Incantator Congressus Chapter 29

They had found the Fulcrum, so far from the mountain that it was barely a smudge on the horizon, remote and well-hidden but not to the powers of Chaos. The site was unimpressive to look upon, a larger circle of standing stones and henges, bigger and more numerous than other locales but otherwise unremarkable. Only one feature made it unique, a large crystal ring sitting upright at the heart of it, twelve-foot high and roughly formed, irregular in shape and sunk deep into the soil. Atop a bleak plateau the Fulcrum sat, a wide-open vista of rolling hills falling away on all sides. The constant chill wind blew over the mesa, but that was only the physical aspect. To eyes immaterial the site glowed with depthless power, a resonance that stirred the spirit and brought a sense of perilous danger to the most primitive parts of the brain. It was exactly what Harbinger had been seeking and he looked upon it with avaricious eyes.

Dago circled the standing ring, brushing mosses off its crystalline surface with his hand as he muttered, "Still doesn't look like much to me."

Harbinger tolerated his sullen resentment as the Daemon replied, "Trust me, it is everything we needed. Here is the central nexus of Holdfast, the focal point of their efforts. Everything in this false planetoid is designed to generate and channel immeasurable energies to this one spot."

Dago sniffed, "These Kinebrach certainly went to a lot of effort. Shame it availed them nothing."

"They accomplished wonders," Harbinger argued.

"But still went extinct," Dago snorted, "Maybe if they'd spent less time on esoteric magics and more on fighting for survival they would still be here."

"You still think like a soldier, not as a devotee of Tzeentch. All things are possible through the glory of the Warp, greater feats than you can imagine are within our grasp."

Dago looked sullen but then Rebre stepped out from behind a henge and proclaimed, "The Kinebrach were wise and powerful, but rash. They challenged older and more cunning races for dominance and suffered the consequences."

Harbinger turned to face her and probed, "You have studied the histories?"

Rebre shrugged, "The Warp reveals many things and I hear the lost whispers. The Kinebrach dared to imagine eclipsing the Eldar for supremacy. Holdfast was to be the instrument of their ascension. They dreamed of rewriting reality and quenching suns, thinking such power would shatter the Eldar Empire. But the Kinebrach were fools, the Eldar were at the zenith of their hubris, they had long since mastered such forces and did not suffer any rivals to their glory. There was only room for one dominant race in the galaxy."

"They went to war?" Dago enquired.

"Nothing so blunt and simple," Harbinger sneered, "The Eldar were cunning and sly, they did not have to wipe out lesser races. They engineered a scheme to cause the Kinebrach Empire to implode, turning upon itself. Cultural collapse followed soon after and the Kinebrach's dreams were forgotten. Their ambitions wilted as they slid into irrelevance, and the Eldar had barely lifted a finger. One should admire such deft manipulation of the Skein."

"It would have been safer to obliterate them," Dago sniffed.

"On that count I agree!" rang a sibilant voice.

From the depths of the crystal arose the image of Ozymandias, the Daemon Prince of Slaanesh wavering like an image seen underwater. The transcended mortal lurked just outside the veil of reality, projecting his presence into the world but not daring to set foot within it. It seemed Ozymandias was not willing to risk himself, but still expected to reap the boons of participation. Harbinger knew well the benefits of manipulating events from afar but distrusted his counterpart's intent on general principles and in this case acutely.

Harbinger faced his distrusted ally and scoffed, "Ozymandias, will you not grace me with your actual presence?"

The Daemon Prince snorted, "I do not need to sully myself in the Materium."

"I suspect I am being insulted," Harbinger retorted.

"Do you have a host body to offer up?" Ozymandias asked casually as he eyed Dago.

The turncoat glared irately as he snapped, "You can leave me out of this!"

"Then it is a moot point," Ozymandias quipped.

Yet Harbinger pressed, "You do not fool me, you fear drawing the eye of your gene-father. Fulgrim will not be amused to learn you are interfering in his schemes. Plotting the downfall of his chosen agent, promising the Gladius to another, making unauthorised deals with a Daemon of another god… he will be displeased when he hears of your treachery."

But Ozymandias sniffed, "Fulgrim expects results, if we succeed the means will be irrelevant. If this plot fails, then Jubila takes the blame. Fulgrim will never learn I am here, which is why I stay outside reality."

"About that," Dago interrupted, "Isn't it time I learned what this spell actually does?"

Harbinger cocked his head and retorted, "You think you've earned that privilege?"

"I think this is mission-critical information and I need to know. Plans can fail from loose talk, but armies die when generals keep operational knowledge from their officers. I can't help you if I don't know what we're about."

"He's got a point," Ozymandias needled, "Jubila for all his idiocy was right about one thing: Daemons of Tzeentch spend too much time plotting and not enough time acting."

Harbinger shrugged off the barb and explained, "The mechanics of the conjuration are beyond you, so I'll try to keep this simple enough for you to comprehend. In terms you can grasp, we plan to poison Guilliman."

"That's it?" Dago snorted, "I thought it would be some flashy, reality-bending breach of the universe. Planet's boiling and stars going dark, that sort of thing."

Harbinger snorted, "That is the way of Khorne, blood and death on grand scales. Tzeentch is subtler, pivoting vast galactic changes upon the head of a pin. I have collected certain bloods for our rite and a sacrifice. Once I have the Gladius Incandor in my hands will shape a blood-curse tailored to Guilliman's unique spiritual imprint, one certain to end him."

"And the Fulcrum will project it into his body," Dago guessed, "No matter how many psychic wards and Nulls he surrounds himself with."

But Ozymandias countered, "That is not necessary, the poison is already in him, we merely need to awaken it."

"I don't understand," Dago stated in confusion.

Rebre explained, "Ten thousand years ago Guilliman faced Fulgrim and fell to his blade. His throat was ripped apart but the true death came from poison upon the knife. Another Kinebrach invention, eternally changing, adapting and shifting in nature, impossible to resist. Such a poison laid low Horus on Davin and Guilliman was no more able to withstand it than the fallen Warmaster. It took the direct intervention of the Eldar's sleeping God and the blasphemous technological marvels of a certain Martian Adept to neutralise the toxin… but even they could not clear it from his system. It lurks in his blood even now, waiting for someone to stir it to wakefulness once more."

"I see," Dago mused, "But without the Gladius you have no way to awaken it."

"A problem I am dealing with," Harbinger reassured him, "But first we must secure this site from unwanted intrusion. Ozymandias…"

The Daemon Prince scowled in annoyance but allowed Harbinger this boon. The pair let power flow through them and touched the world, reshaping it to their combined will. The ground shifted and creaked and then erupted into rising crystal walls. All around the Fulcrum thick walls arose, describing a labyrinth of sheer walls. Twisted pathways ran through the maze, doubling back again and again, misleading turns trapping any wanderer in dead-ends and blind alleys. There was more to it than physical misdirection; the pair of Daemons layered their defence with illusionary snares and temptations of the senses. Harbinger placed frightful visions of dark futures along the paths, designed to break the will of any intruder and shatter their courage with self-doubt. Ozymandias wove lures of glory and power and carnal lust, all the pleasures a man could imagine laid before them. Wine, women and song for the venal, lures of glory and power and conquest for the prideful and the rude pleasure of hearth and home for the weary. Any living thing that entered the maze would have to confront their deepest doubts and vices, a prospect few in the galaxy could overcome, even Space Marines. The Heresy war had proven that the Astartes were no stronger in character than any other.

"That should ensure we remain undisturbed," Harbinger chuckled as he let the power slip from his fingers.

"Now we shall deal with Jubila," Ozymandias hissed.

"In time," Harbinger corrected, "In time."

"No, we destroy him now!" the Daemon Prince spat.

Harbinger spat back, "If you want his head then manifest in reality and rip it from his shoulders! Else let me work. First we draw the Gladius to us, then we deal with Jubila."

Ozymandias looked irate but sank back as Rebre said, "The Blade of Reason remains with the loyalists and they will not be easy to hunt down."

"I don't have to chase them over hill and valley, they will come to me," Harbinger explained, "Behold the Vitality Communion!"

He drew forth from his pocket the small orb he had taken from the relics of the Congress. Unimpressive to look upon but containing secrets few would comprehend. He set it down upon a flat stone and the other peered at it in curiosity as Dago remarked, "That was one of the Astartes' relics. Some form of long-range communicator."

Harbinger chuckled, "I see you did bother to learn a thing or two after all. Yes this device can send a message across the stars, faster and more precise than any Astropath. Real-time communications across light-years and combined with the Fulcrum I can speak to anyone, anywhere, no matter how they hide from me."

"At what cost?" Dago pressed warily.

Harbinger leered, "A year of one's life."

Rebre laughed at that, "Hah, you have outdone yourself! You are a Daemon; you have no years to sacrifice."

"No, I don't but others do," Harbinger countered as he eyed his acolyte, "All it takes is a drop of blood."

"Oh no," Dago retorted, "Don't look at me, I am not your lickspittle to bleed on command."

"You are sworn to Tzeentch," Harbinger hissed, "You spoke the words, you swore your soul. There is no going back from that. Leave morality behind and your foibles. You cannot redeem yourself, there is only damnation awaiting you."

"But to give up a year…" Dago gulped.

"Power demands sacrifice, you knew that as an Inquisitor and doubly so as a servant of Chaos. To ascend you will have to make sacrifices, of yourself and others. To hesitate at the first hurdle will condemn you to mediocrity; you will be forever grubbing for scraps from those who dare to do what you will not. Make your choice, to bleed and become mighty in the ways of Chaos, or remain forever a minion."

Dago glared at them but slowly drew a short knife from his belt and ran it over his palm. He held it over the Vitality Communion and let a trickle of blood run from his clenched fist, dripping onto the crystal ball. The orb sucked in vitae and began to glow, sucking away a year of the mortal's life and so hastening his fated demise. Harbinger forgot the man as he placed his hands upon the glowing crystal and began to intone, "Arvael… Arvael hear me… Arvael…"