Wild Rider - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘It shall be done,’ they chorused with another bow.

  Together the trio of canoptek guardians withdrew, their bodies shimmering into half-reality as they activated their dimensional destabilisation matrices. For a few moments Hazepkhut watched them through the last flicker of ante-spectrum reflection and then that too faded as her messenger-assassins ascended with flicks of their tails, passing from sight through the circuit-etched ceiling.

  Content with her actions, the Watcher of the Dark slipped back into memory, succumbing to the lure of fractured, half-recalled nights of sensual indulgence.

  The land about the jade-lit wound of the necrontyr valley complex was a lush woodland across steep foothills, as pristine as the day it had been sown a thousand lifetimes earlier. The forests of the maiden world were bald in places, cut with geometric precision around subterranean emplacements and fortified entrances into the cryo-tombs.

  Like a swarm gathering at dusk, the drop flotillas of the warhosts came together, escorted by waves of fighters and renewed bombing attacks. Scarlet and crimson mingled as drop-craft and anti-grav vehicles flowed together like merging streams of liquid ruby, passing into the shadows beneath the immaculate canopy.

  Slowing her jetbike, Caelledhin wove between the assembling Wave Serpents and Falcons of the Ynnari and Saim-Hann. Grav-tanks slowed to disgorge squads of Aspect Warriors into the surrounding woods while guardians amassed in their battle companies under the protection of heavy weapons drifting on floating platforms. Commorraghan-born wyches and former kabalite warriors leapt from the boards of their raiders while larger drop-craft settled upon the grass of the broad clearing a short distance ahead.

  She guided her grav-steed towards this gathering, the indicator on the bike’s display telling her that this was the location set for the leaders of the warhosts to come together. Coming upon transports in the colours of Clan Fireheart, she vaulted from the saddle before her mount had come to a stop, landing lightly on the impellor-flattened turf. The whine of reaver-bikes drew her eye to a squadron of Yvraine’s Bloodbrides, Druthkhala at their head. The leader peeled away from her companions and brought her bike to an idling standstill just ahead of Caelledhin.

  ‘Summon your family – the Opener of the Seventh Way demands audience before the main attack.’

  Prickling at the Bloodbride’s tone, Caelledhin reined in an angry retort, refusing to grant the former Crucibael fighter the satisfaction of her irritation.

  ‘Naiall Fireheart will grace her council with his presence,’ she replied with a cold smile. ‘It is good that Yvraine listens to the counsel of wise heads.’

  Druthkhala sneered and powered away, the wash of her reaver-bike’s anti-grav field throwing pollen in its wake.

  Another Wave Serpent landed just ahead, turning slightly as it lowered the last distance. Caelledhin raised a hand in greeting as a squad of Fire Dragons disembarked, Naiall and a few other senior clan members huddled amongst the Aspect Warrior escort.

  ‘We should not delay,’ said Neamyh, helping the chieftain to step down from the transport’s ramp.

  ‘I shall be fine, cease your worrying,’ insisted Naiall, but Neamyh’s expression conveyed a different story.

  ‘The sooner we conclude, the swifter the attack,’ said Caelledhin. ‘Let us not give the necrontyr even longer to prepare.’

  They passed between transports landing and taking off, a spreading ring of warriors pushing out along the forest trails. Overhead, fighters continued to duel with the necrontyr scythe-ships and Ynnari ground attack craft launched more bombing runs against enemy emplacements and forces between the aeldari host and their target.

  Caelledhin and the others came upon Yvraine holding court in the open air, the Visarch and Meliniel in attendance, along with squads from the Coiled Blade and Bloodbrides. Druthkhala emerged from the shadows, now dismounted, and joined her blade-sisters.

  ‘Father!’

  Caelledhin’s heart leapt at Nuadhu’s shout and she turned to see the Wild Lord come racing upon them on the back of Alean. B’sainnad deftly steered around a disembarking squad of Dark Reapers and brought the craft to a halt a short distance away.

  ‘It is good that you are still with us,’ said Caelledhin.

  ‘Only just,’ muttered B’sainnad.

  ‘Why do we delay?’ demanded Nuadhu, as though he had not heard her at all. Caelledhin could feel his agitation like emanating heat, his movements fitful as though his own body were not quite under his control. He thrust Drake’s Fang towards the unseen enemy. ‘The foe are building their strength while we tarry here and chatter.’

  ‘Yvraine has called upon us and we answer,’ replied Naiall. ‘Better that we attack in unity than be destroyed by unpreparedness.’

  ‘We shall lead the attack, the Ynnari can follow,’ said Nuadhu, shrugging extravagantly. ‘What more is there to discuss?’

  ‘I believe that you left your senses somewhere in the clouds,’ said Caelledhin, looking up to the skies where fighter craft still duelled.

  ‘Are you intoxicated?’ demanded Neamyh.

  ‘Only by the prospect of battle, dear cousin!’

  Caelledhin snorted, lost for words at his self-importance. There was certainly something amiss with her half-brother, more so than his usual battle-fever. Her indignation gave way to concern.

  ‘Nuadhu…’

  ‘Save your condescension,’ the Wild Lord growled, cutting her off. ‘I know what you will say, but you are wrong. I have never felt better.’

  Nuadhu looked around the clearing, searching for something. Apparently he did not locate it, given his disappointed expression.

  ‘She is with Yvraine,’ said Caelledhin, guessing the object of his quest.

  ‘Then perhaps we can spare a short delay,’ Nuadhu conceded, moving to the back of his fighting platform ready to disembark.

  ‘No,’ declared Naiall, his expression pained by the need to state this truth. ‘Stay here. You are in no state for this audience. We must speak swiftly and I fear you will be a disruption.’

  ‘Whatever can you mean, father? I just dropped from the skies like a Swooping Hawk, what could be more calm-inducing?’

  ‘Wait here, Nuadhu.’ Naiall’s tone was laboured but his quiet insistence silenced the Wild Lord. ‘I will call for you when we are ready to attack.’

  ‘Am I still to lead the attack?’ Nuadhu was almost pleading, and his rapid glances towards the Ynnari betrayed his growing concern.

  ‘I am sure Druthkhala will be more impressed by victory than stupidity,’ growled Caelledhin, stepping between her brother and father. ‘Calm yourself, Nuadhu. Your behaviour is not only unbecoming of a clan heir, it will see us dead.’

  ‘You think…? It’s not…’ Nuadhu waved them away with a dismissive hand. ‘I would see our clan restored to glory, but I fear that I might be alone in that concern. Go! Fawn yourselves to Yvraine.’

  Nuadhu slapped B’sainnad on the shoulder, who turned the Vyper away with an apologetic look towards his companion’s family. Caelledhin watched them settle not far away. The thought that Nuadhu would one day lead the clan filled her with a dread that almost equalled the prospect of fighting the necrontyr.

  ‘Come.’ Naiall set off again, stride gaining vigour as he forged through knee-high grass towards Yvraine and her contingent.

  The Opener of the Seventh Way broke from her conversation and bowed her head in welcome to the chieftain. She did not speak, but withdrew a step, drawing attention to her autarch as she receded.

  ‘We have suffered a setback,’ confessed Meliniel, addressing his words to Naiall. The autarch’s face was hidden within his high-crested helm but his body language was oddly demure. ‘The Whisper – the force of Ynnead that binds the Ynnari together – is silenced by the null technology of the necrontyr. The same energies that prevented the binding of the webway portals now flatte
ns all psychic activity on Agarimethea.’

  ‘That is unfortunate,’ replied the chieftain. ‘What does that mean for the attack?’

  ‘That we must be especially coordinated in our preparations. I have despatched my forces with specific instructions, and I must rely upon the clan Fireheart to lead the Saim-Hann contingent without compromise. Any broad deviation from the agreed plan could be disastrous.’

  ‘Very well, I assure you that we will do our part.’

  ‘The mission is the same,’ said Yvraine, coming to the fore again. ‘We are not here to defeat the necrontyr but to open the vault and take its contents. Meliniel will–’

  The Visarch leapt forward, his Sword of Silent Screams cutting the air towards Naiall.

  A moment before the glowing blade slashed into the chieftain, something shimmered in the air in front of him. A ghastly apparition appeared from nowhere.

  It shone with semi-substantial energy, a ghost of metal with a fleshless body like a serpent’s skeleton. Four scythe-arms splayed outwards, the edges of the blades crackling with potency. An insectile head with a single green-glowing lens for an eye and clacking mandibles twitched within reach of Naiall, the chieftain reflected on the surface of the orb.

  Caelledhin screamed even as the Visarch’s weapon struck the necrontyr assassin-construct in the shoulder, cleaving into its living metal ribs.

  Flung sideways by the blow, the wraith sprawled upon the floor, its tail slamming into Naiall. The chieftain staggered back, hand clutched to his chest. Caelledhin fumbled at her weapons but one of her cousins responded more swiftly, leaping between Naiall and his would-be killer. The wraith-assassin lashed out with two scythe-arms, carving furrows through the attendant’s flesh. The wounds did not bleed but shimmered with ghostly pale energy, seeming to eat into his body. He thrashed, teeth clamped together, foaming saliva on his lips, and then collapsed.

  The Visarch attacked again, sweeping Asu-var downwards towards the wraith’s neck. It fluttered out of existence before the blow landed. A heartbeat later, it materialised again, emitting a nerve-shredding chitter as it slithered towards Yvraine.

  The Opener of the Seventh Way met it with the tip of the Sword of Sorrows, piercing its chest, while the edge of her war fan sliced open its metallic face. Circuitry sparked and limbs spasmed as it fell back from her, seeming to melt into the grass.

  ‘There’s more,’ growled the Visarch, stepping closer to Yvraine.

  Caelledhin had her sword in one hand and pistol in the other, pushing close to her father as she saw another indistinct movement around the Wave Serpents.

  Flexing his fingers, Nuadhu stalked back and forth across the clearing, darting looks to the mountaintops in the distance. For better or worse his fate would be decided beyond those peaks. Yet when he thought back to that soul-chilling sensation as he dropped helplessly groundwards, it was not the necrontyr that came to mind. His thoughts lingered on his own people. On considering the closeness of his demise – perhaps closer than even during their foray to Agarimethea the first time – the Wild Lord was agitated not by the possibility of death itself but more the ending of the opportunity to prove himself.

  What had he really accomplished in his life? He had fought battles, even won wars, but though he was lauded amongst a certain community on Saim-Hann, he knew his name would never share the same breath with the likes of autarch Evanae Oldspirit or Meore Deoneth, the Wild Lord from Clan Flamewalker. Nuadhu had thought Agarimethea might be his great victory, but he realised now that it could not be. His part in bringing near-disaster to Saim-Hann tainted any legacy of success. He was, he told himself bitterly, simply clearing up a mess of his own creation.

  B’sainnad loitered not far away, lending support with his presence but sensible enough not to intervene in his friend’s fuming. Nuadhu wanted to draw strength from his friend, but B’sainnad’s loyalty was habitual from shared childhood, not earned by Nuadhu’s deeds as an adult, something else the Wild Lord occasionally exploited for himself without repercussion.

  The pulse-jarring aftermath of his plunge through the sky was seeping away, leaving his stomach like a void, his emotions roiling. His mood soured quickly as he considered the council taking place without him, and the words of his father and half-sister burned into him like a brand – a mark he could never escape. Thoughtless. Headstrong. Unstable. Certainly unfit to be a clan chieftain…

  A shrill cry wrenched Nuadhu from his inner monologue, drawing his attention to the cluster of Wave Serpents.

  B’sainnad was already running, pistol in hand. Aeldari of the Ynnari and Saim-Hann alike dashed through the impromptu encampment, some with weapons readied, others worriedly calling the names of companions. There were other calls, from the left and right, sowing further confusion.

  As he came into view of the transports, heart hammering at the thought of what he might see, Nuadhu rounded the hull of a Falcon and nearly fell over a Commorraghan Ynnari kneeling over another. He leapt, clearing the pair on instinct. The Wild Lord faltered as he landed, glancing back at the aeldari on the ground. He was garbed in drukhari-style armour, maskless helm framing a face caught in a rictus of agony, yet there seemed not a mark upon him.

  This ghoulish sight thrust into his thoughts, Nuadhu sped on, shouting for a clear path as others streamed through the congregation of anti-grav vehicles. Ahead of him B’sainnad pushed his way through, creating a gap for the clan heir to sprint past.

  Passing the curved front of a Wave Serpent, his eye was immediately drawn to a figure upon the ground. His first thought was for his father, but a moment later he saw that it was not Naiall upon the dirt but Cescagath, one of Nuadhu’s oldest cousins. Yvraine and the Visarch seemed to be dancing on the far side of the area, their blades whirling and slashing at nothing. As he concentrated, Nuadhu saw a flicker of movement and a spectral shape appearing and disappearing within the air itself.

  Yvraine dodged back as a towering, serpentine-bodied apparition materialised in front of her, squealing strange, sharp noises at her. It was clearly of necrontyr design, a half-machine creation with four blade-limbs that juddered as it wove back and forth in front of Yvraine. The Visarch swept his blade high, but the spectre-droid shimmered into nothing for the instant the blade would contact it, reforming a heartbeat later to resume its sonic assault.

  ‘Another!’ The shout of Caelledhin turned Nuadhu in time to see a glimmer of a shadow pass between two of the other transports. He advanced with Drake’s Fang in two hands, wary of any movement. His half-sister approached from the left, pistol and blade in hand.

  ‘Over here!’ called B’sainnad from the other side of a Wave Serpent.

  ‘Impossible,’ replied Nuadhu. ‘It can’t have moved through the Wave Serpent.’

  ‘It can,’ said Caelledhin with a grimace. Without any verbal agreement, she turned slightly so that she was watching Nuadhu’s back and he hers. ‘We saw the first appear right in front of us out of nothing.’

  ‘Get out of here, father,’ Nuadhu told Naiall. ‘Protect yourself.’

  ‘No!’ snapped Caelledhin. ‘It was coming for you, the safest place is here.’

  Naiall nodded wordlessly, eyes roaming the area. He looked more fatigued than scared and Druthkhala moved to take his arm across her shoulder, helping him back towards the Wave Serpents. She had a bared sword at the ready, its wickedly serrated blade edged with black flame.

  ‘Here!’ Everyone snapped around at the shout of another Bloodbride, her whip cracking out towards a vague disturbance in the air.

  ‘You said there was another?’ Nuadhu asked his half-sister.

  ‘It disappeared when it was struck,’ she explained. ‘I think there are only two left.’

  More aeldari warriors gathered around their leaders. Among them were the Coiled Blade, the devotees of the Visarch, former incubi mercenaries from Commorragh. Their two-handed klaives flickered wi
th energy as they advanced towards their master.

  ‘Watch the perimeter,’ growled the Visarch, pointing with the Sword of Silent Screams. He slowly circled Yvraine, making clear his priority to protect the Opener of the Seventh Way in favour of any other action.

  Stillness descended. With shallow breaths, Nuadhu heard only the creak of armour, soft tread of wary aeldari and whisper of leaves in the wind. He scanned left and right, the tip of Drake’s Fang moving with his gaze as he searched for any mote out of place that would betray the location of their assailants. He could feel the others around him, Caelledhin at his back, the suppressed spirit warmth of the other Saim-Hann aeldari a backdrop to his thoughts.

  A part of the vision granted him by Yvraine flashed through his thoughts, setting his heart juddering. He dimly recalled wraith-killers that stole into the homes, ships and headquarters of their foes, murdering without compunction, assassinating the commanders of the necrontyr’s foes.

  ‘They came for us, the leaders,’ he said, looking at Yvraine as his movement brought him into view of the Opener of the Seventh Way. ‘Ghostly assassins meant to cripple us before we attack. I was right, we should have pressed on while we could.’

  ‘This is a poor time to claim prophetic wisdom, my brother,’ said Caelledhin.

  ‘They are guardians of the tombs,’ Yvraine told him, eyes passing him by as they swept their surroundings. ‘They can pass through matter without effort, and materialise their blades inside you without leaving a mark. Be stern against them, their purpose is to sow discord and terror.’

  ‘More may come,’ said the Visarch. ‘When we have dealt with this pair, we should move on.’

  Like a heat haze, the air just in front of Nuadhu started to shimmer. Before he could respond, a single jade eye-gem appeared as though from a mist, its glow highlighting the half-seen edges of the clawed mechanical beast to which it belonged.

  It emitted a stuttering shriek, the force of the noise enough to send Nuadhu reeling before he could attack. The sounds struck deep into his core like the wail of a Howling Banshee, which froze the nerves and overloaded the synapses.