13th Black Crusade - The Snows of Klaisus: The blizzards of frozen Klaisus might have blinded Abaddon's pursuit, but they did not end it. Enraged that his quarry might yet escape, the Despoiler launched every flight-worthy vessel at his command, scouring the surface for any trace of his prey.Thus Cawl's trek across the glaciers became a fighting retreat, the survivors sent scrambling for cover amidst the rocks each time a Heldrake shrieked overhead. Such precautions were born more of hope than strategy -- there was no hiding the modified Triaros Armoured Conveyer that contained Cawl's precious reliquary, or the lumbering Knights of House Taranis -- but good fortune held for the first few solar hours of planetfall.On they trudged, the Adepta Sororitas following Celestine's holy light, each as unfaltering as she, even though the Living Saint offered no clue as to the path she struck, or her purpose for doing so. With them came the survivors of the Kappic Eagles, flesh blackening with frostbite, but determined to prove as unswerving as the Battle-Sisters. Inquisitor Greyfax and Marshal Amalrich's Black Templars brought up the rear, each Battle-Brother grim as death in the teeming blizzard.Cawl followed Celestine unfalteringly through the swirling snows. With each step, he grew increasingly certain that the Living Saint knew his purpose -- the burden he had carried for so long. And if that was so, perhaps that had been Veilwalker's purpose in directing him to Cadia -- not to unlock the secrets of the pylons, but for Celestine to lead him to the completion of the pact he had made with a primarch ten thousand years before.The Living Saint was a vessel of the Omnissiah's tripartite will, His purpose was hers. Step by step, Cawl's resolve returned. He told himself that his path from Eriad VI had been a pilgrimage, a test. He chastened himself for ever doubting the Omnissiah's purpose and pressed on.Then the snows stopped.The Heldrakes came again soon after, their strafing runs leaving trails of dead and dying across the glacier. Two of the daemoncraft perished without even touching the frozen ground, blown out of the skies by Krak Missiles. A third tore a squad of Tempestus Scions apart with tooth and claw, and ripped a chunk of armour from the Triaros before Cawl's axe split its Warp-metal skull asunder.From that moment on, there was no silence, no reprieve. Alerted to their quarry's presence, the Black Legion warbands converged upon the glacier. Running battles broke out upon the snowfields, the thunderous echoes of one skirmish scarcely fading before another began. Havocs rained fire down from the mountainous heights. Raptors struck from cloudless skies, their discordant battle-cries further shredding the nerves of men and women weary from solar weeks of strife. Bikers prowled the flanks, roaring into weapons range only when they believed their quarry's attention was elsewhere.All perished. Seraphim swept the crags clear, the backwash of promethium melting ice formed centuries before. Lasgun volleys cleared the skies of Raptors; the pounding cannons of Taranis Knights purged the icy fields of the Despoiler's bikers. But there were always more, their numbers ever-replenishing, while the ranks of Cawl's escort grew thinner with each passing solar hour.As ever more succumbed to their wounds, the survivors drew in closer to the Triaros Conveyer. Its projected Void Shields provided some protection for those closest to it, and, inexplicably, every Imperial soul present felt it their duty to protect whatever was inside.Greyfax's psychic interrogation of her wounded foes revealed that they were surrounded, and the noose was tightening. But there was nothing more to be done other than keep moving -- to perhaps break out of the encirclement and buy a few solar hours of respite.On Celestine journeyed, leading her tattered pilgrimage ever higher into the jagged mountains. Tempestus Scions fell dead amidst the snows, skin blackened and eyes frozen. By this time, Greyfax had abandoned her attempts at questioning Celestine's purpose. Redoubtable though the Inquisitor was, hers was not the gene-forged fortitude of the Adeptus Astartes, and she needed all her breath for the endless march.Still the Black Legion pursued, the roaring Plasma Drives of their dropships a constant echo through the mountain passes. As the mismatched company reached a ridge-line, Greyfax caught sight of a column of Traitor tanks, thick as beetles in the valley below.When Cawl's escort reached the sunken gate of some ancient structure, its surface smoothed flat by the driving winds, they found it held against them by a sorcerous cabal. Another bloody skirmish saw the gateway claimed, but the smoke clouds rising from the wreck of a Predator revealed the company's position as clearly as any signal beacon. Before the last Sorcerer fell dead, the roar of engines echoed up from the valley."What do you see?" asked the false saint, mooving to stand beside the Inquisitor on the ridge.It had to be a rhetorical question, Greyfax decided. No eye could have missed the spreading stain of Black Legion tanks across the glacier. "I see our death," she answered sourly."No," said Celestine. "Salvation awaits us."Stilling her chattering teeth, Greyfax turned angrily away from the ridge-line. "Your lies are wasted on me, idolatress."As ever, the false saint seemed to take no offence. "You serve the Emperor. You trust the Emperor. Why can you not believe His hand guides me?"Greyfax drew closer. "I don't believe anything guides you. You're a Heretic, preying on the credulous. I should have let the Despoiler kill you. Were you not surrounded by your acolytes, I'd kill you now."Celestine smiled. "Then I should kill you first, while I can?"Greyfax squared her shoulders. "Yes."The smile faded. "He has a plan for you too, Katarinya. I have seen it."So saying, the false saint took wing. Katarinya Greyfax returned to her place in the procession of fools. But though her mood remained bleak, a small corner of her soul took heart from Celestine's wordsMarshal Amalrich detailed half of his surviving battle-brothers to remain behind and guard the pass. The pursuit they faced was now no mere rabble of scattered warbands, he argued, but a column armed and arrayed for battle. Better a few of their number hold and delay that pursuit, buying time for the others to proceed. Volunteers were sought and found, and Emperor's Champion Garrein led his battle-brothers away down the dreary slopes, knowing that the next battle would also be their last.On Celestine's path wound, ever higher into the peaks. As night fell, the echoes of battle faded from the slopes below. Those Black Templars still at Cawl's side knelt a moment in the snows, Amalrich's rumbling voice leading a warrior's chant of benediction for lost brothers.Then they pressed on unburdened by grief or guilt. By dawn, the snows came again, shielding Cawl's company from prying eyes, but also slowing their advance to a near standstill. They forged onwards, though at a painfully slow pace, and even Celestine's light seemed to fade.As the pale sun reached apogee, the roar of engines came again through the slackening snows. Land Raiders slewed across the lower slopes, their teethed tracks biting deep into the permafrost as they clawed their way in pursuit.At Celestine's urging, Cawl's company pressed on. As the Knights of House Taranis rained fire on their pursuers, their comrades fell back by squads, each giving covering fire for those that followed, expending their last precious ammunition in the wild climb for the summit.The heavy snowdrifts were taking their toll on the Triaros' tracks, and progress slowed to a crawl. Cawl's spirits, restored by faith during the long climb, wavered anew as he sought to soothe the Conveyor's wounded Machine Spirit. Helbrutes bellowed their mad praises, and the wail of the Raptors' Vox-casters set the air screaming.The assault ramp of the nearest Land Raider crashed down, and Abaddon strode forth, his inner guard of Chaos Terminators at his back. The Despoiler's coming was too much for the last of the Kappic Eagles. Frozen and weary beyond reckoning, they fled uphill, all discipline forgotten. As the Despoiler advanced through the snows, Cawl took his place at the forefront of his dwindled company, and prepared to die for a pact that would never now be fulfilled.The ice in front of Cawl exploded in a burst of dazzling light. Aeldari Jetbikes hissed over the icy crest, underslung Shuriken Cannons rasping death at the Black Legion. Trails of fractured light followed, the whirl of vibrant colours dancing and reforming around leaping, pirouetting warriors.The crest, so lately occupied by the fleeing Scions, thickened with graceful warriors armoured in myriad colours. Behind them came slender combat walkers, their every stride rippling with grace and power, the searing light of their armament unanswerable.The Black Legion fell back before the Aeldari onslaught. They had prepared for battle against a fractured and weary foe, half-beaten by cold and despair. Instead, they had been met by an Ulthwé Strike Force and, behind them, Wyches of Commorragh, warriors of Biel-Tan, and Asuryani from a number of other craftworlds.Abaddon advanced into the maelstrom, bellowing at his warriors to follow. Those who did so perished, sliced apart by dancing blades or shredded by razor-edged shuriken. Twice the Despoiler led a charge towards the Triaros. Twice the Aeldari hurled the Black Legion bloodily from the crest. Through it all, Cawl and his company staggered deeper into the xenos ranks until the crest was behind them.Ahead, nestled in a natural valley, stretched the elegant spires of a Webway gate, its columns blazing with light. Celestine hovered above the portal's dancing energies, arms outspread in silent prayer.Cawl topped the crest and gazed down into the mustering warhost. Subroutines drew archival data from storage, matching the strange shapes of xenos armour to records salvaged from a million scattered conflicts from across the galaxy.A datacluster salvaged from Port Demesnus confirmed the presence of the notorious rune-witch, Eldrad Ulthran, but as for the others, his analysis returned no firm conclusions. It was scarcely surprising. The Aeldari were inconstant, as ever-shifting as sand, changing personality as freely as they changed their masks.What did surprise Cawl was the motley nature of the xenos assemblage. He could access no prior reports of so many disparate Aeldari cultures fighting together as one in this manner.Two figures at the centre of the host were a true enigma. One, a female attired in an elaborate gown, appeared to be directing proceedings, moving with calm authority amid the swirling storm of colour. Beside her was a warrior in crimson, his raiment echoing both Craftworld Aspect Warrior armour and the crueller plate of the Commorrite "Dark Eldar" pirates. Cawl found no record of its design, even in the deepest Mechanicus archives.With a ﬂicker of light, a familiar figure appeared at Cawl's side, the patterns of her mask dancing with light. Veilwalker."What is this?" Cawl asked. "Where are you taking us?""Into the light of a new dawn." The Shadowseer tilted her head, as if confused by the question. "Unless you prefer to remain in the darkness?"With an effort, the Archmagos ignored what he hoped was an attempt at humour. "The Despoiler has a warship in orbit. You cannot hold them for long.""We will not have to." The patterns of Veilwalker's mask danced with new light. "The ending has passed. It is time for a new beginning. There is a parley to be struck, if you have the courage."The Shadowseer cast a graceful hand towards the Aeldari host.With but the merest hesitation, Cawl followed her into the future.Cadia was lost, and the 13th Black Crusade had at last achieved the victory sought by the Dark Gods for ten thousand years.But the war would continue...