Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 10

The crowdas attention was focused in the very centre of the arena, where Octavius could see the shining white form of the female eldar warrior a Dhrykna - glittering like a pearl in the depths of a black sea. Next to her was the sinister figure of Shariele, his hands covered in dimly flickering flames. The two eldar had been removed from the volcanic cell about an hour before the guards had returned for the Marines. Octavius had had no idea what was going to happen to them, and, if he was entirely honest with himself, he hadnat really cared. He had more than enough to think about without concerning himself with the fates of two aliens. Looking at them now, however, he felt an instant pang of empathy: they stood ready for their death like gladiators in the amphitheatre. They might be untrustworthy and even offensive eldar, but right at that moment they were simply warriors, alone, outnumbered, persecuted and unsupported. If he could have broken away from his restraints and the guards, he would have run to stand beside them.

A jab of pain punched into the small of his back as the guards encouraged him to move into the cage. He resisted, standing his ground and gritting his teeth against the uncommon experience. It had been so long since he had felt real, unadulterated pain like this, and part of him thrilled at the parts of his mind that had been re-awakened. Like all the Adeptus Astartes, he had not always been a Marine, but since making the ascension his pain receptors had been kept strictly under check, partly by implants, partly by hypnotherapy, but mostly by raw willpower. Somehow, the dark eldar had managed to circ.u.mvent all of his defences and, for the first time in nearly a century, he could remember the brutal, vivid realities of the human condition: life was not only war, it was also pain.

Another jab struck him in the back, this time there was a blade sliding through the joint between the armoured plate on his back and his utility belt. It bit into the skin at the small of this back, penetrating his flesh and pushing in towards one of his kidneys.

The pain of the puncture wound was as nothing to the nerve induced agony that gripped Octaviusa body as he snapped his arm round behind him and caught the blade in his gauntlet. He yanked it clear of his back, twisting it viciously and wrenching it out of the shocked guardas hands. In a jolting, pain riddled movement, Octavius turned to face the guards, flipping the blade so that he could grasp its hilt and brandish the killing edges.

As the disarmed guard flipped backwards, landing just out of range of Octaviusa blade, the others pressed in with their weapons, surrounding the Deathwatch captain with the darkly glinting promise of death.

Octavius growled out from between gritted teeth, the pain of movement curdling his brain and making his vision swim. He roared, defying his own human frailties as much as the superior position of his enemies.

aThis is not the time, captain.a The unexpected, low and almost whispering voice of Ashok came from the shadows within the cage, barely audible against the din of the auditorium. aWe will have our chance to fight soon enough.a For a moment, the Imperial Fist hesitated. Of all the voices that he might have expected to hear urging his restraint, that of the Angel Sanguine librarian was the very last on the list. Not only had he not known that Ashok was even on the planet, but he had never heard him urge restraint on anyone. Gradually, his furious defiance began to subside and it was slowly replaced by intrigue. What was Ashok doing here?

aRemember this,a he said, forcing composure into his voice as he faced the alien guards. aI will not always be in this cage. When I am not, you will die.a With that, he flipped the blade around once again, catching it by the tip and offering the hilt back to his captors.

The unarmed guard looked into Octaviusa shining blue eyes with doubt and suspicion flickering over its features. In its entire life, it had probably never trusted anything with a weapon. After a moment of hesitation, presumably encouraged by the support of its peers, the creature reached forward to reclaim its blade.

The hapless guard would never trust anything with a weapon again. As it reached forward and grasped the hilt of its blade, Octavius wrenched the weapon back, pulling the guard off its feet and dragging it stumbling towards him. With a smooth efficiency that belied the pain that wracked his body, the Deathwatch captain spun the blade in his hand and then drove its point forward through the neck of the stumbling dark eldar. As it tripped after the abruptly withdrawn weapon, the alien lurched head first onto the suddenly inverted blade; its eyes bulged momentarily before its head, cleanly severed from its shoulders, bounced to the ground at Octaviusa feet.

aSuffer not the alien to live,a murmured the captain under his breath, tossing the weapon aside and then turning to stride into the cage to join the rest of his kill-team as the guards lunged forward with their blades.

The Angels Sanguine librarian was the only one of the Marines restrained and shackled to a wall of the cage. He had been there already when the rest of the team had been pushed into the enclosure, his arms outstretched by his sides and his legs bound together, suspended about a metre off the ground by shackles that looped around the bars in the cage. His head was bowed, with his chin touching down onto his chest, the characteristically heavy hood still pulled down, obscuring his features.

The rest of the Deathwatch squad fanned out around him, staring up at the cruciform librarian with suspicion and hostility etched into their features.

aWhat are you doing here, librarian?a growled Sulphus, his hostility obvious and his face creased with barely disguised disgust.

aHow did you get here, Angel Sanguine?a asked Pelias, suspicion transforming his question into a challenge.

Ashok made no response.

Octavius pushed his way through the ring of Marines and stood before the librarian, peering up at him in the half-light. The air was full of screams and yells from the dark eldar congregation in the stands of the amphitheatre outside, and Octavius could already taste the electric scent of energy discharges and spilt blood in the arena. In the back of his mind he realised that the Deathwatch team had probably been brought to fight in this forsaken pit, or at least to watch the fate of the two eldar warriors that had accompanied them from Ulthwe. The darkling aliens appeared to take great pleasure in knowing that their victims had to watch each otheras suffering. But Ashok was foremost in his mind at that moment, and he inspected the form of the librarian closely.

Aside from a few burn marks and sc.r.a.pes, there was little sign of damage on the librarianas armour. It was not clear how or whether the Angel Sanguine was properly restrained against the wall of the cage, and Octavius found it strange that he was the only one of the team that had been shackled against the bars. It seemed to him that the scene was designed specifically to give the impression that Ashok was also a prisoner when, in fact, they were all prisoners and none of them appeared in the manner of the librarian. Ashokas special restraints had clearly been dressed up to look like he had been treated even worse that the rest of them. The captainas ambiguous feelings about the mysterious librarian triggered a deep-rooted suspicion that this was all an elaborate charade.

aAre you damaged, Ashok?a he asked, peering under the folds of the librarianas heavy hood, trying to make out the expression on his hidden face.

There was no response.

aThe captain asked you a question, Sanguine,a barked Sergeant Pelias, giving a voice to the tension.

aAtreus?a prompted Octavius without turning away from Ashok.

aHe is suffering, captain. His mind is raging against itself, as though a great fury has been unleashed but deprived of a vent. It is consuming him.a Atreusa voice was calm and almost compa.s.sionate, but he stepped back away from the suspended figure of Ashok, pressing his back against the bars on the opposite side of the cage as though repelled by something unseen.

aAshok?a Octavius changed his tone, trying to lead the librarian out of his nightmare with the sound a friend. aAshok, can you hear me?a With an abrupt movement, Ashokas head lurched forward. The restraints that held his arms snapped taught, rattling against the bars behind him. His contorted features snarled into Octaviusa face and he breathed a gust of moisture against the captainas skin, as his head closed to within a few centimetres. Octavius did not flinch, but he met the burning and furious red gaze of the Angel Sanguine, holding the librarianas raging eyes in the complicated, sparkling blues of his own.

Ashok roared into his face, bunching the muscles of his neck as though straining against his restraints to unleash the violence that wracked his mind.

aAshok,a whispered Octavius, his composure standing in stark contrast to the simmering energy of the librarian. aAshok. You are not alone here.a aHe is alone,a said Atreus with a seriousness that made the others think.

aHe is not with me, thatas for certain,a murmured Sulphus, turning his back on the raging Angel Sanguine and casting his attention out into the arena, where Dhrykna and Shariele were doing battle.

aAshok,a repeated Octavius softly.

The librarian blinked and the muscles on his face writhed. Even to Octavius it was clear that a t.i.tanic internal struggle was underway in Ashokas mind. He didnat know what the dark eldar had done to the librarian, but he had seen a look like this on the face of the Angel Sanguine once before, and he knew what it meant. The last time had been in the lair of the tyranid hive tyrant on Herodian IV, when Ashok had dispatched a cl.u.s.ter of psyker zoanthropes all by himself.

Although Octavius could not pretend to understand the mysterious violence that sometimes raged in the simmering red eyes of the librarian, he did know that it was the source of Ashokas greatest power and his greatest fears. This was not a condition that the Angel Sanguine would have entered willingly, and the captainas suspicion about him was immediately replaced with concern.

Ashok blinked again, and the muscle tone of his face began to soften. His jaw was still clenched, but the muscles around his eyes began to relax as the red flames started to subside. After a few more seconds, his shoulders slumped and he fell back against the bars behind him, exhaling deeply as though with relief as his chin dropped down to his chest once again. At exactly that moment, a pulse of brilliant light flashed through the bars of the cage and the auditorium outside seemed to gasp into a collective silence a something unexpected had happened in the arena.

The body of the warp beast convulsed and thrashed as Shariele pressed his hands to the creatureas throat. The warlock was pinned to the ground under the snarling weight of the warp sp.a.w.ned monster, his shoulders run through by the vicious, curved talons of the beastas forelegs. But as the dragonette gnashed down, bringing its ma.s.sive jaws around to surround the eldaras elegantly elliptical head, Shariele reached up with his bleeding hands, struggling against the weight and piercing agony of the beastas claws, and clasped them to either side of the creatureas monstrous skull.

Streams of crackling energy flooded out around the beastas head, cascading over its shoulders and cutting channels of burning flesh into its flanks. As one, the warlock and warp beast howled in pain as the flood became a torrent of broiling power, engulfing them both in a blaze of purpling light.

The audience was on its feet, cheering and screaming in eager delectation, eyes flaring and lips running slick with saliva. This is what they had come to see. They had grown so sick and tired of the pathetic, feeble displays of the Ulthwe artisans, dancers and poets. They had been bored to the point of despair by the cowardly fragility of the occasional mon-keigh. But now they had a real spectacle: a warlock of Ulthwe locked in the jaws of a warp beast, pumping out such quant.i.ties of barely controlled power that it would surely incinerate them both.

The other warp beast was already dead, and Quruel, mistress of the beasts, was prowling like an angry mother, sizing up the flashing white figure of the eldar Aspect Warrior as she flipped and spun around the lashes of Kroulir and Druqura. Quruelas lascivious tongue flicked around her lips, as though she could already taste the blood of the lightling, and her eyes gleamed with a perverse yet familiar mixture of thirst and violence.

Then there was an explosion of light a something that had not been seen on Hesperax for as long as anyone could remember. It was not the sickly, flickering half-light to which the darklings had grown accustomed, but rather a glorious eruption of brilliance. It blasted up from the floor of the arena, engulfing the point at which Shariele and the warp beast had been wrestling, and it brought a sudden, hushed silence into the amphitheatre, as though all the air had suddenly been sucked out.

As the light dimmed and faded, a stark and charred image began to appear in its heart. It was little more than a disfigured and incoherent lump on the ground where once Shariele and the beast had wrestled their last. It was not moving, and it was almost impossible to distinguish the shapes of two separate beings. The explosion of warp power had melted their flesh and their souls instantaneously, melding them into the picture of ruination.

Darting through the stunned silence, Dhrykna dived towards the faintly glowing remains of what she thought would be the last Ulthwe eldar that she would ever see. As she hit the ground, she rolled, flipping back up onto one knee at the side of what might once have been Sharieleas head. She whispered something inaudible in a language long lost to the darklings, bowing her own head for an instant in reverence for the lost warrior. Scanning the charred remains, she realised that his waystone was also ruined, which meant that his soul was lost to Ulthwe forever a but it also meant that the darkling wych queen could not offer it as a sacrifice to the minions of the Satin Throne.

The shock of the explosive light lasted only a matter of seconds, and Dhrykna could already feel the dance-like movements of the wyches behind her as they manoeuvred for their attack. She just needed another second.

Jamming her hand into the sickly, viscous and burnt remains, the Aspect Warrior could feel the wyches drawing in around her. Even without turning, she could see them in her mindas eye, one dancing off to the left and the other to the right, like a pair of co-ordinated hunters. She was not sure where the mistress of the beasts was, but she felt certain that the senior figure would wait and see what happened to her underlings before she acted a such was the infamous cowardice of the darklings.

A shriek sounded immediately behind her as one of the wyches launched herself into a deathly lunge, stabbing forward with her delicately curving blade. At the very last moment, Dhryknaas hand found what it had been questing for. She dropped flat to ground and rolled rapidly, parrying the thrusting blade with one arm and bringing the other around into a strike as she spun. The long, barbed, daggerlike incisor that Dhrykna had yanked out of the remains of the warp beastas mouth plunged deeply into the wychas neck, puncturing her throat and severing her primary nerve cl.u.s.ter. The young wych barely had time for her eyes to bulge in shock before she slumped to the ground in a rapidly growing pool of her own blood.

The Shining Spear sprang back to her feet, s.n.a.t.c.hing the dead wychas long, sweeping blade into her hands and spinning it in a well-practiced flourish.

She sank into a low combat stance, bracing her newly acquired weapon against her back, and she watched the movements of the two remaining darklings as the audience roared with excitement and hysteria. In the centre of the dark, circular auditorium of death, the Aspect Warrior seemed radiant, bursting with the brilliant white light of Khaineas own lightning spear.

aI do not remember how it began, Octavius.a Ashokas speech was slurred and slow, as though the part of his brain responsible for language was functioning imperfectly. His head was still sagging down towards his chest and the tension in his outstretched shoulders had eased. He was suspended like a martyr before his battle-brothers.

aI was aboard the craftworld, doing battle with the aliens.a His hesitation was slight but noticeable. aThen I was aboard a dark eldar corsair, much in the manner in which you see me now. I have been restrained like this for some time, although I have no sense of the duration. How long has it been, Octavius?a aToo long, Ashok,a said the captain, and he meant it.

aWhat were you doing, Angel Sanguine? Where did they find you?a Peliasa voice was coa.r.s.e, as though gravelled with doubts.

aWhy did you leave us?a asked Luthar, finally giving voice to the question that was in everyoneas mind.

aI did not leave you, brother-chaplain. I took the fight deeper into the craftworld. There were more enemies than merely those before us in the Hall of Khalandhriel.a The effort of speaking was almost more than the magnificent librarian could stand. Whatever his captors had done to him, they had done it perfectly.

Octavius looked up at the cruciform Angel and exhaled, weighing up the possibilities in his mind as the sounds of battle rattled through the bars and the roar of the crowd grew to a crescendo. He chanced a look into the arena and saw the startling white shape of Dhrykna springing to her feet with a new weapon in her hands, next to the crumpled form of a dead dark eldar wych. Taking a moment, he nodded his admiration for the alien warrior a she was a worthy ally on this forsaken world.

aDid you learn anything of our hosts in transit, Ashok?a aI was not alone in the brig of that corsair, Octavius. There were also two Ulthwe seers. But they were not prisoners like me. They were pa.s.sengers. They were proud and pompous, like the worst of their kind, arrogant and offensive with no self-consciousness. They bragged to me. They told me that I was being traded with their darkling cousins. They laughed. Over and over again, they laughed, chuckling about the stupidity and short-sightedness of the Imperium. They talked about the ancient Coven of Isha a they knew all about it, Octavius. They said that the coven had been sealed with a specific event in mind, and that we were now in the midst of it a an event that Eldrad Ulthran had seen clearly, but that the Imperium had been too blind to see at all. There was, in fact, a third side to the bargain, one which they a.s.sumed we knew nothing about.a aWith the dark eldar?a asked Atreus, the story beginning to resonate with what he already knew about the ways of Ulthwe.

aYes, Blood Raven, with the darklings.a Ashok tried to nod, but his neck seemed too weak to support the weight of his head. aThe coven would provide Ulthwe with a squadron of Adeptus Astartes at exactly the time that the darklings began to demand the souls of warriors for their daemonic patrons. Instead of sacrificing its own warriors, Ulthwe could send us and then slip away through the webway.a aThe new, shifting warp signature in this sector a pondered Octavius out loud, putting the pieces together in his head.

aYes, it is the emergence of a Slaanesh-daemon a a princess a fed by the sacrifices of the darklings here on Hesperax.a aCould Ulthwe not avoid this?a asked Atreus, as he struggled to tally the events with his understanding of the abilities of the eldar fa.r.s.eers. aCould they not have seen it coming and moved aside?a aWhy would they?a fumed Pelias. aThis costs them nothing except our trust. And we should never have trusted them in the first place.a Ashok coughed in agreement with the scarred and sceptical sergeant. aSome things cannot be avoided, Atreus. Others simply are not avoided. Ulthran found a solution to this problem centuries ago, so there was no need to avoid this. We are his solution.a aBut his solution permits the emergence of a Slaanesh daemon into the Circuitrine nebula,a realised Octavius. aIt will cost millions, perhaps even billions of lives.a aYes. But Ulthwe will be long gone by then. The eldar will be safe, and that is his only concern.a Ashokas logic was flawless. aThe strength of our souls will release the daemon from the warp if the wych queen is able to sacrifice them appropriately. Ulthwe will be safe and the dark eldar of Hesperax will have satisfied their patrons. It is perfect.a aWhat about the other Ulthwe captives? We saw the raiders taking prisoners on their sorties.a Sulphus was still suspicious, unwilling to be convinced so easily.

aExpendable, weak souls,a replied Ashok. aThey were merely bait to lure us here and to activate the coven. They were not enough to satisfy the darklings, and not significant enough for their loss to concern Ulthwe.a Sulphus peered up at the hanging librarian and nodded slowly. It made sense. At exactly that moment, there was a ma.s.sive intake of breath around the auditorium and then an abrupt and unnatural silence. Not a single voice or sound seemed audible.

The Deathwatch Marines turned away from Ashok, facing out through the bars into the arena. The scene appeared frozen, as though captured in a glorious fresco on the wall of an ancient hall of valour. There were corpses strewn over the blood-slicked ground and only one warrior remained on her feet. Dhrykna of the Shining Path stood in the centre of the arena, her glittering white armour dripping with the darkly toxic ichor that had spilt and spurted from the veins of her challengers. One foot rested on the decapitated skull of a darkling wych as she held her stolen weapon victoriously above her head. Streams of darkling blood coursed down the hilt of the blade, trickling around her hands and cascading down her arms. Pierced on the tip of the blade, held high for everyone to see, was the head of Quruel, mistress of the beasts.

The Aspect Warrior threw back her head and let out a tremendous cry, cutting through the shocked and oppressive silence that filled the amphitheatre. It was a cry of victory and despair. It was a cry of defiance. It was the bloodcurdling sound of an exarch of Khaine, the b.l.o.o.d.y-handed G.o.d. Dhrykna had found herself in the arena, and she had lost herself utterly.

There was no mistaking the shifting warp signature now. It ballooned and blossomed like an immense weather front coasting out of the fringes of the great Eye and engulfing the neighbouring system. It showed up red and brooding on Seishonas viewscreen as the inquisitor lord regarded it in silence. His mind was racing.

A small, bright burst of light suddenly flared in the middle-distance, and Seishon fancied that he could discern the suggestion of a frigate powering its way towards the Circuitrine nebula. He couldnat really see that far. The only detail that he could discern without activating the image amplifiers was the burst of fire from the vesselas engines. But his imagination was running away from him. In his mindas eye he could see every detail of the Grey Knightsa ship as it roared through the thick, soupy s.p.a.ce on the edge of Ramuganas Reach, ploughing through the warp seepage that curdled together with the vacuum of real, material s.p.a.ce. He could even make out the Liber Daemonica insignia on the hull, glittering and proud like a nauseating beacon of despair and hope. Even when he shut his eyes, he could see it tormenting him.

On the deck of the speeding t.i.tanicus Rex, the fastest and most venerable of the Grey Knightsa fleet currently birthed at Ramugan, Seishon could imagine the heroic and magnificent figure of Captain Mordia, standing with pride and resolve cut across his angular features. He would be making all possible haste towards the warp cloud that had begun to reach its vaporous tendrils into the outlying systems around the Circuitrine nebula, his will bent on uncovering and destroying the merest hint of a daemonic threat to the Imperium. In that moment, Seishon felt a surge of hatred for the valiant and honourable captain together with a wave of resentment about his simplistic view of the galaxy. If only things were really that simple.

He snorted in disgust at the lack of sophistication that he attributed to the near-legendary Grey Knight, and then his thoughts turned back to Vargas, whose lack of sophistication was itself legendary in Seishonas mind.

Throwing back another gla.s.s of rich, red wine, Seishon felt his head swim slightly. The narcotic effect of the drink was beginning to make itself felt at last, and its value as a tranquiliser started to become obvious. The inquisitor lord had always been highly strung, but the events of the last day or two had stretched his already frayed nerves to breaking point. His mind was being turned inside out, and he was no longer confident that he could trust his own judgement, let alone the counsel of that b.u.mbling fool Vargas.

According to the chivalrous Captain Octavius, Vargasa own pet Deathwatch Marine, Librarian Ashok had vanished. This was not wholly unexpected news for Seishon, since he had directed the Angel Sanguine on a slightly different mission from the rest of the team. However, if Ashok was truly missing then this was potentially a disaster. Vargas had warned about the crucial importance of maintaining the integrity of the team, but he completely failed to understand the real importance of Ashokas disappearance. Even if the n.o.ble Octavius was successful in carrying out Vargasa will, if Ashok failed then the mission became worse than pointless.

The problem was not that the absence of Ashok weakened the team a although it surely did a since any well-chosen team should be able to withstand a few casualties. The problem, rather, was that Vargasa mission briefing was wholly inadequate for the challenges that the team would probably face. He simply failed to understand that the eldar of Ulthwe were not his friends, no matter what was written in the ancient coven.

The problem with Vargas was not his stupidity per se, but rather that he was simply too trusting. It was almost as though he had been enchanted by the eldar and his precious aLord Ulthrana. How could he really believe that the devious and cunning Eldrad Ulthran would activate the Coven of Isha for their mutual advantage? Had he learnt nothing of that beautiful and terrible fa.r.s.eer over the last decades? Did he really think them so superficial and lacking in sophistication?

Before he had disappeared, Ashok had made a report that the dark eldar might be involved in the situation in some way. Again, this was not the shock to Seishon that it would have been to Vargas. The Ordo Xenos of Ramugan were not utterly naive about the intricate web of relationships that might exist between the eldar of Ulthwe and their even darker and altogether less palatable brethren. Although he had no way of knowing the exact state of the allegiances and plans at any one time, Seishon was wily enough to antic.i.p.ate that there may well be some involvement from the dark eldar, especially in that area of the sector.

In the back of his mind, he suspected that the oscillating warp signature on the edge of the Eye of Terror might have something to do with them, but he had nothing other than his paranoia to support his suspicions.

As he poured himself another gla.s.s of wine and gazed into the vanishing wake of the t.i.tanicus Rex, Seishonas dizzying thoughts began to spin around the image of Ashok. Despite Vargasa faith in the valiant Captain Octavius, and despite his obvious qualities as both a commander and a warrior, Seishon began to realise that he had effectively placed the success of the mission solely into the hands of the Angels Sanguine librarian. Even if the Deathwatch team was to fulfil its duty under the terms of the coven, that was not going to be enough, and it seemed laughably naive to think that he and Vargas had dispatched the team to Ulthwe with those orders.

They were not dealing with an ork scouring or even a tau trade dispute; this was a delegation to the eldar, and to the eldar of Ulthwe at that. In hindsight, Seishon could not believe that he had let Vargas permit that do-gooder Imperial Fist to a.s.semble the team. What had they been thinking? His mind rushed back to the point of contact with Ulthran, and the realisation struck him like a fist: the eldar fa.r.s.eer had appeared only to Vargas and never to him. Unlike Seishon, Vargas had almost no psychic powers or defences a it was not inconceivable that the old fool had actually been enchanted by the conniving Ulthran, who had ensured that his contact was only with the weaker of the two minds.

The wine gla.s.s slipped out of Seishonas hands and smashed on the hard ground, shattering into vicious shards of gla.s.s in the pool of blood red liquid. In the Emperoras name, he cursed, what have we done? The eldar had manoeuvred him perfectly, creating a situation in which his own sense of confidence and prestige had caused him to both dispatch the Deathwatch Marines and to jeopardise the integrity of the team, producing an expedition that could fail because of his own interference and which could threaten the system even if it succeeded. On the cusp of an emerging disaster, his basic drive for self-preservation resulted in a moral crisis in which his own soul was placed in the scales of justice against those of millions of faceless subjects of the Imperium.

The t.i.tanicus Rex finally vanished from view and Seishon could not stop himself from smiling. Compared to Mordia, Octavius and even Vargas, the scheming eldar were his kind of people. If he was going to be brought down, it would not be a disgrace to fall at the hands of millennia of careful planning. But it was not over yet. There was no confirmation that Ashok was lost, and Octavius himself was nothing if not tenacious.

CHAPTER TEN: SEDITION.

The tendril of shaaiel left vapour streaked marks drawn over the immaculate curve of Lelithas pale shoulder. The wych queen felt a thrill rush through her body like a yearning but she squashed it immediately. This was not the time for her to lose her concentration.

After a few seconds, the tendrils that raked across her back seemed to transform into fingers, soft and delicate but tipped with long nails like razors. Despite herself, Lelith flexed her perfect shoulder blades, pulling the skin on her back taught so that she could enjoy the painful caresses even more. She could even feel herself leaning back slightly, as her body strove to press itself against the agonisingly delicate touch of the daemonic form.

The Wych Queen of Strife caught herself on the brink of the abyss and pulled her mind back into the material realms of her Seer Chamber, high up in one of the fortress towers of Sussarkhas Peak. She may be the una.s.sailable queen of Hesperax, but she was also merely a darkling female craving the pleasures of her kind. Part of her mind longed for the visitations of the daemonic princess or even her more refined minions. Her soul cried out for their touch, and she knew that they could hear her barely suppressed screams of delectation. That was why they loved her. That was why they found her summons so powerful. That was how she could manipulate them.

The weakness of her flesh was also the strength of her soul a for she knew the perils of such temptations. She was no innocent, summoning powers about which she understood little and knew even less. She was Lelith Hesperax, Wych Queen of Strife, and the daemonic messengers of the Satin Throne held nothing that she could not antic.i.p.ate.

They thought that her flesh was her weakness, but Lelith knew exactly how far she could go a she could take her pleasure from the minions of Slaanesh without abandoning herself to it. It was she who toyed with the daemons, not the other way around. This was something that they would learn to their cost if they crossed her again.

The runes etched into the curving walls of her tower chamber glowed and swirled, spinning around the walls as though trying to escape from the confines of the restricted s.p.a.ce. Their movement seemed to stir the thick, smoky air, whisking tendrils of incense into thickening clouds of condensation until the outline of a body began to form. First its fingertips appeared, reaching out of the gathering mist as though a perfectly manicured woman was clawing its way out of the eye of a storm. After a few seconds, an elegant wrist was followed by the flawless, pale skin of a slender arm.

Cross-legged on the floor, Lelith watched the breathtaking body take shape before her, permitting herself a certain level of l.u.s.tful appreciation as the last whispering fingers of vapour were absorbed into the immaculate female form. Never before had the daemon princess committed so much of herself into the material realm. Lelith was fascinated and, for a moment at least, entranced.

It is good to see you. Lelithas thoughts were slick like oil, but she had rarely meant something quite so sincerely.

The princess regarded Lelith quizzically, tilting its perfect, oval head to one side as though coy. Great cascades of translucent, shimmering hair crashed over the exposed skin of her faultless shoulder as she angled her head.

Yes. The thoughts came from nowhere and everywhere at once. I suspect it is.

As the apparition communicated, its mouth moved as though speaking, but the words and the movements did not coincide. Even more disconcertingly, as the image of the princess opened its mouth Lelith could see straight through ita she could see the now stationary runes burning brightly on the wall behind.

Do I please you? The princessa image seemed genuinely concerned as she cast her eyes over her own form, inspecting her body for blemishes and imperfections. She found none.

Lelith smiled. She was n.o.bodyas fool. You are beautiful.

At that, the princess raised her head and looked straight into Lelithas face. For the first time, Lelith could see the princessa eyes, and they were more than enough to remind her that this was all an illusion. Like her mouth, the eyes were simply pockets of nothingness a Lelith could see straight through them to the far wall of her chamber. The incongruity of the astoundingly beautiful body together with the vacuous eyes and mouth was almost physically painful for Lelith. Yet, I am not perfect? I do not yet please enough? Not yet, mistress. Lelith sighed ambiguously. But the time will come.

Our plans are progressing as antic.i.p.ated, I presume? The princessa words held a disarming mixture of coyness and self-confidence. She wore her immense power as lightly and delicately as a silken glove, like a daemon princess in the form of a fragile girl.

Yes, mistress, answered Lelith, drawn in by the intoxicating manner. The predictable and foolish lightlings have honoured their side of our bargain, as we expected. Their sense of n.o.bility makes them pathetically simple to read. We have the mon-keigh warriors in our cells even as we speak. And they will fight for me?

They will fight for themselves, mistress. The mon-keigh are even more predictable than the Ulthwe. They will fight until they draw their very last breaths a their souls will be raging and full of pa.s.sion when they charge screaming into your arms.

Though they will not fight for me?

They will fight for themselves, and I will render their energy into a sacrifice for you. Fear not, mistress, they need not choose you, they need only fight a I have chosen you for them.

We need only a few more souls a just a handful of powerful lives to complete my transmigration, Lelith.

The princess used Lelithas name and the wych thrilled, feeling a wave of pleasure pulse through her nervous system like lava. For a moment, an image of the princessa perfected form flickered into Lelithas mind: her eyes burning and radiant, full of exquisite pain and ineffable places, and her mouth a haven for lascivious pleasures and utterances of death. The breathtaking image expanded into a glorious scene, with the daemon princess at the head of a treacherous and beautiful army storming out of the Eye of Terror with Lelith at her side, scything through the populations of the Imperium and harvesting their souls in an orgy of indulgence.

My power is growing, Lelith of Strife. Even the Imperium of Man can no longer be blind to it. My minions are pushing against the borders of your realm and seeping through into the materium of s.p.a.ce. They are little more than a mist to you, but from my throne I can see them teeming and terrible, thirsty for death, conquest and agonising pleasure. Your sacrifices have brought us this far, but now we must take the last step, and we must do it now. Our secrecy is quite exploded, and we must act now. Now, Lelith The image of the princess reached down and lifted the wychas chin with her exquisite fingernail. Now.

From the blood slicked luxury of the elevated platform that was set into the sheer wall of the amphitheatre, Lelith and her honoured guests watched the Deathwatch Marines being led back into the arena. This time they were guarded by more than thirty wyches, each wielding ceremonial, bladed weapons. The nerve-pins had all been removed from the vital points on the Marinesa bodies, so their movements were now unrestricted and their minds relatively uncluttered. Hence the heavier guard. They had not been given any weapons, and Lelith was still not sure whether she would grant them the honour of blades when their time came to die.

Bhurolyn of the Sacred Star stood at Lelithas shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance of her hair as discretely as he could manage, his blue eyes twinkling with forbidden and secret pleasure. His companion, Xhelkisor, a minor seer who was yet to be granted a seat on the Seer Council of Ulthwe, stood a respectable distance behind them, her hazel eyes fixed on the parade of mon-keigh muscle that was crossing the arena below.

Her arms were folded across her chest, pulling her sapphire robes close about her slight form. Despite the fact that this was a historic moment, she was not terribly impressed: the mon-keigh looked like lumbering primitives and the darklings were simply too unsanitary to be worthy of much respect. The honour of being chosen for the mission by Thaeaakzi of the Emerald Robes herself was undermined somewhat by the utter lack of awe that she felt when confronted with the reality of the situation. She found herself repulsed by everything around her, and she was trying not to let anything touch her, even as subordinates busied themselves around the platform and the disgusting, semi-organic thronelings aspired to the occasional touch from Lelithas skin. Pulling her cloak even tighter around her, Xhelkisor found herself wondering how much longer she would have to put up with this. Not long, my dear.

The thoughts were not her own, and they shocked her. They had an ineffable kind of gravity, and a smooth, sickly quality that made them hard to hang on to. As soon as she realised that they were in her head, they were gone, like oil running through her fingers. Looking around the platform, there was no obvious source a none of the wyches were even looking in her direction, and Bhurolynas thoughts were of an entirely different consistency. Something in the darkest recesses of her soul told her that the thoughts had been those of Lelith, but the wych queen showed no signs of paying her any attention at all a she was grinning with antic.i.p.ation at the spectacle of the captive mon-keigh down below.

They will make a worthy spectacle, Lelith. Bhurolynas casual and intimate tone was inappropriately familiar; he was addressing the Wych Queen of Strife.