Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 2

Despite the bright lights in the briefing chamber of the Watchtower Fortress, everything looked dark and sullen. The light sank into the matt, unreflective blackness of the walls, floor and ceiling, falling into the structure of the room as though it had never been there at all. Even the Marines who punctuated the wide s.p.a.ce with their ma.s.sive bulks offered little levity or light, their blackened armour only adding to the oppressive air. The only points of glossy differentiation were the right shoulder guards of each Marine, which displayed the glorious symbols of their various Chapters of origin.

The silence was as striking as the shadow. The Marines stood or sat in perfect stillness, neither interacting with, nor ignoring each other, always aware but never threatening or frivolous. There was a dense aura of respect dominating the atmosphere, but it was not without hints of suspicion and cynicism. The Marines of the Deathwatch were united by the strongest and most powerful of vows to the Emperor and His Inquisition, and they recognised that their battle-brothers were being honoured equally with themselves, but they were also fiercely loyal to their home Chapters and deeply suspicious of all outsiders.

Being seconded into the Deathwatch was one of the most profound challenges that a s.p.a.ce Marine could face. It not only meant that he would be dispatched on the most dangerous of missions to hunt down the alien menace a in many ways that was the simplest aspect of the position a but he would also have to resolve deep rooted and fundamental psychological tensions between his joint loyalties to the Emperoras will as interpreted by his Chapter and the interpretation espoused by the Ordo Xenos. Added to the mix would be the multifarious interpretations of the other Chapters, and the occasionally radical departures made by specific, idiosyncratic inquisitors.

More often than not, these differing world-views fell into a rough harmony; after all, they were all servants of the Undying Emperor. But from time to time the world-views would diverge or clash, and then a Marine was left to resolve the crisis in his own conscience. Joining the Deathwatch may be the greatest honour that could be afforded a s.p.a.ce Marine, but it was also the greatest challenge to his body and soul: victory and defeat, loyalty and heresy could become muddled together or fragmented into myriad aspects. More than any other a.s.signment that a Marine might be asked to take, a secondment to the Deathwatch was a test of his character: duty before all else, but what happens when the meaning of duty is suddenly thrown into question by competing visions?

Sitting in silence on the floor in the corner of the room, almost unnoticed by the others, Ashok folded his well-muscled arms around his knees and let his hood drop down over his face. He was the only Marine in the room who had chosen not to wear his armour for the briefing. Instead, he was clad in a simple black smock that hung loosely over his frame. The hood had been fashioned out of the Shroud of Lemartes, which had been presented to him as a sign of his self-mastery following the incident on Hegelian IX. The rough sensation of its fabric against his skin offered him rea.s.surance, keeping his mind fixed and focused. For that reason, the hood was always folded over his head, casting his fathomless black eyes into deep shadow.

Since being awarded the shroud, Ashok had never worn the elaborate librarianas helmet to which he was ent.i.tled by rank and status. Even in full armour, his head was exposed to the elements and his face was hidden under the shadows of the shroud. But he did not like even to wear his armour. He suspected, moreover, that its machine-spirit did not like to be in his presence. Together, he and his armour were terrible to behold, and Ashok felt that he needed to be rid of it when he was not actually in combat. There was no peace to be found in that ancient spirit of war, and Ashok had to strive constantly for balance in his mind.

Like the other Marines of the Angels Sanguine, who shared the gene-seed of the Blood Angels, one of Ashokas primary concerns was to stave off the insanities of the Red Thirst, the primordial rage that hungered for blood in his soul. Unlike most of his battle-brothers, Ashok had pa.s.sed through the affliction of his brethren and emerged a master of himself and his pa.s.sions. In the process, he had done unspeakable things to his brothers and to the servants of the Emperor, and the scratching irritations of the Shroud of Lemartes ensured that these actions were never far from his mind.

On the other side of the briefing room, a door clicked and hissed open, revealing the outline of another Marine standing dramatically in the flood of light. Ashokas eyes glinted in the rush of light, but he did not look up. He knew who it was already. The other Marines in the room drew themselves up to attention, and awaited the inspection of the great captain. All of them had heard about Captain Octavius of the Imperial Fists during their training at the Watchtower Fortress. Since his exceptional performance on Herodian IV, he had become one of the very few Marines to be given the honour of a permanent secondment to the Deathwatch. The Imperial Fists missed their eminent captain, of course, but it was a great tribute to them that the Ordo Xenos of Ramugan would desire to keep one of their finest sons in permanent service. It was a rare honour, and Octavius was a rare Marine.

Without looking up, Ashok watched the rest of the team a.s.semble. He noted with barely suppressed disdain the presence of the Reviler chaplain who had been sent to Trontium VI to recall him to the Deathwatch, and with disappointment he realised that the Blood Angel was absent from the group. Typical, he thought. He recognised the emblems of the other Marines immediately, including the emerald and gold claw of a Mantis Warriors a.s.sault Marine a the Mantis Warriors were a Chapter with whom Ashok had served before under questionable circ.u.mstances. There was a second a.s.sault Marine a a Black Consul a whose grizzly features and cl.u.s.ter of service studs betrayed decades of service. The half-mechanised form of a Red Talon techmarine was an unmistakable addition to the group.

However, there was one insignia that he could not recognise: it was a black raven on a bone-white background, with a single droplet of blood-red through its heart. For a moment he thought that it might be a Blood Angel cousin, but it also looked like one of the conniving Raven Guard. Whoever it was, he was a librarian and he emanated a latent psychic field that glowed like a star for anyone with the ability to see it.

Octavius strode confidently into the room, letting the door hiss closed behind him, shutting out the light and allowing the eyes of the Marines before him to make out his face for the first time. The face was struck through with a deep scar that ran from the jaw line on his right to his left temple. Fine hair fell loosely over its forehead, partially obscuring a row of golden service studs. However, it was the eyes that caught everyoneas attention: pale blue and startling, as though providing windows into a soul wracked by terror and beauty in equal measure.

aGreetings, sons of the primarchs. You, each of you,a he specified carefully, ahonour this hall with your presence. The hour is dark and our resolve must be swift. We will depart immediately for the Circuitrine nebula, where we will rendezvous with the eldar craftworld of Ulthwe. Once there, it is likely that we will fight alongside the aliens against a common foe a His voice faltered very slightly, as though he found the words that he was speaking distasteful. Ashok looked up at last, fixing his eyes on the captain. More than one of the other Marines shifted uneasily. aWe are not yet aware of the ident.i.ty of this foe, but it seems probable that it is an agent from the Eye of Terror.a Octavius paused, letting the weight of his words sink in as he looked around the faces of the a.s.sembled Marines. He had chosen the members of the team himself, drawing them from those currently stationed at the secret Watchtower Fortress near Ramugan station. He had seen them all complete the elite xenocide training routines, augmenting their already formidable combat skills with specialised alien hunting techniques known only to the Deathwatch. They were primed and waiting for a mission. Only Pelias, the battle hardened a.s.sault sergeant of the Black Consuls had served in the Deathwatch before, but the team was rich with experience and talent nevertheless.

As he scanned the room, watching the expressions of his Marines as his instructions to co-operate with the aliens. .h.i.t home, Octavius caught sight of the hunched figure of Ashok sitting in the shadows of the far corner. The librarianas hood hid his face, and his simple black smock betrayed no markings of any kind, but Octavius recognised him immediately. As the captain stared, a sheen of light glinted across the librarianas eyes, making them flash like those of a wild animal in the deepest jungle.

Greetings, captain. Ashokas thoughts pushed silently and gently into Octaviusa head. It is good to see you again.

The captainas surprise was clear, although his composure was unbroken. He had not expected to see the Angel Sanguine in his briefing hall. Ashok had not been on service at the Watchtower when Octavius had selected his team, and the captain had not included the librarian in his plans. Indeed, he had already selected a librarian for the mission, Atreus of the Blood Ravens a a powerful psyker with extensive experience of the eldar from campaigns on Tartarus and Raheas Paradise. It would be highly unusual for a Deathwatch kill-team to host more than one librarian.

Octavius nodded slightly, returning the greeting with a little reserve in front of the others. His thoughts betrayed him.

Lord Seishon requested my presence, captain, but I am under your command, of course. The Inquisitor Lord felt that the team would need two librarians, given the nature of the threat we face and given the nature of the allies that we seek to aid.

The other Marines shifted slightly, becoming aware that Octaviusa pause had lengthened unnaturally. They looked around, spotting Ashok, some of them for the first time. Atreus, the Blood Ravens librarian whose insignia Ashok had not recognised, was the only one that did not turn. He was already fully aware of what was going on in the room.

aOur mission is vital and our deadline is tight. We are acting to fulfil an ancient pact between the aliens and the Ordo Xenos. We carry the oath of the Emperor on our backs, Marines, so there is no room for hesitation or doubt.a Octavius had antic.i.p.ated the revulsion on Peliasa face, but had been more surprised to see it flicker over the features of Chaplain Luthar, the Reviler. aWe are the Deathwatch, and duty comes before all else.a He who allows the alien to live shares in the crime of its existence. Ashokas thoughts were mocking, but his tone lacked malice. He was quoting the famous adage of Inquisitor Apollyon, the maxim was carved into the centrepiece of the great arch that swept over the a.s.sembly hall of the Watchtower. Every Marine that entered into the service of the Deathwatch in this sector would have those words etched into his soul. Under the deep folds of his hood, Octavius could see Ashokas eyes glint with the suggestion of a wry smile. He knew that the librarian was right: at least some of the Marines in the team would find this mission heretical. They certainly didnat expect to be fighting with aliens when they joined the Deathwatch.

aIt is not our place to question the oaths of the Imperial Inquisition. It is our duty to fulfil them in the name of the Emperor. We act to defend the realm from the greatest threats to the Imperium of Man; it is not the Deathwatch that judges these threats. We are the swords of policy and it is we who execute those threats. We hold in our hands the honour of the Emperor himself, and we will not fail him.a Octavius paused again, looking around the faces before him. He had not convinced them all, but he knew that it would take more than a few stirring words to convince a s.p.a.ce Marine of anything. These men were the finest warriors in the galaxy, wrought from the trials and fires of their different Chapters, each with their own ways. He knew that he could not necessarily make them believe, but he also knew that he could trust in their sense of honour and duty to the Emperor. There was no higher ideal for any of the Adeptus Astartes.

aWe leave within the hour,a he stated simply, turning and striding out of the doors, leaving the Marines alone with their thoughts and each other.

CHAPTER THREE: WYCH-HUNT.

The patterns of light danced over the polished floor like electric serpents slithering through oil. They slipped and slid, lashing into flickers as though convulsing with tension or anxiety. Shariele sat cross-legged against the wall on one side of the room, letting the waves of energy wash underneath him. Three other warlocks were positioned symmetrically around the perimeter, similarly lost in meditation, the bone-white hints of runes glinting off their black armour.

There was a faint chant infused into the air, although none of the warlocks worked their mouths and the room was shrouded in silence. But their minds were alive with song, bringing the psychic resonance in the carefully designed chamber into the realms of symphony. For the warlocks, this divination was a kind of rapture, suspending their souls in the violence of the abyss, letting their essential beings ride the wave of the present, peering constantly towards the horizon, searching for glimmers of the inevitable storms to come. Behind their closed lids, their eyes flashed and burnt with flames, as beacons to their kindred spirits, guiding them home lest they be lost to themselves and each other forever. This ritual could never be performed alone.

As the psychic chanting grew louder, clouds of shaaiel started to condense into the reality of the chamber. At first there were just wisps, just suggestions of cirrus formations taking shape near the ceiling. But gradually the thin mist started to curdle and thicken, drawing itself out into strips and whirling into the suggestions of eddies. The pace quickened and the movement broadened as the little swirls congealed and merged, slipping together and forming a single, slowly revolving whirlpool of shaaiel that spun around the perimeter of the room, skirting around the backs of each of the warlocks, bringing them into the interior of a spinning column of warp energy.

With an abrupt flash of orange fire, the eyes of the warlocks snapped open simultaneously, flames lapping at their irises as though consuming them. They remained seated in concentrated meditation, motionless and silent as their burning gazes converged on an invisible point at the centre of the chamber. The swirling clouds of shaaiel began to accelerate, whipping themselves up into a tornado of warp power, thrashing around the fringes of the room and threatening to rip the chamber itself from the structure of Ulthwe through sheer centrifugal power.

As the maelstrom raged around them, the warlocks remained silent and calm, blazing their vision into the very eye of the storm, their eyes glazed and shinning like liquid stars. In the convergence of their lines of sight, an image started to form, flickering on the edge of existence as though unable to bear the pressure of reality. Figures started to resolve themselves at the edge of the picture. They were running and fighting, firing weapons and spinning blades, each clad in pristine black armour.

Some of the figures were ma.s.sive and ugly, with c.u.mbersome and primitive weapons. There were smaller, more elegant shapes too, dancing and springing around the hazy, flickering combat zone. And there were corpses, dozens of corpses strewn over the ground beneath the feet of the others. Hundreds of corpses, stretching out into the distance as though trapped in an infinite regression of mirrors. There were thousands of eldar corpses, millions, rolling out over the horizon in layers several deep, like the crust of a planet.

The sky above the shimmering images seemed to crack with ethereal lightning, sending souls screaming through the atmosphere and ripping through the thick, viscous clouds of darkness. A sudden crack of brightness flared like a burning spear, but then it was gone.

aHesperax,a muttered Shariele, the single word shattering the vortex of shaaiel like a bullet through an ice sculpture. The images and the clouds of warp dissipated rapidly, repelled by the intrusion of a fragment from the material realm a the artificial purity of the Undercouncil Chamber no longer pristine enough to sustain them. And it was not just any word; the name of Hesperax had not been uttered on Ulthwe for thousands of years. It was a cursed word, as though its syllables carried death to the very tip of oneas tongue.

The other warlocks broke their gazes and lowered their simmering eyes, gradually bringing their minds back into the present and back into the chamber as it appeared in the material realm. They had seen the vision as well, and not one of them wanted to give voice to the sights they had seen. They were more than accustomed to the darkness of their own souls a each had served for a time in the Aspect Temple of the Dark Reapers, immersing themselves in their own thirst for blood and battle a but none of them could ever reconcile themselves to the horrors that lurked in the souls of their lost brethren, the darklings.

Hesperax was a vision of all things unimaginable and unthinkable to them. It was a haven for the forbidden and a deeply suppressed temptation of their souls. There was a reason that the name was taboo on Ulthwe, and it was not simply because of an abhorrence for the horrors perpetrated there.

It was Hesperax, muttered Shariele, sharing his thoughts with the others. He was not looking for confirmation. He didnat need it. He simply wanted to share the burden of the word, pushing it into the minds of the others as though splitting it into separate runes for each, dividing and conquering the word like a broken enemy force. I must inform the seers.

aLord Aurelius is as concerned as you are, Perceptia, if not more so. After all, it is the responsibility of the Ramugan Ordo Malleus to police the incursions of any daemonic forces into this sector.a Hereticus Lord Caesurianas voice was smooth and low, like dark velvet.

Standing formally in the entranceway to the inquisitor lordas chambers, Inquisitor Perceptia was demonstrably agitated. Her hands clasped and unclasped before her, as though she were nervous. She had old fashioned eyegla.s.ses perched precariously on the end of her nose, and she kept pushing them restively back up towards her forehead.

aWith your permission, Lord Caesurian,a began the young inquisitor, aI would still like to take a closer look at this matter. It seems unorthodox to me.a Her tone was respectful but frustrated, as though she felt that her superior was holding her back deliberately. Finally losing patience with her errant spectacles, Perceptia s.n.a.t.c.hed them away from her face and clutched them between her tense hands.

Caesurian rose from the comfort of her lushly padded chair and inspected the youthful inquisitor from a distance. She never invited Perceptia into her chambers. The inquisitor lord found the bookish young woman unnerving, and she was keen to ensure that her private s.p.a.ce was not infected by her peculiar brand of nervous energy. Even as an interrogator, the young Perceptia had never been a favourite student. Caesurian would certainly not describe her as her protege. Nonetheless, she could not help feeling a certain responsibility for the woman whose career she had helped to sculpt.

aPerceptia,a she began, letting her smooth voice ease through the shadowy s.p.a.ce between them. aYou are quite right to have faith in your instincts. The Ordo Hereticus needs inquisitors with a nose for the unorthodox, as you call it. However a She trailed off as she turned her back on her visitor and walked deeper into the room. Pausing at an old wooden cabinet that rested against the far wall, the inquisitor lord slowly poured a deep red liquid into a crystal gla.s.s and raised it to her lips. aHowever,a she continued, the gla.s.s poised delicately at her mouth, aRamugan is an unusual and carefully balanced place, as you may appreciate. The Ordo Hereticus is, of course, the paragon of subtlety at all times a Caesurian took a sip of the red liquid before continuing. aBut, we must be particularly a.s.siduous here. Iam sure that you understand?a The nature of the question was ambiguous, and the inquisitor lord turned her head to the side to indicate that she required a response.

Perceptia was not sure what was expected of her. aI understand, my lord,a she said, bowing her head with more resignation than respect. aButaa aAurelius would dispatch the Grey Knights if he felt that there was a reason to do so. To do otherwise would const.i.tute a failure of duty, and I am sure that you do not mean to impugn the inquisitor lordas sense of duty, inquisitor? The fact that he hasnat suggests that there is indeed nothing with which the Emperoras Holy Inquisition need concern itself at this time. Hence, Lord Seishonas previous silence on this issue is not a matter for us to investigate.a Perceptia stared at the back of the inquisitor lordas head, her mind racing and her frustrations bubbling just below the surface. She knew that Caesurian had never liked her. She was certainly not the old womanas favourite, there was no doubt about that. The inquisitor lord was a political animal, which was why she had been left in charge of the Ordo Hereticus facility on the Ramugan station a possibly the most politically sensitive posting in the Imperium. Perceptia, on the other hand, had no flare for diplomacy at all. Her ethical world was a binary system. There was good and, far more often, there was evil.

In her youth, the venerable inquisitor lord had been a dashing witch hunter, a woman of action. Her experience of the best and the worst of the Imperium had given her a sense of perspective. Her world was a mosaic of shadows and shades of grey The bookish, Manichean Perceptia might have been from a completely different planet.

aIs it not possible, my lord, that a Perceptia paused, as though aware that her chain of thought was crossing a line. aIs it not possible that Seishon has some kind of hold over Aurelius?a The wine gla.s.s froze at Caesurianas lips and an icy silence slipped through the room.

aOr perhaps,a continued Perceptia, falling over her words to fill the gap. aPerhaps they have an agreement concerning that quadrant of the Circuitrine sector? Either way, isnat this something that we should be aware of?a Caesurian threw back the rest of her wine and turned very slowly to face the young inquisitor. On the far side of the room, her face was hidden in the shadows, but Perceptia could see her expression vividly in her mindas eye.

aMy dear Perceptia, there is a very fine line between intuition and foolish fantasy. This is not the place to throw about accusations. Ramugan teeters on the edge of a political knife.a Her voice was slow and even, but Perceptia could hear that its usual smoothness was now fighting an undercurrent of anger.

aBut, my lord,a she protested. aPolitics should not be an excuse for heresy. There can be no excuse for heresy.a Perceptia forced the defiant words out of her mouth, despite her own nervousness about the confrontation with her one-time mentor. Her hands clasped together tightly and she wrung them as though trying to force all of the blood out of them.

The inquisitor lord said nothing for a moment and then took a step forward, bringing her face into the light. Her eyes were drawn taught and narrow but her brow displayed no furrows. Her mouth was set in a horizontal line and her jaw muscles were clenched.

aBe very careful, my young Perceptia. If you are pursuing the fires of d.a.m.nation, at the very least you should expect to burn your fingers.a As though to reinforce the point, the inquisitor lord took another step forward and placed her hands over the back of her luxurious chair. One of her hands twinkled with metallic light, and Perceptia saw her augmetic limb for the hundredth time. aBy all means search, Perceptia. But search quietly, and tell n.o.body what you are doing. If you are discovered and you have found nothing, I will offer you no protection from the wrath of Seishon or Aurelius. I will tell them that I knew nothing of your activities. That is how Ramugan will continue.a Caesurian paused, waiting for Perceptia to speak or show some spark of understanding, but the young inquisitor was still digesting the magnitude of the implications of the conversation.

aIf I ever hear from you again, Perceptia, it will be with findings upon which we can act. Without such findings, you will never address me again.a With that, Caesurian nodded imperceptibly and the doors to her chamber slid shut abruptly, leaving Perceptia standing in the corridor outside, her nose only millimetres from the armoured, adamantium panelling of the closed door.

aThe message has been sent,a stated Thaeaakzi simply, meeting the disbelieving gazes of the other council members with unflinching eyes. aLord Ulthran himself made contact. He expects that the mon-keigh are already on their way.a The council chamber seemed to shiver with its own sense of revulsion; little jets of light licked around the walls like the echoes of distant storms. The ambient light was dim, almost dark, matching the mood of the seers.

aLet this council record that I have objected to this move from the start,a snarled Ruhklo, his fierce eyes directed adamantly down into the polished floor in the middle of the circle of seers. The anger simmered around his features and the ground smouldered as though heated by the force of his gaze. aThe mon-keigh are not to be trusted, and they will dishonour us with their presence.a aHad we been better prepared, Ruhklo of the Karizhariat, then there may have been no need,a said Eldressyn softly, enjoying the defeat of the bitter old seer. Her startling blue eyes shone with faintly disturbed tranquillity.

Perhaps it was this eventuality for which we have been preparing, Eldressyn, whispered Thaeaakzi into the young seeras mind. Donat be so quick to claim your victory in this council. Eldradas ways are beyond even us.

Eldressyn fell silent, acknowledging the secret words of the elder seer and respecting their wisdom. But in her heart she knew that Ulthwe needed the mon-keigh to win this fight, and she was certain that such a situation could have been avoided if the council had prepared properly for the future. At that moment, Ruhklo seemed like a liability a old, bitter and dark in his soul. She blamed him. It was his fault for filling the council with breaths of cynicism and malice. The very hall itself seemed to quake with his frustrations.

aThe council has prepared Ulthwe for its future as best it could, Eldressyn of Ulthroon,a said Thaeaakzi, smoothing the waters. aThe crisis in the Eye and the darkling raids may be but a stepping stone on the way to a golden sh.o.r.e. The mon-keigh will a.s.sist us, as they promised long ago. It is fortuitous that they are so bound to us now.a aWe cannot trust them, Thaeaakzi of the Emerald Robes,a muttered Bhurolyn as he pulled his sapphire and black cloak around him, as though suddenly cold.

aWe do not need to trust them, Bhurolyn. We just need them to come,a replied Thaeaakzi softly. aAnd so they come.a There was a sudden and brief crack of light in one of the walls. It flashed and then cut its way through the wraithbone, defining a great door as it spread. After a couple of seconds, the door melted away, as though the wraithbone itself had withdrawn into the fabric of the walls around it. A dull, warm light eased through the open archway, mixing into the heavy darkness of the council chamber itself, sending hazes of interference patterns sprinkling through the air.

aMy lords of the Eternal Council,a said Shariele, stooping into a deep bow on the threshold of the hall. The white runes on his black armour glinted in little starbursts as the light washed over him from behind, and his long cloak billowed and fluttered, as though the flow of light carried a breeze in its wake. aI bring greetings from the Undercouncil of Warlocks, and news.a aYou are most welcome, Shariele of the Lost Souls,a replied Thaeaakzi, turning to face the warlock and bowing slightly. aEnter freely a it is your right as much as our pleasure.a She gave the impression of smiling faintly, without even a crease appearing on her smooth face.

Shariele remained in the doorway for a moment, holding his bow for an extra second out of respect for the hall and the seers therein. Then he rose and strode confidently across the patterns of light that swam through the floor beneath his feet. The Emerald Seer unsettled his heart. He had heard many of the stories about her and yet she remained a mystery to him. There was something profoundly different about their souls, and it rendered her almost impenetrable to him. He understood that she had once pa.s.sed through the trials of the Shining Spear, in the past before she had taken up the path of the seer. Then, perhaps a century ago, after Thaeaakzi had become a powerful seer, Ulthwe had done battle with a force of disfigured mon-keigh as they spilled out of the Eye of Terror. At that time, the Temple of the Shining Path had summoned Thaeaakzi back into its sanctum: the templeas ceremonial warlockas mask was calling for her, bellowing her name in tones barely audible to the sensitive eldar ear, yelling her name through the immaterium itself.

Thaeaakzi had returned to her old temple and entered the sanctum, locking herself in the sacred chamber with n.o.body to a.s.sist her and none to witness the events that followed. Days later, she had emerged as the Emerald Seer, bedecked entirely in the green robes that now covered her elegant form. But the warlockas mask lay untouched on the altar in the templeas sanctum a she had refused the call of Khaine and turned her back on the thirst for war that lurked in the souls of all eldar.

Unlike Shariele and the other warlocks, who had each trained as Aspect Warriors before embarking on the long path of the seer, Thaeaakzi had made a conscious and wilful choice not to merge the paths a she had refused to transpose her immense psychic gifts into combative powers. Whilst it was certainly true that not all seers who had trodden the path of the warrior chose to combine the dual-ways into the dark road of the warlock, it was unheard of for one summoned personally by the spirit of Kaela Mensha Khaine to resist the calling. The warlocks of the Undercouncil felt a slight chill in her presence, as though she found them unhealthy, dangerous, or even weak of will. They were certain that the other seers on the Eternal Council did not understand who she was. How could they see the unfathomable strength in her soul?

As he approached the ring of seers, Shariele stopped and bowed once again. The councillors each returned his bow, paying him the courtesy of their respect. He was well known to them all.

aThe communion of the Undercouncil has yielded some worrying results,a began Shariele. aIt appears that the darklings are not our only concern along this time-line.a There was a pause as Shariele awaited the inevitable questions. None came. aThe warlocks have foreseen a force of mon-keigh in the battles of the near future. They stood back to back with darkly clad eldar, poised in blood and treading on a field of our slain kinsmen.a There was a murmur around the room as thoughts of death and doom emanated from the seers and resonated through the psychically conductive wraithbone that encased the chamber. The trails of light in the floor and walls flashed and died with increased intensity.

aThe mon-keigh will be our doom a it is written,a spat Ruhklo, as though Sharieleas words confirmed his fears.

aIt is not written, Karizhariat! Nothing is written, as you well know. We write our future in our choices and in our blood,a snapped Eldressyn, the pristine whiteness of her delicate robes flashing starkly in the dark atmosphere. aWe will the future with our power.a aWhat else did you see, Shariele?a asked Thaeaakzi softly, ignoring the quarrelling seers at her side. aWas it just the mon-keigh that brought blood into our future?a aNo, Emerald Seer, the darklings were also there, and the corpses were disfigured beyond the wit or inventiveness of the mon-keigh. It was It was Hesperax.a Shariele hesitated before speaking those cursed syllables in the great chambers of council. As the forbidden sounds left his mouth, the room pulsed and lashed with a violence unseen for decades. The ground itself shook, as though repulsed.

The seers sank into silence, shocked that the Undercouncil could see what they could not. It was as though they themselves were blinded to the vision by the violence of its content. The souls of the warlocks walked in darker places, and they would not find the terror of Hesperax so utterly alien. That in itself worried Thaeaakzi.

aSo, the Mistress of Strife has a hand in this?a mused the Emerald Seer, nodding her understanding to Shariele as the hall flashed its own abhorrence. aThis explains the pattern of the darklingsa behaviour. They are taking prisoners for the Wych Queen, so that she might harvest their souls to slake the thirst of her daemonic princess. We have encountered this foe before,a she said, turning back to face the other seers, her eyes slightly out of focus, as though remembering something from long ago.

aYes, and we did not need the mon-keigh then,a sneered Ruhklo.

aTimes change,a answered Eldressyn sharply, her presence representing vivid proof of her words.

aIf the Wych Queen is collecting eldar souls, she must be seeking to manifest an agent of the Satin Throne,a reasoned Bhurolyn, his deductions adding an edge of anxiety to his words.

aLelithas ambitions are greater than that,a said Thaeaakzi, shocking Shariele by using the Wych Queenas personal name. aShe would not content herself with underlings, not even those of a daemon G.o.d.a For a moment, the Emerald Seer seemed lost in thought. Then she turned to Shariele abruptly. aWarlock, we must prevent the loss of any more Ulthwe souls to this darkling monster. As you are aware, this craftworld, indeed our very species, cannot afford to lose any more of its own. Worse than this, stolen souls cast into the currents of shaaiel will serve to lead the minions of the Great Enemy a Slaanesh a to our doorstep. We may presume that this explains the current, unusual discharge from the Eye. The darkling raids must be brought to an end. Do you understand, Shariele of the Lost Souls?a aI understand,a replied Shariele simply, bowing his head. aI can vow to be at the service of this council, as I have done many times before, but I can offer no promises of success, my lady.a He paused. aI do not think that Ulthwe has the resources to win this fight.a aYou will not be alone, warlock. The mon-keigh have been summoned to provide aid. A small squadron of their best will be here presently. You will help them to help us, Shariele.a A long moment pa.s.sed in silence as the warlock fought against his instinctive revulsion. aIf it is the will of the council,a he replied, before turning and sweeping out of the great hall.

The black Deathwatch frigate, Lance of Darkness, was one of a select few Nova-cla.s.s frigates that had been specially refitted and based at the Watchtower Fortress near Ramugan in case the Deathwatch needed to act independently of other Imperial forces. It roared through the void of real s.p.a.ce, not daring to dip into the maelstrom of the warp so close to the Eye of Terror, where the warp currents were torrentially violent and unpredictable.

In the vicinity of the Eye, even the relatively predictable s.p.a.ceways of mundane reality were treacherous. The warp could rip through the fabric of s.p.a.ce and suck a ship back into the clutches of salivating daemons. Pockets of violent energy could erupt like ma.s.sive proximity mines, exploding and showering pa.s.sing vessels with fragments of concentrated Chaos; and s.p.a.ce itself seemed to warp and shift, twisting the s.p.a.ce lanes and bending the light of the stars themselves.

Octaviusa team raced through the lashes of the Eye of Terror, engulfed in an eerie red mist that seemed to seep through millions of tiny perforations in reality itself. Warning klaxons were sounding continuously, as though the shipas machine-spirit thought that it had slipped into the warp without a Navigator to guide it. The mist appeared to be a haze of warp energy, too dispersed to penetrate or damage the Lance of Darkness, but dense enough to trick the vesselas sensors. The cloud was suspended in a bizarre middle realm between the material and immaterial dimensions.

aCaptain Octavius,a said Sergeant Pelias, stooping through the doorframe at the entrance to the control room. As he straightened up, he nodded smartly towards the hooded figure of Librarian Ashok, noting with surprise that he was still without armour, but then the sergeant turned his attention directly to Octavius. Aside from the pilot-servitor and a skeleton crew of serfs, the three Marines were alone in the low-ceilinged s.p.a.ce. Octavius was gazing out of the main viewscreen. He turned to greet Pelias as the rugged Black Consul Marine presented himself.

aAh, Sergeant Pelias. Our arrival time is estimated as one hour. Please ensure the team is ready for our landing. It would not do to be ill-prepared when we meet our new a.s.sociates.a The sergeant nodded, but the grimace that snapped across his stubble speckled and scar laced face betrayed his true feelings about the etiquette owed to the aliens. aAs you wish, captain,a he growled. He turned sharply and began to duck back under the doorframe. As he did so, a series of metal implants in the back of his neck and head glinted in the dim light.

aThe eldar gave him those,a muttered Ashok in barely audible tones, after the sergeant had vanished back into the body of the ship. The librarian knew that Octavius had noticed the metal plates.

aI am aware of the sergeantas history, Ashok,a said Octavius, turning back to the viewscreen without facing the librarian. No matter how many times it happened, he could still not shake the feeling that Ashokas abilities to read his thoughts const.i.tuted a discourtesy. He even wondered whether they compromised his command.

aReally?a Ashokas low, quiet voice sounded doubtful. aDo you know what they did to him?a aHe has never spoken of it.a There was an edge of angst in Octaviusa voice, as though he was drawing on painful memories. aI would not ask him to.a aIt is best that he does not,a said Ashok carefully.

For a moment Octavius wondered whether Ashok could see the sergeantas memories. As he gazed out of the viewscreen at the dim star that they were racing towards, he wondered what it would be like to know the memories of others. He wondered whether it was as natural to Ashok as peering into the eyes of a man and seeing the courage in his soul.

Octavius did not have to look into Peliasa mind to see what had happened to him. He had been part of the same Deathwatch mission against the Biel-Tan eldar all those years before. Octavius had watched helplessly as the aliens had dragged the unconscious Black Consul into their hovering tank after the kill-team had first made planetfall. At the end of the campaign, when the planet was finally under the complete control of the eldar and the failed Deathwatch mission was being extracted, the eldar had thrown Pelias back to them, like a fish that was too worthless to be kept.

The wounds on his neck and head, which had been inflicted on the Black Consul during his captivity, had been healed perfectly by the eldar before they returned him, but the Ordo Xenos had reopened them all to make sure that nothing had been left inside the sergeantas skull. The metal plates that now covered Peliasa neck were testament to the inability of the Inquisitionas surgeons to match the skill of the eldar. As for the details of what the eldar had done to him to inflict the wounds in the first place, not even the skills of Inquisitor Lord Guerilian had been able to extract them. However, the official mission report contained reference to an intelligence leak in the Deathwatch team as one of the factors that contributed to the failure of the mission. Pelias was not named in the report, but Octavius suspected that the eldar had been inside the sergeantas mind.

aHe is healed. There is no threat now,a stated Octavius simply. aPelias is a strong Marine and a first-cla.s.s sergeant. He is an a.s.set to our team.a Wounds like that never heal, Octavius. He harbours unspeakable pain and hatred in his mind. He may never offer his back to our eldar friends. The words eased into Octaviusa mind like a whisper.

A shiver thrilled down the captainas spine and, at first, he thought that Ashok had overstepped the line. He spun to face the librarian, who remained in the shadows against the wall, his face hidden beneath the folds of his hood, with his eyes glowing faintly.

aI felt it too, captain,a said Ashok, stepping up to Octaviusa shoulder and staring out into s.p.a.ce. aWhere is Ulthwe?a he asked.

The captain took Ashokas innocence at his word and without question. The Angels Sanguine librarian was almost a complete mystery to him, but he had learnt to trust his judgement during the campaign against the tyranids on Herodian IV. Somehow, the librarian always seemed to be just outside the team, even just out of the reach of his command. But whatever else he was, Ashok was a peerless and trustworthy warrior.

aWe donat have exact co-ordinates. It moves continuously and not always through real s.p.a.ce. Our rendezvous point appears to be in the vicinity of that dim star,a explained Octavius pointing.

Footsteps sounded behind them as one of the Marines from the transportation hold entered the control room.

aHe is here. He is alert to our presence, captain,a reported Atreus, the Blood Ravens librarian, striding into the control room alongside the other two to look out into the red-misted starscape ahead.

Octavius nodded a greeting, but Ashok did not take his eyes from the screen.

aWho is here?a asked the captain, addressing Atreus.

aUlthran,a replied Ashok without turning. aThe eldar witch lord.a aHis mind fills this quadrant. It is like a giant sensor web stretched out from Ulthwe itself. He knows that we are approaching,a continued Atreus nodding and searching the myriad stars for some sign of the ma.s.sive craftworld. aIt must be here,a he insisted. aWe should be able to see it.a Octavius nodded, realising before the team had even reached Ulthwe why Lord Seishon had insisted on the presence of two librarians on this mission. aIt is probably on the other side of that large, dim star,a he suggested, pointing at the light that he had been considering with Ashok. The colour-shift affected by the mist made it look like a red giant a a superma.s.sive star on the verge of death.

There was a moment of silence.

aThatas not a star,a said Ashok in a slow whisper.

aThatas Ulthwe,a agreed Atreus.

The lowest levels of Ulthwe were barely lit. There was just a faint pulse of light easing through the structure of the corridors, like capillaries in a bodyas extremities. Over the millennia, the eldar of Ulthwe had become accustomed to the darkness, and their eyes had developed sensitivities that found bright light shocking and even offensive. Theirs was a world of shadow and subtlety.

Many of the craftworldas greatest artists lived in the murky underworld. Trekhulir of the Glittering Dark, one of Ulthweas most famed wraithsmiths, was reputed to have refused dozens of invitations to visit the sparkling heights of the upper levels. He excused himself on the basis that his work required him to cultivate the shadows; exposure to bright light would blind him to the subtleties of tone and shade. He explained that it was only in the darkness that true beauty could be found.

The cra.s.s, brashness of bright light was the domain of the clumsy, young races of the galaxy a the tau and even the mon-keigh craved the light. For the eldar, the half-light of the shadows should be home. Even more than the other craftworlds, Ulthwe had embraced this aesthetic as though it were an indisputable aspect of their existence.

Even on Ulthwe, however, the eldar path pa.s.sed along many different roads. The nature of the eldar soul remained infinitely complex and multifarious. Darkness was not the only aspect that found a home in the labyrinthine corridors of the ma.s.sive craftworld. Shining like a beacon of purity in the very deepest levels, the Temple of the Shining Path radiated an entirely different aesthetic. The temple was a glorious construction of light, as though built from the substance of the stars themselves. Its crystalline walls refracted the light from inside into myriad colours, rendering it into a burst of brilliance, like a pearl lost in the depths of an oceanic dark.

The Aspect Warriors of the Shining Spear, bestriding their shimmering white jetbikes, flashed through the underworld of Ulthwe, policing incursions and raids. They were objects of marvel, fear and repulsion amongst the various cla.s.ses of eldar that lived in those levels. The Shining Spears brought dazzling light into the darkest realms, transforming the spirit of Ulthwe for brief moments and in tiny places as they sped through.

It was a small temple, especially compared with the ma.s.sive temple complex of the Dark Reapers, which was based thousands of metres above in the upper reaches of Ulthwe, where it complemented the atmosphere of the craftworld with its sinister blacks and dull, bone whites. Very few eldar chose to tread the path of the Shining Spear when their souls started to hear the whispering call of Kaela Mensha Khaine. Most, on Ulthwe at least, chose to immerse themselves in the shadowy mystery of the Reapers, transforming themselves into manifestations of Khaine in his darkest guise as the destroyer.