“They seemed pleasant enough,” she remarked, as though the matter was of very little interest.
Adrin nodded. “Lord and Lady Tonis. Their son was a tech-priest, who used to run one of our study groups before he had an unfortunate accident.” He frowned, as if trying to recall something trivial. “Did I mention that?”
“Last night,” Keira said, nodding. No wonder Mordechai had taken off so fast. The sudden appearance of two proven heretics, right where they expected to find a cell of them, was too strong a lead to ignore, and following them was bound to take priority over a routine back-up assignment. “Archeotech, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right.” Adrin nodded casually. “He was convinced there were still a few artefacts from the first colonisation lying around somewhere on Sepheris Secundus. The problem was finding them, if they ever even existed.”
“Do you think he was right?” Keira asked, taking his arm and strolling towards the dining room.
Adrin shrugged. “Possibly. The whole planet’s either wilderness, or holes in the ground. If you wanted to lose something, I can’t think of anywhere in the sector more suited to the purpose.” Then he grinned. “If he was right, though, he never found anything. Not to my knowledge, anyway.”
“How very disappointing for him,” Keira said, catching the enticing aroma of sautéed mushrooms, and trying to ignore the quickening of her appetite.
The Gorgonid Mine, Sepheris Secundus
102.993.M41
The day had passed slowly, with little to mark the passage of time in the dank, chilly darkness. Kyrlock had busied himself as best he could in checking his weapons, which had done little to ease the visible apprehension of the refugees surrounding them, but that could only engage his attention for so long. Unable to take refuge in the traditional soldier’s time killer of sleep, he simply kept watch as best he could, exchanging the occasional desultory remark with Elyra, lapsing ever deeper into the sullen silence that Drake would have recognised at once as a precursor to trouble.
The more he thought about the situation they were in, the less he found to like. Kantris had already attempted to kill them and steal the jewellery Elyra was carrying, and now they were stuck at the bottom of some Emperor forsaken hole guarded by the man’s confederates. True, having seen how badly he’d underestimated them, he was unlikely to try anything quite so direct again, but there was still plenty of scope for treachery before they found their way aboard a star-ship.
And that was another thing: despite his display of eagerness to get off-planet, so essential for the mission, Kyrlock was scared witless at the prospect. All his life he’d heard dark stories about the malign nature of the warp, and the prospect of entering that shadowy realm was not one he relished. Even that, though, was less disturbing than the presence, no more than a few metres away, of the trio of young psykers that the mysterious man from the depths of the mine had left with them.
It hadn’t been so bad at first, they’d kept themselves to themselves, which he could more or less live with, but after a while the girl had approached Elyra and attempted to strike up a conversation. Now, the psyker was chatting with all of them, albeit with the same surliness she’d affected in front of their patron, and Kyrlock didn’t like that at all. Something about their eyes, their quick, febrile movements, reminded him all too vividly of the inmates of the Citadel he and Danuld had encountered after the breakout.
“How did you manage to survive for so long?” the girl asked, her pale blue eyes fixed on Elyra with disturbing intensity. Her face was narrow, and framed with shoulder length hair, so blonde it seemed almost white. A faint sheen of radiance appeared to cling to it, although that could just have been the reflections cast by the intermittent light sources scattered around the cavern. At least Kyrlock hoped that was what it was. Her name, he gathered, was Zusen. The pale, twitchy lad with curly brown hair who’d somehow known what Elyra could do was Ven, and the other one, with the shaved head and the acne, answered to Trosk, when he could be bothered to say anything at all.
Elyra shrugged. “I’ve been lucky.”
“I don’t think so.” The girl looked at Elyra with feral intensity. “You’re strong enough to make your own luck, we can all feel that. We want to be strong too.”
“Good for you,” Elyra said. She pantomimed thinking deeply about the girl’s question. “Don’t use your talents where anyone can see, that’s a good start.”
“I told you,” Trosk said. “You’re wasting your breath. Bitch like that’s only ever going to be out for herself.” He stretched out on the hard rocky floor, pillowing his head on his folded jacket, with elaborate casualness.
“Damn right she is,” Elyra said. She glanced at Kyrlock for confirmation. He shrugged and nodded, and she went on. “I take what I want, and I do what I want, but I’m careful.”
“Careful enough to be running for your life,” Trosk said. He’d obviously had the sense to listen while Elyra had been talking to their mysterious guardian.
“I was getting bored on this mudball anyway,” Elyra said. “Bodyguarding parasites was a meal ticket for a while, but it’s not much of a challenge.” She grinned, apparently struck by a new and amusing thought. “Maybe I’ll turn bounty once we get to Scintilla, try chasing instead of running for a change.” She glanced across at Kyrlock. “Like the sound of that, Vos? You get to beat people up and get paid for it.”
“Sweet,” Kyrlock said shortly. “But we’re not there yet.”
“You’d really do that?” Zusen was looking at Elyra with something approaching contempt. “Waste your time chasing bounties with a deadmind?” She glanced at her compatriots. “You talk pretty big, but we’re the ones who are really going to shake the galaxy.”
“Zu,” Ven said in a warning tone, “remember what they said.”
“Yeah, Zu,” Elyra said mockingly, “do as you’re told, like a good little wyrd. That’s one way to stay out of trouble.”
“You don’t know anything about it!” the girl said, her face colouring as she rose to the bait. “The people we’re with are powerful. They can protect us. If you want to keep looking over your shoulder for the Inquisition every day for the rest of your life, that’s your choice, and it’s a stupid one.”
“They haven’t caught up with me yet,” Elyra said, “and I don’t have anyone telling me what to do either.” She grinned, and patted the girl condescendingly on the shoulder. “I tell you what, I’ll wipe your noses till we get to where we’re going, and your babysitter shows up. If I like what the grown-ups tell me, I might decide to tag along after all. Sound fair?”
“Lucky us,” Trosk said. “And if you don’t?”
“Bust heads with Vos for a while,” Elyra said, shrugging indifferently. Then she grinned again. “At least if there’s a price on yours, I’ll have a good start on the opposition.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Zusen said, with a flash of vindictiveness that had Kyrlock reaching surreptitiously for the grip of his shotgun. There was no telling what abilities she had, and if she was about to lash out in some way he’d drop her where she stood and to hell with the consequences. “You’ve really got no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Elyra said, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. She ruffled Zusen’s hair affectionately, apparently oblivious to the clenching of the girl’s jaw in response. “Don’t sweat it, kiddies. If your little gang’s as good as you say, I’ll make sure you get through to your nursemaid. Think of it as an audition.” Leaving them muttering resentfully among themselves, she ambled back to Kyrlock and sat on her pack.
“Was that really sensible?” Kyrlock asked, looking up. “Riding them like that?”
Elyra nodded. “Rogue psykers are generally paranoid sociopaths. If I was trying to be their new best friend they’d smell a rat in a heartbeat.”
“I see.” Kyrlock echoed the gesture thoughtfully. “The same technique you used on the other guy.”
&nbs
p; “Exactly,” Elyra said. “Now they’re desperate to impress me. We’ll have weeks on the ship together to let them think they’re winning me round, and when we tag along with their escort once we get to Scintilla they’ll think it was all their idea.”
“Hm.” Kyrlock considered this for a moment. “They might take you, you’re a psyker, but there’s no way they’ll just let me come along for the ride.”
“Maybe not,” Elyra agreed, “but in my experience heretic groups can always do with more muscle. We’ll have time to work out a strategy before we reach orbit, anyhow. If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll just have to follow the underground while you make a run for the Tricorn and contact Carolus. He’ll know what to do.”
“I guess,” Kyrlock said, surprised at how uncomfortable that thought made him feel. If he really wanted to go his own way once they made planetfall, that would be the perfect excuse. On the other hand, it would leave Elyra’s life hanging by a thread, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. It wasn’t as if they were friends or anything, but she trusted him, and so had the inquisitor. That was a novel sensation, and one he rather liked.
Ah well, as she’d just pointed out, the journey would give him plenty of time to consider his options.
Icenholm, Sepheris Secundus
102.993.M41
The food was as pleasant as Keira had been expecting, and the dining room a little more crowded than it had been the previous night. She remarked on the fact, round a mouthful of fungi en croute, and her host nodded.
“The philosophy group’s a popular one,” he said. “Most of them are here for the debate.” He nodded affably to the ecclesiarch she’d noticed the evening before, who appeared to be holding forth to a tableful of interested listeners, and who broke off briefly to acknowledge the greeting with a discreet tilt of his head. “Quarren there’s proposing the motion that in order to truly preserve itself, Humanity must make greater use of the psykers among us, turning the taint of Chaos against itself.”
“Hm.” Keira nodded, pausing thoughtfully in the act of spearing some local vegetable she didn’t recognise. “Hardly a new idea, but quite radical coming from a member of the Ecclesiarchy.” She smiled at Adrin. “Does he really believe that?”
“Who knows?” Adrin replied, sipping at the crystal goblet of wine beside his plate. “The debate’s the important thing. Do you have an opinion on the matter?”
For a moment, Keira was at a loss. Her Redemptionist upbringing had left her in no doubt that anyone touched by the warp was a walking embodiment of Chaos, deserving of nothing less than utter annihilation, but then she’d met Inquisitor Finurbi, who’d turned his formidable psychic powers against the enemies of the Emperor, and Elyra, who’d become one of her closest friends, and that old certainty had crumbled. The woman she was pretending to be would have no emotional response to the question, though, so she merely nodded, as if they were playing an intellectual game.
“I think he has a point,” she agreed, allowing a mischievous glint to enter her eyes. “If it’s good enough for the Emperor, it ought to be good enough for anyone.” The taste of blasphemy was bitter on her tongue, but she forced herself to smile nevertheless. If she was going to establish herself as someone with heretical tendencies, she might never get a better opportunity. She watched Adrin carefully, for signs of shock or outrage, but to her surprise he simply leaned back in his chair and bellowed with laughter, heedless of the startled glances he was attracting from all corners of the room.
“Oh, my dear, that’s absolutely priceless. You must repeat that in the debate tonight, it’ll completely knock the props out from under him.” He dabbed his eyes delicately with a napkin, and leaned across the table, his expression suddenly earnest. “But perhaps that’s a view you’d better not express too openly in less cosmopolitan company.”
“Absolutely,” Keira agreed, responding in kind to this unexpected shift of mood. “A lot can be said in a hypothetical debate that wouldn’t go down at all well if there was an inquisitor in the room.” She smiled playfully at him. “You don’t have one of those among the members too, do you? You seem to have everything else.”
“No, we don’t,” Adrin said, “but we have attracted their attention recently.” He nodded in the direction of a pale young man sipping soup in the corner, a litter of data-slates around his place setting. “Abelard had rather an unsettling interview with a pair of their thugs the other day.”
“Did he?” Keira asked, peering curiously in his direction, and making a careful mental note to repeat the remark verbatim to Mordechai the next time she saw him. Just because she was trying to be a bit more cooperative didn’t mean she had to give up teasing him entirely. “He doesn’t look like a heretic to me.”
“I don’t think they generally go around carrying a placard saying, “I’m a heretic’,” Adrin said mildly, “but you’re right, of course he isn’t. They were asking questions about Tonis.”
“Your tech-priest friend? Really?” Keira feigned rapt attention. “What for?”
’emperor knows,” Adrin said. “Something to do with his work, probably. He never talked about it, but it was pretty obvious it was sensitive.” He shrugged. “I just thought I should mention it. They might still be keeping an eye on the place. Or an ear.”
“Don’t worry,” Keira said, “I’m used to being discreet.”
“I’m sure you are,” Adrin said thoughtfully, and took another sip of his wine.
Horst managed to keep Lord and Lady Tonis in sight more easily than he’d been expecting. They seemed completely unaware of his presence, and if they were anticipating interference or surveillance they gave no sign of the fact. They strolled easily along wide boulevards of glittering glass, talking little, but sharing the kind of quiet companionship years of close affection alone can confer. Watching them, Horst was barely able to contain a stab of envy, knowing that he was unlikely ever to know such a state. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to walk like that with Keira, but he knew that the path of duty they’d both chosen would lead them in an entirely different direction.
Even though he still had only the sketchiest idea of the layout of the city, his years of experience in shadowing fugitives allowed him to read a great deal into the couple’s unhurried progress. They seemed to be moving almost at random, as the mood took them, spiralling outwards towards the edge of the spire, stopping now and again to admire a particular statue or fresco. Taking advantage of the milling crowds, Horst edged as close as he dared, hoping to overhear a snatch of conversation, but the constant cacophony of other voices drowned out whatever his quarry might be discussing, and their heads remained too close together for him to try reading their lips on the odd occasion they turned enough to allow him a glimpse of their faces.
“Barda’s airborne,” Vex reported, distracting him just long enough for the fugitives to vanish into the crowd. After a moment of panic-stricken head turning, Horst caught sight of them again, and closed the distance a little, determined not to lose them.
“Good,” he responded, keeping his voice level. “Patch him through.”
“Receiving you,” Barda said after a moment. “I can be with you in three minutes.”
“No,” Horst instructed after a moment’s thought. “Keep clear. If they see the shuttle they’ll know we’re on to them.”
“No problem,” the young pilot agreed. “I can establish a holding pattern around the spire.”
“Good,” Horst said, sprinting up a narrow flight of stairs. The steep alleyway was a perfect place for an ambush, and he reached instinctively for his bolt pistol, but found himself in another broad, well-illuminated thoroughfare before he could draw it. The passers-by here were fewer in number, more elaborately and expensively dressed for the most part, and he allowed the distance between him and the Tonises to increase a little. “Keep scanning for any other aircraft in the vicinity. They might be heading for a pick-up point.”
That would make sense. The
re were plenty of landing platforms up here, both commercial and private, not to mention innumerable plazas, terraces and gardens where an aircar could set down with little difficulty. His money would be on a shuttle, though, ready to take the fugitives to a waiting starship, which would narrow the number of possible extraction points significantly. He allowed himself to feel a degree of quiet satisfaction for a moment. His judgement had been vindicated; allowing them to remain free would lead the Angelae to more members of the shadowy conspiracy of which Lord and Lady Tonis were undoubtedly a part.
“Will do,” Barda acknowledged. “What happens if I spot one?”
“Let it go,” Horst said. “Keep it on auspex, and follow it. If it docks with a starship, record its ident beacon, and if they go somewhere else planetside I’ll want the coordinates.”
“You’ll have them,” Barda promised, and Horst cut the link. The fugitive couple was entering an empty plaza, dotted with statues of the saints in exquisitely formed glass, and sweet-scented shrubs in neat, formal beds. Acutely aware that there was no crowd left to hide in, and few shadows in the gently glowing vitruvian architecture surrounding them, Horst determined on boldness. Drawing his bolt pistol, he strode confidently into the garden after them.
It was Lady Tonis who noticed him first, glancing up from a hushed conversation with her husband. The two of them had been leaning on the balustrade fringing the far end of the square, their arms around one another’s waists, looking down towards the gently glowing pit of the Gorgonid. “Mr Horst,” she said coldly. “Come to see us off?”
“I’m afraid not,” Horst said, walking unhurriedly towards them. He tapped the comm-bead. “Any incoming yet?”
“Not yet,” Barda confirmed.
“You can’t stop us, you know,” Lord Tonis said, looking at the bolt pistol with aristocratic disdain.
[Warhammer 40K] - Scourge the Heretic Page 27
