Path of the Warrior (22 page)

“It may be to my advantage, a conflict in his thoughts, in his technique,” said Korlandril, trying to look for something positive in Elissanadrin’s warnings. He returned his gaze to the front. He felt Elissanadrin’s hand on his shoulder.

“You will be the better warrior,” she said firmly. Korlandril took strength from her conviction, detecting no deception in her tone.

Light flickered ahead, filling Korlandril with the urge to hasten his pace, nervous energy propelling him forwards. He resisted, keeping step behind the exarch. He focussed on the deliberate strides, turning them from a source of frustration to a purposeful meter, regulating his pulse and breathing in time to the solemn steps.

The tunnel led them into a broad octagonal chamber, the walls clad in the same tiles as the corridor. The circle at its centre was built from a low lip inscribed with narrow runes. From three other directions at right angles to each other, more portals led into the duelling chamber. At the same time as Kenainath stepped across the threshold, Aranarha entered from the left, also bearing the glowing sigil of his shrine.

The two exarchs signalled for their followers to take their places along the wall flanking their entrance, and then stepped up to each other, face-to-face within the circle. The Fall of Dark Rain outnumbered the Deadly Shadow by many members.

“Challenge has been set, so that honour is settled, and the truth be known,” intoned Kenainath. There was no anger in his tone, only the solemnity of the occasion.

“The challenge is taken up, to settle honour, to put to rest our dispute,” replied Aranarha with equal gravitas.

They turned to their respective champions. Both bowed and waved their representatives into the duelling area, withdrawing to stand side-by-side a few paces away. Korlandril strode into the circle, chainsword held lightly in his grasp, his eyes intent on Arhulesh as he approached. His opponent’s face was set in a serious expression but Arhulesh could not stop the briefest flickers of a smirk from his lips. Korlandril welcomed Arhulesh’s amusement; he judged it to be a sign of overconfidence.

The two of them nodded their heads in greeting, eyes fixed on each other, the light from the two shrine-totems casting long shadows across the floor. Slowly, the pair drew up their heads and moved unhurriedly into their fighting stances: Korlandril in Waiting Storm, Arhulesh in a subtly modified version of Rising Claw.

In the back of Korlandril’s mind floated the twin spheres of instinct and reason, hovering through and around each other. With his warrior intuition, he sensed that Arhulesh’s weight was more balanced to the left, while his reasoning eye calculated that a dropping slash would create the greatest problems from this position.

Without a word, Korlandril flowed into action, stepping forward and twisting into Moon’s Falling Wrath, his chainsword flashing towards Arhulesh’s chest. His opponent reacted in time, pushing the chainsword aside at the last moment before a strike would be called, but his balance had been shifted to his back foot, to the right.

Korlandril feigned a reverse cut towards Arhulesh’s front leg, sending him backwards, and then pivoted on one foot, ducking beneath his foe’s blade to bring his own towards the knee of Arhulesh’s back leg.

“Cut!” came the call from the surrounding warriors. Korlandril detected a note of triumph in the voices behind him, from the Deadly Shadow. His warrior-spirit throbbed with pride while his reasoning mind told Korlandril that the strike was just reward for a well-worked strategy.

The two exarchs nodded their agreement with the decision, their heads bowing briefly towards Korlandril. The two combatants straightened and returned to repose.

With a flash of foresight, Korlandril guessed that Arhulesh was expecting him to strike first again. Korlandril dropped his left shoulder by the tiniest movement, and as Arhulesh’s chainsword swung across his chest in response, Korlandril surged to his right, his feet dancing quickly across the tiled floor. Spinning, Arhulesh barely blocked the cut towards his lower back, and then launched an ill-judged thrust towards Korlandril’s throat. The Deadly Shadow warrior delayed his reaction by the tiniest of margins, leaning out of the blow’s path at the last moment so that Arhulesh was over-committed. A simple sweep brought Korlandril’s blade to within a finger’s breadth of Arhulesh’s neck.

“Cut!” The call from the Deadly Shadow was excited, that of the Fall of Dark Rain muted. Again the nods of the exarchs conferred the strike to Korlandril.

The third strike went to Arhulesh, who launched a blistering attack from the start, overwhelming Korlandril with the surprise of its feral ferocity. The next onslaught favoured Korlandril, who had expected a repeat, so that he led Arhulesh on a merry dance, defending and parrying but offering no counterattack until his foe was thoroughly off-balance and unable to ward away the strike.

Korlandril had no idea how the duel was ended. Was there a set limit, a score he needed to achieve? Or was it simply a matter of one exarch giving way to the inevitable?

Distracted by this consideration, Korlandril left himself open to a cut to his left thigh. Inwardly cursing his lack of focus, Korlandril raised his chainsword in salute to gain himself a little time to settle.

From then on, the duel was as one-sided as it had begun. Arhulesh’s blows were well-timed, some of them downright devious, but Korlandril had the measure of his opponent. As he fell further behind in the strikes, Arhulesh became more and more aggressive, striving after the victory.

Korlandril tried to be patient, but the ever more desperate attacks of Arhulesh were like a goad to him. The fiery sun of his warrior instinct grew in strength, while the pale moon of his reason shrank. It was enough, Korlandril realised. Arhulesh was fighting on instinct alone now, reducing the duel to a matter of reactions and animal guile.

“Cut!” The call echoed around the chamber once again. Korlandril was eight strikes to Arhulesh’s three. Kenainath raised a hand to halt the proceedings.

“The matter is done, the Deadly Shadow prevails: the honour is ours.”

Aranarha’s eyes went to Korlandril first and then to Arhulesh. The exarch of the Fall of Dark Rain opened his mouth to speak but Arhulesh cut across him with a strained rasp.

“No! I can do this!” Arhulesh squared off against Korlandril, his expression turning sly. “If an ork can best him, so too can I…”

Korlandril’s eyes narrowed as something surged inside him. Arhulesh launched an attack, aiming a cut towards Korlandril’s gut, hoping to capitalise on the distraction caused. Korlandril’s weapon swatted aside the predictable blow and he drove forwards, raining down strikes on the chainsword of Arhulesh. The red of his helmet filled Korlandril’s vision and there was a strange whirring noise in his ears as he relentlessly pressed forwards, hammering his blade from the left and right, from above and below.

Arhulesh’s eyes widened with terror as he desperately fended off each brutal attack.

Hands grabbed Korlandril’s shoulders and he was dragged out of the circle whilst others pulled Arhulesh to safety. As Korlandril’s back hit the tiles, he was jolted into sensation again. With mounting horror, he remembered that he was not wearing his helm; the red mist had been in his mind. The whirring sound had been the noise of his chainsword, activated by his anger.

He had been heartbeats away from donning his war-mask in a duel.

With Khaine by his side, Eldanesh vanquished the foes of the eldar. None could stand before the might of the Bloody-Handed One and his disciple. One evening as the crows feasted on Eldanesh’s slain foes, Khaine congratulated Eldanesh on his victories and promised him many more. The War God granted Eldanesh a vision of the future, releasing a drop of his fiery blood onto Eldanesh’s forehead. Eldanesh saw what would come to pass under the patronage of Khaine. Enemies unnumbered fell beneath Eldanesh’s blade and the might of the eldar grew to its zenith. All creatures were cowed before the strength of Eldanesh and all eldar paid homage to Eldanesh for his rulership. When the vision had passed, Khaine told Eldanesh that the War God would put aside his animosity for the Children of Isha if Eldanesh would simply swear fealty to the Bloody-Handed One. Eldanesh cared not for the bloody future of Khaine’s dreams and refused to give his oath to the War God. Enraged, Khaine struck down Eldanesh and the War in Heaven began.

Though Korlandril had lost his control at the end of the duel, it was agreed that he had gained the victory. Korlandril was the first to welcome Arhulesh back, greeting him in the armouring chamber.

“Your place is with the Deadly Shadow,” said Korlandril. “We are whole with you numbered amongst us.”

Arhulesh studied Korlandril, seeking some hint of reproach or gloating. Korlandril offered neither.

“I am sorry I insulted you,” said Arhulesh. “It was a sly ploy, one not worthy of the Striking Scorpions.”

“It was ill-judged, but I am glad that I did not make you pay too high a price for the error. I apologise for my reaction, it did not befit the conduct of a warrior facing one of his own.”

Arhulesh extended his hand with fingers outstretched and Korlandril touched fingertips with him, sealing the agreement.

“Kenainath has me training on my own again for the time being,” confessed Korlandril. “Also I am forbidden from leaving the shrine for the next twenty cycles. I think he trusts me, but he wishes to make a statement. I would not be surprised if he has something planned for you.”

“I’d deserve it,” Arhulesh said heavily. “Running off to Aranarha to spite Kenainath? I am truly my worst enemy sometimes. Such a fool.”

Korlandril said nothing. Arhulesh’s brow creased in a frown of disappointment.

“Was I supposed to argue?” Korlandril asked, keeping the smile from his face.

“I shall become a philosopher next and found a new Path,” said Arhulesh. He lifted a finger to his chin in a pose of mock thoughtfulness. “On this Path one shall be required to do the exact opposite of what one thinks to be right. I shall call it the Path of the Idiot.”

Korlandril laughed and clapped a hand to Arhulesh’s shoulder.

“I shall become your first disciple. While I have dabbled in idiocy several times, truly I should learn its intricacies under a great master. Short of running off to join the Harlequins, I can’t think of anything I could do to best your latest exploits.”

“Best not to mock the Harlequins,” Arhulesh said, becoming serious. “Cegorach still stalks the webway, after all. No point attracting attention to yourself.”

There was something in Arhulesh’s tone that betrayed a deeper meaning to his words, though Korlandril could not think what it might be. There was a story here, one that Arhulesh was unwilling to tell.

“You should see the others before Kenainath catches you,” Korlandril said with forced levity. “And before he sees you with me and extends my penance for another twenty cycles!”

“Good health and prosperity, Korlandril. If we are both fortunate, I will see you in twenty cycles’ time.”

Korlandril watched Arhulesh depart. When he was sure he was alone, he took up Rising Claw, continuing his ritual from where he had been interrupted. Out of the corner of his eye, Korlandril saw twin glimmers of red from the darkness of the doorway to the inner shrine and Kenainath’s quarters. In a moment, they were gone.

Korlandril endured his solitary punishment without complaint. When released by Kenainath, his first instinct was to meet the other warriors. He counselled himself against the urge and decided that he needed to seek less warlike company. It came to mind that he should see someone he had not visited in quite some time.

Thirianna’s surprise was a reward in itself. After a brief foray into the infinity circuit—the spirits within were not keen to be disturbed by active Aspect Warriors—Korlandril found her in the Garden of Heavenly Delights, poring over a scroll beneath the white-blossomed bower of a snow-petal. Thirianna was dressed in the deep folds of a blue robe, hung with rune charms and bracelets glittering with their own energy. Her hair was swept back in a long plait, coloured a deep auburn and decorated with ruby-red gems. She stood quickly, laying aside her text, and embraced Korlandril. Taken aback, he hesitated before wrapping his arms around her.

“I heard that you had been injured,” Thirianna said, stepping back to regard Korlandril critically, assuring herself that he was well.

“I am healed,” he replied with a smile. “Physically, at least.”

Korlandril gestured to the bench and the two of them sat side-by-side. Thirianna opened her mouth to say something but then closed it. A flash of concern marred her features.

“What is wrong?” Korlandril asked.

“I was going visit you, as there is something you should know. I would rather we spoke about other matters first, but you have caught me unawares. There is no pleasant way to say this. I have read your runes. They are confused, but many of your futures do not bode well.”

“There is nothing to fear. I have suffered some tribulations of late, but they will not defeat me.”

“It is that which worries me,” Thirianna said. She reached out and laid her palm briefly on his cheek, but he flinched at the touch. “I sense confrontation in you. You see every encounter as a battle to be won. The Path of the Warrior is taking its toll upon you.”

“It was one slip of concentration, nothing more,” said Korlandril, standing up. He stepped away from Thirianna, seeing accusation in her expression. “I stumbled but the journey goes on.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Has something else happened?”

Korlandril felt a stab of shame at the memory of his mistake during the duel. He did not consider it the business of Thirianna; it was a matter for the Deadly Shadow to resolve.

“It is nothing important, not of concern to the likes of you.”

“The likes of me?” Thirianna was upset more than angry. “No concern of a friend?”

Korlandril relented, eyes downcast.

“I almost struck a genuine blow during a ritual settlement.”