The Seer of Corrinto

The lander thundered through the skies of the Groden Moon, sweeping over the swampland below with the sound of screaming ram-jets. Its escorts, two similar painted grey-blue Lightenings peeled off and arced back into the sky. The Aquila class lander kept on going, powering barely three metres above the forest canopy. Strange reptilian birds and furry winged mammals fluttered angrily into the sky, squawking at the new predator invading their territory.

“This is nothing short of heresy!” Interrogator Rufus Thracken growled from inside the cockpit, peering with disgust at the green-grey swamps below. The swamp-forest covered the moon as far as the eye could see, a vast snot-green ocean of overgrow fungus spewed under a sickly ochre sky. “We should simply kill this witch and have done with it! Not consort with the fiend!”

“Hold your tongue Rufus, or I will have Orgustos cut it out. That’s strike one. Your words are beginning to sound a lot like insubordination.” Exander purred with a half-smile, giving his subordinate a sidelong stare with cold eyes as he tightened his gloves. His yellow irises almost made the Interrogator shudder. Almost.

“I live to serve you, Inquisitor,” he snarled, biting back a slur. His tone dripped with loathing but Exander seemed to enjoy it. His mouth curved into a smile so slight Thracken couldn’t be sure it was really there, but felt sure it was. It was as close to pretentious as the near-emotionless Inquisitor ever got, but Thracken just knew behind that collected, dignified facade was a man bloated with self-importance.

“You think like a common soldier too much,” the Inquisitor sighed, now adjusting the mesh armour concealed beneath his fine grey-blue robes. “What’s that old Terran saying? You can take the soldier out of the war, but not the war out of the soldier. You’re not in the Guard now, Rufus. You don’t have to follow orders like a dog. You’re allowed to think for yourself, to think independently. This opportunity is too great to waste; I’m surprised even you can’t see that.”

Thracken breathed out his nostrils heavily, striking his knee with a clenched fist. He swallowed hard and calmed himself down. If there was one thing that made his blood boil it was Exander giving him a lecture. The bastard acted as if he was a veteran of the Ordo Xeno, when in truth he’d been an Interrogator alongside Thracken not fifteen months earlier, under Inquisitor Einroth. He wasn’t even a full Inquisitor; he was still subject to repeal until he proved his abilities.

And Exander had decided to prove them by hunting down the legendary Eldar renegade Taggarath, the Seer of Corrinto. It had taken the best part of two years, and Thracken had been ordered along too, by Einroth, to act as Exander’s second. The Interrogator made little effort to hide his distaste for the situation. It wasn’t just his sudden subordination to a man who had been his equal and rival for over a decade; it wasn’t that they were chasing an old witch when an Imperial Crusade was in full swing; it wasn’t even how different their methods and mentality were. What Thacken hated was that he couldn’t understand why Exander had been chosen for advancement over him. What did Exander have that he didn’t?

“I should be at the frontlines,” he growled darkly, thinking of the valiant men dying to protect the Imperium light-years away. “The entire Damocles Gulf is at war and here I am floating over this wretched mud-heap!”

“Ever the Guardsman I see,” Exander chuckled, now tightening his boot straps. It was as if the man never sat still. “We will return to the Crusade, Interrogator. But with a weapon that will insure a sweeping Imperial victory, saving countless human lives. The ability to see into the future, can you image the possibilities?”

“Spoken like a true radical, Exander. You dance with heresy,” Thracken hissed, his voice grave, eyes fixed on the new Inquisitor intently, hoping that even he could see reason. “The only thing we need is a bolt in the brain of every alien and every witch! Throne, by that count I’ll gladly give Taggarath two!”

“Spoken like a true Monodominant,” Exander retorted, brushing his long ash white hair. His face was deathly pale, made deathlier in the dim light of the cockpit, an unhealthy pallid texture with a slight light blue hue, not helped by corpse-blue lips and dark black tattoos around the eye sockets. Thracken studied Exander’s youthful, sculptured features, trying to identify why they repulsed him so inexplicably. He pondered the hypocrisy of Exander scorning him for looking like a common soldier when he himself looked like a death cultist who’d raided a hive-noble’s wardrobe.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the Interrogator spat.

Exander shrugged, his ceramite pauldrons chinking. “I wouldn’t.”

Thracken flexed his fingers. The passive-aggressive bastard could cruck an ork for all he cared, he was proud of his monodominance. He had been brought up a Guardsman and had the face and scars to prove it. He was a well-built man with a blunt, hard face, a militaristic dark haircut and a jaw that looked like it could bite the snout off a Tarellian. It had been his hatred of xenos and his faith in the dominance of Mankind that had set him apart from his comrades so long ago. Set him apart so much he’d been chosen for elite training at the Schola Progenium on Clore, ready to become an elite storm trooper. It had been there he’d proven his potential to Einroth and given the chance to become a member of the Ordo Xeno. His repugnance at all things alien and his faith in all things human were his greatest strengths. The idea of letting a single thing live that wasn’t to human perfection sickened him.

“It’s all academic anyway,” Thracken suddenly barked. “What makes you so sure the alien won’t just attack?”

“Curiosity? I can’t image he gets many visitors not trying to kill or capture him. How many rogue traders and slavers did we find trying to hunt him down themselves? It seems even the dregs of Imperial society know his worth better then you.” Thracken let that one slide. Exander waved a hand dismissively. “Besides even if he does prove hostile I doubt he’ll prove much of a threat. Even a Farseer’s abilities will be sorely tested against me.”

“And what if his not alone? What if his got an entire strike force with him? What if he has half of Corrinto or wherever down there in waiting?” The Interrogator pressured. “We should have brought an entire regiment with us. Laxity can not be forgiven.”

“A strike force of Guardians you mean? Equipped with grav-falcons and fire-prisms and the kind of advanced weaponry and technology our auspex can detect in a heartbeat?” Exander countered. “Armoured with the type of wraithbone our scanners have been designed to target down to a cubic inch?”

Thracken grimaced. His fears of an Eldar war host lying in wait were at least unfounded. Exander had equipped their orbiting ship with scanners that could locate even the smallest amount of wraithbone. It was a tiny amount that they were tracking to a village now. While he was just thinking that a rogue Farseer was bad enough, the pilot turned around and let them know they were close to their destination.

“Besides we’re dealing with a Farseer,” the Inquisitor said distractedly. “If he’s here it’s likely he has already seen us coming.” Exander fixed Thracken with an amused stare. “Already seen our entire conversation.”

The lander shuddered slightly with atmospheric friction as it began to decelerate and let its wings unfurl, the air striking against the outer hull. From his view out the cockpit viewport Thracken could see little details in the swamp below. Mostly ugly, shrunken, withered trees and dirty rocks surrounded in pools of slimy mud and obscured by a thick grey mist. Spotted here and there were vague suggestions of ruins, little fragments of architecture suggesting a forgotten civilisation. Ahead, occasionally visible through the haze of stained sulphuric coloured clouds, a single mountain rose above the landscape.

“What if the rumours of primitive Eldar are true? I don’t like the idea of landing among an entire tribe of savage Eldar,” Thracken suggested, smoothing his own storm coat out.

“I expect the rumours are true, but that’s why I brought Orgustos,” the Inquisitor explained fixing a wide-brimmed witch-hunter style cap over his ashen hair. “We’ll know soon enough.”

The Interrogator glanced behind him into the shuttle’s passenger compartment. The rest of their retinue sat in their restraints adjusting armour and checking weapons. There was a wide assortment of individuals all hired for their differing range of skills to act as the Inquisitor’s private war band of bodyguards, assassins, soldiers and servants. Thracken studied the largest of the retinue, a half-Ogryn named Orgustos. The massive, muscled half-twist wore a white tank-top and the lower half of a brown bodyglove and was busy prepping a heavy-bolter in his meaty hands.

“We’re close to the village?” He asked the pilot.

“Yes, my lord,” the other confirmed. “It should be visible soon.”

Thracken murmured an acknowledgment and checked the bolt-pistol holstered to his right thigh, adjusting its scope. Exander could be as confident in his abilities as he wanted. Thracken trusted nothing but a good bolter.

The ruins nestled against the southern base of the mountain were almost undetectable from over the forest canopy. Many of its squat, crumbled buildings extending deep under the cover of the surrounding trees. Exander had the pilot circle twice and then put down in the centre of what appeared to be a clearing in the middle of the village, facing a large, impressive-looking stone temple.

Thracken knew next to nothing about architecture, but knew enough to recognise none of these buildings were of Imperial origin. He was less interested in the buildings however then the life-forms the auspex said were hiding inside and behind them.

“Do you think these creatures will be the submissive type, or the hostile kind?” The Interrogator asked his abhorrent superior.

“Hostile I should think,” Exander said, stepping through the passenger compartment to the lander’s exit ramp where Orgustos and the rest of the dozen strong retinue formed around him. A female death maiden handed the Inquisitor his weapon, a two-metre long quarterstaff of obsidian called a null rod, crackling with anti-psychic energy. “Most aliens are. Shall we go?”

The ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulic steam. Gritting his teeth Thracken joined the retinue just behind the Inquisitor. With Orgustos in the lead, they headed down.

The stink hit them first. After the best part of fifteen months inside the sterile hull of a navy warship and the less-sterile but more perfumed rogue traders the stench of mud, lichen, damp trees, rotten roots, and wet stone almost made Thracken gag. After the initial overpowering of the olfactory system, the smells, although hideous, were exhilarating in their unpleasantness.

After the stench come the feel of the moist chilly air. So used to the contained climate inside the starship the novelty of his skin crawling and flesh bumping in the cold was not something Thracken expected to enjoy, but quietly he revealed in the sensation. After that came the sharp tug of gravity, obviously slightly heavier on Groden then the cruiser’s artificial gravity.

“What do you think about the Farseer, Orgustos?” Exander asked the bulky ex-tribesman casually.

Orgustos shrugged, busy scanning the swamp with his small, humble and rather gentle eyes. “If ya’ can see wa’ people a’ gunna’ do before they do it ya’ can stop em can’t ya?”

“Sound logic Orgustos, thank you,” Exander gave a condescending glance over his shoulder at Thracken. The Interrogator snarled.

“Cruck you and your mutant pet,” he spat through bared teeth.

“Strike two, Interrogator.”

Nothing shot at them as they reached the ground and took a few tentative steps through the mud. Nor did anything scream, call out, or make any appearance at all. “They fear the might of the Imperium.” Thracken murmured, keeping his hand on his pistol’s hilt as he looked around.

“They fear strangers with guns,” Exander said, pulling a vox-enabler from his equipment belt. “Understandably. Let’s see if they’ll be hospitable.”

Holding the device in his freehand, he raised it over his mouth. “I seek the Seer of Corrinto,” his aristocratic, cultured voice boomed across the square, echoing from the surrounding buildings. “Who will take me to him?”

The last echo died away into silence. Nothing but the sound of chirping forest birds and the chattering of swamp insects filled the void. Exander lowered his enabler and waited. His war band fidgeted as the seconds ticked by without response.

“Maybe they don’t speak Gothic?” Thracken suggested with a bitter smile.

“No, they understand,” Exander said coldly. “Let’s see how they deal with Inquisitorial style diplomacy.” He raised the enabler again. “I seek the Seer of Corrinto,” he repeated. “If no-one will take me to him, you will all suffer under the heel of the righteous!”

The words were barely out of his mouth when, without warning, an arrow flashed towards him from the right.

A metre away from the Inquisitor’s heart the arrow came to an abrupt halt in midair.

Thracken stared at the piece of wood and metal, his brain slowly catching up with what had happened. Exander had plucked the arrow from the air. He hadn’t used his hands; he used one of the four long spindly, flexible black mechadendrites that suddenly sprouted from under his robes. He held it before him between a pair of metallic claws before crushing the primitive weapon with the advanced bionic.

“Hold fire,” Exander ordered as Orgustos leapt forward, his heavy bolter ready. The rest of the retinue readied weapons. “You have the location?”

“Uh-huh,” the half-Ogryn nodded, nudging his heavy weapon at a squat two-storey building a quarter of the way down the clearing under a large bent tree.

“Excellent,” Exander readied his enabler again. “One of your kind just shot at us. Observe Imperial forgiveness,” lowering the enabler he nodded to Orgustos. “Fire.”

Nodding his big bald head Orgustos proceeded quickly, carefully, and expertly to destroy the building. Demonstrating tremendous talent for destruction he took out the windows and doors first, putting perhaps several hundred high-explosive rounds through them to discourage further attack. His sustained fire awoke the swamp, filling the already foggy air with coiling discharge smoke and a booming retort that battered against the eardrums, sending flocks of rat-birds and bat-hawks squealing into the air. He switched to the lower-floor walls. By the thousandth shot the building was visibly crumbling into pieces. A handful of shots into the upper walls, a few more into the lower-

With a thunderous crash, the building collapsed in a dust-cloud of grey rock and rumble.

Exander waited until the sound of crunching alien masonry had died away before raising the enabler again, his mechadendrites snaking behind him threateningly. “These are the consequences of defying the God-Emperor of Mankind, and by extension me, as the vessel of his divine will!” He shouted. “I ask once more; who will take me to the Seer of Corrinto?”

Again there was no response. Exander prepared to destroy another building.

“Like the lightening bolt marks its arrival with scorched earth,” said a figure to their left. “The mon keigh mark their arrival with destruction.”

Thracken spun around. The creature standing in front of the stone temple was hunched but still ungainly tall and slender, clinging with both hands to a gnarled staff of local wood. Long silver hair descending from an elongated head that looked both too narrow and too taut to be natural. He was dressed in dark grey robes of a material the Interrogator couldn’t identify, with a glittering medallion of some sort hidden beneath his robe. His face was a pinkish pallor and was lined and regal to the point of arrogance, his wisdom and perhaps sorrow filled eyes holding an aeon old mixture of solemn gravity and haughty pride.

“I will take you to the Seer,” he glanced at the Aquila shaped lander and the =I= symbols etched into the retinue’s armour and clothing as if recognising them. “You are mon keigh. Imperials.”

“Indeed,” Exander acknowledged.

The old creature’s eyes flickered over to the smoking rubble Orgustos had just created. “You destroyed part of our village,” he said. “There was no need for that.”

“We were attacked, alien,” Exander told him coldly. He sheathed his mechadendrites back beneath his coat. “I am Imperial Inquisitor Lucien Exander, of the Ordo Xeno, Sub-Ordo Damocles. Where is the Seer?”

The creature might have smiled slightly at the question, at the distance Thracken couldn’t be sure. The creature bowed his head slightly. “I will take you to the tomb of the Seer.”

Turning, he started back towards the temple. “Stay with the shuttle,” Exander murmured to the others as he moved to follow. Only Thracken came with him. “Be alert for a trap.”

No more arrows came as they crossed the clearing and walked cautiously under the blocky stone archway framing the temple’s double doors. “Was this temple built for the Seer?” Exander asked their guide as he pulled open the doors. They came easily; the old creature, Thracken noted, was deceivingly strong.

“Yes and no,” the creature said over his shoulder. “This tomb was built for Corrinto.” He crossed to the centre of the foyer, were an assortment of offerings and trinkets were laid around the room, halfway to the other set of double doors he stopped. “Leave us,” he called.

For a split second Thracken thought the old creature was talking to him. He was just opening his mouth to refuse when two flanking sections of the wall swung open and a pair of slender, thin Eldar stepped out of hidden guard niches. Glaring eerily at the Imperials, they twirled their bows in elegant hands and left the building. The old creature waited until they were gone, then continued on the second set of double doors. “Come,” he said, gesturing to the doors, an odd glimmer in his long oval eyes. “The last of Corrinto awaits you.”

Silently, the doors swung open, revealing the ethereal glow of what looked to be several hundred tiny gems arranged in a neat five rowed semi-circle on a raised dais filling the room. Thracken glanced once more at the withered creature towering beside the doors, a sudden sense of premonition sending a shiver down his spine, as if this was all meant to be. Mouthing a silent prayer, he followed Exander inside.

Into a crypt.

There was no doubt as to what it was. Aside from the glowering multicoloured gems there was nothing else in the room but a rectangular block of dark stone at the back of the dais.

“I see,” Exander said expressionlessly, studying the black block. “This is the sarcophagus of Taggarath?”

“This is where the last of Corrinto rests,” the creature said with a mysterious tone. “But this tomb is not to honour him. It is to honour the few surviving souls of Craftworld Corrinto. Do you recognise these jewels Inquisitor Exander?”

“Spirit-stones,” Exander nodded. “The captured souls of dead Eldar in crystal form. Is the Seer among them?”

“Among them?” The ancient thing scoffed viciously. “No. The failed Seer does not deserve that honour. Not until he has succeeded in protecting their souls from the pirates, treasure hunters and grave robberies that are sure to come here, and join the graves of the ones before them. Like all Imperials who dare set foot on this world.”

Thracken twisted to face him, instinctively drawing his bolt-pistol as he did so. Exander studied the spirit-stones a second longer. Was there a slight smile on his face? Thracken couldn’t tell. Exander pulled himself around, his snake-bionics sprouting slowly from under the hem of his cloak. “How did they die?” He asked.

The elderly creature smiled with menace. “If you mean the children of Corrinto, they were consumed by the Great Devourer. If you mean the rogue traders and mon keigh thieves, I killed them.” He raised one ringed, spindly hand from his staff, palm downwards. “Just as I now kill you.”

Without warning, a storm of searing ethereal blue lightening flashed from his fingertips-

And vanished without a trace a metre from both of them.

It all happened so fast that Thracken had no chance to even flinch, let alone fire. Now, angered at his own sloth, he raised his pistol as the scalding hot air from the warp fire washing over his head, eager to paint the walls with the witch’s brain matter-

“Hold fire,” Exander said with surprising authority and calmness. It took a huge amount of effort not to pretend he’d misheard when every iota of his faith and hate told him to shoot, but he was a soldier first and foremost, and soldiers obeyed orders. “As you can see, great Farseer of Corrinto, we are not ordinary mon keigh.”

“Corrinto is dead!” The Seer snapped the last word almost drowned out by the crackle of more warp lightening. Again the psychic energy vanished into nothingness before the Inquisitor. “You think Corrinto is this slime-ridden moon? You think the Eldar outside are the children of Corrinto? Corrinto was my Craftworld and I watched it consumed!”

“But you still live, you still see!” Exander shouted over the flashing thunder. “You still protect the souls of your people! You still have your powers. Look into the future, see into the passing of time, answer just a handful of my questions and we will leave never to return, on the life of the God-Emperor I swear it!”

“Your Emperor means nothing to me!” the Seer retorted, unleashing a third useless salvo. “My far-sight is not for the mon keigh!”

As suddenly as it had started, the attack ceased. The Farseer stared at Exander, his hand still raised, both an unreadable yet obviously infuriated expressio on his face. “What technology is this? What pacts with dark gods have you made to escape my power?”

“No pacts. Aid me and I will tell you,” Exander suggested.

The other drew himself up to his full height, which towered over both Imperials. “I am the last Seer of my Craftworld. I protect the souls of my children and the exodites of this moon, as the last of their protectorate.”

“I see,” Exander nodded. “Then help me, answer my questions, and I will quarantine this world. What’s that old Terran saying? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. No rogue trader or pirate will even bother you again. The Imperium will leave you alone on this moon for eternity. You need never see another human.”

“A peculiar metaphor, lacking in relevance or context, but that is what I should expect from mon keigh,” the Seer commented. For a long moment the xeno continued to stare at Exander, a dozen alien expressions flicking over his face. “Very well,” he whispered tersely. “We shall talk.”

As if nothing had happened Taggarath settled himself in the middle of the dais surrounded by spirit-stones while Exander crouched on the floor. The Inquisitor was perfectly comfortable, used to spending hours in a similar position while in meditation. Interrogator Thracken didn’t sit but stood to attention, his hand still clutching his now reholstered pistol, face twisted in disgust.

“You will now tell me,” Taggarath said, stroking the stones lovingly, “how it was you defeated my attack.”

“It’s simple really,” Exander said, watching the colour swirling stones intently. “I am an Untouchable. I have no psychic presence in the warp.”

“Ah, you are of the soulless,” the Seer nodded astutely. “Now I understand.”

Thracken didn’t. Was this Untouchability the reason why the Farseer’s attack had failed? Was this what made Exander special? Not talent, not skill, not dedication, but because he was an abomination? The Interrogator’s mind whirled with a mix of relief and injustice.

Exander shrugged. “The ability is sufficient to aid my agenda.”

Taggarath’s face darkened. “That agenda being to defeat me?”

Exander shrugged again. “The agenda being to live long enough to test your powers. It was prudent to come in person.”

The Seer leaned back with a cynical smile. “Ah, and so the stars ignite. This is, I take it, where you ask me to consult the future? To peer through the mists of time and space and draw out possible futures?”

Exander smiled back. “It is indeed.”

“And afterwards you will leave this planet? Never to return?”

“If you tell me enough.” The Inquisitor said, making the threat respectfully clear. Taggarath made a gesture for Exander to continue. “Tell me, Farseer Taggarath; are you familiar with the Damocles Gulf Crusade raging two sectors away?”

“I have seen whispers of war, tasted the dance of death.” The Farseer replied.

“A yes or no would do,” Thracken growled.

“One of the rogue traders made mention of it.” The ancient Seer’s eyes twinkled with casual threat. “Though only briefly.”

Thracken’s lip twitched, he didn’t like where this was going. Exander didn’t seem bothered but here was an alien boasting about killing Imperial citizens. Imperial criminals yes, but no alien had the right to take the life of a man.

“Then perhaps you know of whom the Crusade is being fought against. What do you know of the Tau Empire?”

“Ah, a young, upstart race. An infant race. Naïve and foolish, but with the possibility of a prosperous future, should they prove to possess the ability to adapt,” Taggarath murmured like a grandfather speaking fondly of his children’s children. “I feel a strange protectiveness for them. They show so much promise.”

“Not if the Imperium has anything to do about it, witch,” Thracken growled stiffly. The Farseer gave him a look as if only just registering his presence and not being too pleased about it.

“The Tau have proven to be fatally expansionist, Taggarath. Something the Administratum will not tolerate,” the Inquisitor continued. “Our armies will wipe them from the face of the galaxy, proving the glory of Mankind.”

“Do you wish to know who will win the Crusade, Inquisitor?” The Farseer enquired casually, returning to the study of his stones.

One of the Inquisitor’s tiny black eyebrows went up, just slightly. “Who will win? I know that already, Farseer. The Tau Empire, no matter how advanced their tech-sorcery is, will not prevail over the hammer of the Imperium.”

“Ah, humans,” Taggarath sighed as if a teacher tiring with a troublesome student. “If ever there was a race more arrogant and self-assured they have long since fallen into near extinction.”

“Watch your tongue witch!” Thracken snarled, finger pointing. “The might of the Imperium is invincible! The Tau Empire will fall like every other enemy of the Throne; under the heels and treads of the Imperial Guard!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, mon keigh brute,” the Seer sniggered knowingly.

“Riddles and half-speak! Lies and heresy! This is madness Exander!” Thracken raged, both at his superior and the alien fiend, who seemed to be enjoying the outburst. “Which race do you see unflinching, unopposed, unchallenged? Which race do you see crushed beneath the weight of inexhaustible armies? Which race do you see extinct, Farseer?!”

“Both!” The Seer was at his feet in an instant, suddenly howling with a volume that shocked the Interrogator back a step, making the whole tomb shake. “It is simply a matter of when not how!”

Once more, lightening flashing from his fingertips. Exander jumped to his feet as well, his null rod clasped tightly in both hands, bionics hovering over his shoulders. The Farseer started to bellow, his body glowing with eerie blue light and voice echoing with raw power. “I have plotted the course of raindrops in thunderstorms a thousand years away! I have seen the death of stars in galaxies not yet born! I have communicated with alien empires long since turned to dust! I have seen the hunger of the Cosmic Predator sated on my own people! Heed my warning! Do not underestimate the length of my far-sight or by the wrath of dead gods your race will perish like all those before you!”

And then the lightening stopped, and so did the shaking and the Farseer settled back down. The spirit-stones continued to glow an empathetic indigo. This time Exander remained standing.

“A trick like that again, Farseer,” Exander said calmly. “And I will have my Interrogator shoot you.”

“No you will not, human. I have seen past this day, and know I live past it. You will not kill me, for I would have for-seen it. Your people will win the Crusade, Inquisitor,” Taggarath said almost solemnly. “And will perish because of it.”

Exander studied the Farseer in silence.

“You will leave this moon now.” The Seer stated.

“You haven’t answered my questions.” Exander snarled, his bionic twitching angrily.

“I’ve done better, I’ve warned you of the end of your race,” the Seer countered. “Perhaps it is too late to stop. Perhaps the waters that gorge canyons must run their course, perhaps the momentum of destiny is to strong for one man to halt. But you can try. Perhaps one day you will see the last of your race reduced to living out of a swamp.”

Exander didn’t move. “I need your far-sight, Taggarath,” he repeated quietly. “I will have it.”

“You dare threaten me?” Taggarath sneered. “I have seen my death a thousand times human and it is not by your hand. Will you have your mutant try to break my neck? I’ll enjoy putting the animal down.” He looked at Thracken. “Perhaps your righteous Interrogator will threaten me with his pistol? His itching to kill me. He is a volatile brute, little better then an orkoid. Easily goaded. Why does that rotten corpse you call an Emperor attract such fools to do his bidding?”

Thracken had drawn his pistol before even he knew he had. He clicked back the hammer and pointed it at the cackling alien. “No abomination lives that insults his purity!”

“Interrogator!” Exander snarled.

“No!” Thracken shouted back, positioning himself between the Inquisitor and the witch. He turned the pistol on Exander. “No more! It ends here. No more of this treachery. Heretics die before aliens.”

The Farseer cackled. “I saw this in my dreams!”

Exander smiled. “Strike three, Rufus.”

Thracken blinked.

Strike one.

Strike two.

Strike three.

Blink.

The words rung inside his head and stayed there. In an instant all his hate, dedication, faith, repugnance everything that made Rufus Thracken proud to be Rufus Thracken dissolved inside his head. His mind was purged of all shreds of personality but for the bare skeleton that made a man sane and functional, like a dataslate wiped clean of everything but its core programming. As the melting sensation swirled around his head some vague part of his subconscious tried to cling to the fleeting scraps of identity, but it was successful as trying to grope at a storm.

He blinked again. Then lowered his pistol.

“My lord,” said the infil-traitor without expression.

Exander sneered. “Subdue the alien.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Taggarath snarled, confusion obvious even in a face as alien as his.

Thracken swept round, his pistol raised and shot the alien in the chest. The pistol made a deafening crack in the confided space of the crypt thundering back behind them. Taggarath made a pained screech as he was flung against the sarcophagus, crashing into a heap on the floor. There was little blood. He’d been shot by a tranq-bolt rather then a hi-ex round.

Taggarath’s expression had turned into that of a cornered animal. “But I saw-”

“You saw what I wanted you to,” Exander explained matter-of-factly, his eyes narrow with victory, twirling his null rod in his hands like a showman. “You saw what a renegade alien seer would expect to see; a trigger-happy Imperial agent coming to put a bolt in your brain. But you saw something else too. You saw me not coming to kill you, and that got you curious.”

The Inquisitor stopped twirling his staff for a moment and pulled out a case from under his robes. He handed it to Thracken who opened it and pulled out a syringe loaded with anti-psychic suppressants, pulling off the stopper and cleaning out the needle with a few modest squirts.

“I consulted with the Inquisitor’s best mind-scholars on the nature of prescience before I started my hunt for you; in order to understand its limitations. Its blind-spots if you like. I knew I was hunting a prey that could see me coming, Taggarath,” Exander continued. “I knew I had to take extraordinary, eccentric precautions. So I right from the start I had my infil-traitor conditioned with exactly the sort of personality you would be expecting. For the fifteen months I have hunted you all you would see was me trying to convince my oh-so pure Interrogator that we shouldn’t kill you. That got you interested didn’t it?”

As he talked Thracken gave the Seer a savage kick and pressed a boot against his back, stabbing the needle into the creature’s neck. The Seer’s strength seemed to have disappeared. Meanwhile the Inquisitor crouched down and picked up one of the spirit-stone. The gems were raging wildly now, colours flaring between them as if enraged. Exander played with it in his gloved fingers; the stone seemed to flicker, like a glow-bulb struggling to stay active. Taggarath made a pathetic mewing noise. Exander tossed the stone aside. “When you saw those rogue traders and treasure hunters hunting you down it was easy to see what they wanted. To ransack, to kidnap, to plunder. When they arrived I doubt you even bothered to deal with them yourself, but had your exodites pick them off with arrows and ambushes. I couldn’t have that, I made you curious so you would meet me yourself, safe in the knowledge I did not come to kill you. And when you got bored you’d fry me with lightening, only that didn’t work out so well did it?”

Exander rose and carefully stepped over the spirit-stones. He stopped before the Farseer and raised his null rod.

“I’m not going to kill you Taggarath. I need you far-sight. The Damocles Gulf Crusade needs your far-sight,” he said with conviction. “And I will have it.”

The null rod hit the bewildered Farseer directly in the face. A pulse of anti-psychic energy discharged throughout the alien’s body causing him to spasm hideously and froth at the mouth. The rod nullified the witch’s psychic abilities for a while, knocking the beast unconscious.

Exander carried the Seer of Corrinto out of the tomb himself. His bionic snake-limbs cradled the alien’s slender form as they walked through the scene of a massacre. Thracken trailed just behind, sweeping his pistol from left to right as they walked towards the lander. The clearing was full of arrows and Eldar bodies. Some of the local buildings were burning or in a state of near destruction. The air was full of dust, weapon smoke and heat.

Exander’s retinue had created a box around the clearing with four teams of three firing at any Eldar that dared show themselves. The swamp was littered with the bloody remains of the natives. The death maiden crossed the clearing with a pistol in one hand and a chainsword in the other. The chainsword dripped with blood.

“Casualties, Meraluca?” Exander asked her as she fell in step with him.

“Tibberman got an arrow to the gut; Rax got some sort of toxin dart in the back. They’re on the shuttle now, the Doc’s looking at them,” Meraluca reported crisply. “Other then that just scratches. We don’t have enough men to purge the entire village but between Orgustos’s bolter and Ho’s plasma-gun we have the xenos under control.”

“Excellent, pure excellence,” Exander smiled. “Have two men gather the spirit-stones in the tomb. They might prove useful in keeping the Farseer compliant.”

The death maiden bowed and broke off, beginning to chatter into her vox-link. An arrow sailed past the Inquisitor’s face and was answered by a trio of deafening barks from Thracken’s pistol. Those shots weren’t tranq-darts. The situation was going just as Exander had planned sixteen long months ago. He boarded the shuttle, a smile on his corpse-like lips.

***

The hatch-door to the Inquisitor’s private observation gallery on the portside decks of the rogue Dauntless class scout Cruiser The Spiffy Gusto swung up; adjusting his cuffs Thracken stepped inside. “You wanted to see me, Inquisitor?”

Exander stood with his back to the infil-traitor, dressed now in a long black tunic, sipping fine wine from a crystal glass and staring through the wall-sized view ports at the moon of Groden below. From orbit the moon didn’t look so disgusting, in fact, it looked quite beautiful. Perhaps when the exodites first settled it the moon had been a paradise.

“Yes come in, Rufus,” Exander said from his position. Rufus Thracken wasn’t actually his name but it was tradition for him to adopt the name of his last personality, and it wasn’t as if he had his own name to return to anyway. “How does it feel to be you again?”

“Odd, my lord.” Thracken commented as he stood beside his master and joined him in staring out at the eternal void. He didn’t stand too close as the nearer he got to the Inquisitor the more Exander’s soullessness repulsed him. “Fine, but odd.”

Odd didn’t quite sum it up. Thracken didn’t know how to explain what it felt like to have a lifetime’s worth of memories, to be an entire someone for over a year and then no-one in an instant. How could he explain what it felt like to have power, dignity, pride and identity and then have it stolen away by a few triggered phrases? How could he explain what it felt like to be you when being you was being other people? How could he explain that to a man who didn’t even have a soul?

“I suppose it must be,” Exander said lightly. “I just wanted to check you hadn’t suffered any mental damage. Fifteen months with an implanted personality must have caused considerable strain. I just wanted to thank you personally. It would have been much more difficult to deceive the Farseer without you, but now we have him your services might not be needed for some time. You’ll have an ample recovery period.”

“Thank you, sir.” Thracken braced himself. “My lord… I have to say I’m not convinced dealing with the alien is a good idea. I know it’s not my place, but from what I can remember in the tomb he didn’t appear all that sane.”

Exander cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed? You’re sounding like Interrogator Thracken, Rufus, are you sure none of his charming personality has left its mark?”

Thracken wished it had. “No, my lord, I hope it hasn’t,” he lied. Any identity was better then being no-one.

Exander took a sip of his purple wine. “To be honest I doubt his sanity as well, but then again, he is an alien. The minds of creatures not human will never be understood by sane men, infil-traitor. He did seem slightly less together then the other Eldar I have encountered, but then he also seems a great deal older as well.”

“But if he is insane,” Thracken pressed. “Can anything he predicts be trusted?”

“I’ve been to see him several times since we left the surface. His still evasive, but a lot more docile and obedient now with the psychic-dampeners and the drug-inhibitors. The psykologists ran some probability and guessing tests with him, which he aced accordingly. His abilities are in little doubt, his obedience is assured as long as we keep him pliable, as for whether his insanity will taint anything he perceives… only time will tell.”

“What do you think made him insane?” Thracken inquired.

“He claims to have seen his Craftworld consumed by something called the Astral Behemoth, or the Great Devourer, or the Cosmic Predator. I know not of what he speaks, but perhaps it was enough to send him mad.” Exander took another ponderous sip of wine. “He also claims that the Imperium will win the Crusade, annihilate the Tau Empire, and suffer greatly for it at the hand of something much darker. I don’t know if he is being evasive, if his distorting the truth, or if he is simply lying. What I do know is that I will not let the Imperium suffer,” Exander vowed.

“So we return to the Crusade?”

“Yes,” the Inquisitor replied idly. “I’ll make my report to the Sub-Ordo, detailing my execution of the infamous Seer of Corrinto, present his, or rather a, Eldar body to the Inquisitor lords and enjoy the full power of an Inquisitor’s rosette. We’ll be close to the frontlines if not on them, Rufus. Despite a centuries preparation we know next to nothing about the tau. We will set up a research facility and see what we can learn about our new foe, and while we’re there pass off any important future events as enemy intelligence. The Crusade will be saved from any nasty surprises and I will enjoy the respect and favour of my peers. Praise be the God-Emperor!” Exander grinned and took a generous gulp of his liquor.

“Praise be indeed,” Thracken nodded. “If you’ll excuse me Inquisitor.”

Exander nodded and Thracken turned to leave. Before he reached the hatch however he stopped and turned. “Inquisitor, forgive me but… if the Seer is right, if winning the Crusade will doom the Imperium… what then?”

Inquisitor Lucien Exander turned and stared at the infil-traitor for a long silent moment, his eyes unreadable, pale face lit by the starlight across the void, before turning his back on Thracken. For a moment the infil-traitor thought the Inquisitor wasn’t going to answer, but then heard a whispered reply.

“Well, then I’ll have a Crusade to stop, won’t I?”