Soul Drinkers 06 - Phalanx

by Ben Counter

  to us all. But my crippling was Sarpedon's doing, and I

  would repay him for it as a personal debt.'

  'We are not here to execute your petty vengeance,

  captain,' replied Vladimir. 'A far greater vengeance must be

  satisfied. If it is decided that the traitor Sarpedon is to

  suffer greatly before death, perhaps you can have a part in

  deciding the exact manner in which that suffering is to be

  inflicted. Until that decision is made, make justice your

  only goal.'

  Borganor bowed before Vladimir. 'Forgive me,' he said.

  'Such hatred burns in my heart for all those that would

  befoul the name of Rogal Dorn.'

  'That such hatred should have its voice,' said Vladimir,

  'is the reason you have your place at this trial.'

  Borganor led the seventy Space Marines of the

  Howling Griffons Ninth Company onto the Phalanx's

  docking bay. Three companies of the Imperial Fists,

  numbering more that three hundred Space Marines, were

  already stationed on the Phalanx - the Howling Griffons

  would be the next biggest contingent on board. But they

  would not be the only visitors to the Phalanx for the trial.

  Sarpedon and the Soul Drinkers had tangled with many

  Imperial servants, and every one wanted his voice to be

  heard.

  IN A GOLDEN orbital yacht launched from the Inquisitorial

  escort ship Traitorsgrave, Lord Inquisitor Kolgo made his

  entrance into the Phalanx. Ahead of him danced a troupe

  of acrobats and musicians, enacting in elaborate mimes

  and song the greatest achievements of their master's long

  career hunting the enemies of the Emperor. Kolgo himself,

  in jet-black Terminator armour bearing the 'I' of the

  Inquisition proudly on his chest, was flanked by several

  battle-sisters of the Adepta Sororitas. They were led by

  Sister Superior Aescarion, who had requested the duty of

  accompanying Kolgo so that she, too, could witness at

  first hand the trial of the renegades whose deeds she had

  personally witnessed. She had previously been assigned

  to Inquisitor Thaddeus, and she had no doubt that the Soul

  Drinkers were responsible for his death since he had

  disappeared hunting down evidence of their activities.

  The Adeptus Mechanicus, who had more cause than

  most to despise the Soul Drinkers, were present in the

  form of Archmagos Voar. Voar had been instrumental in

  the capture of the Soul Drinkers, in doing so helping to set

  right an age-old debt owed to the Mechanicus by Sarpedon

  and his renegades. Alongside Voar was a ceremonial

  guard of gun-servitors, marching precisely in time. Voar's

  legs had been lost on Selaaca and so he moved towards

  the engine sections of the Phalanx, where he had been

  given quarters, on a set of simple tracks he had fashioned

  to use until more suitable replacements could be found.

  There was none of the hatred in him that the other

  attendees flaunted, for Voar was an analytical creature for

  whom emotion was an inconvenience.

  The word had spread beyond those who had

  personally encountered the Soul Drinkers after they had

  turned renegade. The Killing Shadow of the Doom Eagles

  Chapter and the Judgement Upon Garadan of the Iron

  Knights dropped out of warp near Kravamesh and

  demanded that they, as loyal Space Marine Chapters, also

  take part in the trial. Shortly after this they were joined by

  contingents of Angels Sanguine and Silver Skulls, both

  Chapters who had heard of the Soul Drinkers' capture and

  found they had officers stationed close enough to

  Kravamesh to have a presence at the trial.

  Chapter Master Vladimir listened to their petitions. It

  was down to his judgement whether or not these Space

  Marines would be welcome. He accepted that the

  existence of renegade Space Marines was an affront to the

  whole Adeptus Astartes, and that the crime of any one

  renegade Chapter was a crime against them all for it

  blackened the name of Space Marines, their primarchs

  and even the Emperor Himself. So Vladimir gave the order

  for the Chapter representatives to be welcomed on board

  the Phalanx, and quartered among the monastic cells

  usually used by Imperial Fists who were on operations

  elsewhere in the galaxy.

  Amid the pageantry of so many Chapters all

  announcing their presence and bringing their own officers

  and honour guards on board, the existence of a band of

  ragged pilgrims in the forward cargo sections was all but

  forgotten.

  IN THE DUSTY, long-empty cargo hall, Father

  Gyranar knelt and prayed. Decades before this place had

  been crammed with supplies of ammunition, food and

  spare parts long since used up, and it remained only in the

  memories of a few crewmen who recalled it when asked if

  there was somewhere the pilgrims of the Blind Retribution

  could be quartered. Those pilgrims now knelt on bedrolls or

  attended to their holy books, preparing their souls for the

  solemn duty of overseeing the great trial to come. No one

  had thought to tell them when the trial was expected to

  begin, but the pilgrims did not care. They would always be

  ready.

  Father Gyranar, who had spoken with Castellan

  Leucrontas, was the oldest among them, and few of them

  were young. His own prayers were so familiar to him that

  he had to stop and think about the words, to stop them

  slipping through the well-worn channels of his mind. When

  he murmured that the Emperor's will was his will, he forced

  himself to pause and consider what that actually meant.

  That he had no will of his own, that he was the vessel for a

  higher power, that his own wishes and desires had long

  since withered away to be replaced with what the Emperor

  wanted for this particular instrument.

  Gyranar carried a prayer book, but he had not opened

  it in thirty-seven years. He knew it by heart.

  His evening prayers complete, Gyranar stood.

  'Advance the standards,' he said.

  The other pilgrims did not expect this. It was not a

  part of their normal routine. After a few moments of

  confusion the standards of the Blind Retribution were

  unfurled and held aloft.

  'This place is now holy ground,' said Gyranar. His

  voice was brittle and frail, but the other pilgrims listened so

  attentively that he could have been no clearer with a voxcaster.

  'The time for confession has come.'

  'Confession, father?' said Brother Akulsan. He was the

  Blind Retribution's deacon, who oversaw the few

  permanent places of worship they had established on the

  worlds where they had settled for a while. On a pilgrimage

  such as this he became a second leader, a check to

  Gyranar's authority.

  'Indeed,' said Gyranar. 'A confession most vital. There

  is in us all a sin. The task we undertake here is of such

  import that I would have it spoken aloud by all of us.'

  'Many times have I made confession,' said Akul
san.

  'Indeed, the very pride of confessing has itself become as a

  sin, and required yet more confession. I feel there is little

  in me that is still dangerous and unspoken, prideful though

  that thought may be.'

  'Sister Solace?' said Gyranar.

  'Every night I beg forgiveness for my failures,' replied

  Sister Solace, in a voice hoarse with endless prayers.

  Those not familiar with the Blind Retribution sometimes

  expressed surprise that Solace was a woman, for she had

  the dusty voice of an old man and beneath her robes it was

  impossible to tell gender. Most people never suspected

  there were women in the Blind Retribution at all. 'I yearn to

  be free of them. What confession can I make now that I

  have not in every moment before?'

  'You know,' said Gyranar, 'of what I speak.' He had

  been kneeling but he now stood. He had never been a big

  man and now he was bent and drained, but still the

  pilgrims looked down or shied away a little as if he had the

  presence of an Astartes. 'Though the greater part of your

  soul may deny it. Though you beg the Emperor that it not

  be true. Though you have forced yourselves to forget all but

  its shadow, yet all of you know of what I speak.'

  The pilgrims were silent. The only sound was the

  distant hum of the Phalanx's engines and the pulsing of the

  air recyclers overhead.

  'Then I shall begin,' said Gyranar. 'O Emperor, I speak

  unto you the darkness of my deeds, and the poverty of this

  spirit so unworthy to serve you. My confession is of a time

  long ago, when first I wore the habit of the Blind. In the

  night as I lay in cloisters, a shadow came to me, clad in

  darkness. I am sure he was another brother of this order,

  though I know not his name. Perhaps it was that same

  father who counselled me in your ways. He said nothing,

  and did no more than place a chalice beside the slab on

  which I slept. Tell me, brethren, is there some confession

  in you that begs to be released, that has some of the

  same character as mine? Is there some echo of

  recognition that tugs at you, though from your memory it

  be gone?'

  The pilgrims said nothing. So rapt were they by

  Gyranar's words that the Imperial saints could have

  descended in that moment and not broken their

  concentration on what the old man had to say.

  'Then I shall continue,' he said. 'In this chalice was a

  liquid dark and cold. The shadow bid me drink with a

  gesture, and I did so, for I was afraid. And then into my

  mind there flooded a terrible waterfall of knowledge. I saw

  destruction and suffering! But I saw also the good that

  would come of it, the sinners that would be purged and the

  dead flesh of this bloated Imperium burned away. And I

  saw this time, when the Angels of Death, the Emperor's

  own warriors, shall be brought to trial before their peers,

  and I saw the part we were to play therein. The sin I

  confess is that I have known since that night that this time

  would come, and that the Blind Retribution must be there

  not only to observe that justice be done, but to enact a

  most crucial and terrible act that is the Emperor's will. I

  have kept it secret, locked up in my soul. Knowing that the

  day would come everything I saw will come true. That is

  my confession. Who will follow mine with the excision of

  their own sin? Who?'

  For a few moments, there was silence. Then one of

  the pilgrims raised a hand - Brother Sennon, one of the

  younger brethren who had been with the Blind Retribution

  only a few years. 'I drank of the chalice,' he said, his voice

  wavering. 'I saw… I saw the Phalanx. I thought it was a

  gilded eagle, a symbol of the Emperor's presence but…

  but when I looked upon this ship, I understood that

  whatever is to befall us must happen here. And it will be

  most dreadful. I saw flame, and blood, and torn bodies.

  Astartes battling one another. There was a terrible

  injustice, I am sure, which by this violence might be

  averted. And… Father Gyranar, I am sure that I must die.'

  'Brother Sennon,' said Gyranar, 'your courage is that

  of one far beyond your years and wisdom. To have made

  this confession here, before your brothers, is an act of

  great bravery. Who here can show such valour? For he is

  not the only one with something to confess.'

  'I, too,' said Sister Solace, 'have seen what I must do.

  It is indeed a terrible thing. But it was brought to me while

  at prayer. There was a searing pain about my temples and

  when my senses returned my mind was full of visions. I

  saw the Phalanx, and all that you have spoken of. I have

  hidden this for so long because I was afraid. I thought I

  was the only one. I thought that if I spoke of it I would be

  accused of corruption, and so I pushed it down to the

  depths of my soul. Only now am I able to acknowledge it

  within myself.'

  More voices spoke out. Many had drunk of the chalice

  offered to them. Others had been struck by sudden visions

  while ill with a fever or at prayer. Some had been granted

  prophetic dreams. All of them had hidden what they had

  seen, and all of them had seen the same thing. The

  Phalanx. Fire and warfare. Destruction. And all had the

  same absolute certainty that what they saw was the

  Emperor's will. Every pilgrim cried out his own confession,

  finally unburdening himself of the dark thoughts that had

  been inside him since the days of his novicehood in the

  Blind Retribution.

  Gyranar held up a hand to silence them. 'Now our

  confession is finished,' he said, 'is any of you in doubt as

  to what he must do? Does any fail to understand his own

  task in this, our final act of devotion?'

  This time, there was silence again.

  'Good,' said Gyranar. 'Then the Emperor's will must be

  done, dreadful though it is. And true, many of you will die,

  though the fear of death has no hold on you, I see.'

  'Rather death,' said Brother Akulsan, 'than to live on

  with this task undone.'

  'Good,' said Gyranar. 'Then we are all of the same

  mind. And now, let us pray.'

  IF ARCHMAGOS VOAR could have truly admired

  anything, he would have admired the Crucible of Ages. The

  complex angles of its construction, wrought in iron and

  bronze to form a great segmented dome, were lit from

  beneath by the molten metal running in channels between

  the four great forges in which blades and armour segments

  were being heated by crewmen in heavy protective suits.

  The sound of steel on steel rang like the falling of a

  metallic rain. The work was overseen by the Techmarines

  of the Fourth, Seventh and Eighth Companies of the

  Imperial Fists, those companies present on the Phalanx for

  the trial. The Techmarines checked each piece for flaws

  after its cooling in the huge vat of water in the centre of the

  dome, throwing those pieces that failed back in
to the

  streams of molten metal.

  Voar did not really like anything in the traditional

  human sense, since he had lost much of his emotional

  centre over the course of his various augmentations. But

  as much as he could, he liked this place. It was a place of

  both industry and wisdom. The exacting standards of the

  Techmarines were something to admire, as was the

  devotion the crewmen had to the orders of their Imperial

  Fists masters. The Crucible of Ages could have been lifted

  straight out of an Adeptus Mechanicus forge world, which

  was as high a compliment as a magos of the Mechanicus

  could pay.

  Archmagos Voar had been summoned here. Ordinarily

  one did not summon an archmagos, but he was a guest

  here on the Phalanx and his datamedia still contained

  enough matters of etiquette to suggest he should accept

  the request to come to the Crucible.

  In the centre of the Crucible stood an Astartes who

  was not a Techmarine. He wore Terminator armour, its

  yellow ceramite panels lit red and orange by the molten

  streams. He was testing the weight and balance of several

  hammers recently forged and left by the cooling pool. Each

  hammer was as long as a man was tall but the Imperial

  Fist swung them as if they weighed nothing. He swung

  each in turn a few times, running through a simple

  weapons drill, then scowled and placed each one back in

  the pile. None of them seemed to please him very much.

  None of them, presumably, was the equal of the thunder

  hammer he carried strapped to the back of his armour.

  'Demenos!' shouted the Imperial Fist over the din.

  One of the Techmarines turned to him. 'Captain

  Lysander?'

  'What grade of material are you using for your hammer

  heads? These things feel like they would splinter against a

  child's hand! And the shafts are about as sturdy as straw!'

  Techmarine Demenos bowed his head. 'Many of my

  forgemen are new, captain,' he said. 'They have yet to

  understand the artificer's art. These weapons are

  exemplars of their competence thus far. They shall be

  used as training weapons, I would imagine.'

  'If you wish to train our novices to fear the failing of

  their wargear, then they will do perfectly,' retorted

  Lysander. He picked up a sword this time and made a few

  thrusts and chops with it. 'This is better,' he said. 'This

  would go through a few skulls.'