Anarch - Dan Abnett

by Warhammer 40K

  Domor was smiling. ‘That makes as much sense as anything I’ve heard today, father,’ he said.

  Zweil nodded. ‘Miracles wear disguises, my boy. Like, you know, moustaches and hats and those sash things with the pom-poms on them. Also, masks. The point is, you don’t always recognise them at first, even when your mind is a highly tuned spiritual organ like mine. The Emperor protects, Shoggy Domor, and today he is protecting us through the sanctity of his Beati. We were just too scared and bothered and worked up to see that before. But I see it now, oh yes! A revelation. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I behold the path of salvation–’

  There was an awful, blood-chilling screech and something black sawed out of the darkness right at them. Zweil cried out and fell over in a huge splash of flood water. Domor recoiled. Terror seized him again.

  This was it. This was it. This was fething it–

  He felt claws slice into his cheek, hot blood pouring down his face.

  The darkness was still shrieking at him.

  ‘Shoggy? Shoggy?’

  The shrieking stopped.

  ‘Father?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Zweil. He got up, soaked through, wiping his face, and peered at Domor. ‘It got you a good one. Gashed your cheek.’

  ‘What the feth–?’ Domor stammered.

  Zweil splashed past him, and scooped a bedraggled mass out of the water, a large, tattered shape that had been thrashing around where it landed.

  ‘Oh, hush now, you poor little bugger,’ Zweil cooed.

  It was the regimental mascot.

  ‘Shit,’ said Domor.

  ‘You see?’ said Zweil. ‘It’s Quil. Poor little bugger.’

  ‘Quil?’

  ‘I named it. Because it didn’t have a name. It’s short for–’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Domor.

  The psyber-eagle had been damaged and wounded. Feathers were mangled, and it was matted with blood. One of its heads had been sliced off.

  ‘Poor old bastard,’ said Zweil, clutching the surprisingly large and heavy creature in his arms as best he could manage. ‘It’s lost a head.’

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘Like a… what’s the word? What do you call a two-headed eagle that’s missing a head?’

  ‘An… eagle?’

  Zweil shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

  The psyber-eagle started to thrash wildly in his arms, raking the air with its wings.

  ‘Steady! Steady!’ Zweil cried. He was forced to let it go. It flew back up the hallway away from them, feather filaments drifting in its wake.

  ‘See?’ said Zweil.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s going the same way. The way I was going. It can hear her too. Birds are very cunning. Hunters, you see? It’s attuned. It’s following her call. Saints can do that, you know? They can call animals and creatures of the wild to their side. The grazing beasts of the farm and the hunters of the woods alike, they come flocking. I’ll bet it can hear her better than I can. The sharp sense of the untamed, you see, untrammelled by conscious thought. Running on instinct.’

  ‘You’re saying we should follow it?’

  ‘Yes. It’ll take us to her. It’ll take us out of the shadows.’

  ‘Right,’ said Domor.

  Dalin stopped, and leaned heavily against the stone wall.

  ‘Dal?’ Kolea asked, turning to look at him. Dalin was pale, and sweat was leaving blanched trickles in the dirt on his face.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ said Dalin.

  ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘I feel…’ Dalin swallowed hard. ‘My head hurts. My ears. You feel that? Like a buzzing? A scratching?’

  Kolea nodded. ‘That’s been going on since before the lights failed.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Some manifestation,’ Kolea said. ‘A harmonic, a vibration. I don’t know. It’s the background noise of this bad shadow.’

  ‘It’s making me feel ill,’ Dalin said. ‘My head, my gut. Like a fever–’

  Kolea pressed the back of his hand to Dalin’s forehead. Dalin jerked back in surprise.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Checking your temperature. There’s no fever.’

  ‘What are you, my dad?’

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kolea.

  Tears welled in Dalin’s eyes. He wiped them away, hurriedly.

  ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ said Kolea. ‘It’s just anxiety. I feel it too. We’re both worried sick about Yonce.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘We’re going to find her, Dal.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘No, I mean it.’ Kolea sighed. ‘I made an oath, you see? Swore I’d protect the both of you.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, when you were born. That was the first time. But it was after the Aigor drop. That’s when I made it, out loud. Spoke it. To myself, and to the Emperor, who I hope was listening.’

  ‘We could die down here,’ said Dalin. ‘I think we probably will die down here.’

  ‘No, that’s the thing,’ said Kolea. ‘It wasn’t a whim. It was an oath. Solemn in intent. A Kolea oath, you see? The Kolea family has a strong and proud tradition. The universe respects a Kolea oath like, Throne yes. Knows not to go breaking it.’

  ‘Gol–’

  ‘I’m serious, Dal. Even the fething Ruinous Powers know better than to try and defy an oath like that. I will stand with you, you and Yoncy, even in the darkness. I’ll stand between you and hell–’

  ‘Gol.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know you mean well. I appreciate the effort. You’re just pretty new at this father business, aren’t you?’

  Kolea shrugged. ‘Not had much practice over the years,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ said Dalin. ‘I appreciate it. But it’s weird. Let’s just find her.’

  Kolea nodded. ‘I was trying too hard?’ he asked.

  Dalin smiled. ‘Just a bit.’

  Kolea turned and hefted his weapon up.

  ‘All right, Trooper Dalin,’ he said. ‘Let’s head that way. To the left.’

  He let his voice trial off. He raised his right fist and flicked the signal for ‘noise’.

  Dalin raised his weapon, instantly alert.

  Somewhere, not close, but still in the undercroft, there was a sawing howl.

  Then, nearby, a splash.

  They both wheeled.

  ‘Show yourself!’ Kolea growled.

  ‘Gol?’

  ‘Bask?’

  Baskevyl and his squad appeared. They lowered their weapons and sloshed towards Kolea and Dalin.

  Kolea and Baskevyl embraced.

  ‘Thank the Throne!’ Bask said.

  ‘You all right?’ Kolea asked.

  ‘Just lost,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘And scared,’ Osket said.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Kolea asked, looking over at Blenner. The commissar was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.

  ‘This is getting to him,’ said Baskevyl quietly. ‘The tension’s making people sick.’

  Kolea nodded. ‘It’s not just tension,’ he replied. ‘I think the warp is acting on us all. Dalin’s sick too.’

  ‘At least you found him,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Yeah. And Yoncy’s around here somewhere too.’

  ‘All right, let’s stay together and find her. We ran into Meryn’s team a while back, but divided again. That was a mistake.’

  ‘Safety in numbers?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘Right,’ said Baskevyl. ‘And firepower. Whatever this is, I think we’re going to need to put it down hard. It makes a real mess of people.’

  ‘It’s killing?’ asked Kolea.
>
  ‘Yes, whatever it is. It’s trapped us in here and it’s killing. You seen anybody?’

  ‘No,’ said Kolea. ‘This gakking place is playing mind-games. I was with Erish and that lot, then lost them. The walls moved. I haven’t seen anybody except Dal and Yonce. And that’s weird, because there were a lot of people down here. I don’t know where they’ve all gone.’

  ‘Bonin was leading them out,’ said trooper Ells. ‘But, I dunno…’

  ‘Maybe it’s eaten them all,’ said Osket.

  Kolea and Baskevyl looked at him.

  ‘You’re a fething ray of sunshine, Osket,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Let’s move forward,’ Baskevyl said. ‘Eyes open for Kolea’s girl, all right?’

  ‘Stay close to Dalin for me,’ Kolea whispered to Baskevyl.

  ‘Sure. Why?’

  ‘I think I got a little heavy-handed. Tried to do the whole caring father thing and did not pull it off. He needs a comrade and an officer.’

  Baskevyl nodded. ‘No problem.’

  ‘And I’ll see if I can get Blenner to pull his wits together,’ Kolea said.

  ‘Good,’ Baskevyl whispered back. ‘He’s spooked badly, Gol. I think… I think he might be on something.’

  ‘Pharms?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think he keeps taking something. If he’s wired, he’s a liability. I mean, I feel sorry for him. Fear is a bitch, and I know it bites us all in different ways. But he’s been a useless sack of shit since this whole thing started.’

  ‘You mean since he joined the regiment?’ asked Kolea.

  Baskevyl snorted.

  ‘Don’t be unkind,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’s had his moments. But down here today? I think he might have been more rattled over the Ezra business than we thought.’

  ‘What, executing Wilder?’

  ‘I know, I know. It was the right call after what that shit did. But I think our dear Vaynom might be struggling with it. Killing a foe in battle is one thing. Sanctioning one of your own…’

  ‘He’s a commissar, Bask.’

  ‘Yeah. But as you point out, not a very good one. I wonder if he’s ever had to do that before. I mean, carry out a summary sentence that way. I think it’s shaken him.’

  ‘He almost said as much to me,’ said Kolea.

  ‘Right. Now this, plus maybe pharms. It might be a good idea to get his weapon off him. If this goes balls-up and turns into a close-quarter firefight, he could be an utter liability.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Kolea.

  ‘Right!’ Baskevyl announced, raising his voice again. ‘Let’s roll out. Head down to the left.’

  ‘All right there, Vaynom?’ Kolea asked, falling in beside Blenner.

  ‘Oh yes, fine and dandy,’ Blenner said. He was unconvincingly chipper. Kolea could smell the stink of his fear even above the rank odour of the flood water.

  ‘This is a bad deal,’ Kolea said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘But we’ve got each other’s backs. I’ve got your back, all right?’

  Blenner nodded. He adjusted his cap and hoped that, in the gloom, Kolea couldn’t see that he’d begun to cry.

  The Saint led them to the bottom of the steps.

  ‘I didn’t know the undercroft was this far down,’ said Gaunt quietly.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ replied Hark.

  Gaunt tightened his grip on his sword. He glanced at Curth.

  ‘I would prefer it if you went back up, Ana,’ he said.

  Curth shook her head.

  ‘There may be wounded, Lord Executor. You need a medic,’ she said simply.

  ‘While we’re on the subject of staying out of harm’s way, sir,’ Sancto began.

  ‘Don’t even try it, Scion,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  All the lights were out, but the undercroft was lit by a dull glow, as if unhealthy light was oozing out of the stones. The Beati led the way down, flanked by her two alert officers, then came Gaunt, Hark and Curth and the four Scions. Behind them were Daur, Beltayn, Trooper Perday and the inquisitor. Gaunt had sent Grae to find aid for Onabel and direct the reinforcements Gaunt hoped to Throne were on their way from Van Voytz.

  The long flight of stone steps ended in an archway that seemed too big and broad for even a palace wine cellar.

  The air scratched at their ears and the insides of their heads. It was like a buzzing of flies or the restless boring of maggots, as though every­one in the party was already dead and decomposing. There was a smell in the air of waste and rot.

  Beyond the arch lay a vast chamber. Gaunt could see its impossibility in an instant. No deep cellar in a massive stone edifice like the Urdeshic Palace could be so wide and low without the need for pillars or column supports. The walls were whitewashed, but that looked sallow yellow in the ugly light.

  The floor was black.

  They advanced slowly, weapons raised, covering each other.

  ‘This wasn’t here,’ said Hark softly. ‘It was a hallway, then barrack chambers off the side. Not this place.’

  ‘It’s getting stronger,’ said Laksheema. She adjusted the setting on the archeotech weapons built into her sleek golden cuff. ‘If it’s feeding, and growing… its ability to manipulate and warp reality is increasing.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the Beati gently.

  ‘Woe machines were mechanical engines,’ said Curth. ‘They couldn’t–’

  ‘Heritor Asphodel, may the Throne curse him, was a genius,’ said Laksheema. ‘I fear we continue to underestimate what his vile imagination could make and unleash.’

  Hark stood on something that broke with a crack. He looked down.

  ‘Oh Throne,’ he murmured. He could barely see it because it was as black as the floor. Curth bent down with him.

  It was part of a human jawbone, with three molars still embedded in it. It was black because it was covered in blood, and in the odd light, the redness of the blood appeared black.

  They realised what they were looking at. The whole floor of the chamber was soaked in blood, and littered with the physical debris of dozens of people. Scraps of bone, odd ribs, hunks of meat and muscle, no piece so big it couldn’t sit on a man’s palm.

  ‘It’s fed,’ said Laksheema.

  Daur began to tremble. He fought to keep it in, but a terrible groan of anguish broke through his gritted teeth. Beltayn grabbed him and held him tight with both arms to stop him falling. Curth and Gaunt went to him.

  ‘Ban?’ Gaunt said.

  Daur couldn’t speak.

  ‘Ban? Go back,’ said Gaunt. ‘Go back up. You don’t need to be here. I’ll finish this. You have my word.’

  ‘No,’ Daur managed to answer. His voice was tight and small as if it was being crushed by a high gravity field. ‘I need to be here now.’

  Gaunt nodded.

  ‘Keep with him,’ he said to Curth.

  They moved forwards again. The far end of the vast charnel hall became visible in the gloom. Eight doorways, forking off in different directions.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not like this before?’

  Hark shook his head.

  ‘It’s playing with us,’ said Laksheema. ‘It senses us. Senses her, I think.’

  She nodded towards the Beati. The Saint was facing the doorways, her sword raised.

  ‘It wants to divide us,’ said Laksheema. ‘Trap us, make us lost in its little pocket maze.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot,’ said Sariadzi.

  ‘I’ve seen a lot,’ said Laksheema. She paused. ‘Nothing on this scale.’

  The Beati stepped towards the doors. Auerben and Sariadzi hurried to flank her, but she held up a hand to keep them back.

  ‘I won’t play its games,’ she said. ‘Just so it knows, I’m saying that
out loud. I won’t play these games.’

  The whine of a bone saw echoed from one of the eight doorways, followed by silence. Then there was a scrape of stone against stone. The end wall was slowly shifting in front of them. They could see the stonework moving, grating edge against edge as it realigned. Seven of the doorways vanished, becoming solid wall. Only one remained.

  ‘It heard you,’ said Laksheema.

  ‘Or it’s playing another game,’ said Hark.

  The Beati raised her sword and approached the doorway. They formed up behind her, following tight. After a few steps, they realised they were stepping into floodwater several centimetres deep. Lights blinked on, the old lumen lamps of the undercroft in their rusted wire frames, illuminating the white-washed walls ahead of them.

  ‘This… this is how it was,’ said Hark. ‘The main hall. There should be a doorway ahead to the right. The first billet.’

  There was. The old wooden doors had been pushed shut but not quite closed. They looked as though someone had taken a circular saw to them repeatedly.

  Gaunt moved in beside the Saint, and they approached the doors together.

  ‘My lord!’ Sancto hissed.

  ‘Shut up.’

  Gaunt looked at the Saint. She nodded.

  They kicked the doors open together.

  The man stood facing them, just a few metres inside. He fired his lasrifle at them repeatedly. It made a dry, clacking sound. Its powercell was long since exhausted.

  The man dropped it, his arms limp and heavy, and drew his straight silver. He took a step forward, then halted.

  He stared at their faces, bewildered, as though he didn’t properly recognise them.

  He was covered in dried blood.

  ‘M-my lord,’ he said.

  ‘Mach,’ said Gaunt.

  Exhausted and traumatised beyond measure, Bonin flopped to his knees at Gaunt’s feet.

  ‘I tried,’ he whispered. ‘I tried. I tried to keep them safe. As many as I could. It came from everywhere. Every shadow.’

  Gaunt bent down. ‘Easy, Mach,’ he said, holding the man by the shoulders. ‘Ana? Here, please.’

  Gaunt looked past Bonin. Another man was nearby. He stepped out of the shadows, a chair leg in his hand ready to use as a club. He too was caked in blood, and swayed wordlessly on his feet.