She had no legs. These were lost to a Blood Angel chainblade as one of the Imperium’s heroes had sought to exterminate his way through the heretic crew of the Covenant. His grinding blade had claimed the lives of many before he was finally slain by Astartes from one of the Covenant’s claws.
Her father cradled what remained of her, and cried out his sorrow.
The witnesses began to whisper, speaking in quiet tones of curses, of omens, of the blackest portents. On the girl’s chest, a Legion medallion glinted in the dim light.
Her father held what remained of the ten-year-old girl, and yelled at the walls of the silent ship all around.
“This vessel is cursed! It is damned! She has been taken from us!”
More humans gathered in the darkness, their eyes wide and wet with tears, each of them sharing the same thoughts and fears as the mourning father.
Taisha was not at peace, despite the harmony of the garden.
Beneath a dome that revealed the glory of the silent void, beneath the twinkling light of a million distant suns, Taisha came to the garden in search of answers. Her bare feet whispered over the cool soil, the grass soft on her toes. A robe of shimmering jade silk clung to her lithe figure, hanging off one shoulder to leave it bare. Hair the deep red of human blood, long enough to reach the small of her back, was tied up in a sharp topknot.
Her slanted eyes regarded a figure kneeling upon the grass. His own robes were the black of the unending space between the worlds. He spoke without looking up at her.
“Greetings, daughter of Khaine and Morai-Heg.”
Taisha inclined her head to the appropriate angle, politely acknowledging his superior rank and the honour he did her by speaking first. She did not kneel beside him. Such would be a breach of decorum. Instead she stayed several metres away, her fingers lightly stroking the wraithbone sword hilt at her waist. The curved blade’s tip almost reached the ground, such was its length. The belt it hung from was all that kept her green robe closed.
“Greetings, noble farseer. Are you well?”
“I am well,” he said, still not looking up.
“Have I disturbed your meditations?”
“No, Taisha.” The kneeling male regarded the ground before him, where a spread of coin-sized rune stones lay among the dewy blades of grass. “You have come for answers, yes?”
“I have, noble farseer.” She was not surprised he knew of her unease, or that she would be coming to him. “My slumber is troubled.”
“You are not alone, Taisha.”
“So I have heard, noble Farseer. Several of my sisters are likewise uneasy in their hours of rest.”
“Oh, but the turmoil reaches so much further.” Now he looked up at her, his ice-blue eyes like frozen crystals. “War threatens the craftworld once more. A war that will see you shedding the blood of the mon-keigh, daughter of the Fate goddess.”
“We are Ulthwe.” She inclined her head again in respect. “We know little else but war. But who comes, noble farseer? Which of the mon-keigh?”
The farseer scooped his runes from the grass of the garden, feeling them hot and portentous in his palm.
“The Hunter of Souls, Taisha. The one who will cross blades with the Void Stalker.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Aaron Dembski-Bowden is a British author with his beginnings in the videogame and RPG industries. He was the Senior Writer on the million-selling MMO Age of Conan: Hyborian Adventures. He’s been a deeply entrenched fan of Warhammer 40,000 ever since he first ruined his copy of Space Crusade by painting the models with all the skill expected of an overexcited nine-year-old.
He lives and works in Northern Ireland. His hobbies generally revolve around reading anything within reach, and helping people spell his surname. His first novel for the Black Library was Cadian Blood.
Scanning and basic
proofing by Red Dwarf,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.
[Night Lords 01] - Soul Hunter Page 34
