Deathwatch: Warrior Coven Part 7

Despite his anger at Sulphus, Luthar turned to look at Octavius. By nature, he was also suspicious of the emotionally charged and occasionally uncontrollable Blood Angels. The Revilers, like the Raven Guard themselves, were disciplined and calculating fighters. Although they could not argue with the glorious record of the Blood Angels and their successors, they could not bring themselves to condone their tactics.

Ignoring the look from Luthar, Octavius directed his response to Sulphus. aHis location is not your concern, techmarine,a said Octavius, his voice firm and full of authority. He was the commander of this mission, and even the Iron Father had to recognise that.

Sulphus nodded with only a hint of disingenuousness. He was not content with this reply, but he was a s.p.a.ce Marine in the service of the Deathwatch and he, at least, understood the demands of his duty.

If he was honest with himself, Octavius was also not content with his answer. He did not know where the librarian was and it worried him. There were various possibilities, and none of them were good. Either the magnificent Ashok was dead, captured, or deliberately avoiding the duties of the team. It was the last possibility that worried Octavius the most a it meant that either Ashok had his own agenda separate from that of the kill-team, or that he was pursuing somebody elseas separate agenda. Given the unusual way in which the librarian had been included in his team, Octaviusa suspicions naturally inclined towards the latter possibility.

aWhat is the plan, captain?a asked Atreus, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. In truth, he was just as uncomfortable with the tension in the chamber as the others.

The librarians of the Blood Ravens were constantly in search of clues about the unknown origins of their mysterious Chapter, and one of the working hypotheses was that it was a hybrid of the Blood Angels and the Raven Guard. Although the theory was no longer taken very seriously, since it appeared to be based more on the linguistic coincidence than on sound historical evidence, Atreus was not entirely comfortable to hear both Chapters maligned at the same time. His instincts were defensive, and he wondered whether that in itself was significant. Very deliberately, he did not turn his cold gaze on Sulphus.

aWe need to find out where the dark eldar raiders are taking their prisoners,a replied Octavius. aI suggest that we take the Lance of Darkness hunting. Even if we find nothing, at least it will get us out of this cursed craftworld for a while.a There were just too many files. Perceptia, slumped back against the tomes behind her, leaning her weight against the shelves without giving any thought to whether they might collapse under the pressure. They shook immediately, and she caught her weight, standing upright once again before the dominoes fell. Those shelves had been there for hundreds of years a it would not do for her to knock them all down in a moment of despairing resignation.

Wandering back to the little desk on which she had been working, she eyed the text of Herodas confession once again. She had laid it out next to the final pages of the Legend of Hourian, and it seemed increasingly clear that the long deceased Herod had drawn many of his crazed ideas from that bedtime story.

Perceptia sighed, pushing the bridge of her gla.s.ses back towards her forehead. She needed to find some other references to the Circuitrine nebula. It was certainly true that the system had some significance in the context of Herodas confession, since it was the major point of variance with an established and identifiable text. However, it was far from clear that the nebula had any relevance above or beyond Herod himself a perhaps he had spent long parts of his career in that system, or perhaps he had just recently read some kind of report about it? In these cases, Circuitrine may be relevant to him, but it may not be of any interest to Perceptia a the coincidence with the suspicious actions of Inquisitor Lord Seishon may be just that: a coincidence.

She needed to find out some more information about Circuitrine. In particular, she needed to know whether any other heretical Ordo Xenos inquisitors had mentioned it during their interrogations over the last several centuries. Unfortunately, there were rather more confessions than Perceptia had expected, and she was beginning to think that it would be impossible for one person to search them all.

She turned again and peered down the long, dark aisle between the stacks. The shelves must have been fifteen high, and they probably ran for twenty or thirty metres. That was the section in which the confessions of Ordo Xenos personnel were filed. There were simply too many; she needed to narrow the field.

aCan can I help you, inquisitor?a Perceptia controlled the urge to jump with surprise and exhaled deeply. She turned slowly, showing immaculate composure. It was the curator of the Hereticus librariumas lower levels, Seye Multinus. Although he did not do it deliberately, he had a nasty habit of taking people by surprise as they were working. The problem was that he did not have normal feet, and they simply did not make any noise as he shuffled through the aisles. Silence was a virtue in a librarium, of course, but it was also unnerving, given the nature of some of the research that was being done, especially in these lowest levels.

aSeye a a pleasure to see you again.a Perceptia smiled weakly, a faint revulsion pa.s.sing involuntarily over her features.

aPerperceptia? Ofof course,a replied Seye, nodding his bizarrely shaped head in recognition. His strangely sibilant voice seemed to echo and chorus by itself.

It was not clear whether Seye Multinus was a mutant or whether he was simply the victim of an accidental genetic defect. If viewed from a certain angle, his head looked quite normal, although perhaps his face might appear oddly proportioned. However, such an impression could only be achieved from a very specific angle. For everyone else, it was clear that Seye actually had two faces. One of them was on the front of his head, in the normal place. The other appeared to have been grafted onto the side of his head, with the ear of the first face prominent on the cheek of the second. In fact, the curator had two heads, but they had grown together as one in a slightly unusual shape. There was only one brain at work behind those dual visages, although it was a most unusual brain indeed.

In the distant past, his condition may have been called craniopagus parasiticus, but that was not something commonly seen in the Imperium anymore a if it could ever have been said to be common. This was not due to medical advances, but rather due to fear a babies born with obvious physical defects were often killed at birth, in case the defect was a sign of daemonic taint. Harbouring and caring for such a child might be interpreted as heresy, and the child itself would likely be considered an abomination. Death was a release for everyone concerned.

For whatever reason, Seye had survived in a farming community on the backwater world of Foth VI. It was an Imperial planet, but the glorious eye of the Emperor rarely even glanced at it. The population was small. There was little military capacity, and its only trading relationship was with Foth III, the major planet in the system. And even Foth III was little more than a blemish on the unremarkable quadrantas starcharts.

Caesurian had found him while he was still a boy. She had been hunting the leader of the infamous witch-coven of Trogeth IV, one of the neighbouring systems, and had tracked her to a hideaway in the Foth system. The young inquisitor had found the boy locked in the attic of a small wooden hut, surrounded by books, sc.r.a.ps of food that had been thrown through a grill in the door, and piles of human excrement that had not been cleaned away. He was a prisoner in his own house.

Instinctively, Caesurian had reached for her weapon, thinking that the abomination should be purged immediately. However, something stayed her hand. Instead, she watched the boy read, apparently oblivious of the armoured inquisitor standing in his doorway. He was utterly absorbed in what he was reading. And he was reading two books, one held in each hand, with a separate set of eyes scanning rapidly over the lines of each.

Not only was he reading both books simultaneously, but he was reading them with incredible speed, flicking the pages with his thumbs to turn them every few seconds. Even as she watched, Caesurian saw him reach the end of one book and toss it aside, his hand reaching automatically for another from the pile while he continued to read the one still held in his other hand.

The young Caesurian had brought Seye back with her and installed him in the lowest reaches of the Hereticus librarium on Ramugan. Only a handful of inquisitors knew that he was there, and most of those did not approve. From time to time, they would pet.i.tion the lords to have the creature purged, but Caesurian protected him. She argued that he was not tainted but merely afflicted. She also claimed that he was not dangerous, and that he was extremely useful to the ordo in the librarium. His evident abnormalities should be tolerated, although not celebrated. For as long as he remained down in the forbidden depths of the librarium, no one would ever know that he existed or that the Ramugan Ordo Hereticus appeared to be committing a heresy by sanctioning the life of such an abominable creature.

Staring at Seyeas faces, Perceptia found her eyes wandering, trying to work out where they should settle a which eyes should she look into? Not for the first time, she felt a wave of repulsion wash over her soul as she gazed at the curator, and her mind filled with hostility towards the radical tendencies of her one-time mentor, Inquisitor Lord Caesurian. It was appalling to think that this unclean animal was given access to such privileged information. At the same time, however, Perceptia realised for the first time that Seye was the answer to her prayers.

aPerhaps you can help me, Seye?a aThata.s.s whyy Iam heere.a aYes,a replied Perceptia with evident distaste. aI need you to look through these files.a She indicated the aisle behind her as casually as she could. aAnd set aside any doc.u.ments that make mention of the Circuitrine system. Can you do that?a aOf of course.a A sickly, satisfied smile cracked across two mouths at once.

aHow long will it take?a Seye held Perceptiaas gaze for a moment, while two other eyes scanned the aisle. aAboutout eight hours.a Despite the revulsion she felt just at the thought of Seyeas existence, Perceptia was impressed and relieved. aVery good. Iall be back then.a aThe shift in the warp is moving Vargas. It is growing more powerful hour by hour, as though something is feeding it from within.a Seishon was pacing. aThis is not something that Aurelius will be able to ignore.a aHe has taken no action,a replied Vargas, sitting in his customary place at the table, the carafe of wine within easy reach.

aHe has taken no action yet, Vargas.a The inquisitor lord stopped pacing and turned to face his old friend, his face riddled with contempt. aHow can you be so complacent? Have you any idea what is unfolding here?a aWe are acting in good faith, Seishon. Lord Ulthran has appealed to our oath, and we are honouring it. It is that simple. We have no choice in this.a aOf course we have a choice, you fool.a Seishon was shouting now. aChoice is not something that can be taken away from us, and certainly not by a deceitful alien. If your dear Ulthran has convinced you otherwise, then you are a greater fool than ever I thought you were.a There was a long pause as Seishon struggled to contain his rage. He could not believe that Vargas was really so naive. In fact, he was certain that the old inquisitor lord was not this naive, but his certainty only served to infuriate him even more. If he were not really so simple-minded, then why was he behaving in this way? Seishon had the unmistakable feeling that there was something his friend wasnat telling him.

aLook at that, Vargas,a he continued, at last. aLook at it, and tell me that Aurelius will just let that pa.s.s. It is no longer a mere wisp. It is no longer the straggling reach of a vaporous tendril. Look at it, Vargas a look!a Sure enough, the cloud of red mist that had been gradually seeping out of the Eye of Terror, like an osmosis of Chaos power, had grown significantly. Not only had its reach extended deeply into the Circuitrine system, but its density had grown too. Even with the amplifier arrays and the image enhancement protocols at little more than casual settings, the well trained eye would have been able to pick out the telltale distortions of light from the local stars. And there were no eyes better trained than those of Inquisitor Lord Aurelius of the Ordo Malleus.

With slow deliberation, as though he was bored by the whole enterprise, Vargas climbed to his feet and sauntered over to stand next to Seishon. He gazed up at the image on the viewscreen, inhaling deeply as though straining his body with his eye sight. Finally, he nodded, clicking his tongue as if to suggest that he had seen what Seishon had indicated.

The mock theatrics made Seishon fume.

aYou are right, of course,a said Vargas, exhaling deeply and letting the tension sag out of his shoulders. The general impression was that the old man was deflating, as though acknowledging his defeat at last. It was a performance worthy of the Shaonil theatre troupe of Behtle V.

Seishon waited as his friend shuffled back over to the table and took a sip of wine. aWell?a he prompted. aIs that it?a aWhat do you want me to say?a asked Vargas, letting himself fall wearily back into the chair. aDo you want me to explain all the risks that we are taking? Do you want me to labour over every concern, just to help you to feel as though you are right? Being right is not everything, Seishon. Being right is not going to help us at all a it is not our righteousness that is under scrutiny, here. The problem is one of duty. You can rail at me about how you know that Aurelius will spot the emission and despatch a Malleus force to investigate it, but that doesnat exonerate you, Seishon. It doesnat make this my fault. For the sake of the Emperor, Seishon, stop being so d.a.m.ned self-righteousa thatas always been your problem. Part of me thinks that you want us to be discovered, just so that you can say that you were right that we would be. By the Throne! Where does that kind of guilt come from?a Seishon stared back at his old friend as though head been punched in the stomach, the air knocked out of him completely. He couldnat believe what he was hearing. aWhat are you blithering about, Vargas? Donat youaa aOh, shut up, Seishon! Iave had just about all I can take from you. How long have we known each other? Forty years? Fifty? Maybe more? Well, thereas only so much that my stomach can handle, Seishon a I think I might throw up. You have always been like this, and you have always treated me like this. I am not a fool, Seishon, and you know it. Somewhere deep down inside, you know that I am your equal, and you hate me for it. You canat stand it. Itas driving you mad, you know that? You are actually going mad, Seishon a you know that, right? Even when youave screwed up, you always need to blame someone else. But you donat want to escape from the consequences by doing that. No, for some incredible reason you want to be punished for your mistakes, but you want everyone else to think that you are an innocent victim. Sometimes I wonder whether youad take the blame for anything, just so long as the punishment hurt and everyone thought that youad been wrongly accused. Why do you want to be a martyr, Seishon? Is being alive in these dark times really such a sin?a The sh.e.l.lshocked inquisitor lord staggered slightly, as though under a physical barrage. He reached for the back of a chair to support his weight.

aWhat should we do, Vargas?a aThat was what it all came down to: four simple words. What should we do?

Vargas smiled. aSit down, Seishon. Have a drink.a Seishonas eyes were wild; he was teetering on the brink of hysteria. His mind was racing through the various consequences that could befall an inquisitor lord found to be acting in collusion with xenos powers. There were legends about such things, and the archives held a few official transcripts of the treatment of people like the infamous Lord Herod.

Inquisitors of the Ramugan Ordo Xenos were all exposed to Herodas myriad sins during their time as explicators a he was held up as an example of all the things that could go wrong for inquisitors who found themselves a little too enamoured with an alien species. There were even rumours that his case was used by the Ordo Hereticus as an example of signs to look out for amongst the officials of the Ordo Xenos. Whether true or not, Herodas example was usually more than enough to emphasise the importance of a pure heart, if any such emphasis were necessary, and the importance of pure action, or at least the appearance of pure action.

The tall, usually composed and elegant inquisitor lord sat down carefully in the chair opposite Vargas, his movements deliberate as though he was keeping them in check with the power of his will.

Vargas poured his old friend a gla.s.s of wine and placed it softly in front of him. aDrink.a aHow can you be so calm, Vargas?a asked Seishon, after a couple of sips from the gla.s.s. The deep red liquid seemed to relax him immediately. aMy agents tell me that the young Hereticus inquisitor is still poking around, and Lord Aurelius has summoned Captain Mordia of the Grey Knights for a briefing about the emissions from the Eye. Our plot is unravelling before our eyes, Vargas.a aWhat would you have us do? We have no power over Aurelius. If he dispatches Mordia then we may be discovered, and we may have to answer to Caesurian about our contacts with the eldar. She will not be sympathetic, and we will be executed, or worse. But consider the other possibilities, Seishon. Suppose that we prevent Aurelius from dispatching the Grey Knights. Suppose then that the outflowing of Chaos from the Eye is a serious and present threat to this sector, or to the whole Imperium. We may save our own lives by blocking action from the Ordo Malleus, but we risk the doom of millions of souls. That, surely, would be the greater heresy? I, for one, would not trade the Imperium for my soul. Before all else, I am a servant of the Emperor, Seishon, as are we all. There is nothing that we should do. It is out of our hands. Everything now rests on the broad shoulders of the valiant Captain Octavius.a Vargasa voice was gentle and kind, as though he were explaining something to an over-excited child in the simplest way that he could manage.

aYou are right, of course,a conceded Seishon. He had never imagined that such a role reversal would ever occur in his relationship with Vargas, but part of him smirked at the realisation that he had been right to think that Vargas had been attempting to deceive him with fake stupidity.

aThe most important consideration now,a continued Vargas, his tone hardening slightly, ais the integrity of the kill-team.a aThis was unexpected. You doubt the team, Vargas?a aCaptain Octavius is the finest Marine I have ever encountered a he will see his duty done. He has a.s.sembled an able and talented squad, despite the short notice. I have faith in his judgement. However, he did not choose all the members.a aYou are referring to the librarian from the Angels Sanguine a Ashok?a Seishonas voice edged towards the defensive. aAre you insinuating that you trust Octaviusa judgement but not mine, old friend?a For a few thoughtful seconds, Vargas did not reply; he simply toyed with his wine gla.s.s. aYou are a clever man, Seishon. Of that I have no doubt. Your cleverness is there for everyone to see. I trust your cleverness.a aThat is not an answer.a aIt is not the answer you wanted, but it is my answer. The point remains, however, that Octavius did not recruit your librarianaa aAshok was not at the fortress to be chosen. We brought him in from outside specially, as you know. Octavius may well have chosen him, had he been aware of the option. They have fought together before, with great success.a aIndeed. It seems, however, that your Ashok has vanished.a The maniacal glint returned to Seishonas eyes, and panic crept back into his voice. aWhat?a aIn his last communication, Octavius told me that Librarian Ashok slipped away from the squad during an encounter with a dark eldar raiding party. No explanations. He just left. Furthermore, the Ulthwe have complained about a precision attack on two of their seers, deep within the infrastructure of the craftworld, near to an access point to the infinity circuit itself. It appears that the seers were abducted during the raid. Octavius wondered whether we might know anything about that.a Seishon said nothing. He was gazing into the gently swirling liquid in his gla.s.s, as though lost in contemplation.

aWell, old friend?a prompted Vargas. aDo we know anything about that?a aPerhaps he was captured?a Seishon did not look up. He appeared to be talking to himself, spilling his concerns onto the table like wine from the gla.s.s. aThis is bad news, Vargas.a Something about his old friendas tone told Vargas that they were thinking at cross purposes. The significance of Ashokas disappearance was clearly different for Seishon. He was hiding something, and it was something that appeared to have gone wrong. Beneath that heavy veneer of superiority and self-righteousness, Seishon had always been a schemer, and Vargas hoped that his old friend had not taken a step too far this time. The Deathwatch team was their only possible salvation.

I told you not to damage the lightlings, Skazhrealh. Lelithas thoughts were silky smooth, and they slipped through the frantic psychic defences of the haemonculus like cream easing through a grinder. Did I not make myself clear?

The touch of the wych queenas thoughts sent shivers jousting through Skazhrealhas nervous system, but the sharp, sc.r.a.ping touch of her long fingernail being drawn across his lower lip was more than he could bear. Blood gushed from the wound that her razor-like nail had opened just above his chin, pouring into his mouth, making his breath bubble.

I did not seek to offend you, my queen. His thoughts seemed to stutter, as though ebbing through alternating waves of agony and ecstasy. My duties are performed only in your service.

A sharp pain stabbed into his head and he howled, gargling the blood that had pooled in his throat and spitting showers of red beads up into Lelithas face. He had often wondered what the insertion of a skull hook would feel like, and now he knew. He had pushed them into the foreheads of various species in the past, making careful note of the particular nuance of scream that they produced. Despite the fact that the progeny of Hesperax were physiologically not dissimilar to the eldar lightlings, Skazhrealh was intrigued to hear that his own howl was rather different from the ones emitted by the last batch of Ulthwe prisoners. A sick, grotesque smile cracked across his ruined lips as he realised that even now he was performing his duty as a haemonculus. Urien Rakarth himself, the master haemonculus of Commorragh, would have been proud of his selfless industry.

The sanctorium of the Hesperax Haemonculi was dug deep into the heart of Sussarkhas Peak, sunk into the sulphurous and insufferably hot, volcanic depths. The only light was provided by the persistent, h.e.l.lish glow of the lava flows that coursed through the pa.s.sageways, unchecked and barely controlled by the crude systems of cracks and runnels. In the sanctorium itself, the lava runnels criss-crossed the uneven, rocky floor, sprinkled with half-submerged equipment and instruments that were made of substances impervious to heat, or made deliberately to be kept at inhumanly violent temperatures.

The walls of the laboratory were lined with the haemonculias playthings. Some of them were dead already, left forgotten and hanging for so long that they starved or asphyxiated in the noxious atmosphere. Some of them were as good as dead, with limbs missing or egregious wounds left open to the toxic air.

The others simply wished they were dead. There were humans, a couple of lightling eldar, a collection of darklings who had made the terrible mistake of crossing Lelith at some point in their now agonisingly prolonged lives, and even a couple of ma.s.sive orks hung like rotting trophies. The only thing that the broken and mined bodies had in common was that they all retained their eyes and ears. Their eye-lids were crudely pinned or st.i.tched open to deprive the guests of sleep and of the release of dreams, but also to ensure that they had no choice but to watch what was being done on the operating table in front of them, knowing that their turn would come.

Skazhrealh had loved to perform his art before a captive audience. He had added notes to his records about the kinds of responses that could be expected from different spectator species when he performed different operations in front of them. The humans were the most interesting a they were so easily shocked, so easily moved to fits of panic, fear or nausea. They would cry out almost as though they were being operated on themselves. The lightlings were more resilient; their threshold was much higher, but once it was reached they would howl and cry with a pa.s.sion unmatched by any other species. It was a real art to bring lightling prisoners to such a level of orgiastic and voyeuristic agony. As for the orks a they never responded to anything, unless it was done directly to them. It was as though they had no capacity for empathy whatsoever. An audience of orks was no fun at all.

Now it was Skazhrealh himself that was strapped to the operating table. The privileged guests who hung around the perimeter of the sanctorium were treated to a very unusual display. They saw their torturer and captor subjected to exactly the kind of punishments that he had been inflicting on others. The gasps of horror from the captive audience had a new quality, full of a new level of terror that reflected the fact that their captors had no qualms about inflicting these punishments even on their own kind. The satisfaction of vengeance was utterly swamped by a crashing wave of abject terror.

A group of three cackling haemonculi apprentices busied themselves excitedly, probing the limits of his endurance with barbed instruments and molten-hot blades. This was the first time that any of them had been let loose on a victim without the supervision of Skazhrealh, and they were torn between the desperate desire to get it right and the exhilaration of liberty. Somewhere in the dark recesses of their minds, they had known that this day would come a how else would a great haemonculus like Skazhrealh be deposed? It was inevitable that his thirst for experimentation and pain would lead him to cross the line a it was the fate of all of them. It was a glorious and agonising symmetry: the haemonculus invariably met his end at the sharp end of techniques that he had practiced or even developed himself for centuries.

Meanwhile, as Skazhrealh shrieked and screeched his torment, the haemonculus could not help but admire the skill of his underlings; he had trained them well.

In the midst of it all stood Lelith. She was taller than the bustling apprentices by a clear head, and her flawless, white skin was unmarked by the clamps and incisions of self-mutilation. Although she stood at the head of the operating table, with her long, black hair cascading down to her hips, level with Skazhrealhas face, she appeared strangely incongruous, as though she was not really there. Her every movement, no matter how slight, was elegance made manifest. When she flicked her hair, the captives that were pinned so agonisingly and gruesomely to the walls groaned with something other than pain. This was not a sight that any of them had expected to see before they died.

If she was completely honest, however, playing with Skazhrealh was just a way to kill some time while she waited for the arrival of her new guests. But Lelith was never completely honest, and the show was distracting enough to hold her attention for a little while.

You know how lively souls need to be in the arena, otherwise they bring so little sport and so little satisfaction. Lelithas thoughts were like whispers in Skazhrealhas ears. She caressed the skin on the side of his neck, drawing a row of deep, parallel gashes in his flesh with her nails and making him writhe in an uncontrollable mixture of ecstasy and agony. But you broke them, dear Skazhrealh. They were no longer even amusing for us, and they certainly brought no contentment to our beloved princess.

The haemonculus was losing the ability to form coherent thoughts. His mind was rebelling against his pain wracked body. It strove for the complicated darknesses of insanity and unconsciousness, but Lelithas thoughts held his soul dangling by a thread, keeping him swinging over the abyss, teasing him with the promise of utter annihilation.

They too weak only duty pain, glorious pain had to push too hard snapped broken, but not dead No no, not killed.

My poor Skazhrealh, death is hardly the point. Death is a release, not a punishment, as you will soon discover. You of all people should know this, most treasured Skazhrealh, but you will experience the meaning for yourself soon enough Although perhaps not soon enough for your liking. The real issue is power, Skazhrealh. Power a do you understand what that means? It means that if you break my toys, then I will break you.

All at once, Lelith appeared to grow bored with her plaything. She stood back away from the operating table and stared down at the pathetic form of the treacherous haemonculus. How thoughtless of him to force her to find a new one so quickly, especially when there were fresh guests en route. For a moment she considered the three apprentices, watching them busy themselves with forceps, needles and imaginatively shaped branding irons. One of those would probably do, she thought. And if not, she still had two more to work through.

At last, Lelith turned, sending her luxurious hair whirling around her, making the dying audience gasp. The tips of a few hairs glanced over Skazhrealhas cheek, and his body lurched at the touch, straining against the restraints that held him on the table as though in an auto-reflexive response. His body yearned for another such touch, and his muscles knotted in panicked anxiety as he realised that it would never come again. At the same time, a thought slipped into Skazhrealhas soul like an impossibly fine blade, severing the thread that served as its lifeline: Give my regards to the Satin Princess.

Ashokas eyes flicked open, revealing a burning red inferno raging in his irises. In the centre of the storm, his pupils flared with darkness, as though seeking to swallow up the fury that engulfed them. The muscles of his ma.s.sive shoulders bunched and tensed, but his arms would not move. They were secured into some kind of harness that stretched him out as though crucified. His legs had been bound together and strapped to a vertical pillar that ran up behind his back. Presumably, it attached to the crosspiece to which his arms were lashed with a material that he could not recognise. His feet were held about a metre above the ground.

His body was wracked with pain. It was of a kind that he had not felt since the ascension rituals, when his body had been violated utterly in order to transform it into the superhuman form that it now had. Thrashing his head from side to side, rage bubbling in his mind and blurring his vision, Ashok could see tiny little needles protruding from the joints in his armour.

Whoever had inserted them had known what they were doing. They had found all of the pain-nodes that were accessible on a human body without removing the Marineas armour. Presumably they had also found the nerve chain that Marines were conditioned to be able to shut down in cases of extreme pain to permit them to continue functioning. This was specialised knowledge of the kind prized by the apothecaries of the Adeptus Astartes, and Ashokas mind flew into a spin trying to think who else might have acquired it, and how.

Roaring with frustration, like a chained beast, Ashok threw his weight forward and thrashed his arms against their restraints. His efforts were met with lances of agony flashing up his shoulders and into his neck. But he did not move.

You should not struggle, human. You will die.

Whoever the thoughts came from, they were calm and certain. Ashok glowered through the shadowy s.p.a.ce before him, his red eyes giving the darkness a b.l.o.o.d.y hue. As far as he could make out, he was being held at the end of a short, tubular corridor. Metallic joists ran around the walls and ceiling, as though the pa.s.sageway had been bolted together in sections, and there appeared to be benches set against the concave walls.

It looked like the inside of a small ship a the hold of a small fighter or escort vessel. Closing his eyes for a moment, Ashok could hear the telltale hum of an engine. It didnat sound like any vessel head been in before, and it certainly did not growl with the solid power of Mechanicus engineering.

Opening his eyes again, the red glare had dimmed slightly and his mind was searching for calm havens in his thoughts. With an effort of concentration, he managed to dull the pain that coursed throughout his body, but he could not shut it out entirely. It was enough for him to regain control of his senses.

As his eyesight improved, he could see two slender figures sitting neatly side by side on one of the benches. Their heads were hooded under rich sapphire robes and angled sullenly down towards the floor. He could not see their faces but, since there was n.o.body else in view, Ashok a.s.sumed that one of them had to be the source of the thoughts. They did not appear to be in restraints or shackles.

Help me down. He spread his thoughts across the hold, not caring which of the figures responded.

There was no reply. Neither of the robed figures moved or showed any sign of recognition.

Help me down, repeated Ashok, more firmly this time, gritting his teeth against the pain that rose with his frustration. Help me dow His mind was starting to cloud with anger once again, and he could feel his discipline slipping. Whatever his captors had done to him, they had somehow managed to destabilise decades of training and self-restraint. Despite his shackles, Ashok had not felt so unrestrained since the episode on Hegelian IX, when he had killed a brood of tyranids and a squad of his own Marines. He felt dangerous.

aHelp me down,a he growled.

One of the robed figures stood up and took a couple of steps towards him. When it got to within armas reach of Ashok, it reached up and pulled back its sapphire hood, revealing a beautiful, pale face with sparkling hazel eyes.

aCan not you help,a it said, gazing calmly up into the furious flames of Ashokas unfocused stare. aYou us help.a It didnat make any sense. Ashok peered through the mist of his own gaze, trying to identify the beautiful, alien face before him, but his thoughts were swimming. It was as though he had been drugged, but what kind of drugs could be administered that would have any impact on the physiology of a s.p.a.ce Marine?

He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion through physical movement, but he succeeded only in triggering another spike of pain at the base of his neck.

The darklings have taken us, human. Rest now. Fight later.

He shook his head again, daring the pain to do its worst. It had been so long since he had felt pain like this; it was a kind of resurrection and he could feel it pulsing through his body as though rejuvenating him.

He roared again, staring straight into the face of the female seer in front of him. The muscles on his shoulders bunched ma.s.sively as he strained forward, but he could not move. Intense pain took him to the edge of consciousness, and his eyes widened in defiant determination.

The female seer was not one of the two he had killed on Ulthwe. They had both been males, he was sure. Their shocked and horrified faces flashed back through his memories, framed in the fiery energy discharge from his force staff, blending into the violence of his current emotions. But there was something else in his memory, something prodding at his semi-conscious state as though triggered by it.

The spirit-ways of Ulthwe had done something to his brain; he had lost consciousness for a while before his confrontation with the seers at the access point to the infinity circuit. He could remember that now. He could remember considering whether to use the portals to get back to the Lance of Darkness after his business was done. He had reasoned that there was no choice and had thrown himself back through the immaterial channels. Then he could remember a different chamber, alive with rushing dark eldar. They were dragging two eldar seers to a Raider transport, dragging them by their hair. One of them had turned and seen Ashok, its pale blue eyes burning like distant stars.

He roared again, defying the pain inflicted by the h.e.l.lish ingenuity of his captorsa restraints. Fury filled his thoughts, dominating his soul and making his eyes burn. As he railed against his immobility, images of the dark eldar raiders spiralled through his mind and he finally fell into unconsciousness once again.

CHAPTER EIGHT: ALIEN HUNTING.

They will be leaving soon, Dhrykna of the Shining Path. It is as we have foreseen. The emerald eyes of Thaeaakzi gazed down on the kneeling figure of the Aspect Warrior, an earnest and pained smile gracing her lips. You must accompany them, child.

The Shining Spear did not look up at the Emerald Seer, but kept her face angled down into the polished surface by her knee. The seeras words were not unexpected, but they were far from welcome. She had seen the mon-keigh soldiers fight, and they were impressive enough, even if they showed little understanding of the stakes in a fight with the darklings. One of the psykers had killed as many Ulthwe captives as darkling raiders.

They are clumsy and stupid, Thaeaakzi of the Emerald Robes, and I cannot control them.

That is why you must go with them a your path is shining and clear. You will guide them with the light of your example. It has been a long time since Ulthwe had a Spear to shatter the darkness, and we should be thankful that you are here now.

Despite her reservations, Dhryknaas heart thrilled at the compliment from Thaeaakzi. It was as though the Emerald Seer had known exactly what to say to stir her emotions and to inspire her into action. The words were also those that whispered constantly in Dhryknaas own heart, taking on the voice of Prothenulh, the first exarch of the Shining Spears on Ulthwe. The vague promise of ascension to the throne of the exarch veiled her mind like a mist.

If it is the will of the council, Seer Thaeaakzi, then I will see it done.

aIt is our will,a intoned the softer and even more feminine voice of Eldressyn. Her tone was edged with music, and her words seduced an upward glance from the warrior kneeling before her. The mon-keigh are here at our bidding, and it is our bidding that they must do. Their sense of duty compels them, just as our sense of survival compels us.

There were no words for the emotions that spiralled through Dhryknaas mind as the seeras thoughts left their images free-floating in her consciousness. The young Ulthroon seer had a talent for making her ideas convincing, and her love for the craftworld of Ulthwe was beyond question. It was widely known that she was one of the favoured seers of the great Eldrad Ulthran himself, which gave her words weight beyond her years. If she was certain of the role of the mon-keigh warriors, then that was enough to ease the turmoil in Dhryknaas soul. Nonetheless, something still pulled at the edges of her thoughts, unravelling the swirling emotions and stirring suspicion in her heart. There was another voice in her head; it was a whispering presence that seemed to flow into her being, as though diffusing through the skin all over her body and then filtering into her mind.

She had felt the touch of that voice since a time before her first period of training in the temple of the Shining Spears. Indeed, she had always thought that it was a voice of calling a summoning her into the glittering service of the Shining Path. Since returning to the temple and donning the armour of her Aspect, the voice had become even more persistent, and in her heart Dhrykna felt certain that it was the call of Prothenulh, urging her to fulfil her destiny as the exarch of the Shining Spears.

Not for the first time in her life, the subconscious draw of the whispers in her mind seemed to contradict the words of the Ulthwe seers. When she had first been denied the ritual of ascension in the Aspect temple, Dhrykna had been sure that the voice in her soul was railing against the injustice and inappropriateness of the decision. At the time, she had striven to sublimate her antagonism, pushing it out of her mind and explaining it away as merely selfish and frustrated resentment. Now, however, with her body once again encased in the sacred psycho-plastic armour of a Shining Spearsa Aspect Warrior, the memory of that voice seemed to shift and alter. Perhaps it had not been only the selfish ranting of her frustrated subconscious. Perhaps she had been wrong to kowtow so meekly to the judgement of the Emerald Seer at that time. Perhaps it had been the call of Prothenulh himself that she had ignored.

These were not the kinds of thoughts that the Shining Spear should have been entertaining as she knelt in supplication and obedience at the feet of the Seer Council, receiving their directions. With the mon-keigh polluting the very heart of Ulthwe and with the darklings raiding the craftworld at will, this was not the time for doubts about their judgment. However, she could not silence the unquiet voice in her soul; it seemed to be calling her in a direction different from the thoughts of Eldressyn and Thaeaakzi. It was a voice of clarity and suspicion, and it shone in the darkest depths of her soul like a tiny, constant and distant star. Despite the intense gazes and intoxicating words of the breathtaking seers before her, Dhrykna was beginning to believe in her inner voice.

We will not send you alone, our Shining Spear. The thoughts were edged with a new sense of a.s.sertion, as though Thaeaakzi had sensed the conflict in Dhryknaas mind. Shariele of the Lost Souls will a.s.sist you to perform your duty with the mon-keigh warriors. His own visions about this matter have been clear and unambiguous. He will help you to see the true path.

There was a quality about those last few words that made Dhrykna look up from her ceremonial position, glancing up at the stem yet exquisite features of the senior seer and noticing the fire in her emerald eyes. If she had needed any reminding, the power in that gaze prompted Dhryknaas realisation that the path of the seer was an intricate, terrible and mysterious one.

There was a world hidden behind those eyes, and it was a place that the Shining Spear would never be able to see or understand. For a fleeting moment, Dhrykna looked up at the Emerald Seer as though gazing upon an alien.

Only seconds before, the beautiful seer had bidden her to follow the light of the Shining Path in her dealings with the mon-keigh; but now she implied that such a path might be ambiguous or unclear, and that the guidance of a warlock would be required. For the first time in her long experience of the Emerald Seer, Dhrykna wondered what she was not being told. It seemed to her that Thaeaakzi was attempting to convince her of the importance of her role with the mon-keigh. This was not something that the Seer Council had any need to do a they could merely direct her. Although it was not the place of an Aspect Warrior to question the judgement of the seers, it was also not the case that they should mindlessly abandon their own hard won paths in order to tread those laid at their feet by a persuasive mind.

The clarity of my path will not be determined by the guidance of any warlock, resolved Dhrykna, holding the thoughts at the back of her mind where they could not be seen. My path is radiant and clear, lit by the light of Prothenulh himself.

aShariele is a strong warrior, and he has seen the movements of the darkling wyches in the waves of the future. In communion with the Undercouncil, he has seen the killing fields. You will both be needed if the mon-keigh are to prevail in this, Dhrykna,a said Eldressyn smoothly, her voice tinged with emotion. In comparison with the calm composure of Thaeaakzi, the younger seer seemed sincere and pa.s.sionate about the mission. Paradoxically, Dhrykna always found audible voices more intimate and trustworthy than psychic communications, despite the heavy preference for the latter on Ulthwe. As though to emphasise her physicality, the young seer took a couple of steps forward and drew Dhrykna to her feet with a delicate touch of her fingers under the Aspect Warrioras chin. The two female eldar gazed unblinkingly into each otheras eyes.