‘What are you doing here?’
Myrta strode towards him, appearing behind the corsairs. She didn’t seem happy to see him. Then, she was rarely happy to see anyone these days. He smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Shall I set my wracks upon it? They might catch the brute before it reaches the trees.’
‘No need. It won’t get far. Watch.’
Jhynkar turned and watched the slave run, panting, for the safety of the forest. It struck the first of the monofilament wires strung through the trees a moment later. The creature made no sound as it came apart like a badly made toy. ‘Stupid apes,’ the courtesan said dismissively. She turned to him. ‘You wanted something?’
‘A moment of your time.’
Myrta turned away. ‘I’m afraid I have little to spare. The Duke, in his infinite wisdom, has left the details of organising this mess to me.’
‘Is it that bad, then?’
‘Worse than it looks. The guests have scattered to the winds, at least those that can be bothered to leave camp. There have already been four assassinations, and two attempts at what I suspect are sabotage.’
Jhynkar blinked. ‘Sabotage?’ He hadn’t considered sabotage. That might prove to be a way of dealing with Sliscus to the Hex’s satisfaction.
Myrta didn’t elaborate. She watched as a pack of feral warp-beasts worried the remains of a slave lying in the snow nearby. ‘Two kabals are demanding recompense for the deaths of their leaders by misadventure. A third is aggressively requesting that the Duke cease his own hunt and recover the body of their archon, currently being digested in the stomach of one of those large reptiles that hunt the seas here. Not to mention all the fools we have simply lost contact with due to this cursed storm.’ She glared up at the roiling sky. ‘Why did I ever suggest this place?’
Jhynkar quickly looked away. Before he could move back, she had drawn her sword and slid it beneath his chin. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now. Not one of your better ideas, fleshweaver.’ He swallowed nervously and waved his agitated wracks back.
‘Why did you want to see me?’ she purred.
‘I need slaves.’
‘You have slaves.’
‘I need more.’
‘Why?’
‘Listen.’ He placed his hand to his ear and made a show of listening. She frowned, but cocked her head. A blood-curdling howl rose over the camp. ‘They’re hungry.’
‘So feed them to each other. I–what is it now?’ she hissed, turning to strike the slave that had just plucked at her sleeve. The blue-skinned, flat-faced creature cringed back, hands raised to ward off the blow. It babbled something in a breathy voice, and Myrta cursed. It loped away and she followed. Jhynkar released a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Then he frowned. He still didn’t have his slaves.
‘Maybe she’s right. Maybe I can just feed them to each other.’ He sighed and followed the wailing howls back to his temporary workshop. While it lacked the elegance of his hideaway aboard the Incessant Agony, it had all the necessities. He had occupied what he thought had once been a metalsmith’s workshop, given the bellows and the half-finished tools lying everywhere. Most of that had been stripped out and tossed away by his wracks to make room for his examination paraphernalia and the suspensor cages.
The cages were translucent cubes attached to an oscillating anti-gravity field. They rose and fell at odd intervals, and the power fields that formed the sides of each cube hummed at atonal frequencies. The sound and movement worked to keep their inhabitants from becoming too comfortable. Not that that was a worry with these particular subjects.
The beasts within them were almost human. That was what made them dangerous. The various chemical alterations that had been done to them, to twist them from mon-keigh into the hulking monsters before him, were proving to be of some interest, from an aesthetic perspective. But it was their savagery that was most impressive. They never grew tired or ceased their attempts to escape.
One threw back its lupine head and howled. He stepped close to the cube, and the beast threw itself at him, bloodying itself on the power field. ‘Marvellous,’ he said. There was a certain savage elegance to the creatures – a brutal artistry that he longed to unravel.
‘Remarkable endurance,’ a thin, harsh voice murmured. Jhynkar froze, but forced himself to relax. He hadn’t realised anyone else was in the workshop.
‘Yes. The Duke has high hopes for them.’
Xhact snorted in reply. His hunched frame stood at the far end of the workshop, on the other side of the cubes. He was examining the stasis tubes stored there, and their contents. Jhynkar joined him in his examination. The Space Wolf aspirants were brutish-looking things, unfinished sculptures begun by singularly unskilled hands. Xhact sighed audibly, and Jhynkar saw the problem immediately. There were five of them – too many to keep for himself, and not enough to divide evenly among his closest followers.
‘There is nothing for it. We will simply need more,’ Xhact said.
‘They will be watching the ice, revered artist,’ Jhynkar said. The Hex had only succeeded in raiding the training camp with the element of surprise. Now that the Space Wolves knew the dark eldar were planet-side, such prey would be all but impossible to come by.
‘And so? Let them watch. Perhaps they will learn something.’
‘That is what I am afraid of,’ Jhynkar muttered. Xhact looked at him sharply.
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’
Xhact frowned. ‘I notice that Sliscus is still alive. You told me he would be dead. Promised it, in fact.’
‘Great work takes time, my lord.’
Xhact’s frown deepened. ‘Perhaps I made a mistake in agreeing to this expedition. Did I, Jhynkar? Have I made an error in judgement in trusting you, my apprentice?’
Jhynkar hid his own frown. He hadn’t been referred to as an apprentice for some time. ‘No, my teacher. Matters proceed apace. Brush strokes layered upon brush strokes. We are not the only ones who want him dead. We merely have to claim the credit when the applause dies down.’
Xhact nodded. ‘Good. Vect’s bounty on Sliscus is substantial. A trap, obviously, for the unwary. But we will dispatch his pet and prove ourselves a force to be reckoned with. The Tyrant will reward us for such initiative.’
Jhynkar hesitated. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he said, ‘And what of me? Have I earned the right to return?’
Xhact looked down at the stasis tubes. ‘Not yet.’
Jhynkar’s hands twitched. He desired nothing more than to throttle the spindly creature before him, but he restrained himself. Not least because his few pitiful wracks were badly outnumbered by Xhact’s own. The grey-skinned monsters squatted nearby, or rifled through his tools, touching them with their clumsy hands.
‘When?’ he asked, as respectfully as he could.
‘As soon as the Duke is dead,’ Xhact said. He tapped one of the stasis tubes. ‘And not a moment sooner.’
‘That may take some time. I am quite hardy.’
Both haemonculi spun. Wracks surged to their feet or clutched at their weapons. Sliscus stood admiring the cubes. Somehow he had got in without anyone noticing. Jhynkar was starting to regret not installing a more effective security system.
Sliscus looked at them. ‘Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m not an idiot, Jhynkar. I have known of your discontent for some time. And you, Xhact – I am of a mind to take offence. Given that I only took this deceitful creature on at your request, it seems the height of rudeness to repay me with such disrespect.’
Xhact was so taken aback that he could only stare. Jhynkar’s hand drifted towards his blast-pistol. The wracks tensed, and one grunted a warning. Something tapped his shoulder. Jhynkar glanced back and saw Sleg looming over him, his palms resting on the hilts of his blades. Two more Sslyth covered the wracks with their shardcarbines. Jhynkar smiled weakly and dr
ew his hand back.
Sliscus chuckled. ‘Oh, the looks on your faces. Rest easy, friends. If I took offence every time someone plotted to kill me, I would soon run out of associates. No, we’ll say no more about it, shall we? Bygones.’
‘You show great understanding,’ Xhact said after a moment. The master of the Hex glared at Jhynkar, as if the situation were somehow his fault. ‘Even so, I am embarrassed.’
‘What’s a little embarrassment between friends? Besides, you still owe me a debt, and I am not one to waste such a thing.’ Sliscus looked at Jhynkar. ‘Jhynkar knows my feelings on waste.’
Jhynkar endeavoured to smile. His eyes strayed to the controls for the suspensor cages, hanging from a support beam nearby. One tap and the cubes would cease to function. The beasts would be free. The way they were snarling at Sliscus, Jhynkar had no doubt they would go after him first. Sliscus might kill one, possibly two. But not all of them. His eyes flickered back to the Duke, who was watching him patiently.
Sliscus inclined his head slightly, as if giving him permission. Jhynkar swallowed thickly and looked resolutely away from the controls. Sliscus’ smile bent into a frown of mild disappointment. Before he could speak, Myrta burst into the workshop. ‘My lord,’ she began before coming to a halt, puzzled at the scene before her.
‘What is it?’ Sliscus asked, not taking his eyes from Jhynkar.
‘We have received an alert. One of our camps is under attack.’
Sliscus paced impatiently across the deck as his Raider cut through the chill air towards the basin lake. A pack of Venoms swooped beneath and above the skiff, keeping pace. Sleg and his other Sslyth guards watched the rails, still as statues, their flickering tongues the only sign of life. Hands behind his back, Sliscus stopped as he caught sight of a ragged plume of smoke rising through the curtain of snow. He hissed in annoyance. He spun to face Myrta, who stood watching him.
‘Are you certain it’s the same pattern?’
‘As far as I can tell.’ She frowned. ‘The attackers were only a few in number. The smallest pack we have encountered was dozens strong. This was less than half that. Or so they claimed, before communications were cut.’
Sliscus grunted. The reports were few and far between. One wolf, maybe two. No more than seven. All in the same region, attacking with an unexpected cunning – not reacting as the rest of the Space Marines were, but instigating confrontations. And always against larger and larger targets. It had taken him some time to see the pattern for what it was. Now that he had, he was determined to bring this most cunning of beasts to bay.
He still wasn’t sure what his goal was – killing it seemed a waste. Perhaps he could trap it in his tesseract, to entertain him at his leisure. Mostly he just wanted to see it with his own eyes. To see such a clever beast was a rare treat.
‘Have you given any thought as to why they let you receive the message, Traevelliath?’ Lady Malys asked. She was sitting near the prow. The table was still there, and a complement of slaves circled her, laying out a fine meal of baked wolf cub seasoned with drake venom. Sliscus was too agitated to eat, however.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It could be a trap.’
Sliscus smiled. ‘Good.’
Malys sighed and extended her goblet for a slave to refill it. ‘You really are tiresome on occasion, Traevelliath. If it is a trap, you are flying into it.’
‘Again, good.’ Sliscus strode to the table and snatched the refilled goblet from her. He knocked back the contents and returned it to her. ‘I came to this world looking for a bit of fun, and so far all I’ve got are complaints and a few new monsters to add to my menagerie. I want something more interesting before the end.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Soon.’ He frowned. ‘This is the first camp to be compromised. It won’t be long before the others are as well. I have sent word to everyone who matters to cut their hunts short and return to the base camp. The storm is ending, and so too is our time on this dreadful little ball of ice.’ He tapped the pommel of one of his swords. The spirit stones pulsed warmly at his touch, the souls within them stirring.
‘Well, that is a relief. I thought for a moment you were going to force us to fight the mon-keigh out of spite.’ Malys gestured for a slave to refill her drink. ‘And once the fires are dimmed, and the revels ended?’
‘I shall find new revels and set new fires.’ Sliscus looked up at one of his crew. ‘We’re here.’ He stepped past Malys and stepped up onto the prow, grabbing a guide-wire for balance. Posed in what he hoped was a heroic fashion, he gazed out over the icy lake and the camp that had once occupied it.
‘Who was this?’ He tossed the question over his shoulder.
‘Archon Quev’as’ayah of the Third Plenipotentiary of–’
Sliscus gestured dismissively. ‘Say no more. No one important.’ A minor archon from Low Commorragh. One with more titles than warriors, and a reputation as a trader in flesh to the cheaper arenas. No loss there.
The camp was a smoking ruin. The Raider swung out over it, turning slowly. The ice had been shattered at several points, and great, gaping holes marked its surface. Bodies lay everywhere. He found his eyes drawn past the camp. He signalled to the helmsman to take the Raider in.
‘Those corpses appear to have been arranged,’ Malys said at his elbow.
‘Indeed. And quite a curious shape it is.’
The bodies lay in a tangled line. It was obviously a symbol of some kind – a rune, as the natives of this world called them. But which rune? He waved his hand. The helmsman obliged and the Raider sank down until it was almost skimming the ice. It circled the arranged corpses with slow grace, its engines humming, and a cold mist rose, billowing about the skiff.
Sliscus bent over the edge of the prow, studying the shape. He had amused himself with several lessons in the local dialect between hunts. His teachers rarely survived the lessons, but he had learned something despite himself. The rune-shape tugged at his memory. ‘Hloja,’ he murmured.
‘Which means?’ Malys asked.
‘Laugh,’ Sliscus said, and blinked. There was something under the ice. He saw it just for a moment, and had the impression of a forest canopy caught in a strong wind. He turned. ‘Up! Take us up!’
The helmsman reacted with commendable alacrity. Even so, he was an instant too slow. Bodies tumbled as the ice ruptured upwards, driven by a heaving, monstrous shape. The kraken emerged with a thunderous shriek of hunger, its fang-studded beak snapping. Black tentacles slammed into the Raider, and the crew were knocked from their feet. A slave fell screaming to the ice and was immediately ensnared and dragged into the beast’s maw.
The Raider pivoted on its axis, its engines straining, as a tendril coiled about the keelblade. Sliscus whistled. Sleg and his coil-kin slithered to the rails, shardcarbines in hand. They fired at the tendrils, severing those they could. Sliscus slid behind the disintegrator cannon mounted at the prow and swung it around, trying to get a bead on the kraken.
‘Ha!’ he snarled, and activated the cannon. Ravening energies erupted from the barrel and punched into the beast’s body, atomising flesh and scale. The kraken shrieked and released the Raider. It plunged back through the ice and vanished. Sliscus cursed and fired again, but he knew the beast was already gone.
He stepped back. And laughed. Arms spread, he threw back his head and bellowed his joy to the sky. ‘Oh, what a delightful jest! Did you see that, Aurelia?’
Malys looked none the worse for wear. She took her seat as the Raider rose into the air. ‘I saw. Hard to miss such a thing.’
‘Wasn’t it wonderful? Quite exhilarating, don’t you think?’
‘I could have done without it, frankly.’ Malys began to fan herself. ‘You admire it.’
Sliscus’ head twitched. Barely a nod. ‘Perhaps. It was very cunningly done. Even I must admit that.’ He sta
red down at the hole in the ice. ‘A perfect trap. Add it to the other reports, and I see a pattern. A mind quite unlike that of any other wolf. Those others are brutes. Give them a bit of blood, and they will chase shadows for days, none the wiser.’ He leaned over the rail. ‘But not this one.’
‘No. This one hunts you,’ Malys said softly.
Sliscus laughed. ‘They all hunt me, though they know it not. They seek us here and there, though they cannot find us. That is part of the fun.’
‘But this one hunts you, specifically. This was a message, Traevelliath.’ She frowned. ‘They are looking to cut the head off the serpent.’
He looked at her, careful not to let anything show on his face. ‘So?’
She sat back with a shrug. ‘So it is a challenge. Nothing more, nothing less.’
Sliscus frowned. He glanced at Myrta, who stood close by as was his will. ‘And what do you think, my lady?’
‘She is right. The beast challenges us, my lord. It makes sport of us, as if we are the prey here.’ She spoke flatly, her dark eyes gleaming. Sliscus frowned. Not at her impertinence, but at the words. They weren’t hers, he suspected. He glanced at Malys, feeling suddenly hemmed in, though they were merely saying what he already thought. Still, best not to let them see that. It might set an unfortunate precedent.
‘A challenge. I have heard that before, have I not, Aurelia?’ Sliscus shook his head. ‘This isn’t a duel. This beast is no worthy opponent, merely clever prey. I shall run it to ground, eventually. When I discover where it lairs.’
‘I can tell you, if you like.’
Sliscus looked up.
The Harlequin Shadowseer stood perched on the rail, balancing on one foot. Where she had come from, he couldn’t say. It was as if she had appeared by some sorcerous trick. She stretched her other leg out and planted a foot squarely on Sleg’s uppermost shoulder. Then, with a single, graceful motion, she was standing on top of his broad skull. The Sslyth made to draw his weapons, but a gesture from Sliscus stopped him. The Harlequin laughed and spun her staff in slow, almost hypnotic circles.
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