by Gav Thorpe
The human ships did their best to take up intercepting courses, but there was little doubt the Commorraghans would escape the trap unless the Azure Flame gave chase. Yrithain must have noticed the same, judging by his next question to Maensith.
‘Are you going to let them escape? I would not like to list Khiadysis amongst my enemies.’
‘He will not return,’ said Maensith. ‘He is far from Commorragh already, and there is no guarantee we will be here still when he has affected his repairs. Regardless of any hurt he might feel, he also cannot return to the kabal and admit he was the victim of such a simple trick. No, he will return with a tale of overwhelming odds barely escaped, and keep to a life within the towering spires conniving against his archon and stepping on the lives of his underlings, as most hierarchs are content to do.’
‘What did you mean by negotiations, which you mentioned a moment ago?’ said Yrithain.
‘Is it not obvious?’ said Maensith. ‘Your arrangement with Commander De’vaque is compromised. You brought an enemy to his star system, and you cannot be trusted. We will have to make a new offer, a much more generous offer, on behalf of the Azure Flame to ensure we are welcome at Daethronin.’
‘There is no reason to assume the commander will conclude I was complicit in any attack,’ said Yrithain.
‘Believe me,’ Maensith said with a smile, ‘that is exactly what I will endeavour to make him conclude.’
She broke the holo-link, isolating the ship’s network to prevent Yrithain establishing any further contact without permission.
‘Yrithain was right, in part,’ said Aradryan, gesturing for Taelisieth to take command of the gunnery console again. When the officer was at his station once more, Aradryan crossed the floor of the command chamber and took the hand of Maensith.
‘How was Yrithain right?’ she asked.
‘The threat that Khiadysis held over you still exists. He will tell your old kabal where to find you, and I fear that will not go well.’
‘It is true that I parted from the Crimson Talon as a thief and a fugitive, but there is no reason to be concerned for my future,’ replied the captain. She lifted her hand, still gripped in Aradryan’s fingers, and kissed the inside of his wrist. ‘Let us set course to intercept Darson De’vaque’s ship before Yrithain has a chance to get a step ahead of us again.’
With a swagger in his step, Aradryan strode down the carpeted aisle of the Imperial commander’s reception chamber. It was located aboard a pleasure yacht of some kind – a stubby, plasma-powered tugboat in comparison to any eldar ship worthy of that name – located in high orbit over the principle world of Daethronin, which the humans insisted on calling Carasto.
Aradryan was feeling supremely confident, despite the rows of soldiers that stood to attention to his left and right, and the small company of marksmen he had spied stationed amongst the metal beams that held aloft the high-arched ceiling. He felt their magnified sights upon him like evil eyes, as once he had looked from afar through his ranger longrifle.
As well as the men-under-arms, Imperial Commander De’vaque had a mass of advisers, scribes and heralds loitering in the audience chamber. Their whispering was as clear to Aradryan as if he was in conversation with them, but their exclamations and utterances were entirely dull and revolved mainly around Aradryan’s appearance – both his being aboard the yacht and his mode of dress.
This latter was indeed remarkable, for Aradryan had taken some time over his clothes for such an important meeting. Yrithain had seen fit to depart rather than risk the displeasure of the humans, and the remaining ships of the Azure Flame had been keen to broadcast their thanks and loyalty to the warriors of the Fae Taeruth. It had become clear soon after that Yrithain had not been a popular leader, and the increasing demands made by Commander De’vaque had stretched the patience and fealty of his underlings almost to breaking point. The arrival of the Commorraghans had provided a common adversary to rally against, but with that particular problem solved, the other corsairs were happy to join Maensith and Aradryan, once more promised fair division of spoils and a voice in any debate.
Aradryan had suggested to Maensith that they maintain the fallacy of his command, protecting her from any double-dealing De’vaque might contemplate, and so he came to the court of the Imperial commander in his finest regalia, as befitted a prince of the corsairs. He wore a skin-tight undersuit of purple and gold, beneath a knee-length black coat that flared wide at the hips, the shoulders studded with tiny stars of wintersilver. The wide lapels were edged with more silver and hung with fine chains of the same material, stretching across Aradryan’s chest in refined mockery of the gold braiding and frogging that was heaped upon De’vaque’s uniform. Boots drawn up to his thighs, of supple dawn-leopard skin in black, red and yellow, completed the ensemble, along with numerous rings, bracelets and an elongated skull-shaped piercing in the side of his brow. Aradryan had drawn his hair up into a high crest, further emphasising his height over the stunted humans, and his face was subtly painted to accentuate the shape of his eyes, which were wide and bright compared to the sunken orbs of his host.
The Imperial commander stood next to a high-backed chair, the man as solid as the wood and velvet throne on which he leaned. His cheeks and upper lip were hidden by a bush of thick, greying hair, his chin clear of the growth to display three slender scars. De’vaque wore a peaked cap, of dark blue, the same as his dress coat, its visor coming down over straggling eyebrows. A flat nose and mauled ears betrayed a history of physical conflict – probably recreational, Aradryan guessed, judging the scars on the man’s chin to be from some kind of slender duelling sword – and the man’s hands were balled into fists with rough knuckles, thumbs tucked into a broad belt that was hung with a pistol on one hip and a tapering, curved sword on the other.
Aradryan was armed also, pistol and sword like the commander, but only for display; if he was required to use his weapons his plan would have failed and he’d be swiftly slain by the several dozen men with guns trained upon him. Well aware of the dashing figure he must pose to the gangling, awkward humans, Aradryan gracefully progressed along the black and gold carpet towards the Imperial commander, timing his strides so that he covered the ground at a sedate but purposeful pace.
The chamber itself was furnished with a heavily-grained wood lacquered with deep red. Various eagles and other Imperial insignia adorned the banners that hung from the ceiling every twenty or so paces. The floor was tiled with intricate mosaic, though from his position Aradryan could not tell whether it was simply a patterned design or some more illustrative image; there was a balcony above the throne stage from which the view would undoubtedly be more suited.
Stopping some ten paces from the throne, Aradryan cast his gaze above the crowd of gaudily-dressed human males and females clustered to his right; courtiers, family and other hangers-on, the eldar pirate surmised.
‘Forgive my lack of introduction,’ said Aradryan, once more speaking through the face-like translator brooch upon his breast; his spirit stone was mounted in a gold sunburst on the other side. ‘Your herald, as willing as he was to accommodate me, was quite unable to pronounce my name. The mangled sounds he made reminded me of a bovine animal in distress. Thus, I must present myself. I am Prince-Commander Aradryan Iadhsuan Adiarrin Naio of the Azure Flame, Admiral of the Winter Gulf.’
‘It is customary for petitioners to bow in recognition of the Imperial commander’s rank.’
This rebuke came from a younger human standing just behind De’vaque. He was a little taller than the commander, and much slighter of build. Aradryan could see no family resemblance between the two and categorised the man who had spoken as some kind of functionary. He turned his eyes – purposefully coloured a startling violet for the encounter – back on the Imperial commander.
‘Your pet appears to be squawking out of turn,’ said Aradryan. ‘Please silence it.’
‘I am Antoine Nallim, Chief Steward of Carasto, and you will not treat me w
ith disrespect, pirate scum.’
Aradryan turned slightly and allowed his gaze to roam across the other people in the hall. In the civilian men he saw the odd cut on brow and cheek, and amongst the officers of the soldiers he saw the same, reinforcing his opinion that duelling was an acceptable sport on this world. Turning his attention back to De’vaque, who had remained grumpily silent so far, Aradryan smiled thinly.
‘Am I correct in the belief that duelling with blades is regarded as a suitable means for settling dispute?’
‘We duel, yes,’ said De’vaque, folding his arms across his chest. ‘What makes you think I will allow you the honour of duelling with my chief steward?’
‘If your culture believes it is appropriate to establish superiority through violence, surely you must allow me the opportunity to seek redress against the insult I have suffered from the words of your underling?’
‘I’ll give this arrogant thief a scar to remind him of his manners,’ said Nallim, unbuttoning his coat. The man beneath was athletically built, by human standards. Rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt, Nallim drew a sword from its sheath at his hip, exactly the same in design as the one worn by the Imperial commander.
‘Would it be allowed for me to use my own weapon, or must I use one of those flimsy skewers you call swords?’ asked Aradryan.
‘You may use whichever blade you feel best suits you,’ said De’vaque. His jaw was clenched tight, and he clearly did not feel that his chief steward’s challenge had been wise. Nonetheless, he held his tongue; it was probably bad manners for him to intervene on either side’s behalf.
‘Feel free to remove your coat, pirate,’ said Nallim, bounding across to the carpeted aisle, his booted feet slapping on the tiles. ‘You should not encumber yourself unnecessarily.’
‘Style before purpose, I am afraid,’ Aradryan said as he slowly drew his sword. He looked at De’vaque and tried to find the human words for what he wanted to say. ‘Is there some official start to the violence, or do we just start swinging?’
‘Raise your blade to your brow in salute, and then you may begin,’ replied the Imperial commander. Aradryan noticed that De’vaque’s eyes had not left him throughout the exchange. For a human, he was very focused and attentive.
Aradryan did as he was bid, bringing the flat of his sword to touch his forehead just above the bridge of his nose. Nallim did likewise, and the two stood as still as statues for a heartbeat, staring at each other.
Aradryan noticed the tiny dilation in Nallim’s eyes as he thought about the strike he would make. The skin of his knuckles paled a fraction more and there was a twitch of a tendon in his wrist. It was a signal as clear as day to Aradryan that his opponent was about to attack.
Bringing his sword down to a straight lunge, Aradryan took a long stride forwards. So swift was the strike that Nallim’s sabre was barely a finger’s width from his face when the point of Aradryan’s sword lanced through the human’s throat, twisting slightly to avoid the blade being chipped on the man’s vertebrae before the point erupted form the back of his neck.
What seemed like an age later, there were shouts and screams from the gathered men and women. De’vaque was bellowing madly for his men to hold their fire, while several of the courtesans fainted to the ground, eyes rolling in their sockets as blood sprayed over the carpet and tiles.
‘A duel is only to first blood!’ roared De’vaque, turning towards Aradryan with balled fists, his face reddening.
Aradryan let go of his sword, so that Nallim’s body crumpled to the ground, the blood spurting from the wound creating rivulets in the gaps between the mosaic pieces.
‘He is certainly bleeding,’ said Aradryan, clasping one hand in the other at his waist.
‘I should have you killed here and now, and your ships blown out of the stars,’ continued the Imperial commander, but Aradryan knew the threat was empty; why would De’vaque stop his men from shooting if he wished the pirate commander dead?
‘It would be unwise to try such a thing, Commander De’vaque,’ said Aradryan. He stepped over Nallim’s twitching corpse and took three more strides, his height advantage over De’vaque becoming even more pronounced in such close proximity.
‘What do you want?’ De’vaque backed away and slumped into his chair while a squad of soldiers picked up Nallim and carried him from the hall, trailing a spattered line of crimson. ‘The same agreement as Irrithan?’
Aradryan suppressed a wince at the mangling of the name, and shook his head.
‘There will be no further arrangements with the Azure Flame,’ said the eldar, earning a scowl, but he continued. ‘The Azure Flame will no longer take sanctuary in Daethronin, nor will the ships that pass through this system be vouched any safe passage. Any relationship between you and Yrithain is over. You will allow me and my fleet to depart this star system unmolested. We will no longer be your tamed hounds, Imperial commander.’
‘You think to double-cross me again?’ De’vaque’s jowls shook and he spat the next words. ‘I’ll see you gutted and skinned before I let you out of here.’
‘I would reconsider, commander, if I were you,’ said Aradryan. He reached out his right hand, activating the holo-projector set into the ruby ring on his index finger. A ruddy vignette sprang into life between him and De’vaque, of Maensith and Darson sitting at a table together. The two of them were tasting long strands of confectionary and sipping gently effervescing wine from crystal goblets. ‘You see, I was kind enough to invite your son on board my ship before I departed. As you can see, he is being looked after. For the moment. He will continue to enjoy our hospitality until we are ready to leave this place.’
‘Darson, you idiot!’ bellowed De’vaque, shaking a fist at the image. ‘What do you think you are doing?’
‘It is only an image, commander, there is no audio relay,’ explained Aradryan.
‘Trickery. Any fool can conjure up a moving hololith.’
‘Please make whatever inquiries you require to confirm my statement, Imperial Commander De’vaque. The officers of your son’s ship will inform you that he is aboard my vessel, as are several of his bodyguard. Trust me, the guards will not prove very useful if you choose to act against us.’
‘Why? Why did you not just leave? What was the point of coming here, to see me, if all you wanted to do was leave safely?’
‘It is not in my nature to slip away like vermin in the night, commander, especially in the face of a lesser species,’ Aradryan said. ‘I want you to know that it is only by my will that you are still alive today. Had it not been for my actions, my twisted kin would have attacked your world and exacted a far more agonising retribution for your occupation of it. They take unkindly to upstart barbarian-apes squatting on one of our planets, you see. I am less troubled by the past, and you are welcome to stay at Daethronin as long as you wish. I thought you might appreciate my permission on the matter.’
‘Your... permission?’ A vein was throbbing dangerously in De’vaque’s forehead as he squeezed the two words between gritted teeth. The man inhaled deeply and flexed his fingers, forcing himself to visibly relax. ‘I will make sure you pay for this poisonous act, pirate. You will not get away with this.’
‘Oh, but I will, Imperial Commander De’vaque,’ said Aradryan, smiling broadly. ‘In fact, I already have.’
Saying the words made the feeling a reality. It had been as much to gratify himself as to arrange a ceasefire that Aradryan had answered the Imperial commander’s summons. Here he was, standing in the middle of De’vaque’s domain, surrounded by men who would kill him as soon as blink, and there was nothing they could do about the situation. He had known from the outset that Darson would be the man’s weakness; despite their prolific breeding, humans of status set great value on their heirs and to have one taken in such cavalier manner would be a massive loss of prestige and honour. The moment was to be savoured, and Aradryan enjoyed the looks of dismay and fury on the humans as he stepped lightly back towards the h
all’s doors.
Stepping through the open portal, Aradryan laughed, leaving a lilting echo in the hall behind him.
When the Fae Taeruth and the other ships of the Azure Flame were safely away from Daethronin and the breaches into the webway were prepared, Darson De’vaque and his guards were escorted back to their shuttle. Aradryan stood at the gunnery controls and watched the small craft jet away from the cruiser.
‘I am sure that Imperial Commander De’vaque will not take kindly to this treatment,’ said Maensith, her voice coming from the command pod at the heart of the chamber.
‘He should know his place in the galaxy better,’ said Aradryan. ‘He may rule a world in the name of the human Emperor, but he is but a speck of grit – no, a tiniest fragment of a miniscule particle – in the grand design of the galaxy. Commander De’vaque should be taught that ultimately he is powerless and worthless, and that he should not underestimate us.’
Aradryan looked over his shoulder and saw that Maensith was smiling, her lips twisted in a cruel expression. It was not quite as intimidating as the half-insane grimaces of Khiadysis, but it was a reminder that Maensith had been brought up with a very different view of the universe.
‘You have something in mind, my dear?’ asked the ship’s captain.
In reply, Aradryan returned his attention to the console and activated one of the laser cannon batteries. He locked on the targeting network to the signature of the departing shuttle.
‘De’vaque would have hunted us down like wild animals,’ said Aradryan, remembering the look on the Imperial commander’s face as he had watched Aradryan cut down his chief steward. He had wanted to control the pirates, at one and the same time desiring their loyalty yet thinking of them as expendable tools. Aradryan’s finger hovered over the firing gem as he looked again at his captain.’ He knew that we were of no more use to him and would have thrown us to his allies in order to benefit himself. Such treachery should not go unrewarded.’
