his great fortune, the Blood Gorgon had, in a fit of human carelessness, even removed his thrall‐worm.
Seizing the narrow window of opportunity, Sindul wasted no time. Although Barsabbas had confiscated his hook swords, Sindul knew the plainsman would provide little sport.
Every dark eldar, no matter their status, spent considerable hours drilling on the atami mats of their kabal’s fighting master. Even without weapons, Sindul could use the barbs and edges of his armour to vicious effect.
Sindul coiled himself into a crouch, tentatively watching the slopes for Barsabbas’s return. He waited until the rain was thick and nothing could be heard except for the hollow roar of droplets hammering the clay.
That was when he attacked Gumede. The plainsman fought back gamely with clumsy fists and ill‐balanced kicks, but Sindul side‐sauntered and slipped them almost lazily. He struck Gumede unconscious with a flurry of pinpoint elbow strikes. Briefly, he considered killing the human for sport, but there was no time. Barsabbas could return at any moment.
As the rain began to cease, Sindul skidded down the slope. He knew the location of the kabal’s lander was not far. If he recalled correctly, and his memory did not fail him, the vessel would still be docked at the power facility, hidden by now beneath metres of ash and ember.
Retracing the steps he took, slim boots churning in the clay‐turned‐mud, Sindul fled the way he had come.
A BROKEN NOSE was a painful thing. It obstructed breathing, forcing Gumede to take in jagged mouthfuls of air. Blood and snot simmered in his sinuses, bubbling forth to drool in thick strands down his face. Worst of all was the humiliation, a bleeding, unavoidable token of his failing. An abasement of Chief Gumede’s pride.
When he heard Barsabbas crunching up the rock slope, Gumede tried to wipe the blood off his face with his wrists. There were abrasions on his chin and forehead too but his nose was still dribbling blood.
‘What happened here?’ Barsabbas asked as he ducked underneath the cave entrance.
Gumede backed away, apprehensive of the punishment that would be inflicted upon him. ‘He escaped,’ the chief admitted.
140
The Chaos Space Marine stood at the cave mouth, his shoulders barricading the entrance from edge to edge.
‘I fought back but I couldn’t hit him,’ Gumede stammered, reaching for his recurve bow.
Barsabbas seemed to rumble with a throaty hum of satisfaction. ‘I know, I saw him run,’
he said finally. ‘We can follow him now.’
‘You let him escape?’ Gumede asked, deeply concerned.
‘Of course,’ said Barsabbas. ‘Where would the dark eldar go?’
Gumede shrugged, uncertain of whether it was a trick question. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Sindul came here by ship. It means Sindul must leave the same way,’ Barsabbas said, speaking slowly as if the chief were particularly dim. ‘When I track him, he will lead me to that ship.’
‘You will use it to enter Ur!’ Gumede said, his eyes widening with revelation.
‘The dark eldar ship. Guests of Ner’Gal,’ Barsabbas purred. ‘Sindul is a vindictive and deceitful creature, but predictable.’
‘Then this was planned,’ Gumede said, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the blood.
‘He could have killed me.’
The Chaos Space Marine chortled as he strode out into the rain, already checking the wet clay for prints. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t,’ Barsabbas said.
SINDUL WAS BREATHLESS. He sucked in deep lungfuls of air to introduce some oxygen back into his burning arms. The sprint from the cave had wearied him but he could not afford to rest.
Digging with his bare hands, Sindul was frantic, spurred on by the ever‐present threat of discovery.
Despite the rain, the ashes were hot. As the water hit the charred framework, it hissed with steam. Sindul scooped with his palms, scraping at the ashes with his fingers. Like coals, it burnt through his kidskin gloves, but Sindul didn’t feel it. He was running out of time.
Pushing aside a burnt sheet of ply‐wall, Sindul uncovered a trapdoor in the ground. The metal hatch had withstood the inferno but the lock had warped and buckled in the heat.
Tearing at the trapdoor in his haste, Sindul scrambled down below.
He almost fell directly onto the hull of a ship beneath. Scrambling for purchase he swore and then began to laugh.
The Harvester.
An Impaler‐class assault ship. Thin and spear‐shaped, barbed and tapering, the ship could carry an entire crew of raiders through atmospheric entry. The thin, bat‐shaped wings were underslung with pods of shardnets and a trio of dark lances jutted pugnaciously from beneath its needle prow.
It would also be Sindul’s only way home.
The ship was berthed in