dark eldar weighed little more than his bolter.
They did not stop walking, even during the short nights. Barsabbas needed no rest.
Inquisitive predators stalked them, but none dared attack.
Soon the land became indistinct and the days merged into one. No matter where he looked, the land stretched outwards and onwards, disappearing eventually into a flat, featureless line. Even the low mountains and dunal corridors that bobbed on the horizon became a regular, rhythmic occurrence, a steady flatness interspersed by humps like the predictable graph of his suit’s heart monitor.
Occasionally, in the distance, Barsabbas would spot the silhouette of a lonely wanderer.
He knew those to be the dead. No plainsmen would ever be so foolish as to brave the climate alone. Sometimes he encountered larger flocks, but a signal flare in the opposite direction would send the dead sprinting towards the brightness in the sky.
Finally, as they left the interior behind them, Barsabbas heard the bray of war horns. He hoped the battle was nearby.
CHIEF GUMEDE SOUNDED the war horn, rousing his small kinship from their high‐noon rest.
‘Small’ was perhaps an inappropriate term, but Gumede had always considered his family a modestly‐sized yet intimate gathering.
Already, the caravan trains were being warmed, the ancient gas engines grumbling as shamans began to rouse the old gears and goad the arthritic pistons to life. At least fifty of Gumede’s kin were rising from their makeshift beds under the shade of the wagons and carriages. Another thirty were spreading down to the creek to wash their faces and rinse the sand from their mouths. Outriders, having already mounted their giant bipedal birds, were racing impatiently as the kinship prepared to mount up and move.
Gumede blew his brass war horn again. Although the horn itself had once been the steam valve of a gas engine, it represented his seniority within the kinship. He was the patriarch and his family looked to him for guidance. He was young for such a role, but he was tall and well made and he had a presence that he carried easily with his height and stature.
Amongst the short, wiry plainsmen, Gumede was an imposing figure with a thick neck and a narrow, athletic waist. The kinship had never questioned his leadership, nor his father’s before him. Gumede came from a direct lineage of elders, and wisdom was considered his birthright.
84
Perhaps it would have been safer to flee southwards, away from the troubles. Already the skies to the north had darkened visibly and the horizon appeared as a sick rind of black that settled along the furthest ridges. It would have been safer to travel south, hugging the dust coast, but Gumede knew that it would not be right.
Other kinships were travelling north too. A war host was gathering to repel the spreading evil. They had all heard the echoes of drums and horns and read the plumes of smoke signals from nearby kinships. It was a muster call.
They did not know what evil it was. The simple‐minded claimed them to be ghosts, but then again, all disturbances were blamed on restless spirits. Others, more astute, remembered the days of raiders who came from the skies. Gumede was not certain, but he felt compelled to act. It was clear the plainsmen were gathering on the Seamless Plains, the great dividing range that separated the interior from the Northern Reaches. Thousands had already gathered there, to confront the ‘evil’ with hatchets and shamanic superstition. Now his family would join them.
GUMEDE HAD BARELY saddled his talon squall before his riders came to fetch him.
‘Chief! Chief!’ they cried, sprinting across the hot sand on their lurching, thudding birds.
His braves were in full war regalia. Their red shukas were decorated with squall feathers, braided hair and brooches. Some preferred breastplates of latticed bark while others preferred salvaged tin. They all balanced recurved bows across their saddles and brandished hatchets overhead. Many brandished las‐weapons, traded from distant Ur.
‘The Godspawn has come! Quickly, see this!’ cried Tanbei, riding at the fore.
Gumede had heard that the Northern Kinships in desperation had summoned the ancestral Godspawn. But he had not believed it. He had not wanted to give himself false hope. But now he was overwhelmed.
‘Truly?’ asked Gumede, his heart suddenly racing.
But Tanbei had no reason to lie. His face was flushed from a mixture of excitement and awe. ‘He comes! He comes!’ he shouted.
The commotion stirred the kinship. Children emerged from their household carriages and wagons, throwing aside blankets and creeping out from hiding places. Women and men paused