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.

36. Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

"Vect would not agree," Archon Iruthan said, sinking lower into his chair.

They were gathered in Iruthan's quarters, a richly furnished room that contained elegant and delicate furniture that contrasted heavily with the hooks and chains that hung along the walls, most with dried blood and strips of shriveled flesh still hanging from them. Ezarvyn was stretched out on the large upholstered bed at the far end of the room, holding up a vial filled with a deep blue liquid to the light. Taeryn was sitting near a window that looked out through a shimmering force field onto the rest of the archon's territory. Illiawe studiously avoided the window, sitting instead with her back toward a wall some feet away from her friend. Ever since the attempt on her life on Kenaleith, Illiawe had become, in Taeryn's words, overly cautious. The wall that she hid behind, of course, would not have been much of an obstacle to a determined assassin, but it provided a false sense of security that somewhat eased Illiawe's fears, though she knew that it was silly to think so. Her faith, however, was placed in her rune armor, which she wore everywhere now; and though the Commorrites frowned at having so obvious a psychic manifestation within their city, Illiawe's relationship to Taeryn warded off most of the hostilities.

The archon himself sat in a plump armchair near the center of the room, his back toward the door and one leg cocked over the side of his chair. There was a bowl filled with a silvery viscous liquid on a low table by his side, and he dipped his fingers now and then into the bowl, swirling the liquid with his fingertips. A vast range of emotions came from the bowl – fear, pain, horror. Illiawe clenched her teeth, trying to suppress the disgust that rose involuntarily within her. The archon was hospitable enough, Illiawe supposed, but he made no effort to conceal his pleasures. Taeryn, however, had assured her that they would require the cooperation of the archon, and so Illiawe kept her opinions to herself and her revulsion in check.

"That is unacceptable, Iruthan," Ezarvyn said lazily from where he lay. "You have got to return to Vect and try again. This alliance with the craftworlds needs to go through, and the leaders of Commorragh have to all agree in this matter, whether willingly or unwillingly."

"Go back to Vect?" Iruthan asked, frowning. "With the exact same request? Are you insane?"

"Word your request differently, Iruthan."

"That is easy for you to say," the archon grumbled. "You aren't the one who has to talk to him."

Ezarvyn pushed himself into a sitting position. "If that's all there is to your objections, Iruthan, it is easily solved. Introduce me to our mighty Supreme Overlord, and I will negotiate with him."

"You sound confident, Ezarvyn. Why's that?" Iruthan asked curiously.

Ezarvyn grinned tightly. "I have a little toxin, Iruthan. It reduces those affected into a little puddle, a tiny enough amount to fit into a small vial. The body, however, is not actually dead, merely… transformed. The soul of the afflicted stays in the liquid. The toxin does various things to the unfortunate one. It inflicts extreme pain, horror, guilt, remorse, every emotion you could think of. It also keeps the afflicted alive for a very long time. Millennia, at least."

"But the economy of Commorragh relies almost entirely on captures and skilled torturers. Such a supply of suffering without raids will eliminate the need for any of that! It will destroy the haemonculi!" Iruthan's already pallid complexion paled even more. "It will destroy the power balance of every kabal!"

"Not all, Iruthan," Ezarvyn said lazily, lying back down. "I have a special little button that controls the lifespan of every one of those toxins. It will destroy almost all of Commorragh, but I think that I will be fine. I will be the most important eldar in Commorragh, and all the other eldar can't even remove me in the usual fashion, just in case I have the button set to my continued wellbeing." He winked slyly at Iruthan. "Aren't you glad that I am in your service?"

Iruthan, however, was too preoccupied to respond. If anything, his face paled even further as a realization dawned on him. "You're going to blackmail Vect!"

"Can't you select a nicer word, old boy?" Ezarvyn drawled.

"You are insane!"

"Life is more interesting this way, Iruthan."

"I refuse to let you drag me into this, Ezarvyn! Do you realize what Vect would do to me if you fail to convince him?"

"Iruthan, dear," Taeryn said lightly then, not turning away from her admiration of the stark scenery outside the window, "I am sure that you are well aware that shadowseers possess much greater psychic abilities than the Commorrites, aren't you? I can see right past your glamor if I have to, and I am sure that you do not want me to share it with you."

"Are you threatening me?" Iruthan asked in an outraged tone.

Taeryn shrugged. "Pay Vect another call or I will remind you what you look like without the essence of your victims preserving you. I don't particularly want to see what you really look like, so why don't you save us both the distress?"

"No one speaks to me like that, Ezarvyn," Iruthan said flatly. "I'd have to kill her."

"Go on right ahead, Iruthan," Ezarvyn replied coolly. "I will be sure to give you a discount when I revive you. I think I'd take your temperament as payment this time. It would save you from getting yourself into more trouble."

Iruthan looked at him helplessly. "You know, Bazeqar was a lot more respectful."

"He was also a lot less talented. Are you going to talk to Vect, or do I need to prepare the tools to capture your horror when Taeryn here shows you your reflection?"

"You're not leaving me with a lot of options," Iruthan grumbled.

"That is the idea," Taeryn replied lightly.

An eldar woman came in through the door. She was tall and strikingly beautiful, her shiny black hair tumbling down her back in loose curls. She wore a dress that reached down to her ankles and which clung tightly to her body, the material whispering as she moved. The garment was sheer, leaving very little to the imagination, proudly displaying her unscarred skin, a source of pride for the wyches and a testament to their skill in combat. It also displayed the jeweled handles of a dozen daggers strapped to various parts of her body. Two long curved swords lay in a twin scabbard at her hip. She came up behind Iruthan, taking in at a glance his disgruntled mood.

"Is Ezarvyn bullying you again?" she asked, her rich voice slightly wicked.

"He's teaming up with these other two now, Merihira." He waved an arm at Illiawe and Taeryn.

"Oh, you poor thing," the archon's consort said in a heavily pouty tone. She brushed her fingertips across Iruthan's shoulders and looked at Taeryn and Illiawe. Her eye closed in a slow wink. "The bath's ready, if you ladies would like to join me. It'll be a pleasant experience, I promise."

Taeryn stood. "I'll have my mask on when I get back, Iruthan, so don't take too long to make a decision."

The palace where Vect lived was defiantly unconcealed. It was lit starkly by scores of captured suns hanging far overhead that gave off light but no heat, and which glowed so brightly that even the black material that the Commorrites used in all their constructions appeared to glow and glimmer, the phantom shadows that crept forever just under their surfaces banished all at once by the brilliant light of the suns.

Vect's abode was tastelessly large, stretching, though the skimmer that they rode in was not flying anywhere close to the sparsely populated lower air lanes, further than Illiawe could see. Spires and towers brooded down at them from behind a shimmering wall of dark purple energy that thrashed and roiled angrily within its invisible confines. Behind the energy barrier was an archaic wall that was kept, it seemed, not for the purpose of defense but for intimidation. Assorted jagged spikes and cruel looking hooks studded the wall from one end to the other, bearing the still writhing forms of Vect's object lessons. Some of them had been flayed and skinned, others lay dissected and meticulously and carefully held open, yet others lay in separate pieces like some unfinished puzzle. Illiawe fought down a wave of revulsion, quickly blocking out the moans of the unfortunate individuals from her mind.

The pilot directed their skimmer downward to stop before a grandiose gatehouse. The gesture was only a formality, of course. None who approached the dwelling of Vect did so unobserved nor kept their identity a secret for very long. The heavily armed and impressively armored guards, eldar with haughty expressions upon their faces and gazed with hard-eyed suspicion at all around them, made a great show of inspecting their skimmer. Illiawe was sure that a few dozen different scanners had already done the task before they had even come in sight of the palace, and when one of the guards bent over to look at length at the underside of their skimmer, her suspicions were confirmed. At last a small section in the shield wavered and melted away, and the guards waved them through impatiently.

The main building of the palace where Vect lorded over the rest of Commorragh rose loftily from the center of the complex, separated from it all by walls built taller than any mountain and shimmering force fields and by swarms of airborne troops and jetbikes and assault crafts that danced in the air and wove complex patterns that had neither rhythm nor purpose. A single spire rose up from the main building, so high that even the light of the suns could not reach its top, holding itself aloof from the lesser palaces of the other nobles of his kabal down below. They went through a dozen more shields and past defenses that pulled their craft this way and that and which shook its hull down to its very core, through areas of sky where time went forward and backward in a disoriented manner and where their destination was at one moment very near and at another out of sight, where the very laws of the world around them shifted and changed and ceased to exist. At each of these guards let them through, until they disembarked at last outside a particular door at that main building where Vect dwelled, and from there a hunched eldar slave, his body ridden with sores and ugly wounds where whips had ripped open the flesh down to the bone and where blood lay in clotted pools over his pallid skin and dirty rags, led them through long, empty, hallways, all brightly lit so as to emphasize the highly vaulted ceilings and instill a sense of smallness into all who visited. He left them without a word in a similarly furnished waiting room, tottering back the way that they had come from. Illiawe glanced around the room, noting tiny gaps in the walls where, she was sure, guards were observing them, doubtlessly with guns in their hands.

"Now, then, let us see Vect," Ezarvyn said. If he was at all apprehensive, he did not show it. "My archon, you first." He bowed mockingly, sweeping his arm out grandly toward a set of tall double doors at the other end of the room.

Iruthan scowled at him, shifting his ornate armor upon his shoulders before starting toward the door.

Ezarvyn grinned at Illiawe and Taeryn. "Excuse me," he said politely, starting off after his patron.

Illiawe was sweating and shivering simultaneously. The eldar had a rather high tolerance for temperatures at either end of the spectrum, which indicated louder than anything the extreme temperatures in the room. The air was uncomfortably warm, almost close to boiling, which made the ice forming in Illiawe's hair and heavy robes all the more astounding.

"This is getting stupid," Illiawe muttered to Taeryn, wiping her brow with a wispy handkerchief. Briefly the thought of gathering her powers to banish the strange climate in the air around her crossed her mind, but a quick warning look from Taeryn stopped her.

"That's not a good idea," her friend said, looking meaningfully at the walls around them. "The Commorrites don't like the use of psychic powers in their city." The dichotomy in the room's temperature did not seem to bother Taeryn, who sat delicately upon the couch that had been provided for them, her hands placed daintily upon her knees, barely moving. Her thoughts were calm, her expression almost dreamy.

"That's not my problem," Illiawe muttered. Taeryn's composed manner irritated Illiawe, for some reason, seeming almost to worsen her predicament. "If they'd just follow the Paths, they would not have to worry about that."

"Please don't tempt them."

"You do know that they are deliberately making us uncomfortable, don't you?"

"Of course, Illiawe. That's a standard tactic for demonstrating power."

"I think it goes further than that. I wouldn't put it past the Commorrites to take pleasure in our discomfort."

"Your prejudice is showing again, Illiawe." She sank lower into the couch. "If it's any comfort, think of how Ezarvyn must be feeling right about now. Talking to Vect for such a long while cannot be pleasant. That reminds me of something. When we go in there, let me do the talking."

"Gladly. Commorrites make my teeth ache."

"I think I've figured that out."

Illiawe huffed in irritation, settling back down and trying to ignore the discomfort that the Commorrites had placed her in, until a pair of guards came through the double doors and announced in peremptory tones that the overlord of Commorragh was prepared to see them.

Vect sat magnificently upon a large and impressive throne at the end of a pointlessly long hall, resplendent in a heavy cloak and an imposing suit of armor and surrounded by eldar women in revealing outfits who lounged indolently around his throne. Interspersed among the usual hooks and chains that lined both walls were heavily armed Incubi, all standing unmoving, their faces concealed beneath heavy elongated helmets and their hands lightly resting upon the hilts of cruel looking swords. Ezarvyn and Iruthan stood alone before Vect's throne, and they did not look too worried. Illiawe took that to be a rather good sign. She drew herself up to her full height and walked down the hall, her head held high, ignoring the distrustful stares of Vect's incubi guard. She did not, however, ignore the gaze of the self-proclaimed Supreme Overlord of Commorragh. Instead she looked him full in the eye as she approached his throne. His returning gaze was almost bored. Vect had a long narrow face with dead looking eyes and sallow cheeks, an appearance that was quite obviously a predilection designed to emphasize his age in relation to all the Commorrites around him. His crown was a heavy helmet with a couple of foot long spikes on either side of its base that curved upward like horns. His expression was unreadable as Illiawe approached, and she hoped that the slight apprehension that rose involuntarily up within her did not show upon her face.

"You chose a poor emissary to bring your proposition to me, craftworlder," Vect said in a slow and dry voice as Illiawe came to a stop before his throne. "Threats do not make for a very good start to negotiations."

"Would you have been willing to listen to us otherwise?"

Vect smiled thinly. "And you, harlequin," he said, his eyes flickering to Taeryn, "I thought the harlequins more shrewd than this."

"We did not mean to offend," Taeryn said obsequiously.

"Of course you did not. The very idea itself is unthinkable." His tone was filled with irony. Vect paused, eyeing them with dull eyed interest, his fingers drumming idly on the arm of his throne. "So, tell me this. Why is one of my archons running as a messenger for a harlequin and a craftworld farseer on an errand that scarcely benefits any Commorrite? Why should I not have the both of you killed for daring to come here and blackmail me?"

"You can order your guards to attack us whenever you wish, Vect," Taeryn said, a light smile touching her lips, "but I think that you might want to first take note of current events. It would prove to be most relevant to you and those you rule."

"That would be for me to decide."

"No, Vect. That has already been decided. Whether or not you choose to heed the Fates and the gods, however, is up to you."

"Fate?" Vect asked with disinterest. "The gods? What have either of them ever done for us?"

"Perhaps more than you would care to admit, but that is not what we came here to discuss. The Rhana Dandra is come."

"The Rhana Dandra is nothing more than a vain hope that the craftworlds cling to," Vect said dismissively. "I am not a child to place my hopes in such idle fantasy."

"Perhaps you may be right, but would you wager your soul on the possibility?"

"I have been wagering my soul on all kinds of possibilities for a very long time, harlequin. I don't see how one more will make any difference."

"Does the Overlord of Commorragh speak, or does his pride?"

"His prudence speaks," Vect replied, his tone rising just a little, the first sign of interest that he had thus far displayed. "Even were I to accept this request of yours, the nobility will not. We do not need to rely on any of our eldar cousins. None of you see the things that need to be done for the eldar race to once again rise. We did not come to rule the stars by cowering behind ideas or holding on to past glories. We did not forge our civilization by shrinking away from those who seek to destroy us or by basking in infantile naivety and tender-heartedness."

"And where is that civilization now?"

"Our only mistake, harlequin," Vect said, his bored tone contrasting heavily with the flash that came to his eyes, "was that we did not – we chose not to – confront the one who destroyed our empire. We ran, and there lies our mistake."

"Aren't you now choosing to hide away by avoiding our call to arms?"

Vect laughed shortly, a brief barking sound utterly devoid of humor. "Do not conflate refusing your proposal with a preference for avoiding combat. When the daemons come again, Commorragh will take up arms. There are those who will rather not do so, but I fear that many of their more vocal and influential members have fallen strangely silent lately." His thin lips twitched and he bowed his head mockingly at Ezarvyn. "I will not forget the service that you did me in removing Bazeqar and his followers."

"Oh?" Ezarvyn asked.

"It left their patrons absolutely vulnerable to a few opportunists," Vect explained. "Incidentally, the new archons who took over for them are rather clever eldar – that is to say they hold quite nearly similar views as I do." He turned back to Taeryn. "When Commorragh fights, we will do it on our terms. The preferred style of combat that the harlequins and the craftworlds prefer is too restrictive." His eyes flickered then to Illiawe. "You have been strangely quiet, my craftworld cousin. What are your thoughts on this matter?"

"Choose your words carefully, Illiawe," Taeryn's thoughts came to her.

"The Fates and the gods have both decreed that an alliance be made between us if we are to survive this war," Illiawe said stiffly.

"So your harlequin friend has said. I would like to know if you agree."

"I will work toward this goal if it is necessary, willingly or not."

"Ah. And I hope that you seek this alliance willingly?"

"Your way of life is revolting," Illiawe said bluntly, ignoring Taeryn's sigh.

Vect, however, smiled thinly. "And I find yours just as repulsive. On this, at least, we agree." The smile dropped from his face. "This, however, is where it ends. I understand that the humans" – he said the word with a sneer – "are seeking a pact of mutual defense with you. This would not do. If we war, we will do so as efficiently as possible, even if it means the destruction of a hundred human worlds to halt our foe. The humans do not understand this. Thus this is my condition – you will forsake the humans should you seek an alliance with us, or else be content only that we will both be fighting against the same enemy, however we each choose to do so."

Illiawe was muttering angrily to herself as they made their way back toward Iruthan's part of Commorragh. She supposed that Vect's non-committal response should not have surprised her. It did not mean, however, that she did not reserve the right to grumble about it. And grumble Illiawe did, filling the air with quiet complaints and blistering remonstrance.

Oddly, Taeryn did not seem to mind Vect's response. Indeed, she appeared strangely satisfied with it, and that made Illiawe tense. She had thought that Taeryn's goal had been an alliance with the Commorrites. The thought that Taeryn would take Vect up on his proposal occurred to Illiawe, and she rather hoped that her friend did not really intend to forego an alliance with the humans. She did not, however, broach the subject to Taeryn.

Iruthan had a worried look on his face as their skimmer made its way back to his manor, tapping a finger nervously upon his armored knee. After a few minutes of that, Ezarvyn turned toward him.

"What's bothering you, old boy?" the haemonculi drawled.

"If Vect does not restrain the Commorrites, raids will likely be called upon human worlds. The humans will need every resource they could muster for this upcoming war. If they have to fend off Commorrite raiding parties at the same time, they will quite likely fall in a relatively short time."

"I'm sure that the humans appreciate your concern for their wellbeing."

Iruthan cast him an irritated look. "That's beside the point, Ezarvyn. If the humans fall, there'd be nothing left between the daemons and us but a whole lot of space and a few forced open wraithgates." He shuddered. "There'd be no more slaves for us, either. The daemons are likely to just gorge themselves on everything they see."

"Don't worry yourself about it, my archon. I'm sure Vect has taken that into account. He's no fool."

"Can you guarantee that?"

"No, of course not. Some reassurance is the best that I can provide, so you'll just have to settle for that."

"It is scant comfort, Ezarvyn," Iruthan replied tartly. "Cegorach can promise to protect my soul all He wants, but I'd much rather we win this fight."

"Why am I surrounded by pessimists?" Ezarvyn complained, sighing and sinking lower into his seat. "You can't do anything to change Vect's mind, so why bother worrying about it?"

"It's the principle of it, Ezarvyn. I didn't stay archon for so long by hoping everything will work out fine."

"No, you've stayed archon for so long because you have my services. Do you remember the Fifth Blood Rose War or the Beastmasters' Coup? Have my advice let you down in either of those?"

"As I remember it, you had a lot to gain from both of those events. I seem to recall waves of prisoners from rival kabals being brought into your laboratories after the war, and, funnily enough, those same slaves clearing out the beastmasters' grounds when my warriors had put their little revolution down."

"Are you implying that my advice is only reliable when it affects me, my archon?"

"I am not implying. I am saying so."

"I'm hurt," Ezarvyn said in an exaggerated mournful tone, then he laughed. "I have a lot to lose in this, Iruthan. By your logic, I may not lead you astray."

Iruthan grunted sourly. "When we get back, I'll be going with you to your laboratory. If Vect is going to call us to war, I'd like my army's ranks bolstered by as many war beasts as I can get my hands on."

At that, Ezarvyn's eyes lit up and his face broke into a huge grin, his thin face making the gesture seem almost malevolent. "I have some new designs that I think you may like, Iruthan." His voice was not the lazy drawl that Illiawe was so used to, but was rather brimming with barely concealed excitement. "And after that, perhaps we could stop by to have a look at a few plagues and toxins that I have come up with. I might even give you a discount – as a token of my appreciation for your patronage, of course."

Illiawe and Taeryn returned thereafter to the material world. They went neither to Kenaleith nor Ulthwé, instead taking the webway from craftworld to craftworld, seeking council with the farseers and autarchs of each. Illiawe had heard of some few of those craftworlds; most she did not recognize. Some of those ships orbited stars, others moved through the void between the stars, far enough away that the light of the nearest few were barely more than specks of golden dust littering the vaults of the heavens above. Some were densely populated, others housed no more than a few million living souls. Regardless of their exact circumstances, however, the signs of war lay plainly evident upon each ship. Aspect Warriors trained within their shrines, scarcely leaving to walk the streets of the craftworld. Guardians, when their civilian tasks were complete, took up arms and trained with them. Swarms of jetbikes and larger craft, grav-tanks and sleek aircraft, filled the skies overhead, the roars of their sonic booms creating a near constant rumble in the air. The souls of long dead eldar were captured within soulstones and placed into wraithbone shells, and the dead stalked silently among the great halls near the heart of the craftworlds or gathered in soundless communion in unmoving groups in the gardens and domes and forests of the craftworlds. The psychic projections of the eldar hung heavy throughout the great ships, an unconscious rally for war that left a fiery taste in Illiawe's mouth. Yet there was also an unmistakable emptiness to it all, a void central to the eldar preparations for war normally filled by Khaine. Illiawe studiously ignored the unwelcome thought. Now was not the time to dwell upon recent unpleasantness.

Yet, for all the preparations of the craftworlds, Illiawe was rather conscious of the fact that some few of them adamantly refused to come out of hiding, keeping their craftworlds far from the prying eyes of all in the galaxy, even as they readied their warhosts. Illiawe certainly did not begrudge them their measure of safety as long as their warhosts arrived upon the fields of the Rhana Dandra. Most of these craftworlds, at least, had the courtesy to make their location known to the leaders of the other craftworlds. There were a number, however – Illiawe noted the historically secretive Iluthan and Eliansar chief among them – that stayed far away from their kin, refusing to heed their summons or to gather their autarchs with those from other craftworlds to make their battle plans. Yet other craftworlds proved already to be too eager, frequently deploying dozens of starships to the void around the rift to the Othersea on what was ostensibly nothing more than patrol missions. Increasingly, more and more corsair bands made their presence known, hiring their ships out to human governors in need of their swift vessels. And the humans brought ships by the dozens and the hundreds to the worlds in that region of the void, and built grand weapons that hung still in the darkness among the stars, waiting to lend their fire fully to any defending fleet should the forces of Chaos come through the rift in force.

And all the while Vect sat still in his palace that rose above those of all the lesser archons and Commorrite nobility, and the Commorrites continued their petty raids.