Asurmen: Hand of Asuryan

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘Dark ones?’ Illiathin laughed at such grandiosity. ‘Pleasure-seekers, a few that tread the line a little too often, but dark ones? This is not the War in Heaven, Tethesis. Who appointed you the True Guardians? Whose law do you uphold? You are nothing more than just another group of thugs trying to intimidate and bully your values into everyone else.’

  ‘I will not force you to leave, though I could,’ said Tethesis. ‘This is my home too, and I will not let it slide into anarchy and self-serving hedonism. Will you join us, brother? Will you fight to protect what remains of our society?’

  ‘I will not,’ said Illiathin. ‘If you had any sense you would leave these fools to their rumour-mongering and hate-games. You do not have to seek out others to belong, brother. Forget this self-important quest and come to live with me. I know that we have shared harsh words in the past, but I regret them and would make amends. Live with me and we will be a family again.’

  ‘There are still a few more vessels to leave,’ was Tethesis’s reply. ‘You should be on one of them before the end begins.’

  ‘Just take me home,’ said Illiathin. ‘I ask again as I asked before, just leave me alone.’

  13

  The column of eldar war machines snaked along the river, anti-grav engines rippling the water as they skimmed silently through the forest. A squadron of Shining Spears Aspect Warriors ranged ahead on their jetbikes while the bulk of the expedition was made up of Wave Serpents and Falcon grav-tanks, supported by a squadron of more jetbike riders and heavy-weapon armed Vypers.

  Bringing up the rear, Nymuyrisan and Jarithuran waded their wraithknight downstream, their starcannons at the ready should a foe appear on either bank. It was not an ideal situation for the tall walker, but Hylandris had insisted that Nymuyrisan accompany the task force, claiming that it would not be enough simply to breach the Chaos lines and seize the webway gate, the portal had to be held long enough for the eldar to escape from both the City of Spires and the Patient Lightning. Grav-tanks were superb on assault, but they needed to use speed and manoeuvring to fight at their best – traits hampered by the need to defend a static position.

  Nymuyrisan could understand the farseer’s concerns, but he could not shake the misgivings that emanated from Jarithuran’s spirit. His twin had always been the more cautious of the two, and flooded the wraithknight with an aura of reluctance.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ Nymuyrisan told his brother as they strode around another loop in the broad river. ‘Would you rather we stayed in Niessis getting shelled?’

  An image flashed through Nymuyrisan’s thoughts: the forest around the battleship ablaze with war.

  ‘The Patient Lightning is the least of our worries at the moment, you know that. Once Hylandris has secured the Ankathalamon the webway is our most secure route off the planet. We have to hold the City of Spires and we have to retake the portal. There is no point defending a crashed ship that has no pilots.’

  Sorrow permeated the wraithknight, accompanied by a scene of mourners clad in white hooded robes parading through the Resting Grounds of Anuiven.

  ‘That’s unfair. Hylandris offered us all a choice, and he spoke plainly of the risks. Tynarin chose to come on this expedition as much as we did. Or have you forgotten that we volunteered for this duty?’

  Regret and the mental equivalent of a sigh.

  ‘We took the decision together. Just as we did everything else. Every path together, until the end.’

  A memory rose up from Jarithuran, one that Nymuyrisan knew well. He saw his brother, clad in the purple-and-black armour of an Anuiveneth Guardian, manning a distort cannon alongside Nymuyrisan. Mortar shells from the human trenches rained down around them, their blasts getting closer as spotters zeroed in on the battery of support weapons defending the flank of the advancing eldar. Jarithuran was urging his brother to move, but Nymuyrisan would not heed him, his focus on an armoured transport that had just broken from the humans’ lines.

  ‘You swore forgiveness, but still you bring up that moment whenever I do something you don’t like,’ snapped the wraithknight pilot. ‘I’ve given up the rest of my life to be with you, sacrificed an existence outside of this walking wraithbone tomb to assuage my grief, and you still think I need reminding of what happened?’

  His protest was ignored and the scene continued to unfold as it had done countless times before. A mortar bomb landed in front of the d-cannon, showering Nymuyrisan with mud and flame, throwing him to the dirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the distort cannon platform tilting over, its anti-grav engine whining to keep it level. The weapon fell across Jarithuran, pinning his legs. His dismay did not last long as a second bomb detonated, making a ruin of both the d-cannon and Nymuyrisan’s twin.

  ‘Do you think I would not change the past if I had the means? Why do you torment me when we have far more pressing matters to keep in mind?’

  The view switched, so that Nymuyrisan saw through his brother’s eyes, that last moment before death engulfed him. He was shocked to feel relief, a gladness that it was him and not his twin that was dying.

  The shock was so profound that Nymuyrisan almost fainted. The wraithknight stumbled, falling to one knee in the water. Cocooned within the crystal circuitry at the heart of the giant machine, Nymuyrisan regained his composure while Jarithuran stood them up.

  ‘You’ve never shown me that before, why now?’

  The image froze in Jarithuran’s thoughts, a plateau of fire and whirling shrapnel, Nymuyrisan clambering to his hands and knees, a hand outstretched to his beleaguered twin. It was heart-wrenching to relive that moment yet again.

  Finally Nymuyrisan understood his brother’s meaning.

  ‘You are afraid that I am going to die? Have no regard on that account – why else do you think I joined you in this artificial body? Of course I am going to die, in battle, in bloody fashion. We should have fallen together, both consumed by the hunger of war, but we did not. Do not think I have a life to give without you, it is merely an extension of empty existence.’

  A communication from Lathiedes, the Exarch of the Shining Spears, intruded upon their exchange.

  ‘As we feared, the enemy have the portal, held in strength. We approach, draw out their counter-attack, and then strike. Follow us, be ready with your weapons, and stay strong.’

  The grav-tanks accelerated away from the wraithknight, water pluming as grav-engines whined to full power. There was a moment of unconscious agreement between Jarithuran and his living twin. The dead pilot pushed the wraithknight towards the left bank of the river. As they forged onto dry land, water streamed from the elegant limbs of their war machine.

  The snap and thunder of battle erupted in the distance. Nymuyrisan felt his brother’s reluctance and pushed it away with a flood of impatience.

  ‘Run, now!’

  The wraithknight broke into a sprint, feet churning up the soft earth of the riverbank, branches that stretched over the waters bending and snapping as the tall walker powered past. As the river meandered lazily to the right and widened, the banks steepened on both sides, forming cliffs that rose above the trees, cliffs atop which the humans had prepared their first line of defence.

  Jetbikes and grav-tanks sped back and forth, unleashing beams and blasts that scoured the tops of the cliffs. In reply heavy weapons chattered and boomed, hurling bullets and shells down into the water, each cliff-side battery covering the opposite riverbank.

  Slowing the wraithknight, Nymuyrisan took stock of the situation, bringing up the scattershield as anti-tank guns on the promontories adjusted their aim, their shells falling around the margin of the water not far from the eldar walker.

  The Shining Spears and Vypers had pressed on, riding the gauntlet of fire to break through to the webway portal a short distance beyond the cliffs. The Falcons were doing their best to lay down suppressing fire on the clifftop positions, while the
Wave Serpents were falling back, searching for a flatter part of the bank on which to disgorge the Aspect Warriors they were carrying.

  Jarithuran set the wraithknight into motion even as Nymuyrisan only became conscious of his agreement with his dead brother’s plan. The scattershield sparked and flared from incoming fire as some of the humans diverted their attention away from the grav-tanks on the water, but the wraithknight pushed through, sending up short bursts of plasma from the starcannons.

  Heading into the forest a short distance, using the bulk of the nearest cliff as a shield against fire from the opposite shoreline, the wraithknight stopped beneath a rocky outcrop. The glowing field of the scattershield folded back on itself as Nymuyrisan cut the power, boosting all of the energy he could to the legs and arms. Under Jarithuran’s guidance the eldar war engine reached up for the first handhold.

  The rock held and they climbed, gaining speed with Jarithuran’s increased confidence in the stability of the cliff face. On a couple of occasions they had to traverse sideways to seek large enough hand- and footholds, and just beneath the summit there was an overhang to negotiate. Hanging seven or eight times its own height above the trees, the wraithknight was suspended only by wraithbone-cored fingers for several heartbeats, swinging from side to side until the left foot found purchase on a ledge. With a last surge of wraith-energy the walker heaved itself over the lip of the cliff.

  As Jarithuran crouched them to one knee, Nymuyrisan activated the scattershield again, covering almost the entirety of the humanoid war engine. The starcannons opened fire over the glowing edge of the energy field, carving furrows of blood and molten metal through the machine guns stationed on the waterside edge of the cliff.

  The Flesh-thieves were strangely unmoved by the appearance of the monstrous wraith engine in their midst, a few of the heavy weapon crews turning their fire against the behemoth, the rest continuing to rain down fire on the tanks below. With its shield still held forwards, the wraithknight straightened and advanced, the detonation of plasma blasts from the starcannons setting fire to gun pits and fighters in cowled robes, vaporising flesh and improvised barricades with crackling blue fire.

  From here it was possible to see the gate itself. It was formed from three curving spires of rune-etched stone, each twice as tall as the wraithknight, forming a pyramid structure in a clearing along the bank of the river. It was dormant for the moment, the grass between the portal stones clearly visible, as were the trees beyond. There was a lot of activity around the psychic pylons, boxes stacked close to the gateway, garlands of twisted cables stuck to the gate towers with bubble-like globules of an unknown adhesive substance.

  ‘Are they trying to activate the gate?’ Nymuyrisan asked. ‘Is that why they came, not for the Ankathalamon at all?’

  ‘No matter. Motives are unimportant, need remains,’ replied Lathiedes. ‘Drive them out – the gate must be ours again. Show no fear.’

  Jarithuran guided the wraithknight to the edge of the cliff, kicking aside the remnants of an archaic-looking field gun. The plasma-scarred corpses of its crew burst under the tread of the war engine but Nymuyrisan paid little heed to the sensation. Fire from across the river shrieked over the water, lighting up the scattershield. A few bullets that passed the energy field sparked harmlessly from the wraithknight’s armoured form. Below, squads of Aspect Warriors forged into the forests, seeking routes up to the opposite clifftop. Attack craft circled overhead, ready to swoop down in support of the eldar assault.

  Nymuyrisan sent a volley of plasma along the cliff, driving back a platoon of humans taking cover amongst the scattered rocks and bushes.

  ‘Push on to the webway gate, we have you covered fro–’

  Nymuyrisan’s communication to the task force was cut short by the eruption of a huge fireball. The detonation engulfed the whole warp portal. Flame and smoke spiralled into the sky, wreathed in purple and blue psychic lightning. Shards of crackling ghost-stone sprayed into the sky, burning with white flame. The explosion caught dozens of Flesh-thieves in the blast too, the shockwave hurling their shredded bodies out into the river.

  The huge detonation left a burning crater where the webway portal had been, burning trees and fragments of gateway pylon spewing black and blue smoke. Almost immediately the call for a withdrawal spread across the communications network.

  ‘I don’t understand, why did they destroy it?’ asked Nymuyrisan. He let loose a salvo of plasma fire down towards the ruined gate, to cover the Falcons retreating from the water’s edge.

  An image flashed through his thoughts from Jarithuran, of a piece of meat on a steel trap.

  14

  Despite the incredible speed of atmospheric entry it was still some considerable time before they would reach the battleship. Asurmen had picked their entry point to maximise the distance between them and the orbiting Chaos ships, minimising the chances of being detected whilst in open space. The sudden change of position of one of the vessels had rendered that plan unnecessary but it had been too late to make any significant alterations.

  As the gap between them and the interceptors narrowed, Stormlance was able to conduct a more accurate scan of the incoming attack craft. Asurmen felt the presence of a semi-living essence as he had in the larger vessels – Splinters from the Shards – but there were also clearly human crew manning the interceptors. Two pilots were located near the top of each crescent-shaped hull, alongside three gunners, each manning an energy-based weapon system. The Splinters were approaching at top speed, but as they closed their power distribution shifted, moving from propulsion to manoeuvring and weapons.

  They look agile. The tone of Stormlance indicated that the ship relished the prospect of the imminent fight. Asurmen had to agree with the assessment if not the sentiment. There was something in the way the interceptors moved that put him in mind of a pack of cruel predators.

  The ships broke into three squadrons, eight craft in each, one moving higher and the other two splitting to come at Stormlance from the left and right simultaneously. The eldar ship countered by diving straight down, plunging through the thick cloud layer below. The interceptors adjusted, turning as they swooped, though unable to match Stormlance’s rapid descent.

  They levelled out just below the cloud, a windswept sea stretching beneath them. In the far distance was a coastline of jagged rocks and soaring cliffs, which quickly heaped up into hills and mountains, at the heart of which the battleship had crash-landed.

  Stormlance ascended once more, the gravity drive pushing them to the vertical in a few heartbeats. Asurmen did not interfere. It was better if his spirit-shard controlling the ship was left free to do what it did best: kill.

  Again the Splinters moved to follow, having to spiral upwards to match the climb of the eldar ship.

  As I’d hoped, they do not possess inertia dampeners, the ship remarked. Their manoeuvring is curtailed by the physical limitations of the crew.

  ‘So we should be able to avoid them more easily?’

  Avoid them? No, it means it will be much easier to shoot them down!

  ‘You are enjoying this too much.’

  I enjoy everything I do, I cannot be otherwise. My destruction is of no concern, this is only the latest of many physical incarnations I have controlled. It is only a mortal cloak, destined to end at some point. You know this better than any other. You made me what I am.

  Asurmen felt mounting unease as Stormlance sped towards the enemy fighters, in direct contradiction to the bubbling undercurrent of elation and expectation that was coming from the ship. It was strange to look in upon himself in this way, and he wondered if this was what others witnessed when they saw him in battle. The feelings of delight ebbed and flowed, as if the ship sang to itself at the prospect of violence, and Asurmen understood briefly how Neridiath felt when confronted by the warlike nature of the Phoenix Lord.

  It was her influence, her presence o
n Stormlance that was colouring his perspective of the fight. Her distaste for conflict, her fear of it, was leaching into his thoughts, distancing him from the spirit-piece controlling Stormlance. It was not often he was afforded such a vantage point, to see part of himself in this way, and he did not like what he saw.

  Closing fast with the enemy craft, Stormlance fired first, rolling left while it unleashed a burst from its dorsal pulse laser. The lead ship of the enemy squadron exploded into black smoke and flame, remnants of the greyish-silver hull spinning into the cloud below. The thrill of excitement from the eldar ship was almost like a delighted squeal in the Phoenix Lord’s thoughts. He felt a counter-impulse of disgust from Neridiath.

  Ignoring her revulsion, Stormlance adjusted course. Turning onto a new target, it fired the keel pulsar, a spray of white energy bolts cutting through a second enemy fighter.

  There was a moment of static build-up that crackled across the sky and then the remaining Splinters of the opposing squadron returned fire. Purple lightning streamed across the gap, but Stormlance had already started its evasive manoeuvre, pitching the nose down hard, the crackle of the discharges dissipating some distance above.

  The second squadron was turning in behind Stormlance as the first broke formation, the surviving interceptors peeling away from each other to fall after the rapidly descending eldar ship. Stormlance switched trajectory, pulling up tightly into a loop that brought them in behind the pursuing Splinters. Pulsars sprang into life from both mountings, destroying two more.

  Asurmen fought against the surge of elation that greeted the destruction of each fighter craft. He reminded himself that each blossom of flame and shrapnel was the death of five living beings, even if they were only humans. The fact that they were Chaos-tainted, already the Lost, was something to be lamented, not celebrated. It was hard to maintain discipline in the face of Stormlance’s exuberant satisfaction.