Lukas the Trickster

by Josh Reynolds

  Lukas grunted. ‘Good.’ He turned his gaze south. ‘The Jahtvian steading is just past the next bend in the river. This is the third column of stragglers we’ve seen heading that way. Most of these folk were blood-enemies a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Now they’ve got new enemies,’ Kadir said.

  Lukas frowned. ‘It won’t last. Nothing lasts. Not on this planet.’ He shook his head. ‘Still, better than the alternative.’

  ‘We’re ready,’ Ake called out. The pugnacious Blood Claw stomped towards them, kicking aside a dead xenos in his haste. ‘The last of them are dead, but the mortals say there are at least two more packs of them in the area.’ He spat. ‘Not that I trust them to tell one group of xenos from another.’

  ‘We’re going with them,’ Lukas said, not looking at him.

  ‘What?’ Ake looked at Kadir. ‘He’s not serious?’ he snarled.

  Kadir looked at Lukas. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘When am I ever not serious?’ Lukas shrugged. ‘We have a duty, pups. These folk are our life’s blood. They are Fenris. Without them, we are nothing. I will not allow them to be made chattel while I play the fierce hunter.’

  ‘This is not our duty,’ Ake growled stubbornly. ‘The enemy are out there. We must scour them from the face of this world. That is our duty. That is our purpose.’

  ‘Others are already doing that and more.’

  ‘And we should be with them, rather than here!’ Ake was shouting now. He stank of kill-urge and frustration. ‘We should be at the forefront, fighting alongside the rest of our brothers. Instead, you have led us into the wild to pick off isolated foes and shepherd these weaklings to safety.’

  Lukas fixed his gaze on Ake. ‘And who are you to call them weak?’

  ‘I was chosen by the strong.’ Ake slammed a fist against his chest-plate. ‘Look at them – they are cowards. If they are strong, they would have fought. Instead, they flee. They flee these thin, hollow things.’ He stamped on a dark eldar helmet, crushing it, and the head within as well. ‘Why waste time protecting them if they cannot protect themselves?’

  ‘They are protecting themselves,’ Lukas said softly. ‘They have fought. Can’t you smell the blood on them? The stink of death and sorrow? Look at the wounds, fool.’ He gestured to the mortals. Many, including Hetha, were watching the confrontation now, wide-eyed and uncertain. ‘Would you have them match bronze against hell-forged steel? To what end?’

  ‘I would have them prove themselves worthy. As I did. As we all did.’ Ake swung out his arms, indicating the other Blood Claws as they drew near. ‘This world – this galaxy – is not for the weak.’

  ‘If the strong do not fight for the weak, then what is the point?’ Lukas snarled. The words shuddered out over the ice. ‘Victory? Glory? Are you so blind that you cannot tell purpose from desire?’ Two quick steps and he was in Ake’s face. ‘If you want to go, go. I am no jarl, to hold you against your will. I will not tell you where to die, or when. And I will not waste breath explaining why you are wrong, pup.’

  ‘Trickster. Enough.’ Kadir caught him by the shoulder. ‘Now is not the time.’

  Lukas shook him off and turned away. ‘Purpose is not something you are given, Ake. It is something you choose. I choose to help these mortals. I choose to help them survive. You can do as you wish. That is the last I will say of it.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dag punch Ake in the shoulder. The Blood Claw whirled, but subsided as he saw the others’ expressions. Lukas hid his smile. They were learning. Maybe not Ake, but the others were. He turned his attentions back to the refugees.

  Since they had warned the tribes, things had proceeded quickly. Some tribes were suspicious of the Jahtvian envoys. Others thought it a test. As the eldar attacks increased, the survivors sought safety in numbers. More than one tribe had ceased to exist in the days that followed, all but exterminated by laughing shadows.

  Lukas and the Blood Claws had done what they could, shepherding the survivors further south. But Ake was right in one respect at least – they couldn’t remain on the defensive. The eldar wouldn’t engage in open combat if they could help it. They would flee before the Great Companies, scattering on the wind. Grimblood knew that. All the jarls did, for they had fought such creatures before. They hoped to make Fenris more inhospitable than it already was, and so encourage the Raiders to find easier prey. It was a solid plan. Until the storm cleared, they were trapped here.

  He looked down. Hetha and several of her warriors had joined him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, though not so hesitantly as she might once have done.

  ‘What will happen to these?’ he asked, indicating the refugees with a jerk of his chin.

  ‘We will make room for them, if we can. We will have to move ourselves, soon. They have been getting closer. The steading isn’t safe. Not anymore.’ Her voice was flat with resignation. How many generations had the Jahtvians lived at the place where the river was lowest? Enough to call it home. Lukas felt a twinge of something that might have been sympathy.

  ‘The sea,’ he said. It wasn’t a question. She nodded.

  ‘We will follow the river.’

  Lukas glanced at Ake. The Blood Claw had calmed down, but was still glaring about him with obvious impatience. He looked like he needed some cheering up. Lukas smiled. ‘Or you could help us make sure that the svartalfar give your steading a wide berth.’

  She looked up at him, puzzled.

  ‘I was born under a bad sign,’ Lukas said. ‘Bound to fail, and die badly. But here I sit, clad in the armour of the gods and wet with the blood of great enemies. The odds were always stacked against me, but I beat them. I make my own path. And so too can you. All of you.’ He looked at the mortals, a crooked grin on his face. ‘The thing about the skeins of fate is that, in the end, it’s just thread. And if you’re clever enough, you can weave it into whatever sort of shape you want.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hetha asked.

  Lukas sniffed the wind. ‘If you run, they will follow. They like easy meat, these creatures. If you fight, you might die. But so will they. And if enough of them die, they might realise you are not such easy meat as all that.’

  ‘If you command us, lord, we will fight for you,’ Hetha said.

  ‘I will not command you. I am not your lord.’ Lukas crossed his arms. ‘But I will fight with you, if you choose to do so.’

  ‘And if we choose to flee?’ one of Hetha’s warriors said.

  Lukas smiled. ‘Then I will help you hide, of course.’ He bowed low. ‘I am a champion of sneaks, a master of hiding. Not even the Allfather will find you.’

  Hetha opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. She looked around. ‘I must speak with the elders. The tribe must decide.’ She looked at him. ‘You understand?’

  ‘I do.’

  She turned away, her face set. Lukas smiled, watching as she got the refugees moving again. The Jahtvians would feast tonight, to welcome their guests. And tomorrow… well. They would agree. They were of Fenris, and Fenris did not produce cowards. Fools, yes. Liars and lunatics aplenty. But cowards? Never.

  Kadir shook his head. The Blood Claw had listened to the exchange in silence. ‘This is a foolish idea. They will slow us down.’

  ‘This is their world too,’ Lukas said. ‘It’s only fair to give them the choice.’

  ‘The choice to… what? Die badly, beneath xenos blades?’

  ‘As opposed to dying beneath the blades of another tribe? Or starving to death? Or being eaten by a kraken?’ Lukas smiled mirthlessly. ‘We are born dead, pup. This planet eats men. Even men like us.’ He shook his head. ‘I intend to teach the eldar that they are not the fiercest hunters in the galaxy. They are meat. They are weak.’

  He grinned. ‘And Fenris eats the weak.’

  Part Three

  TRICKSTER

  Chapter Fifteen
>
  STRIKE AND FADE

  641.M41

  Lukas scaled the tree. No easy feat, given the wind, but he managed it. By the time he had reached the top, the fastest of the approaching jetbikes was about to pass below. This one was daring, or just overeager. It had outpaced its fellows by a significant margin, and was shrieking laughter through the voxcasters strapped to the jetbike’s keel.

  How the rider could even see the mortals struggling through the wind and snows, Lukas couldn’t say. Some form of sensory apparatus built into its helmet, perhaps, or maybe it could simply smell their anguish. Either way, it was distracted by the sight of its prey and hadn’t noticed him. Perfect.

  Hetha and her warriors were playing their part to perfection. They had growled a bit when he explained what he needed, but they had seen the method in his madness. The dark eldar sought prey, so prey he gave them. He had led them into avalanches, wolves’ lairs and booby traps. Even now, the Raider that followed these outriders was drifting through the trees below. The skiff was using its armoured prow to smash aside trees, its crew arrogant enough to assume there was nothing in the forest that could threaten them.

  He counted under his breath. The explosion was slightly early, by his count. It ripped through the forest, sending up a plume of smoke. Frag and krak grenades synched to motion detectors. He imagined the look on the helmsman’s face as the Raider slid prow-first into a firestorm, and chuckled. Below him, the Reaver glanced back as it was about to pass the tree.

  Lukas leapt. His armour’s servos hummed confidently as he pierced the snow-tossed winds like a bolt shell. He crashed into the jetbike, laughing wildly as he drove an elbow into the rider’s skull, pulping it. The body spun away into the growing torrent. Lukas slid into the seat, growling as the jetbike strained beneath his weight. Even so, he managed to wrench it around so that it hurtled back towards the others. The controls were more complex than anything he had seen before, but he had enough wit to get it moving in the right direction. ‘Let’s see what this toy can do, eh?’ he growled to himself.

  From the way the jetbike was dipping and shuddering, he knew it wasn’t long for the world – his mass had thrown its delicate stabilisers out of alignment, and the whole thing was about to fly apart. Teeth bared, he hunched forward and opened what he hoped was the throttle as far as it could go. The wind screamed past him as the distance between him and his prey closed. They had only just begun to realise that something was wrong when he was among them. At the last moment, he leapt, leaving the jetbike to pinwheel into the pack.

  The soles of Lukas’ boots hit the frontal canopy of another Reaver. The jetbike sank beneath his sudden weight, and the rider squalled in startled outrage, the reflected glare of the explosion washing across its ornate helmet. Lukas tore its head from its shoulders before vaulting away. Instinctive velocity calculations shot through his mind, and he angled his body towards another Reaver.

  Unfortunately, his calculations proved to be off. He struck the canopy with his shoulder and scrabbled off, unable to do more than tear a chunk from its anti-grav motors with his claw as he spun away. He plummeted towards the treetops below, joined a moment later by the jetbike and its rider. It slammed into a tree and ricocheted away, its damaged engine whining like a wounded animal.

  Lukas lashed out, the talons of his claw digging into rough bark. Splinters stabbed his bare face as he slid down, slowing his descent with his hands and heels. The tree swayed alarmingly beneath him as the damaged jetbike exploded, lashing his back with heat. He heard the shriek of the others plunging after him.

  He had got their attention, as he had intended. The rest was up to Kadir and Dag. Ake and the others were seeing to the Raider and any stragglers.

  As he touched ground, a jetbike plunged down through the branches and whipped him off his feet, its keelblade gouging a line of sparks across his shoulder-plate. He rolled across the snow, cursing. There was just enough room here beneath the trees that they could manoeuvre. ‘Should have thought this through a bit better,’ he muttered. He rolled onto his back, drawing his plasma pistol.

  As a second Reaver shrieked overhead, winding between the trees, he fired. It was moving so swiftly that the blast only tagged one of its bladevanes. That was enough, however, to send it careening full tilt into a tree. The explosion banished the shadows beneath the branches and illuminated him. The remaining Reavers swept towards him, darting between the trees with impossible aerobatic skill.

  Lukas shoved himself to his feet and began to run. He tapped the comm-bead in his ear. ‘Any time now, pups,’ he snarled.

  ‘This was your idea,’ Kadir replied over the vox-channel.

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ Lukas snapped. ‘Just shoot them before they stick one of those wing-blades up my–’

  ‘Go flat!’

  Lukas dropped to the ground, hands over his head. Ahead of him, Kadir and Dag stepped from behind a knot of trees and opened up with boltgun and pistol. The approaching Reavers were caught head on, and a moment later their flaming wreckage ploughed into the snow to either side of Lukas. Lukas pushed himself up and looked around. ‘Is that all of them?’

  ‘Looks like,’ Kadir said, trudging towards him. The light of the fire was reflected in the eyepieces of his helmet. He extended his hand and hauled Lukas to his feet. ‘Ake reported in a few moments ago. There wasn’t much left of the Raider.’

  ‘And the crew?’

  Dag laughed gutturally. Lukas nodded in satisfaction. ‘Good. We’ll make camp. Give Hetha and her warriors a chance to rest. And I’ll find us new targets.’

  ‘How many have we killed so far?’ Dag asked. He had some new scars to go with his old ones, and his battle-plate was marked with new kill tallies. The Blood Claws were in competition with one another. So far Ake was in the lead, but Dag wasn’t far behind.

  ‘Not enough,’ Lukas said, kicking a piece of wreckage out of his path. He could hear wolves howling somewhere in the forest. The beasts were eating well off the Rout’s leavings. ‘Come on. Let’s go find the mortals before something eats them.’

  They made camp in the lee of an old stone palisade, now mostly ­crumbled. The bones of thousands of such ancient fortifications dotted Asaheim. Elsewhere, they would have long since been washed away by the sea or swallowed up by the convulsing earth. But here they remained, grave markers for forgotten peoples.

  The mortals stretched cured hides over and out from the stones, making lean-tos to shelter within. They crouched around small cooking fires, wrapped in thick furs, their weapons close to hand. So far, Lukas had managed to keep them out of the fighting. He hoped it would remain that way, though he knew they wouldn’t thank him for it. Especially Hetha.

  He smiled, watching her berate one of her warriors. ‘You were too slow, Alaric,’ she said. ‘You nearly got us all caught in that last ambush.’ The youth bristled and began to rise, a mutinous expression on his face.

  ‘I am tired of running, Hetha. I am tired of playing the fearful prey. You must tell the Varagyr to let us fight! How can they deny us the right to prove our worth?’

  Hetha booted him in the chest, and he tumbled out from under the lean-to, into the snow. He came to his feet, his mouth open. Hetha had the broken tip of her sword to his throat an instant later. ‘That they allow us to join this hunt at all is a great honour. If you wish for more, ask them yourself.’ She gestured to where Lukas and Kadir sat, some distance away. ‘Go on. We’ll watch from over here.’

  Alaric looked at the two Space Marines. Lukas waved genially. Alaric swallowed and turned away. Hetha snorted and sheathed her sword. ‘Get back to the fire before you freeze what’s left of your manhood off,’ she said, not unkindly. Alaric did as she bade, his cheeks flushing as the other tribesmen shared a laugh at his expense.

  Hetha joined them. ‘He meant no offence, Laughing One,’ she said softly. ‘Do not think ill of him.’

  Lukas
smiled at her. ‘I don’t. He is right. We are keeping you from the fight. Perhaps unjustly.’ He shrugged. ‘But that is our task.’

  Kadir snorted. Lukas shot him a hard look. He turned back to Hetha, who was looking back and forth between them in confusion. Lukas stood, shaking off the snow that had collected on his shoulder-plates. She stepped back, paling slightly. Even after several days in close proximity, the mortals were still somewhat in awe of their transhuman guardians. He reached out and brushed the snow from her head. ‘You should get back to the fire. It’s only going to get colder.’

  He watched her go, conscious of Kadir’s eyes on him. ‘Something on your mind?’

  The Blood Claw looked away. ‘Nothing I care to share, brother.’

  Lukas peered at him, trying to read his expression. As if aware of this, Kadir reached down and unclamped his helmet from where it hung. He slid it on. ‘I’m going to make a perimeter sweep. You should be finding our next target.’

  ‘Dag is seeing to the perimeter,’ Lukas said.

  ‘Which is why I’m going to make the sweep.’

  Lukas laughed. He sat back down, his battle-plate creaking slightly as he settled onto the stone he was using as a seat. The snow fell more heavily as night drew on. The wind raced through the trees, carrying rain and sleet. He turned his face up so that he could feel the stinging precipitation. The Helwinter was almost done. The great thaw had commenced, Fenris drawing close to the sun once more.

  He pressed a discreet rune on his vambrace and opened one of the many hidden ports on his armour. From within, he retrieved a portable holoslate. It was a thin, flat scrap of metal, barely larger than a data-spike. He had borrowed the device from a Mechanicus magos. At some point he might even return it to its owner, if he was ever in that sector again. The device was synced to the Aett’s datacore, and when he activated it, information began to crawl across the hololithic display. Some of it was in binary, but the rest was in the more familiar runes of inter-Chapter communications or High Gothic characters. He tapped the comm-bead in his ear and activated his cochlear vox-implant.