The eldar’s whole body flexed, but it was held down by the chains.
‘What is your name? I can keep repeating this all day, and it will only get worse for you.’
Something seemed to break within the eldar. ‘Bael.’
‘Bael. Good,’ Drake said softly. He had won his first and most important victory, although he gave no sign of knowing it.
‘You will answer my questions, Bael,’ said Drake.
‘It matters not,’ said the eldar. It was a voice without the slightest trace of humanity in it. Bael’s lips were moving and liquid musical sounds were coming out; a moment later crystalline sounds, more mechanical than musical, spoke the words in Imperial Gothic. It was like listening to a machine speak to the accompaniment of distant, lovely, alien singing.
I realised the singing was the actual eldar speech, the words the product of a translation engine. There was little emotion in the eldar’s voice, but his face was twisted with hatred. Clearly the xenos was not enjoying experiencing Drake’s psychic powers. ‘You are doomed anyway, mon-keigh.’
Drake forced his lips into a cold smile. Beads of sweat appeared on his pale forehead. The experience appeared no more pleasant for him that it did for the eldar, and it appeared to cost considerably more effort. ‘Why is that, deviant?’
‘Because you face the Archon Ashterioth and his legions. You will die slowly, in great pain, to feed him and his warriors.’
Macharius and Drake exchanged a look.
‘Feed?’ Macharius said. His voice was glacially calm.
‘Answer him,’ said Drake. There was a hint of the lash in his voice. The eldar’s features twisted in a rictus of pain.
‘We feast on the agony of lesser species,’ said the eldar. ‘Your pain is our sustenance.’
His beautiful, inhuman features showed nothing but contempt, but I was starting to think I detected a hint of horror in his eyes. If his kind fed on pain, what must it be like for him to endure the agony of questioning at the hands of Drake? He must feel as if he were being eaten alive by an animal. I pushed the thought to one side. I did not understand his thought processes and I did not want to.
‘That certainly explains what you have been doing to our prisoners,’ said Drake.
‘They are not prisoners. They are not even slaves. They are cattle.’ A chill of horror passed down my spine at the words. Bael really saw us this way. To him we were mere beasts, no more important than herd animals are to a farmer. It was worse than that, actually. No farmer would treat his herds the way these eldar treated humans.
‘You will be treated in the same way when you are rounded up. Indeed, it will go worse for you because of this.’
Drake smiled coldly. ‘You know that is not true. Your brethren will have nothing but contempt for you for falling into our hands. I have reduced you to the status of a beast. You should remember that.’
Clearly Drake was picking more from the eldar’s mind than the xenos was saying out loud. I knew he could lift memories and experiences directly from human minds when he brought his powers fully to bear. If he was doing that to Bael, I did not envy him. The alien’s mind must be like a pit of snakes.
The eldar screamed, whether in agony or humiliation it was impossible to tell. ‘You did not capture me. Your hound did.’
Grimnar laughed. His mirth had a clean, booming quality that it was good to hear amid the unwholesome monotones of the eldar’s translation engine.
‘We can argue about it all you like,’ said Drake. ‘But you are the one bound and treated like a beast.’
‘I will make you die a thousand painful, agonising deaths. You will beg for the sweet release of oblivion a thousand times, and I will say no.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Drake, an adult listening to the threats of a child. ‘Of course, you will. In the meantime, you will answer all the questions put to you truthfully and to the best of your ability, otherwise you will not live to carry out your threats.’
‘I do not fear death,’ Bael said.
‘No. You would welcome it now. Still, you will find it difficult to carry out threats with your limbs removed.’
It was the eldar’s turn to laugh, at least I assumed that was what the mad, random sound the translation engine emitted was. ‘Limbs can be regrown. Bodies can be rebuilt.’
A frown flickered across Drake’s face. ‘Yes. Of course, they can. Your haemonculi can do that.’
‘You can pick the image from my mind, human, but you have no idea what the reality of it is.’
Drake concentrated. ‘They could regrow you even from a simple cell, from the genetic helix if they could find it. Fascinating.’
Grimnar tilted his head to one side. ‘Is that true?’
‘This creature believes it is. More than that it believes, really believes, that the genetic sorcerers can restore its life and memories from as little as that.’
‘Then they must be very different from humanity,’ said Macharius. ‘Such a thing is not possible, memories stored in the genetic helix.’
‘We are different, human,’ said Bael. ‘Different and infinitely superior.’
‘Infinitely more arrogant perhaps,’ said Macharius. ‘Or infinitely more deluded.’
‘You will die in agony, human. You will see who is deluded then.’
‘Why are you here?’ Macharius asked.
‘I am here because I follow Lord Ashterioth.’
‘And why is he here?’
‘He does not tell me his plans.’
‘No,’ Drake said, ‘But you eavesdrop on him. I can see it in your mind. You eavesdrop on his conversations with your listening devices. You decrypt his personal journals. You spy.’ He sounded interested. ‘And not just for yourself or by yourself. Your lover spies as well. Lady Sileria.’
‘It does not sound as if they trust each other very much,’ said Macharius.
‘The eldar are treacherous creatures,’ said Drake.
‘We put our own interests first. As you would, if you had intelligence above the apes you are descended from.’
‘Why is this Lord Ashterioth here?’ Macharius asked. He clearly wanted to know very badly. Bael clamped his lips shut. He did not want to speak. Once again tendons stood out on his neck. His muscles spasmed. This time he succeeded, or so it appeared for a few long moments.
‘He seeks something,’ said Drake.
‘Get out of my head, mon-keigh. Your presence pollutes me.’
‘Where is the Fist of Demetrius?’
‘The what?’ There was a mocking tone in the eldar’s voice despite his pain.
‘You know it. You see its image in your mind. I have put it there.’
‘Ashterioth has it. It fascinates him.’
‘Why?’ Macharius asked. Grimnar leaned forwards, straining to hear. Given his senses, he did not need to. He was as keen as Macharius to learn the eldar’s purpose.
The eldar laughed. The sound was mechanical and insane, and there was something mocking in it.
‘What would they do with a relic of the primarch?’ Grimnar asked. ‘It can mean nothing to them.’
Drake frowned. Sweat ran down his forehead. Blood poured from his nose. The eldar made odd gurgling sounds. He was chewing on his tongue.
‘He tries to shield himself,’ Drake said. ‘He tries to escape into death.’
The nimbus of light around his head made his skin seem even more pale than usual. His lean face took on the aspect of a skull. The eldar screamed and went on screaming until his screams abruptly stopped.
‘It is dead,’ said Grimnar.
‘No matter,’ said Drake. ‘I have seen some of what he tried to hide.’
His voice sounded appalled.
‘What is it?’ Macharius asked.
‘They are not here for the Fist.’
‘It would not serve them. Its holy power would not aid the xenos. The Allfather would not allow it,’ said Grimnar.