He sighed.
‘I guess a man can only have one miracle in his life, and mine was the Beati saving me. The kids were alive after all. I blessed the Throne for that. I let them be. I stayed back. They were too young to remember me, and they’d been through too much. But, you know, Dalin’s grown into a fine man. A good lasman.’
‘There’s distinction in him,’ Gaunt agreed.
Kolea nodded. ‘And Yoncy. Everyone’s favourite. More of a damn mascot than that fething bird. All the women dote on her. And Criid, well, she coaxed me back into their lives. Said it was dumb for me to be apart from them. So I made that connection again and… well, I was glad of it. For all the obvious reasons. I don’t need to tell you how it is to make a bond with a child you didn’t know existed.’
Gaunt pursed his lips. ‘No.’
‘But it got me close to them, you see?’ Kolea went on. ‘And I thought, “here’s how you look after them, Gol. If there’s any fething truth in that voice’s threat, I can be here. Right with them. Protect them, like I promised.” Because I thought… thinking like a solider, you understand, that the threat would be violence. An attack.’
‘But?’ asked Gaunt.
‘I think the threat was more venomous than that,’ said Kolea. ‘More… what’s the word? Insidious.’
‘How?’
‘This rumour,’ said Gol. He took a sip of amasec and glanced at his seat. Gaunt nodded, and Kolea sat back down. ‘This rumour. Don’t know where it started, but some women in the entourage, Verghast women, they thought my kids had both been boys. Two boys. Well, this got back to me, and I laughed. No, a boy and girl…’
He looked at Gaunt again, solemn. ‘Now I’m not so sure. I can’t trust my memory. I can’t trust anything in my mind, not since the harm done to me, or since the voice was in my head. I get headaches and… well, anyway, I think it’s right. There was no girl child. Two boys. I asked Hark to check, but there’s been no word back from the Administratum.’
‘It was just a mistake,’ said Gaunt. ‘You’d know. The women got it wrong. You know what camp rumour is like.’
‘I don’t reckon so,’ said Kolea.
‘Why would you think like that?’ Gaunt asked, sitting down again and leaning forward.
‘Yoncy, she’s an odd child. Always has been. A little girl, reluctant to grow up.’
‘She’s had a tough life.’
‘Not just that.’
‘Exactly that. Lost her mother. Lost you. Been through hell. Her life now as part of a nomad regiment.’
Kolea shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘I do,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’ve seen her. She acts young because it’s safe. Subconscious, I’m sure, but she acts like a little girl, because people always look after the little girl. It’s just a defence mechanism.’
‘No, sir,’ said Kolea. ‘I’ve had… I’ve had memories. I’m increasingly sure she isn’t my Yoncy. Before you say it, I know. Maybe that’s the punishment. Maybe that idea, that uncertainty, is the cruel trick the voice threatened, playing with me. In which case, I’m tainted and damned. But maybe…’
‘Maybe what?’
‘Maybe I’m right,’ said Kolea. ‘Maybe the true punishment is this. This is what the voice promised on Aigor. My girl, my Yoncy. Not mine at all. Maybe this is the way the warp shreds me.’
‘What do you think she is, then?’ asked Gaunt.
Kolea exhaled hard, his eyes wide and wondering.
‘Who the feth knows?’ he said. ‘Something placed among us? Some changeling thing. Something malevolent.’
Gaunt smiled. ‘Yoncy?’ he asked. ‘You think the Ruinous Powers planted her among us years ago? Years, Gol. As what? Some elaborate plan to destroy us from within? That it’s just been waiting?’
‘Well…’
‘Come on! If Yoncy’s a daemon, Gol, or whatever… she’s had plenty of chances. We’d know by now. The warp plays games, but not long-term games like that. And for what? To cripple or destroy a regiment that, until recently, was just another Guard unit? We’re not that important.’
‘We are now,’ said Kolea. ‘You are now.’
‘So it could see the future too?’ Gaunt laughed. ‘Predict? Project? Put an agent in place waiting for the day, the remote chance, years to come…?’
‘The eagle stones–’
‘Feth’s sake, Gol!’
‘I know how it sounds. But I know what my heart says.’
‘We’re sheltering a creature of the warp?’
‘All right, when you put it like that…’
‘Gol, you’re all mixed up,’ said Gaunt. ‘I get why. I understand. We’ve been through many hells, all of us. We’ve all faced the darkness and felt it mess with us. It’s what it wants. It’s what the Archenemy does to us. It wants to ruin our bonds, our trusts… it wants us to suspect each other and collapse in fear and hatred. And we’re not going to let it. That’s our job, after all. Our calling. Of all the citizens in the Imperium, we’re the ones that hold fast. The Imperial fething Guard. We’re the ones that are supposed to fight. You’re just messed up.’
‘But–’ Kolea began.
‘Whatever state your mind’s in,’ said Gaunt, ‘whatever confusion, maybe you don’t know. But Dalin does.’
Kolea blinked.
‘He’d know, wouldn’t he?’ asked Gaunt. ‘Forget your doubts. A brother would know his sister.’
Kolea wiped his mouth. He took a few deep breaths.
‘I suppose there’s that,’ he admitted.
‘Fething right there’s that,’ said Gaunt.
‘So what do we do?’
‘We fix this. We deal with the actual problem. Coordinate with Laksheema and divine Sek’s true intention. I need all the good men I can get, so I’m not losing you. And I have a way to get the inquisitor off your back and clear your mind about this.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. Drink up, then come with me. I’m going to talk to Laksheema again. Later on, you can go down to the billets and see your kids. See them and hug them and know that everything’s all right.’
Gaunt raised his glass.
‘You know why?’ he asked.
‘Because you’re Lord Executor and you said so?’
‘No. Because the Emperor protects.’
The glasses clinked together.
They all rose to their feet as Gaunt walked back into the ward room with Kolea.
Kolea stood by the door. Gaunt resumed his seat, and gestured for them all to sit.
‘So here we have it, inquisitor,’ he said. ‘I believe, absolutely, that we share the same desire. To serve the Throne. To deny and destroy the Archenemy of Mankind. To end the pernicious blight of Anarch Sek, and to achieve victory in this crusade for Terra. Sek, or at least his schemes, live on. Only a fool would believe the eagle stones play no part in them. So let’s combine our efforts. Identify the nature and value of the stones, their use and implication. Defend them. And ascertain through that effort the Archenemy’s intent, so that we may not only block it but also accomplish a total victory.’
Laksheema nodded. ‘The Holy Ordos would find the cooperation and assistance of the Lord Executor invaluable.’
‘Good. Where are the stones?’
‘As I said previously, sir, the location is necessarily classified–’
‘Laksheema,’ said Gaunt. ‘No more games. The ordos do not have combat forces of sufficient scale present on Urdesh to defend a location against mass attack. The Astra Militarum does. Please don’t presume that keeping their location a secret is an adequate defence against a monster who deals in secrecy.’
‘My lord,’ Laksheema began to protest.
‘You said it yourself,’ said Gaunt. ‘The Archenemy battleship withheld fire from my vessel – indeed, perhaps fought to sav
e it – because something valuable was on board that it could not bring itself to destroy. We can safely assume it was the eagle stones. It knew they were aboard without even seeing them.’
‘I will supply data on the location,’ said Laksheema. ‘But it must remain classified, even within the Guard and the high command. We are certain the enemy has spies throughout Eltath. It has been enemy ground for too long.’
‘And the city leaks like a sieve,’ agreed Gaunt. ‘I have a regiment at my disposal that is cleared at my level. Have Grae give the data to Captain Daur.’
‘What about the pheguth?’ asked Hark quietly.
‘The traitor general?’ asked Laksheema. ‘I think his uses are exhausted.’
‘He’s scheduled for termination,’ said Grae.
‘Mabbon led us to them,’ replied Hark. ‘He was the key that allowed the Salvation’s Reach mission to happen. The strategy of division between Blood Pact and Sek came from him. I’m not saying he’s lying, or withholding, but… he’s still an asset. He may know things that can help us, even if he doesn’t realise it.’
‘Do you want him brought here?’ asked Grae.
‘Again, I want his location,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’ll have him delivered to the palace by an escort who knows how to handle him.’
He turned to look at Daur.
‘Go fetch Beltayn,’ he said. ‘I want a secure link to Rawne in five minutes.’
Jan Jerik wrenched the cage door open, and stepped out of the freight car. Corrod followed him, stooping slightly to move under the door frame.
The air stank of sulphur, and it was unpleasantly hot. Jan Jerik was already sweating. He led Corrod across the rockcrete loading bay outside the elevator and into a broad chamber where the others were assembled and waiting.
Corrod’s men, under the supervision of Hadrel, were busy equipping themselves from the crates House Ghentethi had provided. They were pulling on drab Guard fatigues and regulation boots, and unshipping lasrifles and hellguns from the munition crates. Each packson was checking his chosen weapon with assured ease and familiarity.
Like Corrod, they had all changed. Each one was a towering spectre of tall bones and hard muscle, and taut; too tall, too thin. The uniforms, which Jan Jerik had feared would be too big for them, were, if anything, too small. Some had rolled up sleeves where cuffs fell far short of their bony wrists. Their eyes shone, like those of wild animals caught by lamp light in the dark. On the deck plates, Jan Jerik saw spattered drops of neon tears.
The ordinate’s men, a dozen or more footmen and subordinates, were standing watch. Jan Jerik could see the pallor of their faces, and smell the fear. They were all armed with carbines as per his earlier private instruction, but they carried the guns as if ashamed of them.
‘My ordinate,’ said one of the footmen, coming forward quickly in concern.
Jan Jerik waved him off. They were committed now. He didn’t dare think what might befall him and his men if he reneged, or tried to purge his guests.
‘You… you have everything?’ he asked.
Corrod was pulling on a faded Guard jacket and checking its fit.
‘It would appear so,’ he said. ‘Sirdar?’
‘Most of what we requested, my damogaur,’ said Hadrel. ‘Though the quality of the weapons and clothing is merely serviceable. Just standard lasrifles. And no support weapons or grenades as stipulated.’
‘We got what we could,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘Sources are few at a time of war. And to ransack Munitorum property without detection–’
Corrod raised a lasrifle, checked its aim and feel quickly, shortened the carry-strap, then opened the receiver to load a powercell.
‘It will suffice,’ he said. ‘Sirdar, share the ammunition equally between all. Hacklaw? Make sure everyone has a blade.’
His officers moved to their tasks.
‘This… this is the lower level,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘From down here, we draw power from the geothermal vents to run our lathes and processors.’
‘And the vent system links all Mechanicus and forge facilities in the city?’ said Corrod, strapping on an ammunition belt.
‘All of them, and beyond the city too,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘It was a network constructed by the earliest settlers, to harness the power of the mountain and–’
‘Yes,’ said Corrod, cutting him short. ‘Let’s begin. Give me the chart.’
Jan Jerik handed it over, then lit his lantern and walked through the preparing group towards a large hatch at the end of the chamber. He selected a silver cipher key from his chain, and unlocked the hatch. Stinking gases and heat billowed out.
Corrod gestured, and his men assembled.
Jan Jerik unhooked a rebreather mask from a rack on the wall. His subordinates did the same.
‘You’ll need these,’ he said to the damogaur.
‘No,’ said Corrod.
‘Damogaur, the heat alone can be treacherous,’ said Jan Jerik. He adjusted a toggle on his worksuit to activate its cooling system. ‘And the accumulated gases are noxious. They can blind and choke. Moreover, if there is unscheduled system venting or an upwelling from the–’
‘No,’ said Corrod again. He began to blink rapidly, and the neon glow of his eyes increased in intensity. His jaw clenched tightly, as if he was suffering discomfort. There was a sudden, wet, sticky noise of bubbling fluids.
Milky secondary eyelids formed over his eyes, a tough organic membrane oozing with mucus that resembled the bulbous, glassy stare of a deep sea fish. The lids dulled the light of his eyes a little. Another film of mucus oozed out to cover his raw stub of nostrils and his mouth, hardening like resin. It formed a bony sheathe across his nose and mouth, like a muzzle on a dog woven from intestine and coral.
Hadrel and the other men had all done the same.
‘We will manage,’ he said to Jan Jerik, his voice muffled to a low murmur.
Jan Jerik winced with distaste.
He raised his lantern.
‘Then follow me,’ he said.
Seven: Arrivals
They ran under the shadow of the rock and entered the Fastness. The deep water of the channel lapped against the huge rock overhang, stirred by the current and chopped by the wake of the watercraft. It was brisk and cold under the shadow, and the growl of the hard-running engines echoed off the rock.
Mkoll didn’t know the Urdeshi name for the island, and there were no maps to hand. As they cleared the shadow, the nature of the Fastness became evident. It was a vast volcanic peak, long extinct. At some point in its long history, the sea had invaded the dead cone through fissures like the one they had entered by. The immense internal flue had become a sea-lake ten kilometres in diameter. Around it, the inner walls of the cone rose like cliffs, a kilometre and a half high. Above, the cone was open to the heavens, a ragged circle of grey sky fringed with vapour.
Urdesh’s clave dynasts and agri-fleets had used the Fastness as a natural harbour. The wide internal water, deep enough to handle the draft of any vessel, was protected from all sides by the rock bastion of the cone, defending it from foul weather and oceanic gales. From the waterline up, the internal cliffs were clad in buildings: docks and wharfs, landing platforms, boat pens and salting houses. Above these rose habitats, administrative halls, workshops, warehouses and machine rooms, all built out over the water on rusted metal pilings, and stacked up like blocks, clinging to the cliff walls and linked by open staircases and suspended walkways. A small city, accumulated over the years around the inner circumference of the dead flue. In some places, the piled structures reached almost a quarter of the way up the cliffs. Everything was caked in a thick coating of algae.
The cold air stank of seawater, promethium slicks and venting exhaust fumes. Mkoll saw fleets of watercraft – landing barges and battered agriboats – packing in at the landing stages, unloading war machines, cargo and hun
dreds of Sekkite troopers. This was the Archenemy’s safe haven, the point of flight for the vast forces retreating from the mainland brawl. Cranes and industrial hoists swung the heavier items onto the docks from the agriboats, ponderously manoeuvring tracked armour and troop carriers to the ramps of the foreshore yards. Horns blew, their bass notes echoing across the hidden lake, and standards flapped along the walls of the waterline, company standards, battle flags and banners of the infernal powers proudly displayed for incoming vessels to see. There was a screech and chatter of machine tools from the work-barns on the waterside.
The most arresting sight, dominating all others, was the ship. It was an Archenemy cruiser, gnarled and scarred, a medium-displacement shiftship over a mile long. Like the tiny agriboats beneath it, it had taken shelter in the cone of the Fastness. It hung in place on its grav-anchors and suspensor arrays thirty metres above the water, and the bulk of it seemed to fill the open hollow of the cone’s interior. Supply pipes looped from its flanks and belly to the dockside plants and manufactories. Bracing cables of woven wire as thick as a man’s thigh strained tight between anchor points on the hull and the surrounding cliffs, as taut as the strings on a lyre. Vapour and steam vented in thick, slow, dirty clouds from the ship’s aft drives. Bilge water and liquid grease poured in steady cascades from its underside. It had clearly not been at the Fastness long. The surface of the lake beneath the ship, black in the ship’s immense shadow, rippled with moire patterns triggered by the invisible action of the suspensor fields.
The cruiser’s down-lights were lit, illuminating the immediate wharfs with searchlight beams of an ugly radiance. Banks of lights had been set up on the docks too, angled to light the ship’s paint-scabbed and warp-scorched plates. Mkoll could see the minuscule figures of men moving like lice on the ship’s upper hull, work-crews engaged on field repairs and plate refits. There was the occasional blue-white twinkle of welding torches and fusion cutters.
Anarch - Dan Abnett Page 9
