Into the maelstrom of war plunged the aeldari, weapons targeted at the unnatural host of the Great Enemy. Concentrated las-fire rippled through iridescent bodies and mobs of howling daemonettes, while missile cluster strikes ripped apart towering monsters that swept up clawfuls of necrontyr warriors.
Wild Riders and transports arrived next as the grav-tanks pushed further and further towards the objective. Around her the Bloodbrides laughed with exhilaration, never quite rid of the battle-fever that possessed them when in the Crucibael. A flight of reavers escorted the raider, Druthkhala at their head, and beyond them the scarlet of Wild Riders streaked the embattled skies.
‘It is working!’ declared Meliniel from his Wave Serpent a short distance behind. ‘The route to the barrier is clear. Once we are inside, the transports will fix a perimeter and we shall disembark into the breach on foot.’
A trio of Falcon grav-tanks formed up ahead of the transports, their turrets tracking left and right as pulse laser fire and scatter lasers raked devastating bursts through the horde of monstrosities still pouring from the open vault. The shimmering field around the pyramid crackled into life with each daemon breaking through, a continuous curtain of energy that lashed back and forth in emerald bursts.
A sudden explosion of power wracked two of the needle-towers, engulfing them in blinding wreaths. The field between them distorted like a membrane taut across a blade, the pressure from within finally cutting through.
Amid tatters of jade lightning a creature thrice the size of anything that had come before burst free. It had a waspish torso that ended in a snake body tipped with a gleaming sting. Its four arms moved in mesmerising patterns, each fist clutching a blade of gold as long as an aeldari was tall. Incredibly delicate-looking wings fluttered from its back, wide enough to stretch from one side of the avenue to the other, the scales upon them ever-moving, forming runes of She Who Thirsts that burnt the eyes to look upon.
Yvraine recoiled from the sight of the creature, heart turned to ice by the appearance of the daemonlord. Without the Whisper to guard against it she felt the full force of the Great Enemy’s thirst, the same life-draining presence that had turned her into one of the Parched scrabbling for life in the undercity of Commorragh. Her breath would not come, her lungs empty with dread.
Letting out a lilting cry of joy, the daemon prince ascended on its beautiful wings, leaving a silvery trail in the air. A burst of scintillating colour from its eyes struck the first grav-tank, slicing through it like the beam of a pulsar. Engine detonating, the Falcon became a multicoloured fireball hurtling into the ranks of necrontyr below.
Swords flashing, the daemon prince swooped upon the next Falcon, tail sting lashing against the cockpit. The canopy splintered beneath the blow, the pilot within plucked from her cradle with daemon venom pumping through her body. The presence of the powerful daemon weakened the null field and Yvraine could feel the corruption pouring into the spirit of her followers, even as its acidic carrier melted the body. Of the Whisper she still heard nothing.
Gilded blades carved apart the turret, slicing through the gunner within, and turned the rest of the Falcon to falling streamers streaked with the blood of the squad that had been carried within.
In the daemon prince’s wake fresh monstrosities hurled themselves at necrontyr and aeldari with equal fervour. The pilot of Yvraine’s raider swerved hard, forcing the open transport wide of the daemon even as it lunged towards the Bloodbrides with a leer of pleasure.
Like a practice lance splintering against armour, the thrust of the Wild Riders split upon the surging daemonic host. The daemon prince throbbed with warp power, an incarnation of the aeldari’s worst nightmares, a prophet of destruction that filled them with overwhelming dread. Where it attacked the aeldari withdrew, terrified of their souls falling to the consumption of She Who Thirsts.
Nuadhu’s fear was more practical as B’sainnad wheeled away from yet another aborted attempt to charge the daemons. More and more necrontyr were pressing towards the emerging host from other parts of the tomb precincts, trapping the aeldari within a tightening cordon of metal warriors. As before, if they did not break away soon there would be no choice but to fight both the daemons and the Unliving.
‘Is there any way to destroy that monster?’ he called across the messenger-waves. A detonation cracked sharply through the cacophony of battle as the daemon prince broke open the shell of a necrontyr portal monolith, spilling its resurrecting power across the complex like a miniature jade star. ‘Surely if we concentrate…’
He trailed away as a new abomination burst from the barrier around the pyramid. Equal in size to the prince already roaming the sky, the new arrival stalked forwards on three pairs of insect legs, its body shining like polished chitin. The shell gleamed with enchanting flashes, mesmerising to look upon, the face that stared from beneath the carapace a startling rendition of a handsome but androgynous aeldari with enticing gaze. Claws like silver daggers slashed through the necrontyr while blasts of power burned harmlessly from its shining wingcase.
‘I fear we have acted too late,’ said Meliniel. ‘We cannot hope to enter the breach and return.’
‘Then we must close it,’ replied Yvraine, and her tone conveyed her heavy heart. Nuadhu could feel her dismay emanating behind him, in effect conceding the impossibility of ever finding what she had sought. ‘Even if we will not return. It matters nothing to survive Agarimethea only to lose Saim-Hann within a generation.’
That she was willing to sacrifice not only herself but her cause for the craftworld shocked Nuadhu. The Opener of the Seventh Way had at times appeared callously disinterested in the fate of the clans and their home. Was this reciprocation for his own change of spirit? To hear her speak of the craftworld’s destruction with such sorrow set hooks of regret in his heart.
‘No!’ He spoke without thought, as usual, letting emotion steer his words to a conclusion he had not yet reached himself. He glanced at Yvraine over his shoulder. ‘If any are to lay down their lives for the craftworld it will be those that were born there. The Wild Riders will make the charge, if your Ynnari can endeavour for just a while longer to draw the poison of the enemy’s fury.’
‘I cannot see how you will succeed,’ said the autarch. ‘You have no weapon that will damage the portal gate.’
‘It was my touch that began this disaster, perhaps it will heal the wound I opened.’
‘There may be some merit to what you say, Nuadhu.’ The Wild Rider recognised the voice of Eldrad but there was none of the swelling of spiritual energy he had felt at their last contact. The farseer sounded strained. Doubtless he was engaged in some other battle as well as the physical, pitting his psychic potential against the daemonic energies radiating from the breached vault.
‘What must I do?’ asked Nuadhu.
B’sainnad wheeled high to avoid a sudden blast of power from the ground, forcing Nuadhu to cling tight to the rail with one hand. For several heartbeats the Wild Lord stared directly down into the melee between the daemons and necrontyr – shifting immortal bodies of pink and grey and pale flesh against the silvery tide of the reawakened machine-hosts. Flashes of recollection danced through his thoughts, of past lives from bodies inhabited by his soul down the aeons. It was as though he did not witness the fighting below but recalled it from a distant past.
‘I have no advice but for you to follow your instincts,’ said Eldrad. ‘The same instinct that led you to the pyramid before will hopefully guide you again.’
‘Hopefully?’ The Visarch did not sound convinced. ‘As appreciative as I am of any ploy that sees us emerge from this with mortal and immortal faculties intact, I think we require a secondary strategy.’
Receiving a look of agreement from Yvraine, Nuadhu set B’sainnad on a course directly towards the pyramid, heedless of the strange daemon-beetle rampaging between the edifices on the ground and the soaring moth-prince abo
ve. Much reduced in number but not heart, the remaining Wild Riders slipped into the wake of their lord, raising their voices in a last ragged cheer.
A dark blur from the left snatched Nuadhu’s attention away from his objective, expecting a fresh attack. Instead he saw Druthkhala at the head of her reavers, hair like a streamer, lips pulled back in a fierce grin. More Bloodbrides lined the flanks of a raider behind her.
Another raider pulled alongside on the right, the crimson of the Visarch at the fore of the Coiled Serpent incubi. With a further glance he saw Caelledhin not far behind, other kin and those he considered as such following closely. Druthkhala approaching from below, and many others he knew so well. Wave Serpents and raiders in the livery of Clan Fireheart and Ynnead lifted after them in a ribbon of scarlet and crimson.
‘We fight together,’ said Yvraine.
‘We die together,’ added the Visarch.
It was not an unpleasant notion. Nuadhu’s thoughts were not for himself, nor his family. What occurred went far beyond his duties to the clan and his place in history. Perhaps for the last time, Nuadhu raised his spear to salute his companions.
‘For Ynnead and Saim-Hann!’
The Visarch’s sentiment seemed more likely as the combined hosts of the aeldari confronted the daemonic horde alongside the necrontyr. As the Unliving seemed content to leave the aeldari unmolested so they in return did not turn their weapons upon the necrontyr: an alliance of circumstance rather than trust. For all that the tide of otherworldly abominations was held at bay, there appeared no route to pierce the wall of daemons thrown about the pyramid from which they continued to spill.
Yvraine was upon the verge of ordering a direct attack, a terribly inelegant demand that would see many Ynnari and Saim-Hann slain even if successful. The voice of Meliniel cut her short as she prepared to issue the command.
‘Fresh necrontyr forces approach, Opener of the Seventh Way.’
From the far side of the complex a resurgence of tomb arks and teleporter monoliths drifted sedately towards the raging battle. Yvraine felt Nuadhu and his pilot tense – she could see at once that they did not come alone. From resurrection fissures gleaming with jade light marched more necrontyr infantry, but unlike anything they had yet encountered. This variety of humanoid constructs were larger, some bearing heavier weapons than the warriors, others with shining glaive-like melee arms, crackling staves or elaborate shields and axes that shone with the ever-present tomb glimmer of their kind.
With them floated more spyder-constructors vomiting forth fresh clouds of scarabs, and hexapods with riders upon their backs that clambered deftly over the sloping walls of the tomb buildings.
Ahead, the other Wild Riders were forced to break off from their attack run, sharply curving away from the ascending wall of necrontyr machines lest they crash against it like flies upon the visor of a rider. Scattered like droplets of a fountain, the blurring scarlet spear became a disentangling cloud, quickly joined by swerving Wave Serpents and hurriedly banking raiders as more and more of the aeldari slewed away from the formidable necrontyr apparitions arriving between them and the daemon army.
The lightning field crackled into life once more, earthing green sparks through the flying daemons, but also forcing the attendant fighters and other aircraft of the Ynnari to ascend from harm or dive low between the towers of the tomb precincts.
‘We are being… redirected.’
Yvraine recognised what Meliniel had seen in the continuing movements of the necrontyr. The Unliving closed hard from behind and cut off all but one route ahead, funnelling the aeldari down and towards a broad plaza some distance from the pyramid. Though they had not yet opened fire, it would be sheer folly to attempt to evade the massed guns of the ancients, and any survivors would just as surely be cut down by the daemons beyond.
Street by street the necrontyr arks and engines guided the coalescing aeldari force. Suddenly emerging force fields of emerald cut off parts of the host, separating some of the heavier grav-tanks from the transports they escorted. Rising monoliths and crackling weapons arrays herded other elements towards the outskirts, and yet not a single gauss weapon opened fire nor particle beam seared the air.
‘I spy something below,’ Nuadhu announced over the messenger-waves. Many of his followers and much of the Saim-Hann host had been split away from the Wild Lord, leaving just a handful of jetbikes, Vypers and a solitary Wave Serpent in attendance. ‘A figure on the ground, alone. Energy whips about it like a robe in a gale, and it bears a staff of light. I think it is the tomb lord of this world. Its warriors hold back at the plaza edges.’
‘An offer?’ suggested Eldrad. ‘It seems we are being invited to land.’
‘A trap,’ warned the Visarch, but more from habit than conviction judging by the off-hand manner of his words. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Whether offer of truce or an ambush, it is a fate we cannot ignore,’ said Yvraine, with a last check of the cordon of huge engines that were drawing close about the slowing aeldari host.
With heart almost stilled by the thought, she signalled for Nuadhu’s pilot to bring the raider down into the plaza. A few other vehicles landed nearby, including the Wave Serpent of Naiall Fireheart, Eldrad’s transport and Meliniel’s also.
‘All of our leaders…’ the Visarch remarked, hurrying across from his raider.
‘And theirs,’ said Eldrad, emerging from his Wave Serpent, staff waving towards the lone metallic skeleton at the centre of the heptagonal plaza.
Chapter 24
ANCIENT WAR
His battle-fervour draining away rapidly, Nuadhu swallowed hard and laid a hand upon his pilot’s shoulder.
‘Is this…’ As he brought Alean to a stop B’sainnad darted a look back at Nuadhu and then Yvraine. His gaze returned to the necrontyr stood immobile upon the circuit-etched stones of the plaza. ‘Is this actually happening?’
Nuadhu gave no reply but dismounted cautiously. Yvraine sped towards Eldrad. A hasty glance confirmed that they were surrounded by necrontyr, both on the surface and in the air. Those closest to the tomb lord had a particularly sleek and menacing air about them, as though possessed of a more malign intent rather than simply automaton servants of an ancient will. Rows of flickering jade eyes followed the aeldari as they dismounted and warily approached.
The necrontyr noble regarded them without movement, eyes fixed upon Yvraine, who led the delegation forward. It stood a little taller than the Opener of the Seventh Way, made of the same living metal as the other constructs, in an approximation of humanoid appearance. Its silvery plates and bone-like limbs were inlaid with gold and turquoise, pitted with small rubies, diamonds of glassy black material and slivers of other exotic matter doubtless from the dawn of ancient history.
It wore also a semblance of regal garb. Its skull-like face and head were framed by a high collar of blue that became the folds of a soft cloak, its edges disappearing into diaphanous clouds that shimmered with necrontyr resurrection energy. A kilt of the same hung from a belt-like loop about the hips, buckled with a rising sun motif. Its staff was bladed down one side, the edge dull for the moment, but traceries of circuit-pattern glinted with suppressed power.
Yvraine stopped a few paces away. Nuadhu judged she was just out of reach of the deadly axe-staff. The Sword of Sorrows remained in its scabbard, but Yvraine’s hand rested lightly on her hip beside its hilt. The Visarch was less circumspect, advancing with Asu-var half drawn, but he halted beside his mistress and approached no closer.
Nuadhu wondered what had happened to Yvraine’s gyrinx, the thought forgotten when a cough drew his attention to his father, who was being assisted by Caelledhin and Neamyh. Along with Meliniel they hung back a little from the Opener of the Seventh Way.
The thud of staff on stone punctuated Eldrad’s stately approach. His ghosthelm rendered him as expressionless as the tomb commander and by the manner of his app
roach the old farseer conveyed his intent that he would not be rushed, that his mere presence was a boon to the proceedings about to commence and all would do well to be patient. Whether these displays were of any use against the necrontyr was doubtful, but Nuadhu suspected Eldrad was not one to give up such a ruse lightly.
‘One of you will die to activate the vault-space-prison-barrier.’
The voice that issued from the lipless mouth was not artificially created, or at least its generation was so sophisticated that it might have come from organic vocal cords. It was softly spoken, almost delicate in tone, but projected with conviction. The language was also archaic, a mix of sounds that hinted at aeldari tongue and others that were simple approximations. It seemed both stilted and florid at the same time.
‘Your threats are untimely,’ said the Visarch.
‘Your ignorance also is untimely. Catastrophe follows your arrival. One must die to activate the vault-space-prison-barrier.’
‘The vault that was opened?’ asked Eldrad, finally arriving alongside Yvraine. ‘We can close it?’
‘One must die to activate the vault-space-prison-barrier. Your cadre of leaders has been assembled here. Which among you is fit to speak to me?’
‘And who are you to make such a claim?’ said Yvraine haughtily, chin raised. ‘I do not address title-less minions.’
‘You address Phaerakh Hazepkhut, Watcher of the Dark, Guardian of the Seven Voids, Holder of the Cross-upon-the-Worlds and Champion-Surrogate of the Golden Arches.’
It certainly seemed an impressive list of accolades, though Nuadhu had not the least idea what any of them meant – except perhaps Guardian of the Seven Voids. He looked about the tomb complex, noting the septet of fortress-mounts that surrounded it.
Wild Rider - Gav Thorpe Page 26