Path of the Warrior (37 page)

Morlaniath trod gently across a ramp of broken stone, careful not to move the smallest grain of debris. Crouched at the sill of a shattered window, he set eyes on his prey once more. The sergeant stood with one foot up on the lip of a wall, directing the fire of his squad. The white edging of his shoulder pads and the cross symbol they enclosed could be seen in the shadow of the ruin. Bursts of muzzle flare illuminated his craggy face as he stared intently out across the fields.

With a nod to his squad, Morlaniath slipped through the remnants of the window and across the rubble-strewn street, gliding between patches of burning material and smoking corpses.

They were halfway across the open space when the prey suddenly glanced down at his left wrist: Morlaniath could see a red light winking quickly on a device attached to his arm. To Morlaniath it seemed as if the sergeant turned slowly in his direction, raising his pistol to fire, mouth opening to bellow a fresh order even as his other hand raised the Space Marine’s helmet towards his head.

The Striking Scorpions needed no command. They leapt forward at full speed, entering the bottom storey of the building occupied by the Space Marines. Riethillin and Lordranir sprinted up the stairway while Morlaniath led Irithiris, Elthruin and Darendir up the slope of a collapsed floor, into the heart of the enemy squad.

Harsh light blazed as the Space Marines unleashed the fury of their bolters. Darendir was in their line of fire and was torn apart, fragments of armour and body tumbling down the floor-slope. Morlaniath tossed a handful of small grenades, each exploding into a white-hot cloud of plasma that sent the Space Marines reeling back. He charged through the dissipating mist, the
Teeth of Dissonance
carving into the chest of the closest enemy. Blades screeched as they hacked through the gold-embossed eagle on the warrior’s plastron. The Space Marine twisted away, almost wrenching the weapon from Morlaniath’s grasp. The exarch ducked beneath a fist almost as large as his head and kicked his foot against the Space Marine’s stomach to wrench his biting blade free. He lithely twisted aside as the Space Marine tried to bring an armoured elbow down on the exarch’s shoulder, the
Teeth of Dissonance
cutting into the flexible armour behind the warrior’s left knee.

The Space Marine toppled as the lower half of his leg spun away, his weapon blazing as his finger instinctively tightened on the trigger, the flare of the bolts disappearing into the darkening sky. Morlaniath drove the point of his blade into the faceplate of the Space Marine’s helmet, the whirring teeth cutting through the grille-mouth until blood sprayed heavily and the Space Marine fell still.

Something slammed into the exarch’s back and he felt ribs fracturing. Morlaniath snarled in pain and his mandiblasters spewed an arc of energy as he twisted with the force of the blow to confront his new attacker. The Space Marine ponderously swung overarm with a long combat knife, the blow falling wide as Morlaniath slipped aside. The exarch rained down three blows on the arm of the Space Marine, the last severing his wrist so that hand and knife fell to the blood-spattered floor.

The rune of fate danced across the exarch’s vision and he plunged past the wounded Space Marine to attack the sergeant. His prey raised a chainsword in defence, the
Teeth of Dissonance
deflected away in a storm of sparks. Morlaniath adjusted his attack, feinting towards the sergeant’s gut before bringing his blade down hard against the side of his head. The teeth skittered across the rounded helm, shards of armour splintering, but the blow did not bite home and the
Teeth of Dissonance
rebounded off the Space Marine’s helm and shoulder pad.

The Space Marine clubbed down with the butt of his pistol, catching the exarch on the left shoulder. The eldar’s arm went numb and his fingers lost their grip on the
Teeth of Dissonance.
Something sent grinding pain along his spine when he stooped to recover the fallen weapon. A booted foot crashed into his chest, lifting Morlaniath fully off his feet, pain flooding through every part of him. He felt his heart rupturing from the blow, his lungs filling with blood.

This cannot be, he thought distractedly. He coughed and blood filled his helm. Even his eyes hurt as he watched the sergeant turning away with a snarl of contempt. Morlaniath held on for a few moments longer to see Ethruin pounce.

As Ethruin, he saw his exarch fall. Ethruin surged forward, triggering his mandiblasters to scorch the eyes of the sergeant, blinding him. His blade found the Space Marine’s throat, ripping open the flexible protective collar, biting into windpipe and arteries with a solid thrust. Blood frothed from the wound as the sergeant fell back, crashing through a window to the ground below.

With their target dead, the eldar withdrew into the night, the Hidden Death taking the armoured body of their fallen exarch with them.

Morlaniath snapped back to the present with a fierce growl. Such were the convoluted strands of fate that the farseers had to follow, with lives and spirits overlapping one another across the skein of time. There were no such machinations to contend with in this battle. The goal was simple. Slay the humans and drive them from Alaitoc. Nothing else mattered.

The Dome of Midnight Forests was dark, lit only by the glow of Mirianathir. Beneath the ruddy shadows of the lianderin, the Alaitocii gathered. Grav-tanks prowled along the pathways while scores of Wave Serpents shuttled back and forth delivering squads to their positions. The eldar had forsaken any defence of the dockward corridors, knowing that the Emperor’s Space Marines excelled at such close quarters fighting. Swooping Hawks and Warp Spiders harried them, hitting and retreating, drawing the human forces on towards the forest dome. Here the eldar would make their next stand, able to rake fire across the wide clearings from the cover of the scattered woods. Every valley would become a killing field, every brook and meadow a graveyard for the invaders.

The Hidden Death were joined by Fiorennan and Litharain from the Fall of Deadly Rain shrine—the only survivors from the squad. Five of them had been scythed down by rockets during the initial Space Marine assault, caught as they cleared the Imperial landing craft. The exarch and three more of his warriors had died trying to fall back, cut down as the Space Marines drove into the eldar. Aranarha’s armour had not been recovered and the loss hung heavy in his warriors’ minds.

“What if they desecrate his suit?” asked Fiorennan. “What if they break apart his spirit stones? He could be lost to us forever!”

“It is unwise to dwell, there are many such fates, but not all come to pass,” Morlaniath assured them. “The enemy come fast, with no thought of the dead, he will be overlooked.”

“Out of spite and ignorance, they could cause harm they do not understand,” argued Fiorennan.

“Aranarha is lost, for the moment at least, we cannot change his fate!” snapped Morlaniath. Talk of the eternal death displeased the exarch. If Alaitoc was to fall, then all of his kind would finally die, the infinity circuit would be raped of its power and She Who Thirsts would feast heavily. He shuddered. No mortal creature scared him, not even the Emperor’s Space Marine abominations, but everlasting torture consumed by the Great Enemy was a doom best not contemplated.

“Do not countenance death, dispel thoughts of defeat, think only of winning. Morai-heg was fickle, but it is in our hands, to shape our own future. Responsibility, to create our own fate, lies within our own grasp. To kill and not to die, to slay and not to fall, this is the end we seek.”

In silence, the Striking Scorpions stalked between the towering trees to their allotted position. As they flitted through the shadows, an enormous Cobra anti-grav tank slid past along a broad road, a nimbus of blue energy playing around the muzzle of its distortion cannon. The leaves trembled and grass flattened at its passing, though it made no more sound than the hum of a honeywing. The Hidden Death followed close behind until the Cobra turned off the road into a bowl-shaped clearing ringed with ancient lianderin.

This too was the Hidden Death’s appointed place. Morlaniath quickly scanned his surrounds to get a sense of the geography. The clearing was like an amphitheatre on three sides, shallow-sloped and rimmed with trees. It opened out into a broad valley that led towards the docking bays, along which the enemy would have to advance.

Something amongst the trees caught Morlaniath’s eye; a large statue entwined with the branches of a lianderin looking down the length of the valley. The statue would provide valuable cover if needed, while the trees gave ample shelter to circle behind a foe that entered the dell.

More figures converged on their location—two Vyper jetbikes appeared from the trees on the far side just ahead of several squads of Guardians clad in blue and yellow. They were followed by figures almost twice as tall, which strode silently through the undergrowth, eyeless, domed heads turning left and right as they picked their way forwards: unliving Wraithguard. Within the armoured shell of each was encased a spirit stone containing the essence of an eldar drawn from the infinity circuit. Morlaniath’s thoughts grew heavier upon seeing the artificial bodies of the Wraithguard: even the dead had been roused to defend the craftworld. The exarch could feel the undead spirits touching on his senses, bringing with them the dry emptiness of the infinity circuit, leaving a trace of bitterness in the exarch’s mind. Psychic energy coursed through their construct bodies and writhed within the wraithcannons they held.

Behind them came a coterie of seers—three warlocks carrying glittering spears and a farseer armed with a rune-carved witchblade.

Our fates share the same path again for a while.

Morlaniath looked over towards the farseer and recognised Thirianna. She raised her witchblade in salute.

“Is this coincidence, or a machination, brought about by your hand?” the exarch asked.

I am not senior enough to influence the judgement of the autarchs. Some have fates closely entwined; others have strands that never touch. We are the former. Do you not remember where you are?

Morlaniath looked around, reliving moments from his many lives, seeking a memory related to this place. His eyes fell upon the tall statue, of an eldar warrior kneeling before the goddess Isha, catching her tears in a goblet.

“I present
The Gifts of Loving Isha,”
he announced with a smile.

There were a few gasps of enjoyment and a spontaneous ripple of applause from all present. Korlandril turned to look at his creation and allowed himself to admire his work fully since its completion.

It was a recent memory, yet no closer and no further than any other. His was an existence spread across all of Alaitoc and a hundred other worlds.

“I remember clearly, when disharmony reigned, when my spirit was split. This was my new birthplace, the path leading from here, which brought me full circle. It is no more than that, a place in a past life, of no special accord.”

Many new paths sprang from this place. Some for good, others that led to darker places. Your work began those paths, even if you did not intend it. We are all linked in the great web of destiny, the merest trembling on a silken thread sending tremors through the lives of countless others. Just a few cycles ago a child sat and stared at your creation and dreamed of Isha. He will be a poet and a warrior, a technician and a gardener. But it is as a sculptor that he will achieve great fame, and in turn will inspire others to create more works of beauty down the generations.

“I need no legacy; I am an undying, eternal warrior.”

No creature is eternal: not gods, not eldar, not humans or orks. Look above you and see a star dying. Even the universe is not immortal, though her life passes so slowly.

“What will become of me, have you divined my fate, looked upon my future?”

We all have many fates, but only one comes to pass. It is not for me to meddle in the destiny of individuals, nor to look into our own futures. Trust that you shall die as you lived, and that it is not the True Death that awaits you, not for an age at least. Your passing will bring peace.

“I suffer many deaths, I remember each well, never is it peaceful.”

An explosion rocked the dome, a plume of smoke billowing from the rimward edge above the trees as human explosives tore through the outer wall. Flocks of birds erupted into the dark sky with screeches and twittering, and circled above the trees in agitation. The crack of Space Marine bolters and the zip of lasers echoed in the distance.

“The enemy are upon us!” Arhathain’s voice was quiet but firm in Morlaniath’s ear. “The next battle begins. Do not sell your lives cheaply, nor forget the artistry with which we fight. The day has not yet come when the light of Alaitoc will be dimmed.”

The Hidden Death waited, concealed beneath the trees. Their swords and pistols were of no use in the battle being waged, and so the Hidden Death waited for the enemy to come into the trees where the Striking Scorpions would excel. Or, Morlaniath hoped, he would get the command to move along the valley to deal a deadly blow to a force already torn apart by the rest of Alaitoc’s army.

Arhulesh fidgeted with his bandaged arm, Elissanadrin whispered quietly to herself. Bechareth crouched beside the bole of a tree, staring intently down the valley towards the enemy. Waves of anger poured from Fiorennan and Litharain, touching the minds of the others. Morlaniath fed on the rage their exarch’s death had unleashed, drawing it in as one might take a draught of refreshing air.

Nothing could be seen of the humans save for the flash of explosions. Their gunfire became a constant rumbling, mixed with the clanking of combustion engines and grind of tracks. Filthy smog stained the air above their advance, smoke from dozens of exhausts carpeting the treetops.

The padding of feet caused Morlaniath to turn. A squadron of war walkers advanced quickly into the clearing, the bipedal machines making no more noise than an eldar on foot. The cloven feet of the machines left shallow indents in the earth as they stalked forwards on their slender, back-jointed legs. The closest pilot, his open cockpit enclosed in a shimmering energy field, looked towards Morlaniath and raised a hand in greeting. The exarch nodded in return and watched the machines break into loping runs, turning rimwards to head into the trees lining the valley, weapon mounts swivelling to keep balance.