[Grey Knights 01] - Grey Knights

by Ben Counter - (ebook by Undead)

  “Do you know,” said Ligeia calmly, “what Ghargatuloth was?”

  Tencendur bristled. Alaric imagined he was not used to being talked back to, even by an inquisitor. “Of course. A daemon prince.”

  “It took the Ordo Malleus more than a hundred years to find out its name. Not even its truename, just the name it used to create cults all over the Imperium. Then it took decades to track it to Khorion IX and when they finally cornered it, they sent three hundred Grey Knights to banish it. Not one of them came back. Mandulis was the only one we were even able to bury. If Ghargatuloth is to return, he will need help. He could still influence the weak-willed from the warp but until they can bring him fully into real space he will be comparatively vulnerable. It will be the only chance we have to strike at him before he becomes too great for us to deal with. The ordo tried to count how many citizens died as a result of Ghargatuloth’s cults but the even the logistician’s corps couldn’t come up with a number. If there is a way we can stop that then we must take it. I will go alone if I have to, but I have a duty to the Imperium and it will be fulfilled.”

  Tencendur paused. “I cannot lead them. The other grand masters are needed elsewhere, as are our force commanders. I can spare you a small taskforce but officers…”

  “That is why I asked for Justicar Alaric to attend,” said Ligeia, looking suddenly at Alaric. “I understand you cannot spare battle-leaders. Justicar Alaric has distinguished himself and, as the first into Valinov’s fortress, was there from the beginning. Alaric and his squad, a Terminator assault unit, two more tactical squads and the Rubicon. I know it is still a great deal to ask when the Enemy is pouring from the Eye, but you understand that the possibility of Ghargatuloth’s return means I cannot ask for anything less.”

  “If Valinov’s interrogations reveal…”

  “Grand master, Ghargatuloth will already be calling to his followers. In four months he will have been banished for a full thousand years and he will be able to create new cults and instruct them in drawing him into real space. Valinov will take too long to break. We must go now.”

  Tencendur turned to Alaric. “Justicar?”

  Alaric had not expected this. He still had the feeling he had failed at the Gaolven Belt, and he could still feel the wounds that had nearly killed him. Durendin had told him how far he had to go before he could be trusted to be a leader of the Grey Knights, and now he was being asked to join Ligeia on a mission she evidently believed was vastly important. For a moment, he floundered. Should he refuse? A servant of the Emperor should show honesty where he had doubts about being able to fulfil his duty. But if he didn’t go, who else would? What Tencendur said was true—the Eye of Terror would soon be using most of the Grey Knights’ resources and all of the senior brother-captains and grand masters would need to be there.

  Alaric walked over to the table and picked up the Codicium Aetemum. It was heavy and decaying. Daemon’s names marched across its pages, foul and terrible names along with descriptions of their atrocities and the circumstances of their banishment.

  Ghargatuloth’s entry took up several pages—the Prince of a Thousand Faces created benighted cults all over the Imperium, each distinct and ignorant of the others, each working towards grand plans of atrocity that only became visible as their final horrific moments were played out.

  A daemon’s banishment was a complicated concept. The strength of the daemon, the method of banishment and sheer luck determined how long the daemon would have to languish in the warp. Mandulis must have dealt Ghargatuloth a fell blow indeed to banish the daemon for a thousand years. The Codicium Aeternum had been written in an attempt to catalogue all those factors and predict accurately when and where daemons would return, but Chaos by its very nature refused to be categorized so neatly and the book had been left half-finished—but not before Ghargatuloth’s return had been predicted.

  If Cadia fell, a spearhead of pure Chaos could punch deep into the Segmentum Solar. The Grey Knights, the only soldiers who could face Warmaster Abaddon’s daemonic allies, would be needed there. But if the Grey Knights were all deployed at the Eye, and something terrible arose to strike at the Imperium’s undefended underbelly…

  It was Valinov who had taken the book. Valinov had openly rebelled against the ordo after taking the book from the Librarium. Had Ghargatuloth been the source of all his depravities? Was Valinov laughing at them from Mimas, knowing he had already set something in motion at the Trail of St. Evisser that could strike when the Imperium was at is weakest?

  “You have my squad,” said Alaric. “Valinov has caused them to mourn. Tancred was there, too. For the other squads I would recommend Justicars Genhain and Santoro, they were both in the force that hit the fortress from the sunward side.”

  “You will be on your own, justicar,” said Tencendur. “I can vouch for your command but in battle there will be no one else.”

  “I trust the judgement of the Inquisition.”

  Tencendur nodded at his command squad to leave with him. “You have the Rubicon. It will be made ready for launch at Lapetus within twelve hours. I release you into the authority of Inquisitor Ligeia. For the Throne, justicar.”

  “For the Throne, grand master,” said Alaric with a bow of the head.

  Tencendur left, his boots and the boots of his squad ringing off the stone floor and echoing grandly around the Fallen Dagger Hall. Inquisitor Nyxos left in the opposite direction, followed by his silent advisors and honour guard, the servos of his body bracings sighing as he walked.

  “You are psychic,” said Alaric as Ligeia gathered up the book and stood up from her chair. “The wards react to it.”

  Ligeia smiled. “I have seen my fellow inquisitors throw lightning bolts. I am afraid I can manage nothing so grand as that. I deal in knowledge, I am a scholar. And yourself?”

  “All Grey Knights have some psychic capacity. I am strong enough for it to be a part of my conditioning but not to focus it. You knew that already, inquisitor.”

  “Of course. I also know you are curious and intelligent, and you have an imagination. Those are qualities I value. You are also a born leader, even if the grand masters would rather watch you earn your stripes for a decade or two. You can lead your Marines when we need to fight and defer to me when we need to learn. We will have to do both, I fear, if I am right about Ghargatuloth.”

  Ligeia turned elegantly and walked away, her long ermine-trimmed dress sweeping along behind her.

  She had known he would agree to lead her strike-force. She must have realised Alaric would want another go at Valinov, even if only to thwart whatever plan he had set in motion. Alaric had learned that was how inquisitors thought—people, whether Grey Knights or Imperial citizens or even other inquisitors, were weapons to be maneuvered into position and let loose on whatever enemy it would be most expedient to destroy. He understood that was the only way the complex, monolithic Imperium could be manipulated into providing what an inquisitor needed to fight the enemies of humanity. But that didn’t mean he had to enjoy being a part of it.

  Gholic Ren-Sar Valinov was naked and bound, with shackles around his wrists and ankles. There was a metal collar around his neck packed with explosives that would neatly blow his head off if he left the interrogation cell, attempted to use psychic powers (although Valinov had never shown any measurable psychic capacity) or simply angered the supervising interrogator enough for the collar’s detonator to be pushed. The cell around him was of plain obsidian flecked with white, smooth and unforgiving in the harsh light stabbing down from the bright lumosphere set into the ceiling. He sat on a metal chair in the middle of the otherwise unfurnished room. In spite of it all, he still looked dangerous. His body was hard-muscled, not big but strong. His skin was covered in scars too regular to be solely the result of the many wounds he had received in his career. Abstract tattoos covered the sides of his abdomen, curving up in thick dark blue bands over his back and shoulders to form a broad collar over his throat and lower chest like the
clasp of a cloak, snaking over his scalp.

  His face was sharp and alert. He had expressive, knowing eyes set into a thin hatchet of a face. His hair was shaved back brutally and his ears had been so full of rings that with all the decoration taken out they looked ragged and chewed.

  Alaric waited from the monitoring station on the other side of the stone wall, watching images relayed from pict-stealers in the corners of the cell. The room was lit only by the light from the screens, casting a silvery light on the faces of the supervising interrogation staff. The prison on Mimas was staffed by men and women who had been totally mind-scrubbed and then given an education consisting of nothing but security protocols, interrogation techniques and utter hatred of the inmates. They were at a reduced risk of corruption because there was less of a mind to be corrupted.

  The supervisor leaned over to a microphone jutting from the console in front of her. “Confirm secure. You may begin, inquisitor.”

  The stone door of the cell ground open. A servitor trundled in and placed a chair opposite Valinov, then left the room. Inquisitor Ligeia walked in and sat in the chair. Alaric saw she had toned down her clothing from her full regalia. Now she looked like a military officer in a dark and severe uniform, with just enough ornamentation to convey high rank.

  Valinov looked up at her. Alaric could just detect a slight smile in his eyes. The same expression he had seen when Valinov stabbed Iatonn through the gut. Ligeia was carrying a thick file of papers and she opened it out on her lap, making a show of reading from one of the many files the Inquisition had on Valinov.

  “Gholic Ren-Sar Valinov,” began Ligeia curtly, “you are charged with heresy first class, grand treachery, daemonancy, warpcraft and association with persons identified as a moral threat. You will be aware that each of these charges is of such severity that no possibility of innocence can be accepted, and that each is punishable with death.”

  “So,” said Valinov in that slick, smooth voice. “You’re going to kill me five times?”

  Ligeia looked up at him. “That was the plan, yes.”

  Valinov said nothing.

  “You have been away for some time, Valinov. You probably don’t know the changes to our procedure. It’s complicated, but ultimately, the office of executions has acquired a psyker who can keep you alive, even though you are dead. The Adeptus Astra Telepathica trained him up and they owed the ordo a favour, hence your impending five death sentences. I must confess, I find it difficult to imagine what it will be like for you to remain conscious while your body begins to rot.” This time Ligeia smiled faintly. “But then I suppose you have a better imagination than I.”

  At first, Ligeia was nothing but official. She stated simply the particulars of Valinov’s various crimes and the authority by which he was condemned. Alaric knew them all already—the Conclave of the Ordo Malleus on Enceladus had already decided what Valinov was guilty of and what would be done to him. Every now and then Ligeia would try to flatter Valinov, such as pretending to be surprised at the speed with which he organised the cultists on the Gaolven Belt. Other times she would try to goad him into boasting about what he had done, by expressing ill-disguised disgust at his ability to kill from a distance without remorse. Valinov saw past these rases easily—but Alaric imagined that was the point. It was a game. Valinov had played with all his interrogators, and Ligeia was playing along in the hope that Valinov would get comfortable enough running rings around her to let something important slip.

  Ligeia was good, Alaric thought. But he still suspected that Valinov was better.

  “I remember you,” said Valinov suddenly in a low, dangerous voice, cutting off Ligeia in mid-sentence. Alaric saw the interrogator nodding slightly to one of her underlings, whose finger hovered over the collar detonator.

  “They brought you over from the Ordo Hereticus,” continued Valinov. “That doesn’t happen very often. They must have thought you had some steel in you, but it looks like they were short-changed. Do these threats work on petty witches and governors who don’t pay up? Do you think an inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus will break so easily? I have seen Chaos, little girl, from both sides. You can do nothing to me.”

  Ligeia didn’t waver. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear. We will make you suffer, Valinov. You have never had access to the most sensitive of the ordo’s procedures. If you resist we can show you if you wish.”

  “And what do you want in return for giving me a single death?” Valinov’s tone was mocking. “Information?”

  “I am glad we understand one another.”

  “There is not enough room in your head to understand what I could tell you. I have seen the forces that really hold this universe together, and it isn’t your Emperor. All you Imperial vermin devote your lives to crushing the spirits of mankind until not one man or woman could survive knowing the truth.” Valinov sat back. “You don’t know, do you? They haven’t told you. You’re a messenger, Ligeia. A lackey. You think you have a future because you can do more than just smash a daemon’s skull with a force hammer but you’re the most pathetic of them all. They’re lying to you. The ones who know, they lie.”

  Ligeia leafed through the files in the folder again, as if Valinov’s words just slid off her. “While in the employ of Inquisitor Barbillus you had access to the Librarium…”

  “The purpose of the Inquisition,” said Valinov suddenly, “is to ensure that the Adeptus Terra retains power. It does this by covering up the truth with tales of your dead Emperor and fictions you call histories. Chaos is the essence of existence. It is power given form. It can be shaped, it can be used. Chaos could free mankind. Do you know what freedom is? I mean real freedom, releasing the shackles of your mind.”

  “Your impending deaths,” said Ligeia levelly, “now number six.”

  “Have you ever killed a world, Ligeia? I mean, killed every single person on a planet, wiped out everything they are and everything they will ever be.”

  “You did. You killed V’Run.”

  “V’Run is a free world now. But I have destroyed worlds before. Under Barbillus I did everything except press the button. Whole civilizations, dead in hours. Do you know what he did to Jurn? They had to bring in freighters full of refugees to repopulate it. They’re still finding unexploded virus torpedoes in the under-hive to this day.” Valinov’s eyes were alive. “You have to be there, not just see it. I’m not a psyker, but I could feel them dying. I always told myself that I was doing the right thing, but when I finally began to understand and I made sure Barbillus couldn’t get off Agnarsson’s Hold, that was truly right. He burned, just like the billions he had burned. That’s when I understood. The things the Imperium does to itself to crush the freedoms it calls heresy—that is the true heresy. You know nothing of the true glory of Chaos. If you did, you would see that the freedom and power it gives would be a better fate for the galaxy than the suffering the Imperium must dole out to keep that truth from existing.”

  “Chaos is suffering,” said Ligeia. “I have seen as much of that as you have.”

  Valinov shook his head. “Perspective, inquisitor. Some must always suffer. But Chaos gives so much more to those who do not. Under the Imperium, everyone suffers.”

  “You have one chance,” said Ligeia. “It is more than you ever gave anyone. Tell us about Ghargatuloth and the Trail of St. Evisser. What were you going to do to raise him? Who did you instruct to carry on your work?”

  Valinov sat back and sighed. “You almost had me worried, inquisitor. For a moment it looked like you really knew something.”

  Ligeia shut the file and stood up. She gave Valinov the kind of superior, officious look she did so well. Valinov’s eyes glinted as if he were hiding a smirk.

  Beside Alaric, the interrogator staff worked the cell commands and the door ground open again. Ligeia walked smartly out, the servitor removed the chair and the door shut again.

  The lights in the cell went out, leaving Valinov in pitch blackness. Alaric could hear the rogue
inquisitor’s breathing. He knew from the interrogator’s previous reports that he wouldn’t break by conventional means—Ligeia had been the last realistic chance they had of cracking Valinov open.

  Ligeia’s voice came over Alaric’s vox-receiver. “Justicar, we have done all we can here. Assemble your force on the Rubicon, we are running out of time.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE TRAIL OF ST. EVISSER

  The Trail of St. Evisser was a grimy little skein of space towards the galactic west, on the edge of the Segmentum Solar near the Ecclesiarchy heartland around Gathalamor and Chiros. The Trail consisted of a couple of dozen settled worlds forming a long, gruelling journey that twisted around nebulae and asteroid fields to describe the lengthy pilgrimage of St. Evisser himself.

  Ligeia had acquired reference works on the Trail before embarking and Alaric spent some of the journey reading up on it. The Trail, it seemed, had once been a centerpiece of the Imperial cult. It was a shining example of piety, with cathedrals and shrines dotting every settled world, a rich vein of charismatic senior clergy and a brand of lavish exultation that covered cathedral spires in gold. Each world competed in works of devotion until the festivals of the Adeptus Ministorum became week-long celebrations with processions that snaked around continents. It rivalled the relic-trail of Sebastian Thor for ostentatious piety and material celebration of the Emperor.