Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

I shot a glance at the daemon, which seemed almost as disconcerted by this turn of events as I was. It bounded towards the eldar, clearly identifying them as the greater threat; tempted as I was to encourage it on its way with a las-bolt to the back, I forbore, partly because attracting its attention again seemed foolish under the circumstances, and partly because I was still fighting for my life against the apparently never-ending tide of heretics, who seemed to have abandoned all sense of self-preservation. I opened up a small gap in the oncoming crowd with a flurry of las-bolts, only to see it fill again in a handful of heartbeats, and swung the chainsword once more, ripping open flesh and pulverising bone. It was tempting to try lopping a few heads off, but I kept the blade low. My opponents were all shapes and sizes, of differing height, and ducking and weaving in an attempt to get past my guard into the bargain – not to mention having trouble keeping their footing in all the gore and viscera I’d spilled so far. The last thing I needed was for one of them to get under my blade by accident – one opening was all they required. The moment Jurgen or I were injured they’d be on us like a swarm of sump rats, bearing us down by sheer force of numbers, and the two of us would be finished.

So thinking, I risked another glance at the eldar, who were turning to face the daemon. Once again their spears flew, slicing through the warp-spawned abomination one after another, ripping it into ichorous chunks which twitched and began to flow together – but the whirling blades, it soon became clear, could inflict damage more quickly than the hideous thing could regenerate it.

Not that this fortuitous turn of events was going to do me any good; intent on parrying a blow with some sort of narcotic dispenser being wielded by a young man with a glazed expression, I tripped against one of the bodies I’d felled. I raised the chainsword instinctively, shearing through his arm just below the elbow, and the metal sphere fell to the ground, trailing the severed limb at the end of its chain. It bumped against my shoulder on the way down, adding insult to injury in the shape of a scorch mark on my sleeve, and jolting my arm so strongly that I would certainly have lost the laspistol if it hadn’t been for the firm grip afforded by my augmetic fingers. Despite my best efforts, and the sash still tied across my face, I got a good lungful of its noxious contents too; my head swam as I stumbled, unable to remain on my feet, and fell heavily onto one knee. Fortunately the impact was cushioned by one of the bodies I’d felled, so I just landed on something unpleasantly squishy instead of cracking a patella against the unyielding rock.

Nonetheless, the damage had been done. Before I could regain my balance the shrieking fanatics were on me, bearing me to the ground, raining blows against me with foot, fist and a variety of makeshift clubs. I tried to cut my way free with the chainsword, and got off another couple of wild shots with the laspistol, but my arms had been seized by howling and giggling madmen, and I knew with a sudden, cold certainty that, barring the personal intercession of the Emperor Himself, which hardly seemed likely, my last moments had almost certainly come.

Then the pressure eased, the bodies weighing me down abruptly pulling away, while the cavern resounded to the unmistakable hiss-crack of bolt pistols being fired, along with the lighter crackling of laspistols. Fighting my way upright, relieving the pressure of the bodies attempting to pin me down by a couple of swipes with the chainsword (which, to my vague surprise, I’d managed to retain a grip on), I stared at our deliverers with undisguised astonishment. Half a dozen human figures, led by an unusually striking blonde woman who seemed vaguely familiar, were charging into the cavern through the same entrance the eldar had used, firing as they came – but these were no Imperial Guard troopers. All were dressed like civilians. For a moment recognition eluded me – then, when it hit, surprise was replaced by absolute astonishment.

‘Amberley?’ I asked, my jaw slackening like a cartoon yokel. ‘What in the name of the warp are you doing here?’

‘Ciaphas?’ To my relief, she looked equally taken aback to see me, although, being Amberley, she didn’t let it show for long, immediately adopting the air of tolerant amusement which suited her so well. ‘This probably sounds like a peculiar question, but where the frak are we?’

Seven

‘Drechia,’ I said, not bothering to press her any further about what she was doing here; she was an inquisitor, after all, and popping up unexpectedly was the kind of thing they did. ‘Fighting an eldar invasion.’