Eisenhorn Omnibus

by Dan Abnett

The identity of the fourth and final guest took me aback. He was clad in polished battleware plating that looked custom-made and exorbitantly expensive. With gauntleted hands, he lifted the scowling houndskull helmet off his head. Inquisitor Massimo Ricci, of the Helican Ordo Xenos. He was hardly an old friend, but I knew him well.

  'Ricci?'

  His handsome, haughty face displayed a wide smile.

  'Like Grumman, I am here to extend apologies from another. For numerous reasons that I'm sure you can appreciate, Lord Rorken cannot answer your request in person. It would be political suicide for him to participate in this matter. But my lord has faith in you still, Eisenhorn. He has sent me to act as his proxy/

  Ricci was one of Lord Rorken's most valued and admired inquisitors. Many said he was a likely successor for the post as a Master of the Ordo Xenos. For him to be here was an enormous compliment, both from Lord Rorken, who had seen fit to send one of his most illustrious men, and from Ricci himself, who was risking a high-profile career just by being here. Clearly both of them had taken my proposal and cause very seriously.

  'Gentlemen/ I said. 'I am pleased, and honoured, to see you all. Let us discuss this matter, freely and openly, and see where we stand/

  * * *

  The Thessalonian night winds moaned through the ruined cavities of the keep as I briefed them. Inshabel and Nayl had carried chairs in, and erected a heavy trestle table. Bequin and Aemos provided data-slates, charts, papers and other pieces of evidence as I called for them.

  I talked for about two hours, taking them through the entire matter of Quixos as it was known to me. Much of what I said had been laid out in the initial communiques, but I filled in all the details, and answered questions as they arose. Endor seemed satisfied, and hardly spoke. It was good to have a true friend here, one who simply trusted my word and purpose. Grumman was also generally non-committal. Voke and Ricci asked plenty of questions, and required clarification on the smallest points.

  All three ordos were represented around that table: Voke was Ordo Malleus – though thankfully not a tight member of Bezier's inner circle –Ricci and I were Ordo Xenos, and Grumman and Endor were Ordo Hereti-cus. All of us apart from Grumman were assigned servants of the Ordos Inquisitorae Helican. Only Titus Endor, who I knew to be famously demure, wasn't wearing his rosette openly.

  I believe I spoke eloquently and well.

  We broke after two hours to stretch our legs, ruminate and take refreshment. I went outside, taking in the cold night air, listening to the wind swish the conifers. Fischig joined me and brought me a glass of wine.

  'It's bad with Neve/ he said, just getting right into it. He had travelled back to Cadia from Cinchare to collect more data and to specifically recruit the inquisitor general.

  'Because of me?'

  He nodded. 'Because of everything. Osma made big trouble after we sprang you from the Carnificina. He had the combined clout of Bezier and Orsini behind him, after all. That made Neve's superior, Grandmaster Nunthum of the Ordos Cadia, sit up and take notice, I can tell you. They were after her for her job. But they couldn't prove a thing. Neve's very good at being slippery. And she fought your corner like a she-bear too, believe you me/

  'She's safe?'

  "Yeah. Thanks to a massive incursion of the Enemy eight months ago. The Cadian Gate's on a war footing and utterly in turmoil. Last thing anyone's worrying about is what part Neve may have played in the Eisenhorn Conspiracy/

  That's what they're calling it?'

  That's what they're calling it/

  I sipped the wine, expecting something rough and local. It turned out to be a damned good Samatan red. From my own cellars, I guessed.

  Bequin would have taken care of such things and chosen the very best to mollify our guests.

  'Grumman: what do you make of him?'

  'I've got plenty of time for him, Gregor,' Fischig said. 'Smart mind, knows what he's doing. Given the scrutiny she was under, Neve knew she couldn't get away, so she picked Grumman, and I don't think she would have if he wasn't worth his salt.

  The pair go back a long way, and Grumman's doing this out of respect for her. But we spent a long time talking on the voyage back here, and I think he's in it for himself now too.'

  'Good. The others?'

  Voke's full of surprises/ he snorted. "When you said he was going to be on your list of contacts, I thought you were mad. Not as mad as writing to Lord Rorken, of course, but anyway… I never thought the old bastard would show, or even deign to answer you. He's so stiff even the rod up his arse has got a rod up its arse. That's one bet I would have lost. He must like you more than he lets on.'

  'We have an understanding/1 said. I'd saved Voke's life on the flagship Saint Scythus, but he'd returned that favour on the Avenue of the Victor Bellum. Maybe that was enough.

  'He needs convincing/ said Fischig, 'but I think he's in for the long haul.'

  'You do?'

  'You see that creep Heldane anywhere?'

  I knew what Fischig meant. Heldane would have opposed this mission without question, and taken great delight in bringing me in, dead or alive. Voke had clearly come here without his old pupil knowing. Fischig was right. That was a good sign.

  'Endor, well, he's safe, isn't he?' said Fischig. 'Given your history, he'd have come anyway/

  'It's good to have him here. What about Ricci?'

  Fischig's voice suddenly dropped to a hiss. 'Speaking of whom/

  He withdrew. Clutching a goblet of wine, Ricci walked out of the archway behind us and joined me, gazing up at the staggeringly bright star-field.

  'I hope you realise how lucky you are/ Ricci said.

  'Every day/

  You took a risk contacting Lord Rorken. He's always liked you, but given the current climate, liking you is a dangerous habit. He was at loggerheads with Bezier and Orsini over your case/

  'And still he sent you?'

  'Let me be direct, Gregor. I think it will help. Lord Rorken, may his fortunes multiply in the face of the God-Emperor, sent me to assist you in the unmasking and destruction of the heretic Quixos. But if, along the way, I should discover anything that confirmed the generally-believed allegations of your own heresy…'

  What?'

  'I think you understand/

  You're his hatchet man. You'll help me… but if I cross the line in your eyes, Rorken has sanctioned you to execute me/

  He raised his glass. 'I think we know where we stand/ We did. Now it made much more sense that Rorken had sent so senior an agent to my side. I said nothing. Ricci smiled and went back inside.

  We sat down around the table again and debated some more. I found most of the questions – especially those from Voke and Ricci – wilfully small-minded.

  At last, after another hour, Grumman voiced a pertinent query.

  'Supposing we agree to this. Agree that Eisenhom is wrongly charged and that Quixos deserves our sternest censure… how do we do that? Do we know where Quixos is?'

  Yes/ I said, though I didn't know the answer myself. My people had enjoyed the best part of two years to do their work, many dozens of agents sifting data from hundreds of worlds.

  Unbidden, Bequin stepped forward and took a seat with us at the table.

  About three months ago, our research discerned a pattern in the data surrounding the near-mythical life of Quixos. And that pattern centred on Maginor/

  'Capital of the Niaides sub-sector, Viceroy sector, Ultima segmentum/ announced Voke.

  Your astronomical knowledge is humbling, sir/ Bequin said smoothly. She handed out data-slates.

  'As you can see from the file of data marked "alpha", Quixos certainly visited Maginor almost two hundred years ago, and became involved with a cartel of trade interests and noble families known as the Mystic Path. The Path was a network which was already utilising prohibited and forbidden lore and technologies. Quixos should have closed them down and burned them. It is clear he did not. Instead, he fed and supported them. He nurtured them until they becam
e a power base for his invisible empire of dark belief. No longer a cartel but a cult. A cult of Quixos/

  Ч^Ъу do we mink he's still there?' asked Ricci.

  We think he's made his hidden fastness there, sir/ said Bequin. The reaches of the Mystic Path now spread throughout the segmentum and beyond. Maginor is its heart. In 239.M41, Inquisitor Lugenbrau and a warrior band numbering some sixty individuals disappeared on Maginor. No trace of them was ever found, though Interrogator Inshabel was able to… ah… recover an incomplete verbal transcript of a pict-recording apparently made during Lugenbrau's raid/

  I speed-read the transcript. It was harrowing. 'You got this from Elvara Cardinal, Inshabel?' I asked.

  Inshabel was at the back of the room. He stepped forward, blushing. 'Not directly, sir. It actually came from the inquisitorial data-library on Fibos Secundus. How is a damn good story, but it's probably wasting valuable time to repeat it just now/

  Inshabel was right, as I have already said. It was a damn good story, and I enjoyed it when he told it to me later. I urge you to access it.

  'We believe Lugenbrau was hunting Quixos, although he may not have known it/ continued Bequin. 'He and his entire band were wiped out by Quixos's forces.'

  'Lugenbrau/ murmured Voke, setting his slate down and looking off into space. 'I never met him, but he was a trusted pupil of my late comrade, Inquisitor Pavel Uet. When Lugenbrau went missing, Uet took it hard. The loss shortened his life/

  Voke looked at me with his rheumy eyes. 'If I wasn't decided before, Eisenhorn, I am now. Quixos must pay/

  'I agree/ said Endor, tossing his slate onto the table and looking grim. 'At the very least, the Inquisition demands vengeance for this/

  'Maginor, then?' Grumman asked.

  'It's still his base of operations, sir, we are sure of that/ said Bequin. 'And until a week ago, we were all set to prepare for a strike against Maginor. Then we received this/ She held up a astropathic transcript.

  'I will read it, if I may/ She carefully put on her half-moon glasses. They suited her, but I knew her vanity made her hate them. It said a lot about the situation that she was willing to wear them in front of these men.

  'It begins… "Gregor, my friend. I have been kept up to date with the data concerning your quarry. It gives me something to do, these winter afternoons. I agree that Maginor may be the seat of the evil, and certainly requires the attention of the Inquisition. But, if you'll pardon me, I suggest that Maginor be left to the Ordos Niaides. Using pointers Aemos gave me, I have assessed the following. My full findings are on the data-files attached below, but in short, I think you should be looking at Farness Beta. Quixos's fascination with the pylons of Cadia made me think, you see.

  '"See below, that I have traced massive stonecutting orders to the limit-world of Serebos, which lies galactically south of Terra. The masonic guilds of Serebos are famously secretive about their contracts. They provide an inert, obsidian-like black glass-stone called serebite, a beautiful substance that is in high demand right across the Imperium. Serebite is, as far as reckoning goes, as close to the material used on Cadia for the pylons as it is possible to get. As I have said, the masonic guilds are close about their contracts, but there is little hiding the transportation of a massive copy of one of those pylons by shipping guild bulk-lifter. Three-quarters of a kilometre long and a quarter square! Quixos has ordered the manufacture of a perfect copy of the Cadian pylons, and has had it shipped to Farness Beta."'

  Bequin paused and looked up at us.

  '"If you've ever trusted my advice, trust this now,"' she continued. '"Quixos is on Farness. And if you're going to stop him, it must be now. Your devoted friend and pupil. Gideon."'

  Gideon. Gideon Ravenor. Crippled as he was, he had found this insight, which totally altered our plan of attack. I was speechless. I felt almost tearful.

  There is a postscript/ said Bequin. 'He writes, "The daemonhosts will be your foullest problem. I know you are prepared, but I send you these. One for each of the twenty you have summoned."'

  Bequin took off her half-moon glasses and rose. Nayl brought in a crate and set it down on the table. Inside were twenty scrolls of daemonic protection, each sealed inside a blessed tube of green marble, and twenty consecrated gold amulets of the God-Emperor as a skeletal relic. It was so typical of Ravenor to attend to such details. Nayl handed them out, a heavy scroll tube and an amulet to each of us.

  'I'm convinced/ Ricci said, getting to his feet and hanging the amulet around his neck so that it hung between the purity seals of his armour.

  'I am glad. Grumman?'

  'I'm with you/ said the Cadian.

  'A toast/ I said, raising my glass. To this cell of five. And to the others who have assisted in getting us this far/ Bequin, Aemos, Nayl, Fischig and Inshabel also saluted with their glasses.

  To Farness Beta. To the end of Quixos/

  The five inquisitors in the drafty keep clinked glasses.

  'Farness Beta/ said Ricci. 'Remind me. Where is that?'

  'In the throat of the Cadian Gate/ said Grumman. 'Right on the edge of the Eye of Terror/

  TWEJNTTY-TWO

  Sarness Beta.

  Cherubael and Prophaniti.

  Quixos.

  It was early in 343.M41 before we reached Farness Beta. By then, war was bifurcating the Cadia sub-sector, and armies of sheer horror were spewing out of the Eye of Terror. Like a whirlpool of fire, the Eye dominated the skies of most gate-worlds, distended and angry, flaring more savagely than at any time in living memory. Every flash and pulse of its maelstrom was another warp hole opening, another flotilla of death unleashed. That spring was known as the Staunch Holding of the Cadian Gate, and entered the history books, as every scholar knows.

  During the first months of 343, the Cadians saw off the greatest incursion of Chaos suffered in three hundred years.

  It was almost as if the Archenemy knew something.

  The Essene brought me to Farness champing and eager to get on. We were escorted through the immaterium by two other ships: Ricci's stately steeple of a cruiser and Voke's ancient porcupine of a warship. Endor and Grumman, along with their retinue bands, travelled aboard the Essene with me. It had been a long time since the Essene had carried so many people.

  The Imperial Navy taskforce, a ten-ship squadron seconded from Battle-fleet Scarus for special operations under the remit of the Battlefleet Disciplinary Detachment, was waiting for us.

  * * *

  The taskforce had already been on station for a fortnight, and its reconnaissance and intelligence operations had comprehensively prepared the ground for us.

  'We have a confirmed location for Pariah/ Lord Procurator Olm Madorthene told me over a vox-pict link from his own ship.

  Pariah was the operational word we had set for Quixos. 'Or at least his seat of activity, anyway. I'm relaying the data to you now. Site A is what you're looking for.'

  I turned from my seat on the Essene s elegant bridge and Maxilla nodded to one of his beautiful servitors. The map display flashed up on the secondary screen of my console.

  'I have it/ I said, turning back to look at Madorthene's slightly fuzzy image on the main bridge display.

  'It'sa table mountain called ferell sidor, literally the "altar of the sun", up in one of the remote northern wards of Hengav province. Provincial government has declared the whole ward a Sacred Territory because the area is riddled with Second Dynasty tholos tombs. Access is supposed to be restricted to the Ecclesiarchy, the Farnessi royal families and sanctioned archaeologists. We believe Pariah obtained licenses to excavate on Ferell Sidor about six years ago, in the guise of an archaeological mission from theuniversitariate of avellorn. the local authorities are supposed to monitor such missions, but frankly they have no idea what he's up to there. If you look at the detail map…'

  Yes, got it/

  You can see the extent of the workings. Pariah's constructed a small town up there, alongside the pit/

  The excavation is cons
iderable…'

  *We think that's where he's buried or sited this facsimile pylon. It's difficult to get a clear view. We didn't want to get too close and tip him off/

  I rose from my bridge throne and stood facing the enormous image of the lord procurator's face. 'You're set?'

  'Absolutely. You have a copy of my assault strategy there. Make any amendments you like/

  There was no need. Madorthene's plan was economical and efficient. Officially, this was an operation by the Battlefleet Disciplinary Detachment, prosecuting leads gathered during the inquest into the Thracian Atrocity. Lord Procurator Madorthene had entered into a co-operative pact with Commodus Voke to execute the plan. In reality, his pact was secretly with me. Olm was the only non-inquisitor I had written to.

  We encrypted the call-signs and command authorities for the operation, agreed the zero-hour, and wished each other luck.

  The Emperor protects, Gregor/ he said.

  'I hope so, Olm/ I replied.

  Two hours before sunrise the next day, five hundred Imperial Guard from the Fifty-First Thracian moved in towards Ferell Sidor – Site A – from

  covert forward assembly points in the surrounding hills where they had been dropped by troop ships the day before. They advanced, silently, in three prongs, the first securing the single trackway that gave land-vehicle access to the table mountain. When all three were in position, we woke Ferell Sidor up.

  The frigates Zhikov and Fury of Spatian bombarded the mountain for six minutes, raising a ball of fire that lit the landscape as if the sun had come up early. In its afterglow, thirty Marauder bombers overflew Site A at low level and delivered thirty thousand kilos of high explosives.

  Another false dawn.

  Despite this punishing overture, when the ground troops went in eight minutes after the last bomb, resistance was furious. Madorthene had feared that the best part of Quixos's strength lay underground, wormed inside the mountain, resistant to the worst aerial assaults.

  In the blazing rains of the excavation township, the Thracian troops found themselves engaging fanatical and well-armed cultists. Most wore the insignia and colours of the Mystic Path. Many were mutants. Initial reports estimated over eight hundred enemy warriors. Madorthene committed the taskforce reserve: another seven hundred Thracian assault soldiers.