Eldar Prophecy

by C. S. Goto

  'No, my quihan,' replied Yseult, although her thoughts lingered for a moment on the idea. 'I return from battle in the name of the Teirtu Zhogahn. 'I come to you for advice.' On this day of all days, the Zhogahn goes into battle? Lairgnen's thoughts turned to the Passing of Ione.

  'Battle came to him. It was the Warp Spiders, quihan. They attempted to gain entry to the Sentrium.' You stopped them?

  'I stopped them,' replied Yseult with a hint of pride. 'I claimed the Arachnir Fiannah in the Rites of Commencement. That victory is yours.'

  No, it belongs to the Teirtu now. There was a pause. So, Aingeal risks the Covenant of the Asurya's Helm? She presses against the

  wounds of the Teirtu, poking her fingers into their blood. The Aspect Temples had sworn off political affairs - we had agreed -

  you were right to oppose her. The exarch fell into thoughtfulness, disturbed by the turn of events.

  'The victory was slight, Lairgnen. The Warp Spiders are strong and the Teirtu Guardians lack the discipline of their training. We were fortunate to have greater numbers.' Your modesty is well phrased, young Yseult, but your agenda today is transparent. The Dire Avengers cannot and will not stand

  with the Teirtu, not even against the Warp Spiders. Aingeal's breach of the covenant does not justify our own. The neutrality of the

  Aspect Temples has been respected for eons on Kaelor, my Yseult, and not without reason. You ask too much.

  'You doubt House Teirtu?' Yseult looked up at the exarch, meeting his depthless eyes and gazing into the void within. This is not about the worthiness of the great houses, Yseult. Iden is a fine warrior, as was Bedwyr. This is a matter of principle.

  The Temple Guardians agreed long ago not to interfere with the affairs of the Ohlipsean. We made the agreement with Gwrih the

  Radiant himself.

  'But Aingeal disregards that agreement? Should you not avenge this slight?' Lairgnen smiled a broad, humourless smile and Yseult could not tell where his black eyes were focused. That is a nice try, Avenger Yseult, but, for now at least, I am the keeper of this temple, not you. The insult is not done to the Dire Avengers, but to

  the Circular Court. Since we have no affiliation to that Court, there is nothing for which we should seek vengeance. This has

  nothing to do with the Dire Avengers, Yseult. It is not my concern.

  'You would speak differently if House Teirtu held your respect,' said Yseult, bowing her head again in resignation. She knew that he was correct. The Aspect Temples had to be above the courtly and political fray, despite the clear arrogance of the Knavir eldar who held themselves above the violent methods of the Aspects. On Kaelor, she reflected, everyone is above everyone else. House Teirtu is a warrior house, Yseult. I have trained many of them myself. This is something that I can respect. There was

  another pause as the exarch considered whether to go on. But it is true that there are certain elements of that house that are less worthy of respect. Indeed, there are some that might one day provoke even the Avengers into a breach of our oath.

  THE GLASS SLIPPED out of Ahearn's hand, clipping the edge of the table and spinning before smashing on the ground. A pool of bubbling blue liquid rushed out between the shards for a moment, but then evaporated, leaving the jagged remains of the glass like a trap on the floor.

  'Apologies, my dear Cinnia,' the farseer mumbled with a grin. He was leaning heavily on his staff and swaying slightly. The table already supported an array of glasses, some empty, others half full. 'Let me get you another one.' 'No need, radiance. Allow me,' smiled Cinnia, standing out of her chair and offering it to the inebriated old eldar. Ahearn nodded seriously, as though acknowledging that this was the proper way to proceed. He lowered himself cautiously into the chair and placed his staff carefully on the table before him, concentrating. As Cinnia strode over to the tastefully plain, almost featureless cabinet against the wall and gestured it open, Celyddon leaned forwards from his seat and pushed a glass across the table towards the farseer. 'Thank you, my dear,' acknowledged Ahearn, focusing his eyes deliberately and then reaching for the glass. Tell me more. What else did that mon'keigh do?'

  All three of them laughed at the farseer's choice of insult. It was true that the Teirtu were as unsophisticated as human mon'keigh, but the image was perfect. Still chuckling, Cinnia watched the doors of the cabinet slide apart to reveal an assortment of bottles, carafes and a number of glasses. She peered at them, trying to differentiate between those that were clean and those that were merely empty. After several moments of indecision, she just took the nearest one and then wandered back to the table. 'It was so terrible that the Glimmering Oriana took flight!' declared Cinnia, dropping down into one of the empty chairs. 'She ran out of the shrine as though it were burning down around her. Her eyes were wild and she was clutching the tiny Turi as though desperate to save his very soul.'

  The three of them laughed for a moment, but then the laughter trailed into melancholy as the seriousness of the situation slowly and inevitably dawned on them.

  'Iden was enraged,' said Celyddon gravely. 'He lashed through the shrine, shattering many of the exquisite wraith-webs. They are irreplaceable.'

  'What of that wretch, Morfran?' asked Ahearn, gazing thoughtfully into the mist that hung around the top of his glass. 'Did he not leave with my Oriana?'

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  'No, radiance. He remained within the shrine, evidently rather excited by the events,' replied Cinnia with obvious disapproval. 'What else would you expect from him?'

  'I expected worse,' confessed Ahearn, throwing his drink back and closing his eyes to enjoy the concentrated effect of the burning, volatile liquid in his throat.

  There was a long silence as the three Knavir considered the events of the last day. Times have changed on Kaelor,' muttered Celyddon to nobody in particular. The contemplative silence that surrounded his lament was enough of a reply. A movement in the doorway told them that a visitor had arrived, but none of them looked around. The guards would have stopped anyone distasteful, or would have at least challenged them. Whoever it was, they made no sound to interrupt the three at the table. They waited at the open door, dropped onto one knee in deference to the presence of the athesdan and two of the Ohlipsean. 'And Ione?' asked Ahearn with a sudden urgency, as though he had just remembered the most important issue. 'Was the Ceremony of Passing performed adequately, at least?' Cinnia placed her glass carefully onto the table and then leant forwards earnestly. 'Iden performed the ceremony himself,' she said, as though revealing a terrible secret. The Warp Spider had killed the shrine-keepers, so Iden performed the ceremony himself 'She had a warrior's Passing,' added Celyddon sympathetically. Ahearn said nothing. He picked up his staff and used it to hook one of the carafes on the table, dragging it back towards him before pouring himself a fresh glass. His unsteady hands were suddenly strong and focused, as though all the levity of the situation had been suddenly drained away. 'The travesties of the Teirtu are unforgivable,' he said at last, lifting his glass as though in a toast. The others raised their glasses and then drained them swiftly. A moment of silence marked their solemnity. And the Warp Spiders? Our dear and immaculate Lhir informed me that they marched on Sentrium today, and you tell me that

  Aingeal herself was in the shrine? What was their purpose in this affair? The farseer let his thoughts echo around the chamber,

  deliberately letting them slip into the mind of Lhir, as he knelt silently just inside the doorway. It was important that the dashing Guardian knew that he was seen as separate from the house to which he was pledged. 'The Zhogahn suspects that they were here for you, radiance,' said Cinnia, swirling the liquid in her glass casually. She could already see where this conversation was going. 'He is concerned that you have resurrected the alliance forged by Kerwyn, radiance,' added Celyddon, his golden eyes gleaming. Ah yes, my dear lost Kerwyn, responded Ahearn, yet again including Lhir in his gloomy thoughts. I would dearly love to see him

  aga
in, but Iden has never revealed to me where he was banished to. The tone of the thoughts beseeched a response, and Lhir was

  the only one able to provide one.

  The three Knavir toyed with their glasses for a few moments, conspiratorially providing a window for Lhir to interrupt them. 'Radiance,' said Lhir from his position at the doorway, right on cue, 'the Zhogahn has requested that we increase your guard... It is for your own protection at this troubled time,' he explained, clearly unconvinced. 'Ah, Lhir!' said Ahearn, rising to his feet as though surprised to hear his voice. 'Are you at leisure to take a drink with us this time, I wonder?'

  The Guardian hesitated, but then rose to his feet and strode into the room. He stopped directly before the farseer and dropped back down onto his knees, grasping Ahearn's hand between his. Ahearn smiled. 'Please, young Lhir. It is not a relic' 'Your radiance is too generous with me,' said Lhir, steadfastly staring down into the polished floor. 'I offer my services to take a message to the Glimmering Kerwyn.'

  Will not the Zhogahn disapprove of such an act? I would not want to jeopardise your position in House Teirtu, my Lhir. Ahearn

  grinned in his mind: ''my Lhir'' was perfect. 'Lord Iden instructed me to double your guard. That is all. Until I receive further instructions, I see no reason why I cannot be of service to you, athesdan.'

  This is generous and dutiful, my dear Lhir. I will not forget this service.

  Lhir touched his forehead to the farseer's hand and then rose to his feet. He turned on his heels and strode directly out of the door. 'That was easy,' remarked Celyddon after Lhir was gone, taking a satisfying gulp from his drink. 'He wants to serve. His dhamashir is crying out for something more refined than that brute Iden. He merely required an alternative. Given a choice, most eldar will choose our way. It is our nature,' smiled Ahearn with an edge of sadness. 'I merely gave him that choice.'

  'Did you call on the Spiders, radiance?' asked Cinnia, as she watched the complex of emotions pass over the farseer's face. 'Did they come for you?'

  Ahearn sat back in his chair and gripped his glass delicately between thumb and forefinger. 'No, my beautiful Cinnia, I made no call. I cannot see why the Spiders marched today, but I can see them in a number of the myriad futures, and I know that Aingeal's soul is full of devotion to Ione; I could feel it even whilst she defiled the shrine.' 'Perhaps this is the time to call on her for aid, radiance?' offered Celyddon, clumsily putting words to the thought that was circulating around the table.

  'Perhaps,' replied Ahearn, looking up from his glass and smiling ambiguously. PREPARE YOURSELF, SAID Aingeal simply, as she leant her weight into the heavy doors and pushed. A jagged crack of light appeared down the centre, crooked like a set of teeth, and then the doors swung open and Scilti found himself staring out into the domains of Ansgar as though for the first time in his life. He stepped up under the lintel, beside the exarch and surveyed the scene, squinting in the sudden light after years of training in the shadows of the temple. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had stood out in that green forest zone and listened to Bedwyr rallying

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  House Ansgar for the final battle of the House Wars. Even the youthful Scilti had fallen into line behind the valiant patriarch, as moved by the justice of his words as by the courage of his sword. The scene had changed since then. The greens seemed somehow less vivid, and the foliage seemed less lush. The trees were thin and their leaves were sparse. The fabled umbhala stood at the centre of the clearing in front of the temple steps, shrouded in a coruscating energy field, as though to protect it from predators or poachers, and the eldar themselves seemed to slouch and shuffle. There were perhaps a dozen of them at work in the clearing, carving little trinkets out of wood or fashioning them from wraithbone amidst swirls of potent energy, artisans, wraithsmiths and others. As the doors of the temple cracked open, all eyes turned up towards them, as though filled for a moment with a spark of hope. Scilti felt the weight of their expectations, but he didn't understand it. 'What do they want?'

  Food, perhaps.

  The answer was not the one Scilti had been anticipating. He digested it like a shot of strong liquor, shivering involuntarily despite his resolution to seem unaffected.

  'They are outcasts?' he asked, trying to fit an explanation to the facts before his eyes. 'Path Finders?' No. They are regular wayfarers like you. Can you not see the skill that goes into their labour?

  Scilti nodded as the eldar in the clearing began to rise to their feet and move towards the base of the steps. Very soon, there was a small crowd assembled, looking up and studying the young Warp Spider and his exarch. Times have changed on Kaelor since you were last outside the gates of this temple, young Scilti. The eldar of Ansgar suffer the

  residues of Teirtu's wrath. The House Wars may have ended, but these eldar are still suffering from them. The Teirtu and the

  Ohlipsean draw a heavy tithe from these lands, heavier than it can service.

  Genuine horror gnawed at Scilti's soul. 'Why was I not told?' You were in training, my young lord. The affairs of Kaelor must not intrude on your training. The way of the Warp Spider is raw

  and visceral and should have no concern for politics. Remember that.

  'This is not politics!' Scilti raised his voice, and regretted it immediately. The gathering crowd below picked up on his tone, as more eldar joined it. 'We are talking about survival here... How could you let this happen?' What would you have me do?

  'Fight!' The answer seemed simple and dear to the young Scilti. A murmur of recognition pulsed through the crowd below. They could feel the passion and the indignation of the young Warp Spider. Was this the one that they had been waiting for? Was this the one spoken of in Lady Ione's prophecy? This is not the Warp Spiders' fight, Scilti. The Aspect Temples are sworn to neutrality, you know this. A figure stepped out of the crowd down below. His grey hair was matted and unkempt, and his clothing was torn and patched, but his eyes gleamed and the hilt of a well-polished sword glinted under his ragged, blue cloak. 'Lord Scilti?' The voice was firm and unwavering belying the shabby appearance of the eldar who spoke. 'My Lord Scilti, do you not remember us?'

  Scilti looked down at the ragged bunch of eldar at the base of steps. He studied them. There was something incomplete about the impression that they gave. There was something hidden in their manner. A simmering defiance seemed to roil and bubble just under the atrophied surface. Despite their broken appearance, a fighting spirit emanated from them. Looking more closely, Scilti could see the glint of a sword hilt under the dark blue cloak of one, the bulge of a shuriken catapult strapped to the leg of another, the handles of twin witchblades protruded past the shoulders of another, and one leant his weight on a long staff that looked rather like a singing spear. 'These are the Ansgar Guardians?' asked Scilti, turning to Aingeal in disbelief. 'This is what has become of them since the end of the war?' His voice betrayed a mixture of resentment and pain. These are the survivors, young Scilti. They returned to these lands, and they have been waiting for a leader, for one of the Ansgar

  to return to them as Lady Ione had prophecied.

  Turning back to look down the steps of the temple, Scilti saw the group form itself into a line. Then they dropped to one knee on the bottom step. They swung the torn remnants of their cloaks over one shoulder and touched their fists to the ground in signs of deference to him.

  'My Lord Scilti, we have been waiting for you.'

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  CHAPTER THREE: KERWYN

  SOME KIND OF liquid was dripping down from the distant ceiling, making Lhir aware that every level in Kaelor had another level above it, no matter how distant or invisible the ceiling might be. It was one of the special idiosyncrasies of the vast craftworld. Even though it existed as a finite object in three-dimensions, it was almost impossible to find its edges, and it was literally the case that every level had another above it, even those that should have been right at the top. Intellectually,
Lhir knew that this had something to do with the fact that the architecture of the craftworld was not restricted to the three material dimensions - it had something to do with tetrahedral design, where the central vertex that defined the dimensions of the space lay in the immaterial realms - but the details of it were beyond him. He remembered hearing that the primitive mon'keigh had once had such a limited understanding of gravity that they had thought that planets were flat, otherwise they could not explain why people didn't fall off them. Despite his unsanitary and messy surroundings, the analogy with the legendary stupidity of the mon'keigh brought a smile to his face.

  Besides, most Kaelorians would live their entire lives without giving the matter of craftworld architecture any thought. It was not until they experienced something as bizarre as a leaking roof that anyone was reminded of where they were. After many long hours of riding to find the location, Lhir climbed off his deep green jetbike and surveyed the matrices of pipes, tubes and conduits that threaded and interwove through the wide, low space. Some of them had ruptured long ago, and reservoirs of oily liquids had pooled under the elevated pipes. The toxicity of the effluent had eaten through the floor in a few places, and Lhir could hear the distant dripping of liquid falling a long distance into the level below, which must either have been evacuated or had never occupied in the first place. Why would anyone want to live out here? Lhir asked himself, scowling at the smell and the general indignity of the place. He had never heard of anyone choosing to live in the Coolant Wastes, but he was aware that some of the less savoury outcasts were banished into these sectors. Legend had it that the Ranger Vhruar the Hidden spent many years here, self-ostracised from the strictures of Kaelorian society before he had embarked on his epic journey to discover the fabled Black Library. If the rumours were true, then there might still be pockets of Path Finders hidden out here, shunned by the rest of Kaelor, which they shunned in return.

  Lhir had been into these sectors before, long ago. He remembered the distastefulness of the experience, but he also remembered the Wastes being smaller and less extensive. He recalled some degradation in the coolant systems that ran through the whole segment, but he didn't remember them being so close to ruination. If memory served him correctly, the Coolant Wastes had sprawled out through these sectors over the last hundred years, growing like a cancer on the fringes of Kaelor. It was as though the Knavir of the Ohlipsean were simply ignoring it. He couldn't believe that Iden would have banished Kerwyn Rivalin, the farseer's only son, to such a forsaken place. There had to be some kind of mistake. He was duty-bound to check it out; he had promised the farseer. Leaning over his jetbike, Lhir opened one of the panels on the side and pulled out a long slender shuriken cannon. It was scarred and battle-marked from previous encounters, but he checked it briefly, making sure that it was still dean and functional; it had been a long time since he had required the use of such a weapon. Not since he had played his part in the House Wars had he needed anything more than his ornate, decorated pistol. The Farseer's Palace was not noted for its large-scale disturbances, and his posting as captain of Aheam's personal Guardians had given him a virtually ceremonial role. He tested the weight and the balance of the cannon, holding it comfortably between both hands. It felt good. A flicker of intensity passed through his thoughts, as though something dormant had awoken within him when he picked up the weapon. A voice in his dhamashir whispered bloody thoughts, like the calling of Khaine. Yes, thought Lhir, this is how it should be. He was a Guardian of House Teirtu, not an effete courtier of the Ohlipsean. He had almost forgotten. The Sentrium could have that effect on an eldar. Movement flashed between the pipes and ventilation shafts ahead of him. It was a glimmer of motion, little more than a disturbance of the light. Instinctively, he looked behind, checking to make sure that it was not a deliberate distraction. Nothing.