Asurmen: Hand of Asuryan, Page 3

  As though to spite Hylandris’s earlier decision, he heard on the communicator that his forces were being driven back towards the vault-temple, losing their hold on the gateway by which they had come to Escatharinesh. In a little under half a day their position had changed from dominant to precarious.

  Nymuyrisan, what is happening?

  We cannot engage in prolonged conflict, their numbers are too great, farseer. Better that we withdraw to the vault building and secure our line, and recapture the webgate when we are ready.

  Entering the atmosphere now, farseer, reported Tynarin. Heat dampeners are coping… Surface abrasion starting to take its toll… Isha weeps! We have heat flare across the dorsal system, losing trim and manoeuvring. All three pilots showing signs of feedback delirium.

  What does that mean? demanded Hylandris. Tell me what is happening up there.

  We will have to conduct a controlled descent, farseer.

  You are crashing?

  Crash-landing. Hopefully.

  Hylandris could feel waves of worry flooding from his companions, which he countered with a psychic pulse of reassurance.

  ‘There is no need to be afraid,’ he told them. ‘The way ahead may be painful but we will emerge victorious. I guarantee it. I have foreseen our success here, have I not?’

  5

  Light.

  Stark sunlight.

  Asurmen did not need to blink, had no means to do so, but he did the mental equivalent as he reviewed his situation.

  He was still in the Tomb of the Jhitaar. He could see the markings on the wall. Dull, unmoving. The light was streaming into the chamber from a breached ceiling. He turned his head and saw a black-armoured figure lying lifelessly next to him. The last memories of the eldar echoed away inside Asurmen’s spirit and a name: Tuathanem Ulthrander Naeith. A Black Guardian of Ulthwé. She had been following the Path of Restraint when not fighting in the militia of her craftworld. The last vestiges of her spirit drifted away into nothing and all that she had been and might be became Asurmen instead.

  Her companions had retreated to the grav-nets dropped through the hole in the roof and more figures were silhouetted against the bright sky beyond.

  ‘She has found peace,’ Asurmen assured them as he sat up. His dire­sword was on the floor where it had fallen from his dead grasp. He twitched his fingers. The weapon moved into his grip. The pommel and blade flared into life, recognising the Phoenix Lord’s touch.

  He had become accustomed to the glare from the hole and Asurmen realised there were streaks of red and white criss-crossing the visible patch of sky: laser fire.

  ‘A battle? Against whom?’

  ‘The Jhitaar.’

  The voice that replied was quiet and even and came from Asurmen’s left. He sensed old power, great wisdom and the weight of eternity emanating from the figure as he turned in the direction of the sound.

  The farseer was dressed in a maroon robe beneath an open mantle of black embroidered with golden runes. He wore a ghosthelm, his features concealed, and in his right hand he held a staff of crystallised blue wraithbone, studded with spirit stones. A bared Witchblade gleamed in his left.

  Incredible psychic potency and the presence of Black Guardians of Ulthwé made it easy to know the farseer’s identity, even if Asurmen had not met him a score of times and more in previous lives.

  ‘Eldrad.’ Asurmen pushed himself to his feet and thought on the farseer’s reply. ‘The Jhitaar were driven back by the People of the Shards. How have they returned?’

  ‘You have been here quite some time, Hand of Asuryan,’ said Eldrad Ulthran, chief of craftworld Ulthwé’s seer council and the greatest prophetic psyker the eldar possessed. ‘A quarter of an arc by the reckoning of my people has passed since the Jhitaar returned to their core systems.’

  ‘A quarter of an arc?’ Asurmen made a quick calculation based on the trajectory of Ulthwé’s movements. ‘This world has orbited its star more than seven hundred times while I awaited resurrection!’

  ‘Indeed. Rest assured that your awakening is timely. I was brought here by a vision, a waking dream that came to me as I studied the skein of possible futures. I did not know why, but it steered me towards the burial grounds of the Jhitaar. I thought perhaps some remnant of the Fa’ade’en war machine or civilisation remained.’

  ‘It did,’ Asurmen said grimly, moving towards the portal stones beyond the hole made by the eldar of Ulthwé. ‘Three shards of an Annihilator Obelisk. The humans found them and woke them up. I tried to prevent it. I’m sorry, I was too late.’

  ‘Why do you direct your apology towards me?’

  ‘I was meant to see them destroyed. Asuryan… A vision I was given… The shard-ships are linked to the Rhana Dandra and the destruction of Ulthwé in some fashion.’

  The farseer accepted this with a calm nod.

  ‘As powerful as they may be, three Annihilator Shards are no match for the fleet and defences of a major craftworld such as Ulthwé. What danger they pose is minimal.’

  ‘You are wrong, which cannot often be said,’ Asurmen assured the seer. ‘I know. I have seen what will happen. I was too late.’

  ‘How can you see such a thing when I have not?’ Eldrad scoffed at the idea. ‘Not even with all the seers of the galaxy would I be able to pierce the veil that is the storm of the Rhana Dandra. I know that you are constantly drawn to unhappier fates and great moments in history. When countless lives entwine and hang in the balance, nodes of invisible futures, that is where you will be. It is the doom of the Asuryata, but all is not lost.’

  ‘You have it wrong. Asuryan himself guides his Asuryata, you know that. We do not follow fate, it follows us. These nodes of invisible futures do not draw us, we are the nodes. The skein bends to our presence. The fates of all others may be hidden from me, but my own is as clear as crystal. I do not see the means, but the Shards are linked to the loss of Ulthwé.’ Asurmen considered the possibilities. ‘Perhaps they reunite with their core and others, and a full Obelisk is restored?’

  ‘That would be… troubling. But let us not speculate too much. There are other means.’

  Three pouches at Eldrad’s belt opened of their own accord and a small constellation of wraithbone rune-shapes drifted into the air from within, each unique, circling about Eldrad and making orbits with each other. Asurmen sensed the Staff of Ulthramar vibrating gently in the farseer’s grasp, a permanent link through the eternal matrix, joining Eldrad to the immense power of Ulthwé’s infinity circuit many light years away.

  The lenses of the farseer’s ghosthelm gleamed gold with psychic energy.

  ‘The oft-cried lament of our people since the Fall, “I was too late.” Let us see what the future holds, Hand of Asuryan.’

  ‘Tell me, how do we prevent this disaster?’ Asurmen said. ‘If there is any way that I can set right this course, I will do it.’

  6

  ‘Neridiath, could you come up to the control pod?’ Kaydaryal’s voice conveyed her uncertainty even before the emotion came to Neridiath across the ship’s matrix. The other crew members felt it too and there was a gentle backwash of concern which coaxed an explanation from Kaydaryal. ‘I’m picking up another ship close by in the webway, that’s all.’

  Manyia was sleeping, suspended in her grav-net, a fluffy gyrinx doll clutched across her chest. Checking her daughter’s spirit stone pendant was secure around her neck, Neridiath gave Manyia a light kiss on the cheek before making her way up to join Kaydaryal.

  Slipping into the steering cradle felt like returning to a loving companion, and Neridiath savoured the moment as its fronds enveloped her, drawing her into a gentle but firm embrace. She let her mind contact Kaydaryal’s sensor banks, sharing her thoughts for a moment.

  The webway flowed around them, streaming past as a tunnel of energy, though more accurately it was the Joyous Venture that was
moving, not the webway. The psychic matrix spread out past the skin of the ship, sending tendrils into the fabric of the webway itself like an anti-gravitic monoshuttle gripping its rail with electromagnetism – connecting but not quite touching. The Joyous Venture drew in power along this contact and simultaneously used the pulses of psychic energy to propel itself along the semi-ethereal route of the webway.

  Some distance behind but gaining on them was another spark of power. Seeing it only from a tangent, Neridiath did not share the intimate connection that Kaydaryal had, nor did she share her concern.

  ‘Another ship, as you said. I see no reason to adjust our course. Why are you so alarmed by its presence?’

  Kaydaryal pulled herself out of her sensor-trance and looked at Neridiath, her silvery eyes intent.

  ‘We are not close to the craftworld, and this is not a highly travelled trade route, so any encounter is unlikely. Also, the speed of the other vessel is something to behold. Almost twice as fast as we are travelling.’

  ‘Twice as fast?’ The Joyous Venture was no sun-racer, but that was an impressive feat. ‘So, they’re in a hurry. What else?’

  ‘Battle-intent. The fabric of the webway is rippling with foreboding, a bow wave from that other ship. When it’s closer, you’ll be able to feel it too, the Khaine-lust. There are warriors on board.’

  Acknowledging Kaydaryal’s fear with a reassuring smile, Neridiath checked once more that all was well with Manyia – the child was still fast asleep – and allowed herself to be drawn into the piloting systems. As she did every time, she felt the thrill of exchanging frail, mortal limbs for the star-spanning power of a spaceship. The moment she was wholly interfaced with the engines and manoeuvring systems she detected a faint quiver of the war-like intent that Kaydaryal had mentioned, entering her thoughts as feedback from the webway structure itself.

  She increased the energy output and took direct control of the ship’s navigation. She eased up the grip of the psychic matrix, giving them less traction, which increased their speed but reduced manoeuvrability. Letting her thoughts flow ahead, she spied a secondary tunnel branching off the main webway passage they were following. A partial map of the nearby star systems and webway gates flickered across her synapses in an instant, identifying the junction as the branching point towards the Seraishamath System. Dead worlds, and beyond them a long journey to the next star.

  Neridiath slowed again, preparing for the turn, feeling the ship behind them getting closer and closer as she did so. The shorter the distance between the two vessels, the more she could feel the scent of Khaine emanating from the other craft. It started to slow also, preparing to follow them around the curve into the sub-passage.

  ‘What sort of ship is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Small, maybe a handful of crew at most. Craftworld-built, not Commorraghans. Possibly outcasts, so that doesn’t mean we’re safe. One weapons array, dorsal- and keel-linked lances.’

  Another presence intruded on their discussion as Fael interfaced with the Joyous Venture’s lance control systems.

  ‘In case they follow us out into mortal space,’ he said, sensing Neridiath’s disapproval and pre-empting the sharp remark that had come to mind. ‘Better to be ready than sorry.’

  Neridiath ignored him, determined that it would not come to a fight. She slowed the ship for the coming turn, letting the other ship get even closer, within extreme weapons range. Then she accelerated again, as though she had changed her mind and was going to outpace the other ship in the larger passageway.

  ‘Only one aboard,’ Kaydaryal said with some surprise. ‘Vaul’s hammer, but they make a big dent in the webway. A major psychic well on that ship, no wonder they can go so fast, channelling the traction energy directly through the pilot!’

  The pursuing ship did not power up its weapons, but it did accelerate again, responding in an instant to Neridiath’s manoeuvres.

  ‘We’ll be overhauled soon if we don’t do something,’ said Fael.

  ‘Already ahead of you,’ snapped Neridiath.

  They were about to pass the exit to the sub-branch when Neridiath threw all of the psychic matrix into the flank of the Joyous Venture, effectively turning the left side of the ship into a massive ether-anchor. Only she felt the terrible wrenching of competing energies as impetus and psychic friction fought against each other, throwing a flare of immaterial sparks as the warp-grasp of the psychic matrix tried to snap away from the webway wall. For the others, inertia dampeners and the vessel’s artificial gravity nullified any physical sensation the dramatic manoeuvre might have inflicted.

  Neridiath threw all of her thought through the turn, hurling the energy from the inside curve to the outside wall, turning the power from a brake into a huge booster, slinging the Joyous Venture into the side-tunnel at full speed. It was almost too fast and the starboard stabilising wing came perilously close to impeding the psychic connection, but Neridiath managed the energy flow just in time, restoring the equilibrium through the ship just as it was about to power itself sideways into the immaterial wall of the webway.

  The pilot shunted her thoughts across into Kaydaryal’s systems for an instant, just in time to see the other ship perform an outrageous turn and loop, running upwards and across the outside of the junction before twisting through its own psychic matrix to follow after the Joyous Venture with no loss of momentum at all.

  ‘Kurnus’s blood!’ hissed Kaydaryal.

  ‘If I tried that manoeuvre, I’d turn my mind inside out,’ Neridiath said in hushed awe.

  ‘Shall I power up the lances?’ asked Fael. ‘I don’t think we can give them the slip.’

  The moment Fael mentioned weapons the webway shuddered slightly, his thoughts of possible conflict intermingling with the warlike presence emanating from their pursuer.

  ‘No!’ Neridiath told him, easing out her thoughts into the matrix engines to slow their progress. ‘If they want to contact us so much, let’s hear what they have to say.’

  She guided the slowing starship towards a bay-like blister nestling in the roof of the webway sub-branch. It had been created to allow smaller ships to let a much larger vessel pass in the confines of the duct, but it suited equally well as a temporary berth. Warp grapples secured the Joyous Venture a safe distance from the fabric of the webway as Neridiath powered down the navigational engines. The other ship bled off momentum with a series of dramatic spirals around the webway tunnel, finally detaching from the webway wall to glide into position inverted beneath the Joyous Venture so that their docking portals could lock on to each other.

  ‘Let’s see who our visitor is,’ said Neridiath as she slipped from the descending pilot cradle.

  The others met her at the docking gate, in a chamber barely large enough to hold all of them. A hiss heralded the sealing of the two ships’ environmental fields and with a puff of breeze from equalising air pressure the external door opened.

  At the threshold stood a tall figure clad in layers of blue armour, his head encased in a high helm of red, with a white and black crest. His gauntlets merged with heavy vambraces along his forearms, each fitted with the barrel of a shuriken weapon. Gems of many colours glittered all across the ornate armour, filled with an energy of their own.

  It was not the weapons or the armour that shocked Neridiath so strongly but the aura of death and ancient power that surrounded the warrior. The small room quickly filled with a sense of trapped energy, of terrifying violent potential held at bay behind a wall of pure willpower.

  The warrior stepped aboard and the whole matrix thrummed with his presence. At the back of her mind Neridiath felt Manyia stir, her infantile enquiry puncturing the horrific miasma that surrounded the stranger.

  New Person. Friend?

  When the visitor spoke, it was with soft, mellifluous tones.

  ‘I am the Hand of Asuryan and I need you. The future of the eldar depends up
on it.’

  7

  The descent of the Patient Lightning left a scar across Niessis, the heat of its crash and the shockwave turning much of the abandoned eldar city to ruins. Linked by a thousand bridges across more than a hundred towering rock pillars and plateaus, the sky-city became a tomb for thousands of the Chaos gods’ vile worshippers. The fortunate ones were incinerated alive but many were buried by the collapse of sandstone towers or plunged to their deaths when bridges crumbled beneath their feet. The lower levels of the sky-columns were wreathed in fumes from destroyed troop carriers and crude tanks that had plummeted to the ground, their tangled remains piled where they had fallen.

  From high in the pilaster that topped the Tower of the Vault, Hylandris surveyed the aftermath. Towards the sunset a pall of black smoke hung over the forest that covered much of the land beneath the city. A hump of pale yellow and green marked the final resting place of the downed battleship, just visible beyond the column of black that polluted the magenta sky of Escatharinesh. Fortunately the prevailing wind, funnelled from the poles by an ever-narrowing series of valleys, was driving the forest fire away from the crash site.

  ‘Tynarin did well to steer clear of the Vault Tower,’ Hylandris told his companion, the warlock Zarathuin. The farseer pointed to a column of lights and smudge of exhaust smoke trailing along the main highway through the forest towards the battleship. ‘The scavengers gather but they will find a beast ready to fight rather than some carcass to be stripped. At least this has distracted them from Niessis and we will be able to continue our work unmolested for a few days.’

  ‘How can you be so dismissive of this disaster?’ asked Zarathuin, alabaster skin creasing into a frown. ‘You act as though all is proceeding as you have foreseen. It is not! You did not warn Tynarin of the attack in orbit, and I certainly do not recall you saying anything about being stranded on this moon surrounded by wild Chaos-tainted humans!’