Valedor, p.17
Valedor, page 17
‘Greetings, cousins of the craftworlds,’ he began, his voice booming at unnecessary volume across the speaking-stage, causing the craftworlders to wince. ‘I trust you are well… Oh!’ he said, as if he had misspoken. ‘Oh, I forget myself. You are not well, not well at all. And I thought that the tedium of the path was affliction enough for you, now you find yourselves embroiled with this ravening monster from beyond the black gulf. How terribly awful.’ His smile, although it did not change, contrived to become a sneer. ‘Of course, that is why we are here, that is why you shattered one of our historic baubles to summon the laughing ones to come on your behalf. I would tell you to be more careful with what little shared heritage we have remaining to us.’
He leaned in closer. ‘But a wise choice. Had you come begging to Commorragh, you would have left this life begging also, for a quick end. No aid would have been forthcoming.’ He inspected long, manicured fingernails. ‘Ah well, who are we to deny our kinsmen aid in times of need? Lord Vect, Ruler of the Eternal City and rightful inheritor of all the eldar’s legacy greets you, staid Biel-Tan, weeping Iyanden. One-fifth of the fleet of the Kabal of the Black Heart stands here to fight beside you, and a full half of the Wych Cult of Strife, including Mistress Hesperax herself.’ He paused for dramatic effect. His body language was hard and offensive to the craftworlders, worse than his verbal tone. No one moved or spoke.
‘Don’t all thank me at once!’ he said with undisguised glee.
‘With whom do we speak? Announce yourself!’ said Sunspear.
The dark eldar looked taken aback. ‘You do not know me? Truly? How terribly provincial of you. Worse than the mud-pilers of the maiden worlds mighty Biel-Tan has become!’
‘I know you,’ said Sunspear. ‘But courtesy demands you announce yourself.’
‘Oh, very well. I am Lord Sarnak, one of the five prime archons of the Kabal of the Black Heart. The prime of the primes, if you would.’ He peered about expectantly. ‘Anyone? Know me now? Dear me. I will accept your gratitude and amazement later, if you will. Now, in return, let me see who would treat with the Black Heart. Who do we have here? Taec! Is that Taec Silvereye? Doleful seer! And your dead friend. How nice of you to keep up contact through the veil. Sunspear? It is on your behalf the court of the motley king came and dragged us into the Great Wheel for this fight, no need to look so dour, and… Wait! Wait!’ His hand shot up, palm flat outwards, and he peered into his imaging device, his eye becoming magnified to monstrous proportions and his wizened face distorted. ‘Now, now! Prince Yriel himself.’ The eldar bowed with great insincerity. ‘My lord! A pirate no more, they say. A shame, you were so amusing as a buccaneer, so very… earnest.’ Sarnak tittered, and held a intricately embroidered handkerchief to his lips. He took it away with a flourish. ‘A beautiful eyepiece you have. It matches your spear.’
‘The Eye of Wrath,’ said Yriel sternly. ‘I took it from the Shrine of Ulthanash, of whose descendant Karathain Starstrider it is a relic. As last prince of the Ulthanar, I am entitled to carry both eye and spear.’
‘I am sorry, where are my manners?’ said Sarnak. ‘We are kin after all. You have my apologies.’
Yriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is not true. There is no kinship between us.’
‘Oh, I’d say there is. On your father’s side, wasn’t–’
Yriel snapped, ‘A rumour! Nothing more.’
‘Is that so? I rather thought not. If you truly are as sure of your parentage as you insist, then might I suggest that your royal house be a little more careful with its princesses? Although between you and I, it would be a shame if you were to be so. Your mother’s ways demonstrate that there are some on the craftworlds who yet have a modicum of spirit, and it would be a sorrowful thing to cage them.’
Yriel snarled. The Spear of Twilight whooshed around, its blade pointing at the image. ‘Hold your tongue.’
‘Is this the welcome you give your allies? Tsk tsk.’ Sarnak yawned theatrically. ‘Perhaps I will start to feel unamused by you. Maybe I shall take my ships and warriors home and report to Lord Vect that you did not wish for our aid, after all.’
The atmosphere in the Chamber of Autarchs thickened.
‘No?’ said Sarnak provocatively. ‘Good. Because now I can give you your present. Isn’t that nice?’ He leaned back from the viewing orb’s capturing mechanisms on his ship, and assumed the pose of a poet about to declaim verse. ‘I have in my possession a weapon of immense power. We of Commorragh make of it a gift to you, our benighted cousins who cling so bravely to life here in the Great Wheel on their tedious, joyless path. I would say that we derive no entertainment from your plight, but that would be a lie, and to lie in good company is simply unforgivable.’
His impossibly wide grin grew wider. ‘Well, unless circumstances necessitate. Anyway, the nature of the problem was presented to us by the dancing fools, that you lacked a weapon of sufficient potency to incinerate the planet properly. My Lord Vect, in his infinite wisdom, proceeded directly to his grand armoury and produced this.’ Sarnak’s awful face disappeared, and a monolithic device, tall as a Revenant, took its place. Gems studded its sides at regular intervals, one of great size mounted on its summit. ‘Behold!’ he said pompously. ‘The Fireheart. A device of the elder days, when our kind strode the Great Wheel as masters over all, and didn’t live such dreary, funless little lives on boring worldlets. It’s in the hold of my ship, waiting just for you. Aren’t we nice?’ He giggled.
‘I have seen such as this before,’ murmured Taec.
‘I also,’ said Kelmon. ‘It is a relic, powerful. Used by the planetshapers of distant arcs in the sculpting of star systems. It can collapse a dust field into a world in the course of passes, or the resonance it can create in an existing planet’s core will tear it apart in mere tenths of a cycle. I believe many were used in war.’
‘Imaginative, those of the empire, wouldn’t you say?’ Sarnak’s grinning visage reappeared. He affected an air of sorrow. ‘Unfortunately, it is, like so much of our people’s inheritance, psychically activated, and the ban on the use of the abilities of the mind precludes we of the Eternal City ever using it. Of course, you, our most excellent cousins, have no such ban, and as I see, there are many of you here skilled in the arts of such sorceries. A foolish taunt to She Who Thirsts, but what would life be if we were all the same? Boring, I say. So bravo. You goad the Dark Prince. Well done you.’
Sarnak was grinning wider and wider now, as if he were reaching the punchline of an enormous joke.
‘The Shadow,’ said Taec bluntly. His vision flickered through his mind’s eye, he on the surface of a world tearing itself apart by a monumental device, and falling to be burned, his soul consumed. ‘It will prevent remote activation.’
‘He has it! Oh, he has it!’ Sarnak pointed his finger at Taec, deformed by foreshortening. ‘You will require a powerful conclave of seers to activate the Fireheart, and because of this “Great Dragon” and its “Shadow”,’ he said scornfully, ‘they will have to be on hand to do so.’ He put on an outrageous caricature of sympathy around his rictus smile. ‘I am so terribly, terribly sorry about that.’ He laughed sadistically.
The Chamber of Autarchs erupted in shouts. ‘Treachery!’ said someone. ‘The Dark Kin trick us!’ said another.
‘It is no trick,’ Sarnak said gloatingly. As he drew in the dismay of the assembled eldar, his skin smoothed, his hair darkened and he drew in a sibilant breath of pleasure. The effect lasted but a moment, his features returning to their repellent state of decrepitude as the Biel-Tanians watched. ‘You are pleased with our gift!’ he said sarcastically. ‘How delightful. I cannot wait to inform Lord Vect.’
Sunspear motioned for silence. Those who knew him well saw a storm of emotion flicker across the stony angles of his face. The desire to shut off the holo-field and blast Sarnak’s fleet from the heavens was strong in him.
‘It is indeed unfortunate. Perhaps you will mourn our losses alongside us?’ said Sunspear, his head cocked expectantly. ‘No? Very well, as you wish. We thank our Commorrite cousins for their gift, and invite you to our council of war.’
Sarnak hesitated. The Dark Kin were suspicious to a fault, and to walk into the lair of an enemy in Commorragh was foolhardy. All listening were almost sure he would not come onto Biel-Tan itself. ‘I shall send my best dracon,’ he said eventually, ‘along with several of my senior captains.’
‘And Hesperax?’
Sarnak frowned. ‘Oh no, no, no. She is away on her own business. But do not worry, you will not need to lecture her on your tedious battle-plans. She will be present when her blades are needed, she always is. In fact, there’s no need to lecture me further, for that matter. Askar-vaq will speak with my full authority and tell me the interesting parts.’
The holographic projection winked out, leaving the chamber feelingly momentarily empty.
‘I am sure he will be watching through this Askar-vaq’s eyes,’ said Altariec. ‘Why must we treat with these monsters?’
‘You well know why,’ said Sunspear.
Altariec nodded glumly.
‘What must be done will be done,’ said Taec. ‘Fate decrees it.’
As they awaited the eldar of Commorragh, refreshments were served to the assembled warriors and seers. Within a quarter-cycle, a group of pale-skinned officers dressed in ostentatiously ornamented armour were escorted into the chamber. They looked upon everything they saw with snide amusement.
A lesser dark eldar strode arrogantly into the midst of the hall. ‘I am Borhu’Q, captain of the Glowing Pain. I present to you Askar-vaq of the Black Heart.’ He gave a curt salute, and bowed.
Vaq swaggered forwards, razor-sharp hooks rattling on his armour plating. His face was luminous and beautiful, coloured with a purplish hue to match his bone-threaded hair, his eyes darkened with protective lenses against Biel-Tan’s light. ‘I demand to know why we were brought here under armed escort,’ he said, jerking a razored gauntlet behind him at the Aspect Warriors surrounding him.
‘Your honour guard?’ said Sunspear innocently.
Askar-vaq laughed, and though the sound was beautiful, his expression was ugly. ‘I have followed your campaigns, Sunspear. You are bold and decisive in battle, but I had not expected the slightest modicum of wit from one raised among the po-faced miserablists of Biel-Tan.’ He clapped his hands softly. ‘Why, another like that and I may mistake you for a trueborn.’
‘An insult disguised as a compliment that feels like an insult.’ Sunspear raised his arm. ‘You do not disappoint. Join our deliberations. Despite your nature, you are welcome here. For now.’
Askar-vaq looked over the food and drink presented him with distaste. ‘Why do we wait? Let us get on to the business of the day. My patience is thinning. The sterility of this environment is unpleasant to me. How do you live like this? Our ancestors would be most discomposed.’
Altariec spoke up. ‘Some of the Iyandeni are to deploy on the planet Dûriel with we Biel-Tanians and the warriors of your kabal, among them Iyanden’s Titans. These ships are slower than the Prince Yriel’s vanguard, but will be here soon. The rest of the Phoenix Host will join us via the webway on the surface.’
‘Ah, yes! The bold admiral. Yriel! There’s an eldar almost worthy of the name.’ Vaq snatched a glass of darkvine wine from the tray of a server and held it aloft, and shouted out a toast to the prince. ‘To you, daring pirate! Your exploits generated much mirth in the Eternal City. A shame you did not come to us, you would have received a royal homecoming.’
‘I am home,’ said Yriel. ‘I am prince of Iyanden, last of Ulthanash’s line. It is my shame that I left it.’
A slow smile split Askar-vaq’s perfect face. ‘As you wish, but mother’s home is a haunt for milksops who will not reach for father’s sword.’ He pointed one finger at Yriel, swirling his wine around in his hand. ‘Remember that, O prince.’
Fortunately for the peace of Biel-Tan, one half-tenth of a cycle after Askar-vaq arrived, the Naiad-class cruiser Vaul’s Caress, bearing the Titans Sound of Sunlight, Silent Scream and The Curse of Yriel, arrived in the orbit of the craftworld. A number of lesser troop transports came with it. The autarchs, Titan steersmen, exarchs and ship captains borne by them were called in, and the Chamber of Autarchs became crowded with eldar of all kinds. Only the servants of the Laughing God were absent, but Sunspear gave assurances that the deal they had struck included the Great Troupe’s involvement in the fight, and that they would be present when battle was joined.
Finally the business at hand was discussed in earnest, and in depth. Dark Kin in bladed armour rubbed shoulders with the green-
and-white-clad Biel-Tanians and the warriors of Iyanden. Rangers and corsair captains spoke amicably with those bound to the path. Petty rivalry was put aside as talk moved on to discussions of strategy, excitement grew from talk of battle, and for a precious cycle it was as if the empire of old had been born again.
Yriel was to take the entirety of the Iyanden fleet, along with large elements of Biel-Tan’s and the Black Heart’s ships, and strike for Dûriel. ‘We will destroy Far Ranging Hunger in space, denying its ground swarms reinforcement, and preventing a later merging,’ he explained. ‘We shall deliver the Fireheart and Iyanden’s Titans while Lord Sarnak holds the main body of Far Ranging Hunger’s swarm, then we shall attack and crush them between our armadas.’
‘What is to prevent a merging elsewhere?’ asked Hethaeliar the Fourth-Blooded.
‘Indeed,’ said Gurieal, her autarch-companion, a male almost as reserved as she. Unusual to see pair-bonded autarchs, and Gurieal’s expression told Yriel he did not much like the manner in which Hethaeliar looked at the prince; her interest was poorly disguised. ‘Far Ranging Hunger attacked the galaxy across a broad front, how do we know it will not arise again?’
‘How entertaining!’ said Askar-vaq, who evidently shared many of his master’s irritating traits. The craftworlders ignored him.
‘We cannot know,’ said Taec. ‘The skein is as blocked there as it is elsewhere by the Dragon’s shadow. We can but trust, and if the occasion arises again, we simply must react again.’
Yriel waved Taec’s concerns aside. ‘There are few elements of Far Ranging Hunger remaining in the galaxy. Most were destroyed by the mon-keigh, others we have hunted down ourselves. Those that remain are easily dealt with, as the Great Dragon requires a certain density of numbers within its swarms. Should this critical mass not be reached, the swarm functions poorly. I feel it in my very core that this will be the last threat we will face from Far Ranging Hunger.’
‘That just leaves the other swarms,’ said one of the Dark Kin. ‘They are only few. You should not need our aid to destroy those!’ The Commorrite eldar laughed unpleasantly.
‘Then we shall all have to become dragon slayers,’ said Aloec.
As soon as the meeting was over, Taec, Kelmon and Yriel rode a sky-platform through Biel-Tan to the Tower of Bloodied Knives. There the Flame of Asuryan and the fleets of the eldar were readying themselves for battle. It was not to Yriel’s ship they went, but to Imbriel’s Embrace, for Taec Silvereye was leaving Biel-Tan.
‘Must you go, farseer?’ said Yriel. ‘The Red Eye needs the Silvereye. Once I was happy to follow my own guidance, but I realise a firmer hand is needed to tame my wildness. Come with me and grant me your rede.’
‘Is age bringing wisdom to you, Lord Yriel?’ said Taec.
Yriel moved his head a fraction. ‘It has been said. It is not mine, however,’ he said, his mood turning grim, ‘but the spear’s wisdom.’
Taec’s own smile disappeared. ‘It has been determined as best as we could discern upon the skein, I must depart. I must rejoin the Phoenix Host. Our communications are not reaching them, thwarted by the complexity of the webway and the shadow of the Great Dragon’s mind upon the Othersea. If they progress as expected, they will be upon Dûriel soon. If they attack without us, they will fall alone and unsupported, not knowing that a greater host comes to their aid mere tenths of a cycle behind.’
Yriel, who had been watching the architecture and crowds of the worldship pass by, looked to the farseer.
‘There is more. I sense you are keeping it from me.’
Taec raised his eyebrows.
‘The spear.’ He bared his teeth. ‘I am become a seer also, it seems.’
Taec nodded. ‘That makes a breed of sense, prince. Little is known of the Spear of Twilight’s true nature, for it consumes those who probe at it with their minds, and its bearers have been few. The spear was crafted at the birth of our race, when our minds were unfettered and we did not live in fear of She Who Thirsts. It is natural, I suppose, that your mind, a blood echo of Ulthanash’s own, should respond to its spirit so powerfully.’
‘It is burdensome,’ said Yriel. ‘And it is a burden I cannot set down.’ He looked at the shaft clasped in his hand with a mixture of love and hate.
‘We all must make sacrifices if we are to survive as a species,’ Taec said, remembering Kelmon’s words to him.
Yriel looked away. ‘For what, sometimes I wonder. For Iyanna’s god to stir? Or so that successive generations can suffer even more greatly than we have already? Perhaps our time is over.’
‘Do not discount Iyanna’s prophecies,’ said Taec kindly. ‘They might seem the stuff of myth, but these are great times in their way – times of myth – when the fate of everything could well be decided. Despair will avail you nothing.’
