Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 6

From the other side of the great hall, intense blasts of energy were still arching between the pillars as Ashok stood his ground and unleashed his psychic fury, punching his rage into the flailing bodies of the slender aliens as the force ripped them off their sky-boards and sent them tumbling to their deaths.

The hall was transformed into a deathtrap, with projectiles pinging rapidly between the innumerable pillars, with bolter sh.e.l.ls exploding into shrapnel, and great sheets of psychic fire interweaving the carnage. The surviving dark eldar responded by dropping their skyboards down low to the ground and using them to skim along the surface in rapid attack runs.

The kill-team regrouped into a circle around the pillar that Kruidan had crashed into a he was back on his feet with his bolter and chainsword brandished, and with his boots coated in the thick ichor of the pulverised alien that had broken his fall. The team kept the pillar at their backs as they fended off the swooping h.e.l.lion raiders. On the far side of the hall, Octavius could see that Ashok was still standing alone, he did not have time to work out whether he should praise the Angel Sanguine for his valour or condemn him for his failure to play in the team. Either way, the librarian was succeeding in dividing the attentions of the h.e.l.lions, so Octavius was pleased that he was there.

aWhere is that warlock?a snarled Pelias, stepping forward of the defensive ring as he parried a swooping blade with the barrel of his bolter. In the same movement, he deflected the blade of the h.e.l.lglaive down next to the feet of the h.e.l.lion, driving it into the structure of the skyboard itself. The fragile vehicle sparked and whinnied, bucking its rider before spiralling off into a fireball against one of the other columns. The rider crashed to the ground at Peliasa feet and, without hesitation, the Black Consul tugged his combat knife out of the holster in his boot and drove it into the alienas throat.

aThe eldar are nowhere,a growled Sulphus, three bolters coughing simultaneously from one organic and two mechanical arms.

aWe should not place our faith in the aliens, brothers,a yelled Luthar over the din. aFaith is reserved for the Emperor. Ask rather where are our souls!a As he spoke, the chaplain took a mighty swing with his crozius arcanum, bringing it up in a powerful arc that met the front of an incoming skyboard. There was an explosion of blue power as the h.e.l.lion stopped abruptly and was thrown back by the impact. The skyboard simply shattered, and its rider skidded to the ground beyond it. Even as it tried to climb to its feet, Kruidan and Pelias both levelled their bolters and shredded it with a concentrated volley of fire.

aThere!a cried Atreus, jabbing the direction with the tip of his staff.

Without releasing the pressure of his trigger finger, Octavius glanced over towards the far side of the cavernous chamber. He could see Ashok running with his staff spinning into a sphere of pristine energy around him. He could see a line of speeding Reavers in front of the librarian emerging out of the shadows of a wide side pa.s.sage, heading directly at him with their nose mounted splinter cannons flaring. Behind them, he could see a formation of Ulthwe jetbikes in pursuit, including the dazzling white form of the female warrior and the menacing visage of the warlock.

Even as he watched, Octavius saw Ashok sidestep the first Reaver, bringing his staff crashing down onto its nosecone as it flashed past him. Without pausing to watch the dark eldar vehicle spark and convulse with explosions, ploughing spectacularly into the deck, Ashok spun and brought his searing staff around in a wide horizontal sweep, smashing it into the path of a second Reaver, which detonated ma.s.sively, obscuring the entire scene behind a mushrooming cloud of brilliant light for several seconds.

As the cloud cleared, the remaining Reavers burst out of it, weaving in and out of the pillars in the great hall, flashing through the s.p.a.ce towards one of the arches on the other side. Even from that distance, Octavius could see that the dark eldar riders had prisoners bound, gagged and secured to the back of their vehicles, where they also served as an extra layer of organic armour. In close pursuit went the Ulthwe jetbikes; the white rider was far out in front, manoeuvring her bike with breathtaking skill and grace a she brought down two more of the Reavers before they vanished again into the darkness of the infrastructural tunnels.

Scanning back to the site of the first two explosions, Octavius could no longer see Ashok. He was gone.

Throwing her weight to one side, she made the jetbike bank and start to roll, but by gunning the engine she held the angle and brought the machine upright again, even closer to the fleeing Reaver that flashed in between the great pillars of Khalandhrielas Hall. Lying flat over the fuel tank, Dhrykna willed her shining bike to even greater speeds. She could see the p.r.o.ne body of a ceremonial dancer from the local eldar community strapped across the back of the darklingas ride, and she was determined not to bring the wretched machine down until she had rescued the prisoner.

The darkling was good, weaving and darting between the columns with consummate ease. Despite the severity of the situation, Dhrykna thrilled at the challenge, and she could feel the air of contemptuous pleasure flooding back from the darkling in his backwash, as though he was enjoying it too. She grinned, pushing the shimmering white bike to even faster speeds and gaining another few metres on the meandering darkling. It was exactly for moments such as this that she had wanted to rejoin the Shining Path. This was what she had been born for, flashing through the shadows like the spear of Khaine in the service of Ulthwe.

As the distance closed almost to within reach of a harpoon grappler, Dhrykna looked ahead, antic.i.p.ating the future course of the chase before committing herself to trying to recover the dancer. A flare of light in the middle distance caught her eye, distracting her from the chase for a moment. She cursed under her breath as she realised that the distance to her quarry had stretched even in that briefest of instants. Inhaling sharply, she willed an extra burst of speed and raced after the Reaver again, sc.r.a.ping past the next few pillars so closely that she left fragments of paint etched into them.

But there was something about that burst of light up ahead that Dhrykna could not ignore. Even as she focused all of her attention on the speeding darkling raider, part of her mind kept replaying the flare over and over again, as though trying to discern more details in a slow motion replay. Before she could work it out, the present interrupted her attempts to a.n.a.lyse the past and the Reaver in front of her suddenly coughed and sparked, decelerating sharply as though struck from the front, where an intense burst of light had suddenly erupted.

Dhrykna had to bank sharply to the side to avoid smashing into the back of the hobbled Reaver as its nose dipped and ploughed into the ground, digging a trench in the polished floor of Khalandhrielas Hall. As she rolled her bike she craned her neck back round to see what had happened to her darkling.

Prey-Standing in a ferocious halo of light was one of the mon-keigh warriors, its force staff still ablaze with power, the edges of its heavy hood crackling with blue flames, and its eyes alight with a terrible red glow. Even a she watched, it brought its staff down from the point where it had struck the speeding Reaver, and the mon-keigh psyker spun on its heel, bringing the staff around in a surprisingly graceful curve until it smashed into the front of another Reaver, exploding it instantly.

Although she would be giving the remaining Reavers a lead, the Shining Spear pulled her bike around in a tight curve, peeling off to the side and circling back to retrace her path through the glittering fireball that now engulfed the two downed Reavers. As she flew through the flames it became clear that the prisoners tied to the back of the two darkling vessels were dead; their bodies were broken and twisted unnaturally, and their skin was already ruined by the fire. Dhryknaas eyes narrowed as she realised that the mon-keigh had killed the dancers along with the darklings. They narrowed even further when she realised that that mon-keigh psyker had vanished. She had known from the start that the psyker was going to cause problems.

Lifting her head and pressing herself low over the body of her bike, she opened the throttle as far as it would go and flashed off in pursuit of the remaining Reavers, her fury dripping out behind her like fuel from a faulty afterburner. If she could not vent her pa.s.sion against the mon-keigh, at least she could show the darklings the meaning of death.

There was so little light in the corridors that even Ashokas enhanced occulobes struggled to resolve the images around him. The narrow, winding pa.s.sageways were in stark contrast to the ma.s.sive, expansive open s.p.a.ces in which the Deathwatch had fought its first two encounters. The librarian could see and hear the impacts and concussions of combat behind him, but he felt sure that Octavius had the situation under control. The h.e.l.lions were all but defeated already, and the Ulthwe jetbikes were dealing with the Reavers. He a.s.sured himself that his absence would not be missed, even if it would be noticed.

The lower levels of Ulthwe were like a maze, riddled with ventilation ducts and service tunnels, all of them shrouded in the oppressive weight of shadows. With a whisper, Ashok set a light flickering on the tip of his force staff, spreading a bluish glow through the pa.s.sageway. He paused to take in the scene and then extinguished the light a there was nothing worthy of his attention in the cramped corridor, and the light would serve only to attract the attention of others. The Ulthwe would be distracted by the raids for only so long, and Ashok was keen to have reached his target before that moment came. It was not often that one of the Emperoras librarians found himself alone and free in the bowels of an eldar craftworld.

After a few more steps, Ashok came to a junction in the pa.s.sage. It split in five directions a a regular cross-roads but with an extra corridor opening out of the ceiling and heading up into the higher reaches of the craftworldas infrastructure. Crouching slightly, the Angel Sanguine sprang into the air, catching hold of the lip of the tunnel with one hand and swinging himself up into it. He needed to go up a he was not going to find what he was looking for down in the lowest dumps of Ulthwe.

Thereafter the corridors all angled upwards, sloping up towards the interior of the alien world, like tunnels into the centre of a planet. Whenever he came to a junction, Ashok selected the route that was most steeply angled or the one that he thought headed most directly towards the geometric heart of the craftworld itself. In the back of his mind, he was drawing a complex and intricate map of his route, hoping that he would be able to find his way back down to the depths once he was finished up there. After a while, however, he began to curse. He had presumed that even the service tunnels of the immense craftworld would contain versions of the infinity portals that the Deathwatch had used to get from Calmainocas dock. It was impossible to believe that service personnel had to travel the incredible distances through the vast vessel in the normal way a it would simply take too long, and Ulthwe would be gradually rotting from the outside in. There had to be shortcuts and portals, even in these cramped and shadowy pa.s.sages.

Just as he was beginning to think that his human logic had failed him and caused him to misunderstand the rationale of the aliens, Ashok emerged into a wide, quasi-spherical chamber, which appeared to function as a confluence point in the midst of the local service systems. The mouths of tunnels and pa.s.sageways yawned into it from all directions, some dropping away from the floor and others vanishing up into the ceiling. It was some kind of hub.

More interesting than the mult.i.tude of tunnels, however, were the circular pools of shimmering liquid that were held in glistening frames next to each of the tunnel-mouths. Instinctively, Ashokas hand dropped to the pouch on his belt, tapping it to ensure that he had neither forgotten nor lost anything on his way. There would be no point in continuing if he had.

With another silent whisper, Ashok sent a gentle bluish light through the spherical chamber, as he climbed down into the bowl-like floor. The liquefied portals reflected and refracted the light, filling the s.p.a.ce with a subtle spectrum of dancing colours. In his mind, the librarian could hear the faint whispering of voices that he could not understand. They wafted out of the portals, churning and curdling the air in the spherical chamber, concentrating themselves in the epicentre above Ashokas head, as though conducted there by the architecture itself. Closing his eyes, Ashok could hear beckonings and repulsions, temptations and revulsions, each pulling at his soul and competing for the attention of his alien mind. The disembodied voices knew that he was there, and their hostility was plain, even if it was often cloaked and subtle. Their emotive mutterings had insanity and death in mind.

Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts, Ashok surveyed the various pa.s.sageways and portals. One of them was bound to take him in the right direction. Checking back into the spirit pool that churned and rippled next to the tunnel from which he had just emerged, he could sense an image of flashing lights and violence ebbing and flowing in its depths. It was not the past that he saw, but rather it was the present a that direction would take him back towards the ongoing fight with the dark eldar. He nodded with satisfaction, turning and striding towards one of the pools on the opposite side of the spherical chamber. He did not want to go back, at least not yet.

In the depths of one pool he saw a congregation of eldar warriors, each kneeling to the ground with their heads bowed, and with one fist punched defiantly into the deck. In another he saw a dazzling, crystalline light, refracted and split into myriad colours but somehow organised into a palace or temple that seemed to have been constructed out of light itself.

Finally, in one of the portals that curved up into the ceiling, Ashok saw what he had been looking for. The image was muddied by a shroud of darkness and blurred by the ripples that pulsed across its liquid surface, but Ashok was certain that he perceived it correctly. There was a giant and ornate gate, surrounded on all sides by ancient runic texts inscribed into the wraithbone frame of the gate itself. He could feel a cold pulse of horror wash out of the little portal in front of him as soon as his mind turned to it. Something in Ulthwe knew where he was going, and it was not happy about it at all. Smiling slightly at the thought, Ashok vaulted up towards the shimmering pool. Catching hold of the bottom of the frame that contained it, he hung there for a moment before swinging his legs up around his head and plunging himself into the rippling image.

Leaving the smoke- and debris-filled Khalandhrielas Hall far behind, the gallery stretched on forever, its highly polished wraithbone structure reflecting itself into an infinity of regressions. It was flanked on both sides by low columns that twisted and spiralled around each other, as though they were merely threads in the weave of a giant fabric. The effect was to psychologically shrink the people that walked along the elegant corridor, making them feel like little more than microscopic organisms burrowing through the clothes of an infinitely superior being.

Striding along behind the pristine white female and the sinister warlock, Octavius surveyed his surroundings without betraying any emotion at all. He was quite used to grand locations and magnificent s.p.a.ces. As a captain in the Imperial Fists, he had become acquainted with many of the most auspicious structures in the Imperium. He had maintained close connections with several arms of the Administratum and with various factions within the Imperial Navya he had used the tremendous influence of the Imperial Fists to negotiate the fabled Truce of Gohliath, bringing a viciously evangelical local branch of the Ecclesiarchy to the conference table in the legendary palace on Gohliath IV.

It was said that Rogal Dorn himself had once used that magnificent hall for volatile and delicate talks with Guilliman and Perturabo, the primarchs of the Ultramarines and the Iron Warriors. Octavius was well accustomed to the grandeur of magnificent structures, but there was something profoundly different about this long, interwoven hallway.

As the unlikely group of eldar and s.p.a.ce Marines reached the midway point in the corridor, Octavius realised what had been niggling at his thoughts: there were no pictures or frescoes along the walls or on the ceiling. In the great halls of the Imperium, all of the walls would proudly sport the portraits of magnificent, lost warriors, or would boast frescoes depicting scenes from the glorious battles of the past. The walls of the hallways of Phalanx were virtually invisible behind the stern and heroic faces of Chapter Masters and valiant captains. Even the majestic corridors of Gohliathas Palace and the incredible vaulted ceilings of the Imperial Palace on Terra itself were teeming with images of honour and glory. Every inch was decorated to the point of gothic splendour. But here, in the hallway leading to the Chamber of the Seer Council of Ulthwe, the surfaces were without such ornamentation. They were immaculately smooth and polished to such a l.u.s.tre that they were almost iridescent. Yet they were not plain, and they were certainly not without interest. There were patterns and images swirling through the substance of the wraithbone itself, like wisps of life dancing and playing in a realm that was not quite present but not entirely absent either.

Walking through the glorious hallway was akin to striding through an aesthetic experience a the hall happened as Octavius experienced it. It was not a static monument, but rather an ongoing experience. For a moment, the Imperial Fists captain wondered whether the rest of his team was experiencing the s.p.a.ce in the same way, or whether an aspect of his experience was entirely his own.

Casting his gaze to one side, he could see the confident and powerful figures of Atreus and Pelias striding along behind him, showing no signs of being affected by the breathtaking edifice around them. They were well trained.

Not for the first time, Octavius wondered where Ashok was.

Stop. The thought was a clumsy command and Octavius could feel the discomfort from his team behind him. Their boots sc.r.a.ped against the smooth ground, as though s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g themselves into the floor for extra grip in case further insults followed. Out the corner of his eye, Octavius could see that Peliasa hand had dropped to the hilt of his bolter.

The group had reached the end of the long hallway, and they were confronted with a door of epic proportions, tall and slender like the eldar themselves. Like the rest of the corridor, the door showed no obvious signs of decoration or ornamentation, yet it seemed to exude a kind of ineffable beauty. Looking more closely at its structure, Octavius realised that it appeared to be incredibly thin, almost like gla.s.s. He wondered how much it weighed and how much damage it could withstand. To him, it appeared that the dooras primary defensive merit was a type of aesthetic enchantment a who could want to destroy such a thing? Pelias sprang to mind instantly.

Stop. The thought came again, even more emphatic than the last time.

aWe have stopped,a said Octavius calmly, gesturing with his hands to indicate his indifference and mild confusion. They hadnat had any choice: they had reached the end of the corridor and the mysterious door ahead of them was closed.

For the first time, the warlock turned back to face Octavius. The two warriors were approximately the same height, and the eyes of the warlockas elaborate mask were virtually level with Octaviusa visor. Although they could not see each otheras eyes, they held their pose for a long moment, and Octavius began to wonder whether the alien could see his face after all. No matter, he would not shrink from anybody, especially not from an alien, and particularly not from an alien that had come to the Imperium begging for help.

You will stop. The thoughts were slow and deliberate, as though being spoken to a particularly stubborn or difficult child.

aWe have stopped,a replied Octavius, mimicking the condescension and holding his ground. He looked the warlock up and down, sizing him up as a possible opponent. It was not often that a s.p.a.ce Marine had the chance to stand so close to a living eldar warlock without having to kill it, and Octavius was conscious that this was a strategic opportunity. After all, the Deathwatch were not only a kill-team, and the Ordo Xenos was not only interested in annihilating aliens a if he could discover new and innovative ways to kill more aliens in the future, then he would have done his job perfectly. At that moment he realised that the eldar obviously did not expect the kill-team to survive whatever it was they had in store for them. Why else would they risk bringing a squad of s.p.a.ce Marines into the heart of their craftworld?

The warlock was tall, as tall as most Marines, and his presence was tinged with a kind of gravity that even Octavius found impressive. But the alienas build was slight to the point of being slender. The Imperial Fist realised that the impression was probably false, and that he shouldnat judge the aliens by human standards, but it seemed to him that he could snap the sinister creature in two with his gauntlets. Apart from a number of obvious anatomical differences, the warlockas build was not dissimilar from that of the shimmering, white female.

Wait. The thought was strong and undeniable, belying the relatively fragile body from which it emanated.

Octavius nodded, realising that the eldaras strength was only partly in its body. At the same time, he realised that the warlockas clumsy manner was probably a result of a lack of familiarity with human thoughts. It occurred to him that the alien was actually making an effort to communicate, which was not something that it had to do. Nodding his a.s.sent one more time, Octavius realised that the warlock was trying to honour him.

Crashing out of the portal in the ceiling and crunching heavily down to the ground, Ashok vowed that he would never enter the spirit-ways of an eldar craftworld again. He skidded across the polished floor and smacked into the back of some kind of console. When he finally stopped moving, he found a moment to smile at the ridiculousness of his last vow. It was certainly not a vow that he had ever antic.i.p.ated needing to make and, to make matters worse, it was one that he was absolutely sure that he would have to break in only a few minutesa time.

Thoughts and whispered voices still spiralled around his head, as though they had bled into his soul while he flashed through the inexplicable dimensions through which the alien portals pa.s.sed. Tiny lights sparkled behind his eyes, like the faint echoes of dying stars. These were not entirely alien experiences for Ashok, and they prompted his soul towards dark places that he had learnt to navigate around through years of pain and horror. There was a rage lurking in the turmoil, and it was not something to which he could surrender now. He needed to be calm and rational for this task.

For a few seconds, the Angel Sanguine did not move. He sat in perfect stillness while he brought his thoughts back to himself, dragging fragments of his soul out of his memory of the sparkling, riddled spirit-way through which he had just flown. His body was unaffected, it was his soul that felt the disorientation of submersion in the profound depths of something wonderful and terrible.

As his mind cleared, he heard voices. They spoke in a tongue that he could not understand and only partly through vocalised words. Many of the tones and nuances seemed to seep through waves of psychic resonance, as though words were spoken simultaneously through oral and psychic projections. In a moment of clarity, Ashok realised that the language of these eldar made no distinction between audio and psychic noise a both were natural parts of the tongue.

Judging from the sounds, Ashok thought that there were probably three aliens in the chamber on the other side of the terminal behind which he was hidden. He found it remarkable that they had not noticed a two-metre tall, heavily armoured s.p.a.ce Marine barrelling through the air and crashing into the wall less than ten metres from where they were standing.

Ashok shifted his weight slightly, turning into a crouch and repositioning his force staff, poising himself. As soon as he moved, the eldar voices stopped. They had heard him. Just the tiniest of moves and they had heard him. He froze, fighting against his natural urge to vault the terminal with his staff blazing and lay waste to the filthy aliens on the other side. His task required some subtlety and some tact. Besides which, he was still not sure how many creatures there were in the chamber. Stupidity is the flipside of courage.

How could they have heard such a tiny movement but have missed his entrance? Ashokas mind scanned back through the last couple of minutes and a sinking feeling settled over him. How long had it been since head crashed into that chamber? It was a blur. He could remember stars and whispered voices, but he had no sense of time. Had he lost consciousness? What had happened to him after he vaulted into that portal? d.a.m.n, he hated alien technology.

The only explanation was that when he had crashed through into the chamber, the eldar had not been there. When they had arrived, he must have been unconscious, hidden behind the terminal where he crouched now. Ashok cursed himself for being so stupid; how could he have thrown himself through an alien transport system in the heart of an eldar craftworld and placed himself at the mercy of xenos technology? He was beyond lucky not to have been caught and killed as he emerged from the portal. No, he stopped his self-reproach in mid-flow: it was not luck a it was the grace of the Emperor himself. He may be in the heart of Ulthwe, skirting the fringes of the Eye of Terror itself, but the Emperoras gaze could not be bounded.

aFor the Emperor and Sanguinius! Death! Death comes for you!a yelled Ashok, his voice thundering the battle cry of the Angels Sanguine Death Company as he abandoned his pretence at stealth and rose to his feet. His heavy psychic hood sparked with power and his eyes flared red as he spun his staff over his head and unleashed a sheet of blue fire. The aliens would regret any attempts to mess with his head.

Through the blur of his righteous rage, Ashok saw two stunned eldar seers turn to face him. They had been tending to some instruments built into the side of a polished, gla.s.s hemisphere that protruded from the wall. Ashok recognised it at once, even through the red haze that had descended across his vision. It was one of the access points to Ulthweas infinity circuit a the spirit pool of the entire craftworld. Despite his fury, a smile cracked over Ashokas face as the scythe of blue energy sliced into the two seers, lifting them off their feet and sending them crashing to the ground.

The tall, slim door at the end of the great hallway simply dissolved. An uneven crack appeared in the middle of it and then it just melted away, leaving an elegantly curving arch and a view of the council chamber beyond.

Come.

The warlockas thoughts were blunt and direct, but Octavius was now certain that they contained little malice. He nodded and strode under the archway after the warlock and the shining white female, the rest of his kill-team close behind. Something at the back of his mind made him wonder what Ashok was doing at that moment.

The council chamber was a ma.s.sive translucent dome, and Octavius thought that he could see the hazy glow of the Eye of Terror itself through the almost transparent ceiling. They must have been right up at the very summit of Ulthwe. The s.p.a.ce within the huge dome was virtually featureless a there was no ornamentation or decoration but, just like the hallway outside, it managed to emanate a breathtaking beauty. Once again, Octavius wondered whether it was some kind of enchantment, or whether the aesthetic itself was merely enchanting.

Standing in the very centre of the chamber was a group of eldar in long, flowing robes of various colours and styles. Octavius recognised a couple of them from the committee that had welcomed the Deathwatch in Calmainocas dock. The emerald seer appeared to be the leader of the group, and she stepped forward of the others as Octavius approached.

Bow, insisted the warlockas mind as he and the pristine white female dropped to one knee before the seer, touching their fists to the ground. Bow now.

The Deathwatch captain watched the show of deference without embarra.s.sment. He did not bow; he would bow to no alien.

aGreetings, captain.a The sound was unnatural and forced. Octavius could see the strain stretched over the seeras otherwise beautiful face. He simply nodded in response.

aWe have remiss been in dealings our with you,a continued the green witch, her head tilted slightly to one side as though she was trying to work out whether he could understand her.

aYes,a replied Octavius bluntly. aYou have.a aWe apologise should.a Was that an apology or an observation of etiquette? Octavius couldnat tell, and he realised that the eldar witchas scrambled grasp of this spoken language was an a.s.set for her as well as a hindrance.

aYes, you should,a pressed Octavius, determined not to let the ambiguity stand.

aI am Thaeaakzi, the Emerald Seer,a she said.

Was she ignoring his slight, or did she not realise that he was demanding something more from her?

Octavius waited for her to continue, but she did not. aI am Quirion Octavius, humble servant of the Emperor of Mankind, battle-brother of the Imperial Fists, and captain in the service of the Deathwatch of the sacred Ordo Xenos.a His voice was even and calm, but his eyes narrowed as he tried to a.s.sess the impact of his words on the eldar witch before him.

aVery impressive.a Was she mocking him? aAlready you have met Dhrykna of the Shining Path,a she continued, indicating the shimmering white form of the female warrior who remained on one knee before the council. aAnd already you have met Shariele, Warlock of the Undercouncil.a These were statements, not questions, and neither of the eldar mentioned showed any signs of acknowledgement. aThey will you a.s.sist.a aa.s.sist?a queried Octavius, wondering whether the aliens would ever explain themselves. aa.s.sist in what?a aYour function, human.a The voice came from one of the other seers a an older male with hate pouring out of his eyes.

aFunction!a snarled Pelias from Octaviusa shoulder, his resentment simmering at the edge of boiling point.

aForgive you will Ruhklo of the Karizhariat,a said Thaeaakzi smoothly, as though her words were a kind of balm. Again, it was a statement rather than a request. aHe pleased is not you are here.a aHe is not alone is those sentiments,a said Octavius, not feeling obliged to hide his teamas discomfort about the present mission.

Thaeaakzi nodded and smiled condescendingly, as though she understood. aWe you summoned here because have we concern at your performance in Khalandhrielas Hall.a Octavius thought about this for a moment. aWhat?a he asked, incredulous. For a moment he had thought that the witch was finally going to tell them why the Ulthwe had activated the Coven of Isha. Instead, it seemed that she merely wanted to criticise him teamas performance in the last battle.

aFailed you to protect our seers. Missing are two of them from the upper levels.a Thaeaakzias tone was serious now, and heavy with criticism.

aSeers?a asked Octavius, replaying the events of the battle over in his mind.

aYes. Guarding they were an access point to the infinity circuit in the upper levels. Bhurolyn of the Sacred Star, old and wizened, one of the council is gone.a aWe were not in the upper levels,a stated Octavius flatly, his pride riled at the criticism of the alien witch.

aExactly. Fight in Khalandhrielas Hall diversion was clearly. You this should have realised at once. The darklings are cunning.a And the mon-keigh are stupid.

aWe were in that cursed hall because your war-witch told us to be thereaa began Pelias, his anger rising, but Octavius cut him off.

aPerhaps we would perform better if you could inform us about our a'functiona here, Thaeaakzi, Emerald Seer.a There was a moment of silence, in which another of the seers stepped forward. She was younger than the others and emanated an exquisite, fragile beauty from within the flowing, translucent white of her long robes.

aCaptain,a she nodded a brief if respectful bow. aI am Eldressyn of Ulthroon, and your purpose here has grown out of my thoughtsaa Something unheard cut her off.

aWe are concerned very about the seers, captain, especially Bhurolyn,a explained Thaeaakzi. aYour failure dangerous very is. If the darklings sacrifice were to those souls, then Great Enemy will grow strong. Powerful are those souls. Different from those before taken.a aHow is this our problem?a spat Pelias. aWe fought where and when we were told.a Octavius ignored the veteran sergeant. aIf their loss is really our fault, then we will recover them for you.a He nodded a crisp bow of affirmation. This was a complicated position for the Deathwatch captain, and he could see it even if the Black Consul sergeant could not. In the back of his mind, Octavius realised that this was why the Imperial Fists rather than the Ultramarines were the backbone of Adeptus Astartes diplomacy. The Deathwatch team was there to fulfil an Imperial oath to serve Ulthwe at a moment of its greatest need. It was not his place to access that need a although he could see little evidence of it. Rather, it was his role to ensure the honour of the Deathwatch and the keepers of the Coven of Isha.

He could give the eldar no excuse to accuse his team of failure or dishonour. Although he did not believe that the loss of the seers was his fault, it was enough that the eldar felt able to blame him for it. Communication between them was not perfect. Perhaps he should have been able to work out what was expected of him? Had he been defending the fortress of Phalanx, he would have ensured the security of every level and every man. Perhaps the eldar expected no less of him on Ulthwe. Why could they not simply tell him what they needed from him? Not for the first time, he wondered where Ashok was a the librarian would be of use at a time like this.

CHAPTER SEVEN: RAVELLING.

There was an air of heavy discontent settling in the armoury of the Lance of Darkness. The Deathwatch Marines were checking their weapons and administering to their machine-spirits, muttering silent words of prayer and litanies of purification. But their minds were elsewhere, and the tension in the relative confines of the super-armoured s.p.a.ce was explosive.

The team had returned to their frigate directly from the Seer Chamber, sweeping through the labyrinthine corridors of Ulthwe on a.s.sault bikes and a land speeder. Relative to the overall size of the craftworld, the Seer Chamber was actually quite close to Calmainocas Dock, so they had taken the long way round, deciding not to entrust their ancient armour or their sacred gene-seed to the alien portal network unless strictly necessary. They had some time, so they were cruising the vast, wide, smooth corridors and boulevards of Ulthwe. The sheer scale of the craftworld was incredible. Besides, Octavius had wanted to ride. He had needed some time to clear his head and to ensure that his resolve was well-placed.

Duty was usually a simple thing, but since arriving on Ulthwe he had realised that even the most prized values of the Adeptus Astartes could be riddled and twisted by the cunning of the eldar. Just being on the craftworld made him suspicious of everyone and of himself. Why had he accepted responsibility for the loss of the two seers in the upper reaches of the craftworld, despite the fact that he had not been asked to guard them? Pressing at the back of his mind all the time was another, perhaps even darker, question: where was Librarian Ashok? Despite his deep-seated respect for the enigmatic and wild Angel Sanguine, Octavius found himself wishing that he was a casualty a that, at least, would simplify the situation.

aCaptain,a said Pelias at last, breaking the silence and dropping his bolter down onto the metal workbench in front of him. The pristine weapon glinted as it caught the light. aI must ask why you humbled us before the aliens.a Without his helmet, it was clear that Pelias was probably the oldest Marine in the room. Perhaps Sulphus was older, but it was hard to tell in amongst all of the mechanical augmetics and metal plates. The Black Consulas gnarled face was creased and scarred, and his bright eyes were sunk deeply into their sockets. He wore years of hardship and strength across his features, but there was a hint of weariness about him, as though the relentless pain had scarred his soul as well as his body.

Octavius placed his own bolter down onto a bench and looked over at his old comrade. He had known Pelias, on and off, for several decades. They had fought together before in the service of the Deathwatch. The captain had been in command of the failed incursion against the Biel-Tan during which Pelias had been captured. Although they had fought shoulder to shoulder since then, the Black Consul had never mentioned the incident again. There had never been a single word of reproach and never even a note of bitterness. The sergeantas loyalty was unimpeachable, and Octavius never ceased to admire the resilience and power of his will. Had any of the other Marines in the Deathwatch team challenged him in this way, Octavius would not have stood for it. He knew that Pelias felt his actions most acutely, and he knew that he owed his sergeant an explanation.

aI did not humble us, Pelias.a aYou accepted the blame for their mistakes. It is a dishonour.a aNo, Pelias. It is a dishonour to accuse another when you know that they are innocent. The eldar dishonoured themselves. We have been sent to aid the aliens, and it would not become us to attempt to evade our duties by arguing about blame. If the aliens want us to recover their seers, then we will see it done,a explained Octavius calmly.

aThey might simply have asked,a murmured Luthar, arather than attempting to manoeuvre us into a position in which we had no choice. Honour is better served through our will than through obedience to theirs.a aHonour is best serviced through duty, chaplain, not through will. Duty before all else,a said Octavius, turning his sparkling eyes on the pale features of the Reviler. aWe do not choose our paths, we can only choose the manner in which we tread them. Decisions are reached elsewhere.a aBy the will of Corax and the Emperor,a intoned Luthar, bowing slightly to acknowledge Octaviusa words.

aBy the Emperor and his sons,a paraphrased Octavius, smoothing the wave of unrest that pulsed around the room at the mention of Corax, the enigmatic primarch of the Raven Guard and their successor Chapters.

aThe Reviler is right,a seethed Sulphus in barely audible tones. aCorax had a will of his own. Duty is something that human failings conspire to ruin. The flesh is weak.a The Iron Father of the Red Talons did not look up as he spoke. He simply muttered the words into the machine parts that he was cleaning flexing and unflexing the mechanical joints on one of his arms where splinter-fire had left scoring on the surface of the metal. As he worked, his mind was racing back through the legends of how Corax and the Raven Guard had left Ferrus Ma.n.u.s to his fate on Istvaan V, even as the Warmasteras ma.s.sed forces mustered for battle. Ferrus Ma.n.u.s, primarch of the Iron Hands, the father Chapter of Sulphusa Red Talons, had been unerring in his duty a only the weakened flesh of the Raven Guard and the Salamanders had lacked the necessary will for power. The legends were hardwired into the memories of every Red Talon, ensuring that they should never forget the weakness of flesh.

aWhat was that, Talon?a snapped Luthar, taking a step towards the apparently introspective Iron Father.

Sulphus looked up. There was no hint of contrition or guilt on his face, which was barely visible behind the patchwork of reconstructive plates and sensory augmenters, even without his helmet. aIam sure that even your fleshy ears were not mistaken, Reviler.a There was no emotion in the voice at all a it was not an accusation nor even a jibe, there was no defiance in the tone. It was simply a statement.

Turning his face from the simmering gaze of Luthar, Sulphus addressed Octavius. aWhere is the Blood Angel, captain?a This time, there was genuine contempt in the Red Talonas words.

Octavius hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. aYou are referring to Librarian Ashok of the Angels Sanguine, Iron Father?a aOf course.a The flat tone suggested that Sulphus saw no difference between the successor Chapter and the Blood Angels themselves. aHe also appears to have left us.a The connection with Corax in Sulphusa mind was thus laid bare for the others to see. It was no secret that the Blood Angels were pa.s.sionate warriors, amongst the finest and most devout in the galaxy, but for the Iron Father this pa.s.sion looked like the irrational weakness of human flesh. There could not be a Chapter further from the ideals of Ferrus Ma.n.u.s than the Blood Angels.