Penologist Adrastus wiped grit from the viewfinder of his binox and then raised them to his good eye. Using the focus runes along the edge of the studded casing, the Mutie Seeker extended the vision range to its furthest point and scanned across the dunes below. His mount snorted as the wind changed direction and he turned his gaze to the east, upwind, A trail of dust could be seen a few miles away, possibly two or three vehicles to Adrastus’ experienced eye. Slipping the binox into their case hanging from the sash around his waist, he galloped back down from the cliff edge to rejoin his raiding party.
As the Seeker approached, Honoured Uzalus looked up from his study of a tattered map. He waved a beckoning hand and Adrastus drew his steed alongside that of the Keeper's. After exchanging respectful nods, the two began to discuss their plan. It was Adrastus who spoke first.
“We have movement, four kays east. They are not moving very fast, we have time enough to prepare a suitable welcome.”
Uzalus smiled, the long single fang protruding from his top lip digging a groove into his chin with the expression.
“That is perfect. Split the brethren here and here,” the Keeper indicated two narrow defiles on the map. “We can come in front and behind them. We must ride now if we are to reach the canyon before the enemy arrive.”
“As ever, Uzalus, your plans have a simple genius which makes them ideal. | will lead Pexalus and Nimrodan to the northern fissure, you take Erebun with you to the south. When you hear the hunting cry, ride from your hiding place and attack without warning.” The Seeker clapped a clawed, crabbed hand to Uzalus’ shoulder and gripped tightly.
“Your jezail shall reap a healthy harvest of blood today, my friend. With luck they will be firebringers and their heads will adorn the skull piles of Etervigila. If they are the worthless traitors of the Pyramids we will leave their bones to blanch in the sun outside their accursed, stinking tunnels as a warning not to come out again!”
With that Adrastus wheeled his mount away and called for Pexalus and Nimrodan to join him. After briefly explaining the plan to his two followers he saluted Uzalus by raising his falchion above his head, which was returned with a waved hand of farewell. The trio headed off to the east, their mutated mounts kicking up only a small swirl of sand in their wake.
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As Uzalus waited in the shade of an immense boulder, his thoughts turned to his Seeker, Adrastus. Although young, the Mutie leader had a cool head and thought things through. His bravery was undoubted, as was his burning hatred of the firebringers. However, his unrelenting passion for destroying the greenskinned scum was tempered by a faith and dedication to the Quest which other Seekers sometimes lacked. Where other hotheads would charge in regardless of the consequences, Adrastus would plan his attack, and evaluate the gains when compared to the risks. If Magod had willed things differently, Uzalus considered, Adrastus would have made a fine Keeper. As it was, Adrastus’ Quest was going well, and Uzalus could see that the Cognoscenti would be invigorated by his presence if he achieved that honoured goal.
Thinking of apprentices, Uzalus considered his own neophyte, Gennis. The boy was progressing well, his grasp of the Fundaments of Energy had amazed even Uzalus, who had seen many gifted pupils in the Chambers of Erudition. His practical work was as sound as his theory, Uzalus thought, and he picked a frag grenade from the pouch at his waist. Examining the construction, he was pleased with the apprentice’s work, it was competent, clean and methodical. Perhaps he would become a great Artificer in time, unless he proved even better at theoretical problems. Placing the grenade back in his beast-pelt sabretache Uzalus reached a decision. If he returned from this fight, Magod willing, he would show Gennis his Scroll of Wisdom depicting the Assembly of MkII Laser Projection Rifle and teach him the Dogma of Transference. Yes, that would be appropriate at this stage in the proselyte’s education. Satisfied education. Satisfied that things were proceeding according to his wishes, the Keeper turned his attention to the approaching cloud of dust and the roar of crude engines.
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Adrastus sat astride his scaly mount with his revered fusil held easily in one hand, its stock resting in his right stirrup. A few cubits to his left, Pexalus checked the energy cells hanging on the bandoleer over his shoulder. Glancing to his right, Adrastus saw Nimrodan balancing the haft of his demilune on the palm of one hand, checking the balance of the weapon just like he had checked it before each of the twelve other battles since he had agreed to accompany his brother Pexalus on the Quest.
The Seeker resisted the urge to scratch at his face, the left side of which was a massive swirl of scarred tissue. The pain was growing and he could feel the insidious tendrils of the scab stretching deep into his head and pushing outwards, Who could tell what strange whim of Magod had left him with the mark? He certainly couldn't and the Cognoscenti had not known either. All Adrastus knew was that it had started as a small mark above his left eye and now it engulfed almost two thirds of his face. His right hand had begun atrophying recently too, but the exercises Prophylate Dolcha had taught him still gave the Seeker full use of the limb. How many years would it be until he was blind in both eyes, the pain growing to such a degree that he would beg for release. Others tried to persuade him that the growth was slowing, but the Seeker knew the truth — it would be fatal.
It was why he had sworn himself to the Quest. He would rather die fighting against the accursed Orks and recreant humans of the Pyramids than to be slowly eaten up by the legacy of his forefathers. It was that knowledge that stayed his hand when others would have vented their fury without thought — the knowledge that he must make every moment of his life have meaning, either in the Quest for Enlightenment or the War of Retribution.
A gentle cough from Nimrodan attracted his attention and he looked up from where he’d been staring at his diseased hand. He then noticed the smell of smoke on the wind, very close and nauseating in its impurity. Hefting his fusil to his shoulder, he kicked his heels into his steed’s side and the three Muties galloped from the shadowy defile.
The Orks were taken completely by surprise. There were three vehicles — two four-wheeled contraptions and a smaller two-wheeled monstrosity. Adrastus gestured to Nimrodan and Pexalus to concentrate on the lead buggy while he veered to the right, aiming his fusil at the fast approaching Warbike. The fusil hummed quietly as he pulled the trigger and after a heartbeat the muzzle spewed forth a ball of energy with a roar. A ravening cluster of power impacted into the engine of the bike with a loud detonation. The Ork rider was flung into the air, his arms flailing stupidly, before he landed back first into the sand.
As he charged his mount towards the dismounted Ork, Adrastus gave his hunting cry —a wordless ululation that echoed around the ravine to amplify into a noise which had brought terror and death to his enemy for the last year of his life. As decided earlier, Adrastus saw Uzalus and Erebun charging from behind. Uzalus’ jezail fired a storm of plasma bolts at the rear trukk, sending two of the foul crew flying off and shattering a wheel. Adrastus ignored the rest of the fight as he drew his falchion from its sheath across his back and levelled it at the Ork who had now regained his feet.
With a twitch of his thighs, Adrastus sent his mount skittering to one side so that the Ork’s wild swing with its club was sent in the wrong direction. With a single swing, the Seeker backhanded the gleaming blade of the falchion into the Ork’s lower back, sending it tumbling into the dust with a cry of pain. There was no time to check to see if the foe was truly dead.
Adrastus sheathed the falchion again and spurred his mount on, levelling his fusil at the trukk which was careening wildly about the valley, its damaged wheel sending splinters of metal off the rocky desert floor. Adrastus laughed — tonight the victory fire would be bright indeed and another skull or two would be piled before his tent!