Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 25

Through the depths of Oblivioni Cavum Xavaar wandered, head ringing with revelation. He had made his excuses and departed the Red Flayer's presence, leaving him to continue insane ravings. The scope of the plan horrified Xavaar, the sheer horror of what the Red Flayer meant to unleash making his guts clench in dread. Better than most the Psyker knew to fear what lurked in the depths of the Warp, fiendish Neverborn who hungered for the warmth of living souls. To break the walls between realities and allow them to run wild was beyond the fever dreams of the most rabid madman. Part of Xavaar wished to pretend the Red Flayer didn't know what the consequences of his actions would be, but the greater part was filled with the chilling knowledge that Kharkul knew exactly what he was doing.

Xavaar had to stop it; he knew it in his bones. To fail would mean his death, and the death of an entire sector. Though a Traitor and devotee of forbidden arts, even he didn't want to wipe out billions of lives at a stroke. What good was conquest if there was no one left to lord over? Xavaar had thought himself cruel and murderous, but was stunned to discover how limited his imagination and how shallow his sadism was. So Xavaar wandered, trying to come up with a plan. It was no good; he was alone, outmatched in power and cruelty. The Red Flayer's might was not to be underestimated, Xavaar was no match for him. Perhaps if he had an army at his back he could act, but singularly there was no option save to die.

That thought made Xavaar's feet turn and he headed towards the barracks-enclaves of the Claws. Perhaps if he could speak to the Claw-leaders, just a few who would understand his warning, he could make them see what had to be done. Cantus perhaps, Certa maybe, a few others, they would understand. But then he remembered that Cantus was close to Greul, the pair thick as thieves, if one knew the other would find out…

Xavaar froze mid-stride as the depths of his error flooded over him, seeing the mistake he almost made. Cantus may have been receptive, but Greul would never understand the threat. The Bloodseeker sought carnage and destruction without restraint, he would welcome Kharkul's madness, embrace it even. If he learned the Sorcerer's intent he would run straight to the Red Flayer, assuming he didn't try to gut the Skinned Man first. The thought made Xavaar reconsider approaching Cantus, or any of the Claw-leaders, none of them could be trusted not to stab him in the back. Even if he could trust them as individuals, their Claws may not share their understanding, all it would take was one loose mouth to betray them all.

Xavaar lowered his head in bleak misery, knowing he was alone. There was no soul he could trust, none in Oblivioni Cavum who would heed his warnings. Xavaar was trapped between an insane lord, treacherous comrades, an Ork horde and loyalist hunters. The Sorcerer was alone in the world, without a friend to turn to. It was then it hit him that he was not unique in that situation, there was another who shared his isolation, one who bore no love for their Primarch or current master.

Xavaar spun about and hurried away, taking a winding route that sank into the starfort. Soon he passed out of inhabited sections and made his way into a region where none ventured. Free from the risk of detection he increased his pace, jogging down dusty corridors at a fast clip. His feet soon brought him to the door of Arkqas the Mad, loner, shunned recluse and the only soul who may be receptive to his plight. Xavaar screeched to a halt and pounded on the door, hammering until the manservant opened the door. Xavaar brushed past, knocking the man down with his bulk as he burst inside and cried, "Arkqas, where are you?"

A noise from an antechamber led him through the sitting room, to a sparse chamber where various knives and spears hung upon the walls. Here Arkqas trained, moving through a combat kata as sweat beaded his naked body. He wielded a pair of long flensing knives with consummate skill, creating a lethal web of darting steel in the air. Yet his style had none of the grace of Baalite pointwork, nor the solid defence of Inwit blocks, or the blunt honesty of Ultramarian schooling. He stabbed the air with low cuts, feinting in one direction then slashing the flank with vicious sweeps, blocking high and thrusting low, to gouge and tear an imaginary foe. It was Nostramean gutter fighting taken to its most extreme form, a style that suited close confines and blocked vision, two foes blindly hacking away in the filth of the street.

Xavaar compelled himself to stand still and wait for Arkqas to finish his kata, then blurted, "We need to talk!"

"Patience," Arkqas said as he set his knives upon the wall, "Have manners no meaning anymore?"

"There's no time for that!" Xavaar spat, "We're in terrible danger!"

Arkqas lifted an eyebrow and then gestured to the antechamber, Xavaar fought the urge to throw up his hands in frustration and plonked himself into a chair, Arkqas sat across from him and steepled his fingers before his mouth, still naked but uncaring. The manservant drifted nearer to offer refreshment but a growl from Xavaar sent him scurrying away. Finally Arkqas stated, "Tell me what troubles you."

Xavaar drew in a breath but paused to say, "Is it safe to talk?"

"Him?" Arkqas snorted at the departing servant, "Who's he going to tell? Come on, out with it."

Xavaar could hold back no longer and blurted out, "Konrad Curze is dead!"

Arkqas froze for a moment and Xavaar saw shock and denial pass over his face, but then came mocking mirth and sly vindication as he rocked back and said, "About time. Surprising he lasted this long… you are sure this is true?"

"I lifted it from the mind of a loyalist, there can be no doubt. Night Haunter is dead."

Arkqas glanced at his armour upon a stand, its plate marred by fresh repair marks, where bolter craters had been filled in. The midnight hues had yet to be repainted but Arkqas gestured towards it and sniffed, "I took a few good knocks from the Ravens myself. Sly bastards but hard fighters in a corner, and honest about it. If they knew it to be true, then I believe them. So Curze is no more, this is good news. At last the Legion is free of his destructive influence; at last we can seek a path other than his spiralling descent into madness."

"That is not likely," Xavaar groaned, "The Legion has shattered, broken into a thousand splinters. The loss of Curze has driven a stake into the VIIIth's heart."

Arkqas shook his head and sighed, "Those fools, even in death they cling to Curze's heels. Let me guess, Savatar and Zso Sahaal crow about a vengeful crusade in his memory, while the rest bicker for advantage in the power vacuum."

Xavaar confessed, "I don't have all the details, all I got was recent memories but I know warbands roam free, without any sense of higher coordination. For all intents and purposes the Night Lords are a Legion no more."

Arkqas sighed, "Such short-sighted ignorance, such willful blindness. Night Haunter hated us, every member of the Legion knew this to be true, and yet we craved his approval anyway. We were led by a raving psychotic, who would have sold us all out to achieve his death wish, and yet we followed his whims like sons whipped into submission by an abusive father. Why, I ask myself, why didn't we shrug off his deadweight years ago? Perhaps it was genic, a trait programmed into our gene-seed, into all Legions. Obedience and featly to the Primarchs went beyond mere Hypno-indoctrination. It could have been a deliberate feature of our design, ingrained loyalty programmed into our blood, to prevent dissent and rebellion. If so the false Emperor was a bigger fool than I thought, he never stopped to consider the loyalty of the Primachs could be suspect."

"Will you shut up!" Xavaar spat irately, "We have more immediate problems, Kharkul has gone insane. He plans to kill us all!"

Arkqas was put back and hissed, "Explain that remark."

Xavaar sank back and informed him, "The Red Flayer did not take the news well. The thin thread of sanity he had left has snapped. He's concocted a mad plan to summon a Warp Storm and bath this sector in Chaos itself. He plans to ascend into an immortal Daemon, by sacrificing the lives of every soul for light-years around."

"Can he do it?" Arkqas asked, "Become a Daemon?"

"Why do you care?! I just told you he plans to kill us all!"

"Merely trying to discern if we're dealing with a mad genius or a genius madman. The difference is no small thing, it will inform much of how we respond. This must be stopped, I agree on that, but how to act depends on whether he can achieve this goal or is merely raving into the wind."

Xavaar groaned, "I don't know, yesterday I would say no, but he's grown in ways I never suspected. I would say he's lost none of his intellect or cunning, he can and will kill us instantly if he finds out we plot against him. One leaked word and we're dead men."

Arkqas smiled wryly as he replied, "You realised you could not trust any soul in Oblivioni Cavum, and yet came to me for help. I am touched by your trust, and have my thanks."

"This is no time for self-congratulations," Xavaar spat, "If we had a single warp-capable ship, I'd be on board, fleeing the Sector, but there isn't so here I am."

"Nice deflection but I see through your bluff," Arkqas retorted, "You are capable of trust."

"Will you be serious!" Xavaar spat, "I'm trying to find a way to not die here!"

Arkqas scowled as he rejoined, "I am trying to make a point. You can't trust anyone among the exiles not to sell you out. We both know our Brothers, the shadow of Curze hangs over their hearts. In time we can wean them off his bitterness and show them the way back to nobility, but not today. Counting our assets, we can summon one sorcerer and one outcast, to thwart the machinations of an insane commander and his armies of Astartes and Mutilators… that sounds hysterically unlikely to succeed. So think wider, think beyond the walls of Oblivioni Cavum. Who else is in this stellar system? Who else would wish to prevent Chaos from erupting into the Materium? Who would love a shot at claiming a Chaos Warlord's head? "

Xavaar's jaw fell in shock as he gasped, "You don't mean… the Raven Guard?!"

"I do mean them. They won't have fled, their ship will be out there somewhere, lurking under those invisibility screens they refused to share with the other Legions."

Xavaar stared for long moments then hissed, "I know we call you mad, but this is delusional. The loyalists despise us, they hate everything about us. They won't help us, never in a million years. They wouldn't piss on us if we were on fire, hell they'd set the fire themselves and applaud as we burned."

But Arkqas explained, "I don't mean to ask them for help, merely show them a way to hurt Kharkul. Offer them a chance to slay a potent warlord and cripple their hated enemies. They won't pass that up. Trust their hatred, that you can count on."

Xavaar sighed, "They'll suspect a trap."

"Then convince them you are genuine in your intent. Make them believe you want Kharkul dead, it won't even be a lie."

"How?"

"You're the conjurer, make up some Grox-dung, it's what you're good at."

Xavaar shook his head and lamented, "This is never going to work."

"As you will," Arkqas sniffed, "Let's hear your brilliant plan to stop Kharkul…"

Xavaar glared at the mad warrior but had no witty come back. Like it or not Arkqas was right, they were out of options. Kharkul's insane scheme had to be stopped and there was nobody else who could do it. If they were to survive then Xavaar was going to have to do the unthinkable, reach out and talk to the Raven Guard. He had no idea how that conversation was going to go, but he suspected it would be bitter indeed. Still the attempt had to be made; the alternative was too hideous to contemplate.