Eldar Prophecy

by C. S. Goto

  Scilti had watched the suffering of the Teirtu heir with particular pleasure, imagining that this should have been the fate of Naois and cursing the weakness of Iden's will that he had allowed the little abominations to live. Aside from the political naivety, it suddenly seemed incredible to Scilti that Iden had been able to deprive himself of the unspeakable pleasure of doing such violence to the helplessly innocent and the helplessly corrupted all at once. It was like a poem, and Scilti could feel the vile, sickly, sensual pleasure of the irony coagulating in his soul as he drained another glass of Edreacian wine and kicked at Morfran's feet to make him swing.

  Cinnia and Celyddon exchanged glances as they sat opposite each other at the table, overflowing with foodstuffs and drinks. They could hardly believe the transformation that had ravaged the Sentrium. They had worked so hard and for so long to protect the

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  pleasures and privileges of the Knavir, shunning the crude, over-disciplined violence of the warrior houses, that they had never even considered the possibility that violence could be a kind of pleasure. For long years, they had kept themselves somewhat separate from the other courtiers, indulging themselves in the refined, cultivated and delicate pleasures of the Sentrium as profoundly as their natures demanded. Together with a small group of like- minded Knavir, they had lived in the species-honesty that was denied and frustrated by the Eldar Path of Ihnyoh. They called themselves the Isha-ann, the seekers of truth. In his uncouth and repulsive way, Morfran had been a fellow traveller on that path, but none of them would mourn his passing. Despite their decadence, they were still Knavir and they still had standards of sophistication to uphold.

  Iden had been the real enemy: disciplined, stoic and bellicose all at once. He had been a concentrated and dedicated opponent of the indulgence that the so-called Isha-ann had pursued. Although he had admired the grandeur of the court and had craved its approval, the Zhogahn had never been able to free himself of the discipline of his warrior dhanir. No matter how much he may have wanted to immerse himself in the pleasures of artistry and intoxication, combat remained his only indulgence. Scilti was entirely different. There was a scintillating cocktail of disciplined violence and a wreckless abandon in him. Battle was not about honour or victory or worthiness or even politics, it was a matter of blood and ecstasy. It was an indulgence in itself, like a symphony or a poem. Pain was not a side effect of a strike, but rather it was its purpose. Different types of pain might combine and harmonise into whole new experiences of pleasure. The pain of others was exquisite, but the pain of self was an ineffable joy. Scilti was neither a bumbling, hedonistic fool like Morfran nor a stoic, joyless warrior like Iden. He was a genuine sadist, and this realisation sent a thrill of excitement pulsing through the stunned Cinnia and Celyddon. A whole new world of pleasures had sud- denly opened up to them, and it was a world as perfectly suited to the new, chaotic and corrupt atmosphere of the Sentrium, as the lashes of the warp Maelstrom outside Kaelor, mingled with the appalled violence of the Fluir-haern. The bound and gagged farseer had been discarded on the floor at the foot of the table, beyond the shocked, silent and austere figure of the aging Yuthran Seer Triptri Paraq, whose skin pallor had begun to turn green with horror at the proceedings. A pool of Edreacian wine had spilt around him and was soaking into his cloak as he lay immobile. As she watched, Cinnia realised that the humiliation and suffering of the Radiant Farseer made her soul flare with delight. Scilti was a genius of diabolical decadence. Then she noticed that old Ahearn was licking at the wine on the floor, and she wondered for a moment whether he was enjoying it.

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: PURGATION

  HAVING LAID THEIR exarch to rest in the liquid embrace of the Fluir-haern, the Warp Spiders returned to the Rivalin Gates. Their numbers were few - little more than two squads ensconced in two Falcon grav-tanks - but their spirits were dark and firm with intent. As they approached the gates, they could see the destruction that Scilti and wrought. The delicate and beautiful structure of the famed gates was cracked, shredded and ruined, and the bodies of the gate's defenders still lay dead on the ground or amidst the remnants of their gun boxes.

  Yet again, Naois drew his force to a halt outside the Sentrium. He clambered out of the Falcon and strode towards the gates on foot, but when he reached the threshold of the court sector, he stopped on the line as though unable or unwilling to take the next step.

  He looked down the section of the Boulevard of Koldo that ran into the heart of the Sentrium from the gates. Just as the myths and legends had said, its streets were paved with wraithbone and the buildings were fashioned of glistening crystal. Unlike anywhere else in Kaelor, except perhaps for the forest domes of Ansgar, the ceilings were almost invisibly distant, but on this day, high up in the aspiring dome, cracks of sha'iel flashed like bolts of lightning, lighting up sections of the ceiling for him to see. It was not difficult to imagine the effect that such a place could have on the sensitive dhamashir of the children of Isha, and the intimate connections between architecture and power were not lost on Naois. On an instinctive level, he could see that the Sentrium had been designed deliberately to seduce the soul, and for the first time he wondered whether that had been Gwrih the Radiant's intention. Was it possible that the gradually increasing decadence of the countless eons since the Craftwars had been foreseen and anticipated, and even encouraged? The divide between the Knavir and the great houses of the outer realms had been a design feature? But to what end?

  Looking more carefully down the street, but still refusing to take the step into the Sentrium, Naois saw the blood. It ran in thin trickles along the side of the pathway. It was smeared against the windows and splattered against the crystal walls. He could see hands reaching lifelessly from shattered doorways, and there were even a few bodies left lying in the gutters, as though they had been pushed aside to clear the road.

  As the Maelstrom flickered and lashed through the psycho-conductive structure of Kaelor, filling the Sentrium with eerie, purpling light, Naois could feel the lazy corruption of the Knavir shifting into a terrible violence. The seductive perfume of the Great Enemy blew through the street, where once the delicate scent of the faerulh had wafted. It was as though he could feel his own dhamashir changing.

  This war was no longer about the Teirtu or the Ansgar, or the ancient feuds of great houses. This war was about the collective dhamashir-soul of Kaelor. The insidious corruption and decadence had been allowed to prosper in the heart of the craftworld for too long. Just as last time, the Lhykosidae had returned to purge the system. The Sentrium had to fall. Naois took another long look down the bloodied road and then turned back towards his own force. The Warp Spiders were spent. On the whole of Kaelor, there remained only two squads, collected into the hulls of two Falcon tanks and assembled outside the Rivalin Gates. There were, perhaps, only twelve Aspect Warriors standing ready to take on Scilti, the once honourable Ansgar army, and whatever else lay in wait in the distorted and barely recognisable Sentrium. Even for the Wraith Spider, the odds looked slim.

  As he gazed at the tanks with despair scraping at his mind, a hatch jettisoned and little Ela climbed out onto the top of the hull. Her blue and silver robes were the colours of Ansgar, and her sapphire eyes shone with undimmed radiance. She looked over at Naois, staring evenly into his silvering eyes, and then she smiled faintly. This is why we are here, brother. Choice lies only along the paths of others. For us there is only this. There was only ever going

  to be this.

  As the darkness descended over the Sentrium, the solitary, golden figure of Naois standing before the ruined Rivalin Gates was like an icon of war; a pure, unsullied force of destruction. THE SILK BANNER of Anyon fluttered proudly on the horizon. It was black like the void, but edged with the palest blue. Just out of the centre, a single, stylised wing curled into a crescent, and it glittered as though studded with sapphires. The army was small, little more than a detac
hment, but it shone like the embodiment of pride as it marched in Uisnech Anyon's wake. There were a few jetbikes and a couple of Vypers, but no heavy weapons. It was the remnant of the force that had confronted the Ansgar at Iden's side during the House Wars, and it had neither had the cause nor the opportunity to rebuild since that victory.

  At the head of the abrupt column, Uisnech wore the sumptuous, ceremonial battledress of Anyon. A great, pale plume rose out of his helmet and a long, shimmering black cloak fell from his shoulders. In his hands he gripped a lasblaster, and a series of glints from his belt revealed that he was carrying a chain of plasma grenades. Behind him was an honour guard of Swooping Hawks with their majestic wings spread out in an ostentatious display. Then came the Anyon Guardians, marching on foot and skimming on their rapid strike vehicles.

  As they emerged out of the Vine of Maugan and turned onto the Boulevard of Koldo to exit the Sentrium, Uisnech saw the figure of a golden warrior standing in the middle of the shattered Rivalin Gates, as though barring the way out of the Sentrium. For a moment, he thought that the young eldar warrior was standing alone - the crystal light of the Sentrium burst off his golden armour and obscured Uisnech's view of the Warp Spider Falcons behind him - but as his eyes adjusted to the brilliant reflections, he realised who the startling warrior must be.

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  The two small forces stood facing each other for a moment, on either side of the threshold to the Sentrium. Having witnessed the atrocities of the Teirtu and then the Ansgar, the Anyon were leaving the court to consume itself, preferring to have nothing to do with it. However, the Warp Spiders were poised on the brink of their own annihilation, ready to storm into the Sentrium with death on the tips of their blades and spilling from their guns. The childling Ela stepped out into the space between the two, emerging like a childling ghost out of the obscure darkness behind her brother.

  Uisnech of Anyon. She knew who he was without asking. This is not the time to flee from the corruption of the court. That time

  passed long ago, and yet you stayed. That choice has been lost to us. This is the time for boldness, not cowardice.

  Despite the slight to his honour, the old warrior Uisnech found that he could not feel affronted by the childling. She was transfixing, like a darkling wych. He held out his hand to stop his meagre but proud army, and came to a standstill opposite Naois, with Ela equidistant between them.

  The farseer had fallen into the hands of your abominable kinsman, aberration of Ansgar, and the time is not long past since I

  stood against your father.

  The past is not our concern on this day, Lord Anyon of the Veiled Blade, except in so far as it has brought us here into this

  present. It is the path to the future that determines our wills and our worth, replied Ela, her words belying her youth. We stand on

  the precipice, and Kaelor is poised ready to fall.

  There was a long pause as Uisnech considered the unlikely figures of Ela and Naois. He looked past them at the shining but battle- scarred Falcon grav-tanks and took note of the banner of the Lhykosidae that flew confidently above them. He had heard the legends of the Wraith Spider, just like all the other eldar on Kaelor, but he had also heard the prophecy of Lady Ione, and he found it too incredible to believe that the youthful Naois could really be such a powerful agent of change. It was simply too great a coincidence. There was nothing cruder and more vulgar than a coincidence. It was merely a destiny that lazy minds had failed to understand.

  As he swept his gaze around the blood-soaked streets, Uisnech saw that he could not leave the Sentrium in this condition, no matter how much its recent occupants had disgusted him. As a descendent of the original Knavir, the eldar knights that had first set out for the stars aboard the epic craftworlds, his obligation was to Kaelor and the eldar souls that it contained. That was why he had stood with the farseer and then with Iden during the House Wars, not for his personal pleasure or benefit, but because he had been convinced of their honourable and righteous intentions. It was clear that the fall of Iden had changed everything. I will stand with you against Scilti and the ugliness of the court, he replied at last, sweeping his arm into an elegant bow.

  Make no mistake, Uisnech of Anyon, we do not stand against ugliness. We bring it with us.

  FOR THE FIRST time in his life, Scilti's first thought was to flee. When he heard the opening shots of the first exchange in the Plaza of Vaul outside the palace, he looked around the banqueting chamber and realised that Naois was coming to take it all away from him. Throughout his whole life Scilti had contended with his younger cousin arriving later than him and stealing the limelight away. Exactly the same thing had just happened in the domains of Ansgar, after all. Now, after Scilti had led the Ansgar to their moment of greatest power and privilege on Kaelor -after he had usurped the throne of the farseer and left the aging Ahearn crawling around the floor in pools of wine - Naois came charging along to steal it all away. It wasn't fair. It was as though the son of Bedwyr simply could not stand to see his cousin's success. A series of explosions shook the banqueting chamber, making a number of bottles on the table tip over. They rolled inevitably towards the edge and then fell, smashing onto the floor. Crackling lines of energy arced through the walls, around the room, fizzling and hissing with mysterious potency. 'You must defend the palace!' yelled Scilti suddenly. He dropped his feet off the table edge and swept his glance around the room, swaying slightiy with intoxication. He could see a number of the Ansgar Guardians with their heads down on their tables, and a number of others who were deliberately avoiding his eyes. One or two clambered languorously to their feet, as though preparing to depart for the Plaza of Vaul.

  'It is your duty to defend this palace!' he yelled again, straggling to find any words to inspire his drowsy and sated warriors. All discipline appeared to have collapsed. While they had been rampaging through the Sentrium, taking what was there, the lapse in concentration had meant little to Scilti - he was happy to see his warriors indulged after so many years of deprivation - but now, when everything was on the line, he needed them to recover themselves. 'It is your duty to defend me!' he shouted, realising that this was the most important and pressing problem. There was real emotion in his voice, and he was full of a ridiculous, self-centred certainty that this passion would be enough to reawaken his Guardians. At that moment, he could think of no cause more lofty or honourable than the defence of his own person: he had chosen life. A few of the Guardians nodded in ascent, pushing back from their drinks and food and staggering to their feet. They swayed unsteadily and their eyes were blurry. Then they bowed slowly, as though the action required an unusual amount of concentration, before turning and wandering out of the room, bumping into each other and the doorframe as they went. At the same time, a number of the Knavir courtiers that had joined the banquet cautiously climbed out of their seats and began to file out of the room. Scilti noticed that they were surprisingly steady on their feet, as though not intoxicated at all and, for a moment, he wondered how they could sit in the presence of such delectable delights and yet refuse to indulge. He chuckled at them, feeling his sense of ridicule rising. He didn't need them. The least accepting of the Knavir could run off back to their private chambers in the palace if they wanted to. They were no fun, and they were certainly of no help. They just lowered the mood of indulgence that had settied over the hall. They spoilt things. Besides, enough of the Knavir had remained in their seats, smiling with wild eyes. Right next to him, Cinnia reached up and touched his arm, as though encouraging him to forget about the others and to rejoin her at the table.