by Andy Clark
‘Strange,’ said Jennika. ‘It’s as if they simply aren’t there.’
The lance strode across marshy ground, rippling the shallow groundwater with every step. Jennika and Nualah led the way, moving slowly between gnarled trees, scanning for hidden sink-holes and pits. Massata and Sacristan Traxin’s vehicles churned through the muck behind them, muddy water spraying up around their tyres to spatter their armoured flanks.
Sires Reith and Eduard Dar Draconis brought up the rear, alert for any hint of ork activity. They had met only scattered bands of invaders thus far, and none since entering the marshes. Still, it did not pay to become incautious.
The Adrapotines rose distantly behind them, but for days now the expedition had travelled through the former agri-plains of House Chimaeros. From previous visits in her youth, Jennika remembered well-ordered and fertile lands dotted with rocky hillocks, crystal blue lakes and regimented settlements.
Now the hillocks were covered in nests of thorny growths and poisonous-looking blooms. Rising waters had claimed much of the land and turned it to a morass, while those villages that remained were hollow ruins. Strange marshfires burned in the distance, gas flames flickering yellow-blue.
‘How long has it been like this?’ Jennika had asked when they first left the shadow of the mountains.
‘Months?’ Sire Reith had answered. ‘It has been a slow process of degeneration. I walk the Pegasson range-patrols, and each time we skirt the borders of these forbidden lands they look a little more sorrowful.’
Now Jennika cast her gaze across the neglected region with fresh suspicion. Where before she had seen sombre peace, now she saw watchful menace. Ripples on the water hinted at the stirring of hungry, hidden things. The hollow doors and windows of ruins stared back like the empty eyes of the dead.
‘Lady Jennika, is there a problem?’ voxed Massata.
‘We’re ten miles from the ruins of Chimaerkeep,’ said Jennika. ‘A standing guard of militia drawn from all three Noble Houses is meant to watch over the site. They’ve been dubbed the wardens. It’s a penance duty, so they’re largely left isolated as tradition dictates, but they have vox facilities should they get into difficulties. They’re also expected to respond should they be hailed from within ritual distance.’
‘And now they are non-responsive,’ said Massata. Jennika didn’t like his grim tone.
‘There could be any number of reasons they aren’t answering,’ said Sire Eduard. ‘Perhaps their vox array has failed? Or they could have relocated to counter an ork threat?’
‘Or maybe they deserted their posts when the invasion began,’ suggested Lady Nualah. ‘Most of these men and women would have loyalties to their houses, families to protect. Duty might compel them to abandon the symbolic guardianship of an empty ruin in favour of fighting an actual invading foe.’
‘Let us hope not,’ said Massata. ‘To underestimate the threat of this place would be foolish.’
‘Keep hailing them,’ said Jennika. ‘Keep scanning, too. Their tanks’ machine-spirits should be evident from this range. Combat ready, all of you. Nualah, push ahead and see what can be seen.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ said Nualah, her Knight Warden accelerating away at a steady lope.
‘Inquisitor, do you know what this is?’ voxed Jennika on a private channel.
‘I have suspicions,’ he replied. ‘Pray to the Emperor that we find your men dead. The alternatives are far worse.’
The Chimaerkeep had been a sprawling complex of interconnected fortresses and demi-castles, its corridors labyrinthine and its defences multifaceted. Set amidst sprawling ornamental gardens and devotional shrine-groves, House Chimaeros’ seat had stretched over many miles, and been considered amongst the most beautiful of Adrastapol’s many wonders.
Now though, it was an overgrown swathe of rack and ruin, half drowned and still scarred by the furious destruction levelled against it.
Jennika stepped Fire Defiant over a toppled wall and surveyed the wilderness that had once been spectacular parkland. Close at hand, tangled trees rose in profusion, while mist and water swilled around their feet. Beyond them, Jennika could see the bleak ruins of the Chimaerkeep.
‘At the least they would have sent soldiery to escort us in, if all was well,’ she breathed. Fire Defiant rumbled in response, its disquiet echoing her own.
Her vox crackled.
‘Lady Nualah to lance,’ came the Pegasson Knight’s voice. ‘Requesting muster on my position. Beware of possible threats. Keep your weapons bellicose.’
‘Lady Nualah, a more detailed report, if you please,’ replied Jennika, feeding power to her steed’s impellers.
‘It… would be easier for you to see this in person,’ said Nualah, sounding shaken. ‘It is hard to describe, but the wardens are dead. All of them, I think.’
‘Orks?’ asked Sire Eduard.
‘No,’ replied Nualah. ‘Just gather on my position. Swiftly.’
‘Knights,’ voxed Massata from his transport. ‘My team and I will lead. Be prepared for anything, and follow my commands no matter what I ask of you.’
‘If you have any further information to share with us, now is the time,’ said Jennika.
‘Just be ready,’ said Massata. ‘And remember I speak with the Emperor’s voice. I hope we are not too late.’
Frowning, Jennika allowed the inquisitor’s transport to pull ahead, ploughing through the marshy undergrowth. She flashed runic sigils to her comrades, commanding them to tighten formation and to fire only on her express command.
They followed the ghost of a roadway, passing deep pools and dense thickets that had once been arboretums. Here and there, they saw blackened ruins, the shelled remains of Chimaeros defensive structures, shrines and follies.
Emerging from a wild tangle of exotic trees they entered a blackened clearing scattered with wreckage, and dominated by a charnel heap of corpses. Lady Nualah’s Perspicacia stood over the macabre mound, covering the approaches with its gatling cannons.
‘What…?’ breathed Sire Reith.
‘Damnation,’ said Massata.
‘The wardens fought a battle here,’ said Jennika. ‘Look at the cratering, the fire scars. This happened weeks ago, but there’s still fire-damage to the undergrowth around the clearing’s edges.’
‘Look at their tanks,’ said Sire Eduard. ‘What is that on their hulls?’
Runic designators flashed up on Jennika’s retinal display, highlighting the blackened Huntsmen scattered across the clearing. A local variant of the much-adapted Leman Russ battle-tank, the Huntsmen boasted turret-mounted inferno cannons of the sort normally seen on Hellhound flame tanks. They had originally been designed to flush gurghols from cover during Knightly hunts, their flames hot enough to damage the huge predators’ thick hides. The Huntsmen had proved such successful weapons that every Noble House, save Pegasson, had added them to their militia regiments.
These tanks, though, had been the ones to burn. Their wrecks were backed into a ragged defensive circle, and their blackened hull plates and ruptured turrets were coated with glinting outcroppings of blue crystals.
‘What is that substance?’ asked Jennika, running her steed’s auspex over the crystals.
‘Whatever it is, it’s all over the dead wardens, too,’ said Lady Nualah. Magnifying her vid-feed, Jennika saw it was true. The bodies were contorted, the flesh of many blackened or torn apart, and nearly all were rife with blue, crystalline growths.
‘Throne, their eyes have been put out,’ said Jennika. ‘Every last one of them. They died violently, in battle, but they didn’t call for help. Why?’
‘Chaos,’ said Inquisitor Massata, observing from his transport. ‘The minions of the Dark Gods did this. No doubt their machinations stifled these men’s cry for help. It is as I feared.’
‘Where are the rest of them?’ asked Lady Nua
lah. ‘I can only estimate, but this looks like less than half the bodies I would expect.’
‘Sacristan Traxin,’ voxed Jennika. ‘I can’t get any data that makes sense. Can your Crawler’s instruments do better?’
‘There is a high probability, Lady Tan Draconis,’ replied Traxin. ‘Do you wish me to–’
‘No,’ interrupted Massata. ‘You will not analyse the deposits, and you will not touch the bodies nor the vehicle wrecks. No one is to direct their instruments towards the remains.’
‘We need to understand what we are facing,’ said Jennika. ‘The Code demands I discover all that I can about this enemy, and ensure that our steeds do not end up the same way the wardens did.’
‘They are tainted, lady,’ said Massata. ‘Any contact with them risks passing on that taint. We need understand only that our enemies are impure. That they must be eradicated no matter the cost.’
‘Then we are the line,’ said Jennika. ‘We must stop this, now, and ensure that no trace of taint remains to escape into the wilds of Adrastapol. If we fail, our world is forfeit, is it not?’
‘It is,’ said Massata.
‘Adrastapol is a Knight world,’ said Jennika. ‘It would be an inexcusable sin to allow such an asset to the Imperium to be corrupted or lost.’
‘Are you loyal, Jennika Tan Draconis?’ asked Massata. ‘To your Emperor?’
‘Every bit as loyal as you,’ said Jennika, anger flaring. ‘As is every remaining Knight upon the surface of Adrastapol. You are alone here, inquisitor. Out in the wilds in the company of several Knights. If we were touched by the heresy of Alicia Kar Manticos, do you not think we would have dealt with you by now?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Massata. ‘But here lies clear evidence that the taint of Chaos remains. If you want Adrastapol to be judged pure, then you must follow my commands.’
‘The Code Chivalric demands as much,’ said Jennika. ‘I would no sooner turn a blind eye to the corruption here than would you. What are your orders, Inquisitor Massata?’
‘My retinue and I will dismount and go on foot from here,’ said Massata. ‘The noise of the Crawler would be too great. Your Knights will form a cordon, patrolling and sweeping by visual means only. They will not allow a single heretic to slip past their guard, and should we flush out a nest of foes, they will ensure none survives. Meanwhile, I would have you accompany me into the ruins. Consider yourself Adrastapol’s representative in this.’
‘I won’t let it be said that our world was saved by strangers while we stood by and did nothing,’ said Jennika.
Sire Eduard voxed her on an encoded channel. ‘Lady Jennika, is this wise?’
‘The Code demands it,’ she replied. ‘But more than that, I do not trust Massata. There’s more here than we see, Eduard, I’m sure of it.’
‘What will you do, alone, if they prove false?’ asked Eduard.
‘Whatever I must,’ she said. ‘The High King already faces one enemy. I won’t let another strike at his back.’
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Sire Eduard. ‘And in full panoply.’
‘You will not,’ said Jennika. ‘So far, we’ve been lucky. There’s nothing out here to draw the orks except us. But luck doesn’t last forever, and I don’t want to be trapped in the ruins of Chimaerkeep by a greenskin horde. Besides, the inquisitor is right, our steeds would alert whatever lurks within these ruins, if they haven’t already.’
‘Lady, I truly–’ began Eduard, but he was cut off by Inquisitor Massata speaking over the open channel.
‘Lady Jennika, have you addressed whatever well-intentioned concerns your Knights are raising about this plan? Time is precious.’
‘I have set out their planned patrol routes and vox codes,’ she replied frostily, knowing that her lancemates were more than capable of deciding such details for themselves. ‘But at your instance, by all means let us proceed. I will not leave Fire Defiant in this clearing though, not so near these tainted corpses.’
‘A wise precaution, lady,’ replied Massata.
Jennika checked her auspex and spotted a ruined folly, several hundred yards through the trees. Skirting the thicket, she picked her way through to the ruin, her steed’s footfalls shaking dust from its crumbling stones. Deftly, Jennika backed Fire Defiant into the hollowed-out tower, then began the dismounting rituals. Carefully, she invoked the ritual of watchfulness, which would send a fatal pulse of electrical charge through her Knight’s hull should any but she attempt to mount it.
Be careful of this man, came the voices from her throne. The Inquisition are as dreadful as they are powerful.
Nonsense, they are shining paragons who speak with the Emperor’s voice.
Oh, but that is only their mask. I have seen such things – worlds burning, loyal servants slain in their millions. When a man sees lies all around him, he becomes twisted by them.
‘Calm yourselves,’ muttered Jennika. ‘I don’t know whether Massata is who, or what, he says he is, but I must hope so. I go into this with my eyes open and blade close. One way or the other, I will defend Adrastapol.’
When Jennika became First Knight, Sacristan Polluxis and his acolytes had fashioned a unique bodyglove for her in honour of the appointment. It was more heavily armoured than most, though still sleek enough to fit within her throne’s webbing, and its squared-off plates were painted with the heraldry of her house. Onto its mag-belt she now affixed a heavy autopistol, several spare clips of ammunition and a long combat knife. Into its inbuilt back sheath she slid her draconblade, after muttering the appropriate prayers over its hilt. Finally, as she slid off her haptic gauntlets and affixed her vox headset over one ear, Jennika checked the ornate claw-ring that she wore upon her left index finger. It had once belonged to her mother, and concealed a digi-laser that could slice through steel.
Satisfied, Jennika sent Fire Defiant’s machine-spirit into dormancy and shrouded its systems, lowering reactor output to minimum. Then she uncoupled her neural jacks and clambered up the ladder, leaving her shadowy cockpit behind.
Jennika found Massata and his entourage waiting nearby. They had driven their hauler into the cover of a tangled thicket, and now stood armed for battle.
The group set off through the tangled undergrowth, Massata and his bronze-armoured lieutenant leading the way, the rest trailing behind in combat formation. Insects chirruped and thrummed on all sides, and from overhead came the whooping calls of clarionhawks.
Jennika fell in near the group’s rear. She would watch her new companions for a time, she thought, try to get their measure.
They picked their way through tangled thickets, sticking to the densest areas of cover. In places, they waded through hip-deep mud and water, and Jennika drew her knife to pry rust-leeches off her armour. They made their way gradually closer to the ruined structures that loomed amidst the trees, and as they did so, the silence around them became ever more watchful and oppressive.
‘This place dislikes us,’ murmured the Kasrkin, falling into place alongside Jennika. Her rebreather helm hung from her backpack, revealing a hard, scarred face, short-cropped black hair and steel grey eyes. She cradled her hellgun close to her chest.
‘It is a dark place,’ replied Jennika. ‘Those who dwelt here made it so.’
‘Your people,’ said the Kasrkin.
‘Not my people,’ replied Jennika with a scowl. ‘The Noble Houses of Adrastapol walk their own paths. Chimaeros strayed, and took Wyvorn with them.’
‘Your world,’ replied the Kasrkin. ‘Your people.’
They walked on in silence, sweeping the underbrush as they advanced. The fire-blacked ruins of the Chimaerkeep drew closer.
‘Sergeant Kaston,’ said the Kasrkin suddenly. ‘Cadian eighty-fifth. Made the mistake of saving Massata’s life at Haelen.’
‘I didn’t ask,’ said Jennika.
Kaston grunted.
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‘I’m not trying to make friends, your majesty. If we get ambushed, you’ll be more use if you know our names. The man in the bronzed carapace, with a face like an ogryn’s punch bag? Interrogator Nesh. The cult assassins are Shanema and Shemara. Don’t try to talk to them, no one does but Massata. The auto-savant, quills for hands? Lintiguis Mortens. The other one in the robe and staff is our astropath, Venquist. Don’t talk to him, either.’
‘What about the…?’ Jennika gestured to the ape-xenos knuckling along through the muck. She eyed its garish orange fur, its twinkling eyes and long, dextrous-looking digits.
‘D’bu’ko,’ said Kaston. ‘He’s a jokaero.’
‘Why does the inquisitor keep a xenos?’ asked Jennika. ‘Is it a pet?’
‘D’bu’ko’s species are uniquely gifted technologists, and highly intelligent,’ answered Lintiguis Mortens, dropping back to join them. ‘Lady Jennika, that ring that you wear upon your finger? D’bu’ko could construct a weapon thrice as deadly in a trice, using the meanest pile of scrap.’
‘That’s tech-heresy,’ said Jennika, horrified.
‘That’s jokaero. He’s useful,’ said Kaston, her eyes hard. ‘The Inquisition does what it must. The Emperor expects no less.’
Jennika shook her head. ‘Whatever it is,’ she said, ‘don’t let it anywhere near the Sacristans. They would burn it.’
‘It is a comrade,’ said Kaston. ‘He’s saved more Imperial worlds than you ever will sat up in your high throne, majesty.’
The Kasrkin dropped back, taking rearguard and leaving Jennika to trudge alongside Lintiguis Mortens. The man’s robes were drenched with mud and sweat, and his bulbous cranial augmetics clicked and chattered like clockwork.
‘The Inquisition,’ said Mortens. ‘It is not a typical Imperial organisation. Understand, lady, we are required to face terrible truths and wield strange weapons in order to do our duty. The ends justify the means.’
‘I’m sure that Gerraint Tan Chimaeros thought so, when he allied himself with traitors to reclaim a crown he believed to be rightfully his,’ replied Jennika.
