As the slaves came close the winged figures swooped down on them like avenging angels. Many of the scourges had their feet grown into powerful avian claws and simply latched onto their victims’ shoulders before carrying them aloft. Others used shardnet launchers or agoniser rounds to disable their victims before seizing them and bearing them away. Within a few seconds from when the whirling circle had begun to dip into the herd the scourges had carried every single slave screaming into the sky.
With their victims gathered the scourges began to play, dropping them and racing to catch them, taking a limb each and tearing them apart. More blood and viscera showered down when the hellions and jetbikes darted in trying to hook away victims for themselves. They were seldom able to win such bouts, the scourges were simply too strong and too agile for the machines to beat however skilfully they were piloted. Bellathonis had to admit it was a crude but impressive display. All the more impressive given that the number of scourges present represented only a fraction of those the master haemonculus had enhanced on behalf of Malixian over the preceding months.
‘Magnificent work, Bellathonis!’ applauded Syiin, his thin hands rattling together like bundles of twigs. ‘I find myself in awe of the skills you show in this field. You seem to have found yourself a perfect niche.’
‘I have to say they make a fine sight, my archon,’ Bellathonis said dryly. ‘Truly none can hope to escape your mighty winged warriors.’
‘Cursed mud-dwelling Exodites might if they’re dug in deep enough,’ Malixian remarked sourly.
‘I understood that our rustic inferiors were more given to running away and hiding than confrontation, so that stealth and speed were the only viable techniques for capture?’
‘No, they’re unpredictable, wild. They’ll fight sometimes if their settlements and shrines are threatened.’
The Raider was drawing away from the scourges’ massacre, drifting higher again. Malixian gazed out over the jagged landscape as if he was seeing another one from his past, the primordial realm of a maiden world.
‘Woods full of beasts, traps and snipers, everyone else barricaded in their holes waiting for the clans to gather. Once they do everything on the planet that walks, crawls or flies will be looking to take a chunk out of you. That’s why a stealthy snatch is the most viable technique, because they know our kind can’t stay for too long once they make a fight of it.’ Malixian shook himself, his feathered cloak rustling mournfully, before lapsing into a brooding silence.
Bellathonis nodded. Regressive as they were Exodites were not stupid and they had their legends about the Dark Kin who came by night to steal the souls of the unwary. The eldar of the craftworlds also had some proprietary sense of duty to the maiden worlds. They would often come creeping through the labyrinth dimension to appear in their defence at the most inopportune moments. Yllithian’s real objective for the raid of seizing a worldsinger, surely a member of one of the Exodites’ most prized and protected castes, was beginning to sound like an extremely thorny prospect.
Malixian cocked his head to one side as if listening to invisible voices. He gestured sharply to the steersman and the Raider immediately slid away towards the outer edge of the Aviaries, picking up speed as it angled towards where Bellathonis’s tower lay.
‘Well, Bellathonis, it seems that not one but two of your servants have opted to enter the Beryl Gate on foot while the hunt is in progress,’ Malixian said as he perked up with a nasty grin. ‘I thought we could go and see if they make it home or not.’
The maggot of concern that been boring patiently away at Bellathonis’s mind metamorphosed into a buzzing fly of panic that he strove unsuccessfully to crush. Syiin was watching him with interest; it was obvious now that he knew or guessed that Bellathonis’s servants were returning from some task related to Yllithian’s visit. Silence seemed the best and only option under the circumstances and Bellathonis strove to maintain a slightly shaky expression of polite disinterest.
The skies were noticeably quieter on the outskirts of the Aviaries. A few scouting hellions zipped back and forth and the occasional spiral of flying creatures emerged from the cage canyons to seek for new prey. Malixian pointed silently downward into the deep shadows lining the avenue below. Bellathonis saw movement and picked out Xagor, easily recognisable by the flapping of his hide coat as he dashed comically from one hedge to another. The wrack loped along awkwardly, desperately clutching something to his chest. Bellathonis hoped for his sake that it was the jar he had been sent to collect.
‘Taking delivery of something, Bellathonis?’ Syiin whispered conspiratorially. ‘It must be important to risk–’ Malixian angrily shushed the haemonculus into silence before again drawing their attention below.
Malixian’s eyesight must have verged on the preternatural. His semi-sentient cloak of eyes combined with the image enhancement augmetics in his bird mask certainly gave him the kind of visual acuity his beloved pets could only dream of. The mad archon pointed out another individual a dozen paces behind Xagor that was moving with a feline grace that Bellathonis’s own enhanced eyes could barely pick out in the gloom. One of the agents he had engaged? He looked like he was stalking Xagor rather than protecting him. Perhaps it was a catspaw of Syiin’s sent to waylay Xagor and only claiming to be Bellathonis’s servant in order to access the Aviaries?
Syiin seemed to lack the gloating air Bellathonis would have expected if that were the case. On balance, Bellathonis recalled, his instructions had only extended to ensuring safe delivery of the prize rather than protection of the courier. It seemed more likely the agent had interpreted that to include murdering the unfortunate Xagor and delivering what he carried in person. Bellathonis stifled a cruel laugh.
‘Look,’ Malixian whispered as he pointed again, ‘our two star-crossed lovers have additional suitors.’
The hunter was himself being hunted. Invisible to the agent but clear from above once Malixian pointed them out, the shapes of several slaves could be seen. They were creeping towards the agent while his attention was fixed on Xagor. The three factions formed a perfect little tableau: Xagor hesitating at a corner as the agent raised a pistol to gun him down as the slaves rushed at his unguarded back. It was like seeing an allegorical triptych on one of the thirteen foundations of vengeance. Bellathonis, Syiin and Malixian drifted god-like above the scene, dispassionately awaiting its outcome.
The pistol spat and the tiny flash broke the moment. Xagor panicked and fled, the cloaked agent’s aim being spoiled as he momentarily disappeared beneath a rush of club-wielding slaves. His swift fall elicited a disappointed hoot from Malixian, but the archon’s dismay proved premature. A moment later the struggling figures broke apart with both slaves down and writhing in their own blood. However incautious the agent might be when it came to watching his back his reflexes were apparently beyond reproach. Sadly his indiscipline showed again as he paused to satiate himself on the slaves’ death agonies before sprinting around the corner in pursuit of Xagor.
‘He’s a lively one. Must be a stripling,’ Malixian whispered as the Raider silently drifted down the avenue to follow him. There was no chance of being heard down below but the mad archon seemed to be enjoying the artifice of being hidden observers watching animals at a watering hole.
‘Yes, it would appear he has much potential but also much to learn,’ Bellathonis murmured darkly. ‘Although naturally I’m glad that he’s offering my archon and my esteemed colleague such impromptu entertainment.’
‘It’s all quite fascinating, Bellathonis, I can assure you,’ whispered Syiin. ‘A real insight.’
As Bellathonis fought with the momentary urge to push the hunchbacked figure off the Raider a pistol cracked several more times from around the corner. The sharp sound attracted the attention of a pair of passing hellions, who rapidly arced their skyboards around to go and investigate.
Malixian gestured sharply for the Raider to follow them, the steersman sending the long craft shooting forwards with a sudden bu
rst of power. They breasted the flank of an enormous, pagoda-like enclosure and swung around its edge in time to see the pair of hellions sweeping down upon the lone agent in an attack run. Once again his reflexes saved him, sending him rolling out of the path of the first hellion’s bladed skyboard and punching the second from his mount with an accurate burst of splinter fire. Malixian seemed so delighted he neglected to whisper.
‘Hoo! That’s a lively one all right! After him!’
As if striving for an encore the agent now sprang onto the fallen skyboard and fled with the first hellion in hot pursuit. There was no sign of Xagor but Bellathonis thought he’d caught the telltale flicker of shadows oozing away beneath an underpass when the hellions made their attack. Nothing that Syiin or Malixian would have noticed with any luck because they were too busy watching the agent fight the hellions, but something Bellathonis had been half-expecting and half-hoping to see.
His allies had responded to his call. Shadow-skinned mandrakes were gliding silently through the Aviaries at his behest to ensure the prize would still come to him despite all the caprices of the mad archon and the interferences of Syiin. Inwardly the haemonculus heaved a gigantic sigh of relief. Now all that remained was to see if this worthless agent of his would have the wherewithal to escape Malixian or at least the good grace to die in the attempt.
The racing agent quickly outpaced Malixian’s Raider by plunging into narrow places it couldn’t follow. The hellion pursued him avidly, bobbing and weaving expertly through the gruelling course the agent set. The hellion only became unstuck when he attempted to trigger his skyboard’s splinter pods to shoot his quarry in the back.
The tiniest miscalculation and one of the skyboard’s forward-thrust blades kissed a cage bar as the hellion slalomed past it. The hellion was instantly hurled off, his body pinwheeling helplessly away into the darkness as the skyboard careened into the bars with a vivid red flash. Malixian roared with laughter at that. Now there would be another new client to be placed in one of Bellathonis’s crystal-fronted sarcophagi, trapped there until they could painfully re-knit their shattered bones. The thought sparked an idea.
‘Perhaps I should go and attend to the preparations necessary to reviving your hellions, my archon?’ Bellathonis ventured, attempting to sound contrite.
‘Hoo, I suppose so, I want everyone fit for when we go to the planet of the mud people. Mind you give that servant of yours my regards if he makes it back to you, Bellathonis. He bested two of my hellions and I won’t grudge him due praise.’
‘My thanks, my archon. Should he survive both your hunters and my displeasure I will be sure to pass that along to him.’
‘By all means. You can also add that if I catch him in my Aviaries again I’ll feed him to my white ruhk personally.’
Syiin chortled in appreciation. ‘May I offer my assistance, Bellathonis? It would be a pleasure to visit your tower and discuss matters of the art at your leisure.’
‘Perhaps another time would be more appropriate for visitations. With the unexpected news of the coming raid I have many matters to attend to – as do you, I would imagine. Also I would not wish to deprive my archon of your scintillating company for the remainder of the hunt, I believe there will be some considerable hours for it still to run. Until we meet again. Archon. Syiin.’
Bellathonis bowed to them both. Although no signal had been given a leaner, simpler Raider craft was already silently drawing alongside. The master haemonculus crossed to the smaller craft and it bore him swiftly away towards his humble tower. He felt a moment of misgiving at leaving Malixian and Syiin together. Yllithian’s haemonculus could become tiresome if he kept sniffing around, potentially dangerous if he latched onto something incriminating. The removal of a fellow haemonculus was never to be undertaken lightly, but extraordinary times could sometimes require extraordinary measures.
As the Raider cut swiftly through the air the thought of the prize awaiting him soon erased Bellathonis’s immediate concerns about Syiin. He passed inside his tower barely able to suppress his anticipation. He was very much looking forward to getting his hands on the prize that Yllithian had dangled so artfully before him, a reward so secret and forbidden that it had to be transported across the city concealed inside an innocuous-looking jar. Yes, he was very much looking forward to meeting the severed and yet apparently undying head of the crone, Angevere.
CHAPTER 5
THE UNEXPECTED GIFT
‘The moment can never equal the anticipation of the moment. The perfection envisaged by the mind is never matched by the body, the high hopes that consciousness has raised are dashed beneath the inevitable weight of mortal clay. Yet our city embraces that moment of anticipation drawn out through eternity. We accept the flawed nature of our materials and yet raise towering edifices with them if only for the space of a single breath. Knowing that our tools will ever break beneath our hands we pursue the ideal moment and refuse to turn away from the dark splendour of godhood – however fleeting it may be.’
– The philosopher-poet Pso’kobor, The Forbidden Ambitions
Kraillach had dreamed of Commorragh many times in his life. He felt the great port-city could only be fully appreciated in a dream. Certainly, it was possible to view the corespur from near-space, where one could see the thrusting spires of High Commorragh, the sprawling mills and tenements of Low Commorragh, the outstretched docking talons, the endless succession of tiers. These things could be seen by the eye well enough to confound the mind with the sheer enormity of their expanse, but in truth they formed only the tip of the iceberg of what was the eternal city.
Only in a dream was it possible to perceive the sub-realms of Commorragh that lay strung about it like a jewelled necklace. A thousand realities that were scattered throughout the infinitude of the labyrinth dimension were at the same time shackled to the eternal city through open gates and impervious wards.
In his dreams Kraillach saw each sub-realm with its own hue: deep amber, smoky russet, jade green, opalescent white, they swung by in stately procession. The tyrant had pulled them all into the inescapable orbit of Commorragh during his reign, thrall states to be slowly sucked dry by the eternal, parasitic city. He coveted those precious baubles and the power they represented with an obscene yearning. Sometimes he even dreamt of stealing them for himself.
Archon Luquix Borr Kraillach, eight hundred and eighty-ninth pure-blooded and trueborn ascendant of the Kraillach dynasty and absolute ruler of the Kabal of the Realm Eternal, stirred and stretched luxuriantly in his nest of golden silks. Bulbous censers floating nearby responded by switching from narcotic smoke to a stimulant mist with a faint chime. Kraillach enjoyed a rare moment of serenity. He was safe at last within his inner sanctum after being exposed to the energising but frankly frightening death and destruction at Xelian’s arena the day before. He was safe in his sanctum and able to finally relax behind walls of unbreakable stone lined with unbreachable metal. A faint, subsonic buzz gave him a comforting reassurance that the hermetic shields surrounding the chamber were still in place and still fully functional.
He glanced around. The blood-daubed sigils covering the walls, floor and ceiling were unbroken and unchanged from the night before, evidence that nothing from beyond the veil had attempted to breach the arcane wardings. The only entrance to the sanctum, a metre-thick iris valve of baroquely inscribed metal, was sealed shut and guarded by the room’s only other occupant – Kraillach’s chief executioner, Morr. The armoured incubus stood resting both hands lightly on his immense klaive, a deadly double-handed power weapon that had dispatched thousands at Kraillach’s command. Morr’s stance was unchanged from when Kraillach had closed his eyes hours before and he had no doubt that the fearsome warrior had stood statue-like watching over him for the entire time.
Kraillach fully intended to live forever. Commorragh might be a deadly snake pit of enemies and She Who Thirsts might be waiting to consume any soul that fell into Her daemonic clutches but Kraillach was clever and K
raillach was very, very careful. Should the whole of Commorragh have the mischance to fall to some unthinkable, reality-mangling catastrophe Kraillach could most likely survive the cataclysm in his sanctum and be left floating through the ruins.
‘Greetings, Morr,’ Kraillach said as he stifled a yawn. ‘What news?’
The burning slits of Morr’s ornate tormentor helm turned to regard him balefully once Kraillach acknowledged his presence and gave him permission to speak. Like all incubi in Kraillach’s experience Morr had little passion for dialogue other than commands or acknowledgements. Incubi preferred sepulchral silence while they meditated on the ways of war and bloodshed.
‘No news, my archon,’ Morr intoned solemnly. ‘All is well.’
‘Excellent, have a slave brought to me so that I may break my fast.’
‘As you command, my archon.’
Morr turned to the sealed portal and his gauntleted hands moved across its surface pressing various points on the inscriptions that covered it in a complex sequence known only to himself and Kraillach. The leaves of the iris valve slid back to reveal the shimmering surface of the open portal behind. Morr stepped through and vanished without another word, the leaves scissoring back together silently behind him.
At the exact centre of the sanctum floor there lay a sunken bath set into a sunburst of polished onyx. Kraillach disrobed and settled his withered body into the warm, scented waters and contemplated the day ahead. At the top of his agenda was determining whether to betray his two noble allies to the tyrant or not. Kraillach feared and hated Asdrubael Vect as much as any of them but he had also lived longer than all of them. Yllithian and Xelian were pure-blooded descendants of the noble houses eliminated by Vect during his rise to power, but only Kraillach had actually lived through those dreadful times.
A loose opposition to Vect and a desire to regain past glories united the noble families and made them natural allies but Kraillach had doubts about the sanity of the others. Xelian was little better than a wild beast ever hungry for blood and Yllithian’s schemes always had the sharp scent of danger about them – resurrections, Dysjunctions, returning the old emperor of Shaa-dom… It was all too much, too fantastical to place any faith in.
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