Speculum Enigmate Chapter 10

The Abomination knew how to handle a sword, Manaar would give her that much. In her hands the greatsword swept through a complicated series of katas, dancing through forms and styles with consummate skill. It seemed odd so small a creature could wield so weighty a sword without strain, the heft of the blade should have made it cumbersome but Mortula used the entirety of her body as a counter, dancing with the length of the weapon in perfect harmony. Manaar would have suspected some form of augmentation in her body, if not outright genetic manipulation, had he not been subtly checking.

The former Sister of Silence was in a padded room, fitted with cushioning foam to the walls and mannequins standing on wooden poles. It was surprisingly graceful, for Mon-Keigh architecture, lacking their usual assortment of hideous skulls and gaudy gold embellishments. Still the floor vibrated with the strain of the ship's plasma drives, pushing it through space on a comet trail of energetic wash. This part of the tramp scow seemed to have been given over to the Inquisitorial retinue, for none had intruded into their privacy. Food and other items had been left at the door but none of the crew dared violate the sanctity of an Inquisitor's abode, for which Manaar was grateful.

For two days the ship had ploughed into the inner system, sinking into the star's gravity well with ponderous inevitability. The Inquisitor herself had retreated into her chambers, leaving Manaar alone with the hired guns. Manaar hadn't rated them worthy warriors, deeming them slovenly and wasteful, lacking the skill and grace of the Eldar yet watching Mortula was forcing him to revise that opinion. The female was dancing like a Howling Banshee in a masterful display of swordsmanship he would have thought beyond a Mon-Keigh. Manaar had killed many of their kind in recent years, even a pair of Space Marines, one loyal to their Corpse God the other to the Ruinous Powers, but he was uncertain how he would fare against this one.

It was not merely her skill with the blade that gave him pause, it was her Null Aura. That chill void of nothingness where her soul should be. Simply standing near her was uncomfortable and he was certain a true Seer would find her presence a torment. Yet he had begun to chart the ebb and flow of her ability, measuring its range and potency. Her Emptiness had limits, it diminished greatly over range and when she slept, hints that her deviant ability was a product of her conscious mind. Manaar did not understand how this could be, nor how she had avoided being drowned at birth by her parents, but he was already starting to see a way to defeat her. The female's power only suppressed psychic potential rather than removing it. Manaar was confident he could stand next to her and yet trigger his Warp-jump generator, granting him an edge in combat, though jumping into her presence would be troublesome, he was likely to bounce off and appear somewhere unexpected, possibly inside a wall or a hundred metres in the air.

Mortula suddenly leapt and her greatsword swung about, meeting a mannequin with a lateral slice. The blade's edge flared with a haze of lighting and the dummy fell apart, flaming blue wisps escaping where it's form had been violated. Mortula came to rest in a low stance, sword held diagonally across her body in a defensive posture. Manaar clapped slowly in begrudging respect, even though he wanted to depart as swiftly as possible.

Mortula rose from her crouch and sheathed her sword in a long scabbard over her back. Her silver armour concealed most of her form but her hands and forehead glistened with sweat, signs of great exertion. She wandered over to the Aspect Warrior, who wore his red suit of cloth with casual ease. Her presence was loathsome but he forced an insincere smile onto his face as he said, "Impressive, are all of your kind so skilled?"

Mortula replied, "Some, not all. There are many specialities in the Witchseekers, many schools of training. Only a few attain true Blademastery."

Manaar cocked his head and remarked, "I'm surprised they let you go."
Mortula snorted, "The Inquisition has its ways and I couldn't keep my mouth shut, throne knows I tried but all those vows seem so pointless when your days are numbered. Strange, I was at peace with dying in battle but this…"

Manaar frowned as he stated, "I don't understand."
Mortula touched her skull with a pale finger and said, "There's something growing in here, a cancer, right where they can't get at it. Imperial science is advanced but there are somethings they can't treat. Trying to remove it will kill me. When I heard the news I wept for days."

Manaar asked in surprise, "You can cry? You have…"
"Emotions?" Mortula snorted in derision, "Yes, I can feel things, mostly resentment for why everybody hates me it has to be said. Joining the Order was a comfort, at least they told me why I was different. I was content with my lot, until this happened, then I just couldn't see the point in keeping silent anymore."

Manaar has baffled as to how Mon-Keigh could live with their mortality hanging over them every second, the Eldar suffered no such flaws in their physiques. Lacking any other words he asked, "How long?"
Mortula smiled coldly as she said, "A Medicae told me I had six months to live, that was a year and a half ago. I've beaten the odds already but I won't for much longer."

Manaar had no idea how to respond but thankfully was saved as Eirk stuck his head in and called, "Inquisitor wants a word!" Manaar hurriedly departed, leaving the Abomination to her sorrow and feeling her loathsome aura diminish. He set off down a bare metal corridor, passing various common rooms, armouries and bedrooms set aside for the Inquisitorial retinue. As they walked he eyed his companion, who yet again was chewing some noxious weed. The human was scarred badly and bore many tattoos over his burly arms, signs of terrible battles and vicious fights. Manaar could read them like a book and judged the man brute muscle, the kind of fighter who believed that victory was determined by who could take the most punishment.

Eirk saw Manaar's glance and quipped, "Impressed eh?"
"Not really," Manaar muttered.

For some reason the human laughed, he seemed to find everything Manaar said a source of amusement, and he crowed, "Check this one: crest of the Harakoni Warhawks. I was in the 239th, the best of the best, most feared of the feared: Harakonria an tellika regala!"

Manaar replied with no enthusiasm, "How nice for you."
"Wanna hear how I got this scar?" Eirk asked, pulling up a sleeve to reveal a jagged mark.
"Definitely not," Manaar muttered.

"Ha, you're funny," Eirk snorted, "It was on Angle's Rest, a dreary world with a dreary people. Let me warn you, never accept an invite to their local dramatic plays, they go on for days. Anyway a Chaos cult opened a portal and unleashed a Daemon so the 239th was sent in to put it down. Worst fight of my life, piling up dead mates for cover from the whips and the barbs, I'll never forget the way it laughed with joy as it killed us. Three hundred of the Emperor's best went in, seven came out: seven. But Throne bless 'em they did it, they banished the Daemon and closed the portal. Heroes were made that day, heroes I say. Shame the Inquisition weren't so pleased. We'd seen something we weren't supposed to and the top bosses ain't keen on people knowing too much about Chaos. So me and the lads had a choice, sign up with the Ordo Xenos or get a bolt round to the back of the head."

Manaar remarked curiously, "Xenos, from what I know of your tongue that means 'Alien'."
Eirk waved a meaty hand as he said, "The Ordo's aren't set jurisdictions, the Inquisitors go where they will. If they see a Heresy, they go for it."

Their path had taken them down the corridor and they found Adept Lunix, distastefully holding up a rag as if it planned to bite him. The Adept held a small plasma-torch and carefully used it to incinerate the rag. Manaar lifted his eyebrow as they walked past and asked, "Why do you do that?"
Lunix replied, "I was cleaning my quarters and must dispose of the infected material."

Eirk chuckled, "Lunix has a bit of thing about germs."
Lunix bristled as he spat, "The human body sheds approximately 30,000 skin cells per hour and these attract microscopic dust mites. You breathe in filth! Most humans are content to squat among their own dead flesh, but not I, the machine demands purity!"

Manaar shared the machine-man's disgust but as they walked off Eirk chortled, "Lunix has his ways but he's handy in a tight corner. When you need a cogitator prised open there no one better. He got caught reverse-engineering Xenos tech, the Mechanicus officially teaches that's Heresy but some of them disagree. Lunix thinks alien gear can be useful, a big no-no to the Cogboys, but the Inquisition ain't so fussy."

Manaar was growing tired of this brute's chatter but thankfully they had reached the Inquisitor's door and here they parted ways. He didn't bother to knock as he pushed his way inside, finding a pleasantly decorated chamber. There were bookcases filled with ageing scrolls, a weapon's rack with a collection of knives and pistols set alongside the customary shrine to the Mon-Keigh corpse-god. Passable rugs covered the floors and a varnished desk was set at knee height, with a long quill set in an inkpot and a sand bowl for drying. It was atypically refined, for human tastes, and it even smelled better than average. Everything was perfectly in proportion, everything in its set place and one glance told Manaar the owner of this chamber liked to be in control of everything around her.

Inquisitor Vevara was sitting cross-legged at the low desk in a green robe that billowed around her and her hair was unbound to fall down her back. She waved her guest to be seated and Manaar lowered himself gracefully, knowing her appearance would have been carefully sculpted, though to what goal eluded him. Vevara waited for him to sit down then spoke, "So… explain why I shouldn't shoot you right now."

Manaar knew he was being tested and answered, "You told Koshano you would work with me."
Vevara replied coolly, "I tell him a lot of things, that doesn't make any of them true."

Manaar noted how much more poised and confident she was without the Farseer around and guessed she disliked how he would always be ten steps ahead of her. Now she was in her element and wanted to exert her dominance. Manaar could have taken offence but chose not to, the petty games of Mon-Keigh were beneath him. He chose to speak the truth, since a lie would take more of an effort, "Koshano told you why, without me you will fail."

"And I am to simply take his word at face value?" Vevara snapped.
"You have before," Manaar ventured, "Why doubt him now?"

"The Ordo Xenos are not fools," Vevara hissed, "Every lead Koshano gave me was meticulously checked and checked again. I spent months verifying the truth before acting. But this time he gives me no warning at all, merely vague prophecies of impending doom and you."
Manaar cocked his head and said, "You think he would trick you."
Vevara snorted, "I think he lives and breathes for the long-con. He feeds me juicy titbits to ease my guard then slips an assassin into my ranks, thinking I will accept you without question."

Manaar shook his head and said, "Your paranoia is laughable, you see knives in every shadow."
"It's not paranoia when they're really after you," Vevara affirmed.

"Then you must take my word when I say you are not my target," Manaar professed.
Vevara smiled broadly as she said, "So you have a target, a specific target you are charged with dispatching."

Manaar cursed his slip of the tongue, she had goaded him into revealing too much. Reluctantly he confessed, "Yes, there is one on the planet that needs to die. For the Craftworld Furta-Rith's sake, this individual must be removed from the Skein."
"Why?" Vevara asked pointedly.
"Koshano alone knows," Manaar answered, "What did he tell you?"

Vevara glanced at the papers on her desk as she said, "Talk of a shadowy organisation fostering rebellion on Pascum. Conspiracies and whispers in the dark, not much to go on but he's given me a few names to investigate."
Manaar spread his hands and said, "Then our goals are compatible, you need to uproot a conspiracy, I need to kill my target. We need not fight each other."

Yet Vevara's eyes narrowed as she said, "Yet we return to the thorny problem: how can I trust you?"
Manaar breathed deeply then revealed his secret, "Because I despise you, your entire race and your filthy presence among the stars. If I had any other options open to me then I would have killed you all and fled. The only reason I am still here is that I must be here."

Vevara was still for long moments then said, "I am convinced, I smelled the loathing on you the second I laid eyes on you. If you could leave then you would have left already. You need me to complete your mission, as it seems I need you."

Manaar nodded slightly as he uttered, "So we are stuck with each other."
"For today," Vevara allowed, "I suggest you return to your chambers and do whatever it is you do to prepare. I shall summon you when we make orbit."

Manaar didn't bow but rose smoothly, intending to leave and not look back. Yet as he stood up the Inquisitor's hand moved slightly, in a perfect rendition of the Eldar gesture conveying watchful mistrust. Manaar gulped as he realised this one understood some of the subtleties of Eldar speech, far more than he had given her credit for. In a flash he grasped that she must have seen the secret message Koshano had left him and understood what it meant. Indeed she must have deduced his mission before he even revealed it to her. As he left he revised his opinion of this one, she was far more cunning and dangerous than he had believed, he would have to watch his back if he was to survive in her company for much longer.