Blackstone Fortress

by Darius Hinks

  The Navigator shook his head. ‘You killed Numa, Janus. Not in the way you thought, but you killed me all the same.’

  Draik lowered his pistol, dazed and horrified.

  Corval patted his chest. ‘The wound you gave me was deep, Janus, but my father would not let it take me. House Numa has resources. They pumped me full of drugs, then they pumped me full of things that have no right to exist.’ He grimaced, his eyes full of shame. ‘Unspeakable things.’

  ‘They kept you alive?’ Draik’s mind was ablaze. His father had ordered him from Terra because he had murdered a noble, risking an ancient allegiance between two proud houses. But there was no murder.

  Corval’s voice was full of vitriol. ‘They did not keep me alive, Janus, they just gave me a more shameful death.’ He pounded his chest, his face contorted by hate. ‘Nature will not be denied. The cells of my body rebelled at their intervention.’ He touched the sash across his forehead. Like all Navigators, his third eye was always kept hidden – until he used it to pierce the veils of the warp. ‘We are a blessed family,’ he said. ‘Too blessed.’ His voice was full of agony and doubt. ‘House Numa is not all that it should be.’

  Draik shook his head, confused.

  ‘I’m grotesque!’ cried Corval. ‘I am damned! The wound you gave me was clean, it would have given me a clean death, but under their care it festered. It became something else, something hateful.’ Corval’s voice was ragged with emotion. ‘You and my father made me a monster, Janus.’ He touched the sash. ‘I can no longer look into the warp. If I did, the result would be so violent it would destroy me. Do you understand? Do you understand what that means? A Navigator who can no longer see? You ruined me!’ He leant forwards, pointing an accusing finger at Draik. ‘So I came looking for you. My father wanted me to rot in his vaults, until I was too dangerous to live even there, but I will not die unavenged. So I abandoned Terra and abandoned my name. I stole and I lied and I became Corval. And I hunted you down, Janus. I refused to die until I saw you die.’

  Draik’s rage faded as he saw the ruin he had wrought on his friend. Then he thought about what this could mean for him.

  ‘My father banished me because I killed you,’ Draik muttered. ‘If he knew the truth…’

  ‘Oh, he knew,’ laughed Corval. ‘They have no secrets, your father and mine. They agreed that you would never return to Terra. You were too much of a risk. We were both too much of a risk. You were so desperate to be the perfect son that you became the opposite – all those needless duels and ill-considered deals – you were bringing House Draik into disrepute. And my father had to be rid of me because of…’ His voice faltered. ‘Because of what I became. Because of what I am now. Neither of us could be seen. Our fathers ruined us, Janus. And then they had to hide their wretched mistakes.’

  Draik pictured his father’s face the last time they met, recalling how he avoided meeting his eye. Corval was telling the truth. His father knew. More than anything the Blackstone had thrown at him, the revelation crushed him. His father had known Numa was alive, but let his own son leave Terra carrying the guilt for a non-existent murder. No, he realised, that was not true. He had killed his friend – the deed had just stretched across the decades, creating this wretched thing before him.

  ‘How could he lie? I did everything he taught me,’ said Draik. ‘I was honourable. I was honest. I was noble.’

  Corval stopped laughing, his tone bleak. ‘Nobility. What does that even mean? Look where it got us, Janus.’

  There was a loud cracking sound as the ledge holding Draik started to split. Draik looked around for another handhold, but there were none. If he didn’t move soon, he would be as doomed as Corval.

  ‘Go,’ muttered the Navigator. ‘But kill me first.’

  ‘You hesitated,’ said Draik.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You could have killed me but you hesitated to shoot. After hunting me for so long.’

  Corval laughed again. ‘True. I failed even at that.’

  ‘Maybe we’re better than them,’ said Draik.

  ‘What do you mean? Who?’

  ‘The liars who raised us. Maybe we’re better than our fathers.’

  Corval looked up at him, confused. Then he looked into the middle distance, considering what Draik had said. Slowly, the anguish faded from his eyes and something else flickered there. Draik could not place the emotion, but in it he recognised the friend he had lost all those years ago in the Basilica of Saint Scipios.

  ‘Do you remember our credo?’ he asked.

  ‘To strive, to seek, to find,’ said Corval, without hesitation.

  ‘And not to yield,’ finished Draik. It was a fragment of an elegy by some forgotten versifier called Lord Tennson, a line of verse from prehistory – from the days before the High Lords and the Imperium, a relic of thought from Old Earth.

  ‘To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’ Corval quoted the line again. ‘What can I strive for now, Janus?’ he said, his voice barren. He touched the sash over his third eye again. ‘To die before I cause harm, nothing more than that.’

  Draik looked around at the ruined chamber. ‘We did not come here by chance.’

  Corval nodded. ‘I feel it too.’

  ‘Then what does the Blackstone want with us?’ said Draik. ‘It led you to me and led us both to its heart. Why? Simply so that we can die? I don’t think so.’ He reached out across the drop, extending his hand to Corval.

  Corval looked up at him, shocked.

  ‘Help me down,’ said Draik. ‘Let me get that thing off you. Our fathers may be liars, but we don’t have to be.’

  Corval shook his head but then, a moment later, he reached up.

  Draik grabbed his hand. ‘Can you take my weight?’

  Corval nodded.

  Draik hesitated. Corval had already tried to kill him. This could be a ruse. If the Navigator loosed his hand Draik would be smashed on the rocks below.

  They stared at each other.

  Then Draik stepped from the ledge and Corval held his weight, hauling him to his side.

  ‘And not to yield,’ said Draik.

  Corval nodded.

  They grabbed the block on Corval’s lap and heaved it aside, sending it smashing into the darkness below. The chamber had begun attacking the vault again, and walls were falling all around them. Draik lifted Corval to his feet and found to his relief that the Navigator’s legs were not broken. As Corval replaced the mask of his cerebrum cowl, Draik slammed his hook into the wall and stepped up onto another ledge. Then he reached back and grabbed Corval’s hand and they began to climb, helping each other as they went.

  A few minutes later, they clambered up onto the floor of the chamber together and ran towards the blazing light.

  25

  Bullosus was waiting for them as they climbed through the hole in the door. He grabbed Audus and wrenched her away from Isola.

  Audus was barely conscious. One side of her head was slick with blood and there was an ugly wound just below her ear. Blood was rushing down her neck, and her face was a ghastly grey colour. Isola was not about to abandon their pilot so easily, but before she could react, the Guardsmen began hauling themselves through the hole in the door, reaching out for their prey with gargled, incoherent cries.

  Vorne answered with a jet of flame, turning the hole into an inferno.

  The undead soldiers thrashed and hissed, but continued trying to claw their way in.

  Vorne fired again, ripping them apart with more flames. Isola staggered back from the door, shielding her face from the heat, feeling the hairs on her skin shrivelling and burning. The more the Guardsmen tried to break in, the more flame Vorne poured into the hole, until the door was jammed with blackened, charred flesh. The Guardsmen were still clawing and pounding on the other side, but for the moment they were halted.

 
Isola and the others all turned to face the devastation that was being wrought around them. They had emerged onto a long, flat platform, suspended above the chamber. It was sheltered by a roof, but beyond that the air was filled with spinning fragments of wall and floor. If Isola hadn’t known she was in a star fort, she would have thought she was witnessing an earthquake.

  Bullosus still had hold of Audus, but he was too dazed by the ruin that surrounded them to think of his prize. The pilot was dangling, insensate, from his meaty fist. Isola saw a chance to snatch her back, but Audus was one step ahead.

  Audus stood, quite calmly, and fired, blasting Bullosus from the outcrop and sending him plunging into the carnage below, blood spraying from a hole in his chest.

  ‘If in doubt, play dead,’ she said with a grim laugh, glancing at Isola.

  Isola was stunned. She had thought Audus was unconscious, but it was a feint – she had just been biding her time until she could kill her pursuer. She nodded in respect.

  Audus shrugged. ‘If the dumb bastard hadn’t been so obsessed with me he could have left this place rich.’

  Taddeus did not even notice. He staggered ahead of them down the walkway, shaking his head and whispering prayers of thanks. ‘This is what I saw,’ he muttered. ‘This is what I saw!’ He turned to face them, tears glinting in his eyes. ‘Enter the light.’

  Isola followed, ducking and flinching as great tides of architecture toppled and fell. There was another noise, beneath the tearing of columns and walls – a crackling, humming sound, emanating from the sphere of light. It sounded like they were trapped inside a vast generator.

  ‘How?’ she asked. ‘How would we get across there?’

  Everywhere she looked, the floor was splitting and shearing. There was a deep crevasse at the centre of the hall, with a channel of black oil rushing through it, but even that was being shattered and smashed, spraying ink-dark geysers up into the whirling dust clouds. As Isola stared in wonder at the destruction, she saw two distant figures staggering through the rubble, rushing towards the ball of light. They were silhouetted by the glare, but there was no mistaking Corval’s star-shaped helmet. She stared harder, trying to identify the other figure. It seemed too ragged and hunched to be the captain, but then she gasped as she saw that he was clutching a rapier.

  ‘Draik!’ she cried, pointing to the two figures.

  ‘It can’t be,’ gasped Audus, rushing to her side and peering through the dust clouds. ‘Throne, it is,’ she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘They really did survive.’

  Behind them, the Guardsmen were still pummelling the doorway. Vorne fired again, melting more of the blackened lumps, like she was cauterising a wound. ‘Burn!’ she howled, the fire blazing in her streaming eyes.

  ‘How do we get down?’ cried Taddeus, peering over the side of the walkway.

  Isola rushed to the end and looked down over the edge. ‘Steps,’ she called, waving the others over and starting to climb down into the shifting rocks.

  ‘Are you insane?’ cried Audus looking at the forest of black towers that was falling all across the chamber.

  Isola waved at the scorched door behind them. ‘What choice do we have?’ Then she paused to look at the wound on the side of Audus’ head. ‘You should bind that.’

  Audus shrugged. ‘If I live long enough to bleed to death we’ll have done well.’

  The combination of Audus’ deadpan tone and the savage destruction taking place below dragged an unexpected laugh from Isola. Audus looked back at her, surprised, then laughed too. Then Taddeus and Vorne clambered over the ledge and the four of them began climbing down.

  They reached the floor and Taddeus led the way again, picking out a route through the mayhem. They were halfway across the hall when smaller explosions started kicking up around them. Isola snatched a look back and saw that the Guardsmen had appeared on the walkway and were firing. More were stumbling into view and some were already starting to climb down the steps.

  ‘This way!’ cried Taddeus, leaping over a crevice and scrambling up the side of a fallen archway.

  It was only as they approached the sphere of light that Isola realised just how vast it was. It loomed over them like the prow of a void ship, hundreds of feet tall and simmering with power. The noise was ear-splitting and currents of energy rippled through her uniform. Then, with a cry of delight, she saw the two figures just up ahead, standing at the foot of the sphere.

  Her elation faded as she saw what had become of Draik. He looked like one of the undead Guardsmen. His usually immaculate uniform was in tatters, ripped and burned and revealing the ruin that had been wrought on his body. He was covered in blood and scars, and there were terrible burn marks all over him. His face was corpse-grey and gaunt, as though he had somehow starved in the few hours since she last saw him.

  ‘Captain!’ she cried, running towards him.

  Draik and Corval turned, hearing her determined cry even over the roar of the sphere. Draik was swaying, unsteady on his feet, and his usual aura of cool self-possession had been replaced with a feral snarl. At the sight of Isola, his face became even more contorted and he raised his pistol, taking aim at her head.

  ‘Father!’ he cried, as he pulled the trigger. ‘You lied!’

  26

  Draik fired into the whirling clouds, crying out with every shot. The ground bucked and rolled beneath him and he stumbled, his shots going wild. How was the old man here, on the Blackstone? He had clearly seen his father’s pompous, self-satisfied face looming through the explosions, leading Audus and the priests towards him. Had he come to apologise? To beg forgiveness? It was too late for that.

  Pain sliced through his skull, causing him to lower his pistol and grab his head. A presence battled its way into his already crowded thoughts.

  ‘Focus on my voice,’ yelled Corval, grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘Remember where you are. The Blackstone is still confusing you.’

  Draik looked back at the figures rushing towards them. Somehow, he had mistaken Isola for his father. Thankfully his shots had gone wide. She was still battling through the chaos.

  He glanced at Corval, who nodded.

  ‘I’ll try to shield you but it’s hard, so near the…’ His voice trailed off as he looked up at the sphere of light.

  Isola, Audus and the priests stumbled towards them.

  ‘Captain!’ cried Isola, grabbing Draik’s arm, unable to hide her relief that he was still alive.

  He returned the gesture, gripping her arm. He had to shout to be heard. ‘Forgive me. I saw something different. The Blackstone was in my mind.’

  She shook her head and yelled back. ‘I understand!’

  Draik looked at Audus and grimaced at her wound.

  She laughed. ‘You look worse.’

  Draik turned to Taddeus. Both of the priests had fallen to their knees and clasped their hands over their heads, mouthing prayers.

  ‘How do we get in?’ cried Draik, staggering towards them, struggling to stay upright as the ground jolted beneath him.

  Taddeus’ prayers faltered. The elation faded from his eyes. He tried to walk towards the light, but it was too fierce; the heat forced him back. Overhead, the walls of the chamber were trying the same thing, whipping against the blaze, failing to break through.

  ‘My visions showed a gate!’ cried Taddeus. ‘An open gate!’

  The colour drained from his face as he studied the sphere, taking in its flawless, unbroken surface. He tried again to approach, but the heat was incredible, driving him back. He took out his journal and stared at his notes, flicking the pages back and forth with increasing dismay, shaking his head.

  Taddeus closed the book and looked at Draik with dawning horror. ‘An open gate,’ he muttered.

  27

  Grekh leapt between falling blocks and spinning shards, his rifle gripped in both hands as he
vaulted a crevice and landed on a crumbling slope. The chamber was collapsing all around him, filling the air with a bewildering array of sounds and smells, but the trail was still clear. The Blackstone was speaking to him, its voice raised above the din, leading him on through the carnage. He jumped again as another gap opened before him, then sprinted across an open space, flinching and weaving as walls landed all around him.

  Finally, as he passed between the splintered stumps of two columns, he saw his prey.

  Bullosus was dead, slumped awkwardly across a broken arch, blood rushing from his pale, blubbery chest. Grekh salivated as he approached. The bounty hunter was a fearless warrior. His meat would be a rich source of inspiration. But Bullosus was not his prey. Through the drones, the Blackstone had given Grekh a clear purpose, a clear prize, and it was hanging from the bounty hunter’s elbow. Grekh dodged another explosion, then edged closer to the scythe. It looked as inert as its owner, but Grekh’s stomach told him the truth.

  He leant over Bullosus’ corpse and reached for the blade.

  Bullosus howled and attacked. The scythe blazed into life as it rushed towards Grekh’s chest.

  Grekh sidestepped the blow and the blade slipped across his oily hide, slicing into a wall. Had Bullosus been fit, he would have decapitated Grekh, but he was sluggish and dazed. As he wrenched the blade free, Grekh had already stepped back and begun firing. The slugs thudded into Bullosus’ chest and hurled him back across the floor. Incredibly, he managed to rise again, vomiting blood, launching himself at the kroot. Grekh kept stepping backwards, firing until his rifle was empty.

  Bullosus collapsed and finally lay still, ripped apart by dozens of shots.

  Grekh calmly reloaded his rifle and fired again, just to be sure. Then he took out a hunting knife, dropped to his knees and hacked at the bounty hunter’s arm. Beneath all his layers of fat, Bullosus was clad in thick, toughened muscle. Grekh struggled for several minutes before finally wrenching the scythe free from its augmetic brace. He cleared away the slop of bloody ligaments and uncovered the handle, depressing a button to see if the weapon still worked.