Warhammer 40K - Farseer Page 26

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he decided that the thought was not his own, that it had been shaped somehow by some malevolent power that wished him ill. Perhaps the daemon was attacking on a subtler plane than he could understand. He cursed, knowing that he just did not know enough, that he was still an arrant amateur when it came to this sort of warfare.

  You are being attacked subtly, Janus Darke, whispered a voice in his head. Shaha Gaathon seeks to undermine your confidence, your will to win. It is will that enables you to wield these vast powers. If your confidence breaks, so will all of your defences, and you will yet know ultimate defeat and an eternity of bondage.

  Janus recognised the voice. It belonged to Auric. It seemed that somehow the eldar had survived, that his spirit had been swallowed by neither the daemon, nor the warp. Janus was not sure how the farseer had accomplished this, but he was grateful.

  Even as these thoughts flowed across his conscious mind more knowledge poured in along with it. He saw that there were many and various frequencies on the psychic plane just as there were in the sensory one. Just as there were sounds too high-pitched for the human ear to hear, or colours too subtle for the human eye to perceive, so there were wavebands of psychic energy that it was all but impossible for a master to perceive and manipulate. The vast sweeping flows of destructive energy that Shaha Gaathon had used were visible even to the naked eye, but the waves of despair were subtle tendrils infiltrating Janus's psyche, almost invisible against the backwash of mightier energies. He swiftly realised that they could be nonetheless deadly for all that.

  He saw also that some of the tendrils had fastened themselves leech-like to his aura and were draining off his strength and will.

  Swiftly, he swept the blade around in a mad dervish dance, breaking the psychic links. The runestones swirled through the air around him avoiding the passing blade, moving into new patterns and conjunctions which he was certain, that if only he could read them, would tell him all about the flow of powers around him. He cursed. Perhaps Auric could have read them and used that information to his advantage, but he could not.

  Instead, he strode forward, striking with the mighty blade at the sphere of energy that surrounded the daemon prince. The blade impacted and recoiled like a sword struck against a stone pillar. He could feel the resonance of the stroke passing up the blade. Cold fury filled him now. He wanted nothing more than to get at his foe and smite him, even if it cost him his own life. He drew back his arm for another blow.

  Do this! said the voice of Auric from within his head. Instantly a complex pattern of energies was diagrammed within his mind. He saw how to tap into his own power and the power of the sword, and intermesh the forces in such a way that they became vastly amplified. Almost without thinking, he duplicated the web he had been shown. The flow of lightning enwrapping the blade increased to eye-dazzling brightness. This time when it struck, the shield of energy around the daemon prince cracked. Fault lines appeared in its surface.

  Once more! Janus fed more power into the pattern and struck again, smashing the daemon prince's defensive orb into fast dissolving shards of energy. Janus saw what lay behind it. His psychically attuned senses perceived a huge snaky mass of interlocking black and red thunderbolts. Their energy was greater even than that which lay within the blade.

  All at once they lashed out, a great multi-headed hydra of energy he could not hope to completely block. Once more despair filled him. This time he knew it came not from outside but from within. Despite all his efforts, and all the efforts of Auric, he was going to be beaten. At least, he thought, with bleak satisfaction, he would have denied the use of his body and his powers to Shaha Gaathon. It was not much of a victory but it was all he was going to get.

  No, human, do not give up! Not now! We are so close to victory!

  What can I do, Janus fired back in response?

  Give me control!

  How?

  Relax! Do as I show you! Do not fight it! We have but instants left to act!

  Immediately knowledge of what to do flowed into his mind. He sensed the presence of Auric, closer than he had ever been before, and yet somehow infinitely distant.

  And then, he knew how the farseer had survived, and the nature of the connection that had been made between them, and why he had become so sensitised to the actions of the eldar psyker on the trip to Belial. The gem on his forehead was more than a mere protective device. It was a waystone linked to the one that Auric himself had worn. He saw that in the last seconds before being consumed the eldar's spirit had flowed down the link and now dwelled within the glowing gem on his own forehead. Thinking back on what the daemon prince had said, he realised that Shaha Gaathon knew this too.

  Even as the thoughts flashed across his mind, he became aware that he was willingly ceding more and more control to the eldar psyker, who was using his life force and his power, preparing to counter the daemon's stroke. As this happened, he caught glimpses of what was going on within the eldar's multi-compartmented mind. It was like running down the corridors of a vast gallery, catching sight just for a moment of innumerable painted scenes.

  He saw the eldar as a child greeting a tall farseer. He caught glimpses of thousands of futures, and the way Auric had striven to see some born and some unborn. He saw the beginnings of the eldar's training and the perhaps too swift progression through ranks of warlocks to the robe of farseer. He saw battles fought on a hundred worlds against men and daemons and orks. He saw psychic powers unleashed of a magnitude he would not have guessed existed.

  Each image came bathed in emotions, not the pallid emotions of mortal men, but the titanic, insanely strong feelings of the eldar, feelings that must be kept in check by rigid mental discipline and the application of pure strength of will. He caught something of Auric's towering loneliness, not just because he was an eldar but because he was a seer, and had always been one even from childhood, destined to stand apart even from those he shepherded. He saw also how early Auric had foreseen the coming of Shaha Gaathon and the path that would take him to Belial, and how he had decided to follow it to the bitter end. He saw that the other seers had opposed it, as an abomination, and why Auric had been forced to set off in secret with only the enigmatic Athenys as a companion. And at that moment, much too late and much to his own horror, he saw where the eventual end of that path led. He saw how truly honest, and how utterly dishonest, the farseer had been with him.

  While you live, I live. While I live, you live. It was true, but it was true in a way that no man would ever have dreamed or wanted. He saw now the mistake he had made surrendering his will and his power to the eldar's control, and how subtly he had been led to it. In the last few heartbeats before the climactic clash with Shaha Gaathon he understood what was going to happen.

  Briefly he considered fighting against it, unleashing his pent-up rage and frustration against the eldar sorcerer, but he knew that he would not do so. All that would result in would be a weakening of the farseer's psychic defences and inevitable death for them both. And most frustrating of all was the knowledge that Auric had foreseen this and was counting on it. Almost in blind mad rage, he considered doing it anyway, just to frustrate this cruel alien creature who would steal his flesh and his power. And yet he did not do so, for he knew too that the eldar would provide a haven for him against far worse things, such as the destruction of his soul.

  So he did not resist as his mind and his spirit were sucked inexorably into the waystone and Auric took possession of his body. Instead he watched, knowing that some day he would get the opportunity to reverse the situation, and that he would take it.

  Simultaneously, the farseer and the daemon prince unleashed their psychic bolts. Evil energies drawn from the daemon worlds clashed with the unleashed power of the deathblade. A million sub-bolts thrust and parried against each other. Like armies of warring serpents they intertwined, writhing against each other. The air stank of ozone and musk. A colossal lightning flash illuminated the Hall of Faces and suddenly silen
ce fell.

  Simon Belisarius leaned forward in the command throne. 'Damage reports!' he shouted into the comm-net.

  From where he sat things looked bad, but not too bad. The fires blazing around the command deck were being put out. Tech-adepts were already moving to replace the overloaded circuits that had sparked the blaze. Things could be worse, he told himself. Things could certainly be worse.

  Slowly, reports filtered in from the ship's various stations , and he made a calm assessment of the damage. Number two turret was gone. The entire reserve drive section was destroyed. Over a hundred crewmen were dead. The hull had been breached in a dozen places but so far nothing appeared critical.

  They had been lucky, all things considered. A competent enemy captain might have been able to outfight them: the Chaos ship had fought with ferocity but a strange lack of skill. It had allowed Simon to stay at long distance where he could pound it at his leisure, and only at the last had it managed a desperate rush to close range where its superior armament might earlier have made a difference. By then it was too late, the damage had been done.

  Simon was not complaining. Now they could pick off the Chaos shuttles almost at will. He offered up a prayer of gratitude to the Emperor and then spoke once more to the tech-adepts.

  'Open hailing frequencies,' he said. 'See if you can get me Commander Darke.'

  Auric moved slowly. He felt different. This borrowed body was too clumsy, its balance was all wrong. The senses were so dull, the reflexes so slow. Worse, it was already starting to affect his thinking. He felt stupider, less sharp by far than once he had. The strange chemicals in the glands were affecting his mood.

  A sluggish sense of triumph filled him. So far things had gone as he had foreseen. So far his plan was working out. He had acquired the sword, and prevented Shaha Gaathon from taking Janus Darke to be his host, hopefully for all time. All that was now left of the daemon prince's former host was a shrivelled corpse that even as he watched disintegrated into dust.

  The mutants and Chaos worshippers were all dead. As a last stroke he had collapsed part of the wall on the survivors using psychokinetic force. Overhead, he knew Simon Belisarius had mounted his surprise attack on the Pride of Sin, the Chaos commander no match for him in spatial combat. Soon a call would come through on the comm-net and he would have to respond. It was time to head back to the surface and depart.

  He saw that the surviving humans looked at him with a mixture of awe and fear. He had saved them and yet they hated him. It was only to be expected. They feared psykers like his own people feared the Nameless One, and with good reason. He did not think they would attack him. They still thought he was their leader after all, which would prove useful in the future. Even as he watched, the one called Stiel emerged from the crypt, carrying the heavy rifle with which he had sniped through the fighting. There was one to watch, Auric thought.

  'Where to now?' asked Athenys. She knew what had happened, he was certain. She could tell simply by observing the way he stood. It was part of the peculiar training she had received to be able to do such things. A good question, Auric thought, knowing that things were far from over. He had won merely the first round of his battle against Shaha Gaathon. Somewhere out there the greater part of the daemon prince survived and schemed revenge. And behind him stood something worse. Before he faced that though, there were other things to do, other enemies to confront.

  'Ulthwe,' he said out loud, his own croaking voice harsh in his clogged ears. 'We have unfinished business there.'

  He let out a long breath and looked down at the sword in his hands. It was an obscene thing, he thought, feeling the deadly power that thrummed through it, but there was work for it yet. Before he was finished many more would feel its power.

  Inside the gem on his forehead he felt the presence of Janus Darke. I am sorry for this, my friend, but the need was great, and will be greater yet. Guilt settled on him as he felt the power of the man's protests. He knew that great though it was, it was still far less than he would feel once he had finished what he set out to do.

  'Come,' he said to the survivors. 'We must go to the surface. Our ship awaits us.'

  Slowly the great mandala began to rise. Beneath them, Auric heard another part of the wall of faces collapse.

  Zarghan rose from the rubble of the Hall of Faces and checked the bodies of his followers. They were all dead, which did not surprise him. Most had been killed in the battle, a few like himself had been buried when half of the carved faces had collapsed at the peak of the duel between Shaha Gaathon and the possessed human. Only Zarghan's armour had kept him alive, and he shuddered to think how long it had taken him to dig his way out from under the wreckage. Still, he was an immortal; he had all the time in the world.

  Of course, he would need it. He guessed he would have a very long wait until another ship came this way, and this world was so insufferably dull. The music in his head played a despondent chorus and then fell silent.

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