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 delay 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 the 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 of 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.
‘As I thought, you see that this is the only way. Activate your device and proceed with the questioning at once.’
Bellathonis nodded and made the appropriate connections. The hanging bodies of the pain-proxies stirred as if they were ruffled by a spectral breeze.
‘Yllithian, my slayer, returns to ask forgiveness? Bellathonis and I were just – Saasaaaaahhhhh!!!!’
Yllithian glared at Bellathonis darkly. ‘Apologies, my archon, momentary feedback on the regulator,’ Bellathonis said contritely.
Yllithian turned his attention back to the crone. ‘Tell me what occurred in the World Shrine on Lileathanir during our recent raid,’ he ordered.
‘I cannot see beyond these walls, your own blade ensured that.’
Yllithian gestured to Bellathonis and triple-voiced shrieks ripped through the narrow cell. He gestured again and the nerve-tearing flow of pain was halted.
‘Do not lie to me, Angevere, the knowledge is there. All you must do is reach out for it. Consider for a while the momentary dangers of this small thing when weighed against an eternity of pain.’
Bellathonis moved the regulator to its highest setting and waited with Yllithian while the resultant screams became hoarse.
CHAPTER 10
ESCAPING DEath
Morr forged a straight path towards the highest of the skeletal shapes rearing up out of the red murk of Iron Thorn. His sabatons left deep imprints in the scrubby grass as though he were crunching through hoarfrost and tiny puffs of rust billowed up from each footfall. Xyriadh pushed ahead to scout, followed by Aez’ashya and Kharbyr. Eventually Morr seemed content to fall back to act
as rearguard with Sindiel while Xagor continued to carry the worldsinger.
The smog became denser, filling their mouths and noses with a sharp metallic tang as they pushed deeper into it. The ground levelled out and they began to pass irregularly jutting shapes that might once have been trees and bushes, now rendered into corroded masses of thorn-like spars. Occasionally the ground trembled and they heard distant gurgling sounds somewhere beneath their feet as though they were walking on the belly of some giant. Rhythmic hammering drifted into their hearing and faded out again, only to return redoubled a few minutes later.
They slithered through the choking smog as quickly and quietly as they could but they soon spotted silent watchers paralleling their course. Luminous eyes glittered in the red mist and weirdly distorted shadows limped in their wake. The strange denizens of Iron Thorn were gathering, one by one at first and then by the dozen. The presence of life seemed to draw them forth, the hated biological excrescence within their realm pulling them in like white blood cells fighting an infection. Fear was keeping them at bay for the present but their unthinkable lust to destroy would soon overcome it. The remade half-life of Iron Thorn had long since learned to hate the biologicals that invaded their realm.
Kharbyr suspected that the fear that held the shuffling multitude in check was not inspired by their scurrying quarry but by mightier hunters that were abroad somewhere in the sub-realm. He couldn’t shake the feeling that some vast, cool intellect perceived their progress, something that brought with it a twisted sense of wrongness that resonated through the whole sub-realm. The presence felt close, as if its chill breath were already on the nape of their necks. Its chosen instruments had found the spoor and were remorselessly closing in on their prey. It might be better to take his own life now, rather than wait to be hunted down and torn apart by iron fingers…
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