by Gav Thorpe
Despite these early successes, the enemy were everywhere. Stormlance veered and climbed, rolled and dived, purple lightning bolts screaming past the sleek starship with each turn. A twisting roll powered the eldar vessel up through the middle of one of the attacking squadrons, seeking to use them as a shield against the other fighters. The Chaos-enslaved crews had no compunction about opening fire close to their comrades and lightning followed Stormlance through the climb, catching two of the enemy craft in crossfire. The energy blasts scattered across the hulls of the strange craft like water droplets on granite, but some unseen damage was delivered and the afflicted Splinters dropped out of the sky like stones.
You value their lives more than they do, it seems. The eldar craft seethed with the joy of killing. That changes the rules, doesn’t it?
‘This is not a game!’ Asurmen was fighting himself now, feeling his subconscious control of the starship slipping further and further away. He was not sure why the ship was so defiant. Like an unruly steed trying to throw him, Stormlance rebuffed Asurmen’s psychic impulses with a mental laugh.
Then came the realisation that Stormlance was feeding off the sense of vengeance deep inside Asurmen’s spirit. The Splinters were part of the Shards, and the Phoenix Lord’s guilt at not having destroyed them was manifesting as an overwhelming urge to destroy them now.
The Phoenix Lord could feel the cloud of enemy fighters all around them, looping and circling, gradually closing in like a net around the eldar ship. They took no evasive action, but came straight at the eldar, three more falling prey to the pulsars while the trap closed. Asurmen reasserted his will, trying to snare Stormlance in a cage of restraint and discipline.
‘It does not look like their morale is failing. Cease this disobedience and break away, you cannot hope to destroy them all.’
I do not need to.
Stormlance reversed its gravity drive and for a moment Asurmen felt the world turning upside down, the manoeuvre too extreme even for the inertia dampeners. A flash of pulsar fire destroyed another Splinter and a second later they were plunging back towards the cloud cover, a dozen fighters turning sharply after them.
As it inverted, the starship extended its scanners towards the battleship crash site. The air was filled with other craft, eldar in design – nightwings, hemlock wraithfighters, crimson hunters, all launched from the Patient Lightning.
I told you not to worry. Our friends are on their way.
The Chaos craft were clearly outmatched, but there was no pause in their pursuit as Stormlance led them into the wave of eldar aircraft. The air blazed with lasers, missiles streaking past on trails of blue fire. Into the teeth of this storm swept the Chaos fighters, oblivious or uncaring of the danger.
Asurmen felt Stormlance slowing, about to turn.
‘Break away!’ The command was accompanied by a whip-crack of anger that hurt the Phoenix Lord as much as it chastised the ship. It had the desired effect, and Stormlance was cowed once more, continuing towards the crashed battleship.
During the first pass of the eldar attack, half the Splinters were turned into clouds of expanding fragments, leaving smoking ruin and clouds of burning gas across the sky. Stormlance accelerated again, dipping towards the battleship that could just be seen in the distance, at the end of a burned swathe through the forest beneath them.
Rather than continue to pursue their prey, the Splinters looped around even as the eldar fighters did the same, determined to engage. The two flotillas hurtled towards each other again, and as before the eldar were superior, losing only one of their number to the lightning cannons of the foe, while only two interceptors survived the exchange.
‘Why do they not withdraw?’ Asurmen could not imagine what compulsion the Dark Gods had laid upon their followers to make them throw away their lives so pointlessly. ‘The battle is lost.’
Perhaps they are not fighting to win.
If that was the case the last two crews of Chaos worshippers were granted their wish, as a swarm of eldar aircraft converged on them with a blaze of firepower that was momentarily brighter than the sun. All that remained as the attack craft parted was a haze of vaporised matter from which molten globules fell like rain.
Asurmen could not suppress a moment of relief, a feeling that skirted dangerously close to satisfaction. He quelled it in an instant, aware of the dangers any amount of gratification might bring. He tried hard to lament the passing of the hunters but could only muster a vague regret that they had not broken away when they had the opportunity – the wanton manner in which they had hurled themselves to their doom made sympathy impossible.
V
Illiathin tried to push his way against the flow of people but he was a leaf on a tide, washing him further and further from the pinnacle conveyor that led up to the star port. Anti-grav engines whined overhead as people took anything that could reach orbit, the sky filled with ascending stars like a meteor shower in reverse.
It was hard to fight against the panic. It seeped into his thoughts, projected by hundreds of eldar around him, like a fungal bloom bursting into life as it spread from person to person, feeding and strengthening and feeding some more.
He had no idea what had caused the surge away from the harbour hub, but he could hear screams and the occasional crackle of energy weapons discharging. He stumbled over bodies, crushed by the press, but corpses no longer surprised him, nor drew comment from anyone else. The apparent ease with which death could come upon someone was the main reason for the crush surrounding the ascender spire.
The stampede lessened after a while, the panic subsiding and the weight of bodies lightening as more people drifted away from the mob, and distance from the threat eased everyone’s fears. Despite this, Illiathin could still feel the undercurrent of horror that bound the crowd together, the shared experience of daily fear that shrouded the city like a fog. He let the slow migration continue to carry him back towards the arena park, until he spied a black-suited figure over the heads of the crowd.
She stood at the top of a set of steps to a doorway, a black band across the eyes of her masked red helm. Couched in her arms was a sunfire rifle, and her head moved to and fro, scanning the crowd for any threat.
Pushing his way out of the throng, Illiathin made it to the bottom of the steps, to find the sunfire rifle pointed at him.
‘Get away from here,’ the guard barked, her voice amplified by her helm. ‘Move away or I’ll disintegrate you.’
‘I need your help,’ Illiathin called out.
‘Everyone needs our help, but it’s too late. Get away before I shoot you.’
‘You’re True Guardians, yes? My brother, Tethesis, he’s one of you. You have to get me to him. Get a message to him. Tell him that Illiathin is sorry. I’m sorry I doubted him.’
‘Tethesis? He’s never mentioned a brother.’ The guard paused, communicating by some other means. After a few moments she took a step forward and offered him a hand. ‘It seems that he’s the forgiving type. Come inside.’
The door slid open behind her, revealing a narrow hallway. Another member of the True Guardians, his helmet off but still garbed in black body armour, came down the corridor to meet him. Illiathin followed the silent guide through the tower. Lanterns lit the interior with pockets of blue and green light. Power supply was sporadic, as it was across most of the city while vying factions and political groups swapped, bartered and fought for control of the world’s infrastructure. Contact with many other worlds had been lost altogether, especially the Core. The last visitors and transmissions had been from craftworlds fleeing carnage and mayhem. There was even word that world fought against world again, as in the days of Ulthanash and Eldanesh.
A spiral stair took them up level after level, the climb starting to tire Illiathin’s long legs. They reached a spire-top mezzanine. There had once been a garden here, growing across the balcony that encircled the towe
r just below its tip; the dead remains of plants were draped over pebble pathways, brown and drab against grey stone.
Tethesis was speaking with some other eldar, variously pointing down to parts of the city and gesturing up to the overcast sky. The guide signalled for Illiathin to stay where he was and crossed the roof to announce their arrival. Tethesis looked over and nodded before sending away the other eldar.
‘I really thought you were dead, brother. I looked for you near the arena, but everyone said you had been taken by the blood-drinkers.’
Illiathin said nothing but laughed and cried at the same time, joy, relief and fear all bursting out of him as he stumbled into an embrace with Tethesis. They parted after a moment, looking at each other. Tethesis had a scar running from his left cheek to his neck. It looked strange to see such a physical mark of violence. Not so long ago it would have been a matter of moments to remove the blemish, but now the best medical facilities were in the hands of the warlords who had risen up to claim control of the world.
‘We need to get to the Twilight Voyager,’ said Illiathin. ‘It is the last ship in orbit, and none will return. The craftworld is our last chance to get away from here.’
‘It’s too late,’ said Tethesis, sighing. ‘The ship has already departed. There was a riot and the crew broke the moorings. Thousands died. We had people at the station.’
Illiathin staggered back as if struck, chest tightening with dread. Tethesis came after him, a steadying hand on his shoulder. Taking swift breaths, Illiathin fought to control the sudden panic. He could see across half the city from this height, far past the arena and into the central districts. Many of the buildings were in ruins, a blot of smoke seeping up from their remains. Even now he could see the flash of las-fire and imagined the zip and crack of weapons, the clash of blades, the snarls of fighters competing for dominance.
Out there were those that did not care, in their thousands, caught up in whatever exotic and esoteric pursuits and pleasures dulled them to the madness that had engulfed the eldar people. The world burned around them and they cared nothing for its demise, only to sate whatever thirsts and hungers gnawed at their hearts.
Thinking about it made Illiathin’s head hurt. There was more to his discomfort than physical tension. For some time he had felt a strange pressure, an overwhelming burden that made his limbs leaden and fogged his thoughts. At times he would lose all sense of himself, of the world, unable to move or think. Like now, he often felt as if he were a puppet, under the sway of some greater power.
‘You feel it, don’t you?’ said Tethesis. ‘I gave you warning. We said this would happen.’
‘What would happen? What is happening?’
Tethesis held a hand to the side of his head and looked skywards, his gaze far away.
‘Our doom. It is coming.’
15
The news that the Flesh-thieves had destroyed the webgate added an even greater sense of urgency to the task laid before Hylandris. If the followers of the Dark Lady were no longer trying to claim or guard the portal, they would attack the vault in greater numbers. On hearing the news the farseer had made a quick calculation and come to the conclusion that he had little over half a day before the enemy forces departing the webway portal would reach Niessis.
Most of that half-day had now passed without result. He had to release the Ankathalamon before sundown and dusk was fast approaching.
‘If only your scrying was a little more accurate, perhaps you could have foreseen yourself entering the opening code,’ said Zarathuin, peering over Hylandris’s shoulder as the farseer bent over the vault’s locking mechanism.
‘And perhaps I should smash your head repeatedly into the lock in the hope that will break it,’ the seer snarled in return. He straightened and glared at the warlock, though the ghosthelm hid his expression. ‘Do you take a perverse pleasure in pre-empting my failure?’
‘No,’ said the warlock. ‘There is nothing perverse about it. You are a thoroughly arrogant, unlikeable boor. Seeing you fail would give any normal spirit a sense of happiness and justice.’
‘Your craftworld will die,’ the farseer pointed out.
‘All things die,’ the former philosophy tutor replied airily. He stepped past Hylandris and examined the runestone-studded lock pedestal. ‘It’s a shame our ancestors were so paranoid, otherwise we could just blast open the vault doors and be done with it.’
‘Your speculations are…’ Hylandris paused, considering his companion’s words. He returned his attention to the lock. ‘They are unintentionally insightful. Perhaps there was a point to keeping you around.’
‘What do you mean? We can’t possibly destroy the doors with the firepower we have to hand. We could call in the wraithknight, I suppose, but there’s bound to be a defence system, perhaps even a world-destroyer.’
‘Quieten your prattling, I’m thinking.’
Zarathuin fell thankfully silent while Hylandris considered the problem with a fresh perspective. He spoke his thoughts aloud, the vocalisation demanding greater clarity and precision, which helped him move purposefully from one idea to the next.
‘The Ankathalamon was buried here at the end of the tsinnin extermination. Nobody thought it would be used again. The tsinnin were all dead, every last pod and larval drone. Nobody thought the world would be colonised by ignorant humans an aeon later.’
‘And nobody would steal a weapon that can only affect one planet,’ added Zarathuin, following the seer’s line of thought. ‘Security measures would be minimal. Perhaps a few psychomaton guards and a tamper warning system.’
‘And a straightforward locking cipher.’ Hylandris jabbed a combination of rune-forms into the locking mechanism, hope rising as each stone lit up in turn. A faint sigh echoed through the chamber as the vault doors parted a hair’s breadth. ‘Or perhaps even a straightforward coda from the Miseries of Vaul! Trusting times, my friend, unlike today.’
Now that the device had come to life, Hylandris could feel the psychic web that controlled the whole vault. Unlike the infinity circuit of a craftworld or the matrix of a starship, there was no energy pulsing along the crystal conduit. The psychescape felt cold and barren as Hylandris eased his mind into the unlocked apparatus, his mind exploring the disconcerting emptiness as though his thoughts echoed inside his own head.
‘Farseer, the humans are in sight.’ The message came from Kahainoth, leader of the rangers Hylandris had persuaded to his cause. ‘Armoured vehicles leading the way. Countermeasures are in place but we will not be able to stall them for long with the weapons we have.’
No need to engage them, we almost have what we need, Hylandris replied. With a small exertion of will, he broadcast his message to the small host that protected him. All forces are to withdraw at once from the City of Spires. We have what we came for.
‘A little presumptuous?’ said Zarathuin.
‘Not at all,’ said the farseer. Another extension of psychic power flooded the vault with energy. Crystal geometries and runes sprang into life on the walls and doorway. A simple command was all that was required for the vault doors to swing outwards, revealing their prize.
The vault was not much larger than the antechamber, with a dome a little higher than Hylandris was tall. The scalloped crest of his ghosthelm almost scraped the ceiling as he entered. As he stepped across the threshold lights glimmered into life, revealing six shadowed alcoves around the circumference of the chamber. Turning to the right, Hylandris walked the perimeter of the room, moving from one alcove to the next, assembling the Ankathalamon from each component in turn.
When he was done he had circled to the door. He held his hand up to Zarathuin in triumph, a bracelet about his wrist connected with fine golden chains to emerald rings on two of his fingers.
‘The Ankathalamon!’ the farseer declared. ‘The Fate of Nerethisesh incarnate. The power to raze all life from a world.�
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‘Is that it?’ Zarathuin peered at the device. ‘That controls the life-destroying systems of Nerethisesh? A dull piece of jewellery? I was expecting something… grander.’
‘It is a key, nothing more. With this I will activate the purge systems of Nerethisesh, wiping out the humans that have grown like mould on our lost world. The Imperium in its ignorance will respond, casting their blame on the fools of Ulthwé. Eldrad Ulthran will be far too busy dealing with that threat to meddle in the affairs of Anuiven any further.’
Zarathuin grabbed the farseer’s arm, jaw clenched.
‘That was not the plan you explained to me when we set out on this quest,’ said the warlock. ‘We were to deny the Chaos worshippers access to the Ankathalamon.’
‘You are an idiot, Zarathuin.’ The farseer pulled his arm free. ‘No human could master the psychic subtlety required to breach this vault or employ the Ankathalamon. The presence of the Flesh-thieves is entirely coincidental, an easy guise for my mission. I have no idea why they are here if they are not seeking to break into the webway.’
‘You have betrayed our trust,’ Zarathuin insisted. ‘The war between Anuiven and Ulthwé was to be fought between unwitting proxies, but now you risk the madness of the humans being unleashed against any and all of our kind. And you should know better than to dismiss coincidence. It is not chance that brought the Flesh-thieves upon us, but their mistress. She has a reason for being here, even if we cannot guess it yet.’
Hylandris pushed past the warlock and strode to the transport capsule. He stepped inside and turned.
‘Your years of philosophy have weakened your resolve. Moral absolutes are the refuge of the insecure and pathetic. We must be strong or our craftworld will fall.’
Zarathuin hesitated before following Hylandris onto the conveyor. The protective field closed around them, and in moments they were ascending to ground level. It was a short distance to the outer portal, but the humans were already pushing along the valley floor, tanks and armoured walkers leading the advance.