by William King
“Has someone threatened you?” he asked.
“Not specifically.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I feel uneasy, and I sometimes see hidden meanings in the simplest things.”
“That I can understand,” said Ragnar.
“Perhaps, but I doubt you can understand precisely how complicated my life is.”
“Explain it to me.”
“Things are very simple for you, aren’t they?”
“Are they?”
“I see you have not spent your time here without profit.”
“You have not explained your situation to me. Do you not wish to?”
She paused for a while and then spoke calmly and clearly. “There are factions within Belisarius, just as there are among the other Navigator Houses. You know what they say: when two Navigators meet you get three conspiracies. Since I have been away I have not been part of any political camp. Now, several of them have approached me, to see if I will support them.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“No, it is to be expected. But there are the usual hints and veiled threats.”
“From whom?”
“From various people, Skorpeus included.”
“Do you take them seriously?”
“After what happened to my father and what happened on the ship? I take everything seriously. Things are in a state of flux now. The whole family teeters on the edge. There are those who would take advantage of this and they are not scrupulous.”
Ragnar thought perhaps things were exactly as she said. Perhaps she was merely talking to him because he was outside the family power structure and so was no threat to her. Perhaps. Then again she might have some ulterior motive. Was she trying to recruit him? He had saved her once. It might be convenient to have him do it again. He considered this and could see nothing wrong in it. He was here to protect the Belisarians, even from each other. Still, he wanted to be sure that he understood exactly what was going on.
“Do you want me to be your bodyguard?”
“No. That is not your decision to make anyway. You must perform the duties the Lady Belisarius gives you.”
“True, but there is nothing to stop me from keeping my eyes and ears open. You of all people should know how keen they are.”
“Would you?” There was hope and gratitude in her voice, and a few days ago it would have stirred his heart. It did so now but it also excited his suspicions. He felt as if he was being drawn more tightly into a web. He knew that there would come a time when his personal loyalties and duties might come into conflict if he allowed this to continue. He drew back his fangs in a snarl. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
“I am meeting with my cousin Skorpeus in an hour. I would be pleased if you would accompany me.”
“I doubt your cousin would talk freely with me present.”
“Perhaps that is my purpose,” Ragnar shrugged. “It would be my pleasure to accompany you.”
The view from the top of the Belisarius Palace was stunning. Ragnar could see as far as the horizon, through the polluted haze. Pollution diffused and refracted the sunlight creating a rainbow effect across the entire sky. He had a view of all the craggy old starscrapers and massive temples and palaces of the navigators quarter. Gabriella pointed out the various abodes of different Navigator families, and their own personal space fields.
She seemed happier now, and more pleasant to be with. Her cares had fallen from her. She seemed almost playful, although that was perhaps too strong a word given her Navigator’s self-control. Behind the playful mask he sensed steely self-control.
All around them servants came and went constantly. She seemed no more aware of them than she was of the furniture. Ragnar was; he had to be. Every person who came within striking distance was a potential threat and had to be treated as such. There had been one attempt on Gabriella’s life already, and her father had died even though he was surrounded by his own guards. He wondered how easy it would be to get another assassin into the palace. Easy enough, he supposed, with the right contacts.
It was as wearing as spending nights on patrol, constantly having to be on guard and concentrating on the conversation at the same time. He knew that he needed to pay attention. Navigators did not waste words. Indeed they believed in making one sentence carry as many meanings as possible, most of them ambiguous. Was it part of their mutation he wondered? Did their minds think in this mazy fashion because of the way they were born, or because of the society they were born into? Perhaps a little of both, he decided.
A servant came too close and Ragnar glared at him. The man backed away, startled. Ragnar could smell his fear and the sense of panic he inspired. It was a little galling, he thought. Here he was standing beside a known mutant, and he, one of the Emperor’s chosen, was the person that normal people were afraid of. It did not make a whole lot of sense.
“What are you thinking about?” The Navigator asked.
“Why are the people here so afraid of me? Some of them hate me, and they do not even know me.”
“You are a Space Marine,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“So?”
“The people of Terra have bad memories of Space Marines.”
“Bad memories? The Chapters have defended humanity for ten thousand years. They should be grateful to us,” Ragnar was surprised by the strength of his avowal. Something had touched a nerve.
“The Warmaster tore this planet apart. He reduced areas with populations of hive worlds to molten slag. His people offered up millions to his dark gods.”
“Horns was not a Space Marine,” retorted Ragnar immediately, but even as the words left his mouth he regretted them.
“No. He was a primarch. His followers were Space Marines.”
“That is perilously close to being an insult.”
“It also happens to be the truth.”
Much as he would have liked to deny it, Ragnar could not. “Surely the folk here know that the Wolves had no part in Horus’s rebellion? We came here and fought against it.”
“Aye, and your forebears were not gentle either. They killed many people.”
“Many heretics.”
“That may be, but the people here remember them as their neighbours and friends and kin. They remember you as off-worlders who brought fire and death to the soil of Terra.”
Ragnar was silent. His training and indoctrination had not prepared him for this. He had always thought of his Chapter as heroes. He had imagined that those who knew them would at least respect them, while others would admire them. He had not expected to be hated. And this woman was telling him that the folk of the most sacred world of the Imperium feared and hated them.
“Fire and death are the shield maidens of war.”
“And you think that good. But people whose trade is not battle do not.”
“They are weak.”
“Such contempt will win you a great deal of friendship, I am sure.”
Ragnar could see that this was not an argument he was going to win, particularly as he suspected that Gabriella was telling an unpalatable truth. Did it change anything? Ragnar supposed not. The Wolves would do their duty regardless of whether the people they protected loved or hated them. In reality what they felt was irrelevant.
The Navigator smiled as if she could read his thoughts.
“You can see why my people and yours are natural allies,” she said. “We are both powerful groups that the Lords of the Imperium have no reason to love.”
“Perhaps it was true, but it was not the reason they were allies. The Wolves are bound to you by the word of Russ. That is why we are allies.”
“And do you think Russ did not see the reasons why such an alliance would be necessary? He too was a primarch and far sighted.”
Ragnar was not sure that was entirely correct. Most of the tales of Russ portrayed him as a bold warrior, a little reckless and heedless of the needs of politics when hono
ur was involved. Still, he was a primarch, and who could say what visions such a mind could encompass? These thoughts brought him back to the Spear of Russ that he had so thoughtlessly lost. Was it possible that Russ had foreseen this, or was Ragnar thinking this because he wanted to believe it?
A faint whiff of perfume and the pheromone trace of the Navigator gene told Ragnar that someone approached. He turned his head and saw it was Skorpeus and his ever-present henchman. If the would-be inheritor of the throne of Belisarius was disconcerted to see him there, he gave no sign of it. He smiled smoothly and bowed to his cousin and then to Ragnar. Ragnar nodded back.
“Sweetest cousin, it is a pleasure to see you once again. Shall we walk?” He offered her his arm, and they linked arms and strode across the roof. Ragnar and Beltharys fell in behind. They were far enough behind that they could not hear anything but close enough so that Ragnar was aware of every word being said.
“I hear talk of marriage in the air, lovely Gabriella,” said Skorpeus.
“Whose?”
“Why, your own! There is no need to be coy. It is the talk of the palace. We all know the purpose of your visit to that old monster Cezare.”
“I visited the Feracci tower to see our aunt. She is sick.”
“Of course,” said Skorpeus, giving a sardonic little cough. “But other things were talked about. They always are.”
“Other things were talked about, but why is this of interest to you?”
“A Feracci married to a Belisarius, a strengthening of the ties between our two Houses just as old Gorki lies on his death bed. Do you think this is a coincidence?”
“There have been many marriages between our Houses before. Two hundred and twelve to be precise.”
“I see you have been studying the Books of the Blood, sweet cousin, to know the figure so exactly.”
“Obviously I have an interest.”
“Obviously. Do you not think it… interesting that old Cezare has offered his son as a prize to our House while all the time he is twisting the arms of the lesser Houses right and left to get that same son elected to the High Council of the Administratum?”
Gabriella stopped short. She turned and looked directly into her cousin’s face for the first time, laying her hand on top of his. He seemed to flinch from the contact for some reason. “That is news to me.”
“It is news to most folk but nevertheless I assure you it is true. The Lady Juliana knows it as well as I,”
“How do you know? Was it written in the stars?”
“I have other sources than my charts. You have been away too long if you do not remember that.”
“The other Houses would never stand for it. To see a Feracci on the Navigators’ throne. It would break the old compact and give Cezare too much power.”
“Nonetheless, Cezare obviously believes it possible, or he would not even make the attempt. He is too cunning to try and fail.”
“It is not possible. Every time one of the great Houses tries, it runs into the massed opposition of the others. That is why the likes of old Gorki are always picked — a non-entity from a lesser House, who could not do anything if he tried.”
Skorpeus gave a cruel little laugh. “I fear it is a little crude of you to speak so ill of the dying, true though your words might be.”
“Crude or no, we both know it to be the truth. If Cezare Feracci intends to change that then he will be upsetting a pattern that has kept the peace among the Houses these past two millennia.”
“And you think that would trouble our dear kinsman by marriage? Do not be so naive, sweet cousin. He is the most ruthless and ambitious man in this galaxy and he has friends in very high places. I tell you, Cezare means to put one of his brood on the throne and become primus inter pares.”
“No one has claimed that title since Jormela the Mad.”
“Just because no one has done so does not mean that many have not thought about it.”
“Perhaps including yourself.”
“How could I covet such a thing? I do not even occupy the throne of my own House.”
“No, but neither does Misha Feracci.”
“I am gratified that you take what I say so seriously.”
“Do you really believe it is possible?”
“Look around you. Cezare is spending his coin like water. The leaders of three of the great Houses are conveniently dead. New, inexperienced lords rule. Now he proposes a marriage alliance with us: between you and his young inexperienced and malleable son. Such a thing might be construed as an offer of power sharing.”
“But you do not believe it to be so.”
“Cezare will share power with no one. You must understand this as well as I,”
“Are you seriously suggesting he had a hand in the killing of three lords - in the death of my father?”
“I am merely saying it is a strange coincidence that they should all happen just as the Lord Feracci plans the greatest coup in two millennia.”
“Surely he knows he could not get away with it?”
“Dearest heart, you are repeating yourself. Cezare is getting away with it.”
“Surely he must know there will be reprisals?”
“Will there? If his chief rivals are dead and his son is seated on the Navigator throne, he will have shown himself to be the greatest power to arise among the Navigators since Tareno. The minor Houses will line up to do homage to him.
“The Lords of the Administratum will court him. The great Houses will do their best not to offend him.”
“It is not possible.”
“Sweet cousin, the great Houses have become fat, complacent and sure of their success. At such times, the predators always emerge from the undergrowth. Cezare Feracci is a predator.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“It seems to me that we must either accommodate ourselves to a new order or we must strike before Cezare becomes too mighty to be brought down.”
“This is a conversation that should be had with the Lady Juliana.”
“It has, but she needs time to consider the matter,” The sneer was faint but audible.
“Then why tell me?”
“You are the one who may be married into the Feracci family.”
He did not need to say the rest. Even Ragnar could follow the chain of implications. Gabriella might be married into the Feracci family. Her father had been killed by Cezare, if what this subtle man said was true. Was he really hinting that she might consider the assassination of the lord of the Feraccis?
“I will think on what you have said, cousin,” said Gabriella, unhooking her arm from his and bowing formally with hand on heart.
“Do not take too long,” said Skorpeus, bowing to her and then to Ragnar before retiring. It seemed to Ragnar that the Navigator looked knowingly at him before departing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Torin swept the eavesdropping augur over the room once more, then relaxed and smiled. Ragnar was glad that he had come straight here after his meeting with Skorpeus and Gabriella. Torin seemed exactly the man to turn to for advice under these circumstances.
“Ah, Ragnar, old son,” he said. “Here less than a week and already knee deep in conspiracies. That’s the spirit.”
Ragnar heard the mockery in his voice, and felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. Torin’s smile widened as if he knew what Ragnar was feeling, and then just as suddenly it vanished.
“A subtle man, Skorpeus,” he said. There was disdain in his voice. Ragnar was not sure whether this was because Skorpeus imputed subtlety or because Torin thought the Navigator was not subtle enough.
He glanced at his battle-brother’s chamber. It was the opposite of his own. There was a four poster suspensor bed and ancient paintings of distant landscapes. One showed a one-armed warrior mounted on a horse, shouting commands as he rode dramatically through the snow. Doubtless he had been a great warrior in his time.
“Is he correct?” Ragnar asked.
“Almost c
ertainly. There has been talk about this for months among the Navigators. They are very good at avoiding eavesdroppers, but they sometimes forget how keen our ears are.”
“What would it mean for us if Cezare got his catspaw on the throne?”
“By ‘us’ do you mean the Wolves?”
“What else could I mean?”
“You are a bondsman to Belisarius now, Ragnar.”
“Our interests in this matter are the same.”
“You are more subtle than you seem, young Wolf,” said Torin. He poured himself a glass of narcotic wine and sipped it delicately. The crystal glass and ornamental decanter looked incongruous in his gauntleted hand, and his expression was one that would not have been out of place on the face of a Navigator.
“You think he means to use Gabriella to assassinate Cezare?”
“Do you really think she could?”
“At the cost of her own life perhaps. Everyone is vulnerable if you get close enough.”
“The Lord Feracci will be extraordinarily well protected.”
“So you are saying no, then.”
“She could not do it, but there is one present who could.”
“You mean either Beltharys or myself?”
“Now you simulate obtuseness, Ragnar. What need would Skorpeus have of discussing this matter with her if he intended to use Beltharys?”
“He would not have known I was listening.”
“Men like Skorpeus never forget such things, old son.”
“Then why not approach me directly?”
“Because he could not deny doing that. But if a certain hot-headed young Space Wolf were to take it into his own head to do Skorpeus’s killing for him he could honestly say, even under truth machines, that he had never talked about it with you.”
“It seems a subtle distinction.”
“You need to start thinking like a Navigator.”
“How could he have known that I would be accompanying her?”
“Perhaps they cooked it up between them.”
“What?”
