The Skeins of Fate

by Aphrael1742

The tales of the eldar tell of the Rhana Dandra, the final battle when eldar and Chaos will meet on the field of battle and where both will perish. But all stories must come to an end. Some of the eldar, however, would much rather write the concluding pages than read it as it unfolds.

25. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

There was light, and that, strangely, was what Guigrim's attention was drawn to. The blast that had shattered Slaanesh had taken a considerable toll upon the cavern. The surrounding walls were cracked and some sections were crumbling away. A hole had been bored through the roof of the cave, and where there was supposed to be the rock of the hill above them, there was only sky. The fact that none of them had been harmed raised more questions, and Guigrim was not sure that he even wanted them answered. Light from the blood red sun above streamed in through the ragged hole, forming a rough circle of crimson on the floor. It seemed strangely appropriate to Guigrim, for some reason. Dust drifted in the sky above, and even that was quickly settling.

Not far away, Illiawe was weeping, her head bowed in a grief so absolute that Guigrim immediately pushed it from his mind, not even bothering to consider it. Ezarvyn was by her side, muttering, though Guigrim was not sure that Illiawe heard him. Now and then a psyhic pulse flashed through the cavern, a stray thought from Illiawe, and, for only the briefest of instants, Guigrim caught hints of her sorrow, and he thought he understood – though he knew that he could never do so – the depths of the despair that so consumed her. The authoritative, prideful, and sometimes frustratingly superior eldar was gone, and for the moment she looked very fragile, vulnerable. A sudden irrational protective urge welled up in Guigrim, and he found himself wondering if it would have been appropriate to put his arms around her. Despite himself, he chuckled once at the thought, a bitter sound, but he found that he did not really care that he had just committed a heinous sin.

A tiny shape circled in the air above, and Guigrim watched it descend. Instinctively he raised his arm, pointing the muzzles of his stormbolters at the shape. When it reached the hole in the roof, however, it screeched, beating its membranous wings frantically backward, as though to run from some danger that only it could sense. It hovered in place for a while, glowering at Guigrim. Its wings flapped a couple of times, and it tried again. It fared no better on the second try, and its third had it squealing like a wounded swine. It snarled and snapped in frustration at Guigrim, then turned and went away. Guigrim lowered his arm.

And Illiawe continued to weep.

The Librarians came to stand beside Guigrim, looking at the farseer.

"We need to move," Nossius muttered, looking anxiously up at the sky. "That blast was sure to have caught the attention of the daemons. I wouldn't want to be caught here if they came to investigate."

Guigrim looked over to the eldar. "We can't move with her in this condition. Ezarvyn was sure that his devices could keep the daemons out. I am inclined to believe him. Listen." He cocked his head, amplifying the sounds around him. He filtered out all the other sounds until all that was left were growling and the snapping of teeth coming from outside the cave.

"The daemons?" Nossius asked.

"It certainly sounds like it, doesn't it? It looks like we still have some time."

Nossius looked dubiously at Illiawe. "If you say so."

Guigrim returned his attention to the hole in the roof, watching it intently for signs of daemons trying to enter from there. Now and again he scanned the rest of the cave, watching for the minute wavering in the air that indicated that a daemon was attempting to teleport in among them. Ezarvyn's devices, however, appeared to do more than simply keep daemons out of the cavern.

The harlequin that had remained behind had stood silently, only watching. On an impulse, Guigrim sidled over to where he stood. The harlequin acknowledged him with a slight tilt of his head.

"Is she all right?" he asked the harlequin before the thought that he might not speak their language occurred to him.

The harlequin, however, nodded. "She just had to do something that she didn't like." His accent was strange but his words articulate. "We feel emotions much more strongly than you humans do. Add to that the fact that what she had just done involved the condemnation of almost the sum and total of all the eldar who ever were and she is actually taking it rather well. I was thinking that she would have required one on the Path of Mourning to assist her in this matter."

Guigrim opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but at that moment Ezarvyn raised his head. "I think she has composed herself well enough. At least, she's stopped now. Perhaps we should go into the webway. She will have all the time she needs when she's within its corridors."

Guigrim nodded. "It will be much safer there, anyway."

Ezarvyn took his disk out, then he held it closer to his eye. "Slaanesh scratched it," he half exclaimed.

"Just open the portal," Guigrim told him.

"All things must be cared for, human," Ezarvyn replied piously. "Not all that we use are to be so readily discarded. What are you doing?" he asked sharply then.

Guigrim was in the middle of reaching down to Illiawe, and he stopped. "We need to get into the webway, and Illiawe does not seem quite capable of doing so by herself yet." He bent and effortlessly lifted the farseer. "Now open the portal. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible."

The Librarians stepped through Ezarvyn's portal and Guigrim followed, with Ezarvyn bringing up the rear.

"You'll have to take the lead, I'm afraid," Ezarvyn said to the harlequin. "I am unfamiliar with this part of the webway."

"That is the reason that Illiawe requested me to stay behind. Keep going down this corridor a little way. There's a spot some distance from here where time virtually stands still."

"Virtually?"

"Don't walk around too quickly when you are there, or time will start going backwards."

Guigrim did not bother trying to figure out if he was joking. He looked down at the eldar in his arms. She had grown quiet and still, though her eyes were blank and unstaring, and traces of horror lingered in her expression.

"What's wrong with her?" Guigrim asked Ezarvyn. "The harlequin's explanation didn't exactly explain much."

"Nothing. Coming face to face with the gods of the Othersea – and She Who Thirsts in particular – tends to do that to eldar." His lips twisted bitterly. "There are horrors that you do not even understand awaiting us should our souls fall into the possession of She Who Thirsts."

"Perhaps I might understand if you bothered explaining it."

Ezarvyn chuckled humorlessly. "No, human. I don't think that you would. In any event, if you really want to know what awaits us, ask Illiawe about it. The farseers of the craftworlds have good reason to pay very close attention to such things, since it is a very good incentive to read the skeins properly before they embark on something important."

"But you don't have to worry about Slaanesh anymore, though, do you? She's gone."

Ezarvyn stared at him. "Do you really think that a single farseer – even one wielding a weapon such as a spirit box – is capable of killing a god? A greater daemon, maybe, but a Warp God is simply too large to be so easily contained."

"That's what I don't really understand. How did Illiawe managed to contend with a Warp God?"

Ezarvyn shrugged. "You will have to ask her that, too."

"It was Spiorad," Illiawe murmured then, and Guigrim looked quickly down. Her voice was still weak, but some of the color had returned to her cheeks. "You can put me down, Guigrim. I can walk on my own."

"Perhaps, but you can do so when we get to that section of the webway that your harlequin friend was talking about."

Indignation crossed Illiawe's face, and she opened her mouth.

"Don't argue with me," Guigrim said. An idea came quite suddenly to him. "You are just going to slow us down, and time is essential. You can walk around all you like when we get there."

Illiawe's mouth closed and Guigrim quickly stored the information away for future use. The pride of the eldar might just prove to be very useful. "Why don't you continue with your explanation?"

Illiawe glowered at him for a while. "There is a restriction – a barrier, if you will – that prevents the creatures of the Othersea from wholly coming into this place. The Othersea gods have usually found other ways to circumvent it when they take the occasional interest in the affairs of this plane – making greater daemons with fragments of their consciousness, infusing champions with some measure of power, creating artifacts and weapons, and the like. For some reason, the idea of the eldar possessing Spiorad frightens Slaanesh, and she tore through the barrier. The Othersea gods are vastly stronger than all the other things that dwell there, but I did not think that even they would be capable of breaking through.

"To put it shortly, Slaanesh expended almost all her power breaking past the barriers between the Othersea and the material plane. The Othersea Gods are simply too large to do so without great difficulty, and it weakened Slaanesh enough for Spiorad to split her avatar up into its component souls."

"That was not Slaanesh, then?"

"Don't repeat the obvious. That was no different from a greater daemon, really. An avatar of the Warp God. More than a greater daemon, but a projection and not the Warp God herself. That singular consciousness that is Slaanesh is still within the Othersea – severely weakened but still very much active." She smirked. "I think that the dreaded Slaanesh is going to have a very tough time now, however. If she's not careful, she might just get consumed by the other Warp creatures."

"Wouldn't that be a shame?" Guigrim asked with mock regret.

Illiawe took Spiorad from her side and held it in her hands, staring at it. Now that he could see it clearly, Guigrim saw that it was more in the way of a gem than its name would imply. It was milky white, and there were softly glowing streaks of blue running along its surface. Its edges were rounded, and it fit perfectly in Illiawe's palm.

"What's the matter?" he asked her.

Wordlessly, she shook her head and tucked the cube back into a pouch at her hip.

"How long more do we have to go?" Guigrim asked the harlequin moving before them.

"In real time or perceived time?"

"Both."

"Almost instantly in actuality. It might seem like hours to you, however." The mask of the harlequin shimmered, became transparent, exposing the grinning face beneath.

Guigrim scowled. "Do you all think you are so funny?" he muttered darkly to Illiawe.

"Aren't we?"

Guigrim's scowl deepened, then a thought came to him. "Why were you so afraid of Slaanesh?"

"Weren't you?"

"Not quite to the same extent, no."

Illiawe looked speculatively at him. "I don't suppose that you understand, at that. We made a mistake once. We thought ourselves the undisputed rulers of the galaxy. Our mistake gave rise to Slaanesh. Death for you is a simple thing. You fade away, unknowing and uncaring of your eventual fate. We know what will happen if we die. Our mistake has given Slaanesh claim to our souls, and it is that which we fear over all else."

"I don't think I quite understand."

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps you don't at that. You might understand better if I were to show it to you."

Guigrim felt her mind reach out to him, and first images, then emotions, began to enter his mind. It was hazy, quite indistinct, as Illiawe showed him things that he did not quite comprehend. There was pain and fear and hatred, all so profound as to be almost unrecognizable. Illiawe flashed him image after image, memories of things that have happened and things yet to happen to those souls that found their way into the clutches of Slaanesh. And in one moment Guigrim saw terrible suffering and inflicted horrors, all of which caused him to shudder and his blood to run cold. And at the very edge of that vision was a single eternal presence. Guigrim recognized it, of course. He should. It was the same presence that he had faced in the cavern where Spiorad had lain.

And when Illiawe finally released her hold on him, he was not surprised to find that he was trembling violently.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Illiawe asked almost conversationally.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, genuinely curious. "I don't think that I have heard that the eldar are all that willing to talk about these kind of things."

She shrugged. "I don't really know."

"You just feel like talking?" Guigrim asked, slightly amused despite the things that he had just seen.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Maybe the future will reveal the reason in time."

They went in silence for a while, then Illiawe spoke again, and Guigrim was surprised to see a fire in her eyes. "Tread carefully. You humans are heading down this same path. We can only do so much to prevent a similar doom from falling upon you, but only you can avert this fate."

"Surely there must be something that you could do regarding your fate," Guigrim said, brushing her warning aside.

"You are unwholesomely optimistic, Guigrim," Illiawe said with a sad smile. "But you are right. There is something that we could – and did – do." She reached beneath her suit and took out a dull blue gem. "You recognize this, do you not?"

"I have seen things like it on eldar warriors and vehicles. I don't think that many know what they are."

Illiawe turned the jewel over in her hand. "The Tears of Isha. Soulstones. Whatever we call them, they capture our souls when we die, so that we do not fall into the clutches of Slaanesh. This is all that saves us from eternal horror." She tucked the jewel back under her suit, her lips twisting bitterly. "Our options are endless torment or the endless twilight of walking between life and death. It is not a very tough choice." She fell silent then, going into a kind of reverie.

The code of the Holy Imperium was clear. To put aside hatred for the xenos was foolishness, to consort with them was idiocy, to feel sympathy for them was vile heresy. Like all Gray Knights, Guigrim's soul was pure. The corruption of Chaos had never found purchase upon his heart or soul, and his mind was as a fortress against even the foulest of magics. Yet he felt words rise unbidden to his throat, and even as he spoke them, he knew that the Ordo Xenos would condemn him to the very deepest reaches of hell should they find out. "I'm sorry," he said shortly, the words feeling unnatural.

The eldar looked at him in surprise, then she smiled sadly. Guigrim felt eyes on him, and he looked up. His Brother-Librarians were looking at him. Neither of them would speak of this, and he trusted them to keep the incident safe. But even as he looked into the eyes of these men who had spent their lifetimes studying the way of the Warp, he knew that they understood, perhaps more than he ever could hope to, the plight of the eldar. And, within himself, Guigrim felt a warm glow, like that of satisfaction after a hard-won battle, as he felt their approval.

Illiawe did not speak again for the rest of the way. All throughout that time she kept her eyes closed. Once, and only once, did she suddenly cry out as though in pain, her face contorting into an expression of agony. Alarmed, Guigrim looked down, but there was nothing that he could have done. Then both Ezarvyn and the harlequin were there by his side. The harlequin placed the tips of his fingers to Illiawe's temples, and Guigrim felt his mind searching, gently probing. Then both he and Ezarvyn went off some distance, talking together softly but urgently.

"What is it?" Guigrim asked when they returned.

"Spiorad is a heavy burden," Ezarvyn answered shortly. "Illiawe would require some time to get used to it."

"That's not everything."

"No, it's not, and you can forget about trying to find out."

They continued on for some time more, then the harlequin stopped. "This is the place," he announced. "We'll just wait here until Illiawe has sufficiently recovered."

Guigrim took a quick look about him. The rainbow corridors did not seem any different from the ones that they had travelled through previously, but he wisely kept his skepticism to himself.

Illiawe sat cross-legged on the ground of the webway, clutching Spiorad in her hands and staring morosely into its depths. After a while, Ezarvyn knelt by her side and spoke to her, his voice soft, comforting. Illiawe replied in a voice almost on the verge of tears, and Ezarvyn nodded. He took a silken pouch from his robes, emptied its contents into a pocket, and offered it to Illiawe. She flashed him a quick if sad smile and dropped the softly glowing cube into the pouch. They spent the next few minutes doing things to the pouch, then Illiawe tucked it away.

Finally Illiawe looked around her, drawing in a deep breath. Her chin lifted, and in a second all traces of the vulnerable eldar was gone, and the stern and disapproving, if a little worn out and weary looking, farseer returned. She spoke to the harlequin for a few moments in the eldar tongue, and the harlequin nodded, leading them back through the tunnels of the webway. As they walked, Guigrim studied the face of Illiawe, but all traces of her earlier disposition appeared to have vanished, though she was still a little pale, and there was a noticeable tightening around her eyes.

They stepped out of the webway into the commotion of a mobilizing army. Orks ran here and there, all rushing toward this or that frontline. Tanks and bikes and jerky walkers moved in a disorganized mob, heading from where they landed toward the daemon hordes. Illiawe was the last one to leave. She and the harlequin spoke quietly together for a few moments, then she turned away and stepped lightly out of the shimmering doorway. And then the surface of light was gone.

Guigrim opened up a private vox link with Volorus. After a moment, the inquisitor's voice came over the vox.

"Did you get it?" he asked tersely.

"We did, my lord."

There was an explosive sigh of relief. "I'm diverting one of the orks' gunships to your location now."

Several moments later, there was a loud whine, and a bulky plane that looked like it had been repaired with the hull of a dozen different tanks came dropping ungracefully out of the sky. It did not so much land as it did crash into the ground, and the heavy door at the back clanged open.

"Oi!" a gruff voice hollered from a couple of dented speakers at the top of the aircraft. "Da boss told me ta pick ya up, so git ya zoggin' feet in 'ere now!"

"Unsubtle, aren't they?" Ezarvyn observed mildly.

"Get in," Illiawe said. "I'll be much happier when we are back aboard the ship."

The inside of the aircraft was a lot smaller than it had appeared to be from the outside, and Guigrim shuddered at the idea of the sheer thickness of the hull. The plane wobbled worryingly as it lifted off the ground, its engines screaming in protest.

"This thing is going to take us to the ship in orbit?" Ezarvyn asked in amusement.

"The planes of the orks are a lot more capable than they appear," Illiawe assured him.

"I am aware of that, but it's a wonder that this thing can even fly, let alone go into orbit under its own power."

"It's not going very quickly, if that's of any comfort to you."

"It's not."

A number of ork planes joined them as they ascended, as did a dozen winged daemons that had managed to evade the general aerial battle taking place all throughout the skies of the planet. The daemons converged on them and their escort turned to cut them off before they got too close.

"Are the orks going to be able to fend them off?" Ezarvyn asked with some concern.

Then there was a coarse laugh and their pilot pushed a metal plate at the front of the hold to the side, opening a small window. "Dem bats fink dey can catch me girl." He guffawed, spraying spittle all over his controls. Then he craned his head around to look quizzically at his passengers. "Ya don't fink it's funny?"

"They certainly aren't going to have much of a problem," Ezarvyn observed, staring pointedly at a fuzzy display in the front of the hold. A couple of the daemons had broken off and were clawing their way upward in pursuit of the plane.

"Bah," their pilot dismissed them. "Dem finks ain't gud enuff ta catch us. Diz girl's tuff, and fast."

"Whatever you are going to do," Illiawe said, "you might want to consider doing it now."

"Ya need ta learn patience, pointy-ear," he told her with no trace of irony in his voice.

The ork slammed his fist down on the control panel and there was a whirring noise from somewhere beneath their feet. There was the roar of a number of heavy cannons and the plane shuddered. Even inside its hold, Guigrim could quite clearly hear the screeches of the pursuing daemons.

The pilot laughed. "Dey didn't expect dat, did dey? No one expects dat."

Ignoring the smoking fist-sized holes in their bodies and wings, the daemons relentlessly continued their pursuit, even into the face of the cannon fire.

"Dey don't want ta go away, do dey?" the pilot said. He reached out and pulled a rusty lever. The plane's engines rose to an almost painful whine. The ork plane, of course, was almost completely devoid of intertia dampening systems, and it was only by locking the joints of his armor that Guigrim was able to keep himself standing. Despite his augmentations, dark spots began to appear before his eyes after only a few seconds. Dimly, he saw the daemons on the screen fade away as the aircraft left them behind.

When the plane finally slowed, they had left the planet behind them. The Regina Umbrae loomed large before them, hazy and indistinct as the last of its stealth systems were turned off. It took Guigrim a while to recover. The first thing that he noticed was that their pilot was laughing. The ork turned around, grinning hideously at them.

"What do ya fink?" he asked excitedly.

"It is certainly surprising, dear fellow," Ezarvyn said. "I would never have thought this plane capable of such things."

The ork's grin grew wider. "Da boss made it specially fer 'imself. It ain't as fast as a ship like 'e wanted, dough. 'E might be a tad angry when 'e 'ears dat. It'z a waste o' a gud ship engine."

"A ship engine?" Illiawe asked, baffled.

"Not everyfink in a ship engine needz ta be dere. Da mekz tuk stuff out, and made da rest smaller. I guess dey must 'ave taken out too much or somefink, 'cuz she's not as fast as da sip wuz before."

"How many more of these planes have you got?" Illiawe asked warily.

"Jus' dis one. Da boss don't want ta take annova ship apart fer planes. It don't make sense. 'E on'y made dis one 'cuz sometimes 'e gotta go someplace in a real 'urry."

The ork put the plane down in the hangar of the Regina Umbrae, and they went immediately to the bridge. Volorus and Uriel were both waiting for them when they got there, and they had expectant looks on their faces.

"Well?" Volorus asked, looking at Illiawe.

"Well what?"

"We spent all this time and effort to get our hands on this artifact, Illiawe. The least that you could do is show it to us."

"I don't think so, Volorus. It'll not be a good idea to display it in the presence of so many. If you think about it, I'm sure you'd see why." She sighed wearily and moved to sit on a nearby bench. Guigrim looked closely at her. Her face was drawn and pale from her earlier storm of weeping, but there was something else there that he could not quite place. Illiawe's words came back to him about the effects that Spiorad had on the soul of its wielder. At the time he had suspected that it was not the truth, but now he was no longer sure.

"All right," Volorus said, then he went out of the bridge, gesturing for Guigrim to follow. The inquisitor did not speak again until they reached his office. "Close the door," he instructed, moving to sit behind his desk. "What happened down there, Guigrim? Illiawe's looking a little strange."

"I am not certain, my lord. There were quite a few things that I don't fully understand." Quickly he recounted the events that had occurred, concentrating upon those that took place in the cave. When he was finished, Volorus leaned back in his seat. His eyes were very bright.

"Illiawe defeated Slaanesh all by herself with Spiorad?"

"The harlequins were there, my lord, and I am not sure exactly how much aid they provided."

"But it appeared that she did so on her own?"

Guigrim nodded.

"Then the harlequins could have been providing instructions just as much as they could have been providing aid in the banishment of Slaanesh?" Volorus asked intently.

"It is likely, my lord."

"Imagine what we could do with such a weapon in our possession," Volorus mused. "We could sweep Chaos out of the Materium and keep them contained within the Eye of Terror."

Guigrim moved quickly to head off that line of thought. "It is a weapon that we do not understand. You know of the dangers that possessing it brings. It is best if we let the eldar do with it as they will."

Volorus nodded glumly. "It is a nice thought, though, isn't it?"

"It borders on the heretical, my lord."

"Heretical," Volorus scoffed. "The term is used too freely within the Imperium. In this case, however, you might just be right. I think that if the eldar cannot prevent this leeching of their soul, neither can we, and it'll probably be too dangerous to even try using it." He rubbed at the side of his face speculatively. "Is there anything that we could do to help Illiawe?"

Guigrim shook his head. "I think that the eldar have their own solutions for that."

"Maybe, but then again, maybe not. Why don't you take Noshan and talk to Illiawe about the matter? He's studied matters of the Warp in quite great detail, and he might know of something."

Guigrim nodded, swallowing the protests that rose to his lips. He highly doubted that Noshan could produce a solution that the eldar could not.

"That's it, then, isn't it, Guigrim?" Volorus said.

"My lord?"

"All we need to do now is get Illiawe away from this place, and our mission is completed. You'll return to your chapter, and I'll take the information that the eldar provides me with and go stamp out some more Chaos cults." He drummed his fingers absently on the desk, his expression reflective. "You know, this has all been really exciting. I think I'll almost miss it when things settle back down." Then he laughed ruefully. "At least, as settled down as they can be."

As Guigrim had expected, the talk with Illiawe was ultimately fruitless. Illiawe did not appear willing to elaborate upon the details of Spiorad's effects upon her, and Noshan was overenthusiastic in his questioning. The combination resulted in a one-sided affair that was nothing more than a colossal waste of time. It appeared to entertain Noshan, though, and Illiawe did not really seem to mind.

Ghahzlay came aboard the ship just as they were prepared to leave. His armor was splattered with blood and raked with claw marks and holes as large as Guigrim's fists, but there was a broad grin upon his face.

"I've nevar seen dem fings fight so 'ard before," he declared when they gathered in a small conference room a short way from the bridge. The crew of the Regina Umbrae were all unspeakably brave, as all men under Volorus' employ were, but the sight of the hulking Ghahzlay made them all more than a little nervous, for some reason. "Da boyz are 'avin' da best fun."

"I'm so glad that you are enjoying yourself, old boy," Ezarvyn drawled.

Ghahzlay grinned at him. "A gud fight 'as ta be enjoyed."

Illiawe sank lower into her chair. "We've got what we came for. As soon as we leave, the daemons are going to do the same, too. You had better let the orks know about that first. They might just get too disappointed if the daemons they are killing just vanish before their eyes."

Ghahzlay looked at her worriedly. "Dey won't really do dat, will dey?"

"They might. Or they might come after me. I wouldn't really know."

Ghahzlay grinned. "If dey try ta chase ya, me boyz will chase dem. Don't ya worry, pointy-ear. Dey are not gonna be chasin' ya. Me an' da boyz will make sure of dat."

"You're too kind," she murmured.

Ghahzlay threw his head back and laughed. "Kindness 'as nofin' ta do wif it, pointy-ear. No one runz from a fight wif da Bad Parnz. It's right an' coward-like, ya know, an' da boyz an' I, we oughta teach cowardz ta fight gud an' proppa."

"By beating them until they learn?" Ezarvyn asked in a faintly amused tone.

"'Ave ya evar 'eard of anovvar way of teachin'?"

Ezarvyn shook his head, but he chose not to answer.

"You are going to stay here, then?" Illiawe asked him.

"Ya don't 'ave anywhere fer me ta go, do ya?" His heavy brow twitched questioningly. "Do ya?"

Illiawe tilted her head, her lips pursed in thought. "Perhaps I might. I'll let you know when I need your orks again. Until then, you can keep on killing daemons if you have nothing better to do."

"Ah, but diz iz da best fink I can do." Then he grinned broadly. "Now comes da fun part."

"Oh? Which part was that?"

"'Ow much ya goin' ta pay me fer my service ta ya, of coz. Dis fight wif da spiky gitz iz from da goodness of me 'eart, but ta keep dem deemonz away from ya wuld cost ya, an' if ya want ta call me an' da boyz later, ya gotz ta pay up."

"We can talk about that later."

Ghahzlay shook his head. "In advance, pointy-ear."

Illiawe sighed. "This might take a while. You only take teeth, don't you?"

"Ya don't luk like ya gotz any dat I'd want, though. Dey too small. Maybe if ya kin get sumfin' else interestin', I wuld take dat."

"I'll see what I can find."

Ghahzlay nodded, looking around and scratching vigorously at his arm. "Ya do dat. I'm 'ungry. I'll go see if I kin catch a squig. Where's da food place at?"

Volorus went to the door and spoke briefly to the guard outside. A minute later a servant came hesitantly into the room. "You called, my lord?" he asked Volorus.

The inquisitor nodded. "Show Ghahzlay here the way to the mess hall, will you?"

The servant looked apprehensively at the hulking ork. "Forgive me, my lord, but is that altogether wise? I've heard stories about the diet of orks."

Ghahzlay laughed. "It's not true. 'Umies taste bad, an' are not as fillin' as squigz." He clapped his hand familiarly on the servant's shoulder, ignoring his flinch and the fact that the man's knees quite nearly buckled. "Dere wuz diz one time I got 'ungry when fightin' da 'umies, though, an' dere wuz all diz fresh 'umies dat wuz jus' lyin' around. Come on. Show me ta da food place, an' I'll tell ya 'bout dat time." And he quite literally steered the poor man out of the door.

"Interesting figure," Ezarvyn noted. The Dark Eldar's appearance aboard the ship had drawn some strange looks, but Volorus had not made issue of the fact. Ezarvyn was with Illiawe, so Volorus was tolerant, if not welcoming, of him. Evidently, the inquisitor's change of heart had gone further than any of them had realized. The rest of the crew, of course, did not realize the significance of Ezarvyn's pallid complexion. He grinned at Illiawe. "You've dug out a rather large hole for yourself, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll have to think of some way to produce something that Ghahzlay wants or you will lose his aid altogether." Ezarvyn's grin turned into a smirk. "You don't happen to have an ork that is willing to give away his teeth up your sleeve, do you?"

"I'm ahead of you on that score, Ezarvyn. I just need to check with the crystal seers for the specifics."

"Specifics of what?"

Now it was Illiawe's turn to smirk. "I am going to create ork teeth right here for Ghahzlay, Ezarvyn. I think I know how to do so, but it would not hurt to get some confirmation anyway." She stretched a hand out, and a glowing rune floated out from a pouch by her side to hover above her open palm. Her eyes grew distant for a moment. Then she nodded, taking out another rune. Guigrim quite clearly felt her reaching out, then, with dull clattering sounds, a veritable shower of teeth and fangs popped out of the air to fall into a great pile in the center of the table. It continued for some time until the pile spilled over off the table onto the floor. Illiawe withdrew her hand, and the shower stopped.

"Where did they come from?" Uriel asked, leaning in to inspect the pile.

"That's psychoplastic."

"Wraithbone?"

"No. Wraithbone doesn't look quite as convincing. This is a different type, one that the artisans use to line gardens with – among other things. A number of the crystal seers have had experience in shaping psychoplastics, and one of them offered this alternative." She pursed her lips, musing half to herself, "it is a useful skill. Perhaps I should take the time to learn the art. It shouldn't take long to learn to channel my powers in that direction."

Uriel picked up one of the teeth and inspected it. "It does look pretty convincing. What if Ghahzlay finds out that they're fake, though?"

"I plan to tell him that they are fake."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Honesty is a virtue," Illiawe said with great aplomb. Then she shrugged. "Actually, he's probably going to find out sooner or later, and I am hoping that he would see the benefits to having access to as many teeth as he wants without waiting for his own to fall out." She paused. "Of course, these teeth are going to last longer than the ordinary ones. Perhaps the idea of a reserve fund might appeal to Ghahzlay."

"I think that you might just be overestimating the intelligence of the orks," Ezarvyn drawled.

"That is beside the point." She looked around, and a momentary frown touched her brow. Her hand dipped into the pouch by her side that contained Spiorad.

"Illiawe?" Uriel asked.

The farseer shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear her head, and her face paled slightly. Guigrim happened to be looking at Ezarvyn then, so there was no question about what happened next. Ezarvyn's eyes narrowed, then, as Illiawe took her hand out of the pouch, they widened in shock before the Dark Eldar quickly got his expressions back under control. His eyes, however, lingered upon the pouch at Illiawe's hip.

"What will you be doing now?" Volorus asked, peering intently at her.

Illiawe smiled, and Guigrim thought that it was just a little wan. "I will be returning to the craftworld. If you take me someplace close by, I could call on Mornedor. It would be a terrible idea to call him to a place such as this." She dipped her eyes in the general direction of the planet for emphasis.

Volorus nodded, understanding. "Where would you like us to drop you off?"

Illiawe shrugged. "Anywhere, I suppose."

"Perhaps somewhere at the edges of Imperial space, away from any star system," Ezarvyn recommended. "We wouldn't want the humans to panic if an eldar ship appears over their planet out of nowhere, would we?"

Illiawe nodded absently.

Volorus sat straighter in his chair. "Now, of course, we come to the important part. You promised me great information regarding the forces of Chaos within the Imperium. I would like that information, if you please."

Illiawe smiled a little listlessly. "The one whom you call the Despoiler is coming."

Volorus scowled darkly. "I know that. You promised things that I don't know."

"No," Illiawe replied, "you misunderstand. I am not speaking of some slight skirmish of a million souls. The final days are near at hand, Volorus. The last battle in the void around the rift to the Othersea. This is the information that I give you in exchange for your aid. For the survival of both our races, if not for friendship, do I impart to you that which I have and will glean of battles still to come. Do with it as you will."

Volorus gaped at her. "This wasn't what I had in mind," he protested.

Illiawe tilted her head. "Was it not? I promised glory. Take that which I give you and present it to those who should know. Whether or not they heed your warnings, you will obtain the glory that you seek." Her eyes grew distant. "Try your best to warn them, however. Just as you require our aid to emerge victorious in the coming war, so too will we need yours." She stood abruptly. "I think that I will go lie down for a while, however. I will give this information to you when I wake. While you are waiting, you could get us away from this place."

"What about Ghahzlay?" Uriel asked, gesturing at the pile of teeth on the table.

Illiawe scowled darkly, then she sighed in resignation. "I guess I should talk with him first, shouldn't I?"

"That is probably a good idea, yes."

Illiawe muttered for a few moments, and her eyes grew distant. Then she sat herself heavily back in her chair to wait for him. After only a few moments, the ork came walking into the room with a beefy arm draped familiarly around the shoulders of his guide. The man's face was white, his hands were trembling, and he had the look of one who was ready to bolt.

Volorus waved Ghahzlay in and nodded at the servant, who bowed rather quickly and fled.

"What did you say to him?" Uriel asked curiously.

Ghahzlay grinned, his teeth gleaming. "I told 'im a few stories, iz all. I don't know why 'e's so scared fer." He pulled up a chair and, without invitation, unceremoniously sat. He shifted his huge bulk around, and Guigrim thought he heard the heavy metal of its arms creak and the solid metal plate of its seat crumple slightly. "All right, den," he said. "What do ya 'ave fer me?" He eyed the pile of teeth on the table suspiciously. "Where did ya get all dis teef from?"

"I made them," Illiawe said.

Ghahzlay's piggy eyes narrowed. "What ya mean 'made'?"

Illiawe held out a hand, palm up, and a speck of white formed over her open palm. It grew and molded itself, and a half second later a large curved fang hovered in the air above her hand. She shook her hand lightly and let the tooth fall to join the rest of the pile.

Ghahzlay's eyes widened, and his expression became sly. "Ain't dat sumfin'?" he asked. "Well, now." He leaned back in his seat. "Dat's a real nice trick ya got."

"Here's the deal," Illiawe said. "As of this moment, consider yourself hired. You get a pile just like this for every day of service."

Ghahzlay leaned back in his seat. "Every day? Ya gonna make me a very rick ork at da end o' dis." His eyes narrowed. "Dem teef act like orky teef?"

Illiawe frowned for a moment, not understanding, then her brow cleared. "No," she said. "The teeth will not decompose, and it is highly unlikely that you will live long enough to see them do so."

Ghahzlay shook his head. "Don't make it do dat," he growled.

"Why not?"

"I don't want da ovar orky klans ta 'ave teef dat don't go bad. Can't ya do sumfin' 'bout dat?"

"No, I can't, and I won't," Illiawe said icily.

"Ya gonna wreck da orky ekonomee, pointy-ear," he said glumly.

At that, Illiawe burst into peals of silvery laughter.

"Fine," Ghahzlay said, looking a little hurt. "Maybe I will keep it, den."

Illiawe shrugged. "Do with them however you will."

Ghahzlay squinted at the pile. "I might need a bag or sumfin' fer dat." He shook his head. "I'll call one o' me boyz."

"Don't take too long going about it. I do not want to remain in this system for longer than I have to."

A look of confusion came over Ghahzlay's face. "Why not? Diz place iz fun. Dere's plenty ta kill 'ere."

Illiawe's look turned frosty. Ghahzlay grinned impudently at her for a moment, then stood and went out of the room in the direction of the hangar. After some time he returned with two hulking orks in tow. The orks had sacks of some animal hide slung over their shoulders, and they began filling the sacks with the fake teeth. When they were done, Ghahzlay turned to Illiawe.

"Diz iz da pay fer tomorrow. 'Ow 'bout da rest?"

Illiawe rolled her eyes. "Take your ship and come with us. I'll make the teeth on your ship when we are away from this system."

Ghahzlay shook his head. "I don't know why ya wanna give up a perfectly gud fight like dat."

"Do you want the teeth or not?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going off to bed."

Volorus had a vaguely worried expression on his face when they left the conference and made their way to his office. "Does this seem like a good idea to you?" he asked as soon as the door was closed.

"Does what seem like a good idea?" Uriel asked.

"Hiring the orks."

Uriel shrugged, moving to one of the shelves and pouring himself a drink. "I would much rather have the orks fighting for us than against us."

"I wasn't talking about that. If what Illiawe says is right and the final battle is here, then she is most probably going to use the orks to fight in the most heated zones. Can you imagine the expressions of the generals and commanders when orks start appearing in places like Cadia to help push the forces of Chaos back?"

Uriel's eyes widened. "Emperor!" he swore. "I haven't thought of that." He grinned broadly. "I'd imagine that they'll be just a little shocked."

"That's the greatest understatement of the century," Volorus agreed. "It is a very dangerous alliance, however. Accidents have a way of happening, and I'd think that some of the troops might have grudges against the orks."

Uriel shrugged. "I imagine that they hate Chaos more than they do the orks. Besides, the eldar will probably make sure that such things don't happen. I don't think that they want us and the orks fighting any more than we do."

Volorus shot him a disgusted look. "You are sickeningly optimistic, do you know that?"

"Nobody's perfect, Volorus. Not even me." He held out a goblet to Volorus. "Want some wine?"

After a few minutes of consultation, the inquisitors decided to hold the transfer with the orks out in deep space at the fringes of the galaxy. The sensor arrays in those places were sparse, and one of the few places left in the galaxy that was free from the prying eyes of the assorted Imperial departments.

The trip through the Warp occurred without incident, and the Regina Umbrae came out only a couple of hours after they had left. Ghahzlay's patchwork ship, a hulking monstrosity that resembled a moon more than a ship and with so many guns jutting out that it looked rather much like a sea urchin, was already waiting for them. Volorus signaled crisply, and a shuttle carrying Illiawe flew out of the Regina Umbrae. A slab of metal in the ork ship, indistinguishable from the other similar slabs around it, slid aside haltingly to admit the shuttle. Something flew out of the docking bay toward the shuttle, and Guigrim looked quickly at one of the nearby screens, fearing treachery. But it was not a projectile. Rather, the thing that had been vented was a thrashing ork, stripped bare and yet impossibly alive.

With kicks and flails it angled its way toward the approaching shuttle as though moving through not a vacuum but water. It made a desperate swipe as the shuttle passed near it, its fingers finding purchase on the craft's hull.

"Oi!" Ghahzlay's voice came over the vox, booming in the confines of the bridge. "Ya in da plane. Jiggle 'round. Shake dat squig fer brains off."

"How did they get into this channel?" one of the communications officer asked.

"Forget about it," Volorus told him, sighing.

"Uh… what did you say?" the shuttle pilot said.

"Ya 'eard me," Ghahzlay growled. "Dat git cheats a lot. Me an' da boyz are sick o' waitin' fer 'im ta pay up all da teef 'e owes us. Now shake 'im off before da shuttle brings 'im back."

There was a short exchange from inside the shuttle, then Illiawe spoke. "Ghahzlay," she said. "I am just a little tired. I would rather the shuttle not jiggle all over the place, if you don't mind."

"But -"

"You can throw him out later."

"We can't, pointy-ear. An ork can on'y be thrown out once fer each crime. If 'e makes it back onta da ship, 'e isn't guilty no more."

"Invent some other crime to throw him out for, then."

"Pointy-ear," Ghahzlay said stiffly, "da Bad Parnz klan don't do dat. Justice iz important 'ere."

Illiawe's answering laughter was filled with mirth.

"Shut up!" Ghahzlay shouted, his voice anxious. "Don't let 'im come back!"

"You should have thrown him out when a shuttle isn't approaching, then."

"But diz way iz moar effeeshent," Ghahzlay grumbled.

The shuttle entered the docking bay, and Ghahzlay growled in irritation. Then the ork went flying out of the docking bay, its jaws agape in a silent scream.

"Oops," Illiawe said absently.

There was a stunned silence, then the vox channel erupted with the howls of ork laughter.

"We 'ave ta kill ya fer dat, ya know?" Ghahzlay said. "An attack on one of our boyz when 'e 'as no guilt must be punished."

"I would like to state in my defense that the poor ork let go of his own free will," Illiawe replied in a solemn voice. "It seems that he felt the ship was just a little cramped, and wanted to have some space to himself."

"Oh," Ghahzlay said in a suitably somber tone. "I guess dat's all right, den." And he howled with laughter.

"Ork justice is quite straightforward, isn't it?" Uriel observed mildly. "I wonder if we could reform our own after theirs. The points of law within the Imperium are getting just a little bit too convoluted and obscure."

"Are you insane?" Volorus asked.

"Probably, but you have to admit that there's something about arbitrary justice that's appealing."

Volorus looked at first shocked, then he, too, grinned.

Illiawe was on board the ork ship for a while, and, while she was there, an eldar ship popped out of nowhere to drift gracefully up alongside the Regina Umbrae. There had been no warning from any of their sensors of the arrival of the eldar ship, and though they were expecting it, the crew on the bridge rushed about in a moment of panic borne of instincts before remembering that it posed no threat. The eldar made no move to contact them, and the silence grew almost tense.

Then Illiawe's shuttle came out of the ork ship, returning to the Regina Umbrae. Illiawe came onto the bridge a few minutes later. She looked at each of them in turn, then, unexpectedly, stepped forward and clasped the arm of the inquisitors in a formal gesture. Then she smiled.

"It has been rather interesting," Volorus said, seemingly more to fill out the awkward silence than anything else.

Illiawe nodded once. "That it has. Your assistance in this matter is most appreciable, Volorus."

Volorus suddenly grinned. "You make it sound like it has not been tainted by self-interest. I am already reaping the benefits of this deal. My scribes have been busy compiling everything that you have told me. Once I get enough people onto it, the Black Crusade will suddenly become a whole lot more difficult for our friend at the head of the forces of Chaos. It's going to be good for my reputation."

Illiawe flashed him a grin. "I like to see friends get ahead in the world."

Volorus laughed, an easy sound that contained no inhibitions. "I hope to see you again, Illiawe."

If the eldar was surprised at his words, she did not show it. "Likewise, Volorus." She took a step back and bowed rather formally to each of them in turn, her hands clasped before her chest. "May Isha watch over you."

"And may the light of the Emperor shine upon you," Volorus responded formally, then he winked.

Illiawe smiled, her eyes growing distant for a moment. "Until the Fates bring our paths together again."

On the displays, a gunship exited the eldar ship that lay like a resting serpent beside them. Illiawe nodded once more and turned, with Ezarvyn close behind her. The pair made their way to the door of the bridge with the characteristic grace of their race, then they went through the door and were gone.