Part 10 (2/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER TEN: SEDITION.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though they will not fight for me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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