Dark Apostle (word bearers)

by Anthony Reynolds

  'Friends, please,' he began, his trained and subtly augmented voice carrying out over the din. Despite his unease at the unexpected appearance of the judge, his voice was self-assured and practised. 'Adept Trask, please summarise your point concisely. Leave out the rhetoric,' he said, a generous smile upon his face. 'It seems to irritate the colonel.'

  Polite laughter greeted his comment, and Adept Trask rose again to his feet, clearing his throat. He lifted a slate and began to read from it. The governor coughed markedly, interrupting the dull voice of the small man, who looked up from his slate expectantly.

  'A summary of your point, minister,' said the governor, still smiling, 'as in one that you can say out loud in less than an hour of our precious time, perhaps?'

  The adept did not know whether to be insulted or not, but seeing the governor smiling at him still, he gave a nervous smile of his own and flicked through the thick wad of papers on his slate. Moron, thought Flenske.

  'In… in summary,' the adept began, 'there have been seventy-eight raids across Shinar in the last three weeks, and two hundred and twelve insurgents have been detained by the enforcers. The situation is under control.' The adept sat back down quickly.

  'Under control? Are you of sound mind, adept?' asked a robed, skeletally thin bureaucrat. 'We are overran with riots and demonstrations, all linked to insurgent activity, and getting worse every week! Situation under control? I beg to differ. The enforcers are unable to control Shinar any longer. I mean no slur against them, but they do not have the resources or men to contain the insurgents.'

  The aging Minister for the Interior, Kurtz, raised his hand to speak. He was a stocky, powerful man despite his age, but he had lost the use of his legs decades earlier and was confined to his powered chair. Once he had been an officer in the PDF and a captain of the enforcers, before he had been deprived of the use of legs. He was a tough old fighter, renowned among Flenske's ministers for his stubbornness, and most considered him a crude man with none of the refinement that came from proper breeding. The governor sighed as he saw the thick pile of documents that Kurtz held in his hand.

  'The honoured Bureaucrat of the Third speaks the truth. I have been reviewing the various reports that show the activities of these so-called insurgents. They are far more organised and widespread than any here give them credit for.'

  There were snorts of derision from around the table, and the governor fixed his gaze on Kurtz.

  'What is this evidence then, noble minister?' he asked, flicking a glance towards the judge.

  'Extensive details of Shinar and the Shinar Peninsula. Focused map work showing the valleys and paths that lead through the mountains.'

  There were more snorts of derision around the table.

  'You mean the enforcers found some maps, minister?' asked the governor. 'They needn't have raided insurgents just to find maps, man. I'm sure that our cartographers could have loaned them some.'

  'They have detailed layouts of your palace, governor, including.' Kurtz said firmly, looking down at a map layout in front of him, 'the location of passages that show up on no unclassified map of the palace. Passages leading into your bedchambers, for instance.'

  The governor swallowed whole the nut he had been gumming, and several of the figures at the table stood, their voices raised. He felt his manservant Pierlo lean in close behind him.

  'Shall I go and change the combinations on the access passage to your personal chambers, my lord?' he asked quietly.

  The governor nodded, and the man slipped out of the room.

  'From the evidence garnered by the enforcers,' continued Kurtz, raising his voice over the clamour in the room, 'it is my belief that these covert groups are coordinating acts of rebellion and sedition that threaten the stability of Shinar. These are not isolated groups of rebel salt workers that are trying to avoid paying taxes. This is a well supplied and armed group of organised insurgents that have integrated covertly into the institutions of Shinar and beyond.'

  He held up a schematic map.

  'This shows unsanctioned construction of a considerable size in the Shakos Mountains, not three hundred kilometres from where we sit. I believe this is a staging post, a training facility perhaps.'

  'Minister, these documents, I would like them to be studied by my own people. Please pass them on to my aide once this meeting is concluded.'

  'Governor?' said Kurtz, his face incredulous. 'You… you do not wish to act upon the information I have gleaned immediately?'

  'I will act, minister, when and if I deem it to be appropriate to do so,' the governor said forcefully.

  'Now,' he said. 'Colonel? I hear that the PDF is having some problems at the present?'

  'I regret that that is so, governor. The Commissariat has been forced to execute a number of officers for… various infractions. And as for the insurgents, I recommend that we pull more of the PDF ranks into Shinar. I believe the popular unrest can be stemmed with a martial presence.'

  'Popular unrest?' burst the minister of the interior. 'This is coordinated cult activity, governor, not popular unrest,' he spat. 'It is my belief that these insurgents are worshippers of the Ruinous Powers, and that…'

  'That is enough, minister!' hollered the governor. He felt the pain behind his eyes increase, and he took another sip of water. 'I will not have such talk bandied without irrefutable proof!' He took a deep breath. 'Thank you, colonel,' he said. He turned towards the sweating cardinal. 'And the Ecclesiarch? Holy cardinal, what do you say?'

  'More citizens are attending the sermons than ever, governor. I attribute it to the nearing conjunction of planets. Scaremongering propaganda has been spread through the lower hab-blocks claiming that it signals the end of the world. The superstitious salt farmers are afraid.' The cardinal shrugged his thick shoulders, 'Ergo, more citizens on pews in the daily hymnals.'

  The governor grunted. 'It certainly seems to me that this rise in insurgency, the riots, the scaremongering, it all relates back to the conjunction. It's just a damn planet passing, for Shinar's sake! Why under Throne is it such a big deal?'

  'The red planet of Korsis circles our system in an aberrant, elliptical orbit, and on occasion it passes extremely close to Tanakreg. On very rare occasions, Korsis passing us coincides with a conjunction of sorts, when all the planets in our system are aligned. The last time this happened was ten thousand, two hundred and ninety-nine years ago. Such a conjunction will occur in less than three months time,' said a bespectacled, robed man.

  'Thank you, learned one,' said the governor sharply. The pain behind his eyes was becoming almost unbearable.

  'If it pleases you, governor,' said the tech-administrator, 'I would like to return to the substation. I was in the process of blessing the machine-spirits of the turbines when your request for my presence came through.'

  'Fine, fine, go,' said the governor, waving his hand.

  The Arbites judge turned around, his face emotionless. The room went deathly quiet, and the severe figure let the silence grow. The governor felt his stomach knot.

  'I have heard enough,' the judge said finally, the sound of his voice making Flenske flinch.

  Varnus was bored. Once he had finally been filtered through the checking facilities on the sub-ground floor, then the third floor, the eighteenth and finally the ground floor of the palace proper, he had been subjected to a rigorous security check from the regal, blue-armoured palace guards. They had requested his weapons, and he had realised that he would be denied access if he refused to give up his side arm and his power maul. With some reluctance he handed them over. He had even been forced to relinquish his helmet - ''comm security'', apparently.

  He had been directed to a small alcove, there to await the Arbites judge. It was a small corridor space linking two grand galleries, and there were dozens of other plaintiffs and officials already sitting there, their eyes glazed. He took a seat at the far end of the corridor alcove.

  It had been hours, and he was deathly tired of the whole thing
. There was an impressive staircase on the other side of one of the grand galleries that the alcove opened onto, and he watched it with boredom. A heavy guard presence prevented anyone from climbing the stairs. Those that even began to approach backed away after seeing the guards. At the top of the stairs was a massive pair of double-doors, with another set of guards holding tall, high powered las-locks, vertically to attention. They didn't move, and their faces were stoic. They must be as bored as he was, he thought.

  With a click he saw one of the large doors open briefly, and a man exit. The guards barely looked at him as he lifted the hem of his red robe and quickly descended the stairs. Some tech, he thought, as he saw the Mechanicus symbol on his chest and the bionics of his left eye. The man looked flustered, and he hurried to the bottom of the stairs, looking left and right frantically. A man that Varnus had not noticed before stepped out to meet him, and the tech began to talk animatedly. The other man shushed him, and Varnus recognised him as the one who had exited the same room earlier. The enforcer instantly disliked him: he looked like yet another arrogant, officious noble. The pair hurried off, and Varnus sighed.

  The governor licked his lips and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face as the imposing Arbites judge stared across the room at him, his face a cold, expressionless mask.

  'The local enforcer units have been sapped of resources and manpower over the last decade as a direct result of the policies of the governorship, and as a result it is unfit to deal with the insurgent threat. This speaks of gross and inexcusable incompetence.'

  The accusation hung in the air, and none around the table dared make a sound. Governor Flenske felt his world contract and heat rising up his neck. His eyes flicked around the table before him. No one met his gaze except Minister Kurtz.

  'I'm… this… perhaps we… misread the severity of the… the situation. Nothing that cannot be rectified, I assure you,' said the governor, his voice sounding hollow and weak in his own ears.

  'Shinar risks falling into anarchy and rebellion. The security of the city is compromised, and this is an unacceptable situation. The time for bureaucratic pandering is over. Governor Flenske, I find you in contempt of your duties. You are to be replaced by a stewardship until a more suitable governor can be instated. I am locking down Shinar in a state of martial law until the insurgency has been eliminated and the city secured.'

  The governor's face paled, and he felt his chest tighten. He tried to speak, but he couldn't find the words, and his mouth napped open and shut in rising panic.

  The judge pulled his large, black autopistol from its holster and pointed it at the governor. Never before had a weapon been levelled at him, and Flenske felt rising warmth in his trousers. He realised that he had soiled himself, and he felt shame as he stared in horror and panic at the barrel of the pistol.

  'With the power vested in me by the Adeptus Arbites I hereby remove Planetary Governor Flenske from his position.'

  'No, no…' began the governor.

  The autopistol barked loudly. Three rounds punched through Flenske's forehead and the back of his head exploded. His body was thrown backwards to the ground as his chair overturned beneath him. Three empty shell casings fell to the marble floor with a musical, tinkling sound, and smoke rose from the barrel of the gun before it was smoothly replaced in its holster.

  The judge walked around the table, his boot steps echoing loudly across the room. Giving the governor's body a push with his heel, he righted his chair and sat down at the head of the table.

  'I want all local PDF units retracted to Shinar,' he stated to the pale-faced group of individuals staring at him in shock and horror. 'I want a lock down of all traffic into and out of the city, and I want armed checkpoints set up along all main thoroughfares. I want an indefinite curfew instated: any individual found on the streets after curfew is to be shot. The palace is to be secured: I want no one coming in or going out without my say-so. Contact the twin cities and order their local PDF units to be recalled within the city boundaries. Tell them to be ready for potential hostile activity.'

  He glanced around the table, his gaze hard.

  'We have a lot of work to do, and I am not here to play your little political games. I am here to bring this city back to order in the name of the God-Emperor. I am here to avert disaster, if at all possible.'

  Governor Flenske's blood pooled out beneath his body. There was shocked silence around the room. No one dared move. The acrid smell of the gun's discharge was mixing with the stink of blood.

  'Tanakreg teeters on the brink of destruction,' said the judge. 'This group is its only possible salvation.'

  Then the room exploded, turning into a roaring inferno. Everyone in the chamber was instantly slain as the force of the detonations ripped the room apart. The marble floor exploded into millions of tiny shards and the synth-hardened plex-windows shattered outwards. The force of the blast rocked the entire palace and oily, black smoke billowed from the rising ball of flame that burst from the shattered windows.

  Varnus was thrown back through the alcove corridor from the force of the blast that smashed aside the huge doors, throwing them off their hinges and hurling the guards through the air like rag dolls. Varnus was thrown back over ten metres, flying clear of the corridor and smashing to the gallery floor, amid a tangle of burning rabble and flesh. Dimly, he heard blaring alarms, and then he heard nothing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kol Badar glared around at his warriors, all members of the cult of the Anointed. The most vicious, faithful and dangerous warriors within the Host, he had wanted them to accompany the Dark Apostle on his drop assault, but Jarulek would not hear of it. Their Terminator armour was too bulky for a lightning assault on the palace, he had said, and Kol Badar had reluctantly agreed with him. It just did not feel right, though. He had always fought at the side of the Dark Apostle with his elite brethren.

  The horned helmets of the Anointed looked daemonic under the glowing, red lights within the cramped hold of the Land Raider, and Kol Badar knew that he too looked like some malevolent daemon of the warp in his ornate battle-helm. Barbed tusks protruded like monstrous mandibles from his ancient helmet, which was crafted in the likeness of a snarling, bestial visage. The massive tank roared across the plains of the planet Tanakreg, hauling its deadly cargo ever closer to the central battle lines of the pathetic Imperials.

  He was disappointed with the enemy, but then, he could not expect any more from them. The Imperium had grown weak.

  The Host was borne from the Infidus Diabolus in scores of smaller vessels, angry hornets swarming from their nest towards their foe. They had landed on the planet surface as the harsh, orange sun was setting and stormed the first defensive line, taking it within an hour. The Anointed, borne within the belly of revered Land Raiders, had assaulted up the steep embankments to take the most heavily defended sections, slaughtering all in their path.

  The enemy artillery was next to useless against the powerful tanks, and the remainder of the Host rampaged through the breaches carved by the Anointed and set up their own heavy weapon teams atop the earthworks, raining death upon the Imperials mustered beyond. They marched relentlessly through the trenches, killing and mutilating, and taking bunkers and strong points at will. Kol Badar had been disgusted to see hundreds of the Imperials flee before the Legion, seeking the false safety of the second defensive line. That second line had fallen almost as quickly as the first, once its emplaced guns had been silenced. The third line broke almost as swiftly.

  There remained only the last line, the one closest to the city. The glow of the Imperial city could be seen over the horizon. This last defensive line was the shortest of the four, and had more emplacements than the first. Kol Badar hoped that it would prove somewhat more of a challenge.

  So far there had been little satisfaction in these battles: they had been nothing short of massacres. The estimate was somewhere in the realm of fifteen thousand enemy troops slain, and around five hundred tanks, aircra
ft and support vehicles destroyed. The losses amongst the Word Bearers had been minimal.

  The lascannon sponsons of the Land Raider screamed as they fired. The tank did not slow, and hit a slight rise at speed. There was a moment of weightlessness as the front of the tank became airborne before slamming back down to the ground. Dull explosions and detonations could be heard, the sound muffled by the roar of the engines and the screaming of the lascannons. The vehicle rocked as explosive shells struck its thick, armoured hide, and Kol Badar growled.

  The Land Raider began ploughing up a steep incline, and Kol Badar knew that they were at the earthworks. High calibre rounds pinged off the exterior but the powerful machine had carried the Word Bearers across much deadlier battlefields on a thousand worlds, transporting them safely against far worse than these weakling Imperials could muster.

  A glowing, yellow blister light began to flash, and Kol Badar pulled off the hissing coupling that held him to his seat and flexed his power talons.

  'In the name of the true gods, Lorgar and the Dark Apostle,' he roared. 'Anointed! We kill once more!'

  The elite cult warriors roared back, and the assault ramp of the Land Raider slammed down as the immense tank drew to a sudden halt near the top of the incline, steam hissing out into the cold of night.