Kassais watched in fascination as one of the glimmers sailed serenely to him. He could sense a thread of Isha’s presence even as it approached and he held out his hand palm upwards to allow the flake to settle in it. It vanished in a tiny flash and a smooth, blue gem was left in his hand. The stone was warm to the touch and felt in some way alive. The sense of connection with the goddess intensified as he held it. With a flash of insight Kassais knew that when he held this stone, something he knew must be one of the fabled Tears of Isha – she could converse with him!
More importantly he could now converse with Isha. Kassais immediately continued to recount his story and was conscious that the other eldar in the hall were attuned to it too through their own spirit stones. It was as if he stood on a vast stage with only shadows beyond the brightness of the lights of Isha’s gaze, the spirit stone as warm as flesh in his hand. Quiet murmurs and susurrations implied an unseen audience just out of view but Kassais cared nothing at all for them and plunged on with his tale as if he had never been interrupted.
‘We ran them to ground, my divine goddess! The sow’s crew soon fled squeaking through their metal mazes and we hunted them down like vermin. Most of them I kept alive – for later of course – and when I found what they carried in their holds I had questions for them too. Their cargo bays were fairly groaning with the weight of plunder: precious metals and rare woods, polished stones from a thousand different worlds, a million pigments and dyes, the brightest feathers, scales and shells from across the void. It was a barbaric treasure trove, certainly, but made up of such objects that sufficiently trained artisans and craftsmen can put to great use.
‘So we questioned the crew and under my tender ministrations they told me everything that I wanted to know. They gave me their secret destination for these goods, and told me of the curious inhabitants of the place. In that moment I knew that I must go there, that all through my long life this particular adventure had been waiting for me. The only difficulty was the extreme length of the voyage, for we were provisioned only for a brief sojourn and not an odyssey – though that was easily remedied by consuming Dhorun and his crew before proceeding–’
Kassais became aware that the war-god was sweeping past above him with increased frequency. The fury of Khaine’s gaze was almost palpable, as was the delectable sense of indulging in a forbidden act by continuing to commune with Isha. He spoke on, more urgently now as he had an ominous feeling that circumstances were about to change for the worse.
‘So I set the prow of my ship into the void and we trekked to this hidden worldlet of the slaves. What I found exceeded my wildest dreams… It was an entire realm of devoted craftsmen who spent all their days and nights crafting icons of their dead God-Emperor. Their homes were crusted with dour representations of their carrion lord. Their walls were carved with pious proclamations in their deity’s name while honorific statuettes and commemorative triptychs stood in every corner. There were warehouses filled with hand written tracts detailing His comings and goings with interminable detail. It was one of those rare jewels of a slave enclave where blind faith in a higher power is poised ready to be shattered overnight. After dispensing some lessons in who was now in control I told these industrious little slaves that they could live to continue their life’s work only if they obeyed my will.’
Kassais could see the artisans in his mind’s eye as he communed with Isha through the spirit stone. Row upon row of dirty, ugly, tearful faces looking up from where they kneeled in the dust of a distant world. They hadn’t believed him, of course, but they had thought that they could perhaps save their families if they complied. He smiled at the memory and then felt a pulse of urgency from the stone he held in his hand that prompted him to continue.
‘So I set them to work re-sculpting every dour face and maudlin icon on that world into something more pleasing. I drove them relentlessly as time was short before we must away and return to Commorragh. Because of this many of the slaves did not survive their labours, which is a shame because they excelled themselves. They began by re-carving the glowering visage of their God-Emperor into a rendition of my own handsome physiognomy wherever it occurred. Then the workers swarmed across every inscribed lamp stand and devotional wall, every prayer-banner and sheaf of vellum blotting and rewriting, obfuscating the truth and promoting the most outrageous lies.’
Kassais was laughing by now. Tears of mirth rolled down his cheeks as he recalled the anguish he had caused the slaves. They were such simple, primitive creatures and had given themselves over entirely to devotion to their dead god. Demonstrating to them that the application of pain and fear could so thoroughly overrule their higher selves had been one of the most pure and fulfilling acts of Kassais’s long, cruel life. He wiped his eyes and tried to control himself to finish with the sting in the tail.
‘At the end of it all I made a final judgement before I flew away. I actually kept my word and let them live on in their misery. I took a hand and an eye from each survivor so that they would always remember my brief period of rule and not hurry too quickly to restart their icon-carving. I told them that I would return in a year and a day to punish anyone that transgressed my laws. I’ve returned twice since.’
Just as Kassais completed his tale the spirit stone in his hand pulsed red-hot. He cursed in confusion and dropped it. There were shrieks all around him as other guests echoed his gesture. For Kassais all sense of being in Vyle’s hall in the Sable Marches had vanished. He drifted in something akin to a waking dream where there were gods above him, distant and yet so close that he could see their actions. All that he knew was that his connection to Isha had been cut off as if with a red-hot knife. He looked up uncomprehendingly and saw the armoured figure of Khaine dragging Isha and Kurnous before Asuryan for judgement.
Motley was invisible behind him as he whispered in Kassais’s ear. ‘See? Khaine has caught Isha breaking the rules by listening to the mortals and he’s demanding that Asuryan dispense punishment. Sadly the Phoenix King has no stomach for such savagery and elects to place Kurnous and Isha into Khaine’s custody instead. The war-god decides that this means he may do as he wishes, so he imprisons the pair and tortures them grievously.’
Hideous, heart-wrenching cries split the heavens. The complex interweaving skeins of the gods’ passage now included fire and blood in plenty as Kurnous and Isha suffered in Khaine’s orbit. Kassais stumbled forwards a few paces without thinking, shouting his outrage at the distant, unhearing figures. He was aware of pandemonium around him as others joined in with his cries. He became aware, too, of those around him who remained silent in apparent support of the war-god’s actions and a spark of hatred for them sprang into being in his heart.
‘Calm yourself, my lord!’ Motley hissed. ‘All is not lost, many of the other gods feel as you do! The smith, Vaul, by all accounts is a friend to Kurnous and Isha and wants their suffering to end. He is bold enough to confront Khaine and make any agreement. The war-god demands a hundred of Vaul’s fabulous blades delivered within the year to secure the couple’s release! What choice does Vaul have? Perhaps he feels guilt over his part in making the spirit stones. The task is nigh-impossible, but he accepts it!’
The performance of the dancers switched to focus around Vaul at his labours as he worked feverishly to complete the hundred blades Khaine had demanded. Tears streamed down Kassais’s cheeks again as he urged the smith-god onwards with his monumental task. At times the other gods secretly interceded to help or hinder with materials or advice: Morai-Heg, Hoec, laughing Cegorach, even Lileath. The Harlequins darted and weaved about the labouring god and his pile of finished swords grew higher until, with the slow inevitability of death, the time approached when Khaine would demand his payment.
Kassais felt a cold hand close around his heart. He knew that the smith-god had failed in his task. Ninety-nine swords lay complete, but the last sword was unfinished! Kassais looked around for Motley, expecting some explana
tion of this dreadful happenstance. He saw only Vyle sitting on his clawed throne looking suspiciously pleased by the outcome. Vyle’s hawk-like features radiated smug approval of the war-god imprisoning Isha and continuing to torment her. The spark of hate in Kassais flared up into a slow-burning flame as he looked grimly upwards to see the outcome of the meeting of Khaine and Vaul.
Kassais barked with laughter as, with the war-god virtually at his door, Vaul hid the unfinished blade among the rest. Swaggering and victorious Khaine took possession of the hundred swords without examining them in detail. The war-god freed Kurnous and Isha immediately and the pair soared away from him so swiftly they seemed to temporarily vanish from view. Vaul, too, withdrew and the chorus of Harlequins now moved around Khaine as their lynchpin as the war-god began to test the swords.
Khaine whirled the blades around his body with fantastic skill, hurling them into the air and catching them before sending them spinning outwards to orbit, point first, around his floating figure. Soon a halo of spinning swords had formed about him, a hedge of steel that Khaine added to with ever more death-defying feats of swordplay. Now a great wheel of moving blades spun with intricate precision around the war-god and he hefted the last of Vaul’s blades to test its worth…
The shattering roar of Khaine’s anger swept through the hall like a psychic shockwave. Kassais’s instincts were honed by a lifetime of bloodshed and murder in Commorragh. He knew what was coming next. His sword was in his hand and he yelled a rallying cry for his warriors as he lunged at Khaine’s minions. It was a fight to the finish between Khaine’s myrmidons and the supporters of the ill-starred lovers Kurnous and Isha. Hot blood jetted amid bestial roars as the eldar fell upon one another with murderous intent.
A burst of splinter rounds careened sparks off Kassais’s breastplate and he rushed to gut the shooter with a sweep of his blade. Another of Vyle’s guards came screaming at Kassais with his rifle’s combat blade held low for a disembowelling sweep. Kassais punched the point of his sword into the guard’s open mouth and ripped it upwards to split the screaming face in two. Shouts, pleas and the high-pitched, hysterical crackle of weapons fire came from all sides. Above the embattled hall Kassais could vaguely sense two titanic figures, Khaine and Vaul, struggling just like their followers beneath their feet. Khaine’s hands were red with blood, he had become Khaela Mensha Khaine – bloody handed Khaine – and now he had set upon the annihilation of the eldar race.
There were greater intricacies at work among the other gods but Kassais had scant time to grasp them as he led his handful of warriors against Vyle’s guards. The Shrike Lord was nowhere to be seen but his minions were boiling into the hall like a swarm of angry ants. Kassais came to a lightning decision – they were too few to prevail. In an instant he had turned his path and cut his way over to a side chamber with a stairway that appeared to lead beneath the hall. As the last of his warriors fought ferociously to prevent any pursuit Kassais darted down the stairs without a backward glance.
Chapter Nine
The Final Banquet
A reaction beyond expectations.+
We knew that Kassais was a creature of passion, we could imagine what beasts might be lurking in his breast.+
But still… not the one we seek.+
With only one left the mystery is solved, we have our bird.+
If the trail that led us here isn’t a false one. This could all be for nothing.+
I would hear his story anyway, for the nonce.+
I’ll grant a morbid fascination for that but cleaner to simply do away with him, surely?+
He won’t allow us to perform again. Not after this.+
He has no choice just as we have no choice, the path is set.+
The cycle must be completed, there’s no turning back now.+
‘That’s him all right,’ spat Vyle Menshas. ‘That’s the traitor.’
The guards had brought lights with them, but they seemed to only push the darkness back and not eradicate it in the troglodytic environs. The low, vaulted tunnel they had followed was pierced by so many archways it became little more than a row of pillars in some sections. The dust and cobwebs softening the hard edges of the worked stone gave mute testimony to how infrequently the Yegaras or their servants had traversed this part of the keep.
Before the Shrike Lord was a darker, vaguely circular area a few strides across that glistened in the wavering light. His nostrils could detect a strong coppery odour of fresh blood mixed with the dungheap stink of spilled viscera. In the middle of the area was an angular, black heap that constituted all that was left of the torn remnants of Kassais’s magnificent armour. Closer inspection revealed that it was still occupied by the torn remnants of Kassais himself, as denoted by a few cracked bones and shreds of flesh hanging from the cuirass, greaves and vambraces.
Vyle furrowed his brow and looked distractedly away through the arches as he gathered his thoughts. Nothing but a random collection of boxy, dust-covered shapes between him and yet another arch greeted his gaze. His guards were nervous, understandably so given the debacle of the previous night, and they kept glancing around as if they were on a raid into enemy territory. The Shrike Lord mused that while you could probably hide a whole army down here if you wanted to there was no indication that anyone other than Kassais had passed this way. Well that was not entirely true, Vyle corrected himself; Kassais and whatever had killed him.
Kassais had not been easy to kill, Vyle knew. Many had tried in the past and discovered the high price of failure as Kassais laughed off their killing blow and returned it with interest. From the very earliest days of his reaving, Kassais had been careful to cultivate close connections with the Prophets of Flesh, a Commorrite haemonculus cabal of consummate skill. With their help Kassais’s flesh had learned to re-knit itself and recover from all but the most grievous injuries, his bones had been laced with hardened metals and his vital organs rendered duplicate and, in some cases, triplicate. Vyle had never learned the price the Prophets had extracted from his cousin for their services but it had undoubtedly been impressively high.
None of that had saved him from whatever had stalked him down this tunnel last night.
The guards were becoming more nervous. One of them forgot himself so far that he had the temerity to speak.
‘What do you think killed him, my archon?’
Vyle looked at the fellow coldly for a few moments before the guard broke eye contact and lowered his head in shame. On a different day Vyle would have gutted the guard for his impudence and as a simple lesson for his minions not to ask stupid, unanswerable questions. Today he could not so indulge himself and that fanned his cold fury further. He calmed himself with a conscious effort. The question was a valid one, after all. The Shrike Lord stepped closer and looked again, the pool of coagulating blood sucking obscenely at his boot soles.
He decided that he was definitely meant to think that the cat-creature had done the deed – the reszix. The rents in the virtually unbreachable black metal of Kassais’s armour had the unmistakable look of claw marks. The cuirass was split open as if it had been crushed between mighty jaws and the tasty morsel inside it appeared to have been messily consumed, triplicate organs and all. Perhaps it was even true and the reszix had somehow been down here hunting him. It had been an unlucky chance encounter for Kassais if that were the case.
‘Clearly the reszix we hunted a few days past somehow got into the keep and lurked until it found him,’ Vyle pronounced confidently. ‘I’ve heard that once they have a blood-taste they are indefatigable in their pursuit of quarry.’
The guards looked unconvinced but Vyle didn’t care what they thought. It scarcely mattered what had killed Kassais – the important thing was that he was dead and Vyle’s opponents were leaderless.
None of Kassais’s warriors seemed to have escaped from the Emerald hall after their treacherous attack although there was still some con
fusion on that point. When Kassais had made his coup attempt, the Yegaras’ old servants had suffered an outbreak of divided loyalties. Some had joined Kassais, some had stuck with Vyle and some had tried their utmost to form their own faction opposed to both parties. During the confused melee some individuals had shifted their allegiances not once but several times.
Vyle was minded to impale every last one of the Yegaras’s former servants on the battlements and have done with it. Sadly Kassais’s warriors had proven to be exceptionally well-trained and exacted a considerable toll from Vyle’s own troops before they were wiped out. The casualties meant that he had barely enough to guard the walls. Holding the keep at all now rested on a knife’s edge.
The natives were massing in ever greater numbers outside as the hunger set in. They still had not dared to approach but they watched and waited, thousands of patient eyes glittering in the forest waiting for… what? Not Kassais’s treachery or they would have attacked last night. No, they waited for something that was yet to occur, something that Vyle was determined to forestall.
Vyle sneered and spurned the riven armour with his foot. ‘Bring this mess with you,’ he instructed. ‘We have our feast tonight and Kassais’s shade can sit in gloomy residence with us while we revel.’
‘Yes, my archon,’ the guards replied automatically.
‘Best break out your prettiest black garb,’ Vyle muttered derisively. ‘Tonight we feast in the Onyx wing.’
Chapter Ten
Penumbra
That evening, as the watery light of the Sable Marches faded away into dusk, Vyle took his place of honour at the banquet table in the Onyx wing. Unlike the other wings the Onyx wing didn’t seem to have a central hall, rather it comprised a series of larger and smaller chambers that interconnected via twisting corridors that had no trace of overarching logic in their layout. In lieu of a proper banqueting hall Vyle had appropriated the largest surviving chamber in the wing even though it had partially collapsed. Gaping rents in the outer wall showed glimpses of fast-darkening skies and a chill, knifing breeze blew in from outside. Vyle grimly reflected that the part-ruined, smoke-blackened place was well-fitted to his mood.
The Masque of Vyle Page 9
