready to tear his head from his neck. Dex threw his sword and the blade buried itself in the warrior's stomach. The Hound stumbled to the ground and lay still.
"Runner!" shouted Vekken. "Clear my way!" He barely had time to duck as the adjutant fired both barrels at once, blasting solid slug rounds as thick as a hammer's head into the enemy.
The ex-soldier knew that only minutes had passed, but in the fury of the fight it had seem far, far longer. The Hounds lay ruined across the hillside around them, their pristine armor and powder blue scarves dirty with thick, black blood. A couple were still alive, but not for much longer.
Vekken, bleeding, crossed to one of the still-twitching corpses and shot it in the head. He spat out a stream of pink spittle and wiped his mouth. For a brief moment, the arch, aristocratic mask he wore slipped and Ronon saw him for what he really was; a coldeyed killer.
Sheppard was breathing hard. His jacket had claw marks across the arm and he bore a shallow cut on his forehead. "That all you got?" he shouted defiantly to the air. "I'm barely breaking a sweat here!" He met Ronon's gaze and Dex knew that the opposite was true. The brief, vicious confrontation had staggered all three of them in its intensity, and it wasn't something the Satedan wanted to go through again any time soon.
Ronon stepped to the corpse of the Hound he had dispatched with his short sword and recovered his weapon with a sickly sucking pop. The blood on the blade glittered darkly, and he smelt the rough metallic scent again. Despite the heat he felt from the exertion of fighting, Dex went cold. "Sheppard," he said in a quiet voice. "You had better take a look at this."
The colonel was beside him, rifle stowed, bending at the knees. Sheppard leaned over the body of the dead Hound and ran his hands over the enclosed steel helmet. There were latches at the neck ring, and they came open easily even though the metal was wet with fluids. The halves of the wolf-head helm fell away on to the mud underfoot, and Ronon felt his gut twist in a reflexive churn of hatred and disgust.
The head beneath the helmet was all too recognizable. Where he would have expected to see thin tresses of white hair there was a forehead shorn down to bare gray fuzz, but everything else was familiar. Ashen, pallid skin lay slack and waxy in death, a tracery of blue-green capillaries visible around a heavy brow and two scar-like pits on the cheekbones. A mouth flecked with dots of foam was gaping, revealing lines of jutting, serrated teeth. And the eyes; black, doll-like eyes stared up at them, still hateful and feral in lifelessness.
Vekken chuckled. "Was I not correct, gentlemen, when I told you in the palace that you would learn the fate of our prisoners soon enough?"
Ronon saw hard anger flare in Sheppard's eyes. "These Hounds of yours… They're all Wraiths!" He spat the last word like a curse. "Are you people insane?"
"Far from it," Vekken seemed unconcerned by the colonel's anger. "We have taken our greatest enemy and made them our slaves."
Teyla tried to push the word from her mouth, but she couldn't. The sheer folly of the thought stopped her dead-that someone dared to think they could tame the Wraith like a man might domesticate a canine? It was inviting chaos and destruction!
Daus tipped a wineglass to her in a coy salute. "Ah, the girl has it, at last. I see the understanding in her eyes." He threw a languid look at his daughter, and Erony nodded awkwardly.
McKay had watched the unfolding battle on the hillside through the telescope, hissing in sympathetic pain as Sheppard and Ronon fought off the Hounds, and now he was pacing, flapping his hands in distress. "Let me see if I have this right," he said, his voice high and strident. "Those iron-clad psychos out there are… are…" He blinked. "Good grief, I can barely wrap my head around it… Those things are Wraiths?"
Kelfer tittered. "Bravo, Dr. McKay. Your insight does you credit."