by William King
Janus looked down a long corridor where more and more of the spirit engines came on-line. It was massive and receded down into the distance, to a place far below the world. Auric stood limned by an aura of power, floating just above the floor, his gems spiraling around him so fast that their contrails blurred into a cage of light.
'The way is open,' he said in a voice like thunder. 'We go down.'
TWENTY-ONE
THE DEATH GOD SPEAKS
Zarghan strode through the corridors of the temple-palace. In his mind, he could hear distant music playing loudly. He felt the words of his men, saw some of the sounds they made. He smiled. Kinaesthesia was always interesting and it had been decades since he last experienced it. It seemed to be getting stronger in the presence of the daemon prince.
A glowing aura surrounded the thing that had been Malarys. It shimmered through all the hues of the rainbow and several more besides. With an effort of will Zarghan forced himself to think of the daemon prince as 'he'. While he occupied Malarys it seemed only sensible. The old psyker's body was growing gaunter as the essence of the daemon within consumed his vitality. As his flesh withered it gave off a strong but not unpleasant musky odour that caused distortion in the music the Chaos Marine was hearing. Zarghan considered whether this manifestation of the daemon prince meant anything. Did he not trust Zarghan to carry out his mission?
It was almost an insult. Awesome though Shaha Gaathon's powers might be, Zarghan was not daunted, or at least not much. He had basked in the radiant presence of the Primarch Fulgrim, and strode side by side with the Emperor at the dawn of the Imperium. It took a lot to impress him.
And yet there was something about the daemon that did impress. The stooped, ancient-looking form of Malarys stood taller, and moved with a pride and dignity that the former priest had never possessed. His eyes looked out on the world with a great lust, as if their owner wished to drink in everything it saw and possess it utterly.
He knew that Malarys contained only a fraction of the daemon prince's true power. He had seen what such beings were capable of on the inner worlds of the Eye of Terror, where they had sculpted entire planets in their own image. Out here towards the edge, they did not have quite that power.
Zarghan knew that there was some overlap between what was considered the Eye of Terror and what was not. Here at the edge things were almost as stable as within the accursed Imperium itself. Slowly that was changing, as the Eye grew and the influence of Chaos with it. Perhaps in another ten thousand years this world would be like the daemon worlds. Perhaps he would come back then and take a look.
His attention returned to the thing that had been Malarys. He doubted that he would ever see the old man again after tonight; Shaha Gaathon was consuming him too quickly. He would need to find someone else to make the sacrifice when the Pride of Sin departed. So it goes, he told himself.
'I am talking to you, Zarghan,' said Shaha Gaathon. The Chaos Marine gave his attention back to the daemon host. He wondered how long the daemon prince had been talking to him. The penalty for not knowing might prove severe.
'Yes, great prince.'
'I said we will proceed deeper into the temple. I sense the presence of the tricky eldar and my prize.'
'May I ask a question, great prince?'
'Whatever you desire, Zarghan.'
'Why are you with us? I am perfectly capable of doing what needs to be done here.'
'Ah, is this the fabled arrogance of the legendary Space Marines, Zarghan?' The daemon's voice was beautiful. It sounded like it was singing the lyrics to the song of the music that played within Zarghan's head. He realised that the daemon prince had brought his full attention to bear, and that he was in danger of becoming enthralled. With an effort of will he threw off the spell.
'Perhaps, great prince.'
'Who is not to say that the whole purpose of your mission, or perhaps your life, was to be here at this moment, to bring this festering ancient husk of a body to this place, so that I might manifest myself and seize the instrument of my destiny?'
'With all respect, great prince, I suspect that the purpose of my life was something else. I was created to be a warrior, to fight in the greatest battles. I was chosen, first by the Emperor, and then by the Lord of all Pleasures for this role. I very much doubt that my destiny was to be a delivery boy.'
'You are indeed most arrogant,' said Shaha Gaathon. The caressing tone held an undertone of menace now. 'However, you are also correct. It is your destiny to fight in great battles, Zarghan, and the greatest of them will begin once we have achieved what I intend here.'
This piqued the Chaos Marine's interest. War was his greatest pleasure, more than drugs, more than music, more than any of the manifold pleasures of the flesh. His brain had been rewired by an ancient techno-sorcerer, so that the smell of blood stimulated his pleasure centres like fine food, and the roar of battle was sweeter than the finest music. He had been made into a connoisseur of carnage. There was a promise in Shaha Gaathon's words to which he could not help but respond.
'What do you mean, great prince?'
'Soon I will bring war to the galaxy on a scale not witnessed since the time of Horus.'
'That would be a great thing,' said Zarghan sincerely. The Warmaster had almost torn apart the Imperium in his rebellion against the Emperor. 'Those were fine days.'
'They will return, my friend, I promise you.'
Zarghan knew he was being courted, that the daemon prince sought to win his loyalty by promising what he wanted most. Such was the way of daemons, so had it always been.
Still, if he could make good on that promise, Zarghan knew he would do what was asked of him. War on a galactic scale would be like a return to the days of his youth, and those had been glorious indeed.
'The eldar seeks something of great value, something that belongs to me. I want him stopped. Now he has activated the ancient spirit engines. Powers are awakening here that might prove too much for even you without my direct aid. I have come to help you, my friend.'
Zarghan felt sure Shaha Gaathon was lying, which was only to be expected since he was a daemon prince. Helping Zarghan Ironfist was not something that would ever appear on his list of priorities. There was something going on here that had even the mighty daemon prince worried, and the Chaos warrior intended to find out what it was. If there was something here powerful enough to disturb the plans of a being as potent as Shaha Gaathon then it was something that would surely be worthwhile for Zarghan to get his hands on.
'Follow me,' said Shaha Gaathon.
'As you desire, great prince,' he said.
'First, let us find Janus Darke. This form grows weary, and I would wear new flesh by dawn.'
'So shall it be.'
The daemon gestured and summoned his power. Suddenly the walls of the palace blurred past.
* * *
Janus stood in the centre of a massive mandala. Intricate patterns swirled away from his feet, reminding him in some esoteric way of the things he had seen when Auric cast his runestones. Looking back he could see the long avenues of the spirit engines. Power crackled between them now, the air vibrated with it.
'Hurry,' said Athenys. 'We must be away.'
The men stood nervously at the edge of the great circle. Evidently they too could sense the power flowing through it and were not anxious to step forward.
'Do as she says,' said Janus coldly, 'or our foes will overwhelm us in this indefensible place.'
Janus did not know what was going to happen, but he knew that they were trapped. The corridor had ended in this enormous circular pattern, and there seemed to be no way out but up. Far, far overhead, he was sure he could see the cold glitter of the stars. He was looking up an enormous crystalline chimney, towards some sort of massive dome. He tried to remember the layout of the city as he had seen it from the air, and place any such dome in the map of the place he carried in his mind's eye, but he could not.
He noticed also that the air was getting
colder and the stale smell of death stronger. The walls depicted some sort of mighty bird, its wings dripping flame, pursuing tiny men. A phoenix, he thought, the bird of fire. Was this some sort of sacred symbol for the eldar?
The men edged onto the disc. Auric made another invocation and power swirled out from him to touch the mandala. Lines of fire illumined the face of the disc, and it seemed to shift and whirl dizzyingly. The walls were rising now, Janus saw, as the phoenix rose above him, and was replaced by the depiction of some ancient god-king. It took him a few moments to realise that it was not the walls that were moving but themselves. They were dropping down the great shaft into the gloom deep below the world's surface. There was no sense of motion, no disturbed air. Nothing to give any sign that it was the disk and not the walls that were moving. Only common sense told him that the first option was the more likely of the two.
Some of the men whooped. Some stood in uneasy silence. All of them were aware of the lines of fire swirling around the crystalline mosaic beneath their feet. They dropped a long, long way. The sheer scale of the excavation beneath the temple impressed Janus. He also wondered how their enemy could ever expect to find them now.
He was sure, somehow, that they would find a way.
In the dark depths beneath the temple-palace, the mandala drifted down into a massive chamber. It floated down through a hole in the massively domed ceiling and came to rest atop an enormous plinth. Huge masks covered the walls, each perhaps ten times as tall as a man and sculpted from living crystal. They seemed to watch the descent of the disc with sad eyes full of infinite wisdom. It took an effort of will for Janus to believe that they were not alive. Around the edge of the chamber ran various lesser daises and the stairways needed to reach them. Each raised dais faced a major mask.
Janus noticed that the space between the huge faces was filled with smaller disks all with their own roughly humanoid faces. Every centimetre of space on the curving wall was covered in a sea of faces to a height of nearly thirty metres.
'This was where my forebears spoke to their many gods,' said Auric. 'All the deities of the eldar are represented here.'
'Except Slaanesh,' said Janus sourly. He half-expected a protest from the xenogen, but all he got was a nod of agreement.
'Speak not that name here, Janus Darke,' said Athenys. 'It is a blasphemy.'
'As you wish,' said Janus, wondering what was going to happen next. The sad-faced immortals continued to survey him.
'All but a few are gone now,' he heard Auric mutter. 'All swept away like petals blown by a whirlwind.'
Janus was not sure whether he meant the gods, the occupants of the city, the eldar's past greatness or all three. At the moment, he did not care too much. He did care that the place looked indefensible. By the Emperor, they could be wiped out by someone simply dropping warheads from above. He pointed this out to Auric.
'No need to worry, Janus Darke. We are where we need to be. Now all we have to do is open the final doorway and we shall have what we came for.'
'What then?' asked Janus.
'Then we make ready to face the daemon who pursues us.'
'I can hardly wait.'
The farseer began to chant once more and to Janus's surprise the monstrous faces on the wall responded. At first he thought what he was hearing were merely echoes, but then he realised that words were coming from those massive mouths and light glowed in those huge sad eyes.
'I thought these gods were dead,' he murmured to Athenys.
'They are,' she said softly. 'He draws them forth from within himself, from the memories of what he has been taught. He animates them with projections of his own power. For a heartbeat they live again and then pass into the great void.'
Light from the farseer's aura flashed over the features of the ancient deities now and gave them some semblance of animation. For a moment, he thought he saw tears glisten in the eyes of the face of a monstrous woman. He thought a smile twisted the lips of the sinister mask of some harlequin god. He thought flames burned within the nostrils of a face that was half-eldar, half-dragon.
The words of the farseer echoed around the chamber, gaining strength, becoming louder until they were almost deafening. Some trick of the acoustics, or perhaps of magic, made them sound in a hundred different tones, in a thousand different voices. The music of it echoed through his head, burned in his blood, and he found himself speaking the words in time to the rhythm of the farseer's speech that was also attuned to the drumbeat of his heart.
As Auric sang, he began to move, whirling to face each of the massive masks in turn. As his call reached a crescendo and fell silent, he collapsed facing an enormous dark face set low in the south wall. It seemed a mask of metal that resembled more a daemon than an eldar, and within its eyes burned fire.
'Speak, Khaila Mensha Khaine,' said Auric. The massive mouth of the mask swung open, revealing the darkness within.
TWENTY-TWO
BATTLE BEGINS
They entered the crypt. It was much smaller than Janus had been expecting. The glassy crystalline walls were etched with strange labyrinthine patterns that seemed to be trying to burn themselves into his brain. Trying to follow their contours disturbed the eye and the mind. In the centre of the chamber was an altar on which lay an armoured eldar. On his breast, clutched in gauntleted hands was a sword.
'For ten millennia he has lain here,' said Athenys. 'Without a waystone. He has been alone in death.'
'The runes on this chamber would have saved his soul from being consumed,' said Auric.
'But we have opened this place now. The seal is broken.'
The farseer ignored her, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
'He came here to die,' said Auric. 'To this sanctuary. He must have lain down here, the last of his order, and meditated until death came for him.'
Janus did not want to consider what had happened here but the thought forced itself into his imagination. What must it have been like, he wondered, to entomb oneself, to wait for death to come? Did the eldar starve, die of thirst or lack of oxygen?
'This is what you came for?' he said, gesturing to the sword. It was a very long narrow blade, seemingly shaped from some form of crystal, etched with complex runes, with three glowing gems set down its length. Another was set in the hilt. He knew he had seen it before, in the dream that had showed him the coming of Slaanesh.
Auric nodded. 'It is the deathsword, an echo of Khaine's mighty blade, set in crystal, made to be the bane of daemons. It failed in its original purpose, but I hope it will serve ours.'
'Then let us take it and leave this place.' Janus did not know what possessed him to do so, but a compulsion stole over him and he reached out to grasp the blade. Athenys gasped, then Janus felt a hand upon his shoulder, restraining him. It stayed there as Auric reached down to pick up the weapon. Only once the weapon was in his hand did the farseer let Janus go.
Auric held the deathsword reverentially, but also gingerly, as a man might hold a venomous serpent. He held it up to the light and Janus could see how although the blade glittered, it gave out a strange dark glow, as if some poisonous energy were seeping out now that it had found a wielder. Even from where he stood, Janus could sense its deadly power.
Athenys reached forward and took the scabbard from the corpse. 'Isha's tears,' she said. 'Sheath that thing until you are ready to use it.'
Like a man emerging from a trance Auric nodded and rammed the weapon home into its scabbard. He let out a long breath and shook his head. 'It is a thing of awesome deadliness. It will serve.'
'Such a weapon should never have been made,' said Athenys. Auric laughed.
'Many things should not have been made. Many deeds were done that should not have been. But they were. Who can foresee all the ways the web of the future is warped by the works of the past? Not I, not even Eldrad Ulthran. We may yet have cause to be grateful to those ancient priests for what they did here.'
'Why does the blade frighten you so?' asked Janus. Hopi
ng to provoke an answer, he added, 'It's just a sword.'
Athenys's smile held no humour. She seemed shaken out of her usual composure. 'It is not just a sword. It is the sword, or an echo of it. It is an image of the sword of Khaela Mensha Khaine, the death god, trapped in crystal, which is to say it is death made manifest in the form of a weapon.'
'Athenys exaggerates, but only slightly,' said Auric. Janus noticed a change had come over him since they had found the weapon. He seemed tenser, and yet at the same time a fatalistic note had entered his speech. He was like a man who had finally come to terms with something he had long foreseen but had hoped to avoid. Janus had known a man once who had long put off visiting a physician although he had all the symptoms of a fatal illness. The man had sounded just like Auric the day after he visited the physician.
Janus was not reassured. He remembered the farseer's words: While you live, I live. While I live, you live. If one of us dies, so does the other. Our fates are intertwined. If the eldar was preparing to die, it was not a good thing for him. After all, he had no waystone. The blade is merely a representation of that fatal weapon. It does not share its full power—no mortal weapon could. And this one is not as powerful as it once was, when it had the spirit engines of an entire world to draw upon.'
Athenys looked away. She looked as if she wanted to say something but was deliberately restraining herself. It was as passionate as he had ever seen the two eldar. Normally their control was so perfect. Still, he could understand that. There was something deeply disturbing about the sword. Even the soldiers sensed it. They held themselves away from the altar, trying to get as far away from the eldar as they possibly could. Janus did not blame them. There was something about the weapon that made his flesh crawl.
'You hope to use it on those who hunt us?'
Auric shook his head.
'I hope to use this on the daemon that hunts us. Even then it may prove insufficient. Shaha Gaathon is a daemon prince and a power.'