Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 17

Xavaar's hearts fluttered and his breathing was ragged as he waited, a sick sense gnawing at his gut. He was not afraid of anything, but the vision had shaken badly. To foresee one's own death was a fate no sane soul would wish for. If the rumours were true and Curze had lived his whole life with this terrible knowledge festering in the back of his mind, then no wonder he had gone mad. All Xavaar could do was cling to the assertion his Primarch was wrong, that the future could be changed, if not then the final doom was sealed.

Xavaar forced his breath into a steady rhythm, using mantras of the Librarius to enforce stillness on his being. He had long since surpassed his training, dabbling in Sorcery and treating with the Warp in ways that would have horrified the stern mentors of the past, but their teachings still had uses. Xavaar sectioned off his anxiety and sealed it away behind mental barriers, allowing his mind to operate without disturbance. His demeanour restored Xavaar turned his attention to the task at hand, gathering the Claws for the raids.

In a dark and gloomy Strategium awaited the Claw-leaders of the exile band. A gathering of the most ruthless and ambitious Traitors in a Legion famed for its pitiless nature. Every one of them was a self-serving, grasping cur, murderous and merciless by nature. There was Greul the Bloodseeker and Cantus the Unerring Eye, both looking bored as they waited. In a higher tier sat Savare the Arlstone Strangler, Mikhoa Longshot and Yertan Snakeskin. In ranks lurked individuals as infamous as Herran the Beautiful Liar, Juru He Who Thunders, Killos Spinebreaker, Certa White Crow and more. Each of them commanded a Claw of Astartes, their wills as absolute over their Brothers as Karkhul's was over them. Xavaar unfortunately was not their lord and master. He was merely another name among many and as such could not command their obedience, he would have to ask for their help.

Xavaar drew in a breath and checked his armour was pristine and flesh-mask secured before he stepped out of the shadows and faced them. Instantly the quiet rush of whispers fell away as Twenty-five sets of dark eyes turned to fix him in their gaze. Murder lay in many of them but Xavaar refused to be intimidated and strode into the space before their rising seats with no hint that he was dismayed. A few faces looked insulted that he failed to be cowed but a few others let slip begrudging respect at his nerve, the rest merely appeared bored. His eyes scoured the armour marks on display but he saw none that matched the figure from his vision, and no Claw-leader among the exiles wore a feline-skull helm that he knew of, so his killer was not in this room.

Xavaar set his staff down on the floor and called out, "Proud sons of Nostramo, I bid thee welcome!"

A snort of derision arose from Savare who sneered, "Skip the courtly pleasantries. We are not gang-lords feigning airs and graces, speak plainly."

A rebuke arose from Certa, "Traditions must be respected, don't try to bluster us with your false bravado!"

"This is not Nostramo!" Greul snapped, "Let us get to the bloody point."

Cantus retorted, "Do not forget who we are, what we do. Generating fear requires a performance, what are we without presentation?! "

Loud grumbles arose on all sides and Xavaar sighed silently, one sentence in and they were already bickering. Old grudges and lingering feuds were common in the VIIIth Legion, and jockeying for position was universal. Some of those raising their voices were genuinely aggrieved, the rest merely speaking over their rivals. He sent a psychic probe forth to sweep the room and found sullen resentment and frustration echoing loud, all of them letting slip years of bitterness but no true rancour was growing. They were recycling old arguments, rather than preparing to draw knives.

He slammed his staff down hard and cried, "Be silent! I did not call you to bicker like old fishwives. We have a mission given to us, the Orks grow in number and Lord Kharkul demands we act."

"You do not give orders to us," Savare snarled.

But Cantus retorted, "Show respect to he who slew Herdian Med-orbital. Single-handed did he depopulate that entire station. Every last man, woman and child, the sick and the healthy, chirugeons and custodials, even the dying in their beds were not spared."

The reminder of his dark reputation stilled more protests, they all knew the legend and few among them could rival so prodigious a feat. All of them had conducted slaughters but to do so single-handed was remarkable, especially when it had been an Imperial-loyal station, doubly so when the Night Lords had given token fealty to Terra at the time. Word of what the VIIIth was willing to do to its own side had quenched the fires of rebellion on Herdian and catapulted Xavaar to dark glory among his brothers.

Killos leaned forward with an eager grin and pressed, "Why do you never recite that tale? Tell us of the weeping women and pleading wretches, of the babies slain in the maternity wards and the grovelling Clerics who begged for life."

Xavaar coldly replied, "It was not done for pleasure or glory, it was a task that needed to be completed. It was necessary. But this is beside the point, I gathered you to sound the horns of war. Who will be counted among my strikeforce?"

Sullen silence reigned as the claw-leaders sat back and Greul snorted, "Not I."

Savare agreed, "My claw has no interest in Greenskins, they give no pleasure as they die."

Yet Cantus retorted, "Look at a Hololith sometime, the Orks grow in number and strength daily. We linger here in idleness while they prepare for war. We must act now and disperse their numbers, before they unite and destroy us."

"You go then," Greul snorted, "I will not add my claw to this pointless venture."

Yertan leaned forward to interject, "Who will guard Oblivioni Cavum while the strikeforce is away? Pathetic as it is our home must not be left open to attack."

Grumbles for and against arose and Xavaar drew in a breath, but before he could speak another voice called out, "Have you forgotten our purpose here?!" All eyes drifted upwards and he groaned as he saw the speaker. It was Arkqas the Mad, lurking at the back of the room in the shadows. He was no claw-leader, none would fight beside him but he'd come anyway. Xavaar dearly wished he hadn't, this was going to make his job a lot harder.

Arkqas stepped forward and proclaimed, "We are set to guard this system, a punishment duty yes, but a duty all the same. Our mission here is to hold this system for the Legion, our Brothers are counting on us to secure this region."

Greul spat back, "Duty?! What jest are you making, we are Night Lords, we care nothing for duty!"

Savare agreed, "You have spent too much time with the clockwork Ultramarines, harping on about duty. Next he'll be yelling of courage and honour. We are the VIIIth, we laugh at honour and duty."

Arkqas grew angry as he snapped, "Do none of you see the bigger picture?! This system is located in an ideal position near Alar-median, if the Night Lords are to survive we need that Forgeworld. When the Legion comes to enforce its sovereignty they will expect this system to be under our flag. Not overrun with Orks!"

"There is no bigger picture!" Greul barked, "We've been left here to rot, that's all. There's no mustering of the Legion, coming to relieve us."

"The Legion must have a purpose!" Arkqas shouted, "Else what are we?!"

Cantus sneered, "Cease clinging to the past, we are what we are. There's no pride or nobility to be found within these walls. We do what we do because we want to, because it pleases us, we have no purpose beyond that."

Xavaar sensed the gathering slipping out of control and shouted, "Enough of this! We have a task and it needs to be done. Who is with me?!"

"Count me out," Greul snorted as he crossed his arms.

"If Arkqas' is involved, then I'm not going," Savare agreed.

Grumbles of agreement ran through the crowd and Xavaar's hearts fell as he saw he'd lost them, but then a deep voice cut through the hubbub, "How very disappointing." Dreadful silence fell as sick looks spread over every face at the sight of Kharkul himself stepping into the room. The Red Flayer strode imperiously in his Terminator plate, looming over the proceedings with dark gravitas. His gauntlets were leaking smoke between deep cracks as his fingers flowed into knife blades and red light painted his face, giving him a Daemonic cast. His six bladeslaves trudged alongside him, ever chained to his waist and never more than ten steps away.

Xavaar gave the stage to his master as the Red Flayer faced the Night Lords and hissed, "I gave orders that a raid be staged and yet I find you here, bickering and sniping. Where is the pride of Curze's murderous sons, where is your blood lust?!"

Cantus dared say, "We were merely debating the merits of an attack at this time…"

He trailed off as Kharkul's eyes fixed him with a threatening stare. Cantus held his gaze for a moment then dropped his eyes in submission, acknowledging the superiority of the master. Kharkul stared uncomfortably long then lifted his eyes to growl, "I promised you power beyond measure, I offered the majesty of Chaos to you and this is how you repay me. I am disappointed. We are so very close to perfecting the Mutilators but none of you show the daring required to embrace my gifts. You are craven and weak, I see it in your eyes, you fear the Orks. No true Night Lord fears battle, it is the enemy who fears us!"

"I am not afraid," Greul shouted as he leapt to his feet, "Send my claw!"

"I too will go," Savare cried and the rest joined voices to offer their support, none daring not to volunteer.

Xavaar saw their pathetic display to avert their lord's wrath but Kharkul grinned coldly and stated, "You would do well to remember this lesson. You do not fight for your own pleasure, or avarice, nor do you fight for a higher purpose. You fight because I will it, because I am your master and command it. Any who dares question my command again will suffer the consequences, only those who obey without hesitation will enjoy the boons I offer. The next time I order a raid you will comply, instantly and without question. Am I understood?!"

The claw-leaders chorused their understanding, desperate not to suffer his wrath. Xavaar stepped forward and said, "It seems we have our volunteers, I shall set forth at once."

Kharkul half-turned and hissed, "Select half the claws, leave the rest to guard our base. Strike hard and disperse the Orks, but remember to bring me captives. I want my Mutilators perfected before Curze returns for us. I need as many as possible to finalise the process. Do not fail me, Skinned Man."

Xavaar bowed low and said, "It shall be as you command my lord, for your glory and the Legion's we shall wreak havoc upon these Orks and bring you a fine bounty.

"Good," Kharkul growled, "When Curze returns he will find a great and terrible surprise awaiting. I shall dazzle him with the power I command, before I teach him the depths of his mistake in exiling us."