Path of the Dark Eldar

by Andy Chambers

  ‘Master?’ the wrack asked in confusion.

  ‘Nothing, wait there a moment,’ Syiin grunted and turned his attention back to the device, tapping one of his tools meditatively. Wherever Bellathonis might be right now he would soon need to be on hand to welcome Malixian back to the Aviaries. Syiin could send the jar there and be fairly certain it would cross paths with the target, but would the triggers prove reliable? Without another reading it was impossible to be sure, but the attempt had to be made now when Bellathonis resurfaced – any later might be too late.

  Syiin lifted the delicate egg-shaped mechanism carefully by its uppermost struts. He moved it slowly over the mouth of the jar before lowering it inside. The framework expanded with a soft pneumatic hiss as it touched the bottom of the jar so that the device was snugly cradled within. He stoppered the jar, binding the lid in place with hide thongs. Finally he released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

  ‘Take six of your brethren and ensure this jar is delivered to the Aviaries of Malixian the Mad, intact and unopened, for the immediate attention of the master haemonculus Bellathonis,’ Syiin said crisply.

  The wrack gingerly lifted the jar with both hands. He was ignorant of the exact contents but he was fearful after seeing the care his master took with it. He started to leave the low-domed workroom but Syiin’s voice stopped him.

  ‘Wait,’ the haemonculus said and stood from his bench, muttering. ‘This won’t do it, won’t do it at all,’ he said before raising his voice to the wrack. ‘Are you aware of the thirteen foundations of vengeance? Could you name each of them to me?’

  ‘Of course, master, though I’ve heard many more than thirteen maxims claimed as foundations.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but are you aware of the one pertaining to individual as opposed to collective effort?’

  The masked wrack appeared to ponder for a moment. ‘If you want something attending to satisfactorily you must attend to it yourself?’ came his eventual reply.

  ‘Just so,’ said Syiin. ‘And as such I’m coming with you.’

  Bellathonis had begun surreptitiously moving some of his most vital pieces of equipment out of the Aviaries several weeks prior to the raid on Lileathanir. Deliveries were quietly redirected and devices disassembled to be placed into ‘storage’, ostensibly to make room for examining one of the giant pterasaurs Malixian planned to bring back from the maiden world. The normally cramped confines of the tower occupied by Bellathonis and his wracks were beginning to feel distinctly roomy.

  Bellathonis had waited until Malixian and the bulk of the Ninth Raptrex were safely out of the way before moving the most sensitive items. His new torture-laboratories were buried within a honeycomb of hidden chambers and secret ways that touched on the White Flames’ territory in High Commorragh. The main area comprised a wide, high chamber with rows of cells along one dripping wall and a cracked floor. Very safe, very secure – if lacking a little of the ambience of the old tower.

  Bellathonis stood in the echoing space directing his wracks as they wheeled in examination tables and resurrection sarcophagi, lugged around jars filled with chemicals and less readily identifiable substances, connected cables to energy generators and strung lights. The master haemonculus ensured two sarcophagi were hoisted into place overlooking the examination table at the centre of the chamber. Archon Yllithian had indicated that Archon Kraillach would also need to be revivified when the Exodite catalyst was secured. This was in addition to resurrecting the mysterious and long-dead worthy that was the true subject of their bargain.

  At any rate Yllithian appeared to think it was a mystery and thus far Bellathonis had chosen not to disabuse him of that notion. The master haemonculus took personal charge of the installation of a very special experiment in one of the smaller cells. Here three nerve-meshed subjects were hung together from chains to form a triptych of pain. A waist-high plinth installed before them accepted a special case Bellathonis carried there personally. The haemonculus locked the cylindrical case into place before releasing catches along its sides. Inside was the head of Angevere, quite Bellathonis’s favourite experiment ever since he had procured it from Yllithian in exchange for his services.

  The triple voice sighed in unison as Bellathonis connected the subject’s speech centres to the crone to enable her to speak. Yllithian had told him that Angevere had spoken to him with her mind before he decapitated her. Bellathonis had little desire to have to speak to the creature mind-to-mind and so had devised this method to give her a voice. Pain receptors connected to the subjects also enabled the crone to be excruciated by proxy, a convenient arrangement that did not risk any lasting damage. All-in-all Bellathonis was extremely pleased with the experiment and considering its more general application.

  ‘There we are, Angevere,’ he fondly told the disembodied head, ‘your new home.’

  ‘It is no different from the last,’ the subject’s voices chorused petulantly. ‘Promises were made – restitution and release.’

  ‘All in good time, my dear lady, all in good time.’

  ‘Then what is it you wish of me? You only give me voice to torment me and question me, what is it you want this time?’

  Bellathonis twisted a dial on the plinth that elicited a shout of agony from the dangling triptych of pain-proxies. The sound rang loudly in the narrow cell before it was instantly cut off as he twisted the dial back again.

  ‘Firstly a little reminder to watch your manners, Angevere,’ Bellathonis murmured as he worked. ‘You are a guest and in no position to make demands of your host.’ He fussed over the neural connections for several more minutes, fastidiously adjusting them until he was entirely satisfied.

  ‘There. Now, tell me some more about this El’Uriaq character our mutual friend Yllithian is so keen to revivify.’

  ‘What is there to tell? He was a great lord, he opposed Vect. He was destroyed.’

  ‘Oh, you can do better than that,’ Bellathonis said, sending the slightest trickle of energy through the pain amplifier.

  ‘Sssaaahhhh! He was prince! A general! An intriguer! The pacts he made outlive him still, the oaths he took transcend life or death. Even now some in Commorragh still owe secret allegiance to the old emperor of Shaa-dom, and are bound to him forever by the most terrible vows!’

  ‘Interesting, it certainly provides insight as to why the tyrant was so keen to be rid of him. Secret allies count for nothing while you’re dead. Very well, then tell me more about this Dysjunction you claim to have predicted for Yllithian.’

  ‘Dysjunction lay along the path from El’Uriaq’s return, inescapable. When I beheld the sign of it I was suddenly afraid of the future the visionary sought. The visionary fears not to tear the universe asunder to make his ideal into a reality. I too would see Vect destroyed to avenge Shaa-dom but the price… the price…’

  A hesitant rap at the cell door brought a frown of annoyance to Bellathonis’s sharp features. He turned and plucked open the door to reveal one of his wrack servants almost literally crawling on his belly.

  ‘Forgive me, master!’ The wrack wrung his hands contritely. ‘But we have received word that the raiding force has returned. The Archon Yllithian has already disembarked and is on his way here!’

  ‘Coming here?’ Bellathonis said with some surprise. ‘That is… uncharacteristically direct for one usually so circumspect. Hmm.’

  He emerged from the cell and shut the door firmly behind him. Two possibilities suggested themselves to the master haemonculus. Either the mission had been a success and Yllithian was bringing the world-singer directly to him, or the plan had miscarried in some fashion and he wished to discuss alternatives.

  Neither possibility seemed to adequately explain Yllithian taking the risk and inconvenience of a personal visit. Time was short. Malixian would not be much slower than Yllithian in disembarking, although transporting his prizes to the Aviaries should d
elay him for a while. Bellathonis hoped that he could deal with Yllithian quickly enough to return to the Aviaries before Malixian thought to wonder where his pet haemonculus had disappeared to. On consideration Bellathonis decided that it would be best to treat Yllithian’s impending arrival as good news. He clapped his hands for attention, freezing the scurrying wracks in their tracks.

  ‘Places everyone, we must be completely ready to begin the procedure when the noble archon arrives!’

  The cavern-like chamber dissolved into a frenzy of activity.

  Once Asdrubael Vect had brought the great port-city of Commorragh to heel in his coup over the noble houses he turned his attention to conquering all the other sub-realms in the webway. Most fought and were crushed by the seemingly inexhaustible resources of the dark city. Some capitulated, thinking themselves able to buy their safety at the price of their freedom. Some realms were so wracked with their own internal dissension and disasters that they, at first, welcomed their invaders as saviours. Many sub-realms were found to be already dead, their inhabitants killed in the Fall or the privations that followed after it. Iron Thorn was one of the latter.

  It appeared that the inhabitants of what came to be called Iron Thorn had been few and found themselves completely trapped in their sub-realm by the cataclysmic damage inflicted on the labyrinth dimension during the Fall. Some emergency or critical shortage of resources had forced them to take desperate measures to ensure their survival. In the end, either by accident or design, they had introduced a form of aggressively replicating nano-machinery into the environment of their sub-realm.

  By the time the portals to Iron Thorn had been forced open by Vect’s forces no one could tell how long the tiny machines had been at work or what their original purpose had really been. It was only apparent that some weird strain of accelerated machine evolution had occurred over the centuries in Iron Thorn. The practical outcome was that the nano-machines had gradually converted almost everything in the sub-realm to a skeletal framework of pure iron. The original inhabitants of Iron Thorn had survived after a fashion, although the curious machine half-life they exhibited bore little resemblance to that of their previous forms.

  The tyrant’s warriors had ruthlessly hunted down the ferric abominations and exterminated them wherever they could be found, but the altered beings had steadfastly refused to remain dead. Eventually Vect had nominally incorporated the sub-realm into Commorragh simply to save face and sent his frustrated archons elsewhere to conquer more rewarding lands. Iron Thorn had become another of the many strange sub-realms of Commorragh that were generally shunned by the citizens of the eternal city. Expeditions that entered such places were normally well-armed and of short duration.

  Sindiel was horrified by the tale. ‘Aren’t we at risk, too?’ he asked.

  ‘Only if we remain here for a thousand years or so,’ laughed Aez’ashya. ‘This isn’t the glass plague we’re talking about.’

  ‘The glass what?’

  Sindiel was even more horrified by the tale of Jalaxlar the sculptor and his vitrifying helix.

  ‘Gates must exist connecting this sub-realm to Corespur,’ Xyriadh said. ‘For that matter, where’s the gate we arrived from? There’s nothing here.’

  Morr ignored her and addressed Xagor instead. The worldsinger looked fragile in the wrack’s arms. The ruddy light of Iron Thorn cast a pinkish pallor over her features and touched fire from the blonde hair that spilled over Xagor’s shoulder in a river of gold.

  ‘Is your prisoner intact, wrack?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Without consciousness, but most healthy.’

  ‘Why not waken her?’ Kharbyr said with a leer. ‘She should be enjoying the scenery with the rest of us.’

  ‘No, no. The master said to bring her to him unknowing of her fate,’ Xagor said emphatically. Kharbyr mouthed a silent ‘oh’ and said nothing more on the matter.

  ‘We will proceed to the gate,’ Morr rumbled, swinging his blade up onto his shoulder.

  ‘And which way would that be?’ Sindiel called to Morr’s retreating back as he tramped off into the red smog. The incubus did not respond and they hurried to catch up with him before he vanished from sight.

  Yllithian took more than an hour to reach Bellathonis’s hidden lab, having first to accept the plaudits of the common dross that flocked to Ashkeri Talon on hearing news of a returning raid. The word had spread with the wildfire speed of all gossip. There were cheering crowds of wretched, toothless slaves completely covering the docking talon before Yllithian’s vessel even lowered its boarding ramps.

  Standing proud and haughty at the prow of his personal barque Yllithian drifted slowly over the teeming masses. Inner turmoil clawed at him with the desire to depart directly but it was equally important for his face to be seen and for his personal legend to be enhanced just a little more. There goes the archon of the White Flames, they would say, see how powerful he’s become.

  Some of the wretches had seized several of their number and hung them up by the wrists to impress the archons with their fervour. As Yllithian passed metal-bladed whips were being used on them, beginning at the shins and working their way upwards. The surging crowd revelled in the crude display of pain and cruelty, shouting curses at the victims and laughing at their agonised screams. Blood and viscera flew, splattering from the barque’s protective shields like rain.

  It was a gratifying diversion certainly, but of little direct benefit to his current machinations. After a cursory parade, Yllithian’s barque swept away towards his palace in the spires of High Commorragh at its highest speed.

  He came to Bellathonis’s new laboratory by hidden ways from the White Flames’ palace, negotiating the labyrinth alone as he would trust none of his own retinue with the secret. The laboratory chamber was much changed from his last visitation. Harsh lights had been strung from the walls that seemed to emphasise rather than relieve the gloom. Two crystal-fronted sarcophagi dangled from the unseen ceiling by chains. The equipment and stores piled along the walls had a sinister aspect to them, some gleam of sharp edges and oiled metal that spoke of cutting and crushing. A table had been placed in the exact centre of the chamber, scrubbed and horrid in its clinical simplicity.

  Bellathonis was waiting for him, the haemonculus’s wrack servants lined up behind him like a class of nervous schoolchildren. He took one look at Yllithian and then dismissed the wracks so that they could continue their work. It was self-evident that the worldsinger was not present and the mission had been a failure. The master haemonculus bowed deeply.

  ‘Archon Yllithian, I am honoured that you grace us with your presence. My apologies that we are not fully prepared to receive the catalyst at this time.’

  Yllithian accepted the proffered bait graciously. ‘Fear not, Bellathonis, I am not fully prepared to supply it at this time,’ he said.

  Bellathonis’s brows rose marginally at the news. ‘Oh? How regrettable. I presume that the mission was unsuccessful?’

  ‘That is… undetermined as yet,’ Yllithian glanced around at the masked wracks now hard at work. ‘I would speak to you of this matter privately. Not to impugn the trustworthiness of your minions, but I trust no one.’

  ‘Of course, my archon, very wise.’ Bellathonis clapped his hands and the wracks fled from the chamber at once. Yllithian waited until they were alone before he spoke again.

  ‘Something unusual certainly occurred on Lileathanir, it’s my belief that the World Shrine was breached by my agents.’ He went on to tell Bellathonis briefly about the raid and its outcome. The haemonculus stroked his long chin and nodded in sympathy.

  ‘Very disappointing. No agents and no worldsinger either. I see your dilemma but I confess myself at a loss as to how I can assist you in resolving it.’

  ‘I do not require your assistance, Bellathonis, I require access to Angevere. Don’t insult my intelligence by denying that you’ve perfected a way o
f interrogating her by now.’

  Bellathonis made the briefest of internal calculations before replying. It would be unwise to let Yllithian know how much of his plan had already been revealed by Angevere. ‘Of course, my archon, it was an intriguing diversion. I have had little opportunity to exercise the array but it is fully functional. If you would be so kind as to step this way…’

  The crone and her three pain-proxies were unchanged from when Bellathonis had left them earlier. Yllithian took in the arrangement with a single glance as he stepped into the cell with the haemonculus.

  ‘I’m afraid I still fail to understand,’ said Bellathonis. ‘A warp-dabbler casts runes or cards or bones to tell the future. This one has no hands.’

  ‘I’m surprised at you, Bellathonis,’ Yllithian admonished. ‘Had you pursued your arcane studies sufficiently you would know those are only safeguards – psychic fuses, if you will. Angevere can peep beyond the veil all on her own with sufficient inducement.’

  Bellathonis smiled grimly. ‘Ordinarily the existence of safeguards implies an increased risk is incurred by their absence.’

  ‘A risk I’m prepared to take under the circumstances. I need to know what happened, whether any of the agents survived and, if so, where they are now. If you can offer me an alternate method of securing that information I’m quite prepared to consider it.’

  Bellathonis remained silent. Like all Commorrites he had a deep repugnance spiced with a mixture of terrible fascination and atavistic fear when it came to the warp-touched. All eldar possessed an intuitive psychic ability; it built their first golden empire and almost destroyed them by creating She Who Thirsts. Most in Commorragh used drugs and intensive training to seal off the dangerous psychic conduits in their minds. Some broke Vect’s laws by embracing their gifts and flirting with them briefly – typically to the great woe of anyone in the vicinity – before being consumed by She Who Thirsts, if Vect’s castigators didn’t find them first. Only a bare few survived long enough to gain any true insight. Yllithian chose to interpret Bellathonis’s silence as acquiescence.