by Nick Kyme
He laid the cards into the slot and then studied the board, elbows on the hard table.
‘Like the cards, they are all the same,’ remarked Revelation. ‘It does not matter which you pick.’
‘It should,’ grumbled Malcador. ‘It feels like it should. Every decision has consequences.’
‘Yes, but you have already chosen – you simply need to admit that to yourself.’
With a grunt, Malcador laid his finger on the sculpted tip of the piece closest to him – the same as he always did whenever they played from the outset. At his touch the surface of the piece rippled, becoming a figurine. It was rendered abstractly, so that the arms and legs ended in smooth nubs rather than hands and feet, giving the figure no front or back. Only the face possessed any detail. Faces, in fact, one looking in each direction.
The Twins, it was called.
The Sigillite lifted the top card with thin fingers and turned it over. Colour swirled across the psycho-reactive crystal, coalescing into the many-headed Hydra.
‘All places and none,’ said Malcador. He set the piece in the home squares directly in front of him.
Revelation touched a piece, and under His attention it transformed into a raven sat upon a broken skull, talons digging into the bone. The revealed card turned black and Revelation moved His piece to one side also.
‘The shadows conceal,’ He announced with a grim expression.
In Malcador’s fingers the next card was a glossy red like fresh blood. He set a piece in one corner where it became a warrior, scarred and down on one knee. ‘The King of Nothing.’
A hooded assassin, cloaked in tatters, and a card of a blindfolded spectre. ‘The Blind Darkness.’
‘The Hawk Soars.’
‘Lord of the Clouds.’
‘The Chosen.’
They continued, activating each piece in turn, scattering them to their true starting positions as dictated by the cards. When all was arranged, ten figurines each, the game began in earnest. Having adopted the part of Warmaster, Malcador’s was the first turn. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the piece that had become the Lord of Hearts, a noble figure clad in armour, held aloft on the shoulders of two companions.
‘What has occurred cannot be changed,’ he announced. ‘We have played it out a hundred times.’
‘Humour me.’
‘The traitors are on their way. They will be in the Solar System before we finish. We do not have time.’
Revelation sat back, hands folded in His lap.
‘Then why did you come?’ He asked. ‘Am I to be a distraction from your woes?’
‘I wish to find answers, as ever,’ said Malcador. ‘I seek your wisdom, your insight.’
‘Why?’
It was such an unexpected question that the Regent had no reply for a short while.
‘I…’ He looked into the inscrutable expression of his lord and wondered if He already knew the answer. Revelation sat impassive, the embodiment of patience. Malcador swallowed hard, confession welling up inside. ‘I am afraid.’
He picked up the Lord of Hearts. The figure seemed so noble.
‘It does not start with that piece,’ said Revelation. ‘What is the cause of your fear?’
This time the answer came swiftly and easily.
‘Failing you,’ said the Sigillite.
‘Not death?’
‘If I am dead, I am beyond regret. To live with failure would be a torment.’
‘Would it reassure you to know that if you fail to defeat Horus your regret will be short-lived? One might even say fleeting.’
‘An instant or an eternity makes no difference.’
‘Play,’ insisted the Lord of Terra.
Malcador replaced the Lord of Hearts and his fingers moved to the Chosen. He slid it next to the Lord of Hearts. He revealed a card, a golden-haloed eye. ‘Awakening,’ muttered the Sigillite. Both pieces turned red as he set the card to one side.
Revelation moved the Hydra back to the centre and took a card. An ancient set of scales, in perfect balance. ‘Division,’ He announced. The Twins piece became two, each identical. Without hesitation He set one before Malcador and the other in front of Himself.
The Sigillite tried to move the Perfection to safety – represented by an immaculate-looking diamond – but Revelation played ‘Ambition’ and a tiny but ugly flaw appeared in the depth of the gem.
‘You always cheat,’ said the Regent. ‘You control the cards and I do not.’
‘Do I?’ Revelation did not seem amused. ‘Or does it simply seem that I do?’
‘They are attuned to you and you alone,’ said Malcador. ‘Who else would make them change?’
‘Perhaps it is because you only see them that way. It could be your interpretation that is repetitive. Or maybe the game is rigged against you, as you claim. If that were the case, why do you insist in playing me?’
‘Because you have never yet shown me the final play. You always end the game before a victor has been decided.’ Malcador cleared his throat. ‘We have run out of time. If you have a plan, it is now that you must reveal it.’
‘What if I told you that I did not know how to win?’
‘You are more powerful than Horus, even now.’
‘That is not what I said. Sometimes I play the game as Warmaster and you are the Emperor. It does not change the game.’
Frustrated, Malcador snatched up the Perfection and used it to sweep aside the Iron General. The opposing piece tumbled, the head crowned with sunbeams rolling across the board.
‘Clumsy,’ said Revelation. He picked up the two transmorphic pieces and set them back in the wooden box beside the board. ‘Perhaps I will fix that later when I have some time.’
The Regent’s card was the Great Tempest. In a flurry of moves, his pieces cut a line through his opponent’s, separating them into three enclaves. The Chosen, aided by Grand Visions, and the King of Nothing moved pincer-like on the Uncrowned Monarch while the Blind Darkness pinned the Double-Edged Blade into one corner of the board. Revelation removed the Angel from harm’s way but Malcador played Temptation upon it, sliding the card beneath the piece so that it was held in stasis.
Several of Revelation’s pieces were now surrounded, with only one avenue of escape. Malcador indicated an angle from Revelation’s home spaces, where the Invincible Bastion was held in reserve, having been returned there in the opening turns.
‘I do not understand why you never play that move.’ The Regent pointed to a position behind the Lord of Hearts that would see his capital piece trapped against its own companions.
‘I shall indulge you, this time,’ said Revelation as He moved the Invincible Bastion up to the Lord of Hearts. He nodded for Malcador to turn the next card. He took the sliver of crystal and turned it over. The face clouded, turned into a bluish-green and then resolved into the shape of a Hydra. At the same time, both of the Twins turned red, joining the Warmaster. Immediately Malcador saw that he could move one of them into the space that had been occupied by the Invincible Bastion, forcing a capitulation.
‘Now you cheat on my behalf!’ Malcador’s indignity raised the briefest of smiles from Revelation.
‘Whatever made you think there was only one Hydra card?’ He picked up the next four and fanned them towards His regent, each of them showing the same design of the many-headed dragon.
Before Malcador could make the move Revelation quickly reset the board to its previous layout.
‘But that is not my play,’ He declared, slipping the Shadow from where it was being encircled.
‘You have abandoned the Anvil,’ pointed out Malcador, gesturing to the lone figure left amid a handful of his pieces.
‘Yes, but you know what happens next.’
With a sigh, Malcador played the only move available to him, bringing the Blind Darkness back into play to remove the Anvil. He took the piece off the table as Revelation flipped over the next crystalline wafer, showing the Return. Revelation reached into the
game box – a box Malcador knew to be empty – and placed a fresh Anvil piece on the board. Eyes fixed on the Sigillite, Revelation slipped the Return back into the deck and, contrary to his earlier barb, shuffled the pack.
Sighing again, Malcador considered his next move, as if Revelation would leave him any choice.
The game continued as it had done each time before. Malcador tried to vary the course of his moves, to capture pieces previously denied him, but a turn of a card or a cunning play by Revelation always set the pieces back into the positions they had occupied many times previously.
Revelation tried to push the Library into Malcador’s home squares, forcing him to play Misdirection and Falling Blade together, temporarily taking control of the Hungering Wolf to intercept the move. On the other side of the board the Angel, Uncrowned Monarch and Double-Edged Blade routed the Chosen and the King of Nothing. Some delaying moves by Revelation with the Blind Darkness caused temporary havoc until the piece was captured. In the meantime, the centre of the board had been all but swept clear of pieces and cards. Only the Shadow roamed free, its power much curtailed with the attachment of ‘Doubt’ shortly after its escape from the early offensive.
Occasionally it seemed as though Revelation played to lose, His positioning making Him vulnerable for a short time before it was revealed that move by move Malcador became encircled until he had no option left but to attack directly, initiating the second phase of the game.
There was no choice but to act aggressively now. Though the Warmaster held the numerical and positional advantage, Revelation held a hand of cards, as yet unplayed; Malcador’s current draw were all spent save one. He laid it down on the Lord of the Clouds.
Malcador blinked and checked the card again. It was different from their previous games, depicting not the defiance of the Wall but a maggot eating its way out of a stylised heart.
‘Corruption.’ The word came to him unbidden and he said it quietly, unsure what to think. He looked up, realising that for some time – hours perhaps – he had been focused wholly on the board. Revelation studied the pieces where before He had been casual, offhand almost.
Going through the motions, thought Malcador. Indulging me.
He was rapt now, eyes moving from one piece to the next, fingertips pushing down into the table, the immaculate fingernails pale against the lacquered wood.
‘What has happened?’ asked Malcador.
‘Play on.’ Revelation did not look up.
‘The game has changed. Why have you changed it?’ Malcador felt a yawning gulf opening up in front of him. It was for answers that he had come, but suddenly he was wary of that knowledge. In truth, he had expected everything that had passed so far – perhaps he had simply been seeking comfort in the familiar exchanges before everything would be thrown into the anarchy of war.
‘What does it mean?’
Revelation broke His attention from the pieces and for just a moment Malcador thought he saw a hint of sadness. It was gone in a heartbeat, perhaps had never been there at all, replaced by a flinty glare. Revelation barely moved His lips as He spoke, teeth gritted as His eyes bored into the High Lord of Terra, each word enunciated sharply.
‘Play. On.’
Malcador’s next moves were half-hearted, playing for time as he tried to assimilate the events of the last few minutes.
‘You are not trying hard enough, Warmaster,’ said Revelation, eyes flashing with anger. ‘If you do not win, you are damned.’
The Regent paled, not sure whether his master referred to him literally or in his adopted role. He was never sure how much Revelation really knew, or had known, of the events that had spiralled since Horus had stepped from the path of loyalty. He had the maddening ability to appear both informed and enigmatic in equal measure, but at that moment the affectation – if it could be called such a thing – did not irritate Malcador as before, but terrified him. His gut shrivelled at the notion that Revelation was moving into uncharted waters as ignorant of the outcome as the rest of them.
He had thought the game would be a way for the embattled Emperor to impart His plan for the defence of Terra and, ultimately, the defeat of Horus. It had not been the first time Malcador had received guidance through the cards, allowing his master to contact him whilst remaining focused on His task upon the Golden Throne. Now the Regent watched the immortal ruler of humanity intently studying each move and realised that the game might well be the means by which Revelation would devise His strategy.
As Warmaster he had to test Revelation’s thinking every bit as much as Horus would challenge it in real life. If he did not…
‘I cannot do this,’ he said, straightening as he pulled his hands back from the board.
‘What would you give for me?’ asked Revelation, once more laying His hands in His lap, His attention focused on the Sigillite.
‘My life.’
‘You have already given that.’
‘My death, if you wish to be pedantic.’
‘What of your soul?’
‘You say that no such thing exists.’
‘We are short on time, allow me a little metaphysical shorthand. What is your soul worth to you?’
‘I still do not understand the question.’ Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his lord, Malcador started to consider the board again. ‘I cannot play like Horus – I do not have his mind, his motivations.’
‘Then I will assist you.’ Revelation reached into the game box and His fingers reappeared holding a new piece, one never seen before. It was shaped like a jester of the most ancient days, complete with gormless expression. Real, tiny cap-bells tinkled as Revelation shook it. ‘This is you, Malcador. The Fool. I have used you for millennia to suit my own purposes and before the end I will discard you without a second thought.’
‘I know what you are doing,’ said Malcador. ‘You think to make me angry, like Horus.’
‘You exist only to further my ambitions, a callous on the toe of history and nothing more,’ said Revelation, not making the slightest sign that He had even listened to what Malcador had said. ‘You are just an invisible, nondescript foundation stone in the edifice that will be my undying glory. I have lied to you from the very first moment, and all that you believe of me, of the universe and mankind’s part in it, is fiction. I have manipulated you, abused you and I will toss you away without a single shred of care. One of my legionaries has more consideration for a bolt that he fires than I do for you, Malcador.’
Swallowing hard, the Regent reminded himself of what he had just said – that Revelation was trying to elicit an emotional response.
And yet when he looked into the gaze of Revelation, he saw only implacable, unflinching truth. He had never harboured dreams of glory or even ambitions of temporal power, but Malcador had believed himself valuable. He had taken strength from being counsellor and… advisor to the greatest intellect the human species had ever created? An aid to the most gifted psychic being ever born? Companion to an immortal who had lived a thousand lifetimes?
‘I see that you are starting to understand.’ A hint of a sneer marred Revelation’s expression. He gestured towards the pieces set between them. ‘My sons were taken from me, whispered to during transit to set dark thoughts in their minds. Temptations. Lies. Propaganda. Tell me, Malcador the Sigillite, how many times have you resisted the efforts of our enemy’s lures?’
The Regent did not answer, for the Dark Gods had never attempted to sway him. They had occasionally, and very recently, sought his death, but that was not a distinction he uniquely held.
A brutal, short bark of a laugh made him flinch.
‘You thought yourself too loyal? Your faith in me unshakable? They did not try to recruit you because you have nothing to offer them.’
‘I have created much for you, in your name,’ said Malcador in a wavering tone, searching for clarity. ‘There would be no Imperium without my efforts.’
‘In my name.’ Never had three words sounded so scornful. ‘You ar
e a master of tax collectors and clerks. No Imperium without you? No Malcador without the Imperium, you mean. What justification would there be to keep you around without your countless army of bureaucrats to sustain you? Even my remembrancers – poets and pict-takers – contributed more to the Great Crusade than you did.’
He felt a tear roll down his cheek, his whole body quivering with shame. Malcador looked at Revelation with silent pleading and was rewarded with a contemptuous sigh.
‘Some call you my left hand.’ Revelation held up the five digits and wiggled them. ‘It is true. That is all you have ever been – an extension of my will. I twitch a thought and you act. I care nothing for the hopes and fears of my little finger, and less still for yours.’
Malcador opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say.
‘Do not stare at me like some docile ruminant. You said you fear failing me, but the truth is that you know that you already have. You cannot even bring yourself to hate me when I need you to.’
Revelation tossed the playing piece aside. It shattered against the wall. He did not even spare a glance for the discarded fragments.
There was no hint of remorse in His hard stare.
Malcador looked at the splintered pieces of the Fool. Betrayal slid a hot knife in his chest. Its fire spread, enflaming his anger. And one thought burned hotter than any other: that Revelation thought he might care about any of what He had said.
‘I have never harboured ambition or sought glory,’ growled the Regent, his fingers moving to the King of Nothing. He thrust it directly towards the Angel defending the Emperor’s home squares. ‘You seek to wound a pride that does not exist. But you think it does, and that is your shame, not mine. It is your pride that will undo us all, not mine.’
He turned the top card. The picture that resolved upon its surface showed a mountain of bodies with a hound at its top, muzzle red with their blood.
‘Massacre,’ snapped Malcador.
With all semblance of empathy stripped away, Malcador’s next moves were swift and direct, happily pairing off his own pieces against Revelation’s, sacrificing them if need be. As much as the Regent pushed hard, Revelation dissembled, robbing him of control of his own figurines, diverting them from their planned courses and even matching them against each other with a timely play of ‘Internecine Feud’.
