Warhammer 40K - Farseer

by William King

  She laughed again and took a sip of mineral water. They were both a long way from home. Three thousand, four hundred and thirty-two point five light years to be precise, along Via Obscura Alpha twelve gamma four one, if anybody was interested in the exact way-path. The knowledge had been drummed into him since he was ten years old. It surfaced in his mind unbidden.

  He leaned back and stretched, running through the ancient hatha/kata ritual, concentrating on his breathing as he had learned to almost as soon as he could walk.

  Calmness came quickly as it always did, and he glanced around the chamber hoping inspiration would strike him from this unlikely source.

  Not for the first time, he was amazed and a little gladdened to be here. On the inner worlds, where each of the Houses of the Navis Nobilitae maintained their own Houses, he would never have met anybody like Alysia. He would not even be sharing a city, let alone a chamber with one of his clan's hereditary enemies like Konrad Akura over there. Here on this frontier world things were different, less formal. Places like this, the House of the Great Eye, could exist and old hostilities could be buried at least for the duration of the visit to the planet's surface. He liked it, and knew he should not. If he met Konrad in space, with a command deck beneath his feet and powered weapons on call, things might still get savage, but here in this comfortable clubhouse they could eat and drink together, swap jokes and the smaller secrets of their shared trade.

  It reminded him of how things must have been in the old days, in the ancient times before the Emperor and the Ecclesiarchy had come along to formalise everything, to set everything in stone. The words of an ancient poem comparing the Houses to flies frozen in amber came to his mind and he dismissed them. He did not want to think of that now, nor of the consequence of his own small experiment in recreating the ancient days by breaking the interdict on Typhon. For the moment, the House of the Eye was a haven against his troubles, and would remain so until the inevitable time when word of his folly made it back to his clan. Then things would become very uncomfortable very fast, he was sure. Still, keep the problems of tomorrow until tomorrow, as his old tutor Karadoc had always said. There were plenty of things to worry him today.

  Like Janus, for instance. His friend had become increasingly secretive and irrational recently. Granted he did not have the Navigator discipline to steady his mind, but even so he was taking things far worse than Simon would have expected. He had followed Janus Darke into and out of far worse situations than this one, and never seen the rogue trader so rattled. Normally Janus was the very image of cool, calculating ferocity. Since Typhon he had become something else.

  What had he seen down there? Simon had wondered about that ever since they had come back, but none of the surviving Company would ever speak of it, and he had not felt like pressing them. Seeing the look of horror in their eyes had been enough. There were some things he would rather not know about anyway, and he suspected that anything found on the surfaces of the forbidden worlds off the edge of the Eye of Terror would come under that heading. What could possibly be horrible enough to shake the confidence of ancestrals as hard and ruthless as Janus Darke and Kham Bell?

  As he watched he saw an ancestral servitor, an ancient-looking human in the stark black uniform of a house servant, limping towards his table.

  'Are you going to do the decent thing and resign?' asked Alysia. She sounded coolly amused and a smile of incipient triumph showed on her face.

  Perhaps he should resign, he thought, and suggest they try a different sport in one of the sleeping chambers on the floor above. They had done so plenty of times before. He had a strange feeling of foreboding about the message the servitor was bringing, and he was a good enough Navigator to know when to trust his instincts. But no, best to confront any danger now. 'Kill monsters while they're little,' was another favourite proverb of his tutor.

  'And why should I do that when I am on the verge of a stunning victory?' asked Simon. Alysia's smile widened.

  'You are like your ancestral friend, Janus Darke, in one way,' she said.

  'What's that?' he asked casually, wondering what gossip was doing the rounds about his business partner within the tight-knit community of the House of the Eye.

  'You both think you can bluff your way out of anything.'

  'I bluff about nothing, my dear,' he said with mock portentousness, just as the ancestral stopped in front of the table and hovered politely waiting to be noticed.

  'What is it, Jaques?' Simon asked after he had allowed the ritual and customary five heartbeats to pass.

  'There are strangers at the door, sir. They request a meeting with you.'

  'Did they state their business?'

  'No sir, they merely said that it was important, and that you would see them, and that it involved an old contract that needed to be discussed. They said it was something to do with a matter of seven golden argosies.'

  Simon's smile widened as he fought very hard to keep the shock from his face. The strangers had used a code phrase known only to the upper echelons of his House, one of the five ancient signals, a sign of the utmost significance that heralded profound danger. He was proud of the fact that he managed to stop any emotion showing on his face, and that his cool, light smile remained on his lips.

  'Tell them I will be with them in a few minutes,' he said. 'I have a game of pharaoh to finish.'

  'Very good, sir. I will show them to the Azure Chamber.'

  Simon was a little shocked when he entered the chamber and saw his two visitors. He had seen their type before and not even their bulky black cloaks could conceal what they were from his trained eye. Their posture, their height, the way they moved all screamed eldar. He strode across the room, past the massive table, and gazed out of the enormous armour-glass window. Below him he could see the spires of the hive city emerging from the clouds like islands rising from an ocean of mist. Huge flames of vented gas illuminated the clouds around the peaks, surrounding them with moats of infernal red. Simon checked the security amulet on his wrist. There was no sign of surveillance, which was only to be expected since this room was supposed to be secure. Still, under the circumstances, it was impossible to be too careful.

  'Greetings, children of Ulthwe,' he said in formal courtly eldar. 'I find you far from home.'

  If they were surprised he spoke their language, they gave no sign. They made a ritual gesture of greeting, moving their fingers through a complex dance that spelled out one of their glyphs on the air. He gave the answering sign, as he had been taught in his protocol classes so long ago, and sensed their cool amusement. He felt like a child who had unexpectedly performed some ritual correctly before adults. He squashed that feeling immediately. He was the son of one of the most ancient Navigator Houses of most ancient Terra. He was not going to let them make him feel at a disadvantage. Behind their heads, through the huge window, he could see the running lights of several flitters and the plasma contrail of a sub-orbital shuttle heading upwards into the dark between worlds.

  'We invoke the Pact of Anwyn,' said the taller of the two eldar, the male. Simon shivered. No messing around here. None of the long intricate rituals he had been taught to expect from the eldar. Somehow, the bare lack of formality in their manner worried him more than the fact they had called on the ancient secret treaty of friendship between his House and the eldar Craftworld of Ulthwe. Automatically his mouth worked through the prescribed response.

  'You have brought the sign.' From within the bulky sleeve of the stranger's robe a black-gloved hand appeared. The far-too-long-to-be-human fingers opened and something glittered there. Cautiously, Simon took the thing and inspected it. On the surface it was simply an old golden ducat, one of the trade coins issued by his clan, and used as currency wherever their ships travelled. He checked the date: 101 .M31. It was correct. The coin had been issued in the year the Pact of Anwyn was made. Closer inspection revealed it was one of the seven coins that Jubal Belisarius had traded with the farseer in the ancient days, tokens th
at promised his House would repay the eldar for saving their honour and their wealth.

  Simon's mind reeled. Could it really be true? He had always thought the tale was a myth although he had seen the five coins that had so far been redeemed in the Belisarius family shrine on distant Terra. He took a deep breath, knowing that an ancient obligation had been passed on to him. He must fulfil his part in the prophesy. He was obliged to do whatever was needed to to take this eldar and his companions wherever they wanted to go. The farseer's words inscribed in the Byblos Belisarius returned to him.

  There will be times when the eldar will need allies to do things they cannot or which are forbidden to them. We have helped you in your hour of need. You must, when the time comes, help us.

  Still, there were precautions to be observed, safeguards to be put in place. 'Who do you come from?'

  'I bring word from Eldrad Ulthran, farseer of Ulthwe, whose line befriended your people when they most had need of it.'

  Simon nodded. The exact words, in the exact order, in the exact form they were meant to be spoken. After the proscribed five heartbeats they were repeated in eldar.

  'I am Simon Belisarius, Master Navigator of the Ancient House of Belisarius of Terra. I am at your service.' He spoke the words in eldar. 'I will guide you where you must go, shirking at nothing, seeing you safe to port, no matter what may come.'

  'I am Auric Stormcloud, farseer, of the line of Manan of the World of Ulthwe. I accept the offer of your service. I acknowledge that in faithfully discharging the task I set you, you will have repaid one seventh of the debt of honour that exists between your House and mine.'

  'So let it be,' said Simon.

  'So let it be,' said the stranger. Now the formalities were over, Simon felt a little more relaxed although he was unsure what would happen next and felt more than a little in fear for his own life. Three of the Belisarius starships that had answered the farseer's call had failed to return. One had come back a battered hulk, its crew all mad, its Navigator deranged. One had been found drifting and empty in open space in the Armageddon system. Simon allowed himself to smile. He had always wanted to find adventure; now it seemed adventure had found him. It looked like he was going to have his name written in the Byblos wreathed in the posthumous glory of those who had fulfilled one of the House's most ancient oaths.

  'This is Athenys, of the line of Manan, of the Craftworld Ulthwe.'

  'The pleasure of the meeting is mine,' Simon replied in formal eldar. Athenys responded courteously.

  'How can I be of service?' Simon asked.

  'I wish to go to Belial IV.'

  Simon invoked his implanted memories. Belial IV was a world within the Eye of Terror. A forbidden place on the charts, the sort of place that the Inquisition would execute you for visiting. In short, a place much like Typhon, but actually within the Eye of Terror itself. He considered the difficulties of getting there. Massive warp storms cut off the Eye for decades at a time, threading through them was a task that could easily prove fatal for even the greatest of Navigators. The trip to Typhon had tested Simon's skill almost to the limit. And that was not counting the threat of reavers, Chaos fleets and the bizarre conditions that prevailed within the Eye itself.

  'Such a voyage is extraordinarily dangerous,' Simon said, it being one of a Navigator's many duties to make clients aware of such things. There is every chance we will not succeed.'

  'More dangerous than even you can guess, Simon Belisarius. But dangerous or not, it is there I must go,' replied Auric. 'And I must go soon.'

  'That may prove difficult. I must requisition a ship from my House. It may take several months to arrange...'

  'You already possess a ship. The Star of Venam!'

  'It does not entirely belong to me or my House. We are co-owners. There is another.' The ancient pact pledged Belisarius to use its entire means to fulfil the commission. It did not say anything about using other people's.

  'Janus Darke will not disagree. He has already taken payment.' Simon thought about this for a moment. In spite of the ancient part, they had gone to Janus first, not to him; that spoke of a great deal of understanding of the situation, and a great deal of subtlety. What else should he have expected—these were eldar after all. And if time was of the essence, they had done the right thing, for if they took the Star of Venam, it would be a lot quicker.

  'There are problems other than Janus accepting,' he said. 'Legal problems. Our ship had been impounded pending the payment of certain debts.'

  'Given sufficient funds these can and will be overcome.'

  'Since you have invoked the pact, Belisarius will spend what is needed but it will take time to raise the money. I must contact our factors and they must raise drafts and-'

  'That will not be necessary. We have the funds. All we require of you is your vessel and your service until our quest is done.'

  'Very well. How soon can we get access to these funds? Do you have mercantile scrip, letters of credit drawn on an Imperial commercial banks, chests full of ducats?'

  The hand vanished within the sleeve once more; it reappeared with a conjuror's flourish, this time containing a small sack made from some sort of leather. The eldar tossed the sack to Simon, who caught it out of the air easily. He pulled the drawstrings around its mouth to open it. Inside, he caught the fiery glitter of some sort of gemstone.

  He poured them out onto his hand and felt the tingle as they touched his flesh. Dreamstones, enough to buy a small planet if they were real and unflawed. Somehow, he knew that they were. Their value to himself and his House was incredible. Dreamstones were one of the few things capable of protecting the mind against the depredations of Chaos. They helped absorb the baleful emissions of the immaterium, and prevented the dreadful nightmares which could afflict a Navigator after too much contact with the stuff of the other realm. Of course, not just Navigators used them, so did sorcerers, alchemists—even, it was said, members of the Inquisition. Anyone who had cause to fear the evil influence of the Great Darkness had use for them, and they came from only one source: the Craftworld of Ulthwe. He had never heard of so many coming onto the market at one time. He would have to be careful of course, because such a thing could cause a catastrophic drop in prices. There must be a hundred small and perfect stones here, enough to manipulate the markets of the Segmentum Obscura for years to come. It was an enormous fee.

  Then again, the task he was being set was an enormous and potentially fatal one. 'May I ask why you wish to go into the Eye of Terror?'

  'You may, Simon Belisarius. But in this place, at this time, I will give you no answer. There is a time and place for such a giving, and this is not it.'

  'Very well.'

  'But know you this—we must act swiftly and secretly or death will claim us all.'

  Simon shrugged. He had expected nothing less.

  SIX

  A PAIR OF PINCERS

  Janus Darke ripped his bolter from its holster. Too late he heard the footsteps behind him. He started to whirl but something heavy smashed into his hand. Agony surged through his fingers and the bolt pistol fell from his grip. Anger at his own stupidity filled him. He had stepped out into the night, drunk and drugged, and full of self-pity. Enemies had taken advantage of this to work his undoing. Now he was going to pay the price.

  Anger and adrenalin sobered his thoughts a little but his body still responded slowly and his timing was off. He looked up at the man facing him seeing a huge burly bruiser, of the type Fat Roj favoured employing. The man held a heavy sap in his hand, a leather truncheon filled with ball bearings. He drew it back for another blow. Old reflexes, long schooled on the practice mats, tried to take over. Janus brought his numbed arm up into a guard position and then punched, aiming his blow just below the centre of the man's chest. It connected solidly, for Janus was a very big man, all muscle, and the force of the blow had come from the hip. Wind wheezed out of the bruiser's lungs and he started to bend double. Janus brought up his knee to connect with the man
's jaw. He felt a surge of pain as it connected. The kick hurt him, but not as much as it hurt his opponent who fell over backwards. Janus felt a brief spurt of savage satisfaction before he realised that he had drunkenly miscalculated and left himself off balance. His boot slipped on the slick cobblestones and he tumbled to the ground.

  As he fell his groping fingers reached out and struck the butt of his pistol. Quickly he grabbed it and swung it to bear on Weezel and his opponents. 'Don't move,' he said, 'or you'll be breathing through a hole in your stomach.'

  He was rewarded by a sick look on Weezel's face. The two bruisers with him seemed less impressed. 'Fat Roj wants his money,' said the smaller of the two. He was very broad and his tattoos were very impressive. 'He's tired of waiting. You owe him. It's time to pay. Shoot us and it'll only go worse for you. It will be the pincers for sure.'

  Janus pulled himself upright, and risked a glance at the man he had put down. His heart beat very fast and he realised that he had been lucky, far luckier than he deserved to be under the circumstances. He looked at the men again. He was impressed by the way they kept their composure under the circumstances. Not everybody could have managed a speech such as the tattooed man had made in this sort of stand-off.

  'Roj will get his money,' he said and was pleased that his voice was just as rational and lucid as the tattooed man's.

  'When?'

  Janus considered the question. He really might have the money to pay soon, if Justina did the work she was supposed to, but doubtless it would still take a couple of days to line up a buyer unless he wanted to sell the dreamstone at a huge discount.

  'Three days.'

  'You said that three days ago.'

  A not unreasonable point, Janus conceded, but three days ago he did not have the dreamstone, and now he did. It made all the difference in the world, but how could he convince the tattooed man of that?