Direchasm, p.34
Direchasm, page 34
The Grand Matriarch watched it with a smile, her arms folded. Let all the sects know who had ultimate control of their numbers and how fast they progressed through the ranks. Let them know that she watched. That she saw everything.
When there were barely thirty survivors, Morathi clapped her hands and a bolt of crimson lightning earthed itself in the central, tallest pillar in the arena. The fighting came to a shocked standstill and silence fell faster than a weakling human to the dark temptations of Slaanesh.
The High Oracle drummed her fingers on the carved stone of the railing. Her steel wings twitched and unfurled to their fullest, extending to either side of the balcony and catching and reflecting the lightning far above so that it flickered across her features and the throne, outlining her in radiance. When she had the attention of them all, she stepped off the railing, her pinions cupping the air so that she drifted like mist to the sand. She ripped Heartrender from the dead aelf and then, very deliberately, licked the young acolyte’s blood from the blade. She shivered at the fizz of the dead aelf’s fervour, at the fierce, unyielding love for Khaine that flavoured her heartblood.
Morathi beckoned, and the survivors ran to surround her, standing in panting, awestruck silence to be this close to their Grand Matriarch.
‘You fought well today. You fought for me and for Khaine. Remember that. Remember you fight for me and for our lord first, and your sects second. Khailebron or Kraith, Draichi Ganeth or Khelt Nar, ultimately it doesn’t matter. You fight against the Ruinous Powers, to defend the Mortal Realms from Chaos and to restore almighty Khaine to us. Remember that. Remember this moment – remember me – when you are weary and doubt your path. Remember me when your wounds pain and slow you and your bodies are crippled and torn. Remember me when you face your foes in the battle line, more monstrous than you could ever imagine. Remember that true faith provides true strength,’ she said and leapt into the air, her wings holding her aloft. She threw Heartrender again, threw it with all her strength, and the spear flew true into the tall central stone pillar. There was an earth-shattering crack, and the pillar broke and slumped into jagged pieces on the sands.
The only sound from the thousands of throats was a collective intake of breath.
‘I am Morathi and I give you blood to honour Khaine. I give you ritual to honour Khaine. I give you opportunity and enemies and quests – to honour Khaine.’ She landed in their midst again and beckoned; they leant forward, a collective coming together.
‘Remember. Me.’
She leapt up a final time and opened her wings with a crack that echoed across the arena, then flew back to her balcony without a sound. The spell held, thousands of aelves immobile, their breaths trapped in their chests. She turned back to them and held out both arms to embrace them all.
‘For Khaine!’ she screamed, and the words were howled back at her with such wild devotion that it was a physical force, as sensual as a lover’s touch.
Filstag, too, was trembling with passion when Morathi returned to her throne.
‘So,’ the High Oracle said as if there had not been an interruption, ‘you begin with tales of your failure among the sects and now you have nothing but failure to report where Hellebron is concerned. Correct?’
The change was so sudden that the melusai physically recoiled and the tip of her tail twitched in agitation. She had been forgiven; now she was not. It was too fast for her to comprehend.
‘I-I will send more spies, First Daughter, and they will bring back Hellebron’s agents and followers to interrogate. I swear it.’
‘Be quiet,’ Morathi said. ‘I tire of your words. You bring me no new information. You learn nothing on your travels to my temples, despite me sending you there myself. More and more I am convinced you waste my time.’
The urge to flick out a wing and open Filstag from tail to throat was great, but she resisted. Filstag deserved so much more than a quick death, and Morathi meant to see she got it.
‘The primary bout begins soon,’ she said instead. ‘Watch.’
Again the arena fell into silence as the survivors made their dazed exit, many stopping and looking back and up at the balcony. Morathi had spoken to them. Morathi!
The leathanam dragged away the slain initiates and raked the sands to make ready for the primary. Morathi could feel the excited speculation among the audience. What form would the bout of greatest honour take? Beastkin, a sunwyrm, acolyte slaughter – how could the primary exceed those that had gone before?
Quietly, slowly, three aelves made their way onto the black sand, their hair and bodies pale against its bloody darkness. They wore minimal armour. One limped, a second held one shoulder higher than the other, and the third worked her jaw as though it pained her. She turned her head and spat a mouthful of blood and saliva.
‘They have fought before, and often,’ the melusai murmured, frowning as she looked down at the trio. ‘And they have not been blessed with rejuvenation before this contest.’
The question was there, hovering behind the statements, begging to be answered. Morathi didn’t look at Filstag, and neither did she answer, either the statement or the question. The melusai would learn the meaning of it all soon enough.
The High Oracle rose from her seat and the crowd became still.
‘My daughters, and the Daughters of Khaine himself – all you whose loyalty to our god knows no bounds, whose zeal for slaughter and for victory cannot be dammed, whose skill and ability turns the tide of every battle – I give you the primary bout. Blood for the war-god! Death for his life! Victory to ensure our enemies’ defeat! I give you Trisethni the Unseen, of the Khailebron. I give you Nepenora, of the Kharumathi. And Vahis, who hails from the Draichi Ganeth.’
There was the rustle of scales on stone from behind her, but the melusai was silent.
‘You, my Daughters, have recently seen much combat. Now you will see more – you fight for victory and for truth. You fight for Khaine and for Order. You fight to the death, with no quarter asked and no mercy given. “For the blood to speak it must first flow”,’ Morathi called.
The opening lines of the Red Invocation rang around the arena and the aelves gathered to bear witness chanted them with her. ‘Ten cuts are better than one, save for the deft slash that opens an artery. For almighty Khaine, let your blade drink deeply, and often.’
Morathi paused, feeling the swell of power and devotion beat against her skin like a lover’s hands. This was what she had come to see – this blood, spilt for Khaine and for her, spilt to see her plans brought one step closer, her power forged one link at a time. She took a deep breath.
‘Begin!’
The three aelves began to circle as Morathi returned to her throne. Filstag leant close.
‘These aelves, First Daughter – the primary is the bout of greatest honour, yet you are punishing them? A fight to the death for some crime?’
‘Not at all,’ Morathi said, eyes fixed on the sudden eruption of battle below. ‘In fact, quite the opposite.’
‘Yet they fight already injured,’ the melusai tried, confused. ‘The combat will be over quickly.’
Morathi’s mouth curved into a sensuous smile, drawing Filstag to her like a moth to a flame, unwilling and helpless and always off-balance. The lightning changes of mood Morathi underwent were impossible to predict and behind them all was her amusement at watching her underlings scramble to keep up.
‘Oh no, there will be no swift end to the combat, not with these three. Lean in close, my love. Let me tell you their stories as they fight for glory. Let me tell who they are and all they have accomplished in service of their covens and the Lord of Battle.’ She pointed. ‘First, the Khailebron assassin, Trisethni the Unseen. A most interesting story…’
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