Eldar Prophecy

by C. S. Goto

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  Watching them go, distracted by Cinnia's touch, Scilti's thoughts started to race. Despite the fact that his Guardians were standing ready to defend him, he suspected that they might not be enough. Naois had an unnerving tendency of winning, and he had even appropriated the myth of the Lhykosidae in order to make himself appear more important and inspiring. It was typical. Scilti hated him.

  After a moment of tension and fury, Scilti slumped back down in his chair as though exhausted. He leant forwards and picked up a random glass, downing the smoking blue liquid in one shot. Kicking his feet back up onto the table, he prodded at one of the platters of tureir-iug, picking at the sumptuous and delicious flesh absent-mindedly, as though he had spontaneously forgotten what all the fuss had been about. At that moment, all he could think about was the fact that he had been deprived of such wonder- ful delicacies for so many years during his time in the Temple of the Warp Spiders. He couldn't believe that he had managed to endure the poverty and hardship of life in the Outer Reaches. Kicking out, he sent the platter skidding across the wine-slicked table, scattering glasses and carafes as it went, and he watched with a gleeful smile as it teetered on the edge before clattering to the ground next to the bound farseer. The old eldar flinched vis- ibly and let out a moan.

  THE TRIBUTARY OF Baharroth was even worse than the Boulevard of Koldo. There were bodies strewn over the floor, and blood trickled down from the statues that flanked the once stately avenue, forming sticky coagulating pools. The elaborate wraithbone carvings that ran along both sides of the main thoroughfare were laced with crackling arcs of energy, and they flashed as though pulsing with the dark embers of forbidden life. Some of the icons seemed to shift and move as the Warp Spiders passed by with the Anyon Guardians. It was as though the monuments were watching. It was as though distant, unnatural eyes were using the structures as lenses and watching through them. The great statues of the Winged Phoenix and Uran-tar-jain, the first Exarch of the Swooping Hawks on Kaelor stood about half way along the tributary each side of the boulevard, like magisterial pillars with the tips of their wings touching in a grand arch, under which all traffic on the way to the Plaza of Vaul and the Farseer's Palace passed. Looking up from the back of the Falcon towards their distant and proud faces, Ela could see that they appeared to be crying. Thick trickles of dark, bloody liquid were seeping out of their eyes and running down their smoothly carved features. For a moment, Ela saw the flickering image of a past vision, with her own eyes weeping with blood, and she remembered the scene of fire and devastation that she had seen in Naois's eyes when he had been defeated by Scilti in the Spider Temple. The Fluir-haern. Kaelor is weeping its own blood into the streets, murmured Ela, letting her powerful, infantile thoughts infect all

  those around her. This is the end of days. She sat cross-legged on the roof of one of the Falcons, while Naois and the other Warp Spiders rode inside the two grav-tanks. She appeared like a mascot or emblem, utterly unphased by the turmoil that tortured the domains around her.

  As the ruby and gold Falcons and the black and sapphire Guardians of Anyon advanced in a single convoy towards the winged arch, it became clear that the passage beneath it was blocked. It was slick with the crackling and coagulating liquid that had oozed out of the Winged Phoenix's eyes and coursed down into the avenue, but there also seemed to be a group of eldar warriors standing to bar the way. For some reason, it was difficult to tell how many of them there were, as though they represented more warriors than were actually present. There were echoes of others surrounding each of them. Auras of violence and power flowed out of them like halos, as though they were simply unable to contain the abundance of power that resided within their restricted armoured forms. They were armies in themselves and they stood without moving or flinching in the path of Ela and Uisnech, who marched at the head of his force next to the child seer's grav-tank. Beyond their formidable and unyielding shapes, Ela could see the swirling energy patterns that marked a discharge of violence and blood in the Plaza of Vaul. Even from that distance, which made her normal vision useless, she could recognise the signatures of Guardians and Aspect Warriors doing battle with each other and spilling their souls into the streets with their lifeblood. In the inaudible realms of sound, she could hear the wailing of pain and the whoops of pleasure that marked out the daemonic from the natural inclinations of the eldar warriors. It seemed that the uncontrollable urges for gratification that had prodded and poked at the Sentrium for long eons had finally broken through its reserves and the remnants of its discipline, and the eldar of the court fought amongst themselves as though possessed by a terrible thirst. Other than the drive for the ecstasy of violence and death, Ela could feel little sense of purpose in the ongoing fighting. You will not pass without confronting us, ehveline. The thinker knew who she was.

  Do you seek anything other than death in the heart of Kaelor?

  There is nothing but pain here, little ehveline. Can you really see what's ahead?

  The thoughts boomed and resonated with power, pounding from different sources and forcing their way up to Ela from the warriors beneath the arch. They were accusatory and tinged with fury, as though the thinkers were on the brink of rage. Exarchs of Khaine, replied Ela, recognising the group for who they were. My brother brings only his swords, and expects to find

  only death in this forsaken place. I can see only that his expectations are not wilful. They are not his.

  As her mind spoke, sheets of warp-lightning flashed through the distant ceiling and crackled down through the winged arch, revealing the figures of six exarchs in the middle of the boulevard, blocking the route. Only Lairgnen of the Dire Avengers was absent. They glimmered menacingly, like an undeniable reality. Do you mean to bar our progress, quihan? asked Uisnech, stepping forward of the others to address Waendre, the Exarch of the

  Swooping Hawks under whom he had once trained. Do you mean to set your talons against us and to leave the frenzied fools to bring this craftworld to its end of days? Do you mean to do this under the great arch of our forebears?

  We cannot interfere in the political affairs of the Ohlipsean, Hawk Uisnech. You know this better than most. Waendre's wings

  unfolded slightly, as though he were discomforted by the situation. If you block our path, then you are interfering, countered Uisnech plausibly.

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  And what if it is our intention to intervene, Hawk of Anyon? The thoughts were cold like mountain water. It was the glittering

  Andraste of the Shining Spears. She was playing with him. What if events have driven us beyond the restrictions of the Helm? Would you encourage us merely to step aside without a thought for violence? The dark and brooding thoughts of Kuarwar, the

  Exarch of the Dark Reapers, rumbled like falling rocks. Would you ask us to forego our duty? challenged the proud and shining figure of Fuarghan, the Fire Dragon.

  I would not ask anything of you. The thoughts were coarse and burning, like roughly chipped coals or burning glass. They tore

  into the minds of the exarchs like an assault. As they reordered their minds to ease the pain, they saw Naois pop one of the hatches of Ela's Falcon and climb out. Without hesitation, he sprang down from the grav-tank and strode out to meet them. You will do what you will. It is not for me or Ela or even for you to determine. What must be, will be.

  Your reticence has been an intervention for all these eons, added Ela, as though stacking weight onto her brother's words. By

  abiding by the visions of Gwrih and refusing to abrogate the Asurya's Helm, you have played a role in all this. On your shoulders

  rests some of the weight of the end of days.

  The exarchs did not move, and they showed no signs of having been affected by the words of the infant seer, but they stared at Naois with undisguised curiosity, as though he were the ghost of a long-dead friend. He was a full head shorter than any of them, but as he stepped closer to them they st
epped back in unison, as though instinctively trying to keep a safe distance from the gold- armoured childling.

  You are the Lhykosidae? hissed Moina the dark green figure of the Scorpion Queen. She pointed the barrel of her Scorpion's Claw

  gauntlet at his chest as though trying to keep him at a distance. You have returned to us, just as the prophecy foretold. He returns to the Sentrium... whispered the hesitant thoughts of Morenn-kar, letting her chain of thought fade as though unsure of

  whether to pursue it.

  You will step aside, challenged Naois, or you will join us in this fight. We come only for death, not for the riches and pleasures of

  this court. The future holds only blood and fire. Death is the most favourable outcome for us all. You will step aside, or you will

  join us in death.

  We are the exarchs of Khaine, Wraith Spider. There is already nothing but death in our souls. Kuarwar's thoughts were subtly

  emphatic.

  And yet they come alone, without their Aspect Warriors, noted Ela with interest. Perhaps it was the case that the terms of the Asurya's Helm explicitiy forbade the political involvement of the Aspect Shrines, but not of the exarchs? But, such a creative loophole smacked of the kind of political machinations that the exarchs were supposed to avoid. It seemed more likely, she reflected, that the exarchs simply did not trust the discipline of their own warriors in this climate. They were probably being kept securely in the interiors of the temples, sealed away from the temptations and turmoils that were overwhelming the Sentrium. They were probably right to protect their warriors in this way. This was no ordinary confrontation with a visible foe. THE PLAZA OF Vaul was teeming with action as the unlikely convoy advanced out of the Tributary of Baharroth. Sheets of warp- energy flashed through the air above the plaza, giving the scene the oppressive force of a storm. Tiny shards of wraith-crystals speckled down like toxic rain. On one side, the Shrine of Fluir-haern appeared to be under attack by a large and varied group of eldar. On the other side, a detachment of Ansgar Guardians stood vigil in front of the Farseer's Palace, disciplined enough to hold their lines amidst the turmoil, but apparently unconcerned by or oblivious to the hideous acts that were going on around them. In the centre of the plaza, the fabled silver anvil was surrounded by a mob that appeared to be engaged in some kind of ritual or sacrifice. It was the kind of scene not seen since the Fall, with the children of Isha turned against themselves in a quest for greater levels of violence and pleasure.

  Naois's warriors paused on the brink for a moment to collect their thoughts and to compose their minds against the onslaught of images and emotions that flooded out of the plaza. Then, as though suddenly resolved to a common purpose, they charged forwards into the fray. Only Ela remained standing on the threshold of the plaza. She stood alone, as though transfixed by the horror of the scene, and little crystalline tears began to form in her sapphire eyes. She knew that she was staring into the abyss, and that the only way out would be the purging of the fallen souls. The only hope for Kaelor was to spill the blood of its children. THE ELDAR IN front of the main gates to the Shrine of Fluir-haern were little more than a violent rabble of Knavir. They had an assortment of weapons, but there was no organisation. They banged and pounded against the gates with the butts of cannons and the hilts of blades, trying to shake the structural integrity of the ancient gates. Something unspoken in the back of their collective, contagious mind drove them to try to gain entrance to the shrine, as though they were thirsting after the shining beacon of the Tetrahedral Altar.

  Waendre was the first of the exarchs to engage, swooping down from high above the crowd. His glittering white wings rendered him into the image of Baharroth as he loosed a chain of plasma grenades from his belt, letting them free-fall into the mire below. Three explosions of fire and light ripped through the crowd in rapid succession, pluming instantaneously into orbs of superheated plasma and incinerating sections of the crowd. However, the rest of the throng carried on as though failing to notice the onslaught from the Swooping Hawk. It was as though their minds were clouded and intoxicated with a single obsession. Circling above the fray, Waendre unzipped two more grenades. Just as he was about to release them he saw the radiant, golden form of Fuarghan charge into the crowd below, spraying a vicious melta-beam from his firepike and thrashing with his burning fist.

  The dark green menace of Moina was not far behind. She was darting through the crowd with practiced precision, slicing and hacking with her biting blade whilst rattling shuriken out of the barrel of her scorpion's claw. From his vantage point in the air above the fray, Waendre watched the rowdy crowd collapse into carnage. The disorganised attack against the Shrine of Fluir-haern was abandoned as the eldar slowly realised their mortal peril. Despite the large numbers in

  С. S. Goto « Eldar Prophecy»

  the crowd, Fuarghan and Moina were blazing and untouchable moments of death, like beacons of light in a rough and tumultuous sea.

  Reholstering his grenades, Waendre swooped down out at the crowd, lunging out with his talons and strafing lines of lasfire through the panicking mob.

  LITTLE ELA'ASHBEL wandered forwards into the Plaza of Vaul as though in a dream. She could see Waendre's shining figure swooping and diving out of the sky in front of the Shrine of Fluir-haern, like a burning angel against the lightning-scarred ceiling, raining death down onto his own Kaelorian kinsmen. Beneath him, the flames of Fuarghan bathed the unruly mob of fallen Knavir in fiery death, and Moina's flashing blades glinted in the reflected fury of the flames. In the centre of the plaza, Andraste's laser lance was cutting a swathe through the throng around the silver anvil as she charged into the fray. Meanwhile, the sinister figure of Kuarwar had planted his feet some distance away from the rabble and was unleashing an inferno of fire from his reaper launcher, shredding the cultists even as they persisted in their attempts at a ritual sacrifice on the Anvil of Vaul. At the same time, the lithe and acrobatic figure of Morenn-kar vaulted and leapt through the crowd, spinning into intricate patterns of death with her two-handed executioner sword, slicing through limbs and taking off heads with breathtaking grace and apparent ease.

  Ela was in a daze. She could see the multifarious aspects of Khaine unleashed before her in a frenzy of death, turned against the children of Isha, just as Khaine had once laid waste to the ancient eldar heroes. It was all unavoidable. It had been made inevitable so many eons before, perhaps even by Gwrih the Radiant's vision. Perhaps it was merely an inevitable aspect of the eldar dhamashir? It was a sleehr soul, unbalanced, precarious and in need of discipline. The challenge was to keep the souls of the fallen from the clutches of the thirsting Great Enemy, even if that meant slaughtering their fellow eldar. Kaelor was willing them to do it. It had given form to the merciless Lhykosidae as a way to bring balance to the craftworld's decadent heart. It was a force that wanted for nothing other than death. For the self, it wanted nothing. As the maelstrom crackled and flashed through the conductive structure of the craftworld, Ela could see everything clearly. The warp-storm outside had been conjured by the cumulative decadence of the Knavir, and it was drawing in the whole of Kaelor. Tendrils of lusting and lascivious energy were already questing out from it and riddling the craftworld, infecting the souls of the weakening Kaelorians and dragging it closer to the clutches of Slaanesh, who waited in the tempest beyond, always waiting impatiently for the dhamashir of the children of Isha. As the souls of her brethren collapsed into their own decadence, they willed Kaelor closer and closer to the brink. A ritual sacrifice to Slaanesh was being performed on the Anvil of Vaul. The decadent and the fallen had to be killed before the combined force of their wills could provide the roiling maelstrom with more energy - perhaps energy enough to engulf Kaelor entirely - or before the lust of the Knavir could thrust Kaelor into the warp- storm, as though drawn in by an immense gravitational force. Death was the only solution. Only in slaughter could Kaelor find its salvation. With tears pouring from her brilliant sapphire eyes,
Ela wandered aimlessly through the carnage in the Plaza of Vaul, watching the exarchs rain butchery and terrible death onto their kin. On the far side of the plaza she could see Uisnech's tiny Anyon force together with the golden armour of her brother approaching the Ansgar Guardians that blocked his way into the palace. Without pausing for even a moment, Naois broke into a charge, pulling the twin Witchblades of Khukulyn from their scabbards and slashing them out to his sides. At the same time, Uisnech took to the air, hurling a suing of plasma grenades into the midst of the Ansgar just as they levelled their shuriken cannons and lasblasters. In the radiance of the plasma blasts, Ela could see Naois as a dancing silhouette, spinning and vaulting through the Guardians of his own house, slicing and hacking with the blades that he had taken from the last Ansgar Guardian to oppose him. He moved without hesitation and without mercy, dispensing slaughter on all sides as he cut his way towards the gates of the palace. The Ansgar Guardians were merely obstacles in his path. It was as though all of Naois's personal pride and devotion had vanished, to be replaced by a wordless and inexorable will to death and purgation. He was no longer the son of Bedwyr, he was the Lhykosidae.