Part 11 (1/2)

I have no doubts about it, seer. Lelithas thoughts eased back into Bhurolynas mind, hissing like a snake, but she did not turn to face him. She could feel him inhaling her scent and she pretended to be preoccupied with the procession of mon-keigh.

Are you satisfied that we have upheld our end of the bargain? Never ask a darkling wych whether you have given her enough.

Very slowly, Lelith turned to face the Seer of the Sacred Star, bringing her own staggeringly beautiful features directly into his face so that he could feel her breath against his skin. She could see his excited blue eyes widen in thrilled surprise. The eldar of Ulthwe had a very different concept of personal s.p.a.ce from the wyches of Hesperax, for whom intimacy was a proper aspect of everyday communication.

Lelith knew that a female eldar might never have stood this close to Bhurolyn in his entire life. She eyed him up and down as though for the first time, taking his measure: aside from his glorious sapphire robe, which she noticed matched that of his apprentice, he was a dishevelled and unattractive figure. His physique was poor, even for a pathetic lightling seer: he was clearly advanced in age and his sedentary lifestyle had not helped him to stay in shape.

The lightlings were usually slender and fit creatures, but this one had a belly and the remnants of what were once muscles hung loosely from his skeleton. Set deeply into his gaunt face, his eyes were bright with knowledge, but they burned with the kind of innocence that Lelithas soul cried out to violate. If this was the best that Ulthran could muster, perhaps she should not have agreed a bargain with the wily old fa.r.s.eer after all. I am never satisfied. It was true. Bhurolynas eyebrows twitched slightly, as though the reply had surprised or t.i.tillated him. Lelith could see the strain across his features as he fought the conflicting urge to step back and the desire to remain where he stood.

As she watched him, the sense of frivolity that had pervaded her mood began to wane. This creature was not worthy of her attention, even of this kind of flippant flirtation. She simply could not believe that this was the best that Ulthran could send. He was weak and pathetic. Even standing in his face made his soul quake with emotions that he could neither recognise nor control. His mind was full of anxiety, even to the point of hysteria. This seer might be knowledgeable and useful on a council for the cowardly Ulthwe, but he was less than nothing to Lelith.

Why are you here, Bhurolyn of the Sacred Star?

I came to bring you your sacrifices, Lelith, at the request of the mighty Ulthran himself. His reply was full of pride, and Lelith even thought that she could see his chest swell slightly as he thought of the ancient fa.r.s.eer.

Does it not strike you as odd, seer of Ulthwe, that your prisoner required an escort? If thoughts could smile, then the vague beginnings of a grin were creeping into Lelithas.

Bhurolyn paused for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. He was finding it difficult to concentrate with Lelithas breath caressing his cheeks. No. The psyker broke away from the rest of the mon-keigh, just as Ulthran said that he would. While Shariele and Dhrykna escorted the rest, Xhelkisor and I would escort this one. Consistency is the soul partner of good sense, after all.

Lelith gave him an incredulous and slightly repulsed look. She often wondered how the lightlings could survive according to their pithy maxims and pathetic codes, but she had never come across any of her pale cousins who would dare to quote them directly to her. There was only a small logical step between such cheap wisdom and a sermon on the merits of the Path of the Eldar, and if this seer started down that road with her she would kill him herself, Slaanesh be d.a.m.ned.

Before she responded, Lelithas lip curled into an involuntary snarl as she let her mind wander towards the laughable Path of the Eldar. She had been there all those millennia before when the great and the wise had constructed the path. She had seen them b.u.mbling and conniving in short-sighted foolishness. Even now she could not believe that the craftworld eldar had so easily and voluntarily surrendered their natures and their potential, all in the name of cowardice. Ulthran had been the worst of them, fleeing into the darkest reaches of s.p.a.ce and hobbling his own people so that they could not fight the great enemy even if the elusive craftworld of Ulthwe was ever found. And now look what he sends to Lelith, Wych Queen of Strife, a pathetic, weak and feeble-minded fool.

But why, my dear misguided Bhurolyn? Why did the mon-keigh require escorts at all? Were not my wyches there with you? Was it not they who captured and restrained the primitive humans? It was like talking to a child.

Confusion appeared on the seeras face. It started on his brow, furrowed and tense, and then spread across his features, knotting crowas feet into the corners of his eyes and tweaking the edges of his mouth.

There, thought Lelith to herself. At last he is beginning to see.

You mean Yes, I mean that you are part of the bargain, seer of Ulthwe. Your precious Lord Ulthran has sent your souls to seal the deal, although I cannot imagine that they are worth very much. It is actually rather insulting for us both.

The Seer of the Sacred Star looked dumbfounded as Lelith turned away from him dismissively and watched the Deathwatch Marines being formed into a line at the edge of the arena, awaiting her pleasure. They were an impressive if ramshackle sight a Lelith took a moment to hope that her new haemonculus had not damaged them.

Xhelkisor had advanced to the very lip of the platform and was peering down into the auditorium with an expression that suggested she saw it as little more than a pit of filth. She had been excluded from the exchange between her master, Bhurolyn, and the wych queen, and so had become bored. Now she stood with her back to them, gazing down at the blood-lined arena, waiting for something to justify her presence. In amongst the line of the mon-keigh barbarians, she could see the brilliance of Dhryknaas Aspect Armour s.h.i.+mmering and white like a pearl of guilt. She had not yet seen the pale shock that had descended across Bhurolynas face. So, when she felt the gentle prod of Lelithas stiletto pointed heel push into the back of her knee, causing her leg to buckle and her balance to fail, she had no idea that she was being cast down into the repugnant arena below on purpose.

The young seer hit the ground hard, snapping her left leg in two places and crumpling into a bleeding heap. As she looked back up the sheer wall at the side of the arena with the jeering cries of the a.s.sembled darklings coruscating in her ears, she saw the magnificent, ceremonial robes of Bhurolyn fluttering on the lip of Lelithas platform, transforming him into the image of a ma.s.sive, flightless bird. His heels were already hanging over the drop, and only the toes of his thin boots had any purchase on the wych queenas platform. For a moment, the wheeling actions of his arms seemed to defeat the force of gravity, and the Seer of the Sacred Star teetered on the brink. Xhelkisor could imagine the expression on the old eldaras face, his eyes bulging with panic as he realised that the council had betrayed him and that he was about to fall dozens of storeys into a darkling fighting pit.

Watching the flailing old seer tumble and flutter as he fell, Xhelkisor reflected that there were worse ways for a craftworld eldar to die. Although her body was broken already, and she had no hope of survival let alone victory in the arena, she knew that her death was required for the fulfilment of Lord Ulthranas grand design.

There was a kind of cold solace in the realisation that her life was not being discarded meaninglessly, even though it was being discarded by the Seer Council of Ulthwe. She had watched Shariele of the Undercouncil incinerate himself in the flames of his own power, and she had not felt even a twinge of pity. She had known that his death was necessary for the good of Ulthwe and she had known that he would have given his life willingly if only he had been asked. Standing over amid the mon-keigh, Xhelkisor could only imagine that Dhrykna felt the same.

As Bhurolyn slammed into the ground next to her, throwing up a cloud of dust and blood, Xhelkisor considered how much better it would have been had someone actually asked them to perform this duty a but then, the council of Ulthran was never so straightforward. Deceit was part of the Eldar Way.

The darklings in the audience seemed to hold their breaths. There was a faint sn.i.g.g.e.ring, but a new aura of quiet antic.i.p.ation had spread around the stands.

Master Bhurolyn. Her thoughts were weak and without much hope. The old seer was weak and fragile, and she did not expert that he would have survived the fall. Master Bhurolyn, she repeated, pulling herself painfully up onto one foot and staring in horror at the mess that remained of her other leg.

As she limped and dragged herself over towards the cloud of dust and debris that marked her masteras landing site, the sound of heavy doors grinding open made her pause and look up. A huge crack had appeared in the wall underneath Lelithas platform and the great doors were slowly rolling open a threads of putrid smoke and fragmented beams of light were already spilling out of the widening gap. The audience could not stand the antic.i.p.ation anymore, and they started to scream and bray like excited animals.

The cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the impart of the Seer of the Sacred Star began to settle as Xhelkisor approached it. She narrowed her eyes against the swirling grit and steam, trying to discern the broken shape of Bhurolyn inside. The ground looked uneven and broken, strewn with fragmentary objects, and for a moment Xhelkisor wondered whether her masteras old, fragile body had simply disintegrated on impact, unable to withstand the trauma.

Xhelkisor. She recognised the thought tone instantly, but she could not understand where it was coming from. Xhelkisor, we will not survive this, and it seems that we were never supposed to. But we can make an end that will be worthy of the Sacred Star and of Ulthran himself. If the fa.r.s.eer chose us for this purpose, he must have had his reasons.

Xhelkisor looked around her, trying to catch a glimpse of Bhurolyn. His thoughts seemed strong and confident, in a way that she had never heard them before. The old seer was usually a b.u.mbling mess of anxieties and conventions. Listening to the strength of his convictions, she realised that Ulthranas decision to send him to Hesperax was not merely because he was an expendable old fool. The ancient fa.r.s.eer could see into the souls of every eldar, and he had known Bhurolyn for longer than Xhelkisor had even been alive a if anyone could see the nature of the seeras heart, it was Ulthran. Perhaps Bhurolyn was meant to be a last surprise for Lelith?

A silent pulse rolled through the ground, rippling out from the diminis.h.i.+ng cloud that marked the point of Bhurolynas fall. It rolled through the arena, making its surface ripple and swell like water. Silence gripped the audience once again.

An explosion of light erupted, shrugging off the cloud of dust and filling the amphitheatre with the starkest shadows that it had seen in centuries. Hundreds of darklings gasped and s.h.i.+elded their eyes in admiration and horror.

The light vanished as quickly as it had appeared, as though being suddenly sucked back into its source like a kind of anti-explosion, leaving the dignified figure of Bhurolyn standing proudly in its epicentre, his long, luxurious sapphire cloak billowing out behind him. I have grown too old, Xhelkisor. Too old and weak. The council no longer respects me. How could I have hoped for a last chance of glory like this. My lord Ulthran can see into my heart, and he does great honour to this decrepit and dying body. I will not fail him, and I will not fail myself at the last.

With that, Bhurolyn punched forward and sent a javelin of power crackling through the arena. It slammed into the ma.s.sive, slowly opening doors and blew them apart, shattering them instantly and sending shards of metal and masonry flying around the amphitheatre like hail caught in a hurricane. Bring it on. His thoughts were impatient and his blue eyes burnt with violence. The crowd went wild.

The darkling guards were distracted as soon as the female seer had been pushed off the elevated platform. When the second seer crashed down into the arena with such drama, the excitable and distracted guards seemed to forget all about their prisoners, turning their backs on them to face the show: they were as good as dead anyway If there was anything that appealed more profoundly to the soul of a dark eldar wych than the prospect of visiting violence on prisoners, it was the actual occurrence of violence itself. Next to the unfolding drama in the arena, the mon-keigh prisoners just seemed uninteresting.

The great gladiatrix gates that were set into the wall beneath the queenas podium had been grinding open with ominous weight when the sapphire seer had reduced them to rubble. Three or four somersaulting wyches had already bounded out of the widening gap, spreading themselves around the perimeter of the arena to surround the two seers in the middle. In the black shadows beyond the half-ruined gates, the sound of heavy footfalls told everyone that the wyches were just the start of the show.

For all of his apparent frailties and cowardice, the male seer was ablaze with power and defiance. His hands burned with bolts of shaaiel, which he formed into spherical projectiles before launching them around the arena at the circling wyches. After a couple of dramatic trials, he had abandoned his a.s.sault on Lelithas podium in order to turn his attention to the immediate crisis that engulfed him.

Meanwhile, the injured and lame female seer was supporting her weight on the elongated leg bone of a recently deceased warp beast, using it like a crutch under one arm. With her other hand, she was spraying a hail of shaaiel shards around the arena, imitating the discharge of a shuriken cannon.

The amphitheatre was alive with the keening of the darkling audience and the fury of escalating combat in the arena itself. High above the tumult, Lelith stood gloriously on her blood-soaked platform, surveying the scene with a wide, wild and sinister grin drawn across her unspeakably beautiful face.

The Deathwatch Marines and Dhrykna of the s.h.i.+ning Path stood in a line behind the distracted guards. They were unhindered by nerve-pins and were struck with amazement by the events that were unfolding around them. It seemed that the council of Ulthwe had not only double-crossed its human partners in the Coven of Isha, but it had also betrayed its own seers, leaving them to die in sacrificial combat here on Sussarkhas Peak.

Without a word, Dhrykna darted forward, her now scarred and battle damaged white armour still glinting like a fleck of sullied innocence in the enshrouding darkness. She leapt into the air, clasping her hands around the head of one of the darkling guards in front of her as she twisted and spun over into the arena; she landed crisply in front of it, facing back to where its face should have been, but she held its now detached head clutched in her hands.

A dramatic second pa.s.sed before the darklingas decapitated body collapsed to the ground at Dhryknaas feet, and she s.n.a.t.c.hed its darkly glinting bladed weapon from its dead hands. Sparing a moment to nod a farewell to Octavius, she turned and dashed towards the centre of the arena where her fellow sacrificial eldar were fighting a glorious but losing battle.

At precisely the moment that the rest of the darkling guards realised that something had gone wrong, the Deathwatch Marines threw themselves forward, breaking the backs, necks and limbs of the slender aliens as though they were kindling. Without the constraints of the nerve-pins, the s.p.a.ce Marines were far stronger than the dark eldar wyches when it came to brute power, and the shock attack from behind afforded the aliens no chance to capitalise on their great speed and skill.

Instinctively, the Marines reached down and picked up the darklingsa weapons. Because there were so many more mined guards than prisoners, the team was able to equip itself with one weapon in each hand. Without pausing for discussion, Sulphus, Pelias and Luthar turned towards the doors through which they had been ushered into the arena, set on escaping the arena of death. This battle was between the eldar and their darkling cousins; it had nothing to do with them.

Kruidan, the Mantis Warrior whose egregious wounds had been painfully but carefully healed by the haemonculi so that he might suffer more greatly in the arena, turned to follow his battle-brothers, then he stopped. Because of the attentions of the haemonculi, he was without the armour that usually covered his upper body, and his pale, intricately tattooed flesh glistened in the half-light. Octavius, Atreus and Ashok had not moved; they were standing shoulder to shoulder and staring in at the figures of the embattled eldar. In a moment of realisation, the Mantis Warrior knew what they were about to do and he returned to his captainas side.

All around the auditorium, the dark eldar audience was alive with pa.s.sion, shrieking and braying like wild animals, seemingly unable to control their excitement about the ongoing battle in the arena.

Nonetheless, one or two pairs of glowering eyes had already turned towards the figures of the Deathwatch Marines. Fingers were beginning to point and a new wave of hysterical excitement seemed to ripple through the crowd. Not a single dark eldar in the stands reached for a weapon or vaulted down into the arena to confront the Marines; perhaps they thought it was all part of the show.

aThe sacrifice of those eldar is part of the dark queenas plan to free her daemon,a muttered Octavius, his barely audible voice tinged with disbelief about the conclusion to which his thoughts were racing. aWe must not permit the darklings to take their souls. Though they betrayed us, we are allies in this fight. There is a greater evil in the wings than the treachery of Ulthwe.a The others said nothing. They knew that their valiant captain was right, and they simply nodded their understanding, keeping their eyes fixed on the maelstrom of shrieks, warp fire and flas.h.i.+ng blades that had filled the arena before them. After a second, Octavius raised his blades and roared his defiance into the arena, charging forward into the fray with his weapons las.h.i.+ng furiously around him. Immediately, Ashok and Atreus unleashed javelins of crackling power from the tips of their blades, and then stormed after their captain. Kruidan paused for a moment, struck through with admiration for the Imperial Fistsa unerring and clear-headed sense of duty. This mission was no longer about fulfilling the Coven, but about preventing its realisation.

Standing square with the field of battle, the Mantis Warrior dragged the tip of his stolen glaive diagonally across his chest, drawing a deep and symbolic gash through his flesh in the ritual manner of the Praying Mantidae. It was a sign that he was unconcerned by pain or death, even if death was ready and waiting for him. He took a breath, muttering a litany of composure and hate, and then he pounded into the arena after his battle-brothers.

Just as they reached the doors at the edge of the amphitheatre, Pelias, Luthar and Sulphus turned to see what was going on. They saw four glorious s.p.a.ce Marines ploughing through the thickening mire of combat, hacking and blasting their way through the wyches and snarling warp beasts, ablaze with heroism and battling towards the beleaguered eldar in the very centre of the ring. They paused as they realised what their selfless captain was doing and, one by one, they turned back into the arena, pangs of shame and disbelief intermixing with admiration in their souls.

By the time the remains of the ma.s.sive gladiatrix gates had finally ground open to their widest extent, the arena was already soaked with blood and strewn with the charred and hacked remains of half a dozen darkling wyches. The Deathwatch team and the eldar had formed a ring in the centre of the arena, each standing at anotheras back, forming a gravitational centre that seemed to suck the aliens into their doom, before scattering their bones out once again. It was as though all the darkness of Hesperax was being drawn towards them a with only the glinting shoulder plates of the Deathwatch and the radiant white of Dhrykna standing symbolically in the light.

Stolen blades flashed in the darkness, and jets of warp power lashed out of the phalanx of resistance.

aCaptain!a yelled Kruidan as he ducked smoothly under the sweep of a darkling blade, the emerald greens and golds of the Chapter emblem on his shoulder whirling into streams of colour as he spun. The noise was incredible and, having been dispossessed of their helmets by the haemonculi, the Marines had no vox-beads. aCaptain!a he yelled again, stabbing one of his own blades through the neck of a scarred and sneering face as it lurched towards him, its teeth dripping with thirst.