by Guy Haley
‘I understand. That is diplomatic. Every time we speak my choice of you for the Logos is validated again.’
‘Are you praising me or yourself?’ she said.
He gave her an amused look. ‘I shall have the necessary information released. The message I wish you to convey to the warden of Imperium Nihilus is ready. It will be sent to your ship an hour before you depart.’
‘That’s very precise.’
‘Precision is what I was made for. The contents of the message are to remain secret. Although they are encrypted, and sealed within an annihilation casque, there are always ways that secrets can be let free.’
‘An annihilation casque?’ She was shocked by that. ‘I better make it through then,’ she said.
‘You will thank me for a clean death if your ship is overtaken,’ he said.
She couldn’t argue with that.
‘And now to the matter I desire to speak of. Tell me about Mathieu. You went to see him as I asked?’
‘In a way,’ she said carefully.
‘Please define “in a way”, Yassilli. You haven’t antagonised him, I hope.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘He’s got this little hidey hole down in the bowels of the ship.’
‘I know of it, in the Mortuis Ad Monumentum,’ said Guilliman.
‘Isn’t that place sacred?’ asked Yassilli.
‘Sacred is not a word I am comfortable with. It was a memorial to the honoured dead, once, a long time ago.’
‘Don’t you mind him lurking down there though?’
‘He is a man of a certain temperament. As long as I know where he is, I do not mind him having a space of his own. He is devout, a deep thinker. I would rather he had somewhere to put his mind in order than seethe under watch. I suppose he finds the monument holy. What did you think?’
‘I do not think he means you any harm.’
‘And what is his motivation in serving me?’
‘Since I rejoined you at Tuesen, I’ve had several conversations with him. I’ve read what I can about him, interviewed his associates. I believe his only motivation in serving you is to serve the Emperor and the Imperium. Some of the things he said made me think he wants to convert you, but he means no more harm than that.’
Guilliman nodded. ‘They all want to convert me, these priests. In that there is a risk. If I am too dismissive of his beliefs there is a danger he may turn on me.’
‘Really?’
‘It would not be the first religion to tear down its so-called saviour.’
‘May I ask something? Something impertinent?’
‘I have already granted you permission to be impertinent, Yassilli. Speak.’
‘Why him?’ she asked. ‘Why not someone more pliable?’
‘I need some way of reaching out to the common folk, speaking with them in a way they understand,’ said Guilliman. ‘My last militant-apostolic was too much a creature of the establishment. Mathieu is fresher, more honest, and he understands the suffering of ordinary men. He is not apart from them. I also know he is that way because he is more devout and fanatical. I understand the risk.’
‘Won’t people transfer their religious devotion to him rather than you, my lord?’
‘That is what I want. I dislike being venerated. I tread a very delicate path. I cannot deny the Emperor’s divinity, it is too far embedded into the rotting edifice the Imperium has become. To deny it would provoke war. Individuals with your views are few and far between.’
‘Mostly because we are burned alive,’ she said, as indeed was due to be her fate, until Guilliman’s agents had saved her.
‘I am unfortunately aware of that,’ he said.
‘You could just play along.’
‘In a sense I do, but to openly embrace worship would make me a hypocrite.’
‘There are worse crimes than hypocrisy, my lord,’ said Yassilli.
‘There are, but to assume control of the church as its figurehead would have the same extreme consequences as denial – factionalisation followed by religious war. I understand there have been plenty of those during my absence. At the very least I would become enchained by their organisation.’
He stopped suddenly, catching Yassilli by surprise.
‘I will never be beholden to anyone, human or otherwise,’ he said firmly. ‘I have been imprisoned by too many beings, and used by more. I must be free to forge my own path or humanity is doomed. The strategy I use with the Ecclesiarchy is a bitter cup containing many unpalatable things, but it must be supped from for the alternatives are worse. I have to be free.’
‘You’re going to say you’d rather die?’
‘Second guessing me is another impertinence, Yassilli, but yes, I rather would die. I cannot allow myself to be subordinate to anything except the survival of the human race, not even an idea, and certainly not a belief. If I were to become dominated by one faction or another, then I would serve their ends, and not those of humanity. My mission must be pure, as pure as the Great Crusade.’
‘Can it be done?’
He gave her a harder smile. ‘I will tell you something. This armour.’ He spread his hand across his chest. Tongues of pale flame shone on his fingers where the scrollwork caught the ship’s lumens. ‘I was told it kept me alive. I was warned by the aeldari who aided Archmagos Cawl in awakening me never to take it off.’
‘I’ve seen you without it,’ she said. She shrugged. ‘I don’t see the aeldari as naturally deceitful like most do, but a lie for them is not the same as a lie for us. It pays to be careful with the eldar.’
‘It does. I am. Yvraine was not lying. She believed what she said to be true. The aeldari never do anything that does not aid their race directly. They did not resurrect me for the sake of humanity, but for their own species. They see me as another piece in their game against extinction. I cannot be their pawn, just as I cannot become the weapon of the Imperial Cult. She told me what she did because she wants me alive.’
‘You took it off anyway,’ Sulymanya said. She thought a moment. ‘You took it off to defy them?’
‘I never have only one reason for doing anything,’ he said to her. ‘Defying Yvraine was part of it. I do not like to be told what is and is not possible. But the driving reason was that I cannot be in thrall to the aeldari. If I allowed myself to be dependent on it, what happens if the armour malfunctioned, or they turned it off? Cawl built it, but I doubt he understands the fullness of its workings, so much was dictated to him. To avoid alerting them, I conducted the research on the Armour of Fate myself. Do not think there are none of the aeldari’s agents abroad in this fleet,’ he said, forestalling Sulymanya’s next question. ‘I do not have the technical skills of some of my dead brothers. The armour is complex, but I was able to determine the majority of its processes and what exactly it was doing to keep me alive. It is esoteric, warp tech. The aeldari make no difference between the material universe and the immaterium, not in the same way we do. I also determined that if I took it off, I might survive. Theoretically.
‘I waited for a moment of peace, that being relative. I told no one what I was about to do. I took with me seven armoury servitors, nothing and nobody sentient. Removing the armour was painful and difficult, especially as I did not wish to damage it for it is an exemplary piece of wargear. Furthermore, although my convictions were firm, I wished to leave the option to myself of replacing it should I begin to perish.
‘When the Armour of Fate was removed I felt justified in my actions, and when the pain came my belief that I was doing the right thing did not leave me. Not when the strength left my body and the wound my brother inflicted upon me at Thessala opened itself and wept blood scented with immortal poison. I fell, my body aflame with agony. My mind was ablaze, but I held one thought – I cannot die. Not that it is impossible, but that I would not allow it. When Fulgrim beat me in combat, I had
the same thought. I feared no one would be able to hold the Imperium together were I to die. That fear has been borne out a million times. The stakes are so much higher now than they were in the past. Maybe this gave me strength.’ He touched his hand to the breastplate. ‘Into realms of thought and terror I passed, and experienced many things there that I can barely recall. But I awoke. I earned my scar.’ He ran an armoured finger across his neck, where the ropy mark of Fulgrim’s wound peeped out from his softseal collar. ‘I was weak, but the worst had passed. I put the armour back on, and went about my duties. That week, I had it removed every night, and each time it became more bearable, until I could go abroad without it in tolerable condition.’
‘You are in pain when you do not wear it?’
‘Some. Not as much as I was. It is important I am seen without it. The Imperial Regent should show no weakness, nor any reliance on a xenos race.’
Humanity fled him as he said those words, spoken with an intensity a mortal man could not match.
‘It could be that my body had recovered enough that it could finish the job of healing itself,’ said Guilliman, ‘and that the venom in my veins was but a residue it could overcome. Whether or not those things are true, I will tell you one that is. I will not let myself die. The Imperium needs me whole and free of the influence of others.’
‘Then you have nothing to fear from Mathieu,’ she said.
‘Maybe that is true. For now. I do, however, fear the church.’
‘In these times, lord, I would take whatever help I can get,’ said Yassilli.
He shook his head and began to walk again. ‘I think back to Nikaea, so long ago. There was dissension among my brother primarchs about the wisdom of using warp-born powers within our Legions. The Emperor decreed that we abandon the practice. We broke that ban when warpcraft proved to be one of the most effective weapons against the forces of Chaos. Perhaps admitting faith into my armoury is no more extreme than entertaining witchcraft as a weapon of war.’ He paused.
‘Sometimes I do not know what to think. I can see the strategic value, in fact the necessity, of the Imperial Cult, but I do not understand it. I do not think I ever will. Of all my brothers, only Lorgar had a genuine sense of the spiritual. He had faith in my father once, much like Mathieu does. He was censured for that belief, and now a version of his religion is an indispensable part of the apparatus of state. The irony of that is so black I can only laugh at it. It was Lorgar who fell first, not Horus. Did you know that?’
‘The Horus Heresy was a long time ago, my lord. It is a legend to most. Even I, privileged enough to read the materials I collect for your histories, know next to nothing about it.’
‘It is not accurately remembered. You know that Lorgar was the root of the Imperial Cult?’
‘Yes,’ she said. A thread of misgiving wound itself around her guts and pulled tight. ‘I… I… didn’t before Talsimar.’ Did he know what she had in her possession?
‘You know also that should this information become widespread, it would cause untold upheaval?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her hand tightened on the stasis box. How peculiar he should bring this up now. She did feel a little afraid of him, right then.
‘I shall tell you something none now know. The Emperor ordered that Lorgar, who was called Aurelian, desist in his worship of Him. He did not, so my father had me teach him a lesson. Lorgar had raised a city in praise of the Emperor. They called it the perfect city. My Legion destroyed it. I took no pleasure in the act. Though I suspect the roots of corruption were planted long before the Emperor took Lorgar to His side, it was my Legion’s humbling of Aurelian that helped push him into the embrace of Chaos.’
Sulymanya’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You blame yourself for the war? You couldn’t have known what would happen!’
‘It was my job to know,’ he said. ‘I was made to plan. Each of my brothers was given a set of talents, derived from the Emperor Himself. Individually our talents overlapped – redundancy, I suppose, as should be incorporated into any system. Lord Rogal Dorn and I, for example, both inherited His capacity for strategy and contingency planning. But in combination our talents were unique. Dorn was a greater builder than I ever was, and I a far better administrator. Neither of us saw this coming. Nor did Sanguinius, who had powers of foresight second only to the Emperor Himself. Of us all, I think perhaps only poor Konrad knew, for he too had the power to see the future.’
‘The Night Haunter?’ Sulymanya whispered.
Guilliman nodded.
‘Was he as gifted as they say the Great Angel was?’
‘He was,’ said Guilliman. ‘He was also insane. Maybe if he had not been, this all could have been avoided, assuming of course the Emperor hadn’t intended this to happen all along.’
‘Do you really think that?’
Guilliman sighed. He seemed tired. ‘Yassilli, do you think you can truly comprehend the workings of my mind?’
‘No!’ she said. ‘Of course not! It’s impossible. I’ve got a pretty high opinion of myself, but you are far more than human.’
‘Then you can understand by extrapolation. I merely suppose, for I am as able to understand the Emperor’s mind as you are able to understand mine.’
She pulled a face.
‘Has something I said given you cause to worry?’ he asked.
‘It’s funny, and I don’t mean in an amusing way, that you bring up your brother Lorgar with me today.’
Guilliman raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’
‘Can you read minds?’ she asked frankly. ‘I don’t think you can, but you are, well, you are what you are.’
Guilliman might have laughed again were it not for her deadly serious air. ‘The Emperor did not invest me with any appreciable psychic ability.’
Now she was nervous. Quickly, she unhooked the stasis box from her belt and held it up to him, before she could change her mind.
‘I brought you this. Once I knew what it was I was pretty anxious to keep it hidden away from the others. Only I and Scopanji have seen it. Danton did too, but he’s dead.’
‘You do not trust your colleagues.’
‘I don’t trust anyone,’ she said quietly. ‘Apart from myself, and you.’ She held up the stasis box. ‘It’s in here. I thought you might want to see this immediately, and I thought it had better be me that gave it to you. I’d be careful with it, it’s very fragile. I suppose it would be, being ten thousand years old or so.’
He looked at the box.
‘Do you believe in coincidences?’ she asked, reaching up to key the cypher into the lock pad on the side.
‘Once I did not, but given sufficient evidence now, I will entertain any idea.’
The box lid folded into itself. Soft blue stasis light lit Guilliman’s face. The device hummed with the effort of holding time at bay. It was a hollow noise, with a silent centre. The eerie hush of changelessness rose from the middle of the containment field. There can be no noise where time does not flow.
Guilliman looked into the box. His eyes went hard.
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked softly.
‘Talsimar,’ she said quietly. She looked at the book inside. She hated it.
‘Your report said you were opposed,’ he said. ‘The Inquisition.’
Regret at the deaths incurred as the price of retrieval clouded Yassilli’s eyes.
‘I do not want the Logos Historica Verita to war with the Inquisition,’ he said.
‘Whether that happens or not is out of your hands,’ she said, barely louder than a whisper. ‘Our mission is to reveal, theirs is to obscure. We are opposed in our natures. Conflict between us is inevitable.’ She paused before she spoke again, not wanting to add to the concerns of this weary being. ‘So much talent wasted. We are all supposed to be on the same side.’ She searched his eyes. ‘I hope you think it was worth i
t.’
Guilliman looked at the item inside for a long moment before closing the box.
‘I learned long ago that governance as much as war is a balance sheet whose figures are scribed in blood,’ he said.
Chapter Eight
The nature
of nightmares
Schola Mistress Valeria is stern, but she is beautiful in her sternness. Mathieu watches her as she paces the long files of desks in the freezing scholam hall. She is one, the children are many, but they obey her without question. Not one of them speaks, not one of them daydreams. They hunch over their tablets, styli ploughing through the wax like the prows of silent boats on a voyage in search of knowledge.
Partly they obey her from fear of her cane, whose sting they dread. Her temper is only marginally duller than the switch, and as quick to rouse and strike. It goes like this – first her eyes widen, then her nostrils flare, then her shoulders set, as if all the impulses that stem from anger spill from the top of her head and cascade down her body, like a flow of lava, or an avalanche in the mountains, rushing down her arms to her hands where, with nowhere else to go, her anger travels out along the cane and thence, with a flash of movement, into the body of a wayward pupil. The first stroke is initially painless, a numb line that heats pleasantly before it sears. After the first, they all hurt.
But the children also obey her from love as much as fear. They are fortunate, they know. The scholam offers them a future different to their parents’ miserable lives. To be gifted enough to be worthy of a Ministorum education is a badge of honour, but to pass the exams… Well, pass the exams, Mathieu’s father says, in those short minutes when they are both at home in the barracks and neither of them are asleep, pass the exams and high service awaits. Perhaps, he says, if Mathieu works hard enough, he might one day have his own room to think in, and food that comes from the ground and not the nutrient plant.
There are other schools. There are higher schools. There are more vaunted forms of service. The existence of these other institutions cannot dampen Mathieu’s ambitions. To be a priest and serve the God-Emperor is his highest desire. Mathieu does not want to let his father down. Mathieu sees the exhaustion peeling away his father’s youth. He sees the dirt in the lines of his father’s face that he is too tired to clean off. He watches his father lose weight as the rations dwindle and the work doubles. Mathieu doesn’t want that kind of service. His service must mean something. He cannot be a forgotten number in mankind’s teeming trillions. That would be a waste.
