Throneworld

by Guy Haley

  Yendl was tense but calm. The sense of imminent discovery had lessened. She had a new identity, assumed at the cost of another’s life. The orange robes of a mid-ranking data-tech cloaked her stooped body, her limbs twisted into a new shape. Even waiting for her fellows she maintained the disguise.

  Yendl blinked. Mariazet Isolde was suddenly there in the round door drain at the base of the chamber ramp. Her face was new, polymorphine-warped, but in the company of Yendl she did not keep up the rest of her pretence. She moved as an Assassin, without sound, every footstep deliberate, her body the acme of poise. She joined Yendl. They did not speak. Haast was the last member of Red Haven to come.

  ‘You are tardy,’ said Isolde.

  ‘I was followed,’ said Haast.

  ‘Did you lose them?’ asked Yendl.

  ‘Better than that,’ said Haast. ‘Wait.’

  She disappeared for little over a minute, then returned carrying a man, gagged and bound hand and foot, over her shoulder. He was larger than her, but she bore him easily. Haast dropped him on the rockcrete. Hard.

  ‘He’s been trailing me a week now. I decided it was time to find out who he is.’

  ‘Verraux is dead,’ said Yendl. Haast nodded, her eyes fixed on her prisoner.

  ‘That I suspected,’ said Isolde. ‘I have had no word from her for some time.’

  ‘I was nearly discovered,’ said Yendl.

  ‘Are we further compromised?’ asked Isolde.

  ‘They look for me, but cannot find me,’ said Yendl. ‘My information gathering suffers – I must find new access to the Martian noosphere. They are watching the old ways.’

  ‘That is acceptable,’ said Isolde. ‘Tybalt?’

  ‘He is hidden still,’ said Haast. ‘I moved his cryo-pod a week ago and checked on it before coming here. No signs of detection.’

  ‘Then matters could be worse,’ said Isolde. ‘Let us deal with this one while we wait for the message.’

  Haast bent to the man’s head and ripped his gag free. He looked at the three Assassins confidently.

  ‘We work to the same goals,’ he said without preamble. ‘I mean you no harm. You can release me.’

  ‘We will be the judges of that,’ said Yendl. ‘Who are you, who do you work for?’

  ‘Whoever I’m told to be, but I’ve been ordered to reveal my purpose should my life be threatened by you.’

  ‘I’d say it is threatened,’ said Isolde, her hand straying to her knife.

  ‘I can only agree,’ said the man.

  Isolde squatted down next to him. ‘Your name is Raznick. You work for Wienand.’

  ‘Now how did you come by that information?’ said Raznick.

  Isolde tapped her head. ‘Memcore implant. I have a record of every Inquisitorial agent active in the Sol System.’

  ‘The ones you know about,’ said Raznick.

  ‘I know about you,’ said Isolde.

  ‘Wienand’s dead,’ said Haast. ‘You’re out of a job.’

  ‘Is she now?’ said Raznick.

  ‘What is your mission?’ asked Yendl.

  ‘Observation, nothing more. I was told to keep an eye on you, make sure Lord Vangorich doesn’t have you do anything rash.’

  Isolde scowled. ‘You of the Inquisition, the keepers of the Imperium. Amateurs.’

  ‘Maybe I wanted to get caught?’ said Raznick.

  ‘Right,’ said Isolde. ‘Because you want me to make a hole in your brain. Clever.’

  ‘Shh!’ hissed Haast.

  Suddenly, all three members of the Assassinorum cell had pistols in their hands and trained on the drainage door. A faint skittering came up the enclosed canal outside. Isolde moved to the bottom of the ramp. They waited as the pattering grew louder.

  A rat appeared in the door, weirdly long-limbed and long-bodied, a Terran animal adapted to the lower-gravity conditions of Mars.

  ‘It is here,’ said Isolde, holstering her weapon. The rat remained stock still as she bent down and picked it up. It immediately sank its teeth into the web of her thumb.

  Blood welled from the bite as she returned to the others and offered the rat to them. Yendl and Haast allowed it to bite them.

  ‘Red Haven gathered,’ said Isolde.

  ‘Red Haven confirmed,’ said the rat, and expired in Haast’s hands.

  Yendl extended a fine cutting tool from her augmetic hand and sliced the rat from jaw to the base of its tail. Haast spread the belly. Inside, the rat was mostly cybernetic, a tiny mechanism surrounded by meat. Haast retrieved a silver ball from a housing at the centre. It bleeped, and a recorded message began to play.

  ‘Red Haven. This is Grand Master Vangorich. I have received Yendl’s troubling information regarding Kubik’s new experiments. Our suspicions that he is working entirely for the good of Mars and not the Imperium as a whole are being sadly borne out. We must prepare contingencies for a final solution.

  ‘Yendl, gather information on this new venture. Find out what the Adeptus Mechanicus want so many ork bodies for, and what they are doing with them. Prime your noospheric plague phage for release. If the Adeptus Mechanicus make their move, we shall decapitate the priesthood and destroy its informational network. Haast, hand over the care of Tybalt to Isolde. You are the most talented infiltrator in the cell. I want you to watch Kubik night and day. Build up a complete picture of his every habit. Operational level detail to be collated and submitted to me by the end of next week via the usual channels. Once you have this, Haast, you and Isolde are to find a suitable deployment site for Tybalt, and secrete him nearby. Isolde, begin preparation to infiltrate Kubik’s household as soon as Haast has performed her task. I want all three of you in position. One Assassin may be stopped, four cannot be.’

  ‘He’s going to assassinate the Fabricator General of Mars? He’s overstepping his office,’ said Raznick. ‘Can’t you see that? Let me report to my superiors! If you go through with this, it will mean civil war.’

  ‘Preparation does not betoken execution,’ said Isolde. ‘Preparedness is the watchword of the Officio Assassinorum.’

  ‘We’re going to have to kill you, Raznick,’ said Haast.

  ‘Your task is great, but you have my utmost confidence,’ Vangorich was saying. ‘The survival of the Imperium hangs by a thread. No matter your duty, I know you will perform it without question. I know you will succeed.’

  ‘Raznick’s death was the only outcome,’ said Isolde. ‘Did you think we might let him live, Haast?’

  ‘No,’ Haast said.

  Raznick sank resignedly into the floor. ‘Just make it quick,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Isolde. ‘Suffering in this instance is of benefit to no one.’ She took a small knife from an arm sheath. Its blue steel edges began to vibrate once it was drawn. ‘Present your throat,’ said Isolde. ‘It’s the quickest way.’

  ‘Vangorich hasn’t finished yet,’ said Yendl. ‘Leave it.’

  ‘Finally,’ said Vangorich’s recording. ‘There is an Inquisitorial agent by the name of Raznick who has been assigned to follow you. If you have not already killed him, do not harm him. Make contact with him. It is in the interests of the Imperium that the Inquisition and Officio Assassinorum work together. Inquisitorial Representative Veritus has placed the Inquisition’s assets on Mars at our disposal. Raznick is the key to them.’

  Isolde bent down to Raznick and cut his bonds. The ties offered no more resistance to the blade than smoke. He sat up and rubbed his wrists.

  ‘Today is my lucky day,’ he said.

  ‘Good hunting, Red Haven,’ concluded Vangorich.

  Haast dropped the ball. It hit the plascrete. She stamped on it hard, breaking it into pieces.

  ‘Well then, my ladies,’ said Raznick from the floor, ‘what is our next move?’

  Nineteen

 
Witch

  In tight formation, the Palimodes and the Obsidian Sky drove through the ork fleet, brothers once more, if but for a while. Ramshackle ork craft were blasted apart at close quarters by punishing broadsides issuing from the ships. Spinal lances stabbed out, vaporising smaller craft and raking long, glowing rents into the sides of the others.

  On the command deck of the Obsidian Sky, the Black Templars bondsmen went about their duties efficiently. Ericus sat tensely in his command throne, reading the ebb and flow of battle through augur and implant. ‘Palimodes, you are drifting ahead,’ said Ericus. ‘Maintain formation for maximum concentration of fire.’

  Attonax responded, vox only, his voice crackling as much with anger as the constant, thumping roar of the orks’ broadsides. ‘I am not yours to command.’

  ‘If you wish to see your master returned to your vessel, you are,’ said Ericus. ‘By all means, we can go back to our previous bellicosity instead if you wish. If not, regain formation.’

  The Palimodes slipped back, rolling a few degrees as attitude jets adjusted its trim.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Ericus to himself. ‘Proceed forward,’ he ordered. ‘We’re close to breaking out of this.’

  A flight of ork attack craft swooped down for an attack run on the prow of the ship, guns spitting. A storm of anti-fighter fire tore them apart. The Obsidian Sky rocked as a massive projectile impacted on the void shields, overloading a power conduit high up in the command deck’s ceiling. Sparks showered down.

  ‘Master Scutum, report!’

  ‘Port void shield is down.’

  ‘Get it up. Intensify port fire. They’ve barely scratched us, we’ll make it through. Twelve degrees to port, helm, steady adjustment. Get me a good line on the target. Palimodes, prepare for synchronised fire.’

  ‘As you say, shipmaster,’ responded a surly Attonax.

  The last obstacle in their path tracked across the hololith with the Obsidian Sky’s course adjustment, an ugly brute of a ship created by collision rather than construction. Much of the front half was made up of a crude, toothed beak, like that of an oceanic predator. This deliberate design gave way to a humped mass of rock studded with cannons and towers. Behind that the drive section sprouted a collection of tubes jutting off in multiple directions.

  ‘Prepare to diverge, Attonax. We’ll take the underside, you the top.’

  The ork ship was coming about, its mismatched engines erratically flaring.

  ‘Too easy,’ said Ericus.

  An impact shivered the Obsidian Sky. Ericus kept his focus upon the cruiser.

  ‘Second wave of boarders reported, teleport. Multiple contacts on seven decks.’ The Master Augurum looked back to his instruments. ‘I have high-energy emissions close by. They’re coming for the command deck.’

  Gunfire, feeble and popping compared to the thunderous rolls of the ship’s main batteries, sounded from outside. Men shouted in the distance, competing with the joyous roaring of orks at war.

  ‘Secure the deck. Close blast doors. Let free the spirits of our weapon emplacements,’ commanded Ericus. Red lights spun and flashed. A harsh klaxon heralded the sealing of the command deck. ‘Lord Rolans will deal with our uninvited guests. Every man aboard this deck must save his thoughts for the destruction of our target. The lives of our masters depend upon success. Do not waver from your purpose!’

  The ork ship came closer, dominating the hololith. ‘Open the oculus once more, let’s set eyes upon the vessel. Gunnery, prepare for fire. Charge lances. Hold broadsides for passing. Attonax, Palimodes to perform the same, confirm.’

  ‘As you say, Ericus. One day I will make you regret ordering me around so.’

  ‘Perhaps you have a better plan?’

  Attonax remained silent.

  ‘All hands, prepare!’ commanded Ericus.

  The oculus shutters slid open. Bright planetshine chased away the dimness of the bridge. The ork ship was above them relative to the pull of the Obsidian Sky’s grav-plating. Its dorsal aspect faced the planet, the Palimodes cutting between it and the hazy caramel of Dzelenic IV’s atmosphere. In life it was even uglier than upon the hololithic tactical display, a mechanical parody of a diseased void-whale, its stone and metal skin pocked by cosmic impacts, back crooked. It was far from defenceless for all its primitive construction, and a hundred guns of all sizes spat orange fire from every side.

  ‘Prow up twelve degrees. Master Scutum, concentrate shield replenishment on prow. Gunnery, on my mark. Target amidships. Tear it in two.’

  The underside of the ork ship moved down across the oculus as the Obsidian Sky pointed itself directly at the planetary equator. The fire from the other ork ships had slackened off, most having been destroyed, the rest fleeing in disarray.

  ‘Fire lances!’ ordered Ericus.

  ‘Firing lances!’

  Five energy beams stabbed out from the Obsidian Sky. The ship was still moving upwards relative to the ork cruiser, and they carved a deep wound of molten rock into the asteroid that made up the middle section of the craft. The Palimodes opened fire a second later. Turrets sheared off and floated away to join the debris cloud of the battle. Fire and the explosions of touched-off munitions stores burst from across the surface. The ork cruiser continued firing. Obsidian Sky’s forward void shield blazed and winked out, and the mass projectiles cast out by the ork ship slammed into the vessel’s armour. Rumbling troubled the Obsidian Sky, and Ericus was obliged to shout.

  ‘Roll to starboard, eighty degrees! Increase forward thrust. Prepare to fire starboard weapons batteries. Palimodes, we shall go first. Hold back, or we shall hit each other.’ Only hours before, that was exactly what they had been trying to do. Now the two ships fought together as if they had been part of the same fleet for decades.

  The ork ship slipped out of direct view. The surface of Dzelenic IV filled the oculus, nothing but debris from the battle between the Obsidian Sky and the rescue of the Marshal. Ericus watched the target upon the hololith for the perfect moment to strike.

  ‘Fire starboard battery!’ he yelled.

  A ripple of shock waves shook the vessel as its main guns fired. ‘Give me a visual feed!’ shouted Ericus. The hololith representation was replaced by a pict feed from the starboard-side pict-eyes. Hundreds of shells slammed into the ork ship, each bursting into a perfect sphere of atomic fire. Then the Obsidian Sky was past. Ericus ordered a rear view projected, so that he could watch the Palimodes’ attack run. It came in the wake of the Obsidian Sky, unleashing its own salvo as the fires from the first were blinking out. Another blooming of atomic destruction followed. The Palimodes sailed past as the ork ship broke into multiple pieces, trailing gas and corpses.

  A cheer went up from the command deck. Behind the Obsidian Sky the ork fleet was a shattered mess of metal, stone and frozen atmosphere. The sound of fighting outside the blast doors was subsiding.

  ‘Raise Lord Magneric and Lord Castellan Ralstan. We shall launch extraction craft as soon as they command,’ said Ericus.

  From every window, boltguns fired, cutting down orks by the dozen. Time after time the orks attempted the walls, only to be thrown back. Breaching teams were targeted by disciplined Space Marine fire. Heavy weapons were neutralised, tanks and guns eliminated by long-range lascannon shots. The swarms of orks hurling themselves at the walls were further thinned by grenades and careful flamer bursts. Large-calibre ork bullets took chunks from the ancient rockcrete. Rockets spiralled in on corkscrews of black smoke, leaving smoking craters in the walls, but none could pene­trate the building.

  ‘Slay them! Slay them all!’ roared Magneric. Unable to go within, he stood behind a berm of rubble torn from the desert sands by the Iron Warriors. His men fired from behind him, killing those orks that posed a threat to the ancient, while Magneric himself selected targets on the basis of size. The bigger the ork, the more likely they were
to receive the attentions of Magneric’s assault cannon.

  Within the building, Kalkator paced the buckled floors, shouting encouragement and curses at his men. Ralstan shadowed his every step, alert for treachery, but there was none. The Black Templars and Iron Warriors were thoroughly intermingled, fighting as one force. Ties to the old Legions were forgotten, treachery was put out of mind. They fought together as Space Marines, born of the same science, equipped with the same weaponry and armour. Blood and battle removed the differences between them. Ralstan’s misgivings were swamped for a while by martial pride. His desire to show the Iron Warriors who were the greater warriors had him exhorting his brothers to greater accuracy, smoother fire, wiser target selection.

  ‘Do not fear, my brothers!’ he shouted. ‘We shall meet them blade to blade soon enough. Kill them now at distance, lay their vile xenos hides low into the dust of this world. When they are bloodied and enraged, then shall we test ourselves against them!’

  ‘If this were a larger force, or better equipped, we would perish here,’ said Kalkator to Ralstan.

  ‘Maybe you would. The Black Templars will not be bested!’

  ‘A larger ork attack annihilated two of my worlds,’ said Kalkator, ‘and reduced my Great Company to this sad remnant. You speak from ignorance. You would have died.’

  ‘Never!’ said Ralstan. ‘Not while the Emperor watches over us.’ He left Kalkator, irked by his sniping, and went up onto the roof. Joy at battle filled him. Afterwards, he would have more words with the Marshal about disobeying the call to the Last Wall, but for now the reality of battle was a clean wind, scouring his soul and his thoughts of doubt. If they could not battle the orks with the rest of their Chapter, so be it. Here was the chance of great slaughter!