neck to toe in tight fitting segmented armour； like the scaled skin of a serpent； glossy and black。 A
mask covered the left half of his face； its barbed blades； like the legs of spiders； pressing against his
flesh。 A pair of blood…red tattoos extended down his pale cheeks from his eyelids； like bloody tears。
“How many？” Dracon Alith Drazjaer said； his voice a soft purr。
The sybarite supplicant； Keelan； paled and licked his thin lips。 Unable to hold his master’s gaze；
his eyes moved to the figures behind the throne。 A pair of the dracon’s incubi guards stood there； but
there was no hope of support from them。 They were as still as statues； their faces hidden beneath tall
helmets； and they held curving halberds in their gauntleted hands。 Keelan’s eyes flicked to the other
two figures standing by the dracon’s side。
On the left stood the firebrand； Atherak； her tautly muscled body covered in swirling tattoos and
wych cult markings。 The sides of her head were shaved to the scalp and tattooed； and a ridge of
back…swept hair ran along her crown like a crest； falling down her back past her slim waist。 A
myriad of weapons were strapped to her limbs； and she sneered at Keelan。
On the right was the haemonculus； Rhakaeth； unnaturally tall and thin even by eldar standards；
his cheeks sunken。 He looked like nothing more than a walking corpse； and his eyes burnt feverishly
hot with the soul…hunger。 Keelan quickly averted his gaze； looking at the floor。
“How many？” Drazjaer asked again； a subtle change in his inflection registering his displeasure；
and the sybarite knew that he would not escape without punishment。 Dracon Alith Drazjaer of the
Black Heart Kabal was not a forgiving master。 Doubtless he would experience torment beyond
imagining at the hands of the haemonculus； Rhakaeth； but not death。 No； he would not be allowed
death。
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“We lost twelve of our number； my lord；” Keelan said finally。
“Twelve；” repeated his master； his voice expressionless。
“It was not the regular mon…keigh forces that we faced； my lord；” said the sybarite； desperation
in his voice。 “The… augmented ones were there。”
A line furrowed the dracon’s brow for a second； and the haemonculus； Rhakaeth； leant forwards
hungrily。
“You are sure？” asked the dracon。
“Yes； my lord；” said Keelan。 “It was not my fault； it was Ja’harael。 He is to blame。 He drew us
in； and we had no warning that we faced anything but the regular mon…keigh forces。”
“We should not have sought the service of the half…breed and its kin in the first place；” spat
Atherak； her cruel features sharpening。 Her muscles tightened； her hands clenching and unclenching
into fists； and beads of sweat ran down her long limbs。
“The mandrake half…breeds serve us well；” said Drazjaer evenly； dismissing the wych’s words。
“How many slaves did you take； sybarite？”
Keelan licked his lips again。 The dracon doubtless already knew the answer to his question。 He
looked up； feeling eyes upon him。 The haemonculus； Rhakaeth； was staring at him hungrily； a slight
smile upon his lips。 He looked like a grinning corpse； and Keelan swallowed thickly。
“None； my lord；” he said； his voice little more than a whisper。
“None；” said Drazjaer flatly； “for the loss of twelve of my warriors。”
“Ja’harael is to blame； my lord；” protested Keelan。 “If anyone is to be punished； it should be
him。”
“What have you to say on the matter； mandrake？” asked the dracon； and Keelan stiffened。
Ja’harael materialised out of the shadows next to him； darkness clinging to him like a shroud。 His
milky eyes stared into Keelan’s for a moment； and the sybarite recoiled at the half…breed’s presence。
He was an abomination； a thing that should not be； and his mouth went dry。
The mandrake’s skin was as black as pitch； and sigils were cut into his flesh； marking his
damnation。 The mandrakes were shadow…creatures。 Once； they had been eldar； but they had long
ago given themselves up to darkness； inviting the foul presence of others into their souls。 Now they
were something altogether different； living apart from the eldar race； preying on their own in the
darkness of Commoragh and the webway。 They existed in three planes—the real； the webway； and
the warp—and were able to slip between the realms at will。
“I did not realise that I was employed to safeguard your warriors from harm； Drazjaer；” hissed
Ja’harael。
“You are not；” said the dracon。 If he was offended by the casual use of his name； he gave no
indication。
“Their failure shames you； Drazjaer；” hissed the mandrake。 “They make you look weak。”
The dracon smiled coldly。
“Do not seek to goad me； half…breed；” said the dracon stroking his chin thoughtfully。 The
haemonculus leant over the dracon； whispering。 Drazjaer nodded； and leant back in his throne；
stretching his back languidly。
“The presence of the mon…keigh elite intrigues me；” he said finally。 “Their souls are much
sought after in Commoragh； and will garner much favour。”
“And perhaps offset a certain amount of your Lord Vect’s displeasure；” hissed Ja’harael。
Drazjaer’s eyes flashed angrily； but the mandrake continued regardless。
“Perhaps you see your time running out； Drazjaer； and your quota not yet achieved。”
A blade appeared to materialise in Atherak’s left hand so fast did she draw it； and in her right
she flicked her long whip； its barbed tips writhing like serpents across the floor at her feet。 Her
muscles quivered with anticipation； and Ja’harael smiled at her； exposing his array of teeth； flexing
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his fingers。 The wych cracked her whip and took a step towards the mandrake； but was halted by a
sharp word from the dracon。 Drazjaer’s anger was gone； and he smiled coldly。
“It seems you know much； half…breed；” he said； “but be careful； knowledge can be dangerous；
and my patience can be stretched only so far。”
The mandrake spread his arms wide and gave a mocking bow。
“The souls of the enhanced ones will offset any shortfall in the quota； it is true； and Rhakaeth
desires to work upon one of the enhanced mon…keigh creatures；” said the dracon； indicating the
haemonculus with one languid gesture； “though why he would wish to perform his art upon their
brutish forms is beyond my understanding。 However； he has pleased me of late； and I shall indulge
his whim。 Bring him some specimens； Ja’harael。”
“You would honour the half…breed abomination with this hunt？” sneered Atherak。 “Let me lead
my wyches in。 You owe me that honour。”
“You would make demands of me now； wych？” asked the dracon。 He did not look at Atherak；
and the words were said casually； but Keelan could feel the underlying threat in his voice。
“I make no demands； lord；” said Atherak； “merely a request。”
“Ah； a request；” said Drazjaer。 “I refuse； then。 Ja’harael will go。 He and his kin are being well
compensated for their service； and it is high time that they began earning it。 We shall see how well
he fares； since my warriors have failed me so。 Go； half…breed。 Get out of my sight； for your presence
is beginning to offend me。”
The mandrake grinned and then was gone； as if he had never been there in the first place。
“I’d like to gut the filthy creature；” hissed Atherak； and the dracon smiled。
“All in good time；” he said； stroking his chin。 Then his gaze dropped once more to Keelan； who
was trying to remain inconspicuous on his knees； praying that his lord and master might have
forgotten about him。
“Take him；” said the dracon； banishing any hope that Keelan had of escaping punishment。
“Rhakaeth； see that he is suitably chastised for his failure。 I leave the level of his punishment to your
discretion。”
Keelan felt his heart sink as he saw the hungry light in the haemonculus’s dead eyes。
“Thank you； my lord；” said the haemonculus； and Keelan was dragged away。
Marduk stood gazing down into the gaping hexagonal shaft that descended into darkness below。
Yellow and black hazard stripes lined the edge of the impossibly deep drop…off； and a steel barrier
stood along its rim to protect the unwary or the clumsy from falling。
It had been time…consuming but not difficult to breach the guild city； nor to penetrate to its heart。
Warning lights were flashing； and the immense cable that descended down the centre of the shaft
vibrated as the lift rose from the stygian darkness。 The cable was over five metres in diameter； and
was formed of thousands of tightly bound ropes of metal。 It connected the guild city to the mining
facility on the bottom of the ocean far below； and it shuddered as the lift ascended。
The surrounding loading area was vast； easily the size of one of the embarkation decks of the
Infidus Diabolus。 Scores of loading vehicles lay dormant in neat rows； as if in readiness to unload
the next shipment of the ore transported up from the mining facility below。 Over a hundred servitor
units stood immobile within the arched alcoves lining the loading dock walls； their arms replaced
with immense power lifters。 Massive hooks and clamp…mouthed lifters hung from thick chains
linked to heavy machines overhead that would come to life to lift the heavy containers of mining ore
onto waiting transport pallets when a fully laden lift ascended from below。
The lift rose from the shaft； water streaming from its sloping sides。 It was shaped like a
diamond； with powerful engines positioned in either tip that hauled it up the thick cable。 It came to a
grinding rest； and steam and smoke spewed from the engines as they powered down。 The sides of
the pressurised； octagonal lift hissed as they slid upwards； exposing the expansive interior。
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The lift was spartan； consisting of a single grilled； open floor…space where cargo could be
loaded； with a barricaded area around the thick cable that spooled through its centre。 In effect； the
lift was like a massive bead through which the thick cable was threaded； and its interior； though the
ceiling was low； was large enough to house half a tank company。 Its sides were thickly armoured to
withstand the intense pressure of deep sea。
“Sabtec； Namar…sin；” said Marduk。 The two named champions snapped to attention。 “You and
your squads are to stay behind； to hold this position。 Khalaxis； you and your brethren will join me；
Burias and the Anointed for the descent。”
“You heard the First Acolyte；” barked Kol Badar。 “Let’s get this done。 Move out。”
The chosen warriors stamped forward into the expansive interior of the lift。 Buzzing strips of
glow lights hung from the roof of the lift。 More than half of them were dark； but the flickering
remainder lit the space with a dim； unnatural light。
“Darioq…Grendh’al；” said Marduk； his voice commanding； “come。”
Impelled by the power in the First Acolyte’s voice； the magos stepped forward obediently。
Marduk slammed his fist down onto a large button on the lift’s command console； and the sides
of the lift began to close； venting steam。
“May the gods be with you；” said Sabtec； bowing his head as the doors slid shut。
“Oh； but they are；” said Marduk。
Burias tensed； sniffing the air as an unusual scent reached his nostrils。 It was the same odd scent
that he had registered just before the dark eldar attack in the tunnels。 His every se