Wild Rider - Gav Thorpe Read online

‘I know that three is considered an important number in our myths, from the maiden-mother-crone to the triumvirate that you lead, but must I ask a third time?’

  ‘All of them,’ Yvraine told him curtly, her glare causing him to flinch. ‘The Ynnari have many quests and labours, but all that currently travel with me are committed to the battle, Nuadhu. Starships and transports, aircraft and squads of warriors. A warhost greater than any single clan of Saim-Hann can muster. Is that enough for you, Wild Lord? Does that satisfy your demand?’

  Nuadhu realised how inappropriate he had been, but her rebuke only pricked his pride further. Before he reacted, his father laid a hand on Nuadhu’s shoulder, fingers weak but the intent clear. The Wild Lord bit back his words and bowed his head. In the act of submission, he found himself relieved, the need to argue dissipated by the simple moment of deference. It was only he that seemed intent on conflict.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, looking first at Yvraine and then the Visarch. ‘I can control a jetbike with more deftness than I can my tongue, I promise you.’

  ‘And it is that skill that will see us to victory, of course,’ conceded Yvraine.

  As they exchanged their parting remarks, the gyrinx stole from behind the throne to rub against Nuadhu’s leg. Trembles of contentment shivered from the psychic creature. Druthkhala stepped after the clan representatives as they departed and stopped at the threshold. She gestured for Nuadhu to remain after the others.

  ‘I will be travelling back to Saim-Hann,’ said the Bloodbride. ‘Take refreshment and have what rest you can.’

  ‘I think he likes me,’ remarked Nuadhu, indicating the feline sat purring softly at him.

  ‘He is Yvraine’s familiar,’ said the Bloodbride. She smiled and leaned close. ‘If Alorynis likes you, it is because my mistress does.’

  Nuadhu was left feeling unsure whether she really spoke of the gyrinx, or made veiled reference to herself. The door slid shut, leaving him with his questions.

  ‘Why did you not speak?’ asked Yvraine, turning towards the robed seer who stood to the side of her throne, one gloved hand on its arm, the other clasping a long staff tipped with a representation of the death mask of Ulthanesh. His silence during the council had been a distraction. Runes tethered to his belt clattered as the farseer turned towards her, attracting a few lazy swipes from Alorynis.

  ‘I did not let them see me,’ replied Eldrad Ulthran. ‘There is suspicion enough roused by your exploits, and I am not fondly remembered on Saim-Hann after the incident at Coheria. The clans feel they were misled. Also…’

  ‘What?’ The Visarch clenched his fists as the farseer lapsed into silence. ‘Also what?’

  They all felt the pulse of communication through the Whisper, coming from the captain of the Ynnead’s Dream, Theoderonil.

  Another ship approaches from Saim-Hann, Opener of the Seventh Way. A single-crewed vessel. The pilot claims to be a warlock despatched by the seer council to seek the guidance of Eldrad Ulthran.

  ‘You warned their seers of your arrival?’ The Visarch shook his head.

  ‘It is one matter to cloak my presence from the minds of a weary windweaver and a scattering of those who currently suppress their talents. My movements cause echoes upon the skein that move to the ear of god and seer alike.’

  ‘Grant the emissary permission to board,’ Yvraine announced, ignoring the wrangling of her companions. Since Eldrad had come to her with news of the vault on Agarimethea her thoughts had been fixed upon retrieving the contents. Now that it had been revealed as a necrontyr tomb world, other concerns stirred her.

  ‘You spoke of seeing the Unliving legions in a vision before you came to me,’ she said to Eldrad. He nodded. ‘It is no coincidence that the necrontyr stir on Agarimethea at this time.’

  ‘A belief that I share,’ said the farseer. He indicated Druthkhala. ‘I knew nothing of the necrontyr connection when I bid that you despatch a messenger to Saim-Hann seeking inquiry into the maiden world. I thought it another stepping stone across the river of uncertainty that stands between us and the last of the croneswords. The necrontyr complicate matters but the goal remains the same.’

  ‘There were aeldari runes upon a necrontyr septachoroid vault,’ said Druthkhala, returning from the doorway. ‘I saw it for myself. How do you explain that?’

  ‘There are as many reasons for the creation of a maiden world as there are planets that were seeded by the aeldari.’ Eldrad tapped his fingers on his staff as though counting off a list. ‘It seems plain to me that Agarimethea was already occupied by its slumbering necrontyr population when a dominion ­genesis ship reached the world. The Exodites’ later arrival triggered a response that saw them destroyed. Partially awakened, the necrontyr would have subsumed the nascent aeldari structures into their tomb complex.’

  ‘That bodes poorly for the import of the contents,’ said Yvraine. ‘Leftovers of an Exodite expedition are too recent to provide any source of information on the croneswords. We need archives that date back to the dominion itself, before the descent towards the Fall.’

  ‘All knowledge is valuable,’ contested the seer.

  ‘A very academic response,’ growled the Visarch. ‘Typical.’

  ‘Our armoured companion is correct,’ said Yvraine before Eldrad could protest. ‘This is not an exercise in esoteric study, but a life-or-death battle for our people. If there is nothing to be gained by venturing to Agarimethea, then why risk the lives of Ynnari and Saim-Hann?’

  ‘You misunderstand,’ said Eldrad.

  ‘Or you are not being clear,’ snapped Yvraine. ‘Ever since your most recent communication, you have been distracted. I sense that you have more on your mind than the croneswords.’

  ‘On the contrary, Yvraine, it is the fifth cronesword that occupies my thoughts most directly and perhaps overly so.’ Eldrad leaned on his staff with both hands, stooping towards the seated emissary. ‘My concern is that the vision of the necrontyr does not purport to anything we do here, but to a far broader peril. I fear that when we destroy the doom of our own creation we will waken an even more ancient foe.’

  ‘The necrontyr?’ Yvraine shrugged, the movement sending ripples through her courtly attire. Her fingers toyed with her fan, opening and closing it as she fidgeted.

  ‘The necrontyr started to waken before your failed attempt to rouse Ynnead and I walked upon the white sands,’ said the Visarch. ‘It is a tenuous connection.’

  ‘Yet I must ask a simple question regarding the return of the necrontyr.’ Eldrad was pensive, an expression that was both unfamiliar and unsettling for Yvraine. Throughout all of the trials she had faced since she had first heard the Whisper, the farseer’s unswerving determination had been her anchor amid the turbulence. To see him uncertain was to feel the encroaching waves of anarchy lapping at her back. ‘Why now?’

  ‘Nothing that is mortal survives forever,’ said Druthkhala. ‘How many tomb worlds have died without ever being discovered? How many revived in the shadows and then returned to slumber? You are a seer, it is your nature to seek patterns out of disorder. As a fighter, I react only to that which I see before me, wary of misdirection or assumption that will get me killed.’

  ‘Why now?’ Eldrad’s voice dropped to a whisper, as though he had not heard Druthkhala’s argument. ‘After thirty thousand lifetimes, the tombs began the process of revival. The stasis fields deactivated on these tomb worlds not even half a lifetime before the Realm of Chaos surged forth in unprecedented strength.’

  ‘It is too long a time,’ said Yvraine. ‘One might try to cast a thread the breadth of a star system and expect to hit the eye of the needle as much as plan to awaken after such a gulf of aeons.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Eldrad turned sharply on Druthkhala, causing her to flinch. ‘About being a warrior?’

  ‘I… A warrior reacts to the truth of reality, not assumptions.’
r />   ‘A reaction. Yes.’ The seer’s mood brightened, though Yvraine could not discern the cause for this change of demeanour. ‘Not a prediction, but a reaction.’

  A shiver across the Whisper alerted them to the imminent arrival of the Saim-Hann warlock.

  ‘We will continue this discussion,’ Yvraine assured Eldrad. ‘What do you know of Saim-Hann’s seer council?’

  ‘Like the exarchs, they stand apart from the clans, at least for the duration of their representation. The clans are wary of their power, and unlike most craftworlds, Saim-Hann does not grant executive power to its seers. They may only propose and answer ballots in council with the strength of a single vote.’

  ‘The seers seemed the least aggrieved by my arrival,’ said Druthkhala. ‘Less threatened, I would suppose.’

  ‘It is telling that they seek you, Eldrad,’ said Yvraine, settling her hands in her lap, assuming her calmest pose to greet the new arrival. ‘Let us hope that it is with a welcome and not accusation.’

  Chapter 10

  MESSAGES

  Yvraine noted that Eldrad had not replied to her comment, but chose not to push the matter further. The seer returned to his place beside her, expression guarded. With an extension of will she commanded the door to open as Alorynis rubbed up against her leg, soothing her troubled mind.

  The aeldari revealed in the doorway was dressed in a plain scarlet robe, devoid of her rune armour and helm, bearing nothing more offensive than a many-faceted sapphire. A tattoo of the world serpent circled her right eye, its tail twisting down her cheek, open jaws on her brow as if ready to devour her other eye. Yvraine could feel the psychic energy condensed into the crystal, its passage causing a disturbance through the Whisper like an aircraft leaving vapour trails. The warlock had her mind barred to inspection, a small pebble in the psychic flow around Ynnead’s Dream.

  Yvraine beckoned the warlock to enter, smiling. The messenger from Saim-Hann bobbed her head in quick deference, her attention quickly focused on Eldrad.

  ‘Intriguing,’ said the farseer. He strode down the chamber and extended a gloved hand. The warlock placed the near-globe of sapphire in his palm and stepped back. ‘This is a gem of Thuasytha. A spectral link…’

  ‘What does it do?’ Druthkhala eyed the crystal, a touch of hunger in her look. Yvraine could also feel the spirit power within the gem, though Ynnead had rid her of any soul-hunger the moment the Whispering God’s presence had passed through her.

  ‘It is a bridge for the soul,’ said Eldrad. He started back towards Yvraine and tossed the gem lightly into the air. At the zenith of its arc it stopped, floating about head height halfway between the Opener of the Seventh Way and the farseer. She could feel his ­psychic power extending to the crystal, like invisible hands caressing its surfaces, unlocking the energy within.

  With a gasp, the warlock fainted. Druthkhala reacted first, catching the unconscious psyker before her head hit the floor. Alorynis yowled and bounded down the chamber, tail flicking in agitation. Yvraine remembered that Alorynis’ first soul-ward had been a warlock also, who had given up her life so that the gyrinx had been free to bind with the Emissary of Ynnead. The familiar made mewing noises as Druthkhala picked up the inert aeldari and laid her upon one of the empty couches.

  I am well.+ The voice emanated from the soul-vault. +My essence is required to channel the minds of my companions that remain upon the craftworld, but when we are concluded I shall return to my body.+

  The orb-like jewel started to spin, the light refracting from its many edges until it shimmered with a rainbow aura. As it continued to gather speed, the corona of light grew, and within the shifting prismatic display, silhouettes appeared. The shadows lengthened and took on a more defined quality, forming faces and fingers, the edges of runes hanging around neck and belt, the soft fold of robes.

  Three figures stood in the flickering aurora, not wholly present, as though a reflection viewed through a mist. All three carried themselves with the confident demeanour of senior farseers, a slight arch of the brow and tilt of the chin that Yvraine knew so well from Eldrad.

  ‘I am Illiaca Winterbright, the Serpent-eyed,’ said the first, bowing her head to Eldrad and then to Yvraine. Silver curls of hair fell about her shoulders, like a froth of bubbling metal in the half-seen projection. ‘It was at my instigation that this delegation was formed. With me come Daraesath Glimmerfire and Yndrathias Summerscale.’

  ‘A broad representation,’ said Druthkhala, arms folded. ‘From three of the largest clan-alliances.’

  ‘We thought it important that you understood we speak as one voice,’ said Yndrathias, his projection addressing the words first to Yvraine and then turning to regard Druthkhala. ‘Shadowspite. I thought you spoke well at the first council. The interruption of Nuadhu Fireheart was not to your credit, I am afraid.’

  ‘I do not remember the Sighing Winds Dome ringing with endorsements from the seers.’

  ‘Let us remedy the oversight,’ Illiaca said quickly. ‘We will bear your message to the council for you, and lend our weight to its argument.’

  ‘If I understand correctly, the opinions of seers are not so well regarded on Saim-Hann as other craftworlds,’ said Yvraine, drawing the seers’ attention back to her. She trusted Eldrad without question, his links to Ynnead far stronger than the bonds he had once felt for Ulthwé. Even though he followed a unique, private agenda at times, she never doubted his dedication to the Reborn and the Whispering God. The hand-wringing seers of Saim-Hann were a different matter. ‘I think that you seek to increase your power with talk of alliance rather than to extend my reach to your people.’

  ‘You think that Clan Fireheart will give you legitimacy?’ said Daraesath Glimmerfire. She was willowy even amongst the slender aeldari, and a head taller than the other two seers. Black hair fell in two severe braids either side of her face, and into the flesh of her brow had been implanted a circle of small red gems, intricately carved to look like dragonscales. ‘Nuadhu’s favour means nothing. He is the Wild Lord, he can speak for no single clan.’

  ‘We need your help,’ said Illiaca suddenly. She held out a pale hand, the fingernails as scarlet as the armour of her craftworld’s guardian squads. The gesture was towards Eldrad though, not the Opener of the Seventh Way. ‘We cannot see anything but the doom of Saim-Hann.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Eldrad, cutting her off. ‘I have followed the same threads of fate as you have. Death ends all travels, but that is not the same as doom. When Ynnead stirs, death follows, but it need not be an omen of ill future. Threefold is the interpretation. It could mean the ending, as you have chosen to read it. The death could also signify your salvation by the intervention of the Ynnari. It might mark nothing more than the return of the necrontyr on Agarimethea.’

  ‘How are we to know which is foretold?’ said Daraesath.

  ‘Perhaps you are not supposed to,’ said Yvraine, standing up. ‘Perhaps you must choose the way you wish to follow and the skein will then order itself.’

  ‘We are pledged to aid you,’ said Illiaca. ‘We know that great peril will come from Agarimethea. What Nuadhu and your emissary have stirred up will not settle again until it is destroyed or Saim-Hann falls.’

  ‘Strong words,’ said the Visarch. ‘You think you have the power to destroy a tomb world?’

  ‘If we act quickly, yes,’ said Yndrathias. ‘If all of the clans unite behind the proposal.’

  ‘Two “ifs” make a weak argument,’ said Yvraine.

  ‘You misunderstand our purpose, Daughter of Shadows,’ said Daraesath. ‘We do not seek your permission, our intent is already set. We seek your help, Eldrad, to know better the path along which Saim-Hann will be guided. You see deeper into mystery than any mystic of Saim-Hann, you must know what will happen when we attack.’

  ‘Your words, flattering as they are, contain the kernel of your own frustration.’ Eldra
d paced towards the trio of apparitions, staff thudding on the floor. ‘You have already decided on your course and from it flows all future streams. If there are no possibilities to explore, the skein is set and I am blind to it. To understand the true power of our sight, we must work between the strands of fate.’

  ‘From one moment to the next we make decisions, Eldrad,’ said Yndrathias, ‘solidifying certain futures and eliminating others. We must act against the necrontyr. The alternative is to surrender to the destruction of our craftworld.’

  The former seer of Ulthwé sighed, sagging as if burdened by the weight of their concerns.

  ‘If you desire our aid, then you must listen to our wishes,’ he told the Saim-Hann delegation. ‘When you speak in the council you must pledge not only to support Clan Fireheart, but also insist that they shall be primary amongst those that will fight.’

  ‘Make Clan Fireheart the windrunners?’ Daraesath’s laugh was not of humour. Her scorn deepened as she continued. ‘One might as well set our forces against the foe led by a leaf on a wind. There is no strength or direction in Clan Fireheart.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is our wish.’

  ‘You presume too much, Eldrad,’ snapped Yndrathias, all pretence of respect abandoned in a moment. ‘Still you try to manipulate others for your own ends. We have not forgotten how you used Saim-Hann to screen your rash scheme on Coheria.’

  ‘It is my wish,’ said Yvraine, standing up. She summoned all of the regal demeanour she had acquired whilst travelling the courts of the drukhari, chin raised, eyes flashing imperiously. The Opener of the Seventh Way flicked out her fan and glided across the chamber. ‘We speak as one. If you wish the Ynnari to fight with you, Clan Fireheart will be the windrunners of Saim-Hann.’

  Standing close to the apparitions, Yvraine could feel the heat of their souls. The Opener of the Seventh Way also noted how none of them strayed more than a step from the floating gem, forced to remain in its proximity. She had known the farseers to be projections, but had misunderstood their nature. It was not light that was guided through the webway by the crystal, but the essence of the psykers themselves. Their bodies remained on the craftworld but their spirits had travelled to the Ynnead’s Dream.