The Shining Spear pressed herself lower against the cha.s.sis of her jetbike, streamlining herself until she seemed indistinguishable from the bike, as though they were together the brilliant spear of Khaine himself, flashing through the darkness. She willed her bike up to an incredible speed, feeling Shariele fall slightly behind to her right, and hoping all the time that the mon-keigh would not be able to keep up. She knew that the Seer Council had instructed her to guide them, but her very soul screamed in defiance at the thought that they would pa.s.s into the spirit of Ulthwe. To her considerable irritation, she realised that the crude, roaring mon-keigh bikes were keeping pace.

She rolled her bike along its axis as it banked around the last corner, bringing Ghreivanas Gate into view at the end of the corridor. It was roughly circular in shape, although its frame was decorated with ornate runes and twisted as though stretched through several dimensions at once. Within the frame was a curtain of liquid night, shimmering and oily. As the nose of her jetbike broke its surface, submerging as though into a pool, Dhrykna caught a glimpse of the scene on the other side, distorted by the interdimensional refraction and riddled by the surface ripples. She could see the Black Guardians engaging the darkling raiders down in the lowest levels of Ulthwe a they were not winning.

There was not even a splash as the pristine jetbike plunged through the gate and vanished from the corridor.

As usual, the room was barely lit and Inquisitor Lord Seishon sat quietly in the middle of it, as though in meditation. His eyes were half open, but even those who knew him well would not be able to tell whether he was sleeping or awake. Most of the light in the room was tinged with red, as though filtered through a pool of blood. It was a weak light, little more than a glow emanating from the viewscreen that dominated the far wall.

Ever since they had first spotted the anomaly in the Circuitrine system, Seishon had kept a watchful eye on the lashes of the Eye of Terror, as the ruddy, red mist wisped and plumed through the nebula. On the screen, it looked like little more than a pattern of ink swirling through a tank of water. Seishon exhaled and shook his head: how incredible to believe that the swirling tendrils of ink engulfed hundreds of stars.

It was not just the maelstrom of the Eye that clawed at Seishonas soul as he watched the image on the viewscreen zoom through an incredible ratio of magnification. The last communication from Librarian Ashok before the Deathwatch team had finally vanished into the ma.s.sive docking bay of the eldar craftworld had sent Seishonas mind reeling. He had been concerned about the trustworthiness of their erstwhile allies even before he and Vargas had reached the decision to despatch the Deathwatch, but the latest news had added whole new levels of suspicion and doubt.

Ashok had suggested that the dark eldar might also be involved in the plot, and that was not an eventuality for which Seishon had been prepared. He was absolutely certain that Vargas would have given it no thought whatsoever, and he was equally certain that the cunning, arrogant and insightful aliens would have expected the human keepers of the Coven of Isha to ask few questions. Vargas, imagined Seishon with a faint disgust edging into his thoughts, probably asked no questions of the messenger at all. Vargas had claimed that the messenger had been Eldrad Ulthran himself, but Seishon was beginning to doubt even that. Vargas would believe anything. And how could that ancient sorcerer still be alive after all these millennia? Eldar may be long lived, but this Ulthran would have to be virtually immortal.

A faint chime sounded from the main door into his chambers, but Seishon ignored it for a moment, endeavouring to compose his thoughts. It would not do to confront an agent of the Inquisition in this unbalanced frame of mind. This was one of the many drawbacks of being based on Ramugan a no matter where you went and no matter to whom you spoke, there was always a chance that they would twist your actions or words into those of a heretic. Heresy was everywhere, and it was only a small leap of logic to reach the conclusion that heresy was also everything.

aEnter,a he said at last, keeping his back to the door as it slid smoothly open. He knew it was Vargas. The dulled, almost impotent psychic stench oozed into the room even before it opened.

aSeishonaa started Vargas, breaking into voice even before the door had sealed closed. Seishon silenced him by slicing his hand out to one side, before turning to face his honoured guest.

aCareful, old friend,a he cautioned, indicating the door with his eyebrow. For a moment, and not for the first time, Seishon marvelled at the fact that Vargas had risen to the exalted rank of inquisitor lord. They had known each other a long time, and Seishon could not remember a time when Vargas had demonstrated the kind of political edge or subtlety demanded of his position. And he was one of the very few senior inquisitors in this sector that had almost no psychic ability at all. He made no secret of it.

aOh, of course,a replied Vargas hastily, shuffling into the room and slumping down into one of the chairs around the table in its centre. He looked up at Seishon, fl.u.s.tered and clearly exhausted, before letting his gaze drift to the image on the giant viewscreen.

The door closed and Seishon activated a series of purity seals with a casual wave of his hand. They would not keep out the most determined of spying devices, but he had any number of more painful ways to deal with anyone or anything that actually dared to breach the integrity of his chambers.

Taking two weary steps, Seishon joined Vargas at the table, lowering himself stiffly into the chair opposite his old friend, watching him rattling a gla.s.s against a crystal carafe as he tried to pour himself some wine. A cunning thought occurred to him at that moment, and he kicked himself mentally for not having thought of it before: perhaps all of this b.u.mbling innocence was just a front? Perhaps Vargas just used this image to disarm his adversaries?

He would not be the first to attempt such a ruse, reflected Seishon, narrowing his eyes as the logical implications of the theory started to play out in his head. If this personality was a ruse, which seemed necessary as an explanation for Vargasa position and rank, then the chief victim of the ruse was probably Seishon himself, since he had known Vargas longer than anyone. Not only that, but Seishon had taken the old fool into his confidence. If Vargas was not who he purported to be, then Seishonas already precarious position regarding the Coven of Isha was even more precarious than he had realised.

aSeishon?a inquired Vargas. His wine gla.s.s was already drained and he was busily pouring himself another, a concerned smile playing over his lips.

aYes? Oh, yes, sorry,a replied Seishon, composing himself, immediately aware that he was making exactly the mistake he had striven to avoid for decades on Ramugan. It was all well and good to be suspicious a indeed, it was essential to be suspicious a but it was no good to show your suspicion, and it was even worse to let your suspicion compromise your attentiveness. The stress of the situation was clearly having an effect on him.

aAre you sick?a asked Vargas, his voice tinged with what appeared to be genuine concern.

aNo. Iam fine, Vargas. Thank you. I am merely concerned about this situation,a he finished, flicking his head to indicate the image on the screen behind him, before reaching for the carafe.

aAs am I, old friend. There has been no further word from Lord Ulthran.a aDid you expert to hear more?a asked Seishon, raising an eyebrow and then sipping his wine.

aI am not sure what to expect, Seishon.a aExpectations are not always the allies of faith, old friend.a Vargas nodded thoughtfully, but Seishon felt sure that he had not understood him.

aI have reason to believe that the dark eldar are somehow involved in this affair, Vargas,a he continued, watching the otheras face for some sign of recognition.

aReally? Why?a It appeared to be genuine surprise, although not necessarily alarm.

aLibrarian Ashok sent a communique from just inside the Circuitrine nebula. The Lance of Darkness detected small, fast gunships emerging from the Eye of Terror as it approached, possibly fitted with shadowfields.a aDid they engage?a aNo. The flyers fled when Ulthwe launched its own escort vessels to guide the Lance home.a Seishonas mind was racing again, shot through with a tirade of implications and possibilities. aThe alien witch said nothing about his dark brethren, I suppose?a aNothing,a answered Vargas a little too hastily. His mind was already wandering into new areas. aThese gunships, were they large enough to be detected by the Malleus sensor arrays?a aI doubt it, Vargas a the distance is too great. In any case, as you must know, the Lance of Darkness had to time its run in counterphase with the sensor sweep, otherwise we would have had Lord Aurelius storming in here before they had even got out of this system. Anything they encountered on that route would be invisible to us, I hope.a Seishon was getting sick of explaining things that Vargas should already know.

aI have heard from Aurelius,a said Vargas, almost incidentally. aWhat?a aHe asked me why you are so interested in the Circuitrine nebula.a For a moment, Seishon was at a loss for words. aAnd what did you say to him, Vargas?a A heavy, sinking feeling had settled into Seishonas stomach. He should have been able to antic.i.p.ate that Caesurian and Aurelius would have approached Vargas to confirm his story. He would have done the same thing, especially considering the apparent likelihood that Vargas would spill his soul. aWas Caesurian with him?a The Hereticus lord was far more dangerous to him personally, if not to the mission itself.

aI told him that I was not aware of any particular or special interest in that nebula, and I implied that I would naturally be aware of any such interest if indeed it were to exist. I a.s.sured him of our cooperation with the Ordo Malleus here on Ramugan, in keeping with the conventions of the eons.a Seishon nodded, his mind elsewhere. aA good answer, Vargas.a aAnd no, Caesurian was not with him. He did, however, mention a young Hereticus Inquisitor Perceptia. Evidently she has been asking some questions of junior interrogators in the Malleus compound. This is why Aurelius came to me.a aPerceptia? Never heard of her,a sighed Seishon, a note of relief easing into his voice.

The front of Octaviusa bike burst out of the liquid curtain of the infinity portal, roaring like a wild animal hungry for a kill. As the fat tyres crunched down onto solid ground once again, the captain shook his head rapidly, scrunching his eyes shut and trying to reorient his senses. Flashing through the fringes of Ulthweas infinity circuit, or wherever it was that those portals went, was not something for which the untrained human brain was well equipped. It took a couple of seconds for Octavius to regain crisp vision and proper balance.

Before he could see what was going on around him, he could hear it. The noise was incredible. There were yells and screams, shouts in languages that Octavius had never heard. Terrible, shrill wails tore through the air, slicing through the other sounds as though cutting through water. Explosions shook the ground, and the unmistakable sizzling hiss of shuriken fire was pervasive in the background.

Hitting the brakes, Octavius slid his bike to a halt, not willing to charge forward blindly. In less than a second, Ashok skidded his own bike around, bringing it to rest less than a metre from his captainas, but he was already blazing with fire, his staff alive with power. Almost instantaneously, Atreus pulled his bike up on the other side of Octavius, his own staff spitting with a constant stream of blue energy. Immediately, Octavius realised that the librarians were better able to adjust to the oddities of travelling around Ulthwe and he was again thankful that Seishon had insisted on them both. He also realised that the two librarians were flanking him to protect him from the enemy while his senses returned to normal.

With a roar, Octavius unholstered his bolter and let rip into the semi-resolved haze before him. aPrimarch a Progenitor, to your glory and the glory of Him on Earth!a No son of Rogal Dorn needed the protection of another Marine.

In a matter of seconds, the Deathwatch team was a.s.sembled, and it found itself in the midst of a fierce battle between a bank of Ulthwe eldar on one side and a scattering of dark eldar on the other. Even after his sight had returned, it took Octavius a moment to work out which side he was supposed to be on. Both groups looked like eldar to him. Both were dressed in dark armour and firing tiny projectiles from hissing weapons. He noticed that Atreus and Ashok showed no hesitation at all a they immediately directed their fury towards the scattered distribution of aliens to the left. The others in the team took their lead from the librarians: Chaplain Luthar suddenly gunned the engine of his bike and powered off to one side, trying to out flank the dark eldar and get around behind them. Kruidan of the Mantis Warriors took his valour in his hands and roared forward directly into the heart of the dark eldar formation a as he closed on their line, his jump pack ignited and he blasted up away from his bike, sending it careening into the aliens, where it exploded into a ma.s.sive fireball.

Sulphus, the Iron Father of the Red Talons, manoeuvred his land speeder with two of his arms, punching the trigger for the front mounted heavy bolters, while his other arms unleashed volleys of fire from bolt pistols.

Only Pelias stood at Octaviusa shoulder. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing back towards the formation of Ulthwe warriors who were even now beginning to disengage from the battle, as though a.s.suming that they no longer had a role to play in this encounter. Octavius watched the scene unfold, calculating his next move. The dark eldar force was not as powerful as he had thought at first a the aggression of his team had already splintered it. Kruidan had wiped half of it out by himself with his bike stunt a at least, half of what had been left of it after the onslaught from Ashok and Atreus. The Mantis Warrior fought as though he had a point to make.

Watching closely, Octavius could see that the dark eldar and the eldar of Ulthwe did appear slightly different from each other. The former seemed less organised and more anarchic a lashing out with barbs and blades as though fighting entirely for themselves, or perhaps out of a desperate fear of an invisible master. They laughed and brayed, shrieking with reckless abandon. Their armour was artistic and stylised, as though designed as much for their own sensory pleasure as for protection a some of them, particularly the females, displayed more skin than armoured panels. They seemed to decorate themselves with flashes of colour a usually red headbands, bracelets, anklets or scarves.

Looking more closely, Octavius could see that the decorations were red with blood a some of them still edged with bone or finished with shrunken skulls. And they seemed to show a marked preference for bladed weapons, particularly the females who danced and spun with such breathtaking precision. They were like dancers of death.

The Ulthwe, on the other hand, were disciplined and coherent. Their armour was almost like a uniform, immaculate and polished, baring strange runic markings that seemed to bind them together as a single force.

Most of the warriors looked like males, but it was difficult to tell under the seamless black armour, since both genders were slim and elegant creatures. They seemed to prefer projectile weapons and most sported long rifles, which they fired in banks and disciplined volleys. These eldar did not look like the ones that greeted the Deathwatch team up in Calmainocas dock. The only figures that Octavius could recognise were the dashing forms of his two guides: one was a flashing streak of brilliant white, darting through the scattered dark eldar, cutting down her foe with javelins of lasfire; the other had long since abandoned his jetbike and was standing defiantly in the heart of the combat zone, lashing out at his dark brethren with crackling bursts of lightning from his fingertips.

Despite himself, Octavius nodded his approval. He was learning a great deal from this first encounter. It was a rare opportunity for a Deathwatch captain to see the eldar and dark eldar pitted against each other, and he felt that he was beginning to get a sense of some of their differences, at least in battle. But he was also beginning to realise that the eldar of Ulthwe themselves were not a h.o.m.ogeneous gaggle of aliens. There were depths to the actions of these creatures that he could not guess at, at least not yet.

However, the thing that struck him most was the fact that he wasnat sure why he was there. The eldar seemed to have enough firepower and enough talent to confront the smattering of dark eldar raiders that attempted to threaten their position. Of equal concern was the fact that the Ulthwe eldar seemed content to disengage when Octaviusa team showed up a all of them except the white warrior and the warlock. Perhaps this was simply a test? Whatever it was, he felt certain that the eldar had not summoned the Deathwatch just to fight a handful of alien raiders for them.

Some people curse when they get angry or frustrated. Some people hit things or lash out. Perceptia was not one of these people. When she got angry, she went to the librarium and read a good book. Actually, when she got angry, she went to the hidden depths of the Hereticus librarium of Ramugan and read bad books. Very bad books indeed.

She hated talking to the subordinates of inquisitors, especially to those outside of the Ordo Hereticus. It was bad enough trying to get sense out of her own colleagues and peers; even when she had been part of Caesurianas retinue, she had never really managed to get an honest answer out of any of the others. When it came to explicators and interrogators from the Ordo Malleus or Xenos, they would often simply not speak at all, or just walk past without even acknowledging her.

It was one of the oddities of the Ramugan station that agents from each of the services would occasionally come into contact with each other. It was not peculiar to Ramugan, however, that these agents would have absolutely no trust in each other when they did cross paths. There were all kinds of questions, suspicions and compet.i.tions between the ordos a in addition, each agent wanted to a.s.sert the superiority of its own by demonstrating its casual or studied disregard for everyone else.

As an interrogator, everyone could ignore her, but now that she was an inquisitor she could at least demand a few moments of time from the junior staff of others. Inquisitors may still be able to ignore her, and inquisitor lords might not even notice that she existed, but she could pester a few explicators for snippets of information. Now, however, she hated doing it a it was beneath her to deal with these underlings. Besides, the stupid explicators in the Ordo Malleus had not understood anything. They had not even known that there was anything they did not know, which seemed like the height of stupidity. She had always hypothesised that the agents of the Malleus were probably the least intellectually able of all, and it seemed to her that she had now found proof of her theory. All brash and no brains.

So, Perceptia had given up on the living for now. Caesurian had told her not to return until she had some evidence, so she was going to find some. The lowest levels of the Hereticus librarium contained the rantings and confessions of heretics that had been caught on Ramugan station itself over the centuries. The existence of such files was hidden from just about everyone on the station, even from most of the Ordo Hereticus.

They were twofold secrets: first, because the Ordo Hereticus of Ramugan did not want to advertise the fact that they kept intricate and detailed records about personnel from the other local branches of the Emperoras Inquisition; and second, because n.o.body liked to admit that even a place as saturated in the sacred light of the Emperor as Ramugan a a station uniquely blessed by the Inquisitorial trinity a could grow its very own heretics in such large numbers. The latter, of course, was not much of a secret and certainly no surprise, but it was treated as a secret for diplomatic reasons, to prevent the Ordo Hereticus from being seen as a police presence on the station.

Dropping the bundle of ma.n.u.scripts onto the table between the doc.u.ment stacks, Perceptia took one last look around the shadows that crept between the shelves, peering through her dirty gla.s.ses and the cloud of dust that billowed up off the metal desk. Satisfied that she was alone, she pushed her spectacles back up towards the bridge of her nose and sat down.

She brushed the dust off the loose cover and stared down at the seal that was still faintly visible in the paper, pressed in with the stamp of an Inquisitorial curator many centuries before. Next to it, even fainter than the seal, was the image of a pale and over-stylised eye. Untying the string that bound the bundle together, Perceptia leafed through the pages in between the covers, looking casually over the confessions and last breaths of hundreds of souls, each meticulously recorded, verified and filed by the agents of the Ordo Hereticus.

After several seconds, she finally found the doc.u.ment that she was looking for. It came as a relief, because it had been many long years since last she had seen that piece of paper. The confession, which was now over five hundred years old, had been used as a case-study during her training as an interrogator. It contained the last, garbled words of an old inquisitor lord of the Ordo Xenos. He had confessed to everything. He even confessed to a range of heresies that the interrogators had known nothing about. Before the end, he had also confessed to being a tau elemental and having fathered a half-breed child with an eldar female.

The standard wisdom was, of course, that Inquisitor Lord Herod would have confessed to anything. It seemed an undeniable fact that the poor man had gone insane.

However, a section of Herodas confession had stuck in Perceptiaas mind, even as a green interrogator. Her mentors had used those pa.s.sages as examples of the importance of being aware of context when conducting an interrogation. They had explained to the young Perceptia that human minds would scramble for information from their social and cultural surroundings at a time of great anxiety a or at a time of madness. They had laughed at the content of Herodas confession, hissing that it was as incredible as a childrenas story.

In fact, they had then produced a small, ill.u.s.trated book, which was itself hundreds of years old, in which a very similar story was told. The seemingly inevitable conclusion was that Herod had gone mad, regressed back to his childhood, and finally confessed to the sins of fictional characters from the stories he had encountered in the Schola Progenium. Interrogation, the mentors had insisted, was an art, and a skilled interrogator should know the difference between a confession and a rant. They had explained how techniques had been refined considerably since the time that Herodas aconfessiona had been extracted.

Perceptia leaned back away from the page, pushing the bridge of her spectacles with her finger tip. The story still seemed interesting to her. It said something about a secret society of inquisitors who were in league with the eldar. She had heard such legends before, of course, Ramugan was rife with them: the Ordo Malleus had a secret pact with the daemonic powers of the region, and the Ordo Xenos were secretly in league with various alien species that appeared in the sector from time to time. Very occasionally, such rumours turned out to have substance, or at least enough substance to warrant the purging of a soul and the recording of a confession.

Intermingled in amongst the references to hybrid children and heroic stands against the ancient necron threat, Perceptia thought that Herod had mentioned something specific, something that she suspected was not in the childrenas story. Something that he had added to the story from his own experience. Something that might even const.i.tute a genuine confession.

There. She stabbed her finger down against the page, tearing its dry surface with the point of a finely manicured fingernail. Perceptiaas fingernails were a point of pride. She had always insisted that she could tell a lot about a person from the state of their hands, and she was determined that hers would not betray her. Whenever she pushed her gla.s.ses up her nose, she imagined that someone was inspecting her fingernails.

She leaned her face closer to the text and blew the residual dust clear of the page. Yes, that was what she was looking for.

After she had given birth to my son, she left me. It was terrible, I there was nothing I could do, you understand?

Nothing. She was more beautiful than I could stand, she was Have you ever seen? By the stars aWhat happened after your son was born?a She took him back! She flashed like a star and vanished back into the Circuitrine nebula Pulling a little pocket-sized book out of her pocket and dropping it onto the desk next to the confession, she pressed its wrinkled pages flat and started to leaf through it. It was a copy of the Legend of Hourian, the story of an ill-fated inquisitor who had fallen in love with an eldar princess. Perceptia read out loud from the last page: aAfter the terrible and beautiful child was born a an unholy creature of exquisite form a the princess cradled him in her arms, with her eyes full of tears. She looked up at Hourian for a fraction of a moment, her sadness written deeply in her eyes, and then she vanished, blinking out of existence like a dying star. Though he searched for years without end, Hourian never saw her again.a aYes!a said Perceptia, realising that her memory had not let her down. Herod had added the reference to the Circuitrine nebula. It was not much of a leada the name of a system hidden in the ramblings of an insane, senile old inquisitor lord who had died five hundred years ago. It was nowhere near enough to take to Caesurian, but it was certainly enough to warrant further investigation. Interrogation was an art, after all.

The surviving dark eldar slipped away into the shadows, presumably aware that they were outcla.s.sed by the Deathwatch. Only the shimmering white female gave chase; the rest of the eldar simply regrouped and retreated back to wherever they had come from, leaving the Deathwatch alone in the smoky remains of the combat zone.

aThey will not be back in a hurry, captain,a said Kruidan, striding back towards Octavius as he bolstered his bolter. The Mantis Warrior was clearly proud of the role he had played in this first encounter, and rightly so. Only Octavius and Ashok knew that this was Kruidanas first mission with the Deathwatch. In fact, he was the first Marine to be seconded from the Mantis Warriors since the once renegade Chapter had completed its penitent crusade. He obviously felt that he had something to prove, and perhaps he did.

aIt was too easy,a rumbled Sulphus, climbing out of his customised land speeder. aAnd we were too slow getting here.a There was an edge to the Iron Fatheras voice which suggested that he was blaming the others for the delay. He flexed his mechanical limbs as though they were significant to his argument. It may not have been deliberate, but it was enough to ruffle some feathers.

aHe is right, captain,a agreed Luthar, as though the implicit criticism had been levelled directly at him. He unclasped the elaborate and terrifying death-mask that covered his face and nodded his agreement, as though accepting responsibility.

aThis is not the time for self-reproach, Chaplain Luthar,a said Octavius, shaking his head slightly. aThe encounter was a victory. The dark eldar were routed. We suffered no casualties and the Ulthwe appeared similarly fortunate.a aThey were not fortunate, captain. The aliens hardly fought at all,a whispered Pelias, as though unsure whether to speak the thoughts out loud or not. aThey just watched us.a aNot all of them,a corrected Atreus. aThe warlock and that white female - they fought well.a aAgreed,a replied Octavius.

aThey took prisoners, Octavius.a Ashokas voice was low and resonant.

aYes.a aIt seems strange to me that the dark eldar would seek prisoners here,a continued the Angel Sanguine, indicating the uninspiring surroundings with a gesture from his head. aThey usually seek warriors for their games, Octavius. The Ulthwe of this sector are little more than peasants. Look at them.a The Imperial Fists captain looked out through the clearing smoke and saw the eyes staring back at him from the perimeter of the zone. These were the local residents who had come to see what had happened and, sure enough, they did not look like warriors. Their builds were even more slight than those of the eldar fighters, and they had no armour and no weapons.

aWe should leave,a concluded Octavius, nodding his acknowledgement to Ashok. aWe will return to the Lance of Darkness and appraise the situation fully. I suspect that we have not seen the last of the dark eldar, and our function here is still not clear. I wonder when the Ulthwe will deign to explain why they have called for us.a With that, Octavius kicked his bike back into life and slid its back wheel through 180 degrees. The infinity portal was still a shimmering curtain, exactly where the team had emerged. Grimacing at the prospect of travelling back through that alien technology, Octavius gunned his engine and roared forward through the curtain.

From under the deep folds of his heavy hood, Ashok watched the rest of the kill-team vanish in pursuit of their captain. He paused for a moment, wondering whether he should follow them, but then he turned and strode off deeper into the structure of Ulthwe. He had other things to do.

CHAPTER SIX: LEGERDEMAIN.

The darkly crystalline walls seemed to vanish up into a distant sky. It was almost impossible to believe that this was an interior s.p.a.ce, and that somewhere in the shadows high above there was a ceiling. Dwarfed like a tiny model soldier, Octavius stood in the magnificent archway that led into the ma.s.sive hall, his head barely even a tenth of the way to its apex, and its apex almost insignificant in the height of the wall. He surveyed the cavernous s.p.a.ce before him, taking in the entire scene instantly and then letting his eyes slowly scan from one side to the other, lingering in the shadows cast by each of the narrow, elegant pillars that disappeared into the invisible heavens above. It was an inhuman scene. He had been inside the grand halls of Phalanx, the now legendary fortress monastery of the Imperial Fists that had once shadowed the craftworld of Ulthwe during the first Black Crusade, and he had even seen the epic frescoes depicting the majestic s.p.a.ces in the Imperial Palace on Terra, with Rogal Dorn himself standing at the shoulder of the Emperor. But he had never seen a s.p.a.ce as expansive as the one in front of him now.

There was a crackle of static, and then Peliasa voice snarled into Octaviusa ear. aThereas nothing here, captain. The warlock was wrong, or he lied to us.a aWhy would he lie?a asked Octavius, genuinely curious. aWhat would he gain?a aWho can say what his motives might be?a hissed Luthar. aIt is still not even clear why these aliens want us here at all.a Octavius said nothing, but he knew that Luthar was right. Even after their first encounter with the dark eldar, the Ulthwe had still not offered an explanation for their presence. Octavius had taken his team back to the Lance of Darkness to reconsider their position, expecting that the eldar would send an envoy.

When n.o.body came, and after the team had checked and rechecked all of their weapons after the recent combat, there had been little else for the Marines to do other than discuss their presence on Ulthwe. They were reticent in each otheras company, which was understandable, but none of them were pleased to be there. Pelias had been strangely silent, and Luthar had preached to them about the importance of purity in the face of xenos pollution. None of them had needed to be reminded, but they had let the chaplain speak in deference to his position. Octavius himself had listened impa.s.sively, sitting apart from his men, turning the events of the last day over in his mind, and wondering where Ashok had gone.

Atreus had been the first to notice that they had a visitor. He had risen to his feet and wandered over to one of the viewscreens, clicking it into life. For a while there had been no image on the screen, as the snow of static speckled the picture; none of the Lance of Darknessas instruments worked faultlessly in the bizarre, ethereal s.p.a.ce of Calmainocas dock. After a couple of seconds, Atreus brought up an image of the wraithbone bridge that connected the Deathwatch frigate to the jetty. A single eldar was striding along it towards the ship. They had seen the impressive figure before; he was the warlock in elaborate rune armour that had been part of the welcoming committee.

Rather than letting the alien war-witch enter the Lance of Darkness and risk offending the venerable vesselas machine-spirit, Octavius resolved to go out and meet him. However, after a couple of seconds, Atreus stopped the captain and reported the warlockas message. It was simple: We have seen where the next attack will be. Follow me.

aI do not think he was lying,a said Atreus, his tone even and rea.s.suring. aHe meant for us to be here in time to confront the raid. His vision is not perfect, but he was confident that he was right.a aThey are always confident, librarian,a growled Pelias. aBut confidence does not make them right.a aThey are as fallible as any organic form,a mumbled Sulphus, twitching his mechanical arms.

aAll life is fallible, brother. Life itself is the issue, not its material composition,a pressed Luthar, as though responding to a duty. He watched the Iron Father carefully and realised for the first time that only his head and right arm were still organically human. The rest had been replaced by mechanical limbs, organs and appendages, in the manner of the veteran Iron Hands techmarines. Sulphus must be old beyond his years a perhaps he had even trained with the tech-priests of Mars, wondered Luthar.

aLife is not all the same, brother-chaplain,a snarled Sulphus in response. aConsider the eldar. Would you grant them the same quality of life as human beings?a aEnough,a said Octavius firmly, but without anger. aThis is not the time for such debates.a He paused, looking around. aWhere did the warlock go?a aRan away and left us,a hissed Pelias, with undisguised venom.

aAtreus a any idea where he went?a pressed Octavius, ignoring Pelias.

aI do not think that he has gone, but I cannot tell where he is,a replied Atreus, without deliberate obfuscation. I think also that Ashok is nearby, although I cannot tell exactly where, continued the librarian, pushing the thoughts gently into his captainas mind. We are not alone here.

The giant, crystalline pillars that vanished up into the darkness above were almost translucent, tinged with purpling light as though constructed out of amethyst or sapphire. There were hundreds of them, but, looking closely, Octavius realised that they were not regularly s.p.a.ced. There was no symmetry in the vast chamber; the pillars were positioned just slightly out of alignment, as though placed to provoke a deliberate discomfort or a specific, alien aesthetic pleasure. Octavius wondered about the acoustics in such an unusual s.p.a.ce, realising that the intervals of the pillars may disrupt sound waves and that the impossible height of the chamber could swallow even the sound of explosions.

aI donat like this,a confessed Octavius, snapping a signal that sent Kruidan and Luthar off to one side with their backs pressed against the wall. Pelias and Sulphus went the other way, leaving Atreus and Octavius standing in the mouth of the great arch. Octavius unclipped his bolter and stepped forward.

A faint whine slid through the air. It was just on the very edge of hearing, like the buzz of a poisonous insect. They all heard it. As one, the Marines snapped their faces towards the ceiling, weapons s.n.a.t.c.hed from holsters and braced for firing. After the abrupt rattle and clatter of preparation, the whining seemed to stop. There was silence once again. If it wasnat for the fact that they had all reacted, Octavius might have thought that he had imagined the noise.

There it was again, a high-pitched whine, like the sound of a power coil energising. It was louder this time, but intermittent, as though the power was spluttering or something was interfering with the sound a a whistling staccato. Because of the broken notes, it was hard to tell whether there was just one sound source or many, but the increase in volume suggested either an approach or a multiplication, or both.

High up in the sky, something dark flashed between the pillars, flickering in and out of visibility as it strobed behind the translucent columns. It was too fast and too distant to make out properly After a couple of seconds, there was another flash, this time heading in the opposite direction, disappearing off to the left. Then there was another and another, until dozens of the rapid shapes flickered and wove through the forest of pillars high above, hidden in the lightless alt.i.tude. Whatever they were, they were gathering, and the ear-piercing whine was growing louder with every heartbeat.

A sudden flash of brilliant energy cut up through the shadows, reaching up from the ground and piercing the darkness in the heights. It was a jagged spear of warp fire, tinged with a sapphire hue. Up in the invisible reaches of the sky, an explosion erupted, shaking the magnificent columns and sending intense vibrations cascading down through their structure. Immediately afterwards, a black, smoking shape spiralled down out of the darkness, flames licking around it as though it were a falling angel. It slammed into the ground and detonated, exploding into a fireball of fragments and shrapnel.

Octavius did not watch the falling star; his eyes were tracking across the ground, searching for the source of the blast. Over on the other side of the immense chamber, he could see the silhouette of another Marine, a glowing force staff pushed out in front of him and an aura of power flickering around his outline.

Ashok, confirmed Atreus, sharing Octaviusa line of sight.

The Imperial Fist nodded his affirmation.

Meanwhile, Sulphus and Kruidan had opened fire, using Ashokas sudden blast as a tracing round. Kruidanas jump pack flared with power and he rocketed up into the darkness above, spraying sh.e.l.ls from his bolter as he went. As the fire spilt out of his jump pack, a pool of light followed the Mantis Warrior into the heights. In the fringes of the light, a flock of elegant and dark figures could be seen skating through the air on what appeared to be giant blades.

Almost as soon as the dark eldar raiders became visible, they dived out of the heights, scything down towards the Deathwatch Marines on their bladed skyboards, projectiles hissing out of the multi-bladed h.e.l.lglaives that they wielded in both hands, a terrible keening filling the air. The dark eldar on the boards were similar to the ones encountered earlier, but not identical. They had long, unkempt hair that flooded out behind them like capes of darkness. Blades protruded from glinting gauntlets on their wrists and from armoured boots that came up to their knees. Other than that, their clothing and armour was minimal, revealing snaking lines of black and red tattoos all over their pale bodies. They screamed as though they were defying death itself.

Like an angel of fire amongst them, Kruidan hovered on the flames from his jump pack, spraying the flittering aliens with bolter sh.e.l.ls and lashing out with his chainsword whenever any of them strayed close enough for him to reach. But the slippery foes were fleet, too fast and manoeuvrable to be brought down by a single Marine, no matter how furious his a.s.sault.

Streams of sh.e.l.ls ripped up through the hall in support, ricocheting off pillars and riddling the heights with explosive fragments until the aliens could find no haven from the onslaught. A carefully placed javelin of energy from Atreusa staff crunched into a skyboard, destabilizing it and sending its rider spinning uncontrollably towards the hovering figure of Kruidan.

The collision was inevitable, and it sent the Mantis Warrior roaring back into one of the pillars, where his jump pack spluttered under the impact and failed. Together with the struggling dark eldar raider, the Marine tumbled and slid down the sheer face of the pillar, fighting to keep upright and to keep the alien beneath him. The two figures ploughed into the floor at the base of the column like a meteor striking the ground, sending a shock wave convulsing through the hall.

Meanwhile, the rest of the dark eldar raiders were swooping down on the kill-team, unleashing a rain of splinter projectiles from their unique weapons. At the base of their dives, when the proximity was tight, their h.e.l.lglaives became lethal scything weapons, with multiple, sweeping blades protruding from each end of them.

The combination of ranged and then intimate attacks sent the Deathwatch onto the defensive for a moment a only Atreusa staff was as versatile as the alien h.e.l.lglaive, and the librarian was making sure that the xenos creatures knew their tactics would not cow a librarian of the Blood Ravens. As Atreus parried and jabbed with his burning staff, meeting the h.e.l.lglaive blades with the unyielding substance of his force staff whilst unleashing sheets of sizzling energy into the faces of the diving foes, Octavius whipped his chainsword into life and brandished it in his off-hand, his bolter still coughing in the other.