by Darius Hinks
Vorne emerged from her corner with her flamer raised. The panic had gone from her face.
Taddeus wore a large, circular relic of some kind on a chain around his neck – it looked like a medallion, but there were rune studs around its circumference. He touched one of them as he glowered at Draik.
The hatch slid back into place with a rattle of locks. Draik and Grekh were trapped.
Taddeus waved at the piles of books. ‘I will find my answer soon enough. Somewhere in these texts is the code that will explain to me how I will return to the vault. But until then, the God-Emperor has given me other, equally valuable work to do.’ He stepped back, away from Draik, as Vorne came forwards with the flamer.
‘Precipice has drawn every kind of miscreant, deviant and non-conformist into its snare,’ said Taddeus. ‘Or should I say the God-Emperor has drawn them.’
Draik shook his head.
‘The fortress is a trap,’ explained Taddeus. ‘A minority are here for noble purposes, but the rest are slaves to passion and need – weak-willed fodder for the Great Enemy.’ He whispered a prayer. ‘I did not fail to reach the vault, captain. I am not reduced. I have been given time to purge and cleanse.’
All the while Taddeus was speaking, Vorne was circling slowly around Draik, the muzzle of her flamer trained on him. She had reignited the pilot light and he could hear the promethium sloshing in the tanks strapped to her back.
Draik could feel the weight of his rapier against his thigh. Vorne was only a few feet away. He had spent most of his childhood practicing with a foil and he could probably draw his power sword and disable Vorne before she pulled the trigger. But if he wounded Vorne, and she dropped the flamer, the paper-filled room would go up like a furnace. A locked furnace. Besides, he needed Taddeus to guide him to the Ascuris Vault.
As Draik and Vorne circled each other, Taddeus flicked a switch on his mace and sparks of energy flickered across its razor-edged spikes, humming with lethal charge.
Draik scoured the room for something to help him distract the priests. He needed to buy time. Most priests had a particular interest in a specific facet of the Imperial Creed. Perhaps if he could find out what most interested Taddeus, he could use that to win him over. Most of the pages in the room were too torn to be recognisable but then, as Draik passed behind the lectern, he saw a bookcase that had yet to be emptied. Draik edged closer so he could see the spines. All of the books were religious tracts, as he expected, but they were all focused on Holy Terra, describing the chapels, palaces and cathedra frequently visited by the few pilgrims who managed to reach the sacred heart of the Imperium. Draik looked at the pages near his feet and saw that they were all on the same subject.
Grekh had dropped into a low crouch and he was clawing at the floor, emitting a low snarl, about to pounce.
Draik spoke quickly.
‘Have you heard of House Draik, your excellency?’ he said.
Taddeus shook his head.
‘We are one of the oldest households on Terra,’ said Draik. ‘Our estates are said to predate parts of the Imperial Palace itself.’
Taddeus’ sneer faltered. ‘You have been to Terra?’
‘Your excellency, I was born within sight of the Imperial Palace.’
Taddeus nodded at Vorne, signalling that she should back down.
He stepped closer to Draik, lowering his mace. ‘You saw it?’
‘Of course. Usually only from the outside. I was rarely given permission to visit.’
Taddeus looked unconvinced. ‘Rarely?’
‘My father thought it important that all of his children see as much of the Imperial Palace as we could. Even with his influence there was much we could not visit, but I will never forget the parts I did see.’
‘What did it look like?’
‘I was a child, but I remember some things. The banners, hanging high, their colours flashing through the censer fumes. Statues of saints, rising from the crowds like giants, marching down processional routes. And doors like mountain slopes, so vast, even seen from so far away.’ Draik’s mind slipped back across the years. He had only mentioned the Imperial Palace to stall the priest, but the memory hit him with surprising force. He could almost feel the great swell of humanity pushing him on – the devout, filthy, bleeding multitudes who had crossed worlds and spent their whole lives with one desperate hope: that they might be one of the select few who survived long enough to see the Eternity Gate, praying that they would witness that holy portal between mankind and its master. Draik had felt buoyed that day, not by the mindless devotion that surrounded him, but by the knowledge that he was different. Faced with the wild-eyed pilgrims, he saw clearly that he, like his father and his father’s father before him, would rise from the fold, born to lead and inspire rather than follow. With his father and sister at his side, Draik had known, without doubt, that he was destined for greatness.
Pain gripped him as he felt the keenness of his loss, saw the heights he had fallen from. Caught unawares by the vividness of his memory, he had to look away to hide his emotion.
Taddeus was watching him closely, and at the sight of Draik’s pain the venom faded from the priest’s eyes. He dropped his mace, rushed forwards and gripped Draik by the arms.
‘Emperor preserve you,’ he whispered, embracing Draik in a fierce hug. ‘What a fool I am. I see the truth of it now. Even now, all these years later, you are overwhelmed by the rapture.’ He shook his head and held Draik at arm’s length. ‘Forgive me, Captain Draik. I misjudged you. No artifice could create the faith I just saw in your eyes.’
He signalled for Vorne to lower her gun. ‘He’s one of us, child. I was not seeing things clearly.’ He looked pained again, massaging his temples. ‘My mind plays tricks on me.’ He shook his head. ‘You have breathed the same air that moves through the Imperial Palace,’ he said in wonderment.
Draik nodded. That much was true. There was no need to disabuse the priest of his other notions.
Taddeus closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, looking reinvigorated. ‘This, too, I have foreseen,’ he said. The doubt vanished from his eyes and the fervour returned. ‘All has been revealed to me. Those who thought I had failed do not understand how the God-Emperor tests His most trusted agents. Each wound only makes me stronger.’ He grabbed Draik’s arm. ‘And now He has sent you. I dreamt that a guide would come, sent from the God-Emperor Himself. And you are he, Captain Draik. I see that now.’
Draik nodded. ‘I found the pilot who previously flew you past the Dragon’s Teeth, your excellency,’ said Draik. ‘We can take the same route but this time you will reach the vault – and take whatever you’re searching for.’
Taddeus looked troubled at the mention of the pilot. ‘Audus? She’s not as devout as we are.’ He was about to say more when he caught sight of Grekh and scowled. ‘You brought the animal too?’
‘He has sworn to aid me.’
Taddeus looked doubtful. ‘He swore to aid us last time.’ He gave Draik a conspiratorial look. ‘They eat their kills.’
‘Grekh will be my responsibility.’
Taddeus still looked hesitant. ‘We…’ He clenched his fists, as though he would rather punch something than speak his mind.
‘Your excellency,’ said Draik. ‘Audus and Grekh told me what happened last time – how you became confused.’
‘My visions escaped from my mind,’ said Taddeus, massaging his great lump of a skull. ‘Everyone else could see the past and the future.’ He shook his head and whispered a prayer. ‘We all became prophets.’
‘I’ve already considered this,’ said Draik, placing a hand on Taddeus’ arm. ‘I have a solution.’
Taddeus looked eagerly at him.
‘The proctors’ guards are all busy dealing with a problem in the Dromeplatz,’ said Draik. ‘You’re free to leave your ship if you go now. Are you well enough to make the at
tempt in the next few hours? Do you have any business to attend to?’
‘Business?’ Taddeus looked appalled by the idea. ‘I did not come here to do business, captain. I came to do the work of the God-Emperor. Of course we can leave now.’
‘Perfect, your excellency. I have one final call to make before we depart. If you can join me at my ship in an hour’s time, I should be ready then. If I’m not there when you arrive, my attaché, Isola, will make you comfortable until I return.’
Taddeus grabbed Draik by the shoulder. ‘The God-Emperor lit a fire in us, Captain Draik. That is the passion you felt when you first beheld those sacred doors. Our destinies are conjoined.’ He glanced at the engravings that surrounded the door. ‘The blind shall be made to see.’
The engraving showed the same scene Draik had seen outside the craft – a priest, surrounded by legions of tormented, eyeless wretches. The priest was carried on a grand throne and he, alone, could see. The dazzling, stylised beam radiating from the priest’s face was burning through the crowds, igniting skin and hair and filling the skies with plumes of smoke.
‘The Eye of Hermius,’ said Taddeus, leaning close to Draik and staring intently at him. ‘A devout believer like yourself has no doubt heard of it.’
Draik was about to admit he had not, when Taddeus continued, speaking in a tremulous whisper. ‘The flames will hear no plea ’til the faithless soul burns free, ’til the truth is burned in thee, ’til the blind have learned to see.’
Vorne lowered her head as he spoke, repeating his words with her eyes closed.
Taddeus opened the loading hatch. ‘I will find you in an hour,’ he said, shaking Draik’s hand. ‘We will finish the work that was begun so long ago.’
Draik nodded. Taddeus’ rhyme had troubled him. He had heard such prophecies before; often they were the last words of wayward priests who had earned the wrath of their more orthodox brethren. He decided to learn more about Taddeus once he returned to the Vanguard. For now, he simply gave the priest a quick bow and led Grekh back down the loading hatch and into the bustling crowds thronging down Eliumgate.
5
Bullosus paused for breath, wiped the blood from his eyes, then staggered on through the crowds. His arm was ruined, flopping pathetically at his side as he fought his way out of the Dromeplatz. The fighting was over, but the cries of the wounded followed him back out onto the walkway. The proctors had only one method of crowd control – a brutal, uncompromising method, but Bullosus could respect that. He knew the rules of Precipice. What he did not respect was a Terran dandy who masqueraded as a gentleman, then murdered his host’s guards and stole his property.
He paused, leaning against a girder, his head spinning. There was too much blood rushing from his bicep; he was going to pass out before he reached the skiff. He tore some of his jacket away and made a tourniquet, stemming the flow, then he lurched on, knocking people aside with his swaying, out-of-control bulk.
‘Grusel!’ cried Lothar as Bullosus collapsed just inside the loading hatch, panting and cursing under his breath.
‘You’re dead,’ grunted Bullosus.
Lothar shook his head as he tried, unsuccessfully, to haul Bullosus to his feet. ‘Only stunned. Aurick too.’
Aurick clambered up from the hold and between them Bullosus’ brothers managed to help him up.
‘My arm,’ muttered Bullosus.
They helped him down to the hold and he sprawled across a table. ‘Bind it,’ he said as the room swam around him.
His brothers looked at the wound and grimaced.
‘Now!’ yelled Bullosus.
‘It’s a mess,’ muttered Lothar.
Bullosus struggled into a sitting position and looked down at his arm. He had not paused to study it since fleeing the commotion in the Dromeplatz. It was smashed. The shot had hit just below his bicep, pulverising not just the muscle, but the bone too. It would take a skilled chirurgeon and a lot of expensive bionics to make a limb from the pulp spilling across the table.
‘Get Orphis,’ he grunted. ‘He’s always in the Helmsman. He knows how to cut.’
‘When he’s sober,’ muttered Lothar. ‘I take it you didn’t get the pilot back?’ he asked, still grimacing.
Bullosus shook his head, still staring at the ruins of his arm.
‘What will we do without her?’
Bullosus had been wondering the same thing. The rest of his useless family had debts worthy of a small planet. He had bought them time by swearing to return with Audus. For some reason she was worth more than any other fugitive in the whole sector. If he left Precipice without her, the game was up. His family’s creditors were not the kind of men to offer new terms. If they did not hear from him soon, the killing would start. And here he was, one-armed and bleeding to death.
He tried to rise, but his head spun sickeningly and unconsciousness finally took him.
6
‘The current situation has been deemed too risky,’ said Emissary Corval. He was seated in the salon of his lander, facing Draik down the length of a long, possibly real, oak table. Behind the Navigator was a vast armillary sphere that dominated one end of the room, scattering candlelight across the walls as it moved. It was a beautiful antique – a vast, spherical cage of hoops, turning slowly around a solid gold likeness of Terra. The outer spheres were embroiled in iron serpents, a meandering forest of jointed snakes that clicked and writhed in time to the revolutions of the heavens. Only Terra was free of their taint, polished and pure, gleaming through the whorls and intersections, crowned by a nimbus of diamonds.
Grekh and Draik had reached the Omnipotence without incident. When they left Taddeus, the fighting in the Dromeplatz was finally dying down and Precipice had returned to its usual state of tense lethargy. Draik had insisted Grekh wait outside and he was now alone with Corval, apart from a few liveried servants who were bustling around the table, clearing away silverware and crystal with silent, well-drilled efficiency.
‘The High Lords are divided, of course,’ continued Corval, ‘over whose jurisdiction the problem falls under. The Grand Provost Marshal and the Fabricator General almost came to blows, apparently. No one can quite agree what the Blackstone is, so no one can decide who is responsible for it. My information is now out of date, naturally. From what I heard when we translated back into real space, the debates rumble on, but I believe it will be a matter of months, at most, before Precipice is dismantled. There is too much at stake for this problem to languish in the usual bureaucracy. Chaos warbands are massing all across the Western Reaches and the one thing everyone can agree on is that we can’t let the Blackstone fall into enemy hands. Lord Commander Guilliman has been too busy to knock heads together, but he means to address the next assembly of the Senatorum Imperialis and I doubt he will be interested in listening to petitions or debating points of law. My instinct is that he will side with the Fabricator General. Guilliman’s interest will be purely martial, obviously – is the Blackstone a hammer to crush the Great Enemy or not? The quickest way he can answer that question is to turn the site over to a Mechanicus explorator fleet. And the Martian priesthood will have little time for the rabble that are currently gathered in Precipice. They will require a tabula rasa before they begin their work, and they will happily create one with fire.’
Corval was still wearing his ornate helmet and his voice was a distorted growl, but to Draik it was a balm. After weeks of listening to the Precipice’s savages it felt good to hear an educated fellow countryman. He had explained, on arrival, that he had little time to spare, but Corval had refused to talk business on an empty stomach, insisting that Draik join him for supper. Eating, for Corval, was a peculiar ritual in which his servants shielded his face with a silk handkerchief while passing him tiny morsels of food with a bewildering array of cutlery. The food was exquisite, and cooked in the Terran style, every mouthful reminding Draik of his home, making the meal bo
th a delight and a torment. Corval was a member of several clubs and societies Draik had attended as a youth and they had spent nearly an hour exchanging anecdotes. It was only now, as the food was cleared away, that Corval had turned the conversation to the Blackstone Fortress.
Draik sipped his wine and considered Corval’s words. ‘You’re very well informed. Few have such detailed knowledge regarding the dealings of the High Lords. House Corval must be well connected.’
Corval shrugged. ‘Ours is one of the oldest Terran families, Captain Draik, but I would be lying to say we have the ear of the High Lords.’ A note of humour entered his voice. ‘But we have connections of others sorts – people with ways of gathering information that is not usually shared with the general populace.’
Draik nodded and smiled to show he understood. Almost anything could be learned on Terra through the right combination of bribes and threats.
‘It would sadden me to see Precipice destroyed,’ he said, thinking back over what Corval had said.
‘Really?’
Draik shrugged. ‘It sounds ridiculous, I know. These people are lowborn and vulgar, but by the Emperor they’re dogged. They’re both the worst and the best of humanity, emissary. Uncultured and uncouth, yes, but utterly without fear.’
Corval nodded. ‘Your concern for the lower orders does you credit.’
‘Either way, I hope to give the High Lords something else to consider before they discuss the Blackstone with the Lord Commander.’
Corval nodded, slowly. ‘Indeed. I guessed as much when I saw you in the Helmsman.’ He laughed. ‘I hope you understand, I would not usually frequent such a dreadful establishment. I wanted to learn some concrete facts about the Blackstone and, from what I can gather, the Helmsman is the only place on Precipice where captains gather in large numbers. I’ve heard so many intriguing rumours en route to the Western Reaches but I was hoping to find someone reliable. Someone I could trust to tell me what the Blackstone really is. All I’ve found so far are petty larcenists with no interest in the Blackstone’s true significance.’ He leant over the table. ‘But you didn’t come here looking for pocket change, did you, captain? What have you learned? I sense you have loftier ambitions than the rest of these crooks. I would consider it an honour if House Corval can assist you.’
