Path of the Warrior (21 page)

Korlandril did not reply, though he knew she spoke the truth.

“It is dread of the future that makes us cling to the past,” said Arhulesh. “Perhaps Korlandril is scared that he will become an overbearing dullard!”

“And what is it that you fear?” demanded Korlandril, his tone fuelled by sudden annoyance. “Being taken seriously?”

The hurt in Arhulesh’s expression sent a stab of guilt into Korlandril, who reached out a hand in apology. Arhulesh waved it away, his smile returning.

“Harsh, but perhaps true,” he said. His smile faded a little. “If I cannot take myself seriously, how can I expect anybody else to do so?”

“You are a warrior, it is a sombre responsibility,” said Elissanadrin. “Surely you can take some respect from that.”

Arhulesh shrugged.

“In my war-mask, that is certain. The rest of the time… I would laugh at myself if it was not so depressing.”

“Surely you became an Aspect Warrior to develop some gravitas,” said Korlandril.

Arhulesh laughed but it was a bitter sound, devoid of humour.

“I joined for a wager,” he said. He lowered his gaze sorrowfully while the others frowned and shook their heads in disbelief. “It is true. I went to Kenainath for a bet. I thought he would reject me.”

“An exarch cannot send away those that come to them,” said Elissanadrin.

“I wish I had known that now. He kept me there, like he kept both of you, until he’d delved inside my spirit and placed the seed he would nurture.”

“Why did you not leave?” asked Korlandril. “I mean, after your first battle?”

“I may have stumbled onto the Path of the Warrior by mistake, but I am not so self-centred that I would glibly depart from it. Maybe it was the lesson I needed to learn. Still need to learn.”

Korlandril glanced to his left, across a row of empty tables and benches, to where Bechareth sat looking over the park and lakes beneath the cloudstar bubble.

“And you know nothing of his story?” Korlandril asked.

“Nothing,” said Arhulesh. “I know more about Kenainath than Bechareth, and that is little enough.”

“I think he was one of the earliest exarchs on Alaitoc,” said Korlandril. “He told me he was not the first but said that the Deadly Shadow has not had many.”

“That chimes with what I have heard, in rumour and whispers from others that once fought with him,” said Elissanadrin.

“Of all the shrines to go to for your wager, why in all the galaxy did you choose Kenainath’s?” asked Korlandril.

“I cannot reason it,” replied Arhulesh, giving another shallow shrug. His brow furrowed. “He is a hard taskmaster. I have spoken to warriors from other shrines; they train half as much as we do.”

“I would rather be over-trained than under-trained,” said Elissanadrin. “In battle, at least.”

“Yes, in battle, perhaps, but we wear our war-masks for a fraction of our lives, it seems such a waste.”

“He is serious-minded, I like that,” said Korlandril. “Take Aranarha, for instance. He seems too eager. I do not think I could trust him.”

“He was once a Deadly Shadow,” Arhulesh confided quietly. “I have spoken with Aranarha several times, and I think he resents the ancient exarch a little. He is trapped on the Path, dedicated to Khaine’s bloody service, but locked away in there is some kernel of anger at Kenainath for allowing him to become trapped.”

“I think there is more the hand of destiny at work here than any ill-doing on the part of Kenainath,” said Elissanadrin. “It is inevitable that some will become enamoured of battle after much time, as surely as a farseer turns to crystal with the passing of an age. If nobody became exarchs, who would train the generations to come?”

Korlandril pondered this for a time, trying to imagine a universe without the touch of Khaine. The others continued to talk but he did not hear their words. He pictured Alaitoc free of bloodshed, free of the iron beast at its heart, the pulsing blood-wrath fragment of Khaine that dwelt inside every eldar just as it lay dormant in its chamber at the centre of the craftworld.

He then pictured Alaitoc overrun, by orks perhaps, or maybe humans, or some other upstart race. Without Khaine, without war, the eldar would be defenceless. Little enough remained as echoing vestiges of their great civilisation. Without anger and hate, they would be wiped from the stars.

“It is a dream without hope,” he said eventually. “Peace is merely an illusion, the momentary absence of conflict. We live in an age of bloody war, interspersed with pauses while Khaine catches his breath. I think I understand Kenainath a little better now. It is right to wish that the universe was otherwise, but it is foolish to think that it ever will be.”

“You see?” chuckled Arhulesh. “You are a warrior now, and fear a future where you will no longer have a place.”

“Things change,” said Elissanadrin. “You should learn from your healer; there should always be room in your spirit for hope.”

“All things change, and yet nothing alters,” said Korlandril, awash with philosophic thought. “We know that everything is a great cycle. Star becomes stardust to become another star. War becomes peace to become another war. Life becomes death…”

“…becomes life?” said Arhulesh. “I hope you’re not referring to my spirit meandering around the infinity circuit when this handsome yet fragile body finally succumbs. That isn’t life, is it?”

Korlandril had no answer. He was not quite sure what his point had been, and reviewing his words brought back nothing of the momentary insight he thought had occurred.

“As warriors, our deaths may bring life—for other warriors and for those on Alaitoc that we protect,” said Elissanadrin.

“I do not think that was the conclusion I had in mind,” said Korlandril. He stretched and stood up. “With that being said, I think it suffices for now.”

As he walked across the Crescent of the Dawning Ages, Korlandril felt eyes upon him and glanced back to see Bechareth staring intently in his direction. The Striking Scorpion made no attempt to hide his interest and raised his goblet in wordless toast. Korlandril gave a half-hearted wave in return and hurried out, unsettled by the attention of the silent warrior.

The cycle of life continued. Korlandril practised and duelled, and when not in the shrine he made an effort to visit his old haunts around Alaitoc—taking the air carriage across the swirling seas of the Dome of Infinite Suns, climbing the cliff paths of the Eternal Spire, swimming in the gravity-free Well of Tomorrow’s Sorrows.

He sculpted too, moving on from his Isha fetish to portraits of his shrine-companions that he gifted to each of them, save for Kenainath, whose essence refused to be captured by the psychic clay in any fashion satisfactory to Korlandril. He toyed with the idea of Dreaming for a while, but was hesitant to find a partner to join him, knowing well the dark places such memejourneys might take him. He even met with Soareth a few times, though not within the healing halls. They walked along the sandy shores girdling the circular Sea of Restoration and spoke of things other than Korlandril’s injury and Soareth’s healings.

Korlandril enjoyed the normality of it all. He knew that at some time, near or far, he would be called again to bring out his war-mask. He did not know what awaited him when that happened. He believed himself content, though he would sometimes wake from sleep with the lingering edge of a dream in mind, a momentary after-image of a shadowy red-eyed figure left in his thoughts.

As the dawn of a new cycle flickered into artificial life, he returned to the Deadly Shadow to find his companions in much agitation. They were gathered in the central chamber, where Kenainath paced aggressively back and forth across his dais. Red-tinged darkness swathed everything, flowing along the chamber in unsettling waves.

“What is occurring?” Korlandril asked quietly as he took his place beside his armour.

“A grave dishonour, done to me and to you all, that must be addressed,” growled Kenainath. “An insult to us, an affront to our true code, a doubt to be purged.”

Korlandril turned to Elissanadrin for explanation.

“Arhulesh has left the Deadly Shadow and joined the Fall of Deadly Rain,” she replied in a terse whisper, her eyes narrowed. “He has chosen Aranarha’s teachings over those of Kenainath.”

Korlandril redirected his attention to the exarch, who stopped his prowling and crouched at the front of his stage, his eyes roving from one follower to the next. They settled on Korlandril.

“You will represent, champion of this great shrine, against Arhulesh. To end this dispute, affirm the Deadly Shadow, the shrine of first truth.”

“I have no dispute with Arhulesh,” replied Korlandril. “It seems to me that your division is with Aranarha as much as anybody. If a duel is to be fought, it should be between the exarchs of the shrines.”

“Not my skill in doubt, a question of battle-lore, it mocks my teachings. Pupil faces pupil, this shrine’s technique against theirs, to show the true Path.”

“It would be unwise to choose me to represent the Deadly Shadow in an honour-duel,” said Korlandril. He remained calm in demeanour, but inside his heart fluttered at the prospect of representing the honour of the shrine. It was a burden he felt unable to carry. “Bechareth is the finest warrior amongst us, bar you. He should be your champion.”

Kenainath shook his head.

“It is you I choose, my most recent of students, my faith is certain. It is Korlandril, the newest of our number, who I believe in. No greater lesson, no better demonstration, than your victory.” Kenainath made a slashing gesture with his hand to show the matter had been settled and he would brook no further argument. The exarch’s agitation was replaced with satisfaction at this pronouncement. “Six cycles from now, in a place neither ours nor theirs, you face Arhulesh. Prepare yourself well, fight with bravery and skill, compete with honour.”

Korlandril stood dumbstruck as the exarch stalked from the chamber. He started as Bechareth laid a hand on his shoulder. The warrior winked and nodded his approval. Elissanadrin was less convinced, if her expression was to be judged. She cocked her head to one side, examining Korlandril.

“It would destroy the last remnants of Kenainath’s reputation if you fail,” she said sternly. “It is not only the honour of the Deadly Shadow that rests on your shoulders; it is the shrine’s entire future. If you defeat Arhulesh he must renounce his change of heart and return. If you lose to him, he will remain with Fall of Deadly Rain.”

“I see,” said Korlandril, speaking out of instinct. He rubbed his chin with a slender finger. “Actually, I don’t. The loss of Arhulesh is no great thing.”

“Number us,” said Elissanadrin. Korlandril did so: Himself, Bechareth and Elissanadrin, as well as Kenainath. That made four…

“Oh, I
see,”
said Korlandril. “Unless Kenainath brings back Arhulesh or replaces him quickly, there are too few of us to operate as a squad.”

“Kenainath will be forced by tradition to send us away and the shrine will be disbanded.”

“What would happen to Kenainath? What do exarchs without warriors do?”

Elissanadrin shrugged and shook her head mournfully.

“I do not know, but it cannot be good. For Kenainath, surely it would be the end of him. He has dwindled in reputation for an age; perhaps this will be the blow that finally finishes him.”

Korlandril glanced towards the portal that led to the exarch’s private rooms. He disliked Kenainath, had done so since they had first met. But he did have respect for him, and for what he had taught Korlandril. Something else passed across his thoughts. Arhulesh had not only abandoned the exarch, he had walked away from all of them, and the memories of those who had been Deadly Shadow in time past. The thought that the Deadly Shadow would be no more irked Korlandril, and to be sacrificed by the whim of Arhulesh was meaningless. Dormant for some time, the serpent of Korlandril’s anger flicked out its tongue, tasting his annoyance. It uncoiled slowly, basking in its return to favour. Korlandril did not fight the creature, but instead allowed it to wind itself into his heart and around his limbs. Its embrace brought resolve, brought strength.

“It will not come to pass,” Korlandril said, fixing Elissanadrin with a stare. “I will make sure of that.”

The warriors of the Deadly Shadow followed their exarch along the narrow tunnel, walking at a measured pace. Kenainath held a sceptre, the head of which was fashioned in a glowing representation of the shrine’s rune. It was the only illumination, bathing the close walls with its red glare.

They had departed the Shrine of the Deadly Shadow beneath the armoury through a mist-filled portal none of them had seen before. Korlandril tried to work out the direction they were taking but could come to no clearer conclusion than that they were heading rimward. The passageway was walled with small glassy tiles, of varying shades so dark that they seemed to be black with the barest hint of purple and blue, green and red. There was no pattern to the colours that Korlandril could discern, though on the periphery of vision he was reminded of the mangroves of the Deadly Shadow shrine, their shadows and dismal colours hinted at but not revealed.

The squad’s armoured footfalls were stifled by an earthy layer underfoot as they snaked along the straight corridor. The air was chill in comparison to the humidity of the shrine’s dome, so that faint breath steamed the air as they advanced.

“Do not allow Arhulesh to take the initiative,” whispered Elissanadrin from behind, repeating the advice she had constantly given Korlandril for the past five cycles. “The Fall of Dark Rain style relies less on the guile of the Dark Shadow and more on aggression.”

“
Yes,
I understand,” said Korlandril, keeping his gaze on the back of Kenainath.

“But be careful, Arhulesh is still Kenainath-trained, and he has faced you many times.”

“No more or less than I have faced him,” said Korlandril with a smirk. His joke settled his nerves a little though Korlandril sensed irritation from Elissanadrin and glanced over his shoulder to see that it had brought forth a scowl.

“He will have not changed much in the short time he has been with Aranarha, but perhaps just enough to make things difficult for you.”