Pail Shil-ocht appeared just as it had in the Chamber of Summits. Each of its massive continents were white as snow, broken by brown, rocky mountain and ridge formations far removed from each other. They crossed the perfectly pale plains like ancient scars, splitting and cracking the sand. How strange it was that such a breathless, spiritless, lifeless world threatened another so many systems away. Two planets, so seemingly benign to one another, yet intrinsically bound.
Maerys thought of Gaoth trí-na Crainn, that verdant paradise, as she gazed through the observation glass on the hangar deck. The Exodites who hid with her forests, dwelled underneath her mountains, and crossed her steppes, had to survive. She removed her spirit stone from the slot on her belt. Although she felt no fear, holding one of Isha’s tears furthered steeled her nerves.
Warning alarms rang in the hangar. Maerys ran her thumb over the spirit stone one last time before she slipped it back into her belt. She bound her hair tightly, took one last glance, and then ventured towards the waiting Vampire Raiders. Oragroth, the Pathfinders, Dochariel and a squad of Swooping Hawks, and Arganel the Striker of Saim-Hann and his jetbike riders, gathered around Irlikae. The Void Dreamer projected an image of their destination out of her Runes of Witnessing which spiraled beneath the simulacrum. The western continent possessed only one river, a colossal waterway that sliced, turned, and wound from the uninterrupted mountains in the east through the dune seas all the way to the coast.
Ork settlements dotted both sides of the river. Some were mere outposts and encampments while others were populated villages or even large towns. But there was a small tributary that ran briefly to the south, paralleled the river, and then rejoined the main flow. Centered there was an enormous colony, a veritable fortress with high walls and numerous gun towers.
Irlikae motioned to a great wall of gray dust approaching the southern edge of the camp. “As it was predicted, the sandstorm approaches the encampment. For however long it lasts, it shall be our shroud as we deploy and make entry into their bastion.”
She cast her supportive gaze to Maerys, who nodded and faced the team boldly. “All of us have come to blows with Orks in previous undertakings, so be vigilant for storehouses. I reiterate that it is paramount we conduct this endeavor without bloodshed. If they discover one of their own killed by an Aeldari blade or shot, the ruse might falter.”
“Could these green monsters even comprehend a wound caused by us?” asked Livae.
“A tribe flying the Blood Axes banner is indeed cunning,” said Arganel. “For Orks, that is.”
“As infantile and imbecilic they are, the Orks will discern the difference between wounds caused by their own weapons and our own,” agreed Maerys. “No killings, unless we are discovered and fired upon. But this will not happen. Once our objective is obtained, and no obstacles present themselves, we shall slip out of the camp.”
Arganel pointed to a depression in the dune seas several leagues south of the camp. “My Wild Riders and I shall deploy here to secure a zone to open the portal and monitor their patrols. Should a skirmish begin, we will reinforce you.”
“The Temple of the Descending Claw’s Swooping Hawks will be overhead,” added Dochariel. “We shall appear to them as the mere silhouettes of carrion birds. From on high, we can monitor movement within the encampment and relay their troop movements and guard postings.”
“Once we’ve negotiated the portal to Sú-il Bhán, we will meet with the other Rangers and find a suitable camp. Once we have succeeded, Autarch Caergan will contact us and we will engage the second part of our ruse.”
Maerys looked up and around at the faces gathered around the image. Studious, serious, stalwart, their features drawn hard in anticipation of the mission. Even Dochariel had shed his smile and assumed the deadly vestiges befitting of an Exarch. “No more words shall be spent. Now is the time for action,” said Maerys.
Irlikae retrieved her runes and the image dissipated as a cloud of dust. The Pathfinders donned their hoods, their long cameleoline coats bearing the color of the white gypsum sands below. As they boarded the Vampire Raiders, they raised their hands over their eyes as they passed the body of Rangers. A salute from stalker to stalker, in honor of their patron Kurnous, God of the Hunt, and his sublime eyes and vision.
Maerys drew her own hood over her brow, then bowed solemnly before Dochariel and Arganel. “I thank you for accompanying my band upon this crucial task.”
“It is the way of Saim-Hann to commit to grave undertakings no matter the danger or cost,” said Arganel as he donned his ornate helmet, bedecked and studded with green gems, a black mane, and a crimson fist painted over the faceplate. “Your initiative is to be respected.” He nodded resolutely before joining his warriors as they maneuvered their jetbikes into the second aircraft’s transport compartment.
Unsure what to say to Dochariel, Maerys merely nodded. That iron expression of his faded briefly and he smiled as they ascended the Raider’s ramp. “Pathfinder!” They both stopped as High Count Dryane approached. “Although I am sure you would appreciate a simple farewell and good fortunes, I thought it best to provide you with gifts instead.” The one-eyed Forromare opened a chest and Dryane retrieved two pairs of goggles from it. Although not ornate, they were still elegant, the spectacles tinted in such a way to make them appear as polished gemstones. One set was colored as emeralds, the other as topaz. Maerys gasped, realizing the black mesh material of the latter was inscribed with miniature visages of the Crucible of Souls—Yme-Loc’s world rune.
“The Vision of Beyond,” said Dryane, wistfully. “Your sight will carry farther and wider than any lens could allow. Any foe so hidden shall be revealed.”
“I will not forget this generosity,” said Maerys as she fitted the goggles above her brow.
“Mine will be the sight of an eagle,” added Dochariel as he took his pair.
“It would be wise, and in good taste, not to lose them,” said Forromare, dryly.
“When we see each other again, it shall be upon the moon above us. Then, the campaign will truly begin,” said the High Count. He and Forromare both bowed, the former lower than his aide. When they rose to leave, Dryane looked back. A soft smile, a tender expression of his glinting eyes. Maerys nodded in return and raised her hand.
She entered the passenger compartment and surveyed her team. Kalvynn and Amonthanil knelt, placed an arm around one another, and pressed their foreheads together. Then, they took their seats beside Oragroth, who placed the stock of his long rifle on the deck and pointed the barrel upwards. He sat as if he were relaxing. Tirol sat across from them, arms folded across his cloak. Meslith clasped her azure spirit stone in both hands and pressed her lips to it. Livae stretched her legs out, rested her head against the hull of the aircraft, and proceeded to fall asleep. Alimia fixed her cloak over her mesh armor, donned her helmet, fixed the hood over it, and then knocked her fists together. Dochariel and his Swooping Hawks remained silent and somber.
Irlikae sat near the entrance, her eyes glossed over white as she peered forwards. Beside her was Fyrdra the Risible, clad in a cameleoline cloak of her own. She frowned impatiently at Maerys’s surprised expression. “I do not relish the prospect of being left behind. You might doubt my ability for stealth but I can keep pace well enough.”
“To imagine the bruised and abused Fate Dealers you left croaking on the deck,” said Livae.
“I only fought one for his cloak,” claimed Fyrdra, then she raised her chin indignantly. “To say I fought the three others who rose in his defense would be inaccurate. Destroyed, more apt.” The Soul Weaver’s arm snapped up and she caught her shuriken pistol, newly refurbished with fresh furniture and a crisp holo-targeter on the barrel. Lotien passed by Maerys and took his seat beside Fyrdra.
As the ramp shut and the blue running lights dimmed, Maerys stood before the Bonesinger. He had not been expected to come, for he had spent much of the night toiling to repair their cloaks and ensure there was not a single loose thread. Lotien even adjusted all their weapons’ lenses and optics. She had thought to leave him abed, or at least with the Rangers, until they landed on the moon. “You’ve not a cloak to veil yourself nor a weapon.”
“Indeed, Pathfinder,” said Lotien, bowing his head cordially. “I shall land, with the Wild Riders, and stand vigil. I must know, if my exertions, will bear fruit.” At least there is one among us who is truly committed to the band, thought Maerys.
She finally took her seat and shut her eyes. There was a brief feeling of weightlessness as the Vampire Raider lifted off the deck and exited the hangar bay. It shuddered but for a moment. All sound but for the constant hum of the engines, cutting through the void at terrifying speed. To one who might have gazed out the observation bubble of a passing ship, they would have hardly seen the blur of the transport. Yet, inside, a passenger would be forgiven for thinking the Vampire Raider were still stationary.
“Bonesinger, why suffer the burden of your mutilated tongue?” Maerys opened one eye as Tirol leaned forward and motioned towards Lotien. “If you craft weapons and machines of Vaul, surely, you have a grasp of our own regeneration.” But the Bonesinger merely smiled and tilted his head to the side, causing his orange hair to shimmer and sway across his shoulders.
“What use is a tongue, when one has such little need for words?” he asked slowly. Tirol snorted, held out his arm, clenched his fist, and then mimicked throwing refuse over his shoulder. Maerys heard whispering past her companions. Oragroth held out his arm and Crúba hopped down until he was on the hunter’s wrist. He brought his arm closer until his eyes were level with the bird’s. Then, he gently cupped his other hand around Crúba’s head and started to whisper. Maerys’s ears twitched; what might have been a hiss to a human could have been a shout to her.
“Beloved Crúba, we will be separated. I must tread afoot, while you take to the skies, for you must be my eyes. Be forever calm; whatever be our ends, we will surely meet as friends.” He stroked the back of the faolchú’s head, then scratched its chin, causing it to flutter its wings happily. Oragroth’s smile was brief and ghostly.
Irlikae’s eyes returned to their glossy green and she blinked as if she had awakened from some deep sleep. “The sandstorm coils and writhes upon the wind. It shall carry us far into the orkish camp before we are forced to rely upon our abilities, although not far enough to be close to our goal.” Suddenly, she grew wary. “There are so many thousands of Orks below us and the Warp is volatile and ever fluctuating; we must tread the path we land upon and never leave it if we are to gains success.”
Another shudder. They had penetrated Pail Shil-ocht’s atmosphere. As the Vampire Raider slowed, it lowered its ramp. Bright sunlight filled the compartment and Aeldari were forced to shield their eyes or don goggles. But Maerys stood and walked close to the edge. Below was the great dune sea, as white as a blanket of freshly fallen snow. How its rises and valleys mirrored the peaks and troughs of tumultuous seas. For countless leagues, there was no sign of vegetation nor crag or tumble of rocks. Just an endless desert ocean, empty and bottomless.
She drew the Vision of Beyond goggles over her eyes. The horizon leaped away and the desert unfolded as though it were the pages of a tome! Far and away, rugged mountains rose as if thrust upwards by Gea. All the vague denotations a moment ago became clear; ripples upon the pale slopes, shadows cast from their thin crests, and jagged deposits of gypsum crystals that had previously been obscured in the white expanse.
Dochariel came up beside her, wearing his own goggles. The Swooping Hawks, clad in sky blue and white armor, their high helmets and the grills of their faceplates ever fearsome, lined up on either side of their leader.
“When we return to this world, I would like to find some high perch and look for a long, long time,” he said. “But that will not be for many moons. For now, I must leave you.We shall meet at the portal’s mouth, Maerys.” His warriors flowed by on either side, diving out and soaring high into the air just as the first tendrils of the sandstorm enveloped the transport. He smiled, somersaulted down the ramp, leapt backwards, and let his wings carry him out of sight.
Maerys drew her mask over her lower face as the white, seething clouds flowed into the compartment. She turned around and motioned with both hands for her retinue to stand. The Pathfinders approached in two lines, with Kalvynn and Amonthanil at the front. She grasped both of their hands and squeezed them tightly. A brief spark flickered within, excited to partake in a new quest with her old friends. Oragroth approached on her left, Irlikae on the right. She exchanged nods with them both.
The Raider’s speed decreased gradually. Walls of sand buffeted the aircraft, obfuscating the flaring engines. With the power of Hoec’s Glimpse, Maerys saw the first fortifications of the great Ork settlement. High ramshackle exterior and interior walls composed of rusted vehicle plate and bolted sheet metal divided the massive base. Tilted gun towers of various heights protruded out at corners of hardpoints in the defenses. Columns of filthy black smoke rose from huts, bunkers, and other communal dwellings. Pit fires raged and sparks flashed from foundries and shops.
Through the swirling gypsum appeared the great green giants. They strode with inelegant strength, their massive arms swinging back and forth as they heaved from side to side. These hulks, robust with bulging muscles and sinews, clad in crude metal plate, hide harnesses, and studded armor, were entirely undisturbed by the wind and sand. Even as small gypsum crystals whipped through the air and struck their exposed flesh, they paid no mind. Mirroring a human patrol, squads of them roamed up and down the roads, along the ramparts, and below the walls. Others acted as sentries over rickety wooden plank bridges that crossed depressions, tar pits, and the foul drops. Yet, they proved lax; their crude shootas were slung, their choppas sheathed, and their eyes level with the earth. None noticed the obscured dropship as it descended towards the earth, hardly skimming above the battlements and the cables strung between them.
Maerys’s goggles made it appear as though she could reach out and touch one of their heads. She saw their enormous, long, sharp teeth protruding from their maws, their beady red eyes that seemed to glare amid the mist, and her gaze hardened. “In the name of Kurnous the father and Isha the mother, follow me.”
In one swift motion, she glided down the ramp, rolled from its edge, and spun in midair. Suspended in free fall for a moment, she extended her arms and caught one of the cables between the guard towers. Swinging over the cable twice, Maerys propelled herself forwards, twisting as she fell, and landed low in the sand. She raised her long rifle and swept the barrel back and forth; the Ork patrols had moved off, and the main road was clear ahead.
She looked back. Some of the Pathfinders mimicked her, gaining momentum by swinging on the cables before releasing. But Oragroth landed on the roof of one the guard towers, its bored occupant unable to hear the impact over the wind and gypsum sand. The hunter took a running jump, landed with one foot upon one of the vertical metal beams connecting an interior wall, and then skidded down the side. Tirol merely snatched the leg of one of the towers and, gripping with one hand, slid into the white sand below. But Irlikae landed on one of the cables, then gracefully jumped and bounded between the next and the next until she flipped off the last one and landed on just one foot. Fyrdra merely caught one of the loose cables, swinging wildly from the right tower, and rode it to the ground.
Maerys, able to see the Raider, saw Lotien raise his arm but the ramp closed before he completed the gesture. The dropship rose, accelerated, and disappeared. She put it out of her mind. The sandstorm held and concealed them, the Orks had failed to notice their entry, and they had deployed deep into the encampment. “Swiftly,” she hissed.
Through the tumult of the walls of gypsum, the hooded shadows darted forward. They followed the weaving path, bordered by the high defensive walls. Together, they leapt over barricades, dove under the barrels of heavy weapons protruding from bunkers, and scampered over rusted hulks. Wailing winds dampened their feet as they sprinted. Gypsum coated their coats, hoods, boots, and facial masks, turning the figures into wraiths. Each elegant movement flowed with the sand streams, mere extensions of the whirlwind.
Orange smears appeared ahead; fires burned in empty fuel barrels. Illuminated Orks gathered around to roast chunks of squig meat over the open flames. Maerys saw their vague forms even before they rounded the bend. In front of the others, she diverted and climbed up the errant shards of metal that jutted out from the wall on their left. The others followed, and the infiltrators ran atop the battlements.
“The sandstorm will abate soon,” warned Irlikae, her voice filtering through the mind of the outcasts. But Maerys’s attention was drawn forward to a platform ahead. Two big shoota-armed Orks guarded the post; one observed the road and the other an interior compound.
“We cannot give up our momentum,” said Tirol. “Dispatch them.”
“If Orks are found dead the ruse will be in jeopardy,” said Maerys. The winds started to die, the whistling softened, and the waves of gypsum grew less volatile.
“We cannot leave the road,” said Oragroth. But Maerys did not need to be reminded. To stray into the crowded compound to their left would put them in the midst of the Orks. There, they fought among themselves in a great arena, betting satchels of their own grisly teeth. Even the gretchin crowded around, screaming and tittering with glee even as their larger brethren kicked them away. Past the wall to their right were hordes of snotlings, whipped and prodded by barbaric, domineering runtherds, as they tended a squig farm.
The guard post was just ahead. Maerys jumped from the wall back onto the road. She flattened out into the mounds of gypsum and at once, her cameleoline coat took on its color entirely. Her companions did the same, lining up on either side of the road and disappeared into the sand. At that very moment, the last winds died away and the gypsum settled.
“We should have just killed them and taken the risk,” complained Long Livae over her communicator. “The longer we remain, the greater the chance we are discovered.”
“I would reject your pessimism if it were not true,” said Alimia.
“Straying from the road is too dangerous. It is the key to our success, as Irlikae has seen,” said Maerys. “We move forward as the serpent does, slowly and unseen.” Slithering out of the gypsum, the Pathfinder continued on. Their crawling was deliberate, dragging themselves forward, pausing, and then doing so again. If it were not for the goggles, even Maerys could not have seen such subtlety.
Patrols crossed between gates and gaps in the walls, but none ventured down the road. Gunners above them scanned the sky and the horizon, although occasionally hurled colorful insults at one another. “Even from down here, their stench is overpowering,” muttered Fyrdra.
“We would have been far beyond their fetor if we had pressed on,” said Tirol. “Perhaps we have placed too much confidence in the visions of the Void Dreamer. Or perhaps, it was not confidence, but farfetched hope.”
“Do not dare doubt my power,” snapped Irlikae, her voice sharp and venomous as it stung throughout their minds. Even Maerys winced at its presence.
“You would be wise not to impugn the powers of a seer, Tirol,” advised Meslith. “Seers shape and guide us, regardless if we tread a path or not. Even if she is young, her abilities are a gift.”
“Yes, I am youthful, but I have spent all my years harnessing my power, refining it as a Bonesinger shapes a blade. My sight does not reach far but it does so with veracity. Or would you rather place your faith in an Exarch?”
“You might forgo both and find a chief worth following,” countered Alimia.
“Silence,” commanded Maerys. Such bickering was better left to the confines of the Keeper of Sorrows. She would not suffer it whilst they were among the enemy. Her voice was stonier than ever before, surprising even herself. Although no one spoke and she did not look back, the shock at her flare reverberated as if there had been an explosion. But the result sufficed, and she would not spare a word for them.
They crawled for some time. The sun rose higher and the heat haze worsened. Sand filtered into Maerys’s coat and boots, irritating her skin, but she focused and soon the sensation faded. Ahead, the dirt road glimmered and bubbled as if it were water. Yet, the Vision of Beyond allowed Maerys to look through and past it. Multiple gates appeared in the bulwarks on either side of the passage. Bunkers defended each one and some Blood Axes stood guard. More thumped their way across the footbridges that stretched overhead. Some gazed down at the road as they smoked stubs or swallowed squig pies. She looked right into the eyes of one who wore two rubber tires as shoulder pads and a solid sheet of metal as body armor. It played with one of its long teeth, wiggling it back and forth until it finally fell out. He released a throaty laugh until it slipped from his bulbous fingers.
The tooth fell within arm’s reach of Maerys. “Oh, Zog!” the Ork blurted. With a grunt, he heaved himself over the railing of the bridge and landed beside the Pathfinder. A large cloud of gypsum was cast in all directions and sprinkled the obscured infiltrators. Maerys stopped, held her breath, and waited. Peering from underneath the lip of her hood, she watched the Ork paw through the sand in search of his prize. “Zoggin’, wherez are ya, ya lil’ git!?” the beast exclaimed. “Gonna get me a new box o’ shellz wif ya! Den da ladz won’t say nuffin’ bout’ me not havin’ enuff dakka. Ah, dere ya are!”
The Ork lifted the yellow tooth up and grinned. His massive, square, muscular jaw heaved with his happy guffaws. He tucked it away and marched down the road towards the gates ahead. Just as Maerys drew breath and moved once more, more Orks emerged from a passage to the right. She expected a patrol, but realized they were runtherds, those damnable slavers. Tall, heavy-handed, their guts protruding, their gazes mean, they stomped their way down the road. Within their ranks, shackled and bound, were tottering, disheveled, emaciated humans.
Clad in only a few bare scraps and rags, their sunburnt frames were coated in layers of excrement and filth. As they staggered along, the runtherds bashed and tormented any who fell out of line or moaned too loudly from pain or fatigue. Barbed whips snapped, electrical prods sizzled, and grabber sticks snapped around their necks.
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“Hold.” Maerys and the others froze, their bodies becoming immersed with the uneven embankments of gypsum. The slave party plodded by, the runtherds grunting and snarling, the humans sniveling and crying.
“Are there any Aeldari among their number?” whispered Kalvynn through the link.
“I see none,” said Maerys.
“Even if there were, we could not free them now,” said Amonthanil grimly. “We carry on.”
The band continued, sneaking right under the barrels of their enemies. But Maerys paused when she came abreast of the gate. It led to a slave pen of so many hundreds of cages large and small. Humans were crowded in each one, shoulder to shoulder, standing atop the dead. Some had died where they stood and their corpses leaned upon the living or their arms protruded through the rungs. Not one voice was distinguishable from the mass of prisoners, only a collective, singular, mournful moan that rose above the slave quarter.
She was about to move again when there was a shriek. More women screamed as a pair of runtherds forced upon their cages. Knocking aside the adults, they yanked the children out one by one. They were thrown together, piled as though they were rocks or chopped logs. All the howling mothers pleaded for the Orks to return their children, but the runtherds cruelly hit them, crushed their hands, or broke their arms.
“Deez runtz ain’t no good no more!” said the larger slaver. “Take a couple o’ da biggest to da boss, he said he wuz lookin’ fer a snack. Throw da rest on dat fire, there.”
“Rioght. Ya heard’im grots, feed’em to da flames!” At once, the little green-skinned, long-nosed workers leaped upon the pile and dragged the children away. All squealed and sobbed in terror, crying for their mothers and fathers to help them. Parents reached out from the rungs, threw themselves against the cages, rocked them back and forth, and tried to force open the gates. But the runtherds whipped and shocked them.
“Isha.” Maerys looked behind her. Irlikae was rising up out of the sand. She was just a mere curtain of sand to the Orks but the Pathfinder saw her plainly.
“Lower yourself. There is naught we can do.” Irlikae’s green eyes pleaded, but Maerys shook her head. But she cast one last look towards the slave pens, those weeping sires, and forced herself to crawl forward. As she pushed herself through the sand, she saw a pair of violet eyes, a toothy smile, and tear-stained cheeks. A little human boy, lost in the Cadian wastes, hunted by those who would steal him away to that dark island…
“Arrow, this is Talon.” Dochariel’s voice snapped her from the memory. She rolled onto her side and gazed up into the clear blue sky. Just above the camp, Crúba wove and circled. Beyond him, nearly a dozen silhouettes revolved and rolled gently. To an Ork, it was just another flock of birds waiting to feast on the next corpse. But she knew it was the Exarch and the Swooping Hawks.
Dochariel continued, his voice so clear it seemed as though he were right beside Maerys. “A substantial mechanized ranging party has returned and is journeying up the road. Take heed and wait until they are clear.”
“Truly, your gaze is that of that of winged phoenix Baharroth’s,” said Maerys, gratefully.
She and her party prepared themselves. Moments passed, the sun drifted, and light winds passed through the camp. Each gust carried Ork squalor; the foul aroma of their unwashed hides, their filthy engines and smelters, the overpowering odor of sweaty squigs, and burning flesh.
There was a faint, distant rumble. It died away, then returned, louder and mechanical. The ground trembled and gypsum slid down the embankment. Engines roared, coughed, and belched caustic smoke into the air. Gunwagons, bonecruncha tanks, junkas and trukks, and even battlefortresses rolled by. Orks clung to handles on the hull and stood on footplates, or poked their heads out of turrets and pillboxes on the largest of the shoddy vehicles. Inelegant scrap heaps they were, but rigged with spike-covered death rollers, flamers, massive automatic weapons, sharpened plows and prows, and mighty cannons, made them fearsome.
Maerys counted each vehicle as it passed. When she reached thirty, their brakes squealed and they stopped. She reached back and grabbed the sling over her long rifle, prepared to bring it into her hands to fire. The others prepared haywire grenades to disable the Orks’ vehicles. Surely, Dochariel and his followers made ready to descend and drop their own demolition packs to disrupt the convoy.
Doors swung banged open and Orks jumped out. One of their leaders, a sizable Nob, waited by his snazzwagon while one of the runtherds approached him. “Oi, we’z found sum o’dem escapees wot got out da yesterday. Ya gotz ta keep a betta eye on dem cages, ya git.”
“You’z try ter keep watch over deez wiggly bastards when dere’s thousandz of’em. Den you’ll seez jus’ how hard it iz.”
“You’z mindz howz ya zoggin’ speak ta me or I’ll have mah boyz put you in da next cage.” The Nob reached int a tanned bag-squig pack lashed to his studded flak armor, decorated with human skulls and scalps, and produced a flask of fungus beer and took a long drink. His followers busily forced the slaves from their vehicles and into the arms of the waiting runtherds. “Wot’z been goin’ on round’ here, eh?”
“Whole lotta nuffin’, datz wot. Da bosses are talkin’ bout’ goin’ up to dat moon for a scrap with dem Evil Sunz since we ain’t had a humie rebellion fer a while.”
“Yeah dat sounds fun. But den, if you’z all gone, the humies might try an’ break out. Dat’ll be good for a larf. We’ll get two fioghtz for da price o’ one!”
As both Orks chortled, Maerys looked over her shoulder. Dismounted Blood Axes patrolled up and down the convoy, glaring at their counterparts above them on the ramparts. One walked right by Maerys, spitting into the sand near her. She knew they were too exposed on the embankments. All it would take was one bored sentry to take a longer, wider stride and step on one of the rangers with its heavy, cumbersome boot.
“Upon my word, slip underneath the vehicles. Use them for cover and press onward.”
“A bold plan,” whispered Amonthanil over the link. “But it is the only one.”
“Prepare yourselves.” Carefully, she looked back and waited for the Ork guards to walk far enough away and turn. One yawned and rested his weapon upon his meaty shoulder. The other on the opposite side of the column unzipped his trousers and relieved himself upon the tire of his truck. “Now.”
Amonthanil and Kalvynn rolled from the left, Meslith and Alimia from the right, and slid underneath just as the Orks turned. Both walked towards the head of the convoy, then nonchalant walked back, their arms swinging, their gazes absent. “Fyrdra, Tirol, Livae, Irlikae, go.” They shot underneath the next vehicle, a grumbling tank. Again, the Orks completed their circuit and circled back. “Orgroth, you will move with me. Wait…wait…now.”
Maerys rolled and squeezed underneath between the treads and the second wheel. She straightened and flattened out beside Oragroth. The smell of leaking oil and foul fuel was nearly overwhelming. Even worse, the heat radiating from the engine was oppressive. She could see the waves and coils of smudged, dirty heat which snaked from it. The energy of the occupants, their rage, their battle-lust, all barely contained, threatened to explode. All the fear, despair, and crushed hopes of the humans, escorted to the slave pens, billowed like steam releasing from a vent.
She shut her eyes. Beneath the feet of her enemies so ready to tear an opponent apart, submerged in the confluence of countless rivulets and currents of emotions, dreams, and thoughts, Maerys felt a sensation build from within her core. A rising thrill, causing her heart to beat all the faster and electricity to flow within her veins. What momentous joy was there to be found in the stark madness of war’s wager! Maerys felt as though she were back on that ocean world, floating through its placid waters on her back. Suspended and weightless, in no need to control her body, allowing herself to float aimlessly. Total and complete presence, without moderation or structure, no hands to guide her. One could become lost in it just as a soul cast adrift in an unrelenting sea.
She focused. Reaching deep within, she channeled her energies back, back, back within. The electricity faded, her heart slowed, the titillation deep within, faded. Maerys opened her eyes. It had all been but a moment. Looking back, she counted the heads of her comrades. “Follow me,” she said evenly.
Maerys crawled underneath the hood of the track, checked her corners, and darted underneath the next truck. Oragroth kept pace with her and they paused as they waited for the others to catch up. “It is a knife’s edge,” said the Kurnite hunter. “Whether it is the sharp edge or not, remains to be seen.”
“We have come this far and boldly so. Remain intrepid and stay with me.”
“I shall.” Orgroth suddenly lifted his head and looked back. Fyrdra tugged on his boot. “We know not how long this convoy halts, why do you stop us?”
“It’s the Void Dreamer, she is as unstirring as a corpse.” Maerys nimbly coiled back and crawled to the end of the track. The others inspected Irlikae underneath the previous vehicle. Waiting until the Orks passed, Maerys slid back and she shook the Void Dreamer.
“Awake, awake, we must go.” Her eyes were shut, but there was rapid movement beneath. Maerys forced Irlikae’s eye open. It darted wildly in every direction with frightening speed. Had the fumes overtaken her? Was she lost in the turmoil of sensation? No, she was sifting through the Warp, winding her way through its corridors to observe boundless potential futures.
Suddenly, Irlikae opened her other eye and her gaze met Maerys’s. She sat up and clutched the Pathfinder by her shoulders. “This convoy will proceed past a supply area. There will be sheds filled with weapons, ammunition, explosives, and banners.”
“Then we must follow the convoy,” said Maerys. She, Oragroth, and Irlikae went back under the truck. Together, the party scampered and clawed their way to the next vehicle and the next. When they neared the vanguard, engines screeched and growled. “They’re going to move again. We’ll have to follow them.”
But Oragroth tapped her shoulder and shook his head. He pointed to the undercarriage of the vehicle, produced a length of cord, and motioned towards the suspension with it. “We only need to follow them,” countered Maerys. “It will be effortless to track a procession of this size.”
“We only have so much time,” said Irlikae. “The next sandstorm approaches soon and we will need to use it as cover to escape with our prize. We would have to wait hours for the next.”
“And the longer we stay, the further we risk detection,” said Oragroth. Maerys looked between the pair, then nodded. As the hunter tied it off between the rig and his mesh armor, she instructed the others to follow suit. Everyone tied themselves hot, mindful of the hot suspension, and clung to their ropes.
Maerys finished her own, rolled onto her back, and waited. One by one, the vehicles in front moved off. The truck they were under lurched and they all slid backwards, but the fastened cords held. It was a slow but mercifully slow ride through the packed-down gypsum. The convoy snaked its way through the camp, negotiating multiple gates. Sometimes the drivers stopped so the Nob could chat with other Orks and brag about all the humans he had caught. Each time, Maerys met Irlikae’s eyes. But the Void Dreamer shook her head, indicating they still had to wait. Then, the convoy would continue on its journey.
“I admit, I am grateful they are not inspecting the vehicles,” said Oragroth. “This plan would be ruined.” His tone could have been mistaken for the barest instance of joviality.
“It appears the Blood Axes are not as cunning as we believed. That, or Cegoarch has seen fit to bless our foolhardy trickery,” she said. Oragroth looked her way, his hood falling somewhat to reveal his gaze. Normally, it was hard as stone. But in that moment, she saw a spark in his eyes. It reminded her of that singular, surprised, yet satisfied laugh when he agreed upon her plan.
The convoy drove deeper into the Ork city. Gate after gate passed, until they came beside a massive, heavily fortified compound entrance. Two massive towers that appeared as a series of bunkers built upon one another, riddled with cannons and turrets, loomed menacingly over the road. Unlike the metal sheet walls and ramparts that lined the road, here they had fashioned double walls with more turrets and bunkers. Two Kill Blasta tanks, which might as well have been bunkers on treads, idled in the center of the gate. Rattler Kannons and other heavy automatic weapons protruded from the slanted fronts over the dozer blades. Ork infantry were on either side who, while bored, were heavily armed and armored. They did not distract themselves with cooking or chatter, and kept their weapons ready behind their sandbags. Behind them were ammo stockpiles and large, rickety warehouses.
“That’s it,” whispered Irlikae as they drove by.
“It appears true that the Blood Axes mimic humans. They defend their armories just as the Imperials do. Even with our equipment and cloaks, penetrating directly is too dangerous. Let us stay with the convoy a moment more and then find another way in.”
The column drove by the length of the supply yard’s wall which ran to a junction. Another, smaller convoy rolled across, cutting off the first. Horns blared, Orks roared at one another, and there were a few stray gunshots. “Let the convoy go.” Everyone detached and clustered away from the treads, tracks, and wheels. It took some minutes, but the convoy finally drove off and disappeared down the bend. Maerys and her band scurried hastily to the gypsum embankments on either side of the road. Their coats, already adjusted to the white gypsum, allowed them to immediately blend in.
No Ork patrols were close and the sentries skulking on the walls were more concerned with the skies than the roadways. Taking the opportunity to reorient themselves to the relative quiet took some time, for they had become accustomed to engines snarling in their ears.
Maerys crept along the wall to its edge and gazed down the left road which ran adjacent to the supply compound. Looking down the tighter passage, she saw it was more vegetated than the previous, well-traveled main route. Spindly, brown branches grew from gnarly roots that lined the foot of the wall.
She waved for the others to follow. Forming a single line, they slipped around the side and proceeded down the wall. Above, there were fewer turrets and platforms and a reduced guard. The Blood Axes did not anticipate anybody would attempt to breach the wall there. It looks poorly maintained, thought Maerys, there has to be a way in. There! Some of the metal sheeting had warped and peeled back, creating a gap large enough to allow an individual through.
It was partially obscured by some of the odd flora. Maerys was about to force her way through when a hand snatched her arm and jerked her back. She expected Oragroth or Irlikae, but found it was Tirol. “Do not touch those,” he warned. “This is not an Ork plant, nor a human one. It is an ancient Aeldari growth from before the Fall.”
Drawing his dagger, he tapped the closest branch. It shattered into dozens of sharp shards. They had been so razorlike as to have scratched the finish on the blade. “Glassroot,” said Tirol. “When it dies such as this specimen, it becomes as brittle as glass and breaks upon even the slightest contact. It can cut through fabric and skin. Even microscopic splinters can imbed one’s flesh and fester. Let us press on and find another alternative entrance.” Everyone put a little bit of distance between themselves and the dead glassroot.
They pressed on, but it was not far before they encountered another warped piece of metal. This gap was free from glassroot. Drawing nearer, Maerys looked through and ensured nothing stood nearby. A few Orks patrolled a series of open huts and sheds that were crammed with ammunition and weapons crates. These led to one of the larger, more heavily guarded warehouses.
“Alright, I will go first. Amonthanil, stay here and ensure our escape route is secure. I will lead the rest inside.”
“Hoec guide you.”
Maerys crawled through and crept to a shadow to her right, cast by one of the supply huts. Her cloak’s color shifted to incorporate the gray hue. The others filed after her, except for Alimia, the last to crawl through. An Ork made his rounds of the perimeter and approached them, yawning as he ambled along. The Saim-Hann Pathfinder motioned for the others to keep going and slipped to the left behind some old crates.
A moment later, the top crate slid off the pile, clattered onto the ground, and the lid busted off. The Ork jumped, leveled his shoota, and fired a burst. Another came sauntered over, laughing. “Wot ya shootin’ at ya daft git? Dere ain’t nuffin there!”
“Mighta been dem grots playin’ pranks or sumfin. Bloody runtz iz alwayz playin’ pranks.”
“Krump’em if ya see’em, but don’t be shootin’. Dem boxes is filled with bombz.”
As the Orks walked away, and the others passed her, Maerys looked back towards the pile. All was still and quiet. Smoke rose from the singed wood edges where the bullets had struck. Maerys shouldered her weapon, ready to dart over, but Alimia appeared. She drew her hood back and smiled brashly. “Keep going, I’ll move along this wall and stay vigilant for more of them.”
“Guard yourself.” Maerys chased after her comrades and, by turns, sprinted between the supply sheds. When they came to the third, they found an Ork leaning on the rear post drinking more fungus beer. Fyrdra drew into the shed the party lingered beside, rooted around in some of the open crates, and found a small, crude wrench.
She raised her arm and aimed at the Ork’s head. “Are you mad? Do you want to anger it?” hissed Meslith.
At that moment, a gretchin padded by, picking up stray, empty cartridges that littered the sand. Fyrdra grinned. “Yes.” She heaved the wrench and struck the unsuspecting Ork on the head.
“Ow!” he grunted and dropped his beer. It spilled all over his tanned boots. Growling, he looked around and spotted the gretchin. “Oi, grot! Ya fink ya gonna get away wit dat!?”
“You wot?” asked the confused gretchin. The Ork pulled out his massive choppa and brandished it over his head. The puny counterpart screamed, dropped the armful of bullet casings, and fled. Roaring, the Ork chased after him. Fyrdra snickered to herself. It had been risky, but Maerys was too amused to be upset. “Stay,” was all she said and tapped her shoulder.
They reached the last hut before the warehouse. It was even more massive up close and it too was decorated with turrets and guards. The greatest concentration of Orks was in the front, where the entrance was barricaded. Another pair patrolled towards the rear of the building.
“We can’t dawdle. A distraction is needed,” said Maerys. “Irlikae, can you do something?”
The Void Dreamer thought briefly, then clapped her hands together. Kneeling in the shadow of the hut, she raised her arm towards the sky. Only a few scant clouds hung overhead. Suddenly, there was a crackle, then a bolt of lightning struck the ground near the two Orks!
“Oh, Zog! Wot wuz dat!?” Irlikae dropped another bolt so close that the Orks were blown backwards. “Dere ain’t no storm up dere!”
“It ain’t no storm, it’s Gork n’ Mork! Dey’s real mad!”
“Wot reason dey got to be mad wiff us!?”
“Rememba ya took the boss’s snazzwagon for a joyride and drove it into an ammo dump!?”
“Heh heh, yeah, dat waz real fun…wait a grog-smashin’-second, you’z right! Oh, Zog, dey upset because I blew up all dem bulletz for da dakka!” Irlikae cast a third lightning bolt. The two Orks turned and fled, crying their apologies towards the heavens.
“Wot in da hell are you twoz doin’!?” asked another Ork who came to investigate.
“We angered Gork n’ Mork and now dey droppin’ lightning on us!” For good measure, Irlikae cast one more, and this sent a number of the other Orks scrambling for cover.
“Go now, I will await the next sandstorm!” said Irlikae, making no effort to hide her glee.
Maerys and the remaining band members darted around the corner. The rear of the warehouse was unguarded but when they attempted to open the single, heavy door, it didn’t move. “We can’t force or blast it,” said Oragroth, looking around and up. “There, those two windows are open.”
“What do you say, Ulthwé, do you think we can get up there?” asked Long Livae.
“We’ll go forth and open the door,” said Meslith, annoyed. “Kalvynn, assist us.”
The Varantha outcast shouldered his weapon, put his back to the wall, and cupped his hands. Meslith lined up for a running start, but Livae shoved her aside and went first. Kalvynn caught her foot and boosted her up. The Fate Dealer caught the edge of the window and jumped in. Meslith followed suit. Maerys, Kalvynn, Tirol, and Oragroth remained, staying low and close to the walls.
There were no sounds of shots or shouts from within. Moments later, there was a metallic thud and the door scraped open. Just as they were about to enter, Dochariel’s voice filtered through the communicator. “Maerys, there’s an Ork coming around the far corner.”
“He cannot see the door ajar,” hissed Tirol, drawing his dagger.
“No killings!” Maerys tried to think of a strategy, but then Oragroth emitted two brief whistles. Crúba swept from above and pecked at the Ork’s big head.
“Hey! Gah! What da zog!? Get away from me! Stoopid bird!” He tried to smack the bird with a heavy hand but the faolchú nimbly dodged it and resumed its attack. “Ow! Ya little git, I’ma eat ya in one bite when I catch yet, ow!” The Ork plodded away, seeking the cover of a nearby hut.
Maerys joined the rest inside and shut the door behind her. Meslith and Livae remained to guard it. There were only a few torches inside—the gretchin who stocked the warehouse were clearly unaware open flames near boxes of ammunition was incredibly dangerous. Massive white skulls over red axes were painted on the walls. Crates of all sizes towered over them. Some were so unsteady they swayed as the Aeldari passed by. Some open chests were filled with rockets, ammo belts, and firearms. All manner of axes, swords, and chain weapons hung on the walls. Pallets carrying boxes and barrels were suspended on pulley ropes overhead.
They filtered into the next chamber and found much of the same. But Maerys eyes were drawn to a series of tables pushed against the far walls. Dozens of red banners with the Blood Axes emblem were piled on top of one another. She picked one up and ran her hand over the rough threads of the flag. “We shall take several,” she said, then pressed her finger to her communicator. “Talon, Arrow. We have obtained our marks, we shall rally upon Aragnel.” His delighted laugher was all the indication she required. She handed a banner to Oragroth, and extended another to Tirol.
“We should set fire to this place,” said the Pathfinder. “Less guns to face later.”
“It is sound prospect, but our mission takes priority,” said Maerys. “Come, let’s—”
A door from another room slammed open. Maerys, Oragroth, and Tirol darted to either side of the corresponding entrance. An Ork started to plod towards them. Its footfalls grew louder. Maerys glanced back at the door to the rear entrance. Perhaps there was enough time. The door opened—too late. Tirol drew his pistol and aimed.
Snap! A rope above them broke just as the Ork entered. A massive pallet dropped right onto its head. The Ork was buried under a pile of wooden planks, smashed containers, and a thick layer of dust. A weary, senseless moan from within was sign enough that the enemy was subdued.
Maerys looked up. Squatting on another suspended palette, Kalvynn held up his knife before sliding it back into its sheath. “Such mon-keigh should create safer environments,” he mused as he jumped down. Together, they collected the banners and exited while Livae and Meslith relocked the door and leaped through the windows. Irlikae and the others were waiting for them.
“It’s time, the sandstorm has arrived,” said the Void Dreamer.
“Good. Pathfinders, let the pale winds carry us to the portal.” The first gust struck them, bringing with it a veil of flying gypsum, and the hooded infiltrators disappeared.
