Blacktalon: First Mark Page 9

  ‘What is this device?’

  ‘Knowledge,’ said Skywarden with a smile. The star’s light limned his dark features and glinted upon his silver eye. ‘I am keeping your secrets, and in return I trust you to keep mine. Every eeyrie built thus far houses a Cognis Celestis in its highest chamber. It is the true purpose of these places, though in his wisdom our lord Sigmar has chosen to reveal this fact only to the Lord-Castellants that rule over the eeyries. We, in turn, tell a trusted few, but largely we are sworn to keep the God-King’s seeing-stars a secret, for if the enemy ever discovered them they could be turned into powerful weapons against us.’

  ‘It looks like some sort of caged celestial body,’ said Tarion, wonder in his voice.

  ‘In many ways it is,’ said Martoris. ‘I do not pretend to understand what divine powers our lord Sigmar used in the creation of these devices, but the tale I was told is this. Each Cognis Celestis is a star-mote, a fragment of the heart of a celestial monster that Sigmar slew during his first days in the void. It was a thing of the deepest night, which drew all knowledge, light and hope into its ever-open maw, and it had been driven to madness and ferocity by all the terrible things that it knew. The legend I have heard named this thing as Leviathor, and tells how Sigmar and Dracothian battled the abomination across the heavens, always avoiding its cavernous maw and the oblivion that lay within. At last, it is said, they slew Leviathor and its dark body tattered slowly apart, revealing a white-hot core of pure knowledge like the pearl within a clam’s jaws. Sigmar took this star of wisdom and struck it with Ghal Maraz, shattering it into fragments that he kept in Sigmaron until they could be of use.’

  Martoris’ deep voice had turned lilting as he told the legend, and Tarion now found himself stirring from rapt silence as the Lord-Castellant ended his tale.

  ‘And what we stand before, it is one of those… motes?’ he asked. Martoris nodded.

  ‘Much of what Leviathor knew was lost upon the beast’s death, but not all. Moreover, the burning star of curiosity and wisdom that had roiled in its gut remained a single entity, even after Sigmar’s shattering blow. Caged as the fragments are, they still gladly devour all knowledge that is passed into them, and allow it to flow freely between one mote and the next in a way we will never understand. In short, Arlor, if knowledge has been offered up to the Cognis Celestis, it can be extracted from any other Cognis Celestis anywhere in the realms.’

  ‘How does information reach these devices?’ asked Tarion. ‘If they are such a closely guarded secret, surely few have stood before them to submit their wisdom in the way you describe?’

  ‘The star-motes are rapacious,’ said Martoris. ‘Even caged in this way, they reach out and take what they want. The moment any Stormcast sets foot within the bounds of an eeyrie, everything they know, all their thoughts, memories, even their deepest secrets, are drawn from their minds and into the heart of the Cognis Celestis. Stars, it seems, do not wait to ask permission.’

  ‘It raids the minds of Sigmar’s warriors without consent?’ asked Tarion, aghast at such an invasive violation. ‘These devices… we are all being interrogated, without even knowing that we are?’

  ‘This offends you?’ asked Martoris.

  ‘It feels dishonourable, disingenuous.’ Tarion’s jaw tightened. ‘It means that my knowledge of Neave’s curse has been stolen into this thing!’

  ‘Calm yourself, Arlor. The Cognis Celestis are not easy devices to draw information out of. They contain entire constellations of useless background noise along with the vital strategic intelligence they were put in place to transmit. Only the Lord-Castellant of each eeyrie can access this information, and even then, one must know precisely what one is searching for. The star-motes are acquisitive and jealous, echoes of Leviathor himself. They do not easily part with their secrets, and yours will remain safe amongst the morass of pointless wisdom.’

  Tarion scowled. ‘Still, this sort of mental leechcraft is–’

  ‘–Necessary, as are all other weapons to be used in the war against Chaos,’ said Martoris, and Tarion was forcibly reminded that he spoke to one of the uncompromising Knights Excelsior. ‘Victory is all that matters, not delicate sensibilities. You Hammers of Sigmar enjoy the privilege of a certain naivete alongside your shining heroism. That is not so for us all. Now, do you desire the information that you came here for, or will you baulk at its source?’

  Tarion took a deep breath and thought about all that was at stake. He hesitated for a long moment, then nodded.

  ‘Whatever you can tell me.’

  ‘As I thought,’ said Martoris. He turned to the nearest bank of machinery set into the Cognis Celestis, and his fingers danced over runic sigils and glowing dials. His face set in an intent frown, and the starlight danced across his silvered eye as he worked. Tarion realised that Skywarden was not simply operating the machine but was in some way wrestling with the intellect of the star-mote trapped within it. He was a fisherman, plying his line and fighting a spirited, perhaps dangerous catch. He was a torturer, attempting to interrogate a demi-god. The longer Martoris worked, the more ferociously the bottled star flared and lashed, its cometary bodies arcing ­rapidly around it.

  Tarion took a step back as chain lightning stabbed out and crawled across the inside of the glass, questing fingers trying to grasp for Martoris and punish him for his temerity. The Cognis Celestis flared brighter and brighter, and Tarion shielded his eyes from the ferocious glare. He saw that Martoris had closed his living eye, only the swivelling silver orb continuing to stare into the Cognis’ depths. Tendrils of energy slammed repeatedly against the inside of the crystal dome, as though some vast beast was trying to reach Skywarden and strike him down.

  There came a final flare of light, an intense pulse of energy that shivered through the walkway, and then Skywarden stepped back from the now-smoking console. In one hand, he clutched a small flask of metal and crystal, within which a bright light shimmered.

  ‘Here is the information you seek, or as close as I could wrest from the Cognis’ heart,’ he said, holding the flask out to Tarion. ‘It is a place to begin. That will have to be enough. Simply open the filter in the flask’s lid, then stare into its light, and you will know that which you seek.’

  Tarion hesitated again, before reaching out to take the flask from Skywarden.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For your aid, and for your discretion.’

  ‘I ask that you tread lightly, in return.’

  ‘I will try,’ said Tarion. Skywarden kept his grip upon the flask for a moment longer, and Tarion found himself meeting the Lord-Castellant’s fierce stare.

  ‘The more valuable or dangerous the information that is drawn from within the Cognis Celestis, the harder it resists parting with it. I have used this device many times, and I have never, ever seen it lash out to the degree that it did today. Do you understand what I am saying to you?’

  Martoris released the flask, and as Tarion tucked it into a pouch at his belt he had the sense of stepping off the edge of a precipice into the void beyond.

  ‘I will act carefully, Lord-Castellant, you have my word, upon my honour as a Hammer of Sigmar’. Tarion offered Martoris a warrior’s salute, which was returned in kind.

  ‘Now, find yourself some victuals, take a few hours to meditate and restore your strength,’ said Skywarden. ‘You must be centred before you absorb the information you have been given, lest it overwhelm your spirit. And if the seer spoke true, it will be long before you get the chance to rest again, Tarion Arlor.’

  Tarion nodded and turned away, leaping from the railing and soaring to the chamber’s entrance. He passed swiftly through the curtained archway and descended the steps two at a time, his movements urgent and his mind whirling. As he went, the flask seemed to weigh heavily in its pouch.

  Chapter Six

  Knowledge blossomed into being in Tarion’s mind like buds becoming
flowers, one after another. His footsteps led him sure and unwavering through the Excelsian Eeyrie, back down to its lowest levels, towards the apothecaries’ chambers and the quarters reserved for those airborne allies of the Stormcast that could reach the magnificent structure.

  After eating and resting as best he could, Tarion had opened the filters on the flask and allowed the light of its secrets to flow into his mind. The experience had been unnerving in the extreme, not a didactic process or factual exposition, so much as the sensation of a door being opened within his mind so that knowledge might spill through. Now he followed that knowledge where it led him, trying to still the slight tremors in his hands all the while.

  Passing a pair of grim-faced Kharadron, Tarion hurried through a refectory chamber where more of the duardin skysailors were bickering over prices as they ate. He passed another arch and along a softly lit corridor lined with curtained doorways. Sweet-scented herbs burned in small braziers between each entrance. Further down the corridor, Tarion saw a pair of white-robed apothecaries, speaking in soft tones as they inspected a heavy brass ledger.

  He knew, with absolute certainty, where to go. As though guided by a bright light, Tarion strode to the third entrance along and swept the curtain aside. The chamber beyond was light and airy, its furniture stern but clean. In a bed beside the arched window lay a figure, who sat up with a start at the sight of a huge Stormcast Eternal looming in his doorway.

  ‘My lord,’ said the aelf, his voice grating and raw. Tarion saw that his skin was speckled with weird patches of scar tissue, and his eyes had a crimson tinge to them. The two paused for a moment in mutual surprise, unsure of how to proceed.

  ‘You are Thindrael Anyaerios, of the Swifthawk Agents, yes?’ asked Tarion. The aelf nodded, scrambling out of bed and offering a stiff bow.

  ‘I am, my lord,’ he said. ‘Has the Lord-Castellant finally answered my plea, then? Are you to aid me?’

  ‘Something of that nature,’ said Tarion smoothly. ‘It seems likely that we can help one another. Sit, please, and tell me how you came to be here.’

  The aelf’s features passed through several swift, complex expressions beyond the ken of even a reforged human such as Tarion, but he sat as instructed and cleared his throat with audible discomfort.

  ‘I am here, my lord, in hopes of vengeance,’ he began.

  Tarion flew, Krien soaring ahead. Thindrael’s skycutter skimmed through the clouds on Tarion’s right, almost close enough to touch. They flew above roiling storm clouds veined with crackling lightning.

  ‘Is it Sigmar’s storm?’ called Thindrael in his rasping voice. Tarion looked down, searching the clouds as though he could pierce them with sight alone.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘There’s every chance. The war spills onto new fronts every day. If it is so, we’d best stay high and remain undetected.’

  ‘As you say,’ said Thindrael, sounding unconvinced. He had accepted Tarion’s vague talk of a secret mission for the good of the heavens, but clearly hadn’t been entirely satisfied by it.

  ‘How far now, until we reach your former posting?’ asked Tarion.

  ‘Perhaps a day’s flight, perhaps more,’ replied Thindrael. ‘I can’t be sure – I was unconscious for a time as Hasha flew. He’d passed out of Ghyran altogether, through the Brazenreach Realmgate into the Ghurish Hinterlands before I knew where I was. It took me days to properly gain my bearings, my lord. I was just this side of the veil by the time I reached Excelsis and sanctuary.’

  ‘But now here you are, back in the skies above Verdantia, alive and seeking answers. Your fortitude is commendable, your determination no less so.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord, but neither of those qualities is responsible for my survival,’ said Thindrael, frowning over his reins a moment as Hasha flapped through turbulent air. ‘My patrol was commanded to be the eyes and ears of Sigmar’s armies in this Jade Kingdom, and we failed. We barely saw the killing blow coming ourselves, and of all of them only I lived. Shame and anger kept me alive, and now hatred drives me back. Whatever duplicitous creatures slew my comrades so cruelly, I want to look into their eyes as I end their lives. I want them to suffer, and to know that they do so at my hand.’

  Tarion glanced at Thindrael. It was easy to forget, he reflected, just how passionate aelven kind were. For all their grace and nobility, they felt hatred and anger on a level that few other sentient beings could understand.

  ‘I hope that I can help you to find the vengeance you seek,’ said Tarion. ‘Whatever force attacked you, it seems they are bound in some way to my own quest. Are you sure you remember nothing more of who or what they were? There might be some clue in their identity to how they relate to the answers I seek.’

  ‘I am sorry, my lord, but there is nothing more. I only pray that I can aid you in finding these answers some other way.’

  ‘With Sigmar’s blessings, we shall find both soon enough,’ said Tarion, as the two of them soared on through the gloom of evening, and the storm raged far below.

  The day-or-more turned out to be almost three. Tarion was forced to travel at Thindrael’s pace, for the aelf was still not fully recovered from his wounds, and as a mortal being he required food, water and sleep.

  Tarion chafed at each delay, his thoughts turning ever to Neave and the Shadowhammers, now a realm away and more. Would his friend have been able to conceal her visions? he wondered. Would they have become worse? Martoris’ ominous words came back to him time and again, and Tarion felt nebulous dread build in his chest as he wondered what dark fate Blacktalon was bound to.

  He kept these thoughts to himself, however, and did his best not to show his impatience. Thindrael was clearly in pain and exhausted by his exertions, and Tarion did not wish to add to the aelf’s burdens. They pitched camp atop high ledges dotted with sparse chitterpines and gloamingbells, and Tarion kept watch while his companion slept. He meditated in snatches, trusting Krien to warn him of approaching danger, and doing his best not to listen to the tortured moans and whimpers that escaped Thindrael’s lips during sleep.

  On the third morning, they soared over a vast river delta that teemed with incredible plantlife. Lianas thick as fortress towers coiled hundreds of feet into the air, forming lattices and tangles amidst which entire ecosystems thrived. Birds in their thousands flocked through the air, snatching insects from the skies to feed their young. Thick mists of spores billowed at ground level, rolling like fog banks across waters that meandered and glinted emerald and blue.

  ‘The mouth of the Everwash,’ called Thindrael, pointing downwards. ‘A beautiful region. It marks the southern boundary of Verdantia, and by Alarielle’s grace it has never known the touch of Chaos. I have my bearings now, my lord. We have drifted south of our course, but not by any great span. Follow, we will reach Highcrater Watch in a few short hours.’

  Thindrael plied his reins, turning Hasha north. The greathawk gave a spirited cry and beat his wings, driving on through the morning light. Tarion wheeled on his crystal pinions, settling back onto Thindrael’s right flank and dropping slightly behind. He was content to follow his guide for now, and to centre his thoughts in silence. Ahead, still little more than a grey suggestion on the horizon, lay the Tarrowhane Mountains amidst which Highcrater Watch lay. There, Tarion hoped he would find some hint of what to do next, and how to aid his friend in understanding her visions.

  ‘I am blind in this, Sigmar,’ he muttered. ‘But I have faith. Please, my lord, show me the way.’

  As they neared the mountains, Tarion and Thindrael found themselves flying into stiff headwinds that rose from the towering slopes. Dense forests flowed by below, some groves looking pristine and wild while others had a sickly cast to them and lurked beneath miasmal clouds.

  ‘The war has touched this land,’ cried Thindrael over the singing winds. ‘We believed that the sylvaneth had driven Nurgle’s followers from these w
oods altogether, but like mould the Chaos-worshippers always returned. Their war has become an endless cycle, one side lying fallow then resurging in fresh growth, then the other following suit. We may be safe, but I would not trust it. Be on your guard.’

  Tarion had sensed much of this without the aelf’s explanation, for his supernatural senses laid bare the threat of Chaos below. Yet he nodded and saluted his thanks, whistling for Krien to fly close and keep watch.

  The Knight-Venator and the skycutter swept high over the rotting forests and began to climb, riding gusting thermals up over the lower passes. The mountains themselves were magnificent and strange, Tarion saw, shattered and splintered into incredible shapes as though by some ancient cataclysm. They rose higher and higher towards where glimmering stars described strange constellations in the midday sky.

  Tarion and Thindrael’s senses were alert for the slightest sign of danger, yet they remained unmolested. Still, Tarion could not shake the sense of watchfulness that crept over him. He kept his bow in hand as he flew, ready to nock, draw and loose in a heartbeat.

  At last, with the rotting forests left many thousands of feet below and the wind bellowing around them, Thindrael and Tarion came in sight of Highcrater Peak. Thindrael angled Hasha upwards in a climb so steep that Tarion feared the aelf would be thrown from his skycutter, rapidly gaining height until they soared in thin and freezing air and could look down upon the peak from above.

  ‘How long can you stay at such heights?’ shouted Tarion over the wind. ‘You have ice forming on your craft!’

  Thindrael, swathed in his aelven cloak and still shuddering with cold, made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. He pointed down towards the peak, directing Tarion’s gaze.

  ‘It resembles a crown,’ said Tarion, taking in the deep crater dug into the very top of the mountain, the jagged spars of stone that rose around its edge.

  ‘Where is the watchtower?’ he called, confused. Thindrael was staring down intently, a frown creasing his features. He shook his head and sent Hasha into a steep dive, stooping towards the crater at speed.