‘Tell me what, acrobat?’ Sliscus asked.
‘The location of your foe.’
‘Oh, how useful.’ Sliscus threw up his hands. ‘Were I of a more suspicious temperament, I might suspect collusion on the part of everyone here.’ He pointed an accusing finger at the Harlequin. ‘How did you come to know that? Were you watching as it savaged my warriors, perchance?’
The Harlequin giggled, stretched, and, balancing on the tips of her toes, spun slowly, causing Sleg to grunt in discomfort. ‘Convenience is the marrow of a story’s bones, oh great Serpent. I saw, I saw, I saw. I heard, I heard, I heard. And that is how the tale goes.’
Sliscus turned to Malys, his expression bleakly amused. ‘Well, there you have it. That is how the story goes.’ He twitched. The blade was in his hand so fast that Malys barely saw it before it left his fingers and shot towards the Harlequin. The clown’s giggles ceased in an instant as she interposed her staff. The knife sank deep into the staff with a hollow crack. The Harlequin leapt back, off Sleg and onto the rail, wary now rather than amused. Sliscus laughed. ‘What if I don’t like your story, vulgarian? What then? What will you do?’
The Harlequin carefully pried the knife free from her staff. ‘You are a corsair, not a critic. Your opinion means little at this point in the narrative.’ The Harlequin casually tossed the knife back to Sliscus. ‘The scene is set, the ending written.’
‘If that’s the case, then why are you here?’
‘To make sure everyone is at their appointed place.’ The Harlequin leaned on her staff. ‘I know where it hides. Would you like to know?’
Sliscus’ eyes narrowed. The Harlequins gave nothing away for free. ‘What will it cost me?’ he demanded, letting his hand drift towards the swords sheathed on his hip.
The Shadowseer looked at Malys. A moment later, so did Sliscus. Malys made a show of sipping from her drink. ‘I would advise you to listen to the clown, Traevelliath. They rarely speak without purpose.’
Sliscus frowned and looked back down at the ice. He could still see the vast shape of the kraken, crouched watchfully in the depths. Waiting for its prey to come within reach. He looked up. ‘I will require the proper tools.’
‘I happen to know that several of your guests brought their own pet killers.’ Malys leaned forward. ‘The more rash among them see this as an opportunity to… expand their spheres of influence. So they have hired blades adept at striking in the cold and the dark. You know of what I speak?’
‘Mandrakes,’ Sliscus said, catching her meaning. The shadow-killers were famed in Commorragh for their lethality. There were those who said the Mandrakes weren’t even truly eldar anymore, but something else. ‘Who?’
‘I will tell you.’ She held up a finger. ‘If you allow me to help.’
‘Why?’
‘Simply the pleasure of your company, Traevelliath.’
He frowned, suspicious. But he was no stranger to such whims, and he smiled, bent, and kissed her hand. ‘As I enjoy yours, my dear.’
Chapter Eighteen
RED SHADOWS
641.M41
Lukas crouched beside Hetha, listening to her snore. Only the pack were awake. The mortals sheltered in the cave they had found, sleeping around the fire, trying their best to keep warm. Hetha and her warriors lay near the cave’s entrance, ostensibly to hinder any attempt to creep up on them unawares.
The rest of the cave was occupied by those they had freed from the ice camp. Not many. Fewer than a dozen fit to walk, and a few others who likely wouldn’t last the night. These had made their peace, and now they slept. Some – most – would not awaken.
He glanced back into the cave, listening to the soft moans of the wounded and smelling the blood. Some of them were not sleeping. Their minds were gone, and their eyes stared inwards at things he could not perceive. These too would die, and soon.
Already malnourished, they refused food and drink and were all but wasted away now. He felt some faint tremor of pity, but pushed it aside. They were already ghosts in all but body, and they were free of pain. ‘Morkai keep you all,’ Lukas murmured.
‘What?’ Halvar sat nearby, at the edge of the cave. He had his chainblade across his knees and was anointing its teeth with some scented unguent of his own concoction. Much of the Blood Claw’s odour came not from lack of bathing, as Lukas had first thought, but from the melange of competing blessed oils and incenses he rubbed into his gear. Bear fat mixed with the blood of orks and other foes was often used by the Wolf Priests to anoint the weaponry of the Rout. Halvar made his own, and blessed himself liberally.
‘I said I’m having second thoughts,’ Lukas said. ‘Perhaps they would be safer daring the wrath of the seas.’
‘Better here with us than anywhere else. We are the shield and sword of the Allfather. His wrath made manifest. We are the wolf that guards the gate of Hel.’ Halvar spoke quietly. Passionately. The Blood Claw’s faith was as strong as the Aett was tall. If he survived, he might find himself a place among the Choosers of the Valiant.
‘Aye. And a kind wolf we are. How often have we clashed with those who would use us to cruel ends?’ Lukas looked at him. ‘We have even warred with our own in order to spare the innocent.’
‘As it should be. As it must be.’ Halvar hesitated. ‘You sound as if you disapprove.’
Lukas laughed quietly. ‘No. I simply wonder why we do not extend the courtesy of our kindness to our own folk.’ He stared out into the dark, listening to the muted fury of the storm. ‘We will go to war in the name of innocents elsewhere, but babes starve on this world every day. Our people die, and we judge them on the quality of their suffering. How many die a straw death, that might otherwise have lived?’
Halvar was silent. Then, ‘It was the will of Russ.’
‘Yes. Remind me to ask him about it when I see him.’ Lukas smiled thinly and looked down at Hetha, feeling a twinge of something that might have been guilt. ‘We have much in common, Russ and I. Both of us liars.’ He stroked the sleeping woman’s hair. ‘She is one of mine, I think. Several generations removed, but mine all the same. There is something in them, in their scent, in the way they hunt and sing and curse, that reminds me of my own folk. Do you remember yours, pup?’
‘No. They are not my people anymore. They haven’t been for many generations.’ Halvar hesitated. ‘I barely even remember them. Their faces. Who they were.’
‘That is where we differ, then. I remember all too well.’ Lukas stood, but continued to stare at Hetha. ‘Ake asked me why, earlier. Why I brought them food. Why I offered them the choice. That is why. These are mine. And I will let no one take them from me. Not this world, not the eldar, not even the Allfather himself.’
Lukas stepped past Halvar, out into the cold dark of the night. The horizon was slashed by pale streaks of light, despite the clouds. It would be morning soon. They would reach the Jahtvian steading then, and the mortals they had rescued might find some respite, however briefly. Not for long, though. Never for long, on Fenris.
His tribe was long gone. Their descendants had splintered, amalgamated, grown and shrunk in the centuries since he had been pulled off the ice. As they would do in the seasons to come. They adapted more easily than those they thought of as gods.
But still, they were his. His blood, however thin, flowed in their veins. And so he would feed them. He would guard them. Even unto the end of his days. He had been worthless as a mortal. A liar, a thief and a philanderer. And while he wasn’t much better now, he would do what he could. He would not forget. Others might, but not him.
Sometimes he saw ghosts, on the ice and in the morning mist. Faces and voices from a past that grew more difficult to remember with every passing decade. He hawked and spat. His acidic saliva hissed on the ice, burning through it to the rock face beneath. ‘I will not forget,’ he muttered.
He straightened as something in
the distance caught his eye. Idly, he scraped his talons together, alerting the others. ‘What is it?’ Halvar rumbled, coming out of the cave.
Silently, Lukas pointed. Flashes of light pierced the shroud of rain and snow. Not firelight, but something hungrier. ‘Wake up the mortals,’ he said quietly.
A few moments later, Hetha joined him. ‘The steading,’ she said, her voice hollow. There was fear there, but mostly resignation. It had only been a matter of time before the eldar located the steading.
‘Yes. We will see what can be seen, and do what can be done. You will wake the others. Stay here, but be ready to move if necessary.’
Hetha frowned. She gripped the hilt of her blade. ‘We will come with you.’
‘No,’ Lukas growled. ‘You would only slow us down. We will return for you. Until then, stay here. Stay quiet. Stay still.’
Hetha made to protest, but Lukas was already turning away. He could only hope she would listen. He sprang from the ledge. Rock crumbled beneath his feet as he crashed down. Before it could collapse entirely, he was already leaping for the next outcropping, trusting in his own agility and his armour’s auto-stabilisers to carry him safely from one to the next. He could hear Halvar and the others following him.
There was no need for discussion. Distance was little impediment to their senses, and the storm winds only helped to carry the smell of fire and death to them. They raced across the taiga, moving as quickly as their enhanced physiologies would allow. All thought of stealth was forgotten in their haste. As they drew near the steading, smoke hung thick on the air, mingling with the snow. The crackle of flames filled Lukas’ world – he heard nothing else. No screams, no howls, not even the hum of the eldar anti-gravity engines. Only the fire.
‘Split up,’ he snarled, his voice cracking across the vox like a whip. ‘Ake, Einar, Dag – take the left. Halvar, Kadir, with me. Drive them back, whatever it takes. Give the mortals a chance to flee or fight, as they will. Go!’ Lukas was moving towards the wreck of the main gateway even before he finished speaking. Halvar and Kadir bounded in his wake, thumbing the activation switches on their chainblades.
The palisade and the main hall were in ruins. The lean, sharp shapes of Raiders nosed through the clouds of smoke, like beasts on the hunt. Splinter cannons crackled. Dark, armoured xenos warriors raced through the destruction, laughing as they killed.
Lukas activated his wolf claw as he burst through the smoke. The energy-sheathed talons tore easily through an unwary eldar. The others whipped around, their weapons snapping. Lukas spun away, seeking safety in the smoke. Halvar loped past, his chainblade growling as it bit into the thin armour of his opponent. The eldar wailed as the weapon chewed through its midsection, drawing the attention of the others. Kadir shot one, knocking the alien backwards, a smoking crater in its chest.
As the others swung their weapons towards the Blood Claws, Lukas stepped into the open, his plasma pistol in hand. He took aim and fired, neatly removing his target’s head. He holstered the weapon, leaving it to recharge. He could hear the howls of the others as they met the enemy. There were more eldar here than he had first thought.
A trio of Raiders hummed over the halls, firing down into the smoke. Venoms accompanied them, darting close to the rooftops. Lukas took a running leap and made it up onto the edge of a hall’s roof. He reached the top just as a Venom swooped past. His claw shot out, grazing the edge of the vehicle and sending it off course. It ploughed into the roof, setting the thatch alight as it crashed through into the hall below.
A whisper of sound that might have been singing or laughter slithered over the vox. Banded by waves of interference, it was barely there, and it was soon lost in the harsh crunch of dissolving signals. Someone – something – was watching him.
Lukas turned. From his vantage point, he could see most of the steading. What wasn’t burning soon would be. But most of the dragonships were gone from their river docks, save for one or two that burned where they were tied. A thin spark of hope flared within him. Some of them were alive – they had to be.
A flash of colour riding the storm winds caught his attention. He tensed, trying to make out the shapes within the kaleidoscopic swirls, but they defied even his enhanced vision. They were gone in a moment, making him wonder if he had even seen them at all.
He heard the crunch of metal against wood, and turned back to see a Raider approaching. It drew closer, its keel scraping across the nearby rooftops, its weapons silent. A lean figure stood balanced on the rail, clinging to a guide-wire with one hand.
The eldar was taller than most and dressed flamboyantly. The coat it wore caught at the light, shimmering eerily. Two swords were sheathed on one hip, a pistol on the other. Its hair was longer than was entirely practical, whipping about its head in a frenzied halo. Its armour was not the dark mesh the others wore, but something more ornate. Even at a distance and through the haze of smoke, Lukas could tell it was intricately decorated.
A smile spread across the eldar’s inhuman features as it caught sight of him. It gave a mocking salute. ‘Ahoy,’ the creature called in passable Fenrisian. ‘I am pleased you accepted my invitation, mon-keigh. That was a good trick you pulled with the kraken.’ It gestured around the steading. ‘What do you think of mine?’
Lukas drew his plasma pistol and fired. The shot arced low, scorching the hull of the Raider. The xenos glanced down, and then up, a frown on its face. Lukas shrugged.
The eldar laughed. A moment later, a disintegrator beam shivered across the roof, barely missing Lukas. It tore across the nearest edge, tearing it open. A second beam followed the first, cutting him off from the far side of the roof this time. Lukas found himself perched on a lone island amid the smoke and flame. The wood creaked beneath him, weakened by the twin waves of destruction. It began to sway.
‘Skítja,’ Lukas howled as the roof beam splintered and collapsed, dropping him into the burning hall below.
Kadir saw Lukas drop down through the roof and the flames roar up where he had been. He slapped aside a xenos warrior, driving it into a door post and snapping its neck. The rest of the creatures seemed little inclined to get in his way as he smashed through the burning doors and into the hall.
The wreckage of a Venom occupied the centre of the hall, and the flames spilling from its collapsed innards crawled across the floor and walls. Smoke wreathed everything, obscuring his autosenses. Optical augurs in his visor whirred, seeking Lukas’ life-signs amid the fire. The fall alone wouldn’t have killed him. Nor would the flames. But if Lukas had been caught by the disintegrator beam, he might be injured enough that one or the other could well have proved fatal.
‘Lukas,’ he bellowed, wrenching up a fallen support beam and casting it aside. It landed behind him with a hollow boom. There were bodies everywhere. This hall had been made into a slaughterhouse well before the fire had started. He heard a crunch of wood behind him, and glanced back to see Halvar shoving tables and benches out of his path. ‘He’s in here somewhere, help me find him.’
He heard the roar of weaponry outside and overhead. The hall shook, and he wondered if the eldar intended to bring it down on top of them. A moment later, he heard a shout and saw Ake and the others crashing towards him. ‘They cornered us – drove us here,’ Ake snarled. There was blood on his armour. Dag was leaning on Einar for support.
Kadir paused in his efforts. ‘What? Why would they–’
Something caught his wrist, startling him. He looked down and saw a soot-stained gauntlet clutching his forearm. He reached down. ‘Lukas!’ He hauled the Trickster up, out of the debris he had been buried under.
Lukas coughed. ‘Trap.’
‘What?’
‘Trap,’ Lukas said, shoving him aside. ‘We’re not alone in here. Heard them moving around. We need to get out. Into the open.’
Kadir tensed, his senses straining. He heard nothing save the crackle of f
lames. Saw nothing, save death and shadows. And then the shadows moved.
They came out of the darkness, moving like black lightning. No, not out of the dark – they were the dark, stretched and skewed into humanoid shapes. They were coal black, their inky skin marked with undulating sigils. Their features were indistinct, shifting and warping as they slipped from one shadow to the next.
‘Come, then,’ Ake snarled. ‘Come and face the sons of Russ!’
A gangly shape rose up out of the Blood Claw’s shadow as the challenge left his lips, and drove a curved, scythe-like blade into his back. The weapon seemed to sink into the crevices of his battle-plate, and blood jetted from his mouth in a shocked exhalation. The thing – the eldar – coiled about him, striking again and again, hissing in pleasure. Ake staggered, groaning. Bolt pistols thundered, and the shadow-thing was gone. Ake slumped, blood leaking from the joins of his armour. He looked around dully for a moment, a snarl on his lips. Then he toppled forward onto the floor.
‘Ake,’ Kadir snarled. ‘Ake!’ He lunged for his fallen brother as something else lurched up from beneath him. He twisted aside at the last moment, falling heavily to the floor and scrambling back. Blood flowed from a long, grisly gash on his cheek. More shapes swarmed up around him, but were driven back by a desperate sweep of his blade. ‘What are these things?’
‘Daemons,’ Halvar howled, whirling. He blocked a scythe blow and forced his opponent back. ‘Unholy vibrations of the warp. Spawn of lightless stars!’
‘No, they’re shadow-hunters,’ Lukas roared, slashing at one. ‘Mandrakes, they call them.’ It slipped away from his claw as if it were no more substantial than mist. ‘They’re more shadow than flesh!’
Kadir cursed as his own chainblade failed to bite flesh. He blocked a blow that would have opened his throat, and sent the creature reeling. It sank out of sight, dropping into a shadow. He turned. He could see Lukas and the others battling their own opponents amid the fire dripping from the roof.
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