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Farsight: Blade of Truth – Extract

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CHAPTER ONE

THE SWARM

VIOR’LOSAN NEARSPACE
THE FARSIGHT ENCLAVES

The blackness of space was clustered with flesh.

Y’he, these hideous things were called. The term meant ‘ever-devouring’. Admiral Va’shora, commander of the Infinite Logic – known as Cloudstrider after a memorable incident with a prototype compact jetpack – was beginning to see why.

Thousands of living spaceships stretched out into the nothingness, each pregnant with countless dispatch vessels. They had escaped all but visual detection on approach to the enclaves, their biological nature and strange electro-shrouds allowing them to bypass long-range scans that would have picked up a fleet of conventional craft long ago.

Cloudstrider watched their slow, steady progress, her long features drawn in concern as unbroken streams of egg-shaped brood sacs were spat towards Vior’los. The bio-ships outnumbered her fleet by at least thirty to one. The sheer quantity was a weapon in itself, sapping at her resolve. Thank the T’au’va they were not fast.

She cast an uneasy glance back at her informal military advisor. Commander Bravestorm – or rather his modified XV8-02 iridium battlesuit – loomed at the back of the bridge. He was an oppressive presence, closer to a slab of display war-tech than a humanoid figure. His suit’s massive onager gauntlet hummed low at his side, its power that of a disassembler engine ready to reduce a building to rubble.

The battlesuit had only grown larger and more formidable since Bravestorm’s fall at Dal’yth, rebuilt more than once to become a cutting-edge life-support system as well as a highly mobile engine of war. On any other spacecraft in her fleet, the elder warrior and his outsized mantle would have been relegated to the cargo hold. But the Infinite Logic was flagship class, its main corridors open and spacious. Cloudstrider had personally ensured he had a place of honour on the bridge.

The same was true of the Logic’s other living relic, the Arkunashan veteran known as Commander Sha’vastos. He was currently communing with his own data-compiles in his quarters, for he attended the bridge rarely, but when he did, she always came away from it with a deeper understanding of warfare.

Cloudstrider had become used to the company of both commanders, for they had accompanied her over the course of six interplanetary voyages thus far. Both the sight of Bravestorm’s indomitable fortress of iridium and the strangely taut, extensively scarred skin of Sha’vastos gave her a sense of grounding certainty that there was nothing beyond the T’au’va. There was no wound or predicament the fio could not heal, up to and including escaping the vagaries of time itself. Similarly, she had always thought there was no gulf the air caste could not cross, no act of diplomacy beyond the water caste, and no enemy the fire caste could not overcome.

Today, however, her certainty felt somewhat more precarious.

‘It is quite the spectacle,’ said Bravestorm.

‘I take it you appreciate the full scale of the issue?’ Cloudstrider’s voice was tight as she motioned with the sweep of the hand panoramic.

‘Of course,’ came the war hero’s reply. Even modulated by the XV8-02’s speakers, there was an edge of hunger underneath the serious tones. ‘My eyes still work just fine, as do the mantle’s optic relays. A real war has found us at last. Just as I said it would.’

Cloudstrider nodded slightly, her gestural stance non-committal. Barely a voyage went past without Bravestorm making some comment along those lines. She had not been the only one to notice how his onager gauntlet flexed open and closed whenever he talked of conflict.

Burned to near-death by the war effigies of the Imperials and kept alive only by cutting-edge earth caste science, Commander Bravestorm had not left his life-sustaining battlesuit for centuries, and had been on potent pain-relieving stimulants ever since Dal’yth. He was still caught in a war long past, and had only a few pleasures left to him. It did not take a water caste deeptalker to divine those dearest to his soul.

‘I fear your wish for a worthy foe has been answered a thousandfold, commander.’ Cloudstrider made a fist at her hip – the sign of the blade-soon-to-be-drawn – and released the gesture slowly to imply reticence. ‘Though there are rather more than even you had anticipated. More than even the high commander had ever planned for, I would wager.’ She forced a half-hearted chuckle, but it sounded false even to her.

Kor’za Mo’ari, the eldest of the three pilots plotting the Logic’s progress, took two long fingers out of his command node’s guidesphere and brought them together in the sign of the communiqué-cut-short. Cloudstrider appreciated his candour, turning back to the bridge’s hex informatives.

She and her fellow fleet commander, Admiral Kor’O Kai of Tinek’la, had a great deal of work to do. If the air caste failed in their duty here, all four of the principal enclave planets would pay dearly, and their dependent planets shortly afterwards.

The water caste’s current informative played once more, calm and optimistic. ‘Stay calm,’ the magisters were saying. ‘This is an enemy our empire has faced before, and overcome.’

Overcome at the cost of hundreds of billions of t’au lives, thought Cloudstrider. Overcome by relinquishing a vast swathe of space to emptiness and death.

‘We know we can beat them. One need only consult history. This invasion is roughly the same size as that encountered in the sept worlds.’

‘Roughly’ being a generous euphemism indeed, a mask for the truly terrifying numbers she could see on the hex-displays before her.

‘The secret to their demise is well known. One has but to attack their leader-beasts and their false communality will collapse, directionless and animalistic as they are.’

Leader-beasts protected by massive bulk and alien mind-science, their shield creatures clustered thick.

‘In a year, all this will be a distant memory, burned into shadow by the blazing truth of the T’au’va.’

And all that will be left of our beautiful worlds is stripped, barren rock, just like in the Zone of Silence.

Cloudstrider turned away from the broadcast, something in her soul curdling at its soft but insistent tone. It was too upbeat, too forced – a mask of civility over a bedrock of panic. No planetary defence could deal with such an endless number of enemies. Wave after wave stretched away from them, like asteroid belts cut loose from orbit or planetary rings with nothing to circle except their prey.

The giant brood ships displayed on the Logic’s hex-array looked to Cloudstrider like enormous, leathery seed pods, each fringed with sinuous tentacles and ridged along their lengths with horrible growths and spikes. These were not true starships, for they had neither engines nor shields, and no motive power that Cloudstrider could discern.

The earth caste maintained that they were extra-galactic. They were known amongst the terrified gue’vesa as tyranids, and the term had been widely adopted as a loan-word in enclave space, for no t’au wished to dwell on the meaning of the word y’he. For every t’au world lost to the creatures, the Imperium of Man had lost a dozen. They were an infamous foe, a known scourge upon every living thing they encountered.

Face the y’he with your head held high, be consumed, and join them as a nightmare wrought in second-hand flesh.

Cloudstrider suppressed the treacherous voice in her head as she took in the details of the enemy bio-ships. Their weapon bays were little more than puckered orifices, their projectiles living things spat out in shimmering clusters of greasy fluid. Some had shells in the manner of Dal’ythan nautiloids, others strange, wrinkled carapaces or long, distended crests that flung spiralling spines of matter towards the air caste fleet. They all seemed slick with some nameless ichor, glistening in the dim light of the enclaves’ stars.

Largest of all were the three motherships in their midst, each an order of magnitude bigger than the colossal space stations that fringed the system’s perimeter. The thick rain of spores the tyranids were flinging out towards their target was continuous. When one ship ceased its barrage, another nearby took up the duty, ejecting another spray of the seed-things.

‘Distract and divide,’ she said to Mo’ari. ‘Far too many to engage here. Let them expose their throats, and then strike, not before. That is the plan. That has always been the plan.’

The cascade heading towards Vior’los stretched well past the bridge’s scope. As a kor’el, Cloudstrider had learned enough of tyranid invasion techniques to know the egg-like sacs would each discharge a team of lesser beasts – not a team but a brood, for there was no more voluntary communality here than within a crawler hive. Upon landing, like would find like, flowing together into a near-infinite tide.

She tapped her long index fingers in tandem on the air in front of her, a chiming communion alert coming from the prime command console. The three-dimensional display of the kor’s force disposition flowed into a holographic set of hundreds of interlinking decahedrons, each tessellating and colour-coded according to their risk rating. Those representing the tyranid fleet were questing outwards like the tendrils of some titanic cephalopod, attempting to wrap themselves around the gold-lit hexes showing the air caste’s vessels.

Over the last few cycles, through no small amount of guidance from Cloudstrider herself, the air caste had proven nimble enough to anticipate the course of their enemies, engage them from long range, and slide out of the way in time to escape counter-attack. The tyranid advance had been slowed to a crawl, and though a close exchange of firepower would be nigh suicidal, every dec they bought the defenders on the planet below would save hundreds more lives. But as more and more tendrils appeared, the harder that dance of strike-and-fade became.

There was a chime from the bridge’s iris portal. The numeral-ringed moon icon of Sha’vastos appeared before her. She slid it over the ingress symbol. A moment later the portal hissed open, its curving triangles withdrawing into their housings.

Even on Vior’los, Sha’vastos was a controversial figure. It was said by Torchstar’s water caste bond-mates that in sept space it was forbidden to even speak his name. In the enclaves, the shas sometimes referred to him as the Last Sword of Puretide. A position of honour, Cloudstrider had once thought.

She knew better, now.

‘Greetings in the name of the T’au’va, admiral,’ said the commander, making the sign of fortuitous meetings. Cloudstrider replied in kind, still keeping one eye on the force dispositionals.

According to her bond-mate, Enki’da of the por, Sha’vastos’ neural engram work was once the pride of the Dal’ythan fio’s experimental divisions, but it had crossed a moral boundary the aun could not countenance. There was a persistent rumour that there remained some of the fire caste guru Master Puretide’s consciousness spliced to Sha’vastos’ cerebral architecture. He was an anomaly, and a fascinating one.

‘Ah, Sha’vastos,’ said Bravestorm. ‘I am glad to see you in person.’ His XV8-02 extended its fingers and splayed them in a shorthand gesture of the new dawn.

In reply, Sha’vastos took a classic respect stance as he faced the rest of the bridge staff, his gestural protocol perfectly observed. ‘And greetings to you all, in the name of the T’au’va,’ he said. ‘I have been informed that the complexity of this battle is escalating, and have come to ask permission to contribute directly.’

‘Permission I give readily,’ answered Cloudstrider. ‘Our fleets are avoiding close engagement, but your insight is always welcome.’

‘Provided it is given rarely,’ interjected Kor’za Mo’ari. ‘We are at maximum cerebral load navigating this engagement. Distracting conversations, we could do without.’

Sha’vastos nodded in acknowledgement. Taking off the long, dual-width gun case he liked to wear over his shoulder and placing it upon a nearby dispersal desk with a dry click, he stood up, straightened his uniform – immaculate, as ever – and strode over to stand at attention by Cloudstrider’s side.

‘I trust the war in orbit has–’

He stopped mid-sentence as Kor’za Mo’ari enlarged a decahedron by way of answer. The alien things moving to surround them pulsated and glistened, a grotesque cluster of war forms so sickening that Cloudstrider felt a shadow of despair rise within her once more.

A bio-fleet was often used in the simulations of the air caste as a worst-case scenario. It was quite rightly seen as a nightmare to navigate and escape – taking one on in any manner of engagement was held as reckless by anyone below kor’o rank. A torpedo sent against a bio-ship would wound, scar, even bleed, but it would not have anywhere near the catastrophic effect of piercing a spaceship’s hull. These things were solid, glacier-hard knots of frozen blubber and muscle that made most conventional munitions next to useless.

‘Ah,’ said Sha’vastos. ‘Unfortunate disposition.’

Cloudstrider spared him a glance. Despite his cryostasis, the veteran soldier looked very old indeed – haggard in the face, his narrow frame barely supporting his crisp dress uniform – but his eyes were bright and strange.

‘The fleet is rather larger than I had anticipated,’ he said, his uneasy smile stretching to his rear teeth in an expression of pain-to-come. ‘Is escape a feasible option?’

‘I am working towards a viable extraction plan,’ said Cloudstrider. ‘But I think we can count out receiving any support. Long-range communications are garbled at best.’

On the screen, one of the red-glowing tendrils was curling slowly around their position on the holographic display. The golden markers of the t’au ships were swiftly withdrawing, deliberately luring the tyranid attack away from a direct assault on the russet orb of the world below, but with three other tendrils inexorably closing in from different angles, their measured pace put them in genuine danger.

‘I see the issue,’ said Sha’vastos. ‘Withdraw any faster, and we risk disengagement, ceding the entire orbital barrier zone and giving the bio-fleet a clear path to the string of enclave planets beyond.’

‘Just so,’ she replied. ‘At least by engaging them on Vior’los, a planet predominantly fire caste, there is a decent chance of depleting their numbers enough that those beyond have a possibility of survival.’

‘Respectfully, I think you underestimate the shas,’ said the elder commander. ‘We will do rather more than deplete them.’

Cloudstrider moved her jaw sidelong, but did not reply directly. ‘Mesme strike, report.’

Nothing came in reply.

‘Mesme strike. Auto-report.’

Another sub-hologram enlarged. It was footage from inside a Mako strike ship – a vessel that had been stricken by some sort of biological torpedo. Bone-plated, spike-prowed, a repugnant grub-thing had burrowed through the hull, its array of powerful limbs heaving it inwards with violent spasms.

Cloudstrider swallowed involuntarily. The footage, recorded by some fearless drone no doubt, for they were ever-present on military campaigns, made for a harrowing sight. Acid hissed and sloshed along the corridor as the tyranid torpedo-grub heaved out one torrent of vomit after another from the spiracles in its hide.

Cloudstrider watched the bilious liquid discolouring, melting, and exposing the honeycomb structures beneath the ship’s hyperplastic and resinometallic layers. Greasy steam rose from the buckling walkways. Those t’au still visible were choking or grasping at their throats as their vascular systems bulged and throbbed, deltas of tortured veins suddenly visible across their skins.

Then the awful torpedo-thing opened its frontal section like the petals of some vile flower, disgorging a brood of scuttling, screeching war-beasts. They burst outward like scattering bloodroaches whose hive had been suddenly revealed, darting left and right to leap and bound after the crew. The leading bio-forms sank long, blade-like talons into the backs of the t’au trying to flee. Cloudstrider saw one claw punch through the back of a fio scientist’s skull and emerge through his eye socket, a curving red awl that withdrew as swiftly as it had appeared.

The screaming grew more intense, reaching a crescendo.

Kor’za Mo’ari shut it off.

Barely a breath later another shriek replaced it, a desperate call for aid patched through from a cruiser-class ship.

‘Please!’ came a distorted voice, a wide-eyed face appearing through a confusion of pixels that resolved, shuddering, into a mask of blood. ‘Please help us! Our engines are fouled, and they have breached the–’

The face came apart in a spatter of gore, crushed by what looked to Cloudstrider like a claw made of knives.

‘Let them see how a hull breach goes for them here on the Logic,’ said Bravestorm. Once more his giant gauntlet crackled with energy as it flexed.

‘Fire caste, all alike,’ breathed Kor’za Mo’ari. ‘T’au’va save us from warmongers.’

‘We should focus on the greater battle,’ said Sha’vastos. ‘Far be it from me to impose planetside war doctrine upon an air caste schematic, but if we concentrate our firepower on a single tendril of their approach, we can perhaps cause it to recoil enough–’

The ship suddenly rocked to one side, a bright blur of energy registering on the bridge’s prime display.

‘Under fire,’ said Kor’za Mo’ari. ‘Plasma barrage, delayed blast.’

‘Why did the Logic not register it incoming?’ said Sha’vastos.

‘Its source registered as a scattering of bio-matter, not as a weapon. It failed to generate a–’

There was another explosion, the bridge shuddering as the Logic was shoved as if by a giant hand. Something felt like it was smothering Cloudstrider’s mind then, making it hard to focus. It was a strange and disturbing sensation, as if a net of rotten satin had draped her naked brain.

‘We had best withdraw, I feel, and plan anew,’ said Sha’vastos. One side of his face was spasming with tics.

‘I very much agree,’ said Cloudstrider. She touched her eyes in the sign of the unwanted observer as she patched in a recommended withdrawal route.

Sha’vastos recoiled as if struck by her, taking a step back. ‘If that gesture is directed at me, I offer contrition that I have overstepped my bounds,’ he said. ‘I merely–’

Another impact, this time accompanied by a deafening crack. The ship bucked and shuddered. A holo-doppel of the vessel expanded, showing that a great chunk had been taken out of its aft quarters.

‘Another bio-mine?’ Cloudstrider felt anger rise. ‘How are they–’

The screaming that came from Mo’ari’s in-ship hex-display was full-throated and primal, a sound that only someone wounded unto death could make. It was joined by moans of despair, unintelligible gibbering, and a rising howl that reached ear-wracking volume. Mo’ari hammered at the displays, shutting off the audio relays and quarantining the affected parts of the ship within subsidiary airlock zones. He punched the icon that would seal the bridge, too.

The door would not respond.

Something slithered at the far end of the passageway. Cloudstrider saw the glistening of ridged spines, and realised with a jolt that she was looking at the backs of a swarm of eater-beasts pouring down the corridor towards them.

Sha’vastos was already in motion. He depressed his gun case’s twin readers, the device folding open and proffering two pulse repeaters. The commander took one in each hand, folding them snugly under his arms – custom-made, by the ease with which they fitted in his grip.

‘Low intensity, iterative yield,’ said Sha’vastos. ‘Begin.’

Cloudstrider had to fight to keep one eye focused on the hex-displays as the Arkunashan commander opened fire on the oncoming swarm. The pulse weapons panned back and forth independently, each shot taking one of the scurrying, jaw-clacking creatures in what passed for its forehead. The shots did not miss, and the air filled with an awful, choking stench.

Bravestorm pivoted at the waist in a half-circle to bring his weapons to bear.

‘Apologies, commander, but you may have to hold fire,’ said Sha’vastos, putting a pulse-charge through another screeching beast’s forehead with each hand before immediately picking off two more. ‘You understand a flamer is ill-suited to battle on a starship. Best to engage low-yield, with accuracy first in mind.’

‘Of course,’ said Bravestorm, disappointment in his tone.

More creatures died, their alien shrieking gnawing at the mind. Cloudstrider stood ready, her hand an inch from the console’s final protocol trigger in case they were overrun. She had no need. Whenever Sha’vastos ran out of charges he smoothly split his focus, deftly reloading with one hand as the other kept firing.

The air truly stank now, a thick pall drifting up from a carpet of ruined bioforms. One of the creatures broke from the pack to leap for Sha’vastos’ throat, but he batted it back down with the end of a gun barrel. A blaze of fusion energy incinerated the creature a heartbeat later. He thickened his fire, stamping on the last to reach him so hard its cranium split a moment before he shot it through the side of the head.

‘All done,’ said Sha’vastos, the steaming remains of the alien swarm wriggling feebly before him. ‘Apologies for the olfactory input.’

There was a dull boom, shaking the ship. One of the creatures, thought dead before, lunged from the corpse pile at Sha’vastos’ throat. The elderly warrior lurched backwards and smacked the nape of his neck on a console disc, staggering hard.

Bravestorm caught the leaping creature with a swift grabbing motion, crushing it as if it were no more than a grape. He shook the slurry from his onager gauntlet, arcs of ichor spattering upon the floor.

A thin scream came from Sha’vastos then, and he curled in on himself, crouching down as the pistols fell from his grip to clatter on the floor.

‘Commander,’ said Cloudstrider. ‘Can I help?’

A long moment passed. She slid her captaincy control icon over that of Mo’ari, and came forward slowly.

At her approach Sha’vastos stood, his expression hard as granite. He spoke, and Cloudstrider felt her skin turn cold.

‘This day we face the void.’

The same lips moved, but it was not the same voice. It should not have been anyone’s voice.

‘Commander Sha’vastos?’ said Mo’ari. ‘Do you require assistance?’

‘I do not answer to that name,’ said the voice.

‘Please clarify,’ said Cloudstrider, her voice small. ‘Is the breach contained, Mo’ari? I think the breach is contained, is it not?’

Mo’ari made the sign of the closed aperture, too mystified to speak.

‘Master Puretide,’ said Bravestorm, the awe in his tone making even Kor’za Mo’ari look up. ‘You honour us with your presence.’ His XV8-02 turned towards Sha’vastos, several tons of iridium doing its best to take the stance of the humbled student. ‘I will soon be taking a deployment craft to Vior’los. Would you do the honour of accompanying me there?’

The t’au that had been Sha’vastos stepped forward. His body language was different, now – effortlessly confident, shorn of all stiffness and formality, yet completely, ineluctably in command.

Cloudstrider resisted the urge to move aside, leaning back nonetheless to give the veteran a clear view of the disposition suite. He took in the hex-array for a time before nodding, just once.

‘As I thought.’

‘Master Puretide?’ said Bravestorm. ‘Your orders?’

‘Withdraw,’ he said. ‘Withdraw and evacuate. Do not engage. We save as many as we can, whilst there is still life to save.’

‘We must choose where our blade lands with great care, then,’ proffered Bravestorm. ‘Strike with wisdom, if we are to secure any kind of victory against the myriad.’

‘Victory?’ said Master Puretide, scorn dripping from his tone. ‘There will be no victory. This war is already lost.’

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2025.
This eBook edition published in 2025 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

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Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Marc Lee.

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