Ynnead's Dream, Deep Space
Wind caught Yvraine's cloak, whipping the hem up and flinging snow at her shift. The Visarch, his sword drawn, put his arm out in front of Yvraine. Let the Dark Reapers handle this.
The footprints left the Halls of the Warriors and led through the Halls of the Seers and down a spiralling staircase lit by crystals embedded in the walls. Positioned in gaps in the wraithbone, Reapers aimed their Shuriken weapons at the floor below. Snowdrifts swallowed the glossy stone. The grey prints led to the centre of the circular room and stopped.
"Lady Prophet." A skull-mask turned to Yvraine. "This was found on the steps." The Reaper passed Yvraine a wig of thick, curly black hair laced with white flowers.
Worn only in death. Yvraine handed off the wig to the Visarch. She has little use for it now, it seems. A blizzard swirled at the base of the stairs. Now alone with the Visarch, Yvraine unbuckled her sword belt and placed her foot in the nearest print. Stay, eternal companion.
Give my regards to the Yncarne. The Visarch wrapped the belt around the sheathed falchion and held his thumb and forefinger to his chin in a smile; the closest thing to emotion he could give.
Blanketed in white, Yvraine trod in the prints, leaving five-inch deep holes in the snow behind her. Are these your tears, Yncarne? Yvraine lifted her arms and pirouetted, churning the snow beneath her feet. Why the subterfuge? Come to me.
A being clad in black sat hunched over in the centre of the blizzard. A lowered hood exposed a head shaved bald. Yvraine's numb fingers closed around her fan, drew it from her hair, and flicked it open. The being's head shook. Its shoulders heaved and its chest convulsed. Yvraine brushed snow from her eyes and blinked. Not a single snowflake touched the being's body, nor did water stain its robe. Ynnead. These are not the Yncarne's tears. They are hers. Yvraine curled her numb fingers in to a fist. She has Ynnead's favour!
Yvraine swept the Visarch's cloak from her shoulders and laid it on the being in black's shoulders. Visarch, I need you here! Yvraine bunched the cloak and rubbed the being's arms.
The Visarch charged out to Yvraine, his sword held high. Did you find it?
Stay thy blade, Visarch! There is no malice to be found here, only grief. Pray bear this being aloft in gentle arms. Ynnead favours her.
Who is she to garner the favour of the God of the Dead? Who is she! The Visarch's blade drooped. Yvraine, who is she?
Yvraine wiped the back of her hand across her nose and stumbled in to her tracks. Now, Laari! His fire wanes inside.
Yours and hers both. The Visarch bundled the cloaked being in to his arms and followed Yvraine back to the staircase and up to the Halls. "Stand down, Exarch." Yvraine cast out her arm and leaned against the wall shivering. "St-stand down."
The Visarch hauled his cloak from the bald being's shoulders. The Exarch took the cloak and spread the sodden fur collar around Yvraine. 'Tis not she in need of warmth. This one's skin is pleasantly warm to the touch.
How…? Yvraine caressed the being's wrist. How, Yncarne, how?
A large, arcane construct – the size of a one-being skimmer – cast a violet shadow across an oval chamber lit by panes in the deck and ceiling. A single holding table occupied the psy-dampening chamber. On it lay the being from the Halls. Wraithbone clamps held its wrists and ankles down, and another embraced its neck. Skin-singers, clad in blue robes and face-veils, stood in rows behind the Prophet and the Visarch. Both watched the being from the other side of a clear bubble surrounding the chamber.
"Lady-Prophet." A veiled skin-singer bowed and held out a transparent slate. "The Ranger's autopsy."
"Leave us." Yvraine laid her palm on the slate. Light burst from it and runes formed.
"I doth request to preserve the patient's decency, Lady-Prophet."
"Leave us." Not until I know who or what this Reborn is.
The skin-singers bowed and retreated from the viewing chamber. Yvraine's fingers ran down the runes. The Ranger had suffered massive internal bleeding and bruising, a broken ankle, a fractured skull, a cut spine, a stab wound beneath the right shoulderblade, and a low-calibre slug that had pierced the belly. For a Ranger, that is quite an honourable death. Yvraine laid the slate on her knee, lifted her foot and rubbed the toes. Could you have not stayed beyond the veil?
An honourable death indeed. Do my eyes deceive, or were these wounds received within a very short period of time?
The critical injuries, yes. Whoever inflicted them gave her the fight of her life.
Not before she ended it, thankfully. There would be no body otherwise. And that begs the question, who brought it here in the first place?
The slate tilted and slid from Yvraine's knee. "Gods, Laari…" Yvraine's fingers stiffened.
Lady Prophet? The Visarch kneeled and scooped up the slate.
"…Read on." Yvraine cupped her elbow and clamped her hand over her mouth.
I see. The Visarch turned the slate around and laid it on Yvraine's knee.
"Did you see it?"
I did.
"Well?"
The Ranger has much to answer for, it seems.
"This is… bestiality, my friend." Yvraine bit on a fingernail. "Eldrad Ulthran's protégé. Imagine the scandal."
For decency's sake, we must inform Ulthranwé that the young Ranger has awoken. That is the very least we can do, what with the effort he put in to the ritual.
And should. Yvraine tapped a knuckle against her chin. No word of the Ranger's dalliance surfaces. The section of the autopsy mentioning the foreign seed will be redacted and any further copies will be destroyed. See to it personally, Laari.
Your word, Prophet. The Visarch bowed and took a step back.
"Your counsel, please. Just for a moment."
Ask and I will give you the stars.
"What if I did ask that one day?"
Then that would be an interesting day for certain.
How should I make use of this hook we have?
In the Ranger or Ulthranwé?
Oh, come-come, Laari. The old seer dotes on the Ranger. If the hook sinks in to one, t'will drag the other down with it! Yvraine seized the Visarch's forearm. "And in one swipe, we are rid of the blind, geriatric seer and his foul-blooded harlot." Yvraine's lips split. "We have them. By the Five Blades of Morai-Heg, we have them!"
The Visarch's head twitched. Asu-Var!
"My-my…" The slate fell to the deck. Yvraine rose and smoothed her dress down. The Ranger, free of the bonds, stood on her feet facing Yvraine. "The tenacity…" The Visarch placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Stay thy hand, Visarch."
May I be the first to admit fear?
"You would not be the last." Yvraine came almost nose-to-nose with the Ranger. Only the bubble and the psyker-nullifying field separated them. "Her name."
The Visarch retrieved the slate. Izuru Doria Luminita Numerial.
Golden eyes, one dilated, rose from the deck and locked with Yvraine's. Lines were etched in to a brow and curved across grey cheeks. Bags heaped beneath the eyes and the mouth was a tight line, absent all colour. Scars and blemishes covered the body from feet to face. Most were white and faint, some were darker and fresher.
"Orphan?"
Father Amonther Numerial. No recorded mother. Iyanden-born, Alaitoc—
"I know. Any offspring?"
Twins. Male. Ilic and Korsarro.
Yvraine's jaw tightened. "Ilic Nightspear and…?"
Captain Kor'sarro Khan. White Scars.
"Even now, you cannot escape your heritage. Why torment me with this vulgarian, Yncarne?" Yvraine stared in to the pair of waning suns. Blink. Blink. Blink! BLINK! Yvraine's eyelids closed over stinging eyes. Why do you not blink?
May I offer a suggestion?
Go on, Laari. Yvraine's thumb and forefinger massaged her eyelids.
Retire and seek Ulthranwé's counsel. We tread an unlit path of uncertainty.
Yes. Yes, you are right. A tickle crept down Yvraine's back. She broke eye contact with the Ranger and headed after the Visarch. Nothing but an empty shell.
Though more than two hours shy of the beginning of the fleet's morning cycle, Yvraine and the Visarch approached the quarters of Eldrad Ulthran. Ulthwé natives – Black Guardians – stood sentinel around the portal. "The Seer expects you, Lady Prophet."
Of course. The screen inside the portal dissolved and Yvraine stepped through. Wet paint shone in blobs on a palette at the elbow of a wizened being in a deep, purple robe. Bony fingers clamped around a wooden shaft with fine bristles attached. Lines crossed grey cheeks much the same as they did the Ranger's. Thinning hair hung in strands down a furrowed brow. A single, dull gem was embedded in the flesh.
"The Dawn Chorus sings prematurely. Do they carry you on their backs, Prophet?"
"You know the answer to that, Seer, as you know the answer to all my questions." Yvraine curtsied. "Even at this early hour, I value your counsel above all others."
"Come. Come up to me." Eldrad swirled his brush in water. "Tell me what it is you see." Yvraine lifted her dress and climbed up to a dais surrounded by wraithbone carvings in the shape of trees. Eldrad sat on a repulsor-chair facing an easel. "What do you see?"
"I see the death of a star. Our reality and the Immaterium colliding. And the moment the watchers realised how small they were."
Eldrad dabbed his brush in grey. "I see birth. The birth of the cursed child that ate its way from its mother's womb while she laughed. One has to have been present to remember such a vivid scene. Ten-thousand years ago I watched the spawning of our damnation and felt so very small. It is not a familiar feeling, that of helplessness. I do admit though, the gift of clarity came to me then stronger then than ever before. It was that our race was not, nor had it ever been, the rightful rulers of the galaxy. Our dream had become a beautiful nightmare. Much as this painting radiates beauty it, along with our shattered empire, is useless."
"Then why hurt yourself to preserve your nightmare upon canvas?"
Eldrad cleaned the brush and tapped it on the edge of the tray. "Join me. Let us break our fast beneath a warm canopy."
Spiced wine filled Yvraine's goblet. Eldrad took tea with a drop of honey. Both sat in the Dream's Enviro-sphere – five-acres of artificial woodland – beneath a drooping awning. Black Guardians kept their distance, as did the Visarch. Violet mist clung to a river the two faced. A stone bridge in the shape of an iris rose from the mist. The projected sun had yet to find its place in the sky.
"Will you not?" Yvraine lifted her goblet.
"Toast? To our current good health." Eldrad's cup touched Yvraine's. "Yours at least." Eldrad tugged his sleeve over crystals growing from his arm. Similar growths had sprouted from his neck.
"Will you not take wine?"
"Ha! My constitution was not what it once was. I forget how long ago – the cycles blur unfortunately – but I do recall beating a human of the Space Wolves Chapter in a drinking contest. Mjød – as much a weapon as their bolter – flayed my liver alive. Of course, I was not to tell my unfortunate opponent that our bodies process alcohol seven times quicker than that of even the hardiest human."
"You regard the humans as old acquaintances. The enemy, Ulthranwé."
"T'would be a stretch to regard them as ally, though I have treated with their kind on many an occasion. I see great worth in the human warrior – those without the gift of the Emperor's seed just as much those with, I might add. I want you to see that too."
"What does the honey do for you?"
"Sweetens the tea." Eldrad smiled over the rim. "In the place of sugar."
"Would it sweeten to know that Izuru Numerial has awoken? Ah, but you already knew, did you not?"
"Neither where nor when. I had hoped Izuru would awaken sooner than this." Eldrad broke a stick of bread and dabbed it in a bowl of soup. "The soup is all-vegetable, if that is to your liking."
"When did you know?"
"The Foresight is not an exact practise, Prophet. It and certainty do not stroll hand in hand."
"But you did see though. You saw your Ranger's return…"
"Only implied. T'was implied, Prophet. The Foresight furthermore tells two falsehoods for each truth, and they are always, always changing. Think of the tide falling upon a sandy beach. Each coming and going yields different."
Yvraine's nails dug in to the smooth wood. "She was always there though. Always there at the centre of it under Ynnead's eye. I have its favour, not the Ranger, Ulthranwé. I am the Prophet, not her."
"Without a doubt." Eldrad's mouth thinned and his brows steepled. "And I respect you, Yvraine, but know that a being that states that they are the Prophet is no true prophet in my eyes. You may find it difficult to control your subjects if they revere you as the god."
"I beg to differ, Seer. Let my word be gospel, and let the Reborn's fire shine brighter than it has these past ten-thousand years." Yvraine set her empty goblet down. "More."
"There is a word the humans are all too fond of. Crusade. Do you know what it means?"
"A righteous gathering of a united race beneath a single banner to eradicate a common foe?"
"A religiously-charged populace driven in to a zealous frenzy by a being claiming to speak for a deity will inflict slaughter on whoever they can find, regardless of affiliation, gender, or age. I have seen too many of these crusades called in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, where they are simply excuses to bring violence and oppression upon star systems free of the Imperium's boot."
"And you regard them as old acquaintances."
"That is not my point, Yvraine."
"You have bandied around it enough." Wine sloshed in Yvraine's goblet.
"If you give the Harlequins, the Fallen, or any of our allies free reign to slaughter for Ynnead, ours will be a crusade in all but name. Stop slaughter. Carry Ynnead's word to the humans. We travel in one another's company. With the Archmagos at our side, now is the time for parley."
Yvraine slid her fingertip around the rim of her goblet. "I welcome a slaughter. For two months, we have run from the oncoming tide. Warriors from every caste, from every corner of the galaxy facing one another for two months without an enemy is a dangerous thing, Seer. Now the balance of power shifts." Yvraine downed her second goblet and set it aside. "Would you like to see her?"
The Visarch and Yvraine kept their distance, leaving Eldrad outside the bubble. Yvraine scratched at her bone collar and scowled.
Patience, Yvraine. You are Ynnead's chosen, not Ynnead itself. If this is how the Yncarne wishes events to play out, so be it. We are all playthings for the Gods in the end.
How to weave this in our favour though…
Support them. Bring the Ranger in as a political instrument. Let us keep her close to our chest. With her in the fold, Ulthranwé's power diminishes.
Patience. Thank you, Laari. I have to have someone to convey the brutal truth at times like this. Yvraine opened a fan and wafted it.
At times like this, all one can do is sit back and pray the hand they are dealt favours us; the noble-blooded.
Noble-blooded. Yvraine snorted. Black as bog, my blood is. If there was ever any being deserving of the title Prophet, it would not have been a failed dancer from Biel-Tan.
That is your lot, though. Make do, whether you like it or not.
Thank you for being brutal.
That I intend to seize full advantage of.
"Ah-hah. You and no-one else."
The Visarch stiffened. Ulthranwé. Eldrad turned away from the bubble and guided his chair down to Yvraine. Deep lines stretched away from the corners of his eyes. Tiny cataracts filled them.
"How fares the Ranger, Seer?"
The Visarch bowed. I take my leave, Prophet. Ulthranwé.
"Laari, stay. You have a right to know."
"Leave us." Eldrad's eyes remained on Yvraine. "The Prophet only."
Call me if you need me. The Visarch departed.
"My eternal companion has a right to know, Seer. His ears, eyes, and mouth are mine."
"Come." Eldrad returned to the screen. "What do you see?" Izuru sat cross-legged on the deck with her back to them. A dark scar curved down from her shoulderblade. Dozens of white marks criss-crossed the skin.
"A spectre freed from its casket."
"What do you do?"
"Keep it locked up for eternity and pray the Yncarne was wrong."
Eldrad sighed. "This is not a matter I require your aid with, Prophet."
"You do not wish to release it, surely!"
"She will be clothed, she will be fed, she will be treated with dignity. Not as a specimen."
"What are you going to do?"
"Make our minds one. I do not require you for that, Prophet."
"…Do not require me!" Yvraine spluttered. "Begone, Seer. This is myyy ship. MY DOMAIN!"
"The words of no true prophet." Eldrad laid his hand on the screen. The surface flexed gently and a ripple rolled outwards. "See she is clothed and brought a meal. I need you not for this."
Cool, sterile air dried the inside of Eldrad's mouth. Tiles lit up on the floor, leading him to the bubble's sole occupant. Hail, Reborn. Violet flame seared the air and formed a weeping eye. We of Ulthanash Shelwé and the Followers of the Seventh Way bid you welcome. The Eye faded and a golden rune formed in the shape of an arrow with three strikes through the body and a curving tail. Long have we awaited the Second Rebirth. For ten millennia, these bones have withered. My guise is humble. My intentions benign. I seek only to clothe you and to offer my counsel.
A cloak covering Izuru's nakedness, Eldrad left his chair and crossed his legs beneath him. Yncarne? Eldrad's eyes met Izuru's. I have your herald's ear. Craftworlder, Exodite, Harlequin, Druchii. We stand united in the face of the Great Serpent. On the Seventh path we tread, yearning for redemption. Eldrad raised his palm. Let our minds cross paths. The bubble broadened. The deck fell away. The storm of the Warp rushed around Eldrad and Izuru, filling their ears. Eldrad's mind breached the empty riverways and flowed through a barren consciousness. Let us return to the beginning of all things.
Lips touched a baby's brow. "I love you, sweet." A woman nestled the baby inside a hiding place and replaced a panel, shutting out the light but leaving a crack. Through the child's eyes, Eldrad saw blood on the woman's hand. She crawled backwards beneath a tank and lay still. All these years you never knew the truth. Oath sealed my lips. Forgive me.
The vision dissolved in to the yellow-brown walls of Iyanden. A horde of younglings stared down at a being on the floor. Feet pummelled it. Helpless, the young Izuru curled up. "Papa!"
Now Iyanden sings no more. Its hall play host to spectres and dark memories. Deep blue bulkheads of sharper curvature than Iyanden architecture grew in to form. "These are names." Izuru waved a slate at a blonde-haired Alaitoci wearing the white sash of the tradesmen. "You deal in substances, not beings, Ellorias!"
"Izuru, let me…" Ellorias took to a circular couch and patted it. "Can I explain?"
"Explain why Ketsia, aged thirty-one, wears shackles." Izuru's finger tracked down the list. "Or why Vellas, a babe of no more than thirteen, has no teat to suckle, flesh-dealer!" Izuru dashed the slate against a wall and ran from the room. "Ilic, Korsarro?"
Shame on you, Alaitoci. Eldrad withdrew from the memory. There is no being to blame but yourself. She was better off without you.
Grey skies loomed overhead. An iron pipe dragged through the mud. A bloodied hand hefted the pipe and lifted it above a cowering, female Corsair. "Embrace this mother's light." Izuru brought the pipe down, lifted it, and brought it down again and again. Come between a mother and her young and the wrathful awaken. Red crystals covered Izuru's hands, sleeves, chest, and face. The pipe toppled and Izuru fell on to her back. Long, curly hairs stuck to her face.
Water gushed over Izuru's body, seeping through her clothes. Mud walls pressed against her shoulders. A male corsair in Ranger Cameleoline lay on top of her and forced her head beneath the surface. Fire rolled up his back. His last act was to plunge his head down and force his air in to Izuru's lungs. Noble, for a Corsair.
Rain splashed in Izuru's eyes. A bright beam fired from a tower above her. Clouds swirling around a black hole surrounded by a green halo. A human squeezed Izuru's hand. "James?"
"I know."
Overhead lighting warmed Izuru's skin. An engine hummed. Her eyesight faded. Eldrad felt the touch of dirty, scabbed skin. "I give my heart to you," Izuru murmured in the mother tongue.
Eldrad's ears flattened. No, Izuru, no!
A hand shot at Eldrad's throat and clamped around his windpipe. Air rushed in Eldrad's ears. The bubble formed around him and his mind re-entered his body. Izuru's eyes shone yellow. Vertical, black slits bored in to Eldrad's eyes. "Open up and see what is inside…" Izuru's mouth opened. A tongue, split down the centre, slid over her teeth. "Murekhalir," a thousand voices hissed.
Fire whipped past Eldrad's ear. A lasbolt struck Murekhalir and whipped her shoulder back. Her fingers lost their grip on Eldrad's neck. Blood crystals oozed from beneath the cloak. White-blonde hair soared over Eldrad. A body spun through air and landed on its feet behind the reeling Murekhalir. A curved blade burst from her chest, carrying torn flesh and bone with it.
"How weak you have become." Yvraine planted a bare foot on Murekhalir's shoulder and ripped her sword free. "Affection blinds you to the evil within." Murekhalir fell forwards and lay on her side. Yvraine swiped the cloak from Murekhalir's body and wiped her sword. An energy cell glowed inside a thin, duelling lasblaster. "Bloodying Kha-vir. You should not have been so lucky… whore."
"Do not fool affection for stupidity, Yvraine Lirenaid." Eldrad grasped at his throat. "Keeping her locked up, isolated—damn you madam to shame!"
"Dried-up old fool." Yvraine threw the cloak at Eldrad, sheathed her sword and lasblaster. "Your whore died on Cadia. My blade Kha-vir granted her salvation."
"No…" Eldrad dragged his body to Izuru's and wrapped his cloak around her.
"Gratitude, Prophet? Oh, I am deeply sorry for your loss." Yvraine sneered at her fingernails and stepped around Eldrad.
"You have never loved, have you, Prophet?" Eldrad cradled Izuru in his arms.
"The followers are all the affection this prophet requires."
Izuru's chest shook. Blood crystals flew from her mouth. "Prophet? PROPHET!"
"Let the whore die, Seer." The bubble expanded and sealed behind Yvraine.
"Agh…" Izuru's jaw slackened. Her eyelids remained open a crack. A lump bobbed beneath her chin.
Beautiful child of mine. Eldrad drew a finger down Izuru's cheek. The daughter I never had. Thinking back over two-hundred years, Eldrad recalled Amonther and the day of oath.
Swear it on your forefathers' lives, Chief Farseer. They will hold you to it. Amon kneeled before Eldrad. She is a Numerial. Let no being say otherwise.
"You are a Numerial." Eldrad laid his palm on the wound in Izuru's chest. The bubble hummed. Ripples flowed across the surface. The Warp roared in Eldrad's ears. Let sense be numb. His eyes burned white. Wispy smoke rose from the flesh knitting itself together. Isha, let her die only once.
Wrapped in a single cocoon in the centre of an isolated chamber, Izuru slept. Eldrad and his bodyguard, Autarch Ryn Velupillai, watched from an observation room. "For yours and others safety, Seer, I doth request permission to lay your charge low should the evil return."
"Granted. There will be no third chance for her." Eldrad flexed his tingling fingers. Red lines stood out on his neck. "You will seek out her offspring and bring them here. Say nothing of their mother's condition, only that she sleeps."
"By your command, High One." The Autarch made the Eye and left Eldrad alone.
"Report!" Yvraine, the Visarch following, blinked on to the Dream's bridge. "Why are we at reduced velocity, Seer Captain?"
"The Prophet has the bridge." The Seer Captain and his Water Bringer turned to Yvraine, bowed, and stepped down from the command platform. "Lady Prophet, our – that is, the Archmagos's chart - brings us through a passage hitherto absent from our star charts."
"Show me."
"I am casting the fleet's passage up to you, Lady Prophet, from a date range between now and four hours ago."
Asteroid-sized debris throttled the fleet's heading in to a tunnel less than ten-thousand klicks wide. Above, below, and around the tunnel, derelict warships drifted, many fused with asteroids. At the head of the, now arrow-shaped fleet, an Ark Mechanicus, blocky and festooned with batteries, led a smattering of human vessels.
Where is it leading us?
Clearly to a place no kin has ever been before, or we would have charted this place. Yvraine blew up the visual and settled on the sleek, dark form of The Avenging Blade, following the tail-end of the human warships. I should be in the van, not skulking aft like a whore following in the warriors' wake.
You should. I wonder whether any of the humans understand the significance of this voyage.
Significance is not a word I think any of the humans understand. Their minds focus only their next meal or dalliance. I dare say only the Archmagos knows.
"Lady Prophet? If I may, we are one-third speed with increased fuel conservation. No ships have been lost this watch. All battlegroups proceed line astern, with the Ark Mechanicus leading the van."
Unfortunately so. "Give me all-around view," Yvraine said. The Dream's bridge darkened. Ynnari warships, many flying within a few hundred feet of the Dream, filled a corridor surrounded by a pale green nebula.
Do you feel like we are thrusting a sleeve through the eye of a needle here?
If there were two dozen sleeves, yes. I do not like our dispersion. Flashes caught Yvraine's eye. Beams lanced from hulls and struck chunks of rock and mangled hulks. "Seer Captain, you have the bridge." Yvraine stepped down from the platform.
"Lady Prophet. The Seer Captain has the bridge."
An appointment is scheduled with the caste leaders in twenty minutes, Yvraine.
The weekly meeting?
Yes.
Our weekly squabble then. How I love and cherish those three hours. If I waited for them to convene in the conference chamber, would you deliver Alorynis in there and seal the doors? A flagon of wine for every bastard he maims.
May I postpone that invitation?
Ha-ha. I could make it an order.
The first I might have to refuse. Be diplomatic, Yvraine, I beg you. This was your doing, uniting so many of our kin. Can we rise above pettiness and bickering?
Ask them. Do not ask me.
It is the head of the family who is responsible for shaping the offspring in to mature, sensible-thinking beings—
Laari, the head gives the orders. It is her subordinates who see them carried out. Please do not butt heads with me, especially in cadre presence. If I cannot control a few unruly Harlequins and Corsairs what sort of herald am I?
Bodyguards, in the livery of Ulthwé, Biel-Tan, Iyanden, Altansar, and Commorragh lined the curving walls of the conference chamber. Veins glowed softly in the ceiling, casting purple light across the seated representatives. Jugs of juice stood on tiers above snack-filled platters. Seated on the Commorrites' left and on the right of Eldrad Ulthran, Yvraine sifted through the meeting's itinerary. Introduction, twenty minutes. Discussion of previous week's events, forty to sixty minutes. Schedule for the following week, one to one and a half hours. Yvraine rested her brow in her hand. Hopefully this will be over within the hour.
"Salutations, Prophet." A Corsair in purple robes yet wearing a sash decorated with Iyanden-aligned runes made the Shrine. "My Autarch, Prince Yriel, has taken offence to the inclusion of yeast in his wine."
"Provisions have not been made to…" Yvraine realised the Visarch now stood at her shoulder. "…We have grape juice. Would your prince prefer to peruse our selection of fruit juices?" Yvraine's toes curled. Behind the Corsair, the Harlequins tittered.
"You should know, my Autarch is allergic to yeast, Prophet." The Corsair returned to Prince Yriel's cadre and whispered in his ear. A few hushed words later, the prince rose and took his cadre from the chamber. Yvraine glared at the grinning Harlequins. Just what do you find to your amusement?
Past the Ulthwé cadre, Ynnari perched on a section of table comparing tattoos. The only being seated was Ellaria Moonspeaker who held her baby daughter close to her for it to suckle on a breast. Must she do that here? Yvraine caught Ellaria's eye and smiled.
"Prophet." Ellaria smiled back. Yvraine curled her fingers in to a fist beneath the table.
"If I could have your attention, gentlebeings?" Yvraine rose and tapped a spoon against her goblet. Lying at her feet, the Gyrinx Alorynis lifted his head. "Welcome to—" A Harlequin flipped over, landed on the tabletop on its hands and walked along. The noise did not abate. They are not listening.
Would you like me to make a scene, Prophet?
"Sword." Yvraine twisted and stuck out her hand.
Be gentle. The Visarch slid Asu-var from the sheathe with his thumb. Yvraine grasped the hilt, drew Asu-var, and banged the pommel against the tabletop.
"Ssshh." Eldrad's voice rolled through the chamber. The Harlequin collapsed and scurried to his seat. Ynnari swivelled from their perches and sat down. Ellaria passed her daughter back to a minder and re-arranged her robes. The chatter died. Eldrad had not moved or spoken aloud.
"Thank you…" Eyes turned to Yvraine and Asu-var. Yvraine quickly lowered Asu-var and passed it behind her. "Thank you. Salutations to you all, my followers. This past week, we have seen the fewest number of vessels lost since our first engagement in the Cadian System—"
"—Not since our retreat from the Cadian System has there been an engagement, Prophet." The blind Seer Kysaduras the Anchorite bashed the base of his staff upon the deck. Eldrad's eyes snapped to the Anchorite. His brows arched.
"The fewest number of vessels lost since our first engagement, and I pray we do not lose another for the rest of the voyage. As of zero four-hundred this morn, our fleets have been revising their formation in to line-astern—"
"—Prophet, my cousin was murdered on the eve of the last cycle. Why has no word been carried to your ears?" Farseer Lathriel of Biel-Tan rose from her seat. Gold runes glinted on bright red robes.
"Hear-hear, sister-of-mine." An Autarch, Meliniel, stood beside Lathriel. "Why speak of vessels lost, Prophet? Why not beings?"
"Your concerns will be taken in to account once the past week's events are recounted, Farseer. Each and every one of your representative's voices shall be heard, considered upon, and actioned."
"Daughter of Shades." A Harlequin dressed in a black bodyglove called out. "To where do we sail?"
"With the human Ark Mechanicus in the van, our warfleets now sail line-astern as we enter a passageway to where I know not," Yvraine's voice rose over the growing murmurs.
"Veilwalker, your concerns are well-justified," said the Anchorite. "In to a pitch-filled cauldron we sail."
"Tell us our destination, Prophet!"
"We would know our journey was not for nought."
"Who and where do we strike? Have we lost our purpose?"
"Our purpose is awakening the God of the Dead!" The Harlequin in black slammed her hands her hands on the table. "And I tell you, it will harbour a very dim opinion indeed when it hears us locking horns over trivialities. Everything—everything—bears no significance to Ynnead's coming!"
That one has her priorities in order, said the Visarch. Yvraine recognised the Harlequin as Sylandri Veilwalker. "I concur—I concur!" Yvraine raised her arms. "You are all correct. Our fate lies in the Archmagos' hands at present." Spit shot from a Commorrite's lips. "But forget not that it was our ally Sylandri Veilwalker who approached the Archmagos first under the banner of truce. We acted under our own initiative for the greater cause. And what cause is greater than the redemption of our people? Spit, laugh, belittle—become who you were before. Little beings living in fear of the Great Serpent." The Commorrites snorted. "Know that it was in your fighting pits where Ynnead showed its favour and resurrected me from beyond the veil, Commorrites. Its favour is not bounded to any one caste or cadre, but to all that choose to walk the Seventh Path towards Its light. Through me Ynnead speaks, and its word is patience. Show patience and understanding of your fellow Ynnari, and we shall see our age of strife through to the coming of Ynnead, and the obliteration of our enemies." Yvraine picked up her goblet. "To us; the Ynnari."
Half a dozen Ynnari raised their goblets. Many more began talking all at once. Voices overlapped. A goblet tipped over and flung wine across the deck. The Visarch leaned over Yvraine's shoulder. Inspiring speech. Interesting the human term used there.
Shut up, Laari. Yvraine drunk until only sediment remained. Gods, I hate them. Yvraine slid a jug over and poured more wine.
A messenger for you, Prophet.
"Come forth." Yvraine beckoned to the messenger barred entry by her Reaper bodyguards. "Speak."
"Lady Prophet, a private message flagged urgent has arrived in your quarters."
"From whom?"
"Zar-Quaesitor."
The Archmagos? Yvraine tugged her corset straight and stood up. Ulthranwé, I must ask a favour of you.
Ask, Lady Prophet.
I am called away on a private communiqué. Prithee, carry this meeting forward until I return.
Then I shall look after the children in the meantime. Eldrad toasted Yvraine.
"Privacy." Yvraine entered her quarters and sat down on a curving couch. The Visarch bowed and retreated through the portal. The hovering orbs dimmed and light shimmered in the floor. Yvraine stretched out her arm along the back of the couch and leaned back. "Tell me this is not a social call, Archmagos."
The bloated, hulking form of Archmagos Belisarius Cawl materialised; twenty feet of ragged robes piles on a segmented body and balancing on many legs. "Alas, no," the Archmagos rumbled. "I ask for what I say next to be taken in to confidence, Prophet."
"You have it, Archmagos."
"It concerns our destination."
"You have my ears."
"We are bound for Macragge."
"You expect us to sail from one side of the galaxy to the other? I have Harlequins baring teeth at Corsairs and Biel-Tani on the verge of a wych-hunt. This idleness cannot sustain such delicate bonds. Tell me what the purpose of this expedition is."
"That is between me and the Veilwalker."
"Are you normally this cagey, Archmagos?"
"One to pry, I see. Very well. You are familiar with resurrection?"
"A firm favourite of mine. I have been beyond the veil, looked upon its majesty with my own eyes, and returned strong." That filth-blood of Ulthranwé's can rot in containment.
"Then this will be to your liking."
"Oh, I doubt that very much so, Archmagos. Does it involve the humans?"
"Yes. I would like the Veilwalker here too."
Laari, summon Sylandri Veilwalker to my quarters.
Business or pleasure?
Just summon her. Please.
Cadre by cadre, the representatives left the conference chamber. The hours were winding down to the evening cycle by the time the final discussions had concluded. Eldrad, leading his bodyguard and knowledge-bearer out of the chamber, met Yvraine and the Visarch returning.
"A moment of your time, Seer?"
"This is your domain, Lady Prophet." With a smile, Eldrad fell in next to Yvraine. The Visarch and Eldrad's cadre followed at a distance.
"Firstly, I doth believe an apology is in need of tending. T'was wrong to insult thee, wise one. Weak you are not. I trust my words were not taken to heart?"
"Passions were enflamed in that hour, Lady Prophet."
"Please, Yvraine."
"T'was folly to assume Izuru Numerial had returned with her own mind and spirit. I was the fool, very much so. Compassion is a double-edged sword, a quality us – the elite – must handle delicately."
"I renounced all romantic attachment eons before I became Ynnead's herald. A partner is simply another weapon to be used against me."
"And you were wiser for it."
"I do not have the luxury of relationships, platonic or otherwise. The prophet is a pure, untainted vessel at Ynnead's mercy."
"And I believe the politician's word. Let me also tender my apology. As I said, this is your domain, and we are all the guests of the God of the Dead at the setting of the sun."
"I prayed, you know, prayed for a miracle and Ynnead smiled. Smiled in binary."
"Ah, our mechanical friends."
I deemed it necessary for you to know that our destination is Macragge.
Yes.
You saw it!
Amidst the storm, among other events. Always the future is in motion. Never does it settle.
Tell me all that you know.
Yvraine, you are better off not knowing. Eldrad made the Eye. "Gratitude for your time, Lady Prophet. I look forward to our next engagement." Eldrad's cadre parted before him and followed in his wake. I wish you well for the future. My time on this plane is drawing to a close.
Two young children sat together on a curved row of seats intended to house a full audience. Neither pair of feet reached the floor. "How you two have grown." Eldrad waved away his bodyguards. "Welcome, the both of you."
"Is our mother here, Uncle?"
"Nothing eludes you, does it, young one?" Eldrad drifted down to the children. Which is Ilic and which Korsarro? "Yes, your mother is here, and we have our biomechanical allies to thank for her return."
Ilic and Korsarro looked at one another. "Who?"
"Would it interest you to know of our blossoming alliance with the humans?" Ilic leaned over and whispered in Korsarro's ear. Perhaps not. "A drink, little ones? Are you hungry?"
"Can we see Mother?"
"Your mother is very poorly. A deep slumber holds her at this moment. It is for her own good."
"When will Mother awaken?" Ilic grasped Korsarro's hand.
"It is in the hands of the Gods, child, but you have my word that your mother is receiving the best care possible. Now, will you accompany me? Quarters have been prepared close to where your mother is."
"Uncle, strangers brought us here without a word about our mother. Please take us to her."
"Show us Mother."
Poor things. "I will show you your mother, children. You may look but not approach."
"Mmm…" The twins slipped down from the couch. Both were dark-haired and possessed their mother's chin and nose. Each though had the grey eyes of their father.
The flesh-dealer. You were right taking them away from their father, Izuru.
"Why are you angry, Uncle?"
"I am not angry. Truly, it is a joyous day to see the offspring reunited with their mother."
"Your mind thinks of other things?"
"It does. A lot rides upon my shoulders."
"Is it why you cannot walk?"
Eldrad pulled the hem of his sleeve over the growths on his wrist. "Will you accompany?"
The twins flung themselves at the screen separating them from the chamber housing Izuru's cocoon when they saw her. "Mother!"
"Why is Mother alone in there?"
"The healers are devoting their every waking moment to your mother, Ilic." Eldrad dimmed the illumination in the chamber, leaving a halo around Izuru's cocoon.
"I am Korsarro, Uncle."
"Apologies, Korsarro." Eldrad smoothed back his hair. "That sin I am condemned to repeat until my dying day."
Ilic cupped his hands and pushed Korsarro up on to a ledge. "When will Mother wake up?"
"I do not know, Ilic. She will awaken when her body is healed and her spirit becalmed."
"Why did she leave for so long?"
"Your mother was sent to perform a very important task for me. To broker a truce with the human warlords and lay the foundations for a future alliance between our races."
"But, why?"
"Ooh." Ilic poked Korsarro and mimed kicking his feet.
"Mm." Korsarro bounced an imaginary ball.
"Your mother will be able to explain to you better than I ever could. Come away now. Nothing more to gain from observation, children."
Ilic helped Korsarro down from the ledge. "Please save her. Mother is all we have."
"The Gods smile on the faithful. I pray daily, children. I hope you do too."
Deep in to the fleet's night cycle, Eldrad sat alone in his solar amongst the tightly-packed fleet. Shots, aimed at debris, scattered across the corridor. Flashes from lances punctuated the darkness. Asteroids collided with barriers and careered away; all of it silent.
Cadia, the question will pass Izuru's lips the instant she awakens. And in to the firing line I fall. Eldrad shifted his numb foot and wiggled the toes. Would it have been better to have fallen on Cadia as I foresaw? Die the warrior's death you so sought? A Commorrite vessel's engines faded from a pitiful glow to nothing. Pinpricks tumbled free from the drifting ship and spiralled in to space only to shatter upon hulls. Eventually, a rescue ship drew alongside the Commorrite and scooped the sole untouched lifepod in to its bosom.
A curse or a blessing? A bastard sprung from unequal pairing. What right has she to exist?
Swear it on your forefathers' lives.
I need your counsel, Amon. Do I keep her close or send her as far away from the Prophet's Crusade as I can? I will cradle her corpse only once. Speak to me. Eldrad detached his mind from his body and cast his consciousness beyond the veil.
One month and a day after the fleet entered the passage, the Mechanicus vanguard made egress in to an uncharted star system. It took an entire cycle's manoeuvring for the Avenging Blade to assume its position in the arrowhead formation, and it was where Yvraine wished she could be for the entry to the Webway; a dimension unscarred by the tendrils of Chaos.
For two hours, Yvraine sat before a reflection of herself waiting for the half dozen maidens to plaster layers of make-up to her face and contort her hair through her feathered headdress then tie in to a tight topknot. Every minute, every second the Visarch watched the maidens work.
"Maybe now, the hoi polloi will cease their petty squabbles and conduct conversations not at the point of a blaster." A brush applied a stinking, red liquid to Yvraine's fingernails. "Gracious of the Archmagos to inform. It could not have come at a more convenient time. When the knives were drawn and the teeth were bared, our saviour was a human."
Whatever propels the Archmagos – be it steam, oil, gears – can no longer be called human. The body its mother expelled withered and died eons ago.
"Are you suggesting humans have mothers, Visarch? Or that they are anything other than hounds that learned to walk upright?"
A hound has teeth. The day may come where you find them sharp.
"Is that a threat?"
Mistake the Archmagos not for a slobbering beast, Yvraine. That one is very clever.
"It will be the first to go. I may keep it alive just long enough to see its homeworld burn—if it has one. If not, I will just rip it apart, joint by joint. How do I look?"
Like death.
"Good." Yvraine stuck out her chin and tilted her head up. I cannot appear relatable, Laari. For me, there is only Ynnead.
A paragon of purity you are.
"Hmph-hmph." An ex-courtesan is still a courtesan. Imagine if the commoners were enlightened to my past. Harlot, dancer, thief, pirate, gladiator.
Bless Ynnead, for your redemption wiped the slate clean.
Once a harlot, always a harlot. It will never go away. Will you stand by my side for the address?
Behind your shoulder I stand. Ynnead is at your side.
A hush fell upon the Dream's bridge. Clad in corset and a bright, violet dress, Yvraine took the Seer Captain's place on the platform commanding a view of the bridge and the Ynnari Fleet. The Visarch and Alorynis waited below and behind her. Caste representatives crowded the lower tiers and faced Yvraine. Curving tiles around Yvraine glowed and a spinning halo surrounded her. A bright orange sphere hovering before Yvraine hummed and pulsated when it caught the soft noise of her breathing. Friends? No. Followers? Disciplines?
"Brothers." An echo followed. "Sisters. The Whispering God speaks, through me, to you. Corsair, Craftworlder, Exodite, Harlequin, Commorrite. Lay down your tools and lend me your ears. A pestilence of dissent spreads through our halls, our gundecks, our family. Naked blades and bared aggression tears this alliance at the seams. We are without a purpose some may have come to believe during these past three months. Without purpose and without direction we drift as nomads you may believe. For who am I to bark and belittle?" Yvraine laid a hand on her heart. "Blessed is the Whispering One that in these trying times, a voice came to me – not as a whisper – but as a command, firm with conviction, conveying the gift of clarity and banishing the fog of war hanging over our purpose, our being, for so long. Who am I to question? To doubt? Macragge, came the command. Macragge, the heart of the Realm of Ultramar. Macragge shall see your salvation. Folly, you may believe. But Macragge is where the Rebirth shall happen. Macragge is our journey's end." Yvraine linked her hands across her corset. "Let us pray. Each in our own way." Yvraine bowed her head and closed her eyes. A single tear slipped from her eye and edged down her cheek. After a minute's silence, Yvraine spoke. End transmission, Visarch.
Transmission ended. Well spoken, Lady Prophet.
Seer Captain, you have the bridge. Take us in to the Webway. The Blade leads. Ignore the human vessels. We make our own heading.
The Seer Captain has the bridge. Your word guides us all, Lady Prophet.
Yvraine turned away from the shrinking orb and came down to the Visarch and Alorynis. "I even shed a tear. Can you believe it?" Alorynis pushed his head against Yvraine's leg and rubbed. The caste representatives had fallen to discourse and were making their way towards the portals aft of the bridge. Yvraine beckoned with a finger to the Visarch. Falsities and promises I cannot hope to keep. There will be no Rebirth at Macragge. At least no Rebirth of benefit to us! Is this the lot of the politician?
If you wish to placate these feuds before they ignite, the commoners must be told their desires.
I have never lied to so many before. Yvraine bit her lip and looked away from a Commorrite representative whose eye she caught. A blood-rage shall befall if they ever discover the truth. Then tear me limb from limb they shall. Ynnead will not save me if my appendages are in separate corners of the galaxy.
Worry for the cadre, not the commoner. Ulthranwé. The Veilwalker. The Commorrite leaders.
Ulthranwé is a shadow of his shadow. Yvraine kept an eye on Eldrad in the corner of her eye. The old Seer held discussion with his chief bodyguard, an Autarch whose name Yvraine did not know. That blasted Ranger! Kha-vir expunged the evil within her. Gods, what does it take to put her down?
The Visarch cocked his head. Pray ask her yourself.
I have more important matters to attend, Laari. We are due a tour of the Amina, are we not? Remind me again.
Lady Prophet, you and I are due to embark upon your skiff with a delegation from Biel-Tan in forty-eight minutes time with our destination being the Amina. She is a refugee ship carrying Biel-Tani civilians.
How long will the tour last—no, how long do I need to make it last?
That is up to you, Yvraine, though it may be prudent to make public your showing amongst the common folk. A caring, softer side, especially around the young who may not fully understand who you are would do wonders for your public image. After that, we…
"Yes, yes." Yvraine brushed past the Visarch and approached Ulthranwé. "Hail, Seer."
"Hail to you, Lady Prophet." Eldrad made the Eye. His Autarch bowed and backed away. "We of Ulthanash Shelwé are ready and eager to undertake this great endeavour."
"Kind words warm the soul," Yvraine smiled, aware of the increasing pairs of eyes turning to her and Eldrad. "Let us adjourn. I yearn for bright skies and warm grass. Will you grant me your hand?"
"I should be asking for yours."
"The pleasure is all mine." Yvraine bent her arm, and with a limp wrist, took hold of Eldrad's wrinkled hand. Whispers followed them. Eyes regarded Yvraine with a newfound awe.
Tell me you were convinced by that, Yvraine said once she, Eldrad, the Visarch and Alorynis had blinked away from the bridge.
You would be surprised how easily the commoner swallows his betters' rhetoric. You need not worry. Tell a little lie here and there to maintain the illusion.
"Enough of this. Tell me why. Why does she live?"
"Would you ask her yourself?"
"I would finish what Kha-vir perpetrated—"
"You will not apply hand or blade or assault her mental boundaries as long as I observe. I would have you observe with me."
"I have a previous engagement."
"Then why take my hand?"
Yvraine twirled her arm. "…Politics. This is ridiculous. I need not explain myself to you."
"It can wait. Please, take my hand."
"Visarch?"
Time is not yet against us, Yvraine. I would pay heed to Ulthranwé.
"Show me." Yvraine took Eldrad's hand in a firmer grip. "But tarry not."
A curving display rotated around an isolated cocoon, casting blue light on to a pale face. Fluid flowed along a clear tube and down in a bare arm. Needles, attached to a crown, plunged through the skin and inside the brain. Half-closed eyelids twitched.
"When did she awaken?" Yvraine and Eldrad watched the chamber outside a psy-dampening screen. The Visarch held back with Alorynis.
"That Izuru has yet to decide."
"Why the necessity for such a machine?"
"Flash-knowledge. Everything she learned from infancy, up to the targeting of the sensitive areas of the human body is being scanned in to her brain."
"Her memories…"
"You cannot force a being to recall her most traumatic memories. That is a violation of the most heinous kind. Moreso than if you had forced yourself upon her."
"This—this Nephalem is permitted life when so many other, nobler beings of greater standing than her fall at the wayside. How?"
"This has nought to do with class, Yvraine. You do not understand."
"Murekhalir! By the Whispering One, I vow to behead that thing if it resides inside that body still. Visarch, we are leaving."
"One more moment, Lady Prophet. One more moment."
"How if I do not understand, Seer? This is clearly on a higher plane of intelligence than I can possibly ascend to."
"Follow." Eldrad led Yvraine from the observation chamber. "When you see it, you will understand."
Time, Laari?
Time enough.
Yvraine's head snapped around. A feather on her headdress came loose and fluttered to the deck. Are you on my side or his?
I serve the Whispering God.
Do not undermine me, Laari!
If I might offer a suggestion. Be sympathetic to the plight of your people. A prophet cannot afford to be prejudiced.
Prejudice! A filth-blood deserves the ire of all. Were it so easy, I would give her soul to Kha-vir and fling her disembowelled corpse in to the four corners of the galaxy.
Before an unmarked portal, Eldrad held a finger against his lips and ushered the three through. Rows of desks and seating, sung from wraithbone, filled a librarium packed with tomes, thickly bound, and tied-up scrolls. Slates sat in front of a desk shared by two children under the eye of a mistress.
Under whose laws permit the Nephalem to breed? Yvraine squeezed a nub of wraithbone so hard her knuckles turned as white as the paint covering her face. Eldrad, Yvraine, and the Visarch looked down from a landing above the main floor on the two children. How could you allow this, Seer?
T'was no business of mine. The daughter of Amonther Numerial, sprung on Iyanden, came to Alaitoc with her father and took a mate there. But you know this. You saw it on her casket.
I think a law must be passed prohibiting filth-bloods in my fleet, Visarch. What is your thought?
The Visarch folded his arms and said nothing.
Yvraine. For a moment – just a moment – please consider these circumstances.
I have considered. I have concluded. Judgement will be swift. Come, Laari, we are for the Amina. The Visarch remained still, even when Alorynis rose, stretched, and scampered after Yvraine. Visarch?
Yvraine, would you make these children orphans?
Yvraine bared her teeth and bore down on the Visarch. "Stay, Daughter of Shade," Eldrad commanded. "Soften thy tongue."
"Keep your counsel," Yvraine spat at the Visarch. "And you." She turned to Eldrad. "Before she is whole – I would see her neutered."
"It is rather too late for that."
Yvraine planted her hands on the arms of Eldrad's chair and leaned down. "Many assassins have tried. Longarm, blade, poison. This one will not succeed because I suffered a weakness of conscience!" Yvraine slammed her hands upon the arms and flounced away down an aisle. The Visarch stepped in front of Eldrad before he could follow.
Step aside, Swordmaster. The Visarch bowed and did as he was told. "Let me reiterate, Lady Prophet. You do not understand because you have never loved nor been loved in return. The bonds that exist between a mother and her offspring transcend all. Meddling with that will not end well for you."
"A meddler. That is a first for me. Never have I been called meddler by an invalid. Maybe a millennia ago I would have taken your threat with concern."
Eldrad's feet touched the floor and he stood. Seven and a half feet of Seer towered over Yvraine. Alorynis's ears flattened and his tail lowered between his legs. "Nor need you now."
Yvraine's eyes flickered to the Visarch. A muscle quivered in her jaw. "What is this subterfuge…?"
"Murder the mother and you will live in fear of the retribution the offspring will wreak. Live in fear for the rest of your life of that day when two young warriors appear to you with naked blades and their mother's name on their lips."
Yvraine's lip curled. "Then today the Numerial line ends."
"Ulthwé breaks faith. Our fleet returns to port. We sheathe our blades and lower our longarms. Never again will we raise our banners in the Ynnari name."
"Flee. I need no more ships."
"You do not need our fleet or our Guardians. You need me."
Yvraine's shoulders heaved. Cracks appeared in the paint on her lips. "What does she mean to you? Answer with truth, Seer!"
"Ask not the Seer." Eldrad eased his body in to his chair and drifted up to Yvraine. "Ask the offspring, then you will understand." A feather brushed Yvraine's wrist. Without meeting the old Seer's eye, Yvraine took the feather by the nub. "Good day."
"Damn him. Damn him." Yvraine dragged the back of her hand across her nose after Eldrad had blinked away.
What is your word, Lady Prophet? The Visarch's hands sat on the pommel of his sword.
"Leave it." Yvraine grimaced. Her jaw hurt from clenching it. "Another day. This is not over."
Our appointment beckons, Lady Prophet.
"By the Croneswords, this is not over." Yvraine entered the portal with Alorynis and the Visarch and blinked away.