by Gav Thorpe
Aradryan repeated to himself the assurance that Alaitin had given him moments before the first humans had crested the hill behind them – they cannot see us.
Lechthennian somersaulted over the head of another human, his harlequin’s kiss punching into the back of a second. The pierced soldier spasmed, near-invisible tendrils of wire erupting from his mouth, ears and eyes, scattering bloody mist for a moment before they were drawn back into the Solitaire’s weapon.
‘They cannot see us,’ Aradryan whispered to himself, flinching as a Death Jester’s shrieker cannon fired behind him. A human fell to one knee, a gaping wound in his thigh. His pained expression turned to one of horror as his skin reddened, the accelerating toxins in the shrieker round spreading through his system. Veins and eyes bulging, the man somehow staggered to his feet, his lasrifle dropping from his bloating fingers.
The human exploded, the detonation fuelled by his own biochemistry, shards of bone slicing into the other humans around him. Aghast at their companions’ deaths, the squad of warriors started to fall back from the plaza, only to be caught by a hail of shuriken fire from a squadron of jetbikes arriving behind them.
The battle had spread across the dome, which was lit by fires and las-light, plasma and human flare shells. Aradryan had been in many raids and boarding actions, but nothing compared to the terrifying thunder and roar of the human assault. Big guns pounded in the distance and the wind brought the stench of tank engines; Aradryan was reminded of his first encounter with the orks at Hirith-Hreslain.
Alaitin had said nothing since the humans had broken into the dome. He might be concentrating on concealing their location, Aradryan guessed, or he might just as likely be asleep. It was impossible to tell either way.
Their engines humming, a trio of Vyper jetbikes sped past, their gunners directing the fire of their scatter lasers against a company of soldiers advancing from Aradryan’s right. As shells started to create a line of fiery blossoms along a hillside not far away, the thought occurred to Aradryan that artillery could fall anywhere: it did not have to see him to kill him.
‘They come,’ said Alaitin.
Aradryan did not know what the farseer was talking about at first, and then he heard a different timbre of engines approaching. Miniature rockets screamed across the plaza and he saw boxy troop transports rearing over the surrounding hills, painted in quartered swathes of red and white. Spewing smoke from quad-exhausts, their tracks clacking and clanking and grinding in an awful cacophony, three of the slab-sided, unwieldy troop carriers hove over a nearby crest like armoured whales beaching themselves. Each had an open cupola in the roof manned by a Space Marine clad in armour of the same colours: the Sons of Orar.
Further away, there were other variations of the crudely angled tanks ploughing across lawns, crushing crystal statues under their garish bulk: some with slope-armoured turrets and side sponsons, others with multiple-missile ranks on their roofs and two with single, large-bore cannons mounted in their frontal armour. If the Falcon grav-tank was so named for its swooping grace, effortless speed and streamlined hull, the Space Marines’ vehicles were wheeled and tracked blocks that bulled their way across the ground, smashing through any obstacle with brute force.
Aradryan glanced at his companion, to see if he reacted at all to the incoming attack, but Alaitin was as placid as if the two of them were merely enjoying the landscape of the dome. The eldar fell back from the Space Marines’ assault; the Harlequins leapt upon their skyrunners and were away swiftly, followed by a stream of jetbikes darting away into the maze of bridges and silver streams. Wave Serpents carrying guardians and aspect warriors pulled back enclosed within the glimmer of their protective shields.
Slabs cracking beneath their weight, the Space Marine vehicles rumbled between the pools, their gunners tacking left and right, searching for targets. After them came an even larger tank, which seemed more like a mobile bunker than a vehicle. Sponsons on its sides mounted a plethora of heavy weapons, while the lenses of artificial eyes gleamed from sensor arrays mounted atop its back.
With a wheeze of hydraulics and a puff of air that washed over Aradryan and caused his hair to flutter, the front of the vehicle opened up, spilling red light from its interior. A single warrior walked down the ramp that was dropping to the ground, as the other part of the hull lifted up to create an opening taller than an eldar.
The warrior’s armour was even heavier than that of the other Space Marines, his heraldry augmented by rubies and scrolls carved from white marble. He wore no helm, revealing close-cropped black hair that topped a heavily tanned face criss-crossed and puckered with pale scar tissue. Slate-grey eyes swept the plaza and then turned to stare across the dome, towards the hub of Alaitoc. His shoulder pads were adorned with gold script, and from the powerpack on his back rose a pole from which a long rectangular pennant flew, embroidered with more human writing in red on black, the edges bound with gold thread.
Chapter Master Achol Nadeus of the Sons of Orar; the man who held the doom of Alaitoc in his grip.
A squad of Space Marines from one of the other transports assembled on their leader. Aradryan detected a faint buzz of communicators activating but he could not hear what was being said. The Space Marines divided into two groups of five, one of them returning to their vehicle, the other remaining with the Chapter Master.
As one, Nadeus and his warriors turned towards Aradryan. The Space Marines had their weapons raised, and there was a look of shock on the face of the Chapter Master. Cupolas and sponsons on the vehicles whirred in Aradryan’s direction, the glimmer of sighting arrays appearing as a collection of multicoloured dots on his chest.
‘They can see me now?’ said Aradryan.
‘Yes,’ replied Alaitin. ‘They can see you now.’
‘Peace, peace!’ Aradryan called out in the human tongue, flinging his arms out and slipping to his knees. ‘I have no weapons.’
Within a few moments filled with the crunch of heavy boots and whine of armour, he was surrounded by the Space Marines, their boltguns and other weapons pointed directly at him. That they had not opened fire on instinct was surprising enough.
‘Do you understand me?’ said Aradryan, a note of pleading in his voice. He had known this was the part he hated, but the seers had assured him there was no other option. They had traced the thread of his life and this route, contrary to appearances, offered Aradryan and the craftworld the best chance of survival. Outright resistance would not prevail against the might of the human forces, and so Aradryan was left with only this humiliating salvation. ‘Please, I have no weapons.’
There was another buzz of communication. Nadeus towered over Aradryan, like a colossal statue silhouetted against a ruddy sky filled with the light of the dying star.
‘Speak, xenos, and quickly,’ said the Chapter Master. Aradryan was not sure what ‘xenos’ meant, but from the tone employed by Nadeus he assumed it was not an honorific.
‘I have important news and an offer of peace,’ said Aradryan. He resisted the urge to glance at where he could see Alaitin sitting out of the corner of his eye but still invisible to the Space Marines. The farseer stared at him through unblinking crystal lenses. Aradryan took a breath, long and deep.
‘You are being tricked, Chapter Master. Your enemies have placed you exactly where they want you. I must speak with Imperial commander De’vaque in person, or we are all dead.’
Nadeus reached down and grabbed the front of Aradryan’s robe, easily lifting the eldar to his feet with one arm.
‘What do you know of De’vaque?’ asked the Chapter Master.
‘Tell him it is Aradryan! Aradryan! I know him, and I am repaying the debt I owe him.’
Holding his breath, Aradryan studied the Space Marine’s face. There was disbelief written there, and anger. The Chapter Master’s grip tightened, almost crushing Aradryan inside his robe. Aradryan was convinced Nadeus was going to kill him that moment, and closed his eyes.
‘Please, Chapter
Master, you have to tell De’vaque it is Aradryan.’ It was the most demeaning thing Aradryan had ever done, grovelling to this murderous barbarian, but he wanted to live so badly he would do anything. ‘He knows me. Do not kill me, please. Do not kill me.’
‘Keep this filth secure,’ said Nadeus, hauling Aradryan from his feet to pass him to one of his warriors. Fingers stronger than a vice gripped Aradryan’s arms as he was lifted away, but he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the Chapter Master striding back to his command vehicle.
The battle for the Dome of Crystal Seers continued to rage and Aradryan feared that he had been too slow or that the farseers had made a mistake. Airburst detonations left clouds of smoke in the upper air, showering shrapnel on the eldar Guardians below. Grasslands older than the Imperium of Mankind were churned to filth beneath the treads of tank columns, and the remains of seers who had guided Alaitoc to safety for generations before any of the humans had been born were shattered by shell strikes and lascannons. Aradryan wanted to weep, but he kept his emotions in check. Despite his protestations and begging, his mind was alert and clear; if he was to come out of this encounter alive he needed all of his wits about him.
Chapter Master Nadeus had returned after making his inquiries, and stood silently in front of Aradryan, boring holes through the eldar’s skull with his stare. There was little doubt that he would kill Aradryan without hesitation. For his part, Aradryan hung his head and avoided the commander’s gaze as much as possible.
De’vaque’s arrival was heralded by a squadron of four tri-rotor aircraft soaring across the dome. Bubble-like gun mounts dotted their underbellies, twin-barrelled cannons swivelling to survey the scene below. Behind them came a smaller craft with a single rotor, flitting left and right as it evaded possible anti-aircraft fire. A blue blazon was painted on the nose of the craft and Aradryan saw that it was a leaping fish leaving a trail of sparkling diamonds. Seeing this, Aradryan realised that the design was the same as the mosaic that had been on the floor of De’vaque’s yacht: a personal symbol or family heraldry.
De’vaque’s craft landed amidst much wind and whirling dust, as the other four aircraft kept watch for attack above. When the Imperial commander was safely deposited, the patrolling aircraft spread out, lifting higher into the air. De’vaque stomped across the plaza, gaze immediately drawn to Aradryan, who was being held between two Sons of Orar.
It was hard to follow the emotions that swept across the commander’s face. First there was surprise and then anger. His scowl intensified as he came closer, but then was replaced by a twitching of the lips and the hint of a triumphant smile.
Unprompted, Aradryan fell to his knees again, hands lifted towards the Imperial commander in supplication.
‘Lord De’vaque, thank the stars!’ cried Aradryan.
‘Kill it!’ snarled the governor, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his waist.
‘I have a warning,’ said Aradryan, desperation making his voice almost a screech. ‘You are being tricked, Imperial commander. I know I have wronged you harshly, but I swear for atonement and my life that you must listen to me!’
‘It is a cowardly, treacherous wretch,’ said De’vaque, directing his words to Nadeus. ‘Nothing it says can be of value.’
Aradryan felt an armoured gauntlet on his shoulder, about to pull him to his feet. He wriggled from its grip before the fingers closed, prostrating himself on the cracked slabs in front of De’vaque.
‘I am so sorry for the death of your son,’ squealed Aradryan, eyes fixed on De’vaque’s face. The words were truthful, though used now in guile. ‘Darson was killed by my hand, and it should not have been.’
De’vaque’s eyes opened wider into a murderous glare and he bared his teeth, spittle erupting from his mouth. Drawing his sword form its scabbard. the Imperial commander stepped forwards.
‘Halt your men, Nadeus, I shall kill this filth myself.’
‘That would be a mistake, Master Nadeus,’ said Aradryan, turning his imploring gaze to the Space Marine leader. ‘I have vital information.’
‘Wait,’ said Nadeus, putting a hand to De’vaque’s chest to stop him. ‘I still do not understand how this creature knows you, Imperial commander.’
‘He is a captain of the pirates we are here to destroy, Nadeus,’ replied De’vaque. ‘I almost had him before, but he escaped.’
De’vaque stepped around the Chapter Master’s outstretched arm, sword raised for the killing blow.
‘There are more ships coming!’ yelped Aradryan, flinching away from the sword.
Nadeus’s fingers enveloped the wrist of the Imperial commander as the blade descended, stopping the sword before it hit Aradryan. The former pirate breathed out in relief, but the moment was short-lived as the Chapter Master turned his stare back to Aradryan.
‘What ships? Where?’
‘We are almost victorious,’ said De’vaque, trying unsuccessfully to shake free from the Space Marine’s grasp. ‘We need to slay this creature and press on. The infinity core is not far from here.’
‘What ships?’ Nadeus demanded again. He plucked De’vaque’s sword from his trembling grasp, the thin duelling blade looking like a piece of cutlery in the Chapter Master’s huge fist. ‘Tell me or I will kill you here and now.’
Aradryan did not have to reply. Nadeus tilted his head to one side as the communicator bead in his ear rattled into life. The Chapter Master looked up, through the dome above their heads.
‘How many?’ he growled.
‘Just kill him!’ snarled De’vaque. ‘He betrayed me! He killed my son!’
The Imperial commander lunged for his sword and was knocked to his backside by a swipe from Nadeus’s free hand. The point of the blade was only the length of a finger from Aradryan’s face, unwaveringly directed towards his right eye. He swallowed to moisten his throat.
‘One moment, please, Chapter Master.’
Aradryan felt the surge of power beneath him, coursing along the matrix of the infinity circuit. Alaitoc trembled with energy and it sent a surge of strength through Aradryan’s fatigued body.
The Dome of Crystal Seers burst into brilliant white light. Every statuesque seer was glowing with psychic power and the floor itself gleamed with them. Traceries of the infinity circuit could be seen like veins throughout the dome, connecting and interconnecting the seers with their craftworld.
As his eyes swiftly adjusted to the light, Aradryan noticed something else: the silence.
There was not a crack of gunshot, shout of anger or blast of shell. The entire dome was quiet. Looking up, Aradryan saw the streak of laser and the flare of missile frozen in the air. Like a lightshow, beams and tracer rounds criss-crossed the dome, an immobile rainbow of violence.
Aradryan stood up as Nadeus looked around in disbelief. The entire battle had frozen. Jetbikes hung in the air above some trees to their left, while a squad of Space Marines were in mid-charge down a slope to the right, the flare of their bolters held in stasis. The white light of Alaitoc’s power penetrated everything.
‘Look up,’ said a voice behind Aradryan.
Out of instinct, Nadeus did so, as did Aradryan. Against the backdrop of the stars he could see the plasma flares of spaceships stuck against the firmament. Bombers and fighters were locked together in a twirling dance, looking like the frozen plateau of a painting.
‘The stasis will not remain for long,’ said Alaitin, stepping up beside Aradryan. ‘We must conclude this business swiftly or all be killed.’
‘Slay them, Nadeus,’ barked De’vaque, pushing himself to his feet. ‘They are an affront to the Emperor. Do your duty, Chapter Master.’
‘Ships from a dozen craftworlds have exited our webway portal, Chapter Master,’ said Alaitin. ‘At the moment they are held in stasis with your fleet. When I draw this veil back and time resumes, they will destroy your fleet utterly.’
‘Do not think that Alaitoc stands alone,’ Aradryan snarled at De’vaque. ‘You cannot bring wa
r to one craftworld without threatening it against all others. Your miserable army will not leave this star system unless we decree it.’
‘Mutual annihilation,’ said Alaitin.
‘I am comfortable with that,’ replied Nadeus. ‘To rid the universe of this abomination would be reward enough.’
‘A tainted reward, and ultimately driven by the vanity of one man,’ said Alaitin. The farseer pointed at De’vaque, who stepped back, aghast, expecting some psychic bolt to strike him down. ‘There is no justice or honour to be found here, Chapter Master.’
‘Everybody knows that the eldar are liars and thieves,’ said the Imperial commander. ‘They are trying to fool you. Attack now and we shall have victory and glory!’
‘When our ships have finished destroying your fleet, Alaitoc will kill herself,’ Alaitin continued. ‘She will implode her webway portal and consume us all in one conflagration that will briefly outshine the star we currently orbit.’
‘But not before our surviving ships have departed,’ added Aradryan, still staring at De’vaque. ‘They know where there are weapons that can scorch entire worlds in moments and extinguish stars. Destroy Alaitoc and the whole eldar race will respond, and a hundred human worlds will die.’
‘More lies,’ growled De’vaque. ‘Empty threats.’
‘If you are so much of a threat, why should I not destroy you now while I have the chance?’ asked Nadeus.
‘You would perish in vain and for vanity,’ said Aradryan. ‘Ask the Imperial commander who Yrithain is. Or perhaps he will tell you of his dealings with Khiadysis? Go ahead, ask him.’
Nadeus looked at the Imperial commander, who suddenly had lost much of his bravado.
‘Meaningless gibberish,’ said De’vaque.
‘Names of his conspirators,’ said Aradryan. ‘If you wish further proof, I can tell you the places and times when attacks took place, not only sanctioned by this traitor, but only made possible by his collusion. He seeks me for killing his son, I cannot deny that. Are you to be the instrument of his personal vendetta, Chapter Master? Will your Sons of Orar perish for the pride of this weak-willed hypocrite?’