Path of the Dark Eldar

by Andy Chambers

He used his tell-tale to burn his kill mark on the twitching corpse. He couldn’t take the time to drag it somewhere where it was more likely to be found, he’d just have to rely on someone reporting it for the finder’s bounty. The idea of collecting payment was already fuzzy and half-forgotten in his mind anyway, he’d got what he wanted when he made the kill. This job for the haemonculus though, if he could find the courier first, promised almost unbelievable riches. He wondered whether he should take the ‘important package’ and deliver it himself or see if he could sell it to someone else.

  Find the courier first, Kharbyr decided, then worry about the package once he’s dead. He licked his lips with anticipation.

  A sleek grav craft was waiting outside Bellathonis’s tower to sweep him skywards to Malixian’s eyrie. The pierced sphere atop its impossibly tall silver spike was the centre of a veritable hive of activity. A small armada of aerial craft jockeyed for position among a halo of swooping hellions and wheeling scourges. It looked to Bellathonis like the whole kabal of the Ninth Raptrex was airborne.

  Bellathonis’s craft didn’t enter the eyrie itself, instead it angled higher still to slide in beside a large, sleek Raider craft presumably bearing the archon himself. Malixian’s war craft was slender and skeletal like the polished chromium bones of some aerial giant, and featured more open space than solid platform in its design. Malixian’s warriors ran along its palm-wide spars and curving blades to take their positions with startling agility.

  Bellathonis had long since evicted all traces of emotions akin to fear from his strictly ordered persona, but even so he felt an unpleasant instant of vertigo as he stepped across the kilometres-deep gulf between the two craft. The vessel he stepped from bobbed alarmingly as he pushed off from it, but Malixian’s Raider was as solid and immovable as a rock. Malixian himself was dangling precariously from the Raider’s spritsail as he hungrily drank in the sight of his assembled forces, and he was not alone. Bellathonis eyed the newcomer with professional discourtesy. Syiin’s round moon-face blinked back at him innocently, the crook-backed haemonculus seeming to be fully engaged in clutching at one of the Raider’s slender guard rails and not looking down.

  ‘Ah, Bellathonis, my master shaper! I’m so glad you could come!’ Malixian trilled happily, apparently forgetting that Bellathonis valued his life too much to ignore a summons from his archon. ‘You know of Syiin, Yllithian’s flesh carver? He came by to offer compliments on your fine work with the scourges so I thought he should come along too!’

  ‘My heartfelt gratitude for that kind indulgence, my archon,’ Bellathonis replied, somewhat pointedly looking at Syiin. ‘May I enquire as to the occasion?’

  ‘A hunt, my dear Bellathonis, a hunt!’ Malixian crowed. ‘After that business in the arena I picked up a job lot of Xelian’s slaves. It seems the pain lady has some rebuilding to do and had to liquidate some of her assets – or rather that’s what I’m about to do for her.’

  A maggot of concern wriggled to the surface of Bellathonis’s mind. Syiin’s presence was unwelcome but not unexpected. Yllithian’s chief haemonculus was inevitably going to start sniffing around at some point. His appearance just as Bellathonis was looking to take delivery of a reward from Yllithian was suspiciously timely, but what truly dropped the clawed fiend into the slave pit was Malixian’s sudden impulse to hold a hunt.

  Malixian liked to keep his winged pets well fed and exercised. On occasion a few score of slaves would be released into the Aviaries’ grounds and allowed to scatter. Some time later the cages would be opened to release their flocks of aerial terrors – skinwings, bloodtalons, Iridian pteraclaws, vespids, rare white ruhks, shaderavens, poisonous Ymgarl shrikes and many more. The Ninth Raptrex would ride aloft with their archon to enjoy the pain and terror of the dying slaves as the hunt proceeded. They would also deal with any of their prey that were impolite enough to hide too successfully or desperate enough to fight back.

  Anything on foot in the Aviaries during the hunt was fair game. If a warrior fell from their craft or a hellion became dismounted they became more prey alongside the hapless slaves. The barely restrained anarchy of Malixian’s legendary hunts brought great numbers of scourges and hellions into his kabal, the wild warriors finding a common kinship in their contempt for their earthbound kin. Ordinarily Bellathonis would have been delighted to see Malixian’s menagerie at play, but now Xagor’s innocuous-seeming mission was apt to meet its end at the razor-sharp talons of the mad archon’s pets when the wrack returned.

  ‘I am deeply honoured, Archon Malixian,’ said Bellathonis, while covering his dismay with a bow. ‘We are particularly fortunate to have one of my colleagues here to enjoy the festivities too.’

  ‘Hoo, it’s nothing, you’ll find it informative to see what you’ve been working on so diligently finally get into action. I’d been meaning to do something for a time, but Syiin’s arrival clinched it – it’s been too long since we shook out our wings and took to the skies!’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Your kind archon indulging us in this way, Bellathonis? simpered Syiin. ‘Lowly haemonculi like ourselves so seldom get a chance to know our place in the grand schemes of our betters. When such opportunities come along we really should seize on them so we can learn how to serve their best interests all the better. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Why yes, Syiin, keeping our place is ever at the forefront of our minds, is it not?’ Bellathonis replied tartly.

  Bellathonis had to admit his curiosity was genuinely piqued by the idea of a hunt despite his more pressing concerns. The fate of the earnest young Xagor was out of his hands anyway. He was effectively trapped on board Malixian’s hunting-chariot with Syiin and the archon for the duration of the hunt. Bellathonis consoled himself that if the jar survived and was delivered to him the loss of Xagor was regrettable but scarcely germane to the greater objective.

  The master haemonculus rejected the passing notion of letting Malixian in on the secret of Xagor’s mission. With Syiin present it was out of the question, and beside that the mad archon would be in no mood for objective discussions while his blood sang with the joy of the hunt. No, Xagor would have to take his chances and Bellathonis must be ready to pick up the pieces later – literally as well as figuratively – if matters were to go awry. Bellathonis silently blessed the streak of paranoia that had prompted him to seek help from his seldom-called allies.

  With an imperious gesture Malixian sent his Raider plummeting earthwards, apparently the signal for a mass descent as the air around them was filled with pinioned scourges, hellions, jetbikes, Raiders and Venoms as if they were in the midst of a glittering waterfall. They levelled off above the highest peaks of the cages and the kabal slowly dispersed over the area in some pre-arranged scheme. Below them Bellathonis could see streamers of winged shapes emerging from their places of confinement like traceries of windblown smoke. The flicker of rainbow scales among the closest marked them as Iridian pteraclaws but further away he could discern the slow-beating wings of white ruhk and whirring clouds of shaderavens.

  Malixian raised a long silver tube to his lips and blew through it to produce a low, shrilling whistle that carried through the armada and was taken up in many places. In response the deadly flocks descended into the canyons between the aviary cages to begin hunting for the slaves that were no doubt fleeing for their lives somewhere below.

  Malixian’s Raider flashed downwards in pursuit of some pteraclaws. Their frantically beating wings indicated they had spotted prey and they hissed at one another excitedly as they chased it down. Though the Raider could have easily overtaken the reptilian predators it hung back once they had caught up to them. Hellions dropped into place like outriders around their archon and a pack of jetbikes closed in to circle protectively high above their stern. As the Raider settled on its course Syiin just managed to nerve himself to creep, hand over hand, along the railing to come closer to Bellathonis.

  ‘Why
do they trouble to guard against attacks from above?’ Syiin hissed urgently as he gazed up the circling Reavers. ‘Surely we’re not also at risk from the archon’s marvellous pets?’

  ‘The Ninth Raptrex use their hunts not just for pleasure but to practise the arts of war,’ Bellathonis replied, relishing the opportunity to lecture the other haemonculus, ‘a noble tradition that dates back to the earliest days of our species. In the course of the hunt the kabal learns to choreograph the diverse elements of Raiders, Reavers, hellions and scourges in all three dimensions with all the natural fluidity that serves them so well on the battlefield. Hence the Reavers position themselves as if an enemy may come upon the archon unexpectedly because it is natural for them to do so even when no danger threatens.’

  He was distracted by the excited cry of Malixian. The pteraclaws were folding their wings and diving on their prey. The areas between the aviary cages were parklands of manicured lawns and decorative arbours. Three or four dark smudges on the ground were hurrying away from the winged doom descending upon them. They moved pitifully slowly in comparison to the pteraclaws, like insects trying to crawl away across a tabletop. The predators dived on them in packs, striking down first one slave and then another with their razor-edged claws. More of the pteraclaws dropped on the fallen figures, ripping and tearing at them hungrily.

  They were lower now and Bellathonis’s cat-like eyesight picked out one of the fleeing slaves quite distinctly. It turned and flung itself at one of the squabbling packs, swinging a crude weapon it had fashioned in a futile effort to save one of its fallen comrades. The pteraclaws flapped backwards with a burst of outraged hissing, the slave yelling wordlessly as it belaboured them with its club.

  A second later the brave but foolhardy slave was crushed beneath the plummeting delta shape of a white ruhk swooping on it from above. The ruhk was huge, fully three times the height of the mangled slave it was now pinning beneath one claw as it tore off its bloody limbs to feed. The pteraclaws continued hissing at the new arrival but stayed safely out of striking range while the white ruhk imperiously ignored them and continued consuming its freshly killed meal.

  The Raider coasted slowly above the noisily feasting creature. Malixian grinned back at Bellathonis and Syiin appreciatively.

  ‘My beautiful white ruhks always love to take down the ones that try to fight. I think they take any kind of challenge as something of a personal affront,’ Malixian chuckled.

  ‘Quite magnificent,’ muttered Syiin weakly. Bellathonis was pleased to note that Malixian’s aerial antics seemed to have a distinctly detrimental effect on Syiin’s physiology. His stretched, circular face looked distinctly green around the edges.

  ‘I was surprised to see one slave going back to try to save another like that, they must have been a bonded pair of some sort,’ Bellathonis remarked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Malixian said dismissively. ‘The first kills in every hunt are the stupid ones – ones that have no better plan than to try to run. The clever ones are in hiding right now and the true hunt will begin when we start flushing them out of their holes.’

  ‘Do any ever escape?’ Bellathonis’s question formed in his mind and popped out of his lips before he even considered the potential tantrum it might trigger in Malixian. He cursed himself inwardly for his distracted mind. Fortunately Malixian appeared to be in too good a mood to be upset by impertinent questions.

  ‘My Aviatrix swears up and down that none of them escape, but I’ve got my doubts about that. I mean, the shaderavens will leave nothing but a wet smear when they’ve finished feeding – how can we be sure that the slaves are all accounted for without bodies? Sieve through their droppings?’

  Malixian cackled appreciatively at the thought. It was quite within his power to order such a thing, but it simply hadn’t occurred to him before now. ‘No, I’m sure some of them do survive,’ he continued ‘but I say good luck to them if they can get out of the Aviaries alive under their own power. I don’t begrudge them thinking they have a chance, it makes them run all the harder before they get caught.’

  ‘Very true, noble archon!’ Syiin said. ‘Why, in my personal experience keeping a subject alive long enough to extract the maximum dark energy from them is impossible unless you somehow make them cling to a shred of hope – release, rescue, death, whatever it may be.’

  Bellathonis nodded politely at Syiin’s doggerel. It was true enough, without hope slaves plucked from realspace sickened and died far too quickly to be useful. He made a mental note to mention the phenomena to Yllithian, it would be an important factor for his schemes. Bellathonis was shocked out of his reverie at Malixian’s next words.

  ‘I have some news I’ve been meaning to share with you, Bellathonis, and you too, Syiin, since you’re here,’ Malixian said. ‘I’ve persuaded Archon Yllithian to plan a joint raid on a place held by our grass-chewing simpleton cousins, the Exodites.’

  ‘Indeed?’ was the best Bellathonis could manage by way of reply at first. He darted a glance at Syiin but his flat face was unreadable. Bellathonis’s mind raced wondering what kind of inducements and blandishments Yllithian had used to make Malixian think he was the one persuading Yllithian instead of vice-versa. Of course it was most likely that he’d simply played on Malixian’s most obvious weakness.

  ‘I imagine that there are some fantastic specimens to be found for your collection upon maiden worlds, my archon,’ Bellathonis said.

  ‘Just so! Did you know Exodites ride giant pterasaurs on some worlds? They make my white ruhks look like midgets. It’s a long time since I’ve seen that.’

  The smaller pteraclaws had finished their meal and now rose into the air with a thunderous whirl of iridescent wings. The white ruhk was left still feasting alone. As the Raider moved to follow the disappearing pteraclaw flock one of its escorting hellions caught sight of something on the ground. The lightly armoured warrior’s knees bent and then braced as he pitched his skyboard over into a vertical dive. As he dropped the hellion brought up his hellglaive and triggered the splinter pods on his skyboard, spraying a stream of near-invisible hyper-velocity splinters from its built-in weaponry.

  Below they saw a slave roll desperately out of the brush where it had been hiding to avoid the burst. It immediately broke into a run straight towards where the white ruhk was still perching on the remnants of its victim. As the slave no doubt intended the hellion was forced to shear off his attack for fear of hitting one of the archon’s prized specimens.

  As it ran forwards the slave levelled a lance of its own, some piece of piping or tree branch it had torn free, a pitifully tiny weapon to match against something as huge as a white ruhk. The tall, angular-looking creature twisted its head around to watch the little thing rushing towards it inscrutably. The three-metre-long bone-white beak of the ruhk suddenly clacked shut on the slave’s head and torso before it got into striking range with its puny spear.

  The creature lifted its helpless victim into the air with arms and legs kicking feebly before tipping its head back to swallow its catch whole. The white ruhk looked obscenely pleased with itself for getting second helpings without even having to move.

  ‘Hoo, that one’s going to be useless now – it’ll be moping around digesting for the rest of the hunt now it ate a whole one, the greedy monster!’ Malixian fretted. ‘Speaking of greedy monsters an interesting thought struck me when Yllithian said yes to the idea of a raid – no one normally wants to go after the annoying tree huggers because they’re so hard to pin down. No profit in it.’

  Bellathonis wrenched his attention away from his own feeding on the pain and suffering being inflicted by Malixian’s pets. The spear-wielding slave was still alive down there, being digested in the white ruhk’s gullet. Syiin wore a frightened look; Bellathonis strove to make sure his own face didn’t mirror it.

  ‘You suspect that Yllithian has ulterior motives for the raid, my archon?’ Bellathonis asked del
icately. He disliked the direction Malixian’s line of thinking was taking him.

  ‘You can’t normally interest a soul in the maiden worlds and now Yllithian’s keen to throw in with his own kabal and his friends too? Smells strange to me. He didn’t mention anything to either of you by any chance?’ Malixian’s voice was silky smooth and dangerous.

  Bellathonis suddenly felt very alone on the archon’s craft surrounded by Malixian’s warriors. He glanced at Syiin and found him looking panicked. Evidently this was no scheme of Syiin’s to win Malixian’s favour, he had just found himself suddenly caught in one of Malixian’s random bouts of paranoia. Bellathonis badly needed something to distract the mad archon with and something Yllithian had mentioned did come to mind, just a possibility but too perfect a foil to neglect.

  ‘It has come to my attention that there are rumours of a coming Dysjunction, my archon,’ Bellathonis offered. ‘Yllithian’s interest may be related to that.’ He glared at Syiin to prompt him into some sort of affirmation. The haemonculus’s moon-face lifted to look at him intently when he mentioned Dysjunction, like a sensor dish locking onto a signal.

  ‘My – ah – my archon is ever cautious in safeguarding his assets,’ Syiin eventually bleated.

  ‘Dysjunction, you say?’ Malixian echoed. Bellathonis felt as if the silent, immobile warriors on the archon’s craft were hanging on his every word.

  ‘I’d not thought to raise the matter with you before as there are little more than rumours at present, although I’m seeking to have them confirmed,’ Bellathonis lied glibly.

  ‘Hoo, a Dysjunction could have serious consequences here in the Aviaries, Bellathonis, very serious consequences.’ Malixian gazed sadly out over the artificial mountain range of cages as if already seeing them broken and tumbled into ruins.

  Bellathonis desperately wanted to take this chance to reveal that his faithful wrack, Xagor, could soon be returning with definitive news. A deep well of suspicion and paranoia stopped him. If Xagor were to arrive after Bellathonis had made such a revelation Malixian would want to meet with him and question him, and the jar would be mentioned. Malixian would want to know what was in it and then he might find out who it came from. Perhaps that was precisely what Syiin had come to find out, some clue as to the private plans of his own archon.