Path of the Outcast
Page 14
‘We bore you?’ Caolein took a step forwards, shoulders hunching. The Great Harlequin did not move, save to turn his head slowly and regard Caolein with that half-smirking mask.
‘Do not play his games,’ said Aradryan, laying a hand on Caolein’s shoulder. ‘He is the clown, he is meant to amuse us, so do not indulge him.’
Findelsith raised a gloved hand and pointed at Aradryan whilst still looking at Caolein.
‘You I like, you have something special inside you, but even to you the answer is no.’
‘I never thought I would see the cycle when a Harlequin dared not into the gut of the Great Enemy,’ said Lechthennian, the other outcasts stepping out of his way as the elderly traveller approached. ‘A poor excuse it is, to quote boredom and repetition, when one has the chance to be one with the Laughing God. Dare her lair, and laugh in his face. If it is not to tweak the nose of She Who Thirsts, what is it to be a Harlequin?’
Tilting his head in surprise, Findelsith stood up abruptly. He looked at each of the outcasts, lingering for just a heartbeat, before his gaze finished on Lechthennian, as inscrutable as ever.
‘A chance challenge you lay upon my spirit, and a charge I cannot well deny,’ said the Great Harlequin, turning away with an airy wave of his hand. ‘You, friend, have the best of the argument, and you are welcome to it, I might say.’
‘Tarry just for one more moment, and hear my debate, and you and I will be in accord, I grant you,’ said Lechthennian, stepping quickly after the departing Findelsith.
The Great Harlequin paused a moment, allowing the outcast to catch him. Lechthennian’s next words were softly spoken, and Aradryan could not hear them, nor see Lechthennian’s lips nor read his expression. Aradryan looked at the others and their intrigued faces told him that they were as mystified as he.
There seemed to be a short debate, during which Lechthennian made imploring gestures several times, elbows tucked into his ribs, hands splayed out with a shallow bow. Aradryan was about to go over and ask the aging traveller to cease embarrassing himself, but before he took a stride he saw Findelsith take a step back and nod his head once in agreement. Lechthennian smiled briefly, bowed once more and returned to bring back the happy news.
‘He seemed so adamant,’ said Jair.
‘How did you change his mind?’ asked Caolein. ‘He did change his mind, yes? We did see that?’
‘All I had to do was employ a bit of flattery and dangle a proposition too exciting for him to decline,’ replied Lechthennian. He motioned them to head towards the door. ‘In part we can thank Estrathain for his agreement, as he was most intrigued by the idea of journeying with the kami.’
‘And what else?’ said Aradryan, thinking Lechthennian’s account a little vague and unconvincing. ‘You are not an agile liar, your concealment of something is plain to see.’
‘I confess, I am reluctant to share,’ said the musician. ‘I dared Findelsith, you see, and now that we are committed, I fear I might have overstepped my bounds.’
‘What dare?’ said Athelennil, glaring daggers at Lechthennian.
‘I challenged him to lead us somewhere he had never been before, to a world that caused even him a deep dread,’ said Lechthennian. ‘If he admits to fear, he cannot truly be an avatar of the Laughing God, for Cegorach laughs in the face of death and danger. To prove to himself that he is not truly afraid, he must take us to the place for which he holds the deepest fear, or give up his position as Great Harlequin.’
‘We are going to journey to a world in the bosom of She Who Thirsts, at the heart of the Abyss of Despair, to a world so bad that a Great Harlequin of the Laughing God is afraid to go there?’ said Aradryan, uttering the words slowly, unable to believe them himself. He sighed, and shrugged. ‘Perfect. That is just perfect.’
Adventure
The Crone Worlds – When the ancient empire stretched across the stars, the heart of civilisation was located at the Wheel of Destiny, our first world where Eldanesh was born at the hub. It was from the Wheel of Destiny that Morai-heg spun that fate of the eldar race, and about that wheel all things revolved, for good or ill. Populous were the worlds of the Wheel, and their art and fashions were considered the height of society. As with everything else, it was from the Wheel of Destiny that the strand of the Great Enemy was spun. The first of the sects and cults were created here, and from the Wheel of Destiny that poison spread through the empire. When the Fall came and the Great Enemy was born, it was Morai-heg that was consumed first, the Wheel of Destiny absorbed into the body of She Who Thirsts. Ever they have belonged to her and so now those worlds, once the heart of civilisation and now the heart of the Eye of Terror, are known as the crone worlds.
Aradryan left the business of organising the expedition to the more experienced members of Irdiris’s crew, and spent the time exploring some of the arcades and dens of Khai-dazaar. When the preparations were complete, he met with Athelennil, Jair and the others at the quayside where the starship was docked. From here, Caolein guided the Irdiris to the large battleship they had passed on their arrival: the Fae Taeruth.
The Harlequins had preceded them on board, their gaily coloured webskimmer inside the Fae Taeruth’s sizeable docking bay when the outcasts landed. They were met by the captain, the female exiled Commorraghan Maensith. She was not at all what Aradryan had been expecting. The tales of the dark kin of Commorragh had left an image in his mind of cruel, sneering, whip-wielding torturers. While the reputation was well-deserved, his first impression of Maensith was of a cultured, polite starship captain.
She and her crew were dressed in black and purple and dark blues, it was true, but devoid of their armour they seemed like any other ship’s complement in Khai-dazaar. Maensith had white hair, swept back from her face with a band of emerald-studded metal, the gems matching the colour of her eyes.
Most remarkably, Maensith wore no waystone. This realisation brought out a mix of dread and awe in Aradryan, who instinctively touched his fingertips to the brooch at his breast to reassure himself that his waystone was there. The thought of going through life exposed to the predation of She Who Thirsts horrified him, and he tried not to stare at his host.
Maensith might have noticed his gaze; she glanced at Aradryan for a moment, meeting his eye. There was a hardness to her that silently spoke of grim experiences, but the ship captain’s smile was also quick and infectious as she introduced the notable officers from her two hundred-strong complement.
Aradryan had been warned by Estrathain not to inquire too deeply into her past, so he held his tongue despite the obvious questions that nagged him as Maensith explained the running of the ship and its layout. Of the Fae Taeruth, the only thing that marked it as significantly different from Lacontiran were the weapons bays and blisters. Running for most of the ship’s length in the middle decks, the weapons batteries consisted of several dozen high-powered laser turrets, supplemented by shorter-ranged rocket batteries for anti-boarding defence. The crew that they passed on the tour, which took place as the Fae Taeruth slipped her moorings and headed into the webway, nodded deference to their commander and her guests, which was something that Aradryan had not encountered before, either on Alaitoc or further abroad.
‘Do all of your crew hail from Commorragh?’ he asked, slightly nervous of the company. They had returned to the landing bay to retrieve their belongings, and would be quartered with the officers of the mercenary company close to the ship’s command bridge.
‘Only a handful,’ replied Maensith. ‘Most are simply outcasts like yourselves, seeking some excitement and meaning in their lives. It is never wise to have too many kabalites in your crew if you are no longer in service to an archon.’
‘Kabalites?’ Aradryan had not heard the term before.
‘If you wish, I could tell you more of the Commorraghan kabals, the wych cults and incubi of the Dark City, but that can wait for the moment,’ said Maensith. ‘My pilots and I need to speak to Findelsith regarding our journey.’
‘It is, though I have been close to its outer reaches in the past,’ said Maensith. She lay a reassuring hand on the arm of Aradryan, noticing his apprehension at this revelation. ‘I would say not to be afraid, but that would be a lie. Where we are going is dangerous, and I will not pretend otherwise. However, my crew and I have experienced battle and peril many times, and you are in good hands.’
With a nod of farewell, Maensith turned away. She stopped at the archway that led from the flight deck and turned.
‘We are all going to profit well from this excursion, mark my words!’
When she had left, the outcasts boarded Irdiris to take up their possessions. Athelennil caught Aradryan by the arm when they were in the main passageway.
‘Do not be tricked by pretty eyes and a welcoming smile,’ she warned. Aradryan could not help but consider some of this to be due to jealousy on Athelennil’s part, despite her prior declarations to hold no romantic claim to Aradryan or any other.
‘I judge as I find,’ Aradryan replied, laying his hand onto hers. ‘It is good to know that you still watch out for my wellbeing.’
‘Remember that, when we are in the heart of the Great Enemy,’ said Athelennil. ‘We all need to stand together if we are to return.’
Aradryan nodded, the warning reminding him of the course they were setting and the hellish destination at its end.
The Fae Taeruth made swift progress, keeping to the main arterial passages of the webway, heading towards the Eye of Terror. During the journey, the disparate groups that made up the expedition mingled little, so that Aradryan saw little of the Harlequins or mercenaries. On his forays from the cabin he shared with Athelennil, he was struck by something: all of the starship’s crew went about their duties armed. Every mercenary he passed had a pistol and blade at his or her waist.
When he and the others were invited to be guests at a meal with Maensith, he raised this observation with the mercenary captain. Jair, Caolein and Athelennil were amongst the complement who joined Maensith and her handful of lieutenants in a dining area that more closely resembled a ballroom on Alaitoc than a mess hall on a battleship. Crystals glowed overhead, dappling the diners with red and gold and purple, and underfoot was a thick carpet, woven with a pattern of black roses on powder blue, their jade stems entwining to form mesmerising geometries.
The fare on offer was also better than he had experienced on either Irdiris or Lacontiran. There were meats cured in delicate spices, fresh fruit and cereals, lightly baked, sweet-tasting breads and bowls of pungent broth. All was laid out on an oval table that would have comfortably sat twice as many guests, laden with silver and golden platters, amongst which delicate ceramic dishes steamed while carafes of wines and juices were freely passed amongst the eldar.
‘It is a necessary precaution in our lives,’ Maensith explained. ‘It is better to be accustomed to the weight of a sword at your hip, and to have your weapons to hand if you need them. The webway is not safe, whatever your experiences in the past may be, and where we are going it is far from a sanctuary.’
‘Do you think we should be armed?’ Aradryan asked. He took a sip of a particularly azure wine from a crystal goblet edged with delicate white gold. The ranger had realised as soon as he had sat down that much of his surroundings and what was on offer were no doubt the proceeds of piracy, or at least payment for less-than-moral deeds, but the notion had not dampened his appetite or thirst, which had been whetted by the festivities he had enjoyed in Khai-dazaar.
‘A ranger longrifle is of little use in a ship action,’ laughed Maensith. ‘I am sure no one will take offence if you choose to wear your pistols from here on.’
‘I do not think I shall be of much assistance, if that is the case,’ said Aradryan, shaking his head. ‘I am comfortable with a longrifle, but encounters at closer quarters have not gone so well for me.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Jair, who was on his second jug of wine already. ‘When we ran into the orks on the way to the Exodites, you showed no hesitation.’
‘I fear that I did, perhaps for an instant,’ said Aradryan. He shuddered as he remembered the red-eyed orks and the gush of blood from Estrellian’s mortal wounds. ‘I may have cost Estrellian his life in that brief moment.’
‘Regret is as harmful as fear,’ said Maensith. Her words were sharply spoken, the first time Aradryan had detected any harshness in her voice. ‘To linger in the past invites doubt, and doubt eats away at the spirit.’
‘And what of learning from the mistakes of the past?’ asked Caolein. The question seemed innocent enough, but there was something about the pilot’s words that hinted at accusation, and Aradryan, who was sat at Maensith’s right hand, felt the captain stiffen slightly. He had almost forgotten that she hailed originally from the Dark City, so pleasant and convivial was the feast and its attendants. Why Caolein chose to ask such a barbed question of their congenial host was a mystery to Aradryan.
‘The past cannot be changed,’ said Maensith, keeping her tone even, though her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘It is equally dangerous to cast one’s gaze too far ahead, perhaps longing for something that will never come, missing the opportunities of the moment.’
‘To experience the moment, and be nothing more?’ Caolein asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Just so,’ said Maensith. Her fingers tapped a beat on the tabletop for a moment, before she reached out and grasped the stem of a golden goblet. She raised it a fraction and tipped the cup towards Caolein, before lifting it higher in toast to all present.
‘Let us wish for a fruitful and uneventful expedition,’ said the captain. ‘The prize to those who dare!’
This last sentiment was echoed by her officers, and Aradryan murmured a late echo in response. There was an awkward silence, which was broken by the hiss of the door and the arrival of Estrathain’s kami. The artificial being was clothed as always in its scarlet robes and scarves, and entered the feasting hall with quick steps.
‘Apologies for the intrusion, my captain, but I come direct from the chambers of Findelsith,’ announced the kami. ‘This branch of the webway has almost taken us as far as it can, and we must make preparations for a transference to the material world. He must speak with you about the next stage of our journey.’
‘Of course,’ said Maensith. She set down her goblet as she stood and dipped her head to each of the diners in turn, finishing with a lingering look at Aradryan that he could not quite decipher. Her next words were almost a whisper, directed at the ranger. ‘Come to see me, and I shall instruct you in the basics of swordcraft, Aradryan. You will feel the more confident for the lesson.’
With that she left, taking Estrathain with her. One by one, the mercenary lieutenants offered their apologies and excused themselves, claiming duties to attend, until only those of Irdiris remained. Aradryan noticed an absent member of their complement and wondered why he had not seen him earlier.
‘What of Lechthennian?’ he asked.
‘I do not know where he is,’ said Athelennil. There was a quiet rebuke in her next words, which Aradryan knew were meant for him. ‘I think he is more discerning of the company he keeps.’
Despite Athelennil’s misgivings, Aradryan contacted Maensith during the following cycle. He arranged to meet the mercenary captain in one of the empty storage holds in the lower decks, and chose not to mention the rendezvous to Athelennil to head off any further chiding.
Maensith met him in her full battle gear. Over a black bodysuit she wore a shaped breastplate of silvered ceramic material, which fitted her body as snugly as the bodyglove. She had tassets and ailettes of the same design on her shoulders and thighs, edged with sharply tapered edges. About her waist was a skirt of purple laminar, split at the front to allow her to move with freedom. Her gloves went up to her elbows, and were lined with serrated blades on the outside of the hand and forearm, her fingers and thumbs protected with segmented armour. She also wore
a helm that protected her skull and cheeks, with an aventail of scale. The armour shimmered like the carapace of a beetle or slick of oil, rainbows playing on the curved surfaces beneath the white strip lights of the cargo bay.
A pistol hung at Maensith’s right hip, and on her left was a curved sword in a long scabbard. She held another blade of the same design in her hand, and proffered it to Aradryan without any word as he entered. He took the sheathed sword, feeling its weight approvingly. The scabbard was plainly decorated with a line of four red gems, the lower part bound with overlapping white cord.
‘Wear it like this,’ said Maensith. She stepped behind Aradryan and took the sword from him, releasing two lengths of binding. He was aware of her right next to him, the blades of her armour less than a hand’s breadth from his flesh. She crouched, passing the thongs around his waist, looping them through ringlets on the scabbard before tying a firm but decorative knot. She tugged the sheath a little towards his thigh, settling its weight better on his hip. ‘Now draw it.’
Aradryan reached across with his right hand as Maensith circled to stand in front of him, weight on one leg, finger held to her chin as she made her critique. The ranger grabbed the sword and tugged it free. His arm felt awkward, his elbow jutting at an odd angle, as he pulled the blade fully from its scabbard.
‘Not like that,’ said Maensith, stepping forwards with a purposeful look. She again stood behind him, reaching around so that her hand was on his wrist, fingers slightly splayed. ‘Like this. Do not make a fist around the hilt, make the blade an extension of your arm.’
Aradryan did as he was told, keenly aware of her breath on the side of his neck. She had a peculiar presence, both disturbing and exciting at the same time. He could sense wildness kept in check by this veneer of civility. The sword certainly felt more natural after he had adjusted his grip.