Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 1

WARRIOR COVEN.

Deathwatch - 02.

C.S. Goto.

It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor his sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the G.o.ds, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carca.s.s writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperoras will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the s.p.a.ce Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their mult.i.tudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants a and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most b.l.o.o.d.y regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting G.o.ds.

CHAPTER ONE: TRAITORS.

The two figures moved in utter silence and with incredible speed. They were only suggestions of images, lingering on the edge of visibility like the shadows of a lurking death. They flicked and whirled with motion, flashing like darkness in the deep shade of the dimly lit corridor. Moments of deepest quiet darted out from their movements, as though they were emitting shards of nothingness, covering themselves with a shower of imperceptibility. The total silence in the corridor hissed with unnatural menace, as though it were an aberration, and the dark figures bathed in it like composers in their own symphony.

As the two dark eldar wyches worked, the air between them started to shimmer and liquefy, as though curtains of watery darkness were being drawn across the corridor. Sparks of light from the glowing veins that ran through the mysterious, shimmering substance of the ceiling and floor caught the unearthly ripples like bursts of starlight. As the liquefaction intensified, so the shadowy motion of the wyches was cast into even deeper darkness, silhouetted against the erratically glimmering curtain. They dashed from one side of the corridor to the other, making adjustments to the devices that they had already fitted to the walls, touching their fingers to b.u.t.tons that did not compress or click but which glittered as the wychesa flesh approached.

At an unspoken and invisible signal, the two wyches snapped into stillness and then dropped to their knees, bowing their heads towards the warp field that they had just created in the bowels of the vast Ulthwe craftworld. The rippling field started to pulse with waves, scattering droplets of darklight over the kneeling figures. The waves rose and gathered momentum, crashing into interference patterns that sizzled with unspeakable power.

Somewhere in the maze of corridors behind them, the wyches could hear the metallic trampling of running feet. They presumed that the effete Ulthwe had finally realised what was going on. Pathetic: it was about time. Involuntarily, both of them snarled their upper lips in disgust at their feeble and distant brethren, but they did not move. They had no fear of the eldar guardians a the lightlings. They knew what was about to emerge from the warp gate that they had constructed in front of them, and in comparison the closing eldar were insipid, puny and spineless.

Having seen the horrors at the command of the haemonculi, fear took on a whole new meaning, and there was nothing that the Ulthwe could do to perturb the wyches. Despite themselves, the two interlopers smiled, letting the dim light spark off their black teeth; knowing that their own superiors would happily exact more terrible suffering on them than their enemies could possibly imagine liberated them for the fight to come. There was always a small chance that they would suffer even if they returned triumphant, but part of their souls rejoiced in this m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic prospect. The gentrified and pompous eldar had no idea what the G.o.ds had cast into their future. They didnat even know that their G.o.ds were dead, the short-sighted fools.

As the footsteps grew louder, so the ripples and waves in the warp field grew more violent. Refusing to look up, Kroulir and Druqura held their gazes into the polished deck, letting the reflections of the warp dance and flash beneath them, watching the erratic and spectacular patterns gradually resolving themselves into familiar shapes. Fragments of the field splattered out of the gate, spitting icy pain over their backs as they remained bowed in patient deference.

Behind them, the sounds of footfalls shifted in tone, as though they were no longer m.u.f.fled by walls or corners in the corridor. It seemed that the eldar guardians had finally reached the two wych raiders. As if to confirm their calculation, a cloud of tiny projectiles whined past the bowed figures, slicing into their scant, sculpted armour, peppering the devices that they had implanted into the walls, and splashing into the immaterial substance of the warp field itself. With suitably masterful timing, tendrils of warp started to reach out of the shimmering pool, questing into the thick, soupy reality of the craft-world pa.s.sageway. They snaked and grew, reaching and thickening, intertwining and interlacing, oblivious to the hail of shuriken fire that sizzled out from the eldar guardians who were charging down the corridor towards them, behind the bowing wyches.

The running eldar guardians were shouting, sending blasts of sound and psychic noise thundering down the pa.s.sage. Kroulir could hear the fear in their voices and sense the urgency in their thoughts. As tiny shuriken shards of toxic pain bit into her back she grinned, running the tip of her tongue around the glistening points of her upper teeth. Not long now. She could feel the saliva moistening her mouth in antic.i.p.ation as she stared fixedly down into the deck, still unmoving.

Finally, the warp field before the wyches erupted, as though struck from the other side by a tsunami of energy. Waves of shaaiel a warp energy a broke and crashed out of the gate, washing over the two dark eldar wyches like an ocean over rocks, covering them in freezing pulses of agony. Kroulir thrilled. Behind her she could hear the gasps of the eldar guardians and sense them fighting against their own panic a it was humiliating to think that those pathetic lightlings shared anything in common with her.

Another rush of shaaiel flooded out of the gate, swamping the deck with immaterial pools. Then a curdling shriek pierced the icy air. It was a single, tremulous tone, like a tortured soul. Another joined it, and another, until in an instant there was a chorus of agonising sound searing out of the warp gate, filling the corridor with memories of pain and thoughts of misery. Inchoate yells and screams ricocheted around the corridor, the warcries of the approaching eldar guardians blending into the curdling shrieks that emanated from the warp gate. Kroulir could hear a couple of the Ulthwe stumble.

There was a clatter as weapons were dropped, and Kroulir could imagine the guardians clutching at their oversensitive ears like weakling mon-keigh, howling like children. She stole a glance over at Druqura, and saw that the young wych had not moved at all; she remained stooped in a reverential bow, and there was a faint glint from her bowed face as the dark-light of the warp reflected from her eyes and the tips of her pointed teeth.

A sudden rush erupted through the air above the heads of the wyches, but neither of them had to look. They knew what was emerging from the warp gate. They could hear its signature in the way that the screams of the eldar changed, stopping abruptly. Only Quruel, mistress of the beasts, could bring such a shocking silence into the cacophony of battle. The wyches grinned, finally unfolding from their reverential bows and spinning into pirouettes as they unsheathed their blades and turned to face the eldar behind them.

Still dripping with shaaiel from the warp gate, Quruel stood in the centre of the corridor between the wyches and the eldar guardians, her hair a snaking nest of fiery tendrils, with a warp whip crackling darkly in one hand and a staff-mounted talon spinning in the other. She was flanked on both sides by unG.o.dly, barbed and scaled beasts. They were like small dragons, gnashing and thrashing around Quruelas legs, spitting fragments of shaaiel like saliva. Their ruddy, rust-red scales seemed to swim and shift over their bodies, twinkling with black stars, as though they were tiny, refractive windows into the immaterium itself. And their eyes burnt like pitch, deep and soulless. The only parts of them that looked material and real were their green claws, their yellow teeth, and the barbed silver spikes that ran from the crests on their heads to the very tips of their lashing tails. They were horrifyingly real.

A formation of black and red Reaver jetbikes flashed out into the jungle clearing sprays of projectiles hissing out of their nose mounted splinter rifles. The dark eldar riders were craned forward over the controls, leaning along the scaled nose cones of their vehicles with their wild, long hair flooding out behind them like jet-streams. They were howling like warp beasts, and their eyes glinted with maniacal pa.s.sion. As they sped into open ground, a volley of fire smashed into the front of their line, shattering their formation as the riders peeled away to avoid the onslaught.

The leading rider pulled up short, smoke and debris pluming out of his ruined Reaver. Just as the machineas engine core detonated, the rider vaulted to the ground, flipping neatly and turning a crisp somersault before landing with his splinter pistol already drawn. Before he could get off a single shot, his body was punched and riddled with a tirade of fire, throwing him shredded to the ground.

The eldar of Ulthweas Dark Reaper Aspect Temple, dug into their bunkers around the edge of the clearing, tracked the flight of the speeding Reavers with their reaper launchers, lashing flurries of rockets out through the foliage as though it were paper. They stood with their leg stabilisers planted firmly against the ma.s.sive report of their fearsome weapons, unleashing an inferno that even the dark eldar should fear. Ulthwe may not host as many of the Aspect Temples as some of the other eldar craft-worlds, but they had always provided a home for the sinister Dark Reapers.

So close to the lashes of the Eye of Terror, the Dark Reapers of Ulthwe were constantly vigilant for signs of the return of their Phoenix Lord, Maugan Ra, the Harvester of Souls, who had vanished into the great Eye when the lost craftworld of Altansar had been swallowed whole. For now, Ulthwe was the closest place to home.

Truqui roared his fury into the wake of the speeding Reavers as they skirted the circ.u.mference of the glade, darting between the streams of fire that flooded out from his fellow Aspect Warriors. His reaper launcher was a formidable weapon, especially at range, and its constant recoil was driving his braced feet steadily into the ground. He yelled again, willing the tiny rockets into ever increasing ferocity, driving them after the treacherous raiders as though convinced that his hate for the darklings was a weapon in itself. But the rear afterburners of the Reavers were becoming faint as the dark eldar penetrated more deeply into the jungle climate of Ulthweas forest-domes.

Without lowering his weapon or releasing the trigger, Truqui spat in disgust. aReapers!a he yelled, keeping his eyes fixed on the vanishing darklings, watching the threads of reaper rockets tracing their path behind them. Before he could utter another word, his command seemed to be fulfilled: a black Wave Serpent drew out of the tree-line behind him, hovering a metre above the earth, its twin linked shuriken catapults and cannons sizzling with constant fire.

Without turning Truqui released one hand from its brace along the elegant barrel of his singing weapon and s.n.a.t.c.hed it into a signal. At the sign from their exarch, the squad of Dark Reapers broke their firing lines behind him and vaulted into the anti-grav transport tank. The Wave Serpent accelerated forward, speeding after the rapidly disappearing Reavers. As it flashed past him, Truqui reached out his free hand and caught hold of a brace on the side of the vehicle, lifting himself up onto its hull without taking his eyes off his distant prey.

The ma.s.sive guns of the Wave Serpent coughed and spat shuriken fire after the Reavers, but the dark eldar jetbikes were too fast and too manoeuvrable to present effective targets weaving erratically between the trees. From the tankas roof, Truqui trained his eyes on the darklings, letting his reaper launcher twitch and scan automatically with his line of sight. He knew that the guns of the Wave Serpent would not be precise enough from this range, but he was an exarch of the Dark Reapers and he lived for moments like this. Squinting his eyes in momentary concentration, Truqui released a volley of rockets from his weapon, targeted into a small, empty clearing in the trees in the distance. There was nothing there.

Whether by divination or calculation, the reaper rockets arrived at exactly the moment when a dark eldar Reaver streaked into the clearing. The warheads punched into the exhaust tubes that protruded out of the back of the jetbike, shattering the rear of the engine block and detonating inside the energy core. The Reaver was wracked with explosions along the line of the exhaust, and then it erupted into a sudden fireball as the engine caught, incinerating the bike and the rider instantly.

Truqui held his gaze on the dying flames for a second and then started to track his next target, realising in dismay that the Reavers were much too fast to be caught by his Wave Serpent. Just as the realisation dawned on him, a bank of Ulthwe guardians slid up alongside the transport tank on gleaming black and silver jetbikes. Truqui turned to acknowledge the timely reinforcements, and the squadron leader nodded in recognition, before gunning her bike and streaking off in pursuit of the Reavers, a squadron of glittering jetbikes falling into formation behind her.

Watching the jetbikes streaking off in pursuit of the vile infiltrators, Truqui cursed beneath his breath, unwilling to accept that his Dark Reapers could not finish the job themselves. Beneath his feet, he could feel the Wave Serpent decelerate, as though attuned to the disappointment flowing from his mind. Then, with a sudden start, it lurched back into acceleration and Truqui grinned. The vehicle banked sharply, angling away from the chase and plunging into the deep jungle like a shark into water. This was not over yet.

The two inquisitor lords sat in silence, their features almost invisible in the half-light, hidden in the deep shadows cast by their heavy hoods. Vargas peered over his steepled fingers at the concerned expression on the face of his oldest acquaintance, his eyes glinting with untold pain.

aWe have heard nothing for centuries,a muttered Seishon, as though merely voicing his thoughts.

aPerhaps there has been nothing to hear?a offered Vargas, but even he was unconvinced.

aYou are too charitable, my old friend.a aWe have no reason not to trust in our arrangements. They were made by devout servants of the Emperor with the glory of the Imperium in mind. We must not doubt ourselves, especially not in such testing times,a replied Vargas, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

Seishon unfolded himself from his chair and stalked over to the viewscreen that dominated the wall. A million stars twinkled back into his bright eyes, filling his mind with expansiveness and icy void. The image was steady and crisp; the old inquisitor might have been looking out of a window at a local starscape, instead of off into the terrible distance. The joint Inquisitorial substation, Ramugan, was positioned as close to the Eye of Terror as was safe, but it was still a very long way away.

aYes,a he whispered, half to himself. aThese are indeed testing times.a As he spoke, Seishon leaned closer to the screen, letting his proximity trigger the zooming mechanism that scrolled the designated quadrant into closer focus. A deep red mist was faintly visible around the minor constellation of Circuitrine. The red colour had been deliberately lightened and enhanced on the screen, but the mist was real enough. It was a red so deep that it was almost indistinguishable from the blackness of s.p.a.ce around it. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, Seishon wondered whether anybody else had yet noticed it.

aRe-phase and unfilter. Bring up the Eye.a Still seated at the long table in the centre of the room, Vargas snapped the command to an unseen servitor.

The screen flickered and then flashed with colour, forcing Seishon to step back and shade his eyes from the sudden burst of light. The speckled darkness was instantly replaced by a supernova of colours: bright reds and pinks burst out through clouds of blues and purples, riddled with explosions of dark green and rings of yellow. It was as though an impossible quant.i.ty of toxic chemicals had suddenly erupted into flames and set the galaxy itself ablaze.

aIt is utterly invisible in the lashes of the Eye of Terror,a observed Vargas, as though reading his friendas mind. aI would be surprised if anyone else has noticed it.a Seishon nodded slowly as he stared into the blinding maelstrom of warp energy that defined the Eye of Terror on the screen. It was certainly true that the gentle red mist around Circuitrine was imperceptible against the ma.s.sive rush of energy discharged from the Eye every second.

aI do not share your optimism, old friend,a he said, finally, turning back to face Vargas at the table. aIf we can see it, I am sure that there are agents in the Ordo Malleus who can also see it very clearly. They will not be dissuaded of its importance simply because we have not heard anything about it from the aliens a Seishon trailed off, realising that he had gone too far. He and Vargas may well be inquisitor lords, and they may be secreted away in the Ordo Xenos sanctum of Ramugan, but walls nearly always had ears, especially in a facility of the Inquisition. And Ramugan was no ordinary facility.

aIf it were a major storm, we would have heard,a insisted Vargas, carefully avoiding vocalising the ident.i.ty of the agents from whom they would have heard. aLook at where the emissions and eddies are, Seishon! They are pluming out around the Circuitrine nebula. You know full well that our a.s.sociates have been based there for untold centuries. They would have told us if there was anything to concern us a that is the very meaning of the coven, after all!a Vargas chose some of his words carefully, but his confidence betrayed him.

aPerhaps,a replied Seishon, as he turned back to the viewscreen. aBut we have heard little from these a.s.sociates since the coven was formed. I am not sure that we can trust them. I am not even sure that they will remember us at all, when the time comes.

aIf the Ordo Malleus have not yet seen this, and if they discover that we have known about it for weeks, there will be questions, Vargas. This is their territory, after all. Why should we be monitoring that quadrant so carefully? Why didnat we share our intelligence with them immediately? These are not questions that I would be prepared to answer before a Hereticus Commission.a aThere will be no questions. Who would dare to interrogate two inquisitor lords of the Ordo Xenos? When was the last time that we received any intelligence from our a.s.sociates in Malleus, or even Hereticus? Sharing is not what the Inquisition does best, Seishon, not even here in Ramugan,a replied Vargas dismissively. aBesides, we have nothing to hide, Seishon. Our souls are untarnished.a aI hope that youare right, old friend,a said Seishon sombrely. aI hope that youare right.a Every face in the council chamber turned to gaze on the beautiful features of Eldressyn, her translucent white robes cascading freely around her elegant form, as though caught in a divine breeze. She had uttered the words that none had dared to voice for untold centuries, and her startling blue eyes shone with a radiance too terrifying to comprehend.

aThere is not strength enough amongst the Sons of Ulthran,a she repeated quietly but with such force that they seemed to penetrate directly into the minds of the eldar on the council. aWe cannot face this threat alone.a aWhat you imply is a kind of sacrilege,a hissed the angular and pale face of Ruhklo. He was by far the oldest seer on the council, and his sibilant voice carried the liquid gravity of the years. aDo you presume that this council did not foresee these events many centuries before you had even seen this chamber? Do you really want to suggest that we are not prepared?a There was a murmur of a.s.sent from the others. It was unthinkable to believe that incidents of this magnitude would have gone unnoticed by the Seer Council. The mighty Eldrad Ulthran himself should have seen them on the horizon from a distance of several millennia.

aIf we are so well prepared, Ruhklo of the Karizhariat, then why are our forces so ill-equipped to deal with the darklings?a Eldressyn turned her glorious blue eyes on the veteran seer, peering into his soul and testing his heart.

The old eldar recoiled, as though touched by beautiful, icy fingers.

The grand council chamber of Ulthwe was located in an elaborate dome, high up amongst the peaks and towers that rose gloriously out of the top of the ma.s.sive craftworld. It was shrouded in a cloud of shaaiel, which made the dome pulse in and out of material existence a only members of the council itself could be guaranteed to find the chamber in phase when they approached its ancient, wraith-bone doors. Other visitors might pa.s.s through the legendary doorway and find nothing but void on the other side of it. For the uninitiated or the uninvited, the doors to the Seer Council were literally a gateway into the tortured void of the warp itself.

Even though the dark eldar incursions were happening in the very bowels of the craftworld, countless thousands of metres below them, the seers in their grand hall could hear every shuriken burst and feel each shudder of shaaiel released in the various combats that raged. Inside the hall of the Seer Council, the rulers of Ulthwe could bear witness to any event taking place in their ma.s.sive, sprawling, semi-organic vessel. The infinity circuit itself could be tapped from Ulthranas Dais, the altar in the heart of the chamber, and its labyrinthine expanses reached into every flickering speck of life in Ulthwe.

Hence, even from the sanctuary of the ancient chamber, the councillors were well aware that Eldressyn was not entirely overstating the danger posed by the recent and ongoing raids of the darklings.

aPreparation may breed success, young Eldressyn of Ulthroon, but it does not guarantee it. You may bear witness to the ending of time itself, but what would you have us do in order to prepare for it?a The voice of Eldrad Ulthran himself eased into the air, as if from everywhere at once. The sound was so deep that it was almost inaudible.

aAre you saying that this is the end?a answered Eldressyn quickly, forgetting the courtesy owed to the great fa.r.s.eer in the heat of her pa.s.sion. She glanced suddenly towards the elevated podium in the centre of the chamber, where the shimmering image of Eldrad Ulthran had smoothly faded into existence.

Eldradas face creased into a complicated smile, mixing paternalism, patience and condescension into a single expression. aNo, my child, I am making no such claims. Events without choices are rarer than the crest feathers of a Phoenix Lord. The end is something we create; it is not something that happens to us. I mean to suggest merely that there are some things that cannot be avoided, as well as some things that should not be avoided. An ending is nothing more than a failed beginning. We must not fail now.a aMy lord,a replied Eldressyn, recovering herself. aYou are saying that choices must be madeaa aDo not presume to tell Eldrad Ulthran what he means,a interrupted Ruhklo, his voicing hissing through her words like a serrated dagger through flesh.

aHe can speak for himself, Ruhklo,a shouted Eldressyn, snapping her glowering eyes round to face him. But, when she turned back, the voice of the great fa.r.s.eer had fallen silent and his glittering image had already faded from the raised dais in the heart of the chamber.

aIt seems that he has already spoken enough,a hissed Ruhklo with an acid smile.

For a long moment there was a heavy silence in the cavernous chamber. The shadows that laced the ornate, domed roof like snaking frescoes seemed to slither and twist, as though writhing in the discomfort of the hostile atmosphere. The council chamber of Ulthwe was more than accustomed to this kind of heated debate, as the seers argued and railed about their divergent interpretations of visions, and, over the millennia, the tortuous energies exuded from the eldar seers had gradually seeped into the structure of the chamber itself. Every few thousand years, the hall had to be ritually purified by Eldrad Ulthran himself in order to prevent it from exerting its own violence on the council of seers that met within its hallowed walls.

Eldressyn sighed and glanced around the a.s.sembled councillors. She was relatively new to this chamber, and she was one of the youngest seers to be appointed to the ruling body of Ulthwe for generations. It was rumoured that her appointment had been forced through by Ulthran himself; such a rumour was enough for some eldar to fear the role that fate held in store for the beautiful, young female, and it was more than enough for others to hate her youthful brilliance. Ruhklo, an ancient seer from a family of seers that stretched back for millennia, was certainly to be counted amongst the latter. n.o.body knew Ulthranas own opinion on the matter a it was often hard to understand his opinion on anything.

There are many things unclear, said Thaeaakzi, reluctant to break the silence and so speaking directly with her mind. But one thing that cannot be hidden from even the least sensitive of minds is the turmoil in the Eye itself.

The others nodded, relieved that the maturity of the Emerald Seer had returned calm to the council once again. None of them could remember a time when Thaeaakzi had not been on the council a not even Ruhklo. She was a constant presence in the collective mind, soothing and calm, like a psychic balm. In the absence of Eldrad Ulthran himself, it was to Thaeaakzi that the councillors looked for leadership and guidance. For the last few decades, Ulthran had been increasingly absent from the council, present only as a ghostly apparition and a resonant voice. The reasons for his absence were unspoken, but the council accepted on faith that his actions had the welfare of Ulthwe at heart. The seers whispered that he was preparing himself for something in the future a something unavoidable that loomed like a menace just over the temporal horizon, just beyond the restrictions of their own sight.

Eldressyn bowed her head slightly, acknowledging the wisdom of the older seer. They were the only two females on the council, but their bond was far more profound than the vulgar simplicities of gender. Their bond appeared to reside in their mutually complicated and unspoken relationship with Eldrad Ulthran himself. In different ways, he had chosen them both personally a to one he had granted the emerald robes of seniority, and to the other he had given a place on the council, honouring her in advance of her years. They were the chosen ones, and they felt their commonality even in the absence of any discussion about it. They took it on faith that Ulthran would not have brought them together on the council without a reason.

Yes, Thaeaakzi of the Emerald House, it is true that the Eyeas stare has become unusually fierce. The darkling raids are a menace to Ulthwe, but the swirling torrents of shaaiel that spill out of the Eye with them represent something far more terrible. Not since the loss of Altansar have we witnessed signs like this. The heavens are full of agony, and the stars weep like children. The ancient Bhurolyn, bedecked in glorious sapphire robes that were edged with a phosph.o.r.escent black, seemed calm, but his thoughts were tinged with an anxiety that was shared by them all.

Something is emerging from the future, bearing down on us like the sky itself. It is too huge to be distinguished, but we can even now feel the gravity that its existence exerts on the present, continued Bhurolyn, the tinge of anxiety germinating into a hint of hysteria.

Yes, Bhurolyn of the Sacred Star, the future contains something beyond the ability of this council to comprehend. It looks like an ending, beyond which there is an expansive nothingness that sucks the soul from our b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the breath from our lips. But that future lies invisibly on the other side of our choices in the present. Eldressynas thoughts were calm and smooth, like strong fingers in a velvet glove.

We must shed light into our future through our actions now. The darklings raid our craftworld at will, darting through the lower levels of Ulthwe and stealing away our eldar brethren as prisoners. We cannot allow this to happen. The darklings must be stopped. Her thoughts were gathering pa.s.sion once again.

I do not understand why Ulthran would allow Ulthwe to occupy a timeline that pa.s.sed through this present. We have always survived in the past by navigating around crises of this nature a by avoiding all of the presents that represent a threat to our future. This present looks like a disastrous mistakea Compose yourself, Bhurolyn, interjected Thaeaakzi, cutting him off. Lord Ulthran does not control the stars or the rivers of time, he merely navigates a path through them. There is not always even a single route clear of stormsa And sometimes you must weather a storm to reach the safety of port, offered Eldressyn, as though concluding the older seeras thoughts.

aWhat do you suggest that we do?a asked Ruhklo bluntly, breaking the psychic communion and shattering the silence of the council chamber. He could see where the conversation was heading, and he was d.a.m.ned if he was going to let it get there without a word of protest.

Eldressyn turned her implacable eyes back to the Karizhariat Seer. aUlthwe is ill-equipped to confront the darklings on its own. We must call for aid.a aAnd who will come to our aid?a asked Bhurolyn, his tone suggesting that he could think of n.o.body. aAltansar was lost long ago, and the other craftworld eldar are scattered throughout the webway. They are too distant and care not for our safety. And the harlequins have no force that could be of a.s.sistance to us now, breathtaking though they may be.a aThe mon-keigh will come,a stated Eldressyn simply, as though oblivious to the shock and outrage that such a suggestion would provoke.

aYou realise that you could be thrown off the council for such sacrilege!a boomed Ruhklo. aUlthwe will never stoop to request aid from those animals. It would be unprecedented. I am sure that Lord Ulthran would never stand for such a heinous idea.a aYou would be wrong to make such an a.s.sumption, Ruhklo of the Karizhariat, and you are well aware of that. Many millennia ago, Eldrad Ulthran himself made a covenant with the mon-keigh. You yourself were there. The Coven of Isha still stands to this day. We could call on the mon-keigh for aid if the council is in agreement,a explained Thaeaakzi calmly but with some hesitation.

Ruhklo glared at the Emerald Seer, his eyes burning with suppressed fury, as though she had just insulted him terribly. aThe council does not agree, Thaeaakzi of the Green Robes. Not now, and it did not agree in the past either, as you well know. Ulthwe needs no help from the stinking, ruinous, primitive a'Imperium of Mana.a As the words slid out of his throat, a shrill scream drew itself across the collective minds of the council, as though a jagged blade were being dragged against a metal plate. Involuntarily, the council shivered, wincing at the psychic violence that convulsed through the infinity circuit of their craftworld. Deep in the bowels of Ulthwe, death was clawing at the souls of their eldar brethren.

Before he turned the last corner in the pa.s.sageway, the Ulthwe warlock, Shariele, could already hear the screams of the eldar guardians. There was a flood of psychic agony in the corridor, making the atmosphere thick and toxic, as though the souls of his kinsmen were already decaying in the fecundity of the craftworldas bowels. Even before he turned the corner, he knew what he would see and his blood boiled with hatred and pain at the prospect.

The guardian squad had already been reduced to three beleaguered eldar warriors. Their comrades, broken and twisted beyond recognition, as though tortured to death by visions of their own personal h.e.l.ls, lay dead, scattered across the floor like slaughtered animals. Darting between the corpses, feasting on their decomposing flesh, flashed creatures of another realm. Their yellow teeth glinted with decay even as they plunged into the pale skin of the slain eldar, s...o...b..ring toxic saliva into the puncture wounds. Their green claws pawed at the bodies, shredding the pallid flesh like tenderised meat. And when Shariele rounded the corner to face them, their pitch-black eyes snapped instantly to meet his own, singeing his thoughts with visions of h.e.l.l as a dim light sparked off the barbed silver spikes along their spines.

Crunching his eyes into starbursts of hate, Shariele immediately reached forward with his arms and unleashed roiling blasts of psychic lightning from his open hands. The flames of shaaiel crunched into the faces of the two warp beasts, blasting them clear of their prey and sending them skidding over the blood-sheened wraithbone deck. They crashed up against the legs of a breathtaking darkling wych, who howled at them in disgust. She cracked her cackling warp whip across their backs, making them rear in agony and shriek with terrifying force. Then the beasts scrambled back to their feet and lurched forward again, bounding and leaping towards the eldar warlock, as though more afraid of their mistress than their enemy.

For a fraction of a second, Shariele flicked his eyes to the scene beyond the figure of the dark eldar beast mistress. He could see the shimmering curtain of a warp gate stretched across the corridor, unspeakably dark images roiling and swimming towards the surface from its ineffable depths. In an instant he realised that the gate had to be closed a it was a portal from the dark realms directly into Ulthwe itself.

As the two warp beasts charged towards him, snarling with uncontrollable hatred, Shariele also noticed the rest of the scene in the corridor around him. The three remaining Ulthwe guardians were spinning and yelling, firing their weapons in all directions at once, as though driven mad by the turmoil that seethed around them. Finally, the warlock noticed the suggestions of two shapely figures dancing through the shadows with incredible speed. Flashes of dark blades caught his eye as another of the Ulthwe guardians collapsed to the ground clutching a gaping wound across his neck. Wyches, realised Shariele, his thoughts knotted in disgust.

As the warp beasts pounced, Shariele stood his ground. He reached his burning hands forward with his fingers spread wide, holding them out like pathetic shields against the b.e.s.t.i.a.l fury of the vile creatures. But as the warp beasts reached their jaws around his arms, a convulsion of purple energy ripped through the warlockas body, radiating power like a dying star. The yellow teeth dug through Sharieleas psychoplastic armour, but as they touched his skin they sizzled and vaporised instantly.

Like a potent venom, the thrill of Sharieleas touch spread rapidly through the bodies of the two beasts, transforming each into a stinking cloud of vaporised warp-energy. In less than a second, the clouds lost their shape and all evidence of the warp beasts vanished from the material realm.

The hate riddled wail of the darkling beast mistress was incredible. It rippled throughout the whole of the craftworld, sending waves pulsing through the spirit pool itself. She strode forward, cracking her warp whip and spinning the immense talon that served as a halberd. As she advanced towards Shariele, the two wyches that had been plaguing the remnants of the guardian squad appeared at her side, spinning their vicious blades with deathly grace.

Meanwhile, the two remaining guardians regrouped at Sharieleas shoulders and braced their shuriken catapults for a final battle over the corpses and souls of their brethren. For a moment, both sides paused as though weighing up the confrontation between the ancient and disremembered kin. Both sides had heard legends of the time when the eldar and dark eldar were not as different as they were now. For both, the thought merely inspired even greater hatred for the other. After less than a second, both sides let out curdling cries and charged.

The gap was closing quickly. Dhryknaas squadron of guardians knew the jungles of Ulthweas forest domes down to the last tree and their jetbikes flashed through the foliage as though completely un.o.bstructed. Although they were fast and manoeuvrable, the Reavers up ahead had never been this far into Ulthwe before. The darkling riders were relying on their impressive reflexes and instincts to thread them through the dense jungle.

Without turning, Dhrykna knew that Exarch Truqui and his Dark Reapers had abandoned the chase; there was no way that their Wave Serpent could keep pace in this terrain. Besides, formidable though the Dark Reapers may be in ranged combat, they were not at their best in high speed chases through confined environments. Dhrykna was sure that Truqui would find a more appropriate way to engage these raiders, and she was not disappointed.

Blasting out of the tree line in pursuit of the streaking red and black Reavers, her shuriken cannons flaring with fire, Dhrykna grinned. Up ahead, arrayed across the access tunnels that peppered the boundary wall of the forest dome, she could clearly see the shining black form of the Dark Reapers. Truqui had left the Wave Serpent blocking the main tunnel mouth, with its long gun barrels angled forward into the forest. As soon as Dhrykna had broken the tree line, she could see the reaper cannons firing on the Reavers that screamed forward towards the tunnels, directly towards the waiting line of Aspect Warriors. Truqui had established a crossfire.

The darkling raiders showed no signs of slowing. Instead, the remaining Reavers started to twitch and swerve even more erratically, roaring towards the bank of fire at greater and greater speeds. Dhrykna lay low over the fuel tank in front of her, pressing her body down against the humming machine beneath her as she willed it to catch the speeding enemies, a stream of shuriken fire lashing out of the nose batteries of her jetbike.

One of the Reavers spluttered and decelerated rapidly, smoke pluming from its engines where the jetbikes of the guardian squadron had riddled it with fire. Dhrykna had to bank abruptly to avoid the wreck as her bike flashed past it in pursuit of the rest of the raiders a the interval between hunter and quarry had been reduced to less than a second. As she zipped past the ruined Reaver, she glanced at the figures of two eldar hunched over the saddle. One was a semi-clad, wild haired darkling, grinning and whooping insanely as his Reaver splintered and vaporised beneath him, but the other was sitting in calm silence, her gentle beauty so incongruous that it was startling. In an instant, Dhrykna realised that the second figure was an Ulthwe eldar a probably an artist or a dancer, judging by the elegance of her robes. Were the dark ones taking prisoners?

In the fraction of a moment that it took her to consider turning back, the ruined Reaver was wracked with heavy fire from the Wave Serpentas cannons, transforming it into an explosive fireball that incinerated all organic matter within a ten metre radius. Whoever she was, the Ulthwe artist was now a casualty of war.

Two more Reavers plumed into smoke and dropped behind the leading pack, run through by volleys of staunch fire from the waiting bank of Dark Reapers. Dhrykna kept focused on the fastest of the raiders, watching it weave and thread itself around the tirades of fire that erupted from the Aspect Warriors up ahead, ignoring the rapidly increasing casualty rate amongst the other dark eldar riders.

After only a matter of seconds, the leading Reaver reached the bank of Dark Reapers. Dhrykna could see Truqui tracking the darkling, spraying out a hail of rockets as it flashed through the Aspect Warriorsa position. But the Reaver was too fast to be tracked at such close range, and it roared through the eldar emplacement without receiving so much as a scratch, vanishing instantly into the shadows of the access tunnels beyond. Moments later, two more Reavers flashed through the line of Dark Reapers, shrieking into the tunnels in pursuit of their leader.

Lying almost completely flat against her jetbike, Dhrykna gunned the engine and roared past Truqui for the second time that day. This time she did not pause to share a greeting, but she rolled her bike on its axis as she pa.s.sed the Dark Reapers, suggesting both a salute and a reproach for letting the raiders through. The rest of her squadron sped into the access tunnels behind her, desperate to stop the Reavers before they could make their escape with the prisoners.

Truqui watched them go and cursed, muttering an incantation to Maugan Ra, reproaching him for the failure of the Dark Reapers, but beseeching him to give strength to Dhryknaas guardians. The Harvester of Souls should not permit the souls of the eldar to be harvested by anyone else.

The image of the deep red mist filled the wall of Inquisitor Lord Seishonas chamber. A feed from the main image amplifiers had been connected to Seishonas personal quarters so that he could keep an eye on developments as they happened. The dull, ruddy light of the gathering cloud filled the apartments with long, dark shadows, since the inquisitor had not activated any of the other light sources. He was sitting in the near-darkness in silence, gazing at the mist, considering his options, and resting his head against a tube of paper that had just been delivered to him.

He already knew what was written on the message scroll. He had heard the rumours and the reports circulating through the intricately bugged, anti-bugged and de-anti-bugged corridors of Ramugan. If there was one thing that could be relied on in a substation shared by more than one branch of the Inquisition, it was that n.o.body could keep a secret.

Seishon shook his head involuntarily and sighed. What a perfect place to keep a secret, he thought. Right under the noses of everyone who would be interested in it. n.o.body would dare to suppose that a secret coven was housed in a facility that provided a base of action for all three arms of the Inquisition simultaneously. Ramugan was the last place that such an inst.i.tution should be found, which made it the perfect home for the Coven of Isha.

It had been there for centuries, since its inception. In truth, the existence of the coven lay at the foundations of the rationale for the substationas very existence. What could possibly have convinced the three services to co-operate on the development and maintenance of a station so close to the Eye of Terror? The expense of such a facility was astronomical, and the psychic shielding required to keep the residents sane was absurd. It was the worst possible place for a base of operations. It was the most troublesome possible location. Only together could the Inquisitorial services sustain the station.

After Ramugan had been built, people stopped wondering about its rationale. Existence has its own weight. People accept things once they exist, once they have invested in them. So it was with Ramugan: the substation was created to service the Coven of Isha, but as time pa.s.sed and the coven was never activated, everyone forgot about it and it pa.s.sed into legend. Legends are quickly forgotten or buried in the vaults of ma.s.sive libraries with infinite aisles of books and numberless pages of doc.u.ments. Soon, n.o.body can remember them at all.

Seishon could remember. Vargas knew. And there were a few others in the Ordo Xenos who were initiated into the coven after they had proven their worth and been seconded to the substation of Ramugan. For most junior Xenos inquisitors, a posting to Ramugan seemed like a nightmare a.s.signment. It was now well-known as an Ordo Malleus stronghold, and for good reason. Its proximity to the Eye of Terror meant that the station could serve as an early warning post if anything started to spill out of the maelstrom. More than once it had been used as a base of operations for the Grey Knights Chapter of s.p.a.ce Marines. And it suited the secrecy of the coven to allow the local subsector of the Ordo Malleus to invest Ramugan with its own ident.i.ty.

Nodding faintly, Seishon flicked open the scroll and scanned the text that had been handwritten onto the parchment.

Inquisitor Lord Seishon of the Ordo Xenos, Ramugan subsector.