Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 4

Silence descended at last as Lelith rose to her feet and looked down at the offering. For a moment, it was not clear what the wych queen was going to do.

The expression on her face was blank and she muttered no thoughts into the darkness. The silence of the crowd shifted imperceptibly from reverence to antic.i.p.ation.

With a sudden spring, Lelith vaulted off her platform, turning and twisting through the air with exquisite ease before landing silently in front of the kneeling wyches. After a momentas delay, her retinue of succubi also launched themselves down into the arena, positioning themselves in a crescent around their suddenly exposed queen, facing out towards the a.s.sembly, daring challengers to attempt their l.u.s.tful coup.

n.o.body moved. The entire amphitheatre fell into a tense immobility.

I accept your offerings, Kroulir of desperate dark and Druqura of Forgotten Strife. Bring them to me.

There was nothing that the young wyches could do to resist the queen: her delicate yet sickly fragrance intoxicated their senses from the moment that she landed before them, and her thoughts seduced their minds like sensuous lovers, promising so much more than words.

Kroulir fought with her will, struggling to raise her head enough to catch a glimpse of the taught, pale skin that covered the queenas calves. But she could not move. For nearly a minute, she could not even breathe.

Bring them to me, coaxed Lelith in an intimate tone that only they could understand, driving them wild with unexpected emotions. She crouched down before the wyches, bringing her delicately angled face into their line of sight, making their eyes bulge with self-consciousness as they realised that they had no choice but to gaze on her.

She held out her hand. Bring them.

Kroulir nodded abruptly and held the stones out, her hands falling barely a centimetre away from the queenas skin. She dared move no closer, although everything in her being screamed at her to reach the extra distance and touch the forbidden flesh.

Very good, announced Lelith, laughing as she stood once again. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the waystones from the hands of the two wyches, just grazing their skin with her fingertips, and then sprang back up onto her ceremonial platform. She turned back to the a.s.sembly Kroulir and Druqura do honour to Hesperax. Then she turned again and vanished through an unseen doorway in the wall at the back of her platform.

Below, still kneeling on the blood soaked floor, Kroulir could not move a muscle. Her eyes were wide and wild as though something had been transformed in the shadows of her dark soul. There was a new blackness in her gaze and a pa.s.sionate craving to touch that pale skin again. There and then, with her knees drenched in blood, she vowed to serve Lelith with her last breath.

The lightless walls of her seer chamber, high up in one of the fortress towers of Sussarkhas Peak, were marked with intricate webs of runes, ancient beyond the comprehension of all but the most erudite of wyches. The walls curved gently into a sweeping circle, with the runic panels arranged in a precise configuration, designed to focus the energy flows of shaaiel into the very centre of the room. The architecture concentrated the warp and permitted Lelith to open a portal into the immaterium with little more than a thought. A secondary feature of the careful design was that it also permitted certain ent.i.ties of the warp to manifest themselves in the chamber, at least in vaporous forms and only for a brief time.

Threads of smoke and incense eased around the room, whirling and wafting freely as Lelith sat in silence. She was cross-legged with her eyes closed, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Her lips were working softly and a faint whisper curdled with the smoke, filling the room with a delicate, daemonic spirit.

As the wych queen chanted quietly, a breeze eased into the chamber, like a breath of humid air, swirling the tendrils of smoke into a veil around her. Gradually, the breeze became a wind, stirring the smoke into a mist that began to cloy against Lelithas skin. She shivered involuntarily, jerking her shoulders as though trying to shrug off an uninvited hand. As though in response, the mist started to twist and eddy in the centre of the room, pulling in the smoke in long, spiralling tendrils that dragged shimmering trails over Lelithas pale skin.

The atmosphere in the seer chamber shifted, as though perforated by a mist of shaaiel itself. The runes around the curved wall started to glow a deep red, pulsing with an inconsistent and unsteady light. As the slow, vague vortex in the heart of the room began to solidify, the pulsing runes became stronger and more intense. Threads of shaaiel began to slip and slide between the runes, cutting the wall into a matrix of segments, as though it were being dragged out of real s.p.a.ce piece by piece. After a few seconds, the fragmented wall convulsed and expanded, breaking apart to reveal a raging maelstrom of shaaiel in which the pieces seemed to hang in suspension.

Lelithas eyes flicked open, and she grimaced at the sight of her phase-shifting sanctum, caught half way between the material and immaterial realms. She may be the Wych Queen of Strife, but that did not mean that she enjoyed the slippery, oozing minions of the warp. They were a necessary evil a a temporary expedient a and one that she would rid herself of as soon as she could.

Glancing over towards the vortex of incense and warp in the centre of the misdimensioned chamber, Lelith shook her head faintly, waiting for the messenger to adopt its chosen form. It was taking its time deliberately, playing with her nerves. Lelith hated to be kept waiting, and her upper lip snarled involuntarily. She would not stand for these kinds of games from anything else. She would certainly have surgically removed any hands that had touched her skin in the familiar way that the smoke tendrils had touched her. Simply, the languorous fog offended her, and she bit down on her tongue to control her anger, drawing a bead of blood onto her perfect lips.

Eventually, a vague shape started to form in the mist. It was little more than a suggestion of a body with no face, just vapour. But Lelith recognised the shape at once and, despite her suppressed rage, her soul thrilled for a moment. She had not been expecting to see this body yet. The previous messenger had told her that she had not yet sacrificed enough souls to earn a glimpse of the princess. Clearly, something had changed a the campaign of raids on Ulthwe was paying off. For a delicious moment, Lelith wondered what she would see if she sacrificed the hundreds of souls that she kept stored in the spirit pool, hidden deep in the heart of Sussarkhas mountain.

The air in the seer chamber was filling with a sickly scent, a rich fragrance of death, and Lelith let it flow between her lips, leaving a tantalising taste on the tip of her tongue. She knew that the daemon princess could feel the contours of her mouth through the mist of incense, but the sensation was so gloriously sickening that she permitted the intrusion.

The indeterminate figure in the warp vortex emanated an indescribable violence, as though it represented merely the tip of an entire universe of pain. There was also an ineffable beauty in the air which momentarily confused the wych queen a was the daemonette attempting to seduce her, or was it the other way around?

I have come to offer my thanks, wych queen.

Lelith watched the vaguely defined lips with fascination. They emitted no sound, but the words caressed her mind with silky and treacherous affection.

There is no need for thanks a we have a bargain. Fulfilling it is an obligation, not a favour.

The gorgeous form shifted slightly in the whirl of scent and mist, and when it replied there was a trace of annoyance in its tone.

As you wish, wych. The tone was smooth and seductive, but its level of address had shifted as though frustrated that its ingratiation appeared to have failed. But you would do well to remember the terms of our bargain. These pathetic, weakling souls do not give satisfaction. There was a pause. And if I am not satisfied by your offerings, I will have to find something else to take from you, Lelith.

Despite herself, Lelith shivered. The duplicity of the temptress daemonette was not difficult to recognise, but it remained difficult to combat. The dark eldar had developed their own strategies for preserving their eternal souls, and Lelith was at the sharp end of one such deal. It was a more proactive strategy than that of the lightlings, but it carried great risks.

Anger started to build uncontrollably as Lelith realised that there was nothing she could do to this messenger apparition. And there was nothing that could be done about the terms of their contract. It was sealed millennia ago, written in blood and the essence of an Archonas soul.

Be gone, daemon! I do not need reminding of our bargain. The harvest is just beginning a you will get your souls. Fear not.

I have nothing to fear, wych. If you can fulfil our terms, I will feast. If you fail I will still feast. Fear, my beautiful Lelith, should not be unknown to you.

Be gone, snapped Lelith, unwilling to consider the daemonetteas words.

The face of the body in the vortex was still only a suggestion, but Lelith could clearly see the smile that cut through its features. As she watched, the body started to spin more and more rapidly, sucking the threads of fragrance and shaaiel into the increasingly dense whirlpool, the sickly smile still emanating into the seer chamber. With a sudden intake of breath, the chamber was empty and normal once again, with only the faint, lingering scent of death as an indication of what had happened.

Ah, Lelith. I have been waiting for you. A hologram flickered into sight where the vortex had been only moments before. It was clear, crisp and distinct, in stark contrast to the apparition of the daemonette. The figure was unmistakable. Our plans are progressing as we antic.i.p.ated.

Lelith caught her breath, composing herself instantly before the eminent if unexpected guest. Of course, old friend. The future is not such a complicated place when you work so diligently to forge it.

CHAPTER FIVE: CONVOCATION.

The Lance of Darkness was not a large vessel by the standards of the Adeptus Astartes or the Imperial Navy. Nova-cla.s.s frigates were made for speed. It was as much a gunboat as an a.s.sault craft, which was partly why the Imperial Navy was keen to see fewer of them in the a.r.s.enals of the s.p.a.ce Marines; the balance of power between the services was a precarious thing. However, its unusual range of abilities made it the ideal gunship for the Deathwatch, and the Ramugan Ordo Xenos maintained two such vessels in permanent readiness. Compared to a strike cruiser, the frigates seemed tiny, but they packed more than enough firepower to punch a squad of Deathwatch Marines deep into enemy s.p.a.ce.

Even though it was not a large vessel, the Lance of Darkness was still far too large to be held inside a station dock. Like its bigger cousins, it utilised smaller craft to shuttle personnel back and forth to other vessels or to the surfaces of planets, and it contained two Thunderhawk gunships for exactly such purposes.

Ulthwe simply swallowed it whole.

The immense docking bay doors yawned open as the frigate made its final approach to the craftworld. On the control deck, the viewscreens had been completely dominated by the ma.s.sive vessel for over half an hour. By the time the Lance of Darkness was close enough to trigger the bay doors, the bridge crew could only see a tiny fragment of Ulthwe looming before them, but it loomed vast and limitless before them. The image seemed to crack and part in the middle, as ma.s.sive shimmering doors withdrew from the s.p.a.ce, as though dissolving or withdrawing into a different realm of reality altogether. Inside was revealed a cavernous s.p.a.ce, big enough to hold a moon or a small planet.

Octavius stared. His mind was accustomed to experiencing the horrible and the terrible of the galaxy. He had watched his battle-brothers die; he had seen aliens torture his brethren, and he had tortured them in return. He had gazed into the inexplicable and infinite evil that lurked in the eyes of a tyranid hive tyrant and he had seen entire worlds burn. But the sight of Ulthwe was not something for which any of his terrible memories could have prepared him.

With his helmet tucked under his arm ready to lead the landing party, Octavius stared, unblinking, and his complex blue eyes sparkled with awe. There were dozens of ships harboured in that cavernous s.p.a.ce, perhaps hundreds. And they were not all the tiny, rapid-strike fighters that he might have expected to see docked internally. There were larger vessels too, ships much bigger than the Lance of Darkness, sleek and beautiful in ways that the Imperium could neither understand nor hope to imitate.

Straining his eyes into the distance, and taxing his memory for the unusual cla.s.s names, Octavius thought that he could see Aurora and Solaris cruisers in dry dock. Even further away, so far that he found it hard to believe that he was perceiving the distance correctly, Octavius thought that he caught a glimpse of a Void Stalker battleship a such vessels had only rarely been encountered by the Imperial Navy and never with favourable results for the Imperium. It was like an entire fleet, waiting to be born out into the cold void of s.p.a.ce. Given that, why in the Emperoras name did the Ulthwe need the Deathwatch?

Standing beside him, Librarian Atreus saw the look of wonder and concern on his captainas face.

aI have heard of this place,a he began in a low voice, as though conscious that he should not shatter the magic of the moment. aThe great s.p.a.ce-dock of Calmainoc. It does not literally exist within the confines of Ulthwe. The bay doors open into a kind of warp portal, hardwired into the structure of the craftworld itself. The portal is indistinguishable and inseparable from the main doors. The harbour, however, could be anywhere in the galaxy, or even beyond it. Only the ways in and out are in Ulthwe, which is effectively the same as having it here all the time a His voice trailed off, as though in wonder, as he recalled the ancient librarium of the Omnis Arcanum in which he had read the forbidden knowledge. aI had never thought to actually see this place.a Octavius nodded abruptly, ending his own reverie and forcing Atreus out of his. aThank you, librarian, but it is of no matter. We must expect that the aliens will do things differently from us, but we must constantly keep our purpose before us. We are here to fulfil an Imperial vow, not to marvel at the artifice of these xenos. Their s.p.a.ce port is of no concern to us. Its purpose is to permit us to dock, so dock we shall.a aYes captain,a replied Atreus, noting the resolve that had flooded over Octaviusa face.

aThe others are ready, I presume?a Other than the serfs, the two Marines were alone on the control deck. Even if he had not expected to see any of the others before landing, Octavius was surprised that Ashok had not returned to the bridge after donning his armour.

aThey stand ready.a aLibrarian Ashok?a aHe is preparing himself in the chapel, captain. None have disturbed him.a Octavius held the librarianas gaze for a moment, as though searching for words unspoken. He wondered what the Blood Raven thought of the missionas other librarian, but he knew that the pause suggested his own indecision. aVery good, Atreus,a he said finally.

The mon-keigh vessel was ugly beyond imagination. Dhrykna had seen similar ships before, but invariably from a distance and they were usually in flames. This was certainly the first time that she had ever seen one easing into a berth in Calmainocas bay. It was not a very large ship, but somehow it conspired to be hulking and c.u.mbersome, like a blunt a.s.sault on the senses. It was coloured in a pitch shade of black, but not of the depthless and utterly colourless variety familiar to the eldar of Ulthwe. This black was material and heavy, as though it were intertwined with the force of gravity itself. Despite her intense self-discipline, Dhrykna squinted in displeasure: the presence of the mon-keigh was simply offensive.

Looking to her left, the Shining Spear could see the rest of the reception committee in a loose line. Except for Thaeaakzi herself, they all emanated a restrained disgust at the sight before them. Dhrykna could taste it in the air, as though it was the intense humidity of a diseased jungle. In comparison to the boxy, lumbering bulk of the Lance of Darkness, the group of eldar felt like angels or deities. They were like dark, slender G.o.ds, watching the approach of lesser animals.

For a moment, Dhrykna dropped her eyes to her feet and saw her new boots as though for the first time. They shone with pristine whiteness, rimmed with a line of silver-blue, glittering against the dark, shimmering wraithbone deck. In that instant, she forgot all about the approaching mon-keigh and the gathering darkness in Ulthwe, and all she could see was the brilliant light of Khaineas lightning spear. She knew that she stood out from the darkly clad reception committee like a lonely star in the void of s.p.a.ce. Even the Emerald Seer must appear dull and tame in comparison, like a shadow of her own magnificence. The Shining Path permits no shadows, recalled Dhrykna.

A faint hissing sound drew Dhrykna out of her reverie, and she looked up to see the boarding bridge extending out towards the mon-keigh vessel. She never ceased to marvel at the way those bridges reached literally light years from the edge of the dock to the airlocks of the berthed vessels, yet they may appear to be only a hundred metres long. Even the wraithsmiths of Ulthwe had lost the techniques required to reconstruct such incredible devices, bridges that actually spanned the galaxy via a specially contained glitch in the webway. Even repairs taxed the limits of their skills a so far had the eldar fallen.

The mon-keigh vessel might really be drawing to a standstill around a distant star, but it was also dropping its landing ramp down onto the bridge in the very heart of Ulthwe. The contradictions were mind-blowing even for Dhrykna, and she smiled when she wondered how the primitive brains of the mon-keigh would struggle with the concepts involved. Fifty confident strides from the edge of the jetty to the flank of the Lance of Darkness may mask an incalculably large distance.

The hissing bridge clicked finally into place, locking into the side of the mon-keigh frigate just below the access ramp. Immediately, the ramp clunked and detached from the ship, lowering slowly and mechanically until it clanked against the surface of the bridge. Steam jetted out from behind the ramp, wafting up into the unreal atmosphere of Calmainocas bay like smog from a primitive factory, blurring the stars and lights that seemed to blink throughout the dock behind. Dhrykna snarled in repulsion, and she could sense the revulsion oozing out of the minds of the rest of the reception committee. Warlock Shariele had good control of his emotions immediately on Dhryknaas left, and it was often impossible to perceive the thoughts of Thaeaakzi, but the retinue of Black Guardians could not suppress their disgust and Ruhklo of the Karizhariat made no attempt to hide his detestation. The mood was dark and riddled with resentment when the mon-keighas airlock finally ground open and the eldar caught their first glimpse of their guests.

As the billows of steam gradually dissipated, the silhouette of a heavy, powerful figure became visible in the opening. It seemed motionless, like a statue or a monument to the crude, bulky magnificence of the Imperial creed. Despite herself, Dhrykna found a spark of admiration prodding into her consciousness. The sheer physical presence of the mon-keigh weighed into her thoughts, impressing her with a sense of power that she had not antic.i.p.ated from the primitive species. A starburst of bright yellow flashed through the vaporous air, emanating from one of the ma.s.sive shoulders of the impressive Marine as he vaulted down out of the Lance of Darkness. His heavy boots crunched down onto the wraithbone bridge, sending waves of vibrations pulsing through its structure, as though that delicate sliver of Ulthwe was repulsed by the touch.

Dhrykna glanced down at her armoured boots once again, admiring the glittering and deceptively delicate psycho-plastic material. Even as she looked, she could feel the impact of the s.p.a.ce Marineas footfalls pulsing under her soles. Even their feet are heavy and ugly, she thought.

But they are strong. The thoughts were quiet, like a psychic whisper.

Yes, Emerald Seer, I can feel their power even now.

The Marine strode confidently across the wraithbone drawbridge towards the reception committee, its feet clanking and echoing throughout the unreal vastness of the dock. It did not even pause to wait for its brethren to fall into formation behind it, although it would probably be able to hear the thuds as several similar figures dropped out of its ship in its wake.

As the Marine approached, Dhrykna realised that its face was completely hidden behind an armoured helmet that appeared to be integrated into the structure of its armour. Except for the patch of bright yellow on one shoulder, the armour itself was coloured in the same primitive but menacing black as the frigate from which the Marine had emerged. As far as she could work out, the armour was adorned with various kinds of simple purity seals, holsters for weapons, and also powered servos. Despite its c.u.mbersome design, it looked like it might be an effective tool for a warrior. She had come across s.p.a.ce Marines before, of course, but she had never looked at them with curiosity in her heart before, only with hate and loathing.

The leading Marine stopped short of the eldar committee, standing with its feet set solidly apart and its head held confidently, just at the point where the bridge met the main jetty. It was fractionally too far away from the eldar for them to deliver their carefully rehea.r.s.ed greetings, and Dhrykna could detect a slight irritation flickering through the minds of her comrades. They suspected that the Marine was slighting them deliberately. It was the kind of subtlety that they had not expected from the mon-keigh.

As it stood motionless, five other black-clad Marines strode up behind it, taking up a formation that resembled a bristling armoured wall. They were a motley a.s.sortment of shapes, but each of them looked powerful and solid in a way quite alien to the eldar. One of them appeared to have some kind of jump pack fused to its back. Another bore a bizarre and grotesque mask that distorted its helmet into a vision of horror. One was at the centre of a series of twitching mechanical arms that seemed integrated into its armour. But, standing before the eldar, each one of the mon-keigh warriors in their power armour appeared formidably solid and ma.s.sive, dwarfing the delicate and slender sons of Asuryan.

The Marines did not advance; they showed no sign of trying to interact at all.

The minds of the eldar shifted uneasily, although their bodies betrayed nothing of their irritation. As they gazed in silence at the mon-keigh that had been permitted to tread the sacred wraithbone of Calmainocas dock, the eldar began to see something unexpected in amongst the aliens.

Even Dhrykna could see the disciplined and controlled psychic halo that emanated from one of the Marines behind the leader. She had heard that not all the mon-keigh were equally psychically stunted, but it had never even occurred to her that those with the power would serve those without. It seemed incredible to her, and her mind rebelled against the unreason of it. Even as she watched, another thump on the bridge made her snap her attention back towards the Lance of Darkness, where a seventh mon-keigh warrior rose slowly to his feet.

The Marine that strode up the causeway was ablaze with psychic energy. It just poured out of him, as though it ran through his veins and eased out of the pores in his skin. It was the only one of the aliens that did not hide its face behind the armoured panels of a helmet. Instead, a heavy hood shaded the features of its face, and a long cloak plumed out behind it as it walked.

For a moment, Dhrykna wondered how the rest of the mon-keigh could live knowing that superior specimens like this existed in their midst. The blind fools could not even see the brilliance in its soul. Its light was invisible to them. The last Marine was certainly no eldar, but it emanated a rare power that even the eldar would have to acknowledge, although it flickered with a barely contained radiance. It was of a completely different nature from the tightly controlled halo of the first mon-keigh psyker. Dhrykna had not expected to encounter such a presence, and she wondered whether the Seer Council had foreseen the involvement of two mon-keigh psykers in the heart of Ulthwe.

As the remarkable last Marine drew into formation with its brethren, behind its leader, Thaeaakzi the Emerald Seer finally and softly stood forward of the eldar committee, her light robes fluttering in an invisible breeze. She nodded her head in the suggestion of a bow before straining her face into a series of unnatural contortions as she strove to give voice to the ugly, guttural sounds of the mon-keigh tongue. She knew that there was no way that the primitives would be able to approximate the elegant and musical tones of an eldar language. It was not a question of meeting them halfway; she would have to meet them almost entirely on their own terms.

aWelcome here you are,a she said, stilted and uncomfortable.

As he strode across the alien bridge, Octavius tried to absorb the magnitude of the dock that opened out around him like the void of s.p.a.ce. It was as though he was walking along a hairline gangplank between a gunship and a frigate, not striding across a docking jetty in the interior of a gargantuan craft. For a moment he caught himself wondering at the technology a what kind of material could reach seamlessly through the warp as though it were simply stretched across a docking bay?

This, he supposed, must be wraithbone, drawn out of the warp itself. He had seen small pieces of it before, of course, but he had never thought that entire architectural structures might be constructed out of it. Glancing down at his feet, he wondered what would happen to him when he crossed the invisible boundary between the distant docking s.p.a.ce and the interior of the craftworld.

He shut the thought out a it was irrelevant to the mission. The matter at hand was the first meeting with the eldar. The scholarly and well-informed Librarian Atreus had suggested to Octavius that he should not approach them directly, but to stop short of their position and to make them come to him. It would be interpreted as a sign of the teamas resolve. It would show that they were not intimidated by the Ulthwe. If he stopped too far away, however, this might be seen as unseemly arrogance. Behind his visor, Octavius clenched his jaw, already irritated by the ritualistic subtleties of the eldar.

Glancing up to where the eldar were waiting in a line, Octavius thought that the welcoming committee looked feeble. Inside his helmet, he ground his teeth in frustrated repulsion and disappointment. The eldar dignitaries were tall, but they were slim and looked fragile. Octavius felt certain that he could break one of them in half over his knee if he had to. It was a rea.s.suring thought, as he stopped walking a few strides short of their position.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. The eldar stood motionless, staring at him as though expecting him to do something else. Octavius just waited. Atreus had told him that it would be worse to reposition himself after stopping than simply to stop in the wrong place. To move in response to an uncomfortable silence would suggest weakness or, even worse, might be interpreted as manipulative. The Imperial Fists captain held his ground as the rest of the team strode up behind him, taking their positions in a crescent around his back. Octavius could hear their footfalls all the way along the bridge, but they checked in over the vox-links in their helmets nonetheless.

aAshok?a queried Octavius in little more than a whisper, never taking his eyes off the aliens in front of him.

aOn his way, captain.a It was Atreus. aHe was not quite finished in the chapel.a Hidden behind the darkly tinted visor of his helmet, Octavius squinted slightly, letting his frustrations spill over onto his face for just a moment. He regretted the instant of weakness at once, immediately recomposing his features and his thoughts, conscious all the time that the eldar might not need to see his face to understand his emotions. It would not do for their hosts to perceive any problems in the team, especially when Octavius himself was not even sure whether there actually were any problems or not.

Despite his mysterious behaviour, Octavius realised that he trusted the librarian from the Angels Sanguine. Just as the thought entered his head, Octavius heard the crunch of Ashokas boots. .h.i.tting the bridge behind him, and the solid rhythmic impacts of him striding up to join the others.

A slight movement amongst the a.s.sembled eldar drew Octavius back into the uncomfortable reality of the situation. He could not tell which of them had moved, but they seemed to emanate an aura of agitation, as though they were shifting their feet without actually moving. The line contained an interesting array of cla.s.sificatory types: Octavius recognised the image of an eldar witch-seer in long flowing, green robes a a aseera. There was another seer, a male, garbed in a cloak that Octavius struggled to resolve in the dim light a it might have been black or midnight blue, and it made him uncomfortable to look at it for too long; there was a male war-witch, or awarlocka, dressed in sinister black armour which was decorated with hundreds of eldar runes and there was a line of warriors, set out in the black and gold armour that characterised the so-called aBlack Guardiansa of Ulthwe. Only one of the group was not shrouded in dark colours or oppressive auras, and she stood to one side of the line, stunningly beautiful and radiant in pristine white and silver-blue. She was like an angel in the darkness, and Octavius had to force himself to cast his gaze away from her as the emerald seer stepped forward.

Octavius watched as the seer closed the gap to a single stride. Then she stopped, satisfied apparently that they were now close enough for the greetings to commence. She narrowed her eyes in what looked like disdain or pain, and then she spoke with such an inhuman voice that it sent a chill to the back of Octaviusa eyes.

aWelcome here you are.a aWe are not here for your welcome, nor are we here at your pleasure. We are here out of duty,a replied Octavius dismissively, as his mind reeled against the incongruence of the eldaras words. It had not even occurred to him that the eldar would be able to speak in the tongues of the Imperium, and he realised at the same time that he had given no thought to the problem of communication. Perhaps Librarian Atreus had a command of the Ulthwe tongue, he wondered, realising that the eldaras linguistic knowledge put his team at a disadvantage.

aThen your duty us honours,a answered the seer with a slight, stiff bow. She was clearly trying to make this encounter as smooth as possible.

aYes,a nodded Octavius curtly. She was right, he thought. The presence of the Deathwatch does far too much honour to the eldar of Ulthwe. He was not about to deny it, not even for the sake of diplomacy. If the mission had called for a diplomat, Vargas would have sent an inquisitor with them. Diplomacy was not what the Deathwatch did best.

The green eldar witch grimaced slightly, as though trying to smile. Her half-closed eyes flashed between long eyelashes. At the same time, the other eldar seemed to twitch and shift their feet. A couple of them turned their heads to look back into the interior of the craftworld, as though eager to leave. Octavius shivered, feeling a pulse of iced electricity shimmering through his spine.

aCaptain,a hissed Atreusa whispering voice into Octaviusa ear. aI feel it too.a aWhat is it?a aIam not sure. It may be some kind of alarm.a A violent spike of cold jabbed into Octaviusa body, making him stagger slightly. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, steadying his balance and filling him with rea.s.surance.

aIt is an alert, captain.a The deep voice and firm grip belonged to Ashok. aThe eldar have detected an intrusion. We may discover our purpose here sooner than expected.a Abruptly, the Black Guardians that stood amongst the welcoming committee nodded swift bows before turning and running back towards the huge elliptical doors that sealed off the docking bay. As they approached, the doors slid silently open, revealing a bank of jetbikes waiting on the far side. As one, the eldar warriors vaulted into the saddles and kicked their vehicles into life, flashing off into the interior of Ulthwe, gone in an instant.

aWell?a asked Octavius bluntly, directing his inquiry towards the emerald seer who remained before him. aIs there anything you think you should be telling me?a The female seer hesitated for a moment, apparently unsure whether to explain what was happening. She looked back over her shoulder at the two jetbikes that remained just beyond the docking bay doors.

aViolation lower levels we have detected,a she said, turning her face back to Octavius. Your psykers detected our alarm? She added, pushing the thoughts gently into the captainas head. She was surprised, and then she was shocked. You also felt it?

aIs this why we are here, eldar?a asked Octavius, ignoring the intrusions into his mind. He did not want to become embroiled in eldar mind games. If this aviolationa was why he had brought his team into the clutches of these aliens, then he wanted to see his duty done.

aIt is not and it is, human,a answered Thaeaakzi, c.o.c.king her head slightly to one side, as though curious about the motivation of the mon-keigh. Her deep green eyes gazed at the captainas visor, and for a moment Octavius wondered whether she could see straight through it.

aWhich is it?a he asked.

The seer did not reply. Instead, she smiled faintly and turned to face the glittering white warrior behind her, muttering something unintelligible. She then addressed some quick remarks to the warlock in the retinue. Both bowed deeply, turned and strode off towards the last remaining jetbikes.

aIf vehicles you have able to keep up, follow Dhrykna and Shariele. Show you the violators they will,a said the seer, turning her eyes back to Octavius.

Octavius made no direct response. He simply turned and strode back towards the Lance of Darkness, followed by the rest of the Deathwatch kill-team. They climbed back up the loading ramp, which clanked shut behind them. After a few seconds, a huge hatch cracked open in the side of the frigate and a long, heavy ramp rumbled out towards the wraithbone bridge. Steam and vapour clouds billowed out, and then an immense roar of power erupted from within the Nova-cla.s.s frigate.

Standing with Ruhklo on the jetty of Calmainocas dock, Thaeaakzi raised an eyebrow as she watched the first black a.s.sault bike lurch out of the mon-keigh vessel, clearing the ramp as it growled through the air, crunching down onto the walkway, its fat tyres almost as wide as the wraithbone bridge itself. Several more bikes roared out of the Lance of Darkness in the wake of the first one, and a hovering land speeder took up the rear.

aWe will keep up, but we will not wait for your guides, eldar,a snarled Octavius as he slid his bike to a halt next to the green-robed seer, while the rest of his team pulled up in formation around him, the powerful engines of their bikes growling and snarling like beasts straining at their leashes.

Myriad emotions spiralled through Dhryknaas mind as she flashed through the pa.s.sageways just outside Calmainocas bay. Her heart felt satisfied, hungry and nauseated all at once. She was astride one of the glittering white jetbikes of the Shining Spears, burning like a beacon of hope in the dark corridors, flanked by the black and silver form of Sharieleas bike, which appeared as little more than a shadow of her own. This was her, and she was true to herself as a manifestation of the light of Khaine, but there was something hollow about her context, as though she were rattling around within the emptiness of an Ulthwe devoid of substance.

She hungered for the time when the eldar of this craftworld would no longer hide in the shadows, and her spirit swam in her speciesa memory of a distant past when the eldar stood proudly in the light, shrinking from nothing. But her reveries were shattered by the blunt, roaring gravity of the mon-keigh that sped along in her wake, throwing their stinking, primitive machines around the sweeping bends and tight corners of Ulthweas labyrinthine corridors. Could there be a more stark reminder of what Ulthwe had become? It made her sick just to think about it.

Up ahead, around a couple more corners, Dhrykna knew that the Black Guardians would have activated Ghreivanas Gate, one of several hundred such portals that were strewn throughout the immense structure of the craftworld. It was an access point into the intricate lattice of warp routes that the original architects of Ulthwe had hardwired into the infrastructure, permitting those who understood the complexities of its function to travel almost instantaneously between different parts of the vessel.

It was another example of a technology that the wraithsmiths of Ulthwe could no longer duplicate. They knew enough to utilise the functions of the matrix, but not enough to expand it into newly constructed areas of the craftworld. Dhrykna had heard that pa.s.sing through these internal portals actually immersed travellers in the infiniteness of the Ulthwe spirit pool a the infinity circuit itself. She shuddered as she realised that the mon-keigh chasing her through the shadowy pa.s.sageways would probably become the first ever to touch the fabric of Ulthweas soul, and they had no idea of the magnitude of their honour or of the terrible pollution that they brought into the very heart of her world.