by Gav Thorpe
Cypher’s Testimony
‘You are not an Interrogator.’ Cypher issued this conclusion as the door closed behind Azrael.
‘I am not.’ The Supreme Grand Master sat down on a stool, opposite the bench to which the traitor was chained. ‘I can fetch one if you prefer. Asmodai. He is very dedicated.’
‘I noticed. Your robes, Deathwing, with officer markings. But I have already met Grand Master Belial. You wear no badge of the Librarium or Reclusiam or armourium. That leaves only one option. I am honoured, truly, Supreme Grand Master Azrael.’
The cell was silent while Azrael studied Cypher. The renegade had his hood drawn back, head resting against the wall in an attempt at relaxation, but his eyes were intent and never left the Lord of the Rock.
Azrael allowed the silence to endure for a few more minutes, face impassive as he waited to see if Cypher would speak. The renegade held his tongue.
‘You told my Chaplains that you had an urgent message for me, for the Chapter.’
‘For the Legion…’ Cypher whispered.
‘I am here. You are here. We should conclude this portion of your visit swiftly and then we can proceed to your excruciation.’
‘If it were that simple, we would all rest easier in our sleep.’
‘This is your first and last caution. I have no interest in this matter. If I tire of your presence I will leave and not return. Asmodai and Sapphon and Ezekiel will wring the truth from you using whatever means they care to try. It will be painful, shaming and terrifying. You might not break, but you will suffer. Either way, if you do not tell me why you are here, if the next words from your lips are not an explanation of your presence, I will get up, open that door and leave you to their cruel attentions.’
A twitch, small but noticeable, moved Cypher’s right eye. A glance towards the door for a fraction of a second before he returned his gaze to Azrael.
‘It concerns the traitor, Anovel,’ said Cypher. He leaned forward and made to place his hands in his lap, but the shackles clamped to his armour did not allow him to move them past his waist. ‘The plot with Astelan, Methelas and Typhus is more than it seems.’
‘No doubt. Will you unravel this mystery for me?’
‘As best I can, but despite what you might believe I am not the architect. I have been deceived by my allies.’
Azrael was not sure whether Cypher’s frankness was a genuine response to the threat of torture or simply playing for time. He had the feeling that the Dark Angels would learn more from an open conversation than extraction by force. Initially, at least. He would indulge Cypher for a few minutes.
‘He believes he is telling the truth,’ Ezekiel’s voice buzzed through the comm-bead in his ear. The Chief Librarian observed the exchange psychically, unobtrusively monitoring Cypher’s thoughts.
‘Continue,’ said Azrael.
‘I led the attack on your Chapter keep on Piscina Four,’ Cypher admitted. Azrael fought the instinct to take a sharp breath. He forced himself to make no reaction at all, though a slight narrowing of Cypher’s eyes indicated that he might have already seen or heard some response Azrael could not suppress. ‘You look surprised, but I am sure the account of Colonel Brade left you in little doubt.’
‘My surprise was due to your open admission to the crime of killing innocent novitiates, as well as their trainers, and unleashing the life-eater virus in an attempt to wipe out the planetary population.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Cypher looked genuinely aggrieved at the suggestion. ‘Methelas was the architect of that particular attempt at genocide. I did not know until we had departed and he boasted of what he and Anovel had done.’
‘Again, he believes that is the truth,’ Ezekiel reported. ‘He has not revealed all that he knows, but what he has claimed is true to his knowledge.’
‘Why did you come to Piscina Four?’
‘So I have been returned to the scene of the crime?’
Azrael bit back a reply, annoyed with himself for revealing this scrap of information.
‘We are leaving the system,’ he said.
‘For the gene-seed, you already know that. It was my part of the bargain, to supply the genetic material that would form the basis of a new generation of legionaries. Astelan was to seize Tharsis. It was perfect. Remote, but technologically capable. I did not expect him to be so… rigorous in his enthusiasm to cleanse the world of opposition.’
‘Another genocide you did not participate in? How convenient.’
‘Let us put aside these mortal notions of morality, Supreme Grand Master. You forget the history of the Legion whose name you have taken. Genocide was not uncommon during the Great Crusade, and the Lion you laud so much was accomplished at its application. Compliance was rarely gained peacefully when he led the Legion.’
‘Tell me about Tharsis, and the gene-seed,’ said Azrael, keen to stay on the topic of Cypher’s plotting rather than broaden the conversation to older times.
‘It was to be a new home world, the start of a new Legion from the combined efforts of Dark Angels and Typhus’s Death Guard. I believe there was some further assistance from a former Emperor’s Children Apothecary, a deviant called Fabius Bile.’ Cypher paused and flexed his fingers as if to return some feeling to them.
‘You claimed that there was more to the plot than you have said, and that the Chapter was under threat.’
‘I did, and it is, but the exact nature of that threat I cannot say. I genuinely do not know some of the details. I believe Anovel has betrayed his allies in order to secure leadership of the new force for himself. That is the extent of my knowledge.’
‘He is lying,’ warned Ezekiel.
Azrael stood up and turned towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Cypher demanded. ‘Why are you leaving?’
‘You are lying to me,’ Azrael replied without turning around. ‘I will waste no more of my time with you.’
‘Wait!’ Cypher shouted as Azrael took a step. ‘Wait!’
‘Why?’ Azrael looked back over his shoulder. ‘So that you can spin more half-truths for me? My Chaplains have the patience for these games. I do not.’
Azrael had reached the door when Cypher spoke again, as though the words had been torn from him.
‘It is a horrifying plan, and would see the Dark Angels destroyed, their legacy ruined. The ruins of Caliban, that’s all I know. Anovel was going to take Typhus and these new legionaries to the Caliban System.’
‘Caliban?’ Azrael turned slowly, masking his concern as his hearts beat a little faster. ‘What business does Anovel have with our dead world?’
‘I do not know, for certain, but I can find out,’ Cypher assured him. ‘I will help you turn Anovel.’
Azrael left the cell, thoughts whirling. He closed the door and stood in the corridor outside, head bowed in thought. Ezekiel joined him, expression pensive.
‘He was telling the truth, at the end,’ said the Chief Librarian. ‘He was worried by what Anovel might be doing. I sensed that he desperately wanted to stop Anovel.’
‘We cannot put them together, not after the disaster with Astelan.’ Azrael shook his head, depressed by the options available to him – take Cypher at his word and ignore the threat he posed to the Imperium or allow the Chaplains their time-consuming and inconsistent methods.
‘Allow the meeting.’ Ezekiel rested a hand on Azrael’s shoulder to reassure him. ‘Astelan is protected by some psychic ward we could never break, but there is nothing that has stopped me sensing the secrets inside Cypher’s mind.’
‘Have you discovered who he is?’ said Azrael.
‘That would require a far deeper scan, one that he would be aware of. Is that what you wish me to do?’
‘Not yet. There will be time enough for such answers when his excruciation begins. For the moment it would be better if
we leave him unmolested. We shall allow the pretence of cooperation while it serves us.’ Azrael looked back at the cell door, picturing the warrior within. The Fallen disturbed him. His confidence was not the posturing that Azrael had seen in so many other traitors. There was surety in his thoughts. Azrael nodded. ‘Tell Sapphon to arrange the meeting. Asmodai is not to be informed. I need no further debate at this time.’
‘I commend your decision, brother,’ said Ezekiel, his bionic eye glowing red in the gloomy passageway, the psychic glint of gold in the other. ‘Repentance is earned, not given. It requires effort and sacrifice, and no small amount of risk, if it is to be of value.’
Azrael looked at his Chief Librarian and remembered the accounts of how the young Ezekiel had been found – imprisoned and alone on a world that had been held in the sway of the Dark Gods. That he had undergone horrific treatment due to his abilities had been clear, and he had withheld retribution against his captors by refusing to use them. If there was any Dark Angel alive that knew about effort and sacrifice, of the mental strength to endure the barrage of trials each day brought to the members of the Inner Circle, it was the warrior Azrael had accepted as his closest advisor, and in some small part as his friend.
‘Thank you, brother,’ he said, replicating the gesture of Ezekiel, hand to his shoulder in a gesture of unity. ‘A storm comes upon us but with your aid I will chart the fairest course back to safety.’
‘With you to lead us, brother, we gladly follow into the tempest.’
Ezekiel broke away and marched off along the corridor, leaving Azrael alone with his dark thoughts.
The Traitor Strikes
There was to be no repeat of the mistakes made in the handling of Astelan, that much Sapphon had sworn to himself. He had received his instructions from Azrael, via Ezekiel, without complaint but he harboured many misgivings in secret. There would be no concealed communications and they certainly would not be left alone together.
Armed with what he had gleaned from Azrael’s conversation with Cypher, Sapphon began by confronting Anovel alone. If he could confirm any of Cypher’s testimony, and perhaps convince Anovel that his secrets had already been divulged, it might be possible to avoid bringing the two of them together at all.
One of the guard rooms in the lower halls of the Rock had been cleared, providing more space than the cells of the dungeon. The chamber had been emptied of all furnishings save for the banner with the Chapter symbol on the wall opposite the door and two benches, now with the addition of bars to which the prisoners could be chained.
Anovel had already been secured when Sapphon entered. He had typically Calibanite features – narrow cheeks, dark hair cropped short and sunken brown eyes. His thin lips were set in a look of determined defiance, brow creased by a scowl as he scanned the room. He wore a sleeveless robe of dirty white linen, his wrists bound by bronze-coloured manacles secured by a length of chain to the bench. The bench itself had been bolted to the stone of the floor in a dozen places.
Two Deathwing Knights flanked the Fallen, clad in bone-white power armour for the occasion. Sapphon dismissed them with a word and waited until they had gone before he met Anovel’s gaze.
‘We captured Cypher.’
This simple declaration elicited a rapid series of emotions from the prisoner, all written across his face in a succession of expressions. First there was scepticism, then doubt, then anger and then doubt again. Eventually Anovel mastered himself and his frown of distaste returned, jaw moving as he ground his teeth.
Sapphon smiled.
‘I see that it is a name known to you.’
‘A title.’
‘What was that?’ Sapphon was taken aback by the interruption.
‘Lord Cypher is a title.’ Anovel met Sapphon’s stare. ‘A revered position of the Order.’
‘The Order no longer exists. The title is meaningless. As is your resistance.’
‘The Order lives on, in our hearts and minds.’
Sapphon did not reply to this immediately.
The Order, the knightly organisation that had been ruled by Luther and then by the Lion, had been destroyed along with Caliban. Most of the Fallen had mentioned it during their confessions, the majority had been members – even those that had originally hailed from Terra had been accepted into the ranks during Luther’s rebellion. Anovel had been the first to claim that the Order had somehow survived, even if only in spirit. Sapphon was in two minds whether to pursue this new course of inquiry or stick to his original track.
‘Cypher is intimately acquainted with your plans, and has proven very helpful,’ he said, deciding to continue on the theme with which he had opened. ‘Piscina Four, Port Imperial, Tharsis. He has been involved every step of the way.’
Anovel said nothing and continued to glare at the Chaplain.
‘I am here to inform you that we are not interested in the details of your confession, we have them already. You are not here for intelligence, but as a first and last opportunity to repent the sins you have committed and earn yourself a swift and honourable demise. When I leave this room, that offer is ended.’
‘You know nothing of honour, bastard of the Lion.’ Anovel spat on the floor and sneered.
‘Probably not. It would be wise, however, to keep a civil tongue when you are with my fellow Interrogator, Asmodai. He is less tolerant of such abuse. We have forsaken honour in our quest for the truth. A quest that can free your soul from the damnation that currently ensnares it. I really am here for your sake, not mine.’
‘Allow me to signal my appreciation,’ said Anovel, his hands forming an obscene gesture. ‘You cannot open your mouth without lies spilling forth.’
‘Let me tell you of lies, friend Anovel. You have been deceived. Betrayed. We know that you made a bargain with Typhus to secure his Death Guard a new home world. You were once an Apothecary and would be guardian of the gene-seed for this new Legion. Gene-seed, in fact, that you and Cypher stole from our Chapter Keep on Piscina Four. The Sacred Bands of Tharsis and the “Divine” of Port Imperial were to be the first batch of recruits. In the meantime your world would be protected by engineered soldiers provided by the adepts of Fabius Bile. His biomechanical alterations are particularly distinctive, combined with the blessings of the Plague Lord whom you serve with Typhus.’
The certainty on Anovel’s face was slipping as Sapphon continued the litany of facts the Chaplains, Ravenwing and Deathwing had unearthed in the last year.
‘We captured Methelas as well, you see. The corruption in him is grotesque, I am sure you’ll agree. But despite your fair appearance I am sure that we would find the Mark of Plague upon you somewhere if we looked closely enough. Perhaps inside…’
Anovel’s posture changed dramatically as he leaned away from the Interrogator-Chaplain, his eyes returning to their search of the room, seeking some exit that did not exist. Clearly Cypher’s additional information was correct, to a point.
‘Astelan was captured more than fifteen years ago. He told us about Port Imperial but we could not find it, until we learned of its precise location from another traitor in your ranks. Your vile trick at Piscina Five did not work. Our battle-brothers were strong and refused to leave the keep in further pursuit. They sacrificed themselves to stop the omniterminus virus from spreading. Someone left us a clue in the databanks, a spoor to follow.’
‘You lie!’ Anovel bellowed, in desperation rather than defiance. ‘We swore oaths of brotherhood to each other. We would be the founders of the Death Angels, a new beginning for us all. None of the Order would betray that trust.’
‘They all betrayed that trust!’ snarled Sapphon in reply. It was time to let Anovel see exactly what would be the penalty for further refusal to cooperate.
Sapphon smashed a fist into Anovel’s jaw, almost knocking him from the bench. As he righted himself, the Chaplain unleashed a punch with the other hand, f
lattening the Fallen’s nose into a bloody mess. He stepped back, panting.
‘You have one chance to spare yourself further pain and humiliation. Either Cypher or Methelas, or one of your many lieutenants we captured at Tharsis, will tell us your intent at Caliban. It is in our code to allow you the first right to make this final confession. You say we know nothing of honour, but we know that it is you that forsook it ten millennia ago. If you wish to restore it, if you wish to save your soul from the dark abyss, you must make this last admission. If you refuse, you will be dealt with and we shall learn what we need to know from the others.’
A sly smile crept across Anovel’s face. He wiped his split lip with the back of a hand and spat blood.
‘You are lying about having the others. They would not confess to something they know nothing about. It would invite only further punishment when their falsehood was revealed.’
‘So you admit that there is a plan at Caliban? There is something to conceal?’
Anovel shook his head but his sudden surge of confidence was punctured by the realisation that he had been caught by the simplest of traps.
‘I am not lying. If you want further proof, I can offer it.’
Sapphon moved to the door and spoke to the two guards outside. The door swung outwards to reveal Cypher, clad in his war-plate, hood down, hands manacled before him with the length of chain dangling to his knees.
‘No!’
Anovel heaved at his bonds, the muscles in his arms like boulders as he strained against the chains and bolts. After several seconds he sagged, falling to his knees with his arms stretched behind him by his chains.
The Deathwing Knights led Cypher into the room while Sapphon closed the door.
‘Wait,’ he told the Knights as they readied the chain on Cypher’s wrists. Sapphon had no intention of letting Cypher and Anovel speak. It was enough that the Fallen Apothecary knew that the Chaplain was not lying about having Cypher in his possession. ‘Take him back.’
The two renegades looked at each other. Sapphon heard and saw nothing untoward, but Anovel’s expression changed from anguish to one of resignation. He pushed himself to his feet with a surge, a loud cracking as muscles railed against chain, snapping the bones in his wrists and hands so that they slipped free.
