[Path of the Eldar 01] - Path of the Warrior

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

He sculpted too, moving on from his Isha fetish to portraits of his shrine-companions that he gifted to each of them, save for Kenainath, whose essence refused to be captured by the psychic clay in any fashion satisfactory to Korlandril. He toyed with the idea of Dreaming for a while, but was hesitant to find a partner to join him, knowing well the dark places such memejourneys might take him. He even met with Soareth a few times, though not within the healing halls. They walked along the sandy shores girdling the circular Sea of Restoration and spoke of things other than Korlandril’s injury and Soareth’s healings.

  Korlandril enjoyed the normality of it all. He knew that at some time, near or far, he would be called again to bring out his war-mask. He did not know what awaited him when that happened. He believed himself content, though he would sometimes wake from sleep with the lingering edge of a dream in mind, a momentary after-image of a shadowy red-eyed figure left in his thoughts.

  As the dawn of a new cycle flickered into artificial life, he returned to the Deadly Shadow to find his companions in much agitation. They were gathered in the central chamber, where Kenainath paced aggressively back and forth across his dais. Red-tinged darkness swathed everything, flowing along the chamber in unsettling waves.

  “What is occurring?” Korlandril asked quietly as he took his place beside his armour.

  “A grave dishonour, done to me and to you all, that must be addressed,” growled Kenainath. “An insult to us, an affront to our true code, a doubt to be purged.”

  Korlandril turned to Elissanadrin for explanation.

  “Arhulesh has left the Deadly Shadow and joined the Fall of Deadly Rain,” she replied in a terse whisper, her eyes narrowed. “He has chosen Aranarha’s teachings over those of Kenainath.”

  Korlandril redirected his attention to the exarch, who stopped his prowling and crouched at the front of his stage, his eyes roving from one follower to the next. They settled on Korlandril.

  “You will represent, champion of this great shrine, against Arhulesh. To end this dispute, affirm the Deadly Shadow, the shrine of first truth.”

  “I have no dispute with Arhulesh,” replied Korlandril. “It seems to me that your division is with Aranarha as much as anybody. If a duel is to be fought, it should be between the exarchs of the shrines.”

  “Not my skill in doubt, a question of battle-lore, it mocks my teachings. Pupil faces pupil, this shrine’s technique against theirs, to show the true Path.”

  “It would be unwise to choose me to represent the Deadly Shadow in an honour-duel,” said Korlandril. He remained calm in demeanour, but inside his heart fluttered at the prospect of representing the honour of the shrine. It was a burden he felt unable to carry. “Bechareth is the finest warrior amongst us, bar you. He should be your champion.”

  Kenainath shook his head.

  “It is you I choose, my most recent of students, my faith is certain. It is Korlandril, the newest of our number, who I believe in. No greater lesson, no better demonstration, than your victory.” Kenainath made a slashing gesture with his hand to show the matter had been settled and he would brook no further argument. The exarch’s agitation was replaced with satisfaction at this pronouncement. “Six cycles from now, in a place neither ours nor theirs, you face Arhulesh. Prepare yourself well, fight with bravery and skill, compete with honour.”

  Korlandril stood dumbstruck as the exarch stalked from the chamber. He started as Bechareth laid a hand on his shoulder. The warrior winked and nodded his approval. Elissanadrin was less convinced, if her expression was to be judged. She cocked her head to one side, examining Korlandril.

  “It would destroy the last remnants of Kenainath’s reputation if you fail,” she said sternly. “It is not only the honour of the Deadly Shadow that rests on your shoulders; it is the shrine’s entire future. If you defeat Arhulesh he must renounce his change of heart and return. If you lose to him, he will remain with Fall of Deadly Rain.”

  “I see,” said Korlandril, speaking out of instinct. He rubbed his chin with a slender finger. “Actually, I don’t. The loss of Arhulesh is no great thing.”

  “Number us,” said Elissanadrin. Korlandril did so: Himself, Bechareth and Elissanadrin, as well as Kenainath. That made four…

  “Oh, I see,” said Korlandril. “Unless Kenainath brings back Arhulesh or replaces him quickly, there are too few of us to operate as a squad.”

  “Kenainath will be forced by tradition to send us away and the shrine will be disbanded.”

  “What would happen to Kenainath? What do exarchs without warriors do?”

  Elissanadrin shrugged and shook her head mournfully.

  “I do not know, but it cannot be good. For Kenainath, surely it would be the end of him. He has dwindled in reputation for an age; perhaps this will be the blow that finally finishes him.”

  Korlandril glanced towards the portal that led to the exarch’s private rooms. He disliked Kenainath, had done so since they had first met. But he did have respect for him, and for what he had taught Korlandril. Something else passed across his thoughts. Arhulesh had not only abandoned the exarch, he had walked away from all of them, and the memories of those who had been Deadly Shadow in time past. The thought that the Deadly Shadow would be no more irked Korlandril, and to be sacrificed by the whim of Arhulesh was meaningless. Dormant for some time, the serpent of Korlandril’s anger flicked out its tongue, tasting his annoyance. It uncoiled slowly, basking in its return to favour. Korlandril did not fight the creature, but instead allowed it to wind itself into his heart and around his limbs. Its embrace brought resolve, brought strength.

  “It will not come to pass,” Korlandril said, fixing Elissanadrin with a stare. “I will make sure of that.”

  The warriors of the Deadly Shadow followed their exarch along the narrow tunnel, walking at a measured pace. Kenainath held a sceptre, the head of which was fashioned in a glowing representation of the shrine’s rune. It was the only illumination, bathing the close walls with its red glare.

  They had departed the Shrine of the Deadly Shadow beneath the armoury through a mist-filled portal none of them had seen before. Korlandril tried to work out the direction they were taking but could come to no clearer conclusion than that they were heading rimward. The passageway was walled with small glassy tiles, of varying shades so dark that they seemed to be black with the barest hint of purple and blue, green and red. There was no pattern to the colours that Korlandril could discern, though on the periphery of vision he was reminded of the mangroves of the Deadly Shadow shrine, their shadows and dismal colours hinted at but not revealed.

  The squad’s armoured footfalls were stifled by an earthy layer underfoot as they snaked along the straight corridor. The air was chill in comparison to the humidity of the shrine’s dome, so that faint breath steamed the air as they advanced.

  “Do not allow Arhulesh to take the initiative,” whispered Elissanadrin from behind, repeating the advice she had constantly given Korlandril for the past five cycles. “The Fall of Dark Rain style relies less on the guile of the Dark Shadow and more on aggression.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Korlandril, keeping his gaze on the back of Kenainath.

  “But be careful, Arhulesh is still Kenainath-trained, and he has faced you many times.”

  “No more or less than I have faced him,” said Korlandril with a smirk. His joke settled his nerves a little though Korlandril sensed irritation from Elissanadrin and glanced over his shoulder to see that it had brought forth a scowl.

  “He will have not changed much in the short time he has been with Aranarha, but perhaps just enough to make things difficult for you.”

  “It may be to my advantage, a conflict in his thoughts, in his technique,” said Korlandril, trying to look for something positive in Elissanadrin’s warnings. He returned his gaze to the front. He felt Elissanadrin’s hand on his shoulder.

  “You will be the better warrior,” she said firmly. Korlandril took strength from her conviction, detecting no decep
tion in her tone.

  Light flickered ahead, filling Korlandril with the urge to hasten his pace, nervous energy propelling him forwards. He resisted, keeping step behind the exarch. He focussed on the deliberate strides, turning them from a source of frustration to a purposeful meter, regulating his pulse and breathing in time to the solemn steps.

  The tunnel led them into a broad octagonal chamber, the walls clad in the same tiles as the corridor. The circle at its centre was built from a low lip inscribed with narrow runes. From three other directions at right angles to each other, more portals led into the duelling chamber. At the same time as Kenainath stepped across the threshold, Aranarha entered from the left, also bearing the glowing sigil of his shrine.

  The two exarchs signalled for their followers to take their places along the wall flanking their entrance, and then stepped up to each other, face-to-face within the circle. The Fall of Dark Rain outnumbered the Deadly Shadow by many members.

  “Challenge has been set, so that honour is settled, and the truth be known,” intoned Kenainath. There was no anger in his tone, only the solemnity of the occasion.

  “The challenge is taken up, to settle honour, to put to rest our dispute,” replied Aranarha with equal gravitas.

  They turned to their respective champions. Both bowed and waved their representatives into the duelling area, withdrawing to stand side-by-side a few paces away. Korlandril strode into the circle, chainsword held lightly in his grasp, his eyes intent on Arhulesh as he approached. His opponent’s face was set in a serious expression but Arhulesh could not stop the briefest flickers of a smirk from his lips. Korlandril welcomed Arhulesh’s amusement; he judged it to be a sign of overconfidence.

  The two of them nodded their heads in greeting, eyes fixed on each other, the light from the two shrine-totems casting long shadows across the floor. Slowly, the pair drew up their heads and moved unhurriedly into their fighting stances: Korlandril in Waiting Storm, Arhulesh in a subtly modified version of Rising Claw.

  In the back of Korlandril’s mind floated the twin spheres of instinct and reason, hovering through and around each other. With his warrior intuition, he sensed that Arhulesh’s weight was more balanced to the left, while his reasoning eye calculated that a dropping slash would create the greatest problems from this position.

  Without a word, Korlandril flowed into action, stepping forward and twisting into Moon’s Falling Wrath, his chainsword flashing towards Arhulesh’s chest. His opponent reacted in time, pushing the chainsword aside at the last moment before a strike would be called, but his balance had been shifted to his back foot, to the right.

  Korlandril feigned a reverse cut towards Arhulesh’s front leg, sending him backwards, and then pivoted on one foot, ducking beneath his foe’s blade to bring his own towards the knee of Arhulesh’s back leg.

  “Cut!” came the call from the surrounding warriors. Korlandril detected a note of triumph in the voices behind him, from the Deadly Shadow. His warrior-spirit throbbed with pride while his reasoning mind told Korlandril that the strike was just reward for a well-worked strategy.

  The two exarchs nodded their agreement with the decision, their heads bowing briefly towards Korlandril. The two combatants straightened and returned to repose.

  With a flash of foresight, Korlandril guessed that Arhulesh was expecting him to strike first again. Korlandril dropped his left shoulder by the tiniest movement, and as Arhulesh’s chainsword swung across his chest in response, Korlandril surged to his right, his feet dancing quickly across the tiled floor. Spinning, Arhulesh barely blocked the cut towards his lower back, and then launched an ill-judged thrust towards Korlandril’s throat. The Deadly Shadow warrior delayed his reaction by the tiniest of margins, leaning out of the blow’s path at the last moment so that Arhulesh was over-committed. A simple sweep brought Korlandril’s blade to within a finger’s breadth of Arhulesh’s neck.

  “Cut!” The call from the Deadly Shadow was excited, that of the Fall of Dark Rain muted. Again the nods of the exarchs conferred the strike to Korlandril.

  The third strike went to Arhulesh, who launched a blistering attack from the start, overwhelming Korlandril with the surprise of its feral ferocity. The next onslaught favoured Korlandril, who had expected a repeat, so that he led Arhulesh on a merry dance, defending and parrying but offering no counterattack until his foe was thoroughly off-balance and unable to ward away the strike.

  Korlandril had no idea how the duel was ended. Was there a set limit, a score he needed to achieve? Or was it simply a matter of one exarch giving way to the inevitable?

  Distracted by this consideration, Korlandril left himself open to a cut to his left thigh. Inwardly cursing his lack of focus, Korlandril raised his chainsword in salute to gain himself a little time to settle.

  From then on, the duel was as one-sided as it had begun. Arhulesh’s blows were well-timed, some of them downright devious, but Korlandril had the measure of his opponent. As he fell further behind in the strikes, Arhulesh became more and more aggressive, striving after the victory.

  Korlandril tried to be patient, but the ever more desperate attacks of Arhulesh were like a goad to him. The fiery sun of his warrior instinct grew in strength, while the pale moon of his reason shrank. It was enough, Korlandril realised. Arhulesh was fighting on instinct alone now, reducing the duel to a matter of reactions and animal guile.

  “Cut!” The call echoed around the chamber once again. Korlandril was eight strikes to Arhulesh’s three. Kenainath raised a hand to halt the proceedings.

  “The matter is done, the Deadly Shadow prevails: the honour is ours.”

  Aranarha’s eyes went to Korlandril first and then to Arhulesh. The exarch of the Fall of Dark Rain opened his mouth to speak but Arhulesh cut across him with a strained rasp.

  “No! I can do this!” Arhulesh squared off against Korlandril, his expression turning sly. “If an ork can best him, so too can I…”

  Korlandril’s eyes narrowed as something surged inside him. Arhulesh launched an attack, aiming a cut towards Korlandril’s gut, hoping to capitalise on the distraction caused. Korlandril’s weapon swatted aside the predictable blow and he drove forwards, raining down strikes on the chainsword of Arhulesh. The red of his helmet filled Korlandril’s vision and there was a strange whirring noise in his ears as he relentlessly pressed forwards, hammering his blade from the left and right, from above and below.

  Arhulesh’s eyes widened with terror as he desperately fended off each brutal attack.

  Hands grabbed Korlandril’s shoulders and he was dragged out of the circle whilst others pulled Arhulesh to safety. As Korlandril’s back hit the tiles, he was jolted into sensation again. With mounting horror, he remembered that he was not wearing his helm; the red mist had been in his mind. The whirring sound had been the noise of his chainsword, activated by his anger.

  He had been heartbeats away from donning his war-mask in a duel.

  TRAP

  With Khaine by his side, Eldanesh vanquished the foes of the eldar. None could stand before the might of the Bloody-Handed One and his disciple. One evening as the crows feasted on Eldanesh’s slain foes, Khaine congratulated Eldanesh on his victories and promised him many more. The War God granted Eldanesh a vision of the future, releasing a drop of his fiery blood onto Eldanesh’s forehead. Eldanesh saw what would come to pass under the patronage of Khaine. Enemies unnumbered fell beneath Eldanesh’s blade and the might of the eldar grew to its zenith. All creatures were cowed before the strength of Eldanesh and all eldar paid homage to Eldanesh for his rulership. When the vision had passed, Khaine told Eldanesh that the War God would put aside his animosity for the Children of Isha if Eldanesh would simply swear fealty to the Bloody-Handed One. Eldanesh cared not for the bloody future of Khaine’s dreams and refused to give his oath to the War God. Enraged, Khaine struck down Eldanesh and the War in Heaven began.

  Though Korlandril had lost his control at the end of the duel, it was agreed that he had
gained the victory. Korlandril was the first to welcome Arhulesh back, greeting him in the armouring chamber.

  “Your place is with the Deadly Shadow,” said Korlandril. “We are whole with you numbered amongst us.”

  Arhulesh studied Korlandril, seeking some hint of reproach or gloating. Korlandril offered neither.

  “I am sorry I insulted you,” said Arhulesh. “It was a sly ploy, one not worthy of the Striking Scorpions.”

  “It was ill-judged, but I am glad that I did not make you pay too high a price for the error. I apologise for my reaction, it did not befit the conduct of a warrior facing one of his own.”

  Arhulesh extended his hand with fingers outstretched and Korlandril touched fingertips with him, sealing the agreement.

  “Kenainath has me training on my own again for the time being,” confessed Korlandril. “Also I am forbidden from leaving the shrine for the next twenty cycles. I think he trusts me, but he wishes to make a statement. I would not be surprised if he has something planned for you.”

  “I’d deserve it,” Arhulesh said heavily. “Running off to Aranarha to spite Kenainath? I am truly my worst enemy sometimes. Such a fool.”

  Korlandril said nothing. Arhulesh’s brow creased in a frown of disappointment.

  “Was I supposed to argue?” Korlandril asked, keeping the smile from his face.

  “I shall become a philosopher next and found a new Path,” said Arhulesh. He lifted a finger to his chin in a pose of mock thoughtfulness. “On this Path one shall be required to do the exact opposite of what one thinks to be right. I shall call it the Path of the Idiot.”

  Korlandril laughed and clapped a hand to Arhulesh’s shoulder.

  “I shall become your first disciple. While I have dabbled in idiocy several times, truly I should learn its intricacies under a great master. Short of running off to join the Harlequins, I can’t think of anything I could do to best your latest exploits.”

  “Best not to mock the Harlequins,” Arhulesh said, becoming serious. “Cegorach still stalks the webway, after all. No point attracting attention to yourself.”