‘That you think they might have survived shows more optimism than I gave you credit for,’ Fabius said. The vox frequency was striated with nonsense noise – childish singing and hurried monologues stripped from ancient aeldari sagas. The Harlequins were all about them, unseen and weaving fatal stories, and blocking any attempt they might make to escape in one piece. ‘Come – we must keep moving.’
The Emperor’s Children fell back through the dust-choked gallery, back towards the wide, scalloped stairwell that led to the docking tower where they’d made their entrance. They were accompanied in their flight by trilling songs, some mocking, others more in the nature of dirges. Any time they sought to make a stand, the Harlequins would harry them back into motion. The colourful xenos attacked from all directions before twisting away out of sight, like smoke caught by a high wind.
Worse, Fabius’ sensors had detected the low, distorted hum of grav-engines creeping through the still air of the craftworld. The Harlequins had brought more than acrobats and mimes to this celebration. ‘They are moving to cut us off from our escape route. Hurry!’ He began to jog, the servos of his battleplate whining in protest at the irregular strain. The Twins ranged ahead, followed by the remains of their pack. Savona and her warriors took up the rear, retreating more slowly as the old disciplines reasserted themselves.
‘Khaine comes, awash in madness, and Vaul, exhausted from his labours, must run-run-run, or be struck down,’ a Harlequin sang over the vox. ‘He cannot face Khaine, shrunken and brittle, he can only flee…’
‘Khaine…’ Khorag wheezed. ‘That’s the name of their murder-god, I think.’ The former Grave Warden lumbered in the rear, slowed down by his bulk. Paz’uz loped beside him, whining in agitation.
‘Ignore them,’ Fabius snapped. ‘Their words are just another trap. Do not listen to them, do not look at them unless it is to kill them.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Skalagrim said. He looked at Fabius. ‘They’re herding us. You know that, don’t you? Confining us to the battlefield of their choice.’
‘And what would you have us do?’ Fabius said.
‘We could make a stand…’
‘Where? Here? There? Pick a spot, Skalagrim. I guarantee that they’ll have thought of it first. No, our only hope is to escape.’ Fabius spotted an immense set of intricately carved doors – the portcullis that led to the entry hall. Beyond that was the docking tower, and dubious freedom.
‘No escape, no escape, not from fate,’ a voice crooned in his ear. ‘You have led us a merry dance, O king, but this chapter draws to a close.’ The words sent a thrill of unease through him. Even now, they did not seem intent on his death. That was what worried him the most about these encounters. Death held no fear for him, but they did not want to kill him – no, they wanted him in chains. But why? What purpose did they foresee for him? Whatever it was, he had no intention of giving in to it. Let them chase him from one end of the galaxy to the other if they would.
They retreated into the gallery and flung closed the great doors. Alien locking mechanisms shuddered into place, sealing the deceptively fragile-seeming bulkhead with a disgruntled hiss. It wouldn’t hold for long, if the Harlequins were determined to get in.
As if to vindicate this thought, the vast doors shuddered. Light flashed between the cracks, and his armour’s sensors registered a spike in temperature. The Harlequins would be through in a moment. Fabius cursed. ‘Fall back – all of you, fall back to the docking tower. Staggered ascent. Maysha, Mayshana – lead the way.’ He gestured to the curving, crystalline steps in the centre of the gallery, rising upwards like the coil of a spring.
‘Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,’ the unseen Harlequins sang over the vox. Fabius tried to ignore the gloating echo of those words. The Gland-hounds pelted past him, swiftly climbing the steps. Khorag and Skalagrim went next, followed by Arrian and Fabius.
As Fabius climbed the steps, the doors buckled inwards with a groan. Wraithbone burst and splintered. The Emperor’s Children not already following him up the steps laid down a heavy sweep of fire, driving back the colourful shapes that sought to enter. The Harlequins weren’t alone – eldar in orange-and-yellow armour accompanied them. The Sunblitz Brotherhood. Perhaps they had come to reclaim their lost associate. Perhaps they had simply come for revenge. He had no intention of waiting to find out which.
The renegade Space Marines fell back, following Savona’s shouted commands. The eldar were swift, faster even than an Adeptus Astartes. The only way to compensate in close quarters, to avoid being separated from your brothers, was a tight formation and alternating fields of fire. Luckily, the Emperor’s Children had made fighting eldar into an art.
Slowly, steadily, they retreated up the recursive stairwell. Shuriken fire tore at the structure, casting splinters of wraithbone across the armour of the renegades. Over it all, Fabius could hear that familiar, mocking laughter. He scanned the chamber, noting the lead elements of the Corsairs making for the landing leading to the steps. ‘Savona – destroy the lower section of the stairwell,’ he said.
‘Some of my warriors are still below,’ she said, glaring up at him. Fabius saw that she was correct. A small knot of Emperor’s Children still fought on the landing of the steps, unable to ascend for the weight of enemy fire.
‘Good, they will provide an excellent distraction. Arrian, Skalagrim – krak grenades.’ Fabius reached into his coat and plucked loose a curved canister grenade from his combat harness. He primed the detonator and sent it bouncing down the steps. Arrian and Skalagrim followed his example. The trio of grenades bounced past Savona and her remaining warriors as they hastily climbed higher, trying to get out of range of the ensuing blast.
The wraithbone structure shuddered as the krak grenades tore through it, shattering the frame. The lower section tore itself loose with a groan and toppled down with a deafening crash. Below, the trapped Emperor’s Children howled curses at this turn of events. Several even turned their weapons on their fellow Space Marines, firing wildly at them as they continued to ascend. But before too long, they were forced to turn their attentions back to the advancing eldar.
Unfortunately, the Harlequins were not so easily distracted. They sprang through the air as the echoes of the collapse faded, weightless and swift. The gaudily clad xenos scuttled up the sides of the curving stairwell like spiders, their shapes blurring and flickering.
‘Pluck them off,’ Fabius snarled. Savona and the others leaned over the edge of the stairwell, firing. Harlequins danced along the railing, tumbling ever upwards. The air filled with noise and colour as the xenos sprang from one side of the stairwell to the other.
Fabius swiped at one and the Harlequin flipped backwards, landing lightly, impossibly, atop Torment. The clown sprang away laughing as Fabius tried to shake it off. The others followed it, retreating as quickly as they had come. As if this were nothing more than a game. ‘They’re playing with us,’ Skalagrim growled, bracing his boot against the rail in order to pry his chainaxe loose. ‘Trying to tie us up here until the Corsairs get into position.’
‘Thank you for that succinct encapsulation of our situation.’ Fabius scanned the stretch of stairs above. Only a few metres to go before they reached the outer hatch of the docking tower’s connecting transit tube. He and the others moved swiftly, shadowed by the slim, darting shapes of the Harlequins. The clowns stayed at a safe distance, attacking the slowest of the group’s number, but only briefly.
When they at last reached the transit tube, they sealed the outer hatch behind them. The sound of racing feet and inhuman singing accompanied them as they hurried upwards, along the sloping passage towards the docking platform. The gunship they’d used to effect entry would be waiting there for them.
The docking platform shuddered as they entered, and Fabius could hear the thud of distant explosions. Something was going on, beyond the ambush. Had the eldar come in force, then?
If they were attacking the Vesalius as well…
The thought was interrupted by a sudden blow. He heard the Twins scrambling around, Maysha cursing, as he staggered forward. The other Gland-hounds reacted with similar hostility, swinging their weapons around to face his attacker. Fabius turned. ‘Hold!’ He pinned the Twins in place with his eyes. ‘Hold,’ he said again.
‘You left them to die,’ Savona snarled, stalking towards him. Fabius rubbed the back of his head. The chirurgeon clicked in agitation, analysing his vital readings. Were he further along in his decrepitude, such a blow might have done serious damage. But for the moment, he was made of sterner stuff. He waved Arrian back before the World Eater could launch himself at her. Bellephus, ever faithful, had his weapon pointed in the World Eater’s direction.
‘Yes. Call it restitution, for their earlier foolishness, if you like.’ Fabius could taste blood. His helmet feed still juddered from the force of her blow. ‘We shall discuss your own restitution, once we are safely aboard the Vesalius.’
‘And how are we going to get there?’ Skalagrim asked.
Annoyed by what he took to be the renegade’s attempt at humour, Fabius snapped, ‘What are you blathering about, fool?’
Skalagrim pointed. Fabius turned.
The assault lander that should have been waiting for them was gone.
Chapter six
Flavius Alkenex
Saqqara Ur-Damak Thresh, Diabolist of the Seventh Choir, stared at the thing called Key as it sat in quiet contemplation. Of what, he could not say. Nor did he wish to know. The eldar had assumed a cross-legged position, just after the attack had begun, and seemed unconcerned by anything going on around it.
On every viewscreen, the image was the same – orange, blade-shaped eldar fighter craft swarming about the Vesalius, like cull-wasps stinging a bovid. Every so often, the frigate shuddered as a fighter got past the defensive turrets. By themselves, they were little threat to the Vesalius, but the Word Bearer knew that this was nothing more than a distraction. He laughed hollowly. ‘A trap, of course.’
It had happened before. His enslaver was nothing if not single-minded, and that made him predictable in some ways, if not others. His obsessions had been diverted down crooked paths after that long-ago raid on Lugganath. Bile had been drawn deeper and deeper into the mysteries of eldar, seeking the answers he sought in the unnatural writings of the filthy xenos. ‘Was that their plan all along, I wonder?’ he mused, as alarm klaxons sounded, alerting the crew to another strafing run.
The eldar had surged out of a side corridor of the webway, like dead leaves blown through an open shaft. One moment, the webway had been empty. The next, it was full of death. And not just Corsairs – the ship’s sensors had isolated and identified strange, multicoloured craft, smaller and faster than the others. They spun about Vesalius with impossible grace, darting in and retreating, doing little damage but drawing fire from the startled gunnery crews.
‘One trap after the next. Cunning are the xenos, and they make all truths falsehoods.’ The words came naturally to his lips. The twenty-third canticle from the Codex Lorgarius – trust not the xenos, lest ye be mired in treachery. The attack was a feint. They were occupying the Vesalius, jamming its vox frequencies and keeping anyone aboard from sending aid to those aboard the craftworld. If he tried to launch gunships, the eldar would swarm through the open bays. ‘If we stay, I die. And if we leave, I die.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘A double-edged blade.’
Saqqara sank to one knee before the former Corsair and tipped up its chin with a finger. ‘Is that why they let him keep you, all these centuries? So that you would lead him here, into their trap?’ He smiled. ‘Do they think so far ahead, these creatures?’
The eldar played with prophecy the way a child might shape mud. They twisted certain futures all out of joint, and changed the course of time’s river. Full of arrogance, they invaded the playground of the gods for their own pathetic ends. Saqqara grinned into Key’s face. ‘If so, they will find him trickier prey than they might expect. I know from experience that he is no simpleton, whatever his other faults.’
Key’s false eyes twitched in their ravaged sockets. It reached up a pale hand and stroked Saqqara’s cheek. Slivers of wraithbone, protruding from its flesh-like thorns, sliced through his skin. He jerked back with a hiss, but did not strike the creature. ‘A wasted effort, whatever I might wish – you would not feel it, would you?’
Key said nothing. It merely stared at him, expression blank. Saqqara blinked and looked away. The creature was unnatural. An abomination, even among abominations. A thing that should not exist. More proof that Fabius Bile needed a guiding hand.
‘Enemy fighters breaking off,’ Wolver intoned. Saqqara started and rose to his feet. He turned towards the strategium overseer.
‘What?’
‘Enemy fighters–’
‘I heard you. Show me.’ The sensor feeds flickered, cycling from one node to the next. It was as Wolver had said. The eldar were breaking off, retreating. But why? Then, he caught sight of the bulky shape of a Stormbird assault lander, plunging down through the haze of battle. And then a second, a third, a dozen. Storm Eagle gunships accompanied the larger craft, duelling with any eldar vessel foolish enough to draw near. ‘Identify the newcomers – now!’
Information began its slow crawl across the displays as ident-signals were recognised and expanded. Saqqara grimaced. They all belonged to the Third Legion. Or did so now, at least. ‘But what are they doing here?’ he muttered. Once again, he tried to contact the others, but the vox frequency was still scrambled.
‘Third Legion transports Blood of Terra and Firehawk requesting docking permission,’ Wolver intoned.
‘They move quickly,’ Saqqara grunted. He paused, considering. Unlike the eldar, the Emperor’s Children had likely come through the same gate that the Vesalius had traversed. While the Stormbirds were long-range craft, the supporting gunships were anything but. That implied the presence of larger craft in close proximity.
‘Third Legion transports Ollakius and Yammering Tongue requesting docking permission.’ Wolver’s monotone crackled with something that might have been displeasure. ‘Third Legion transports Fulgrim’s Whisper and Eidolon’s Folly requesting–’
‘Yes, yes,’ Saqqara growled. ‘Less a timely intervention than a boarding action, it seems. Contact Merix. I want the Twelfth Millennial ready to meet our saviours in the docking bays. And find some way of breaking through that jamming signal. The Clonelord might wish to know that his former brothers have come calling…’
Fabius stared at the empty space where the assault lander had been. Scorch marks scarred the open docking platform, and the wraithbone looked as if it had been chewed by high-velocity weapons fire. The bodies of the two Gland-hounds he’d left to guard the vessel lay scattered like crimson spillage across the platform, their augmented forms torn apart by the same weapons that had wounded the wraithbone walls and deck.
He stalked towards the open bulkhead, his armour’s augurs pinpointing and analysing the angle and depth of the holes marking the wraithbone. Arrian and the others spread out, several of the Emperor’s Children moving to force the inner bulkhead closed. ‘Where’s the blasted lander?’ Skalagrim said.
‘It’s been destroyed,’ Fabius said flatly. He suspected that was what Saqqara had been trying to tell him earlier. This trap had been well and truly sprung. But this did not feel like a Harlequin ploy. The ambush, yes – but this? He stepped to the edge of the outer bulkhead, the astral winds whipping at his coat. He could see the expanse of the craftworld stretching out around and below him. Rising from among the broken spars and shattered domes were thin plumes of smoke. One of them undoubtedly marked the remains of the assault lander.
The vox was still jammed, emitting only a faint murmur as of many voices, speaking all at once. But the heights above were full of sound and fury. Disp
arate craft – not all of them eldar – duelled across the crooked horizons of the craftworld, raining fire down on the dead world. Spars of the webway splintered as they were caught in the crossfire, and fell like pale comets. The craftworld shuddered as these missiles struck home, eradicating domes and structures that had remained sacrosanct for untold centuries.
‘Those are Third Legion gunships up there,’ Savona said from nearby. ‘But I don’t recognise them. Are they ours?’ She crouched at the edge of the berth, staring upwards.
‘I think not,’ Fabius said. They’d missed something, preoccupied as they were by the Harlequins. ‘This section of the webway is more crowded than I’d hoped.’
He could see the vast bulk of the Vesalius holding position nearby, its defensive turrets casting thunder and lightning at the swarm of comparatively minuscule xenos vessels that afflicted it. The eldar had come prepared for war. He smiled bitterly, wondering whether he ought to be flattered by such attentions.
Something screeched and flung itself at him through the empty air. It was a snarling ball of wings, jaws and malice, reeking of the empyrean. He drove Torment forward like a spear, punching through one of several champing mouths. Broken fangs spattered his arm as he whipped the stunned creature around and slammed it against the side of the berth, pulping it into a harmless mass. He freed Torment from its writhing shape and kicked it off the platform. ‘Damnation,’ he muttered.
It seemed that the conflict had drawn the attentions of the Neverborn. Daemons raced through the savaged air, corkscrewing towards unlucky vessels. An eldar fighter bucked like a wounded animal as daemons tore at its fuselage and canopy, trying to get at the pilots within. It slammed into a nearby docking tower. The flare of destruction drove Fabius and Savona back from the opening. He cursed and turned back to the others. ‘We will not be able to hold this position for long. If the eldar don’t overwhelm us, the daemons will.’
Fabius Bile: Clonelord Page 9
