The Unforgiven - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer 40K

  The spires of the ancient Chapter Keep that had once dominated the eastern part of the city had been flattened, not by the greenskins but the Techmarines of the Dark Angels. Nothing remained of the old stronghold.

  The Basilica that had once belonged to the Chapter, site of the fiercest fighting in the city between Ghazghkull’s orks and the Third Company, still stood, a hollowed shell. It seemed a sacrilege to pull down such an honoured structure, so he had deigned to let it remain as testament to the bonds that had once held Piscina and the Dark Angels together.

  Beyond the curtain wall – itself a jagged shadow of its former defiance – were the East Barrens where any number of ork nests remained to be uncovered. In the opposite direction was the ocean, the only part of the region untouched by the orkish taint.

  ‘You can’t just leave, Chapter Master. The war isn’t over!’

  ‘This war will never be over, Colonel Brade, until the regiments of the Emperor’s Astra Militarum arrive with such numbers that every square kilometre of Kadillus Island can be scoured. I thought once that my Chapter had achieved this end, but I was wrong. Your forces are experienced and well-equipped now, enough to keep the threat under control until a task force can be mobilised by the Adeptus Terra.’

  Azrael could not tell the colonel his reasons for leaving Piscina, any more than he could inform him that this disaster had not been brought about by orks, but the intervention of a handful of Dark Angel renegades from the dawn of the Imperium. It sounded so ridiculous to think of the Hunt in those terms. Azrael almost wanted to tell Brade the truth, just to see his incredulity. That was out of the question and the Supreme Grand Master reined in his whimsy, regaining his composure. Of his expression nothing had changed during the internal debate and Brade continued regardless.

  ‘If the Dark Angels remove their liegehood from Piscina, what will become of us? We have scant resources for our people, with the docks in ruins, the mines just as unworkable.’

  ‘The Priesthood of Terra will find a place for you in the grander scheme of the Imperium, colonel. It is done, there is no turning back my decision. You must learn to survive without the patronage of the Dark Angels. Far lesser planets and people have done so for millennia, I do not doubt that Piscina Four will endure long into the coming centuries.’

  Azrael did not say how close Piscina had come to having no future at all. It had been a difficult decision to cut Piscina loose from the demesne of the Chapter, but an event two months earlier had left him only a far worse alternative.

  The door terminal chimed, announcing the arrival of Master Belial. Azrael waited for a few seconds, finishing his briefing notes for the next phase of missions into the East Barrens of Kadillus Island. He looked around the chamber, sparing a glance for the view of the world below through the great arched window to his left. A globe of mostly blue ocean and dark clouds, the glimpse of grey and green continents brief.

  These rooms had hosted the commanders of the Dark Angels for generations. He was far up in the pinnacle of the Tower of Angels that Azrael knew once had been Aldurukh, the keep of the Order on Caliban. Lesser towers and fortifications as well as star docks and launch bays spread out across the asteroid that now served as the fortress-monastery of the Dark Angels, spilling yellow, red and white patches of light across the barren rock. Tradition held that these rooms had been used by the Lion himself.

  The walls were hung with banners showing the heraldry of successive Chapter Masters, Azrael’s taking pride of place above the chair and desk at the far end of the chamber. Countless worlds had been saved by orders issued from this chamber, and countless again were the foes slain and the brothers lost in those wars. Azrael’s only concession to that history was a skull of an eldar pirate, polished to a gleam and inscribed with curses and catechisms to torment the soul of the creature it had belonged to. He had learned many things on becoming Supreme Grand Master, reading the old texts of the Lion and gleaning what he could from the Dark Oracle in the dungeons beneath the Rock. The eldar had once controlled an empire across the stars, but had lost it. The severed head of the eldar warrior was reminder to Azrael that the Dark Angels clung to a similar precipice and a moment’s respite would see them fall into the abyss of damnation.

  He looked up, noted that Asmodai accompanied Belial, and waved them forward. He watched the two of them carefully, wondering why Asmodai had chosen to join Belial in the petition. The Master of Repentance made no secret of his dislike for Azrael’s appointment of Sapphon to the position of Master of Sanctity. Was this another opportunity to exert pressure on his Chapter lord? The timing was inconvenient, to put it mildly.

  ‘You understand that our campaign on Piscina is ongoing.’ The Supreme Grand Master focused on Belial who had called for the audience, eyes as dark and hard as granite. ‘All three of us have duties elsewhere.’

  ‘I will be brief, Grand Master. I think that we waste valuable time and resources trying to reclaim Piscina Four from the ork infestation. With the Rock in orbit we possess the weaponry required to obliterate all life on the planet, and should do so before casualties amongst our ranks become excessive.’

  ‘I am surprised that you of all my warriors are prepared to abandon Piscina Four without a battle. You have already striven so hard to guard this world for the Chapter and the Emperor, why give in to the counsel of despair now?’

  ‘No despair, Brother Azrael, only a long-delayed acceptance of the consequences of my failures many years ago. Had I succeeded in eliminating the ork threat properly at its arrival the current situation would not have developed. That I did not has allowed the orks to gain a grip on this world that no effort of the Chapter can prise away.’

  ‘I see.’

  The Supreme Grand Master stood up. To mask his annoyance he started to pace back and forth behind his chair. He stroked his chin, feigning deep thought, while he mastered unwarranted feelings of betrayal. When one held sway over the Inner Circle it was too easy to give in to paranoia and the belief that every disagreement was but the first pebbles that heralded a coming avalanche of treachery.

  Just as every Supreme Grand Master secretly harboured the hope that he would usher in an age after the Hunt had finished, they all had been prone to an underlying dread that they would preside over the ultimate collapse of the teetering edifice of lies and obfuscations that the Dark Angels had become. From his position atop the mound of falsehood and misdirection, Azrael could clearly see how precarious was the position he held and the foundations beneath it. And Asmodai was just the sort of individual that would happily see the Chapter fall upon itself if it proved him righteous.

  Belial took this as an opportunity to argue his case further and Azrael said nothing to stop him.

  ‘We cannot accomplish this task alone without ignoring other battles that require our intervention. The longer we spend on this lost world, the more danger to other planets of the Emperor. The Piscinans have been rendered useless as allies, would you have us wait until forces from the Imperium arrive to assist us?’

  Asmodai shook his head, thumping a fist into his other hand.

  ‘Impossible! All three of us know that the Fallen interfered with Piscina during the stewardship of Chaplain Boreas and his companions. We risk knowledge of their existence spreading beyond the world if outsiders become involved in the campaign.’

  Azrael stopped and turned a warning look towards the Chaplain, his hands moving to clasp each other behind his back. Talk of the Fallen earned a fierce scowl from the Supreme Grand Master.

  ‘You suggest that I destroy the population of an entire world to keep secret the existence of the Fallen? An act that will earn us further investigation and suspicion, no doubt. Sometimes I think you desire a confrontation with the Imperium, Asmodai.’

  ‘There is precedent, Brother Azrael. And the presence of the orks presents far more justification than has sometimes been offered.’

  ‘
If there is evidence of the Fallen to be removed, it will be removed. If I listened to your counsel, every world where even rumour of the Fallen is found would be left a lifeless wasteland.’

  The Deathwing commander stepped closer to his superior, darting an equal look of annoyance at the Master of Repentance. Azrael did not react, but noted that the two were not of perfect accord. Neither of them were experts at the internal politics of the Chapter and both had come with an honest petition to make. Belial took a breath and weighed his next words carefully.

  ‘The Piscina System is tainted, we can no longer recruit from here with any confidence. If we become mired in a war against the greenskins we compound the failure of my earlier campaign.’

  Azrael’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  ‘Your campaign? Your failure? Did you not hold back the orks sufficiently to stop the world being overrun, and did not the entire Chapter under my command conduct the intended annihilation? You would embroil us in intrigue with the Imperium and throw away millions of lives because of your impossible quest for perfection?’

  ‘Apologies, Supreme Grand Master. Our failure. And it is not perfection I seek, it is simply an absence of error. Our warriors spend days in the Reclusiam pondering their failings and atoning for their deficiencies. Those of us of higher rank must hold to an even stricter code.’

  ‘The reasons are irrelevant. We cannot place ourselves in higher moral authority than the people we are sworn to protect. If there is atonement to be made, should it not be painful? Should it not involve sacrifice? You suggest the easy route, thinking there will be no repercussions, no regrets.’

  Belial struggled, the truth of this statement undeniable. It was no secret that the Grand Master of the Deathwing vexed his flesh with acidic tattoos so that he would better remember the price of perceived failure. For the most part it was an entirely desirable – admirable – trait in a commander but now the First Company’s master was becoming intolerant, perhaps finding undue alliance with Asmodai’s hard-line beliefs. For all that Belial agreed with Azrael’s sentiment, equally he could not hide his consternation at this apparent refusal.

  ‘And I see from your expression that there is some other purpose for wishing swift conclusion to our war in Piscina.’

  Directly confronted, Belial showed renewed dilemma in his expression. Azrael had guessed correctly that a more personal motive steered the counsel of the Deathwing commander. Belial sighed heavily.

  ‘There were reports of the Beast, sightings a few thousand light years from our current position. It would be a better use of our might to strike down the creature that dealt the fatal wound to Piscina than to remain here and mire ourselves with the scraps left behind.’

  Azrael had heard these reports that Ghazghkull was on the move again, but they were no more substantial than a hundred other rumours about the warlord since he had returned to the hives of Armageddon to lay waste to the world that had been the site of his previous great defeat. The Chapter Master regarded Belial evenly, letting neither angered temper nor indulgent forgiveness colour his demeanour.

  ‘So it is to be revenge, is it?’

  ‘I would prefer you not cheapen my motives with such terminology, Supreme Grand Master. It is justice, is it not, to punish those guilty of the crimes? The Beast killed Piscina, we are simply putting the planet out of its misery.’

  Azrael paused before speaking, about to argue out of habit, out of necessity, but confounded by Belial’s argument. He sat down again, another act that bought him a moment’s grace to think more clearly. He steepled his hands to his chin and rested his elbows on the report-strewn desk. He looked at Belial for some time and saw honest desire, and then moved his gaze to Asmodai, who had watched the exchange in uncharacteristic silence.

  ‘It is a bleak day when the Adeptus Astartes must weigh the life and death of a whole world, an entire culture that has supported and praised them for generations. You are both dismissed.’

  ‘Are you refusing my proposal, Supreme Grand Master? Am I to conclude that my plan does not find favour in your eyes? You will not conduct Exterminatus?’

  ‘You have made sound arguments, brother. I will not decide the fate of a world in a moment.’

  Exterminatus had been out of the question, on practical accounts if the moral reasons were not enough. As Azrael had told the pair of officers, wiping out all life on an Imperial world invited scrutiny he did not desire. Weighed against this had been the equally legitimate argument that the Dark Angels were tarrying far longer than was feasible. There would be no swift end to the problems of Piscina, and the Adeptus Terra were better able to deal with those problems than a Chapter of Space Marines.

  ‘It could be years before they respond, the Adepts of Terra,’ complained Brade. ‘Even if the astropaths send signals now, they will not receive them on the Throneworld for months more.’

  ‘I have already sent transmissions notifying the High Lords of my decision,’ Azrael informed the Free Militia commander. ‘My personal psygnia was attached to the broadcast, to ensure it receives the swift attention it deserves.’

  ‘The High Lords?’ Brade was clearly vexed by the realisation that Azrael dealt with such powerful, semi-mythical creatures. He was used to dealing with the faceless, endlessly bureaucratic ranks of the Administratum.

  ‘Of course,’ said the Chapter Master. ‘The surrendering of sovereign Chapter domains to the Imperium is no small matter. I expect that a great deal of attention will soon be brought to bear upon Piscina and its people, and its rulers. Be sure that all is in order when the agents of the Adeptus Terra and Inquisition arrive to audit your conduct.’

  The veiled threat pierced Brade’s bluster and a fresh look of horror crossed his face.

  ‘Inquisition?’ he whispered. ‘Here?’

  ‘If I were you, colonel, I would welcome such a thing. I will leave a report that highlights your exemplary behaviour, both in the current crisis and during our earlier dealings with Ghazghkull. Praise like that will earn you a general’s rank in the Astra Militarum if you desire it, or perhaps officially confirm you as Imperial Commander of Piscina, dispensing with the charade of your coup and puppet-governor.’

  ‘Puppet?’ Brade was genuinely offended by the intimation and bridled before Azrael, stiffening to his full height and staring the supreme commander of the Dark Angels in the eye. ‘I have nothing to fear from the Inquisition, Chapter Master Azrael. Can you say the same?’

  ‘The Inquisition have never been a problem for my Chapter, colonel. Remember, we are the First, the Dark Angels, the Emperor’s Own. Do not make me regret penning my report in such favourable terms.’ Brade sagged again, his moment of fortitude evaporating. ‘As an appointed representative of the Piscinan authorities, you are duly informed that the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes rescinds all ties to the worlds of the Piscina System. As outlined in the Justices Astartes, the Liber Mortis Angelica and the Codes of Imperial Governance, I exert the right for all oaths, allegiances and tithes to revert from the sovereign control of the Dark Angels Chapter to the Adeptus Terra, overseers of the Imperium in the Emperor’s name. Acquieset finalis.’

  Brade paled even further as the finality of these words sank home.

  ‘Brother Bethor,’ said Azrael, looking to the Space Marine who stood at a tall flagpole near the edge of the roof. At the top of the pole flew a black banner with a golden Imperial aquila upon it. Beneath fluttered a pennant, black, marked in white with the sigil of the Dark Angels.

  Taking up a silver cord hanging from the pole, Brother Bethor lowered the standard of the Dark Angels. He removed it from its toggles, folded it thrice and presented it to Azrael with a bow. Azrael took the flag with a solemn nod and held it for several seconds before passing it back to the Chapter Standard Bearer.

  ‘Is that it?’ said Brade, looking around. ‘I expected more… pomp. Grandeur?’

  �
��Do you feel this a moment to celebrate, colonel?’ Azrael swept a hand towards the encompassing city. ‘Would you like to announce to all and sundry that your liege-masters are departing, never to return?’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ said Brade. ‘Not yet. The Free Militia draw strength from our alliance. I will not rob them of that, not yet.’

  ‘Our business is concluded, in all ways.’ Azrael turned away but spun back and extended a hand of friendship to the colonel. Surprised, it was several seconds before Brade clasped it in return. ‘I would have had this another way if I could, Colonel Brade. You have my sincerest regards and respect, and I wish you every success in the forging of a new age for Piscina. You will be a worthy Imperial Commander.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Brade, clearly humbled by the Space Marine’s unexpected praise.

  Azrael said no more as he turned on his heel and marched away, Bethor matching his stride beside him.

  ‘The deed is done,’ said the Standard Bearer.

  ‘Yes. It is time to implement the extraction strategy.’ Azrael did not look at his companion as he voiced the consequences of his decision. ‘Within four hours, for the first time in thousands of years, there will no more be a Dark Angels presence on Piscina.’

  The Hidden Chamber

  Asmodai descended the ramp of the Thunderhawk, his step echoed by the Deathwing Knights behind him. They flanked two prisoners, both manacled with magno-cuffs and hooded with eyeless cowls made of plasteel chainmail. Anovel had been divested of his armour, Cypher not. It annoyed Asmodai that he was reluctant to strip the arch-renegade of his wargear, but the memory of the sword’s vision was burned into his mind. He did not know the full properties of the blade, or its provenance, but if the myths were true that it was the Lion Sword, weapon of the primarch, it was possible his last moments were etched into the ancient metal in some arcane fashion. He had spoken to Ezekiel about the matter but even the Chief Librarian had been reluctant to psychically probe the sword.