A murmur of will slipped from Astraeos’s mind. Blood washed from his nose and ears at the effort.
+Rise,+ commanded Astraeos.
And, slowly, like a wreck pulled from the bed of the sea, a lone Rubricae rose from the ground and stood upright. Cold light glowed in its eyepieces, haloing in the murk. Ctesias did not need to touch it with his own mind to know that it was still a shell, rattling with the voice of a lost soul.
Ahriman’s eyes were locked on the Rubricae. Behind it the dust was thinning, as though it were a curtain pulled aside on cue. More Rubricae were rising from their coverings of dust. Dead light shone in their eyes, as they turned to look back at Ahriman.
Astraeos stepped back.
‘Look upon your works,’ he said.
Ahriman fell, slowly, to his knees. The Black Staff wavered in his hand. His helm slid from his grasp. His eyes remained open and fixed on the ranks of slowly standing figures.
Astraeos turned his empty eyes on Ahriman once more, his features set in grim triumph, and then turned and began to limp away.
‘Where are you going?’ called Ctesias. ‘You will not survive.’
Astraeos stopped, and half turned. Ctesias thought he saw a flash of amusement on the blood-streaked face.
‘You are broken,’ said Ctesias, still not sure why he was speaking. ‘You are blind.’
‘Yes, I am.’ Astraeos nodded, and walked on. ‘He taught me well.’
The Exiles fled for a second time. The awe and terror of their arrival became a gathering of loose handfuls of forces and a disorganised scattering of ships. Few opposed them. There was little will for that; anger had drained along with strength.
On the surface of the Planet of the Sorcerers, the dust began to drain from the air. Broken towers and dunes of rubble emerged from the haze. The surviving mutants staggered and brayed as they formed ragged herds. The sorcerers of Magnus raised their heads, and sent their first thoughts out through the aether. They sensed the gunships and assault craft roaring back to the ships above. They saw the warships that had hung over the city come about and power away into the dark.
+We should stop them, sire.+ Sar’iq sent the thought as he watched ragged streaks of craft fleeing up through the thinning dust.
Behind him, the presence of the Crimson King remained silent, his shape a pillar of light wrapped around the shadow of a man.
+If we act now we can destroy them once and for all,+ sent Sar’iq again, as more lights fled the surface and moved from the sky above.
+No, Sar’iq.+ The Crimson King’s sending was a deep rumble in Sar’iq’s thoughts. +They have done no more than repeat their first crime. Failure is judgement and punishment enough.+
In his navigation tower on the Word of Hermes, Silvanus wept in the dark, wet slits opening and closing down his back with each raking breath. The ship was shivering to life, and he knew that everything had gone wrong, he had seen it even though he had tried to blind himself. He was alive, but he knew that now he would have to perform his function again. Slowly he began to slide his body across the floor towards the navigation chair.
+Silvanus?+ The voice was Ctesias’s, and for a second Silvanus found himself wondering where Ignis was. Then he let the thought fall away; it really did not matter.
‘Yes, master,’ he said to the air, ‘I know. We are running.’
In the shadows of the cave, the robed figure of Magnus watched the flames. Light danced in his lone eye. In the cage of fire it saw the Word of Hermes slip away from the Planet of the Sorcerers. It nodded once to itself, and waved a hand over the flames. The fire roared up, becoming a pillar of light reaching upwards without end, and then fell back into cold embers. The robed figure stood and turned, its limbs twitching as though old muscles were fighting fatigue. It began to limp away. Behind it, the image of both cold fire and cave collapsed and folded into nothing.
XXVI
RUBRICAE
Ctesias pulled the hatch shut on the chamber. Ignis waited in the passage outside. The Master of Ruin seemed somehow incomplete without his automaton at his side. Ignis had recovered, but his memory of what had happened to him had not. Something had attacked him during the battle. The torn frame of Credence had told part of an incomplete story, but mysteries were the least of their current concerns.
‘Has he spoken?’ asked Ignis. Ctesias shook his head.
‘Not a word or thought.’
Ignis nodded, the tattoos on his face fixed. They had exchanged the same question and answer enough times that the exchange had taken on something of a grim formality. Neither of them used their thought voices. Both of them had taken to shutting off their minds when they did not have a specific need to touch the warp. It was as though Ahriman’s silence was seeping out into the survivors of his forces.
Days and weeks had passed since they had fled the Planet of the Sorcerers. In that time Ahriman had not spoken or moved from his chamber. Between them Kiu, Gaumata, Gilgamos and Ctesias had pulled what forces and materiel they could from the battlefield, but Ahriman had come from it silent, walking only where guided, his eyes unfocused, mind and voice silent. Only when he had reached his sparse chambers had he moved briefly by his own will. Ctesias had watched Ahriman pull a blackened and dented helm from within a metal casket. Black soot covered the helm’s crown and crow-like snout. Ahriman just sat with it, turning it over and over in his hands.
‘What do we do?’ asked Ignis.
‘I do not know.’
Ctesias rubbed his eyes, and let out a deep breath. He had surprised himself that he had not simply left. That he came back to try to coax a response from Ahriman time and again was something he did not understand enough to be surprised by. That Ignis waited outside the door for news each time was a fact that Ctesias did not have the energy to question.
‘I do not know,’ he repeated with a weary shrug.
Gaumata’s strides shook the passageway as he ran. Disorganised clusters of slaves and mortal crew scampered out of his way.
+Ctesias!+ he called. A sharp pain stabbed into his skull as he projected the message. His mind was still weak from the battle, and the effects of the second Rubric. +Ignis!+
Neither Ctesias nor Ignis answered. Their minds – as they were so often now – remained hidden and sullenly silent. Gaumata muttered a curse to himself, and twisted down a companionway. There were fewer crew here. Even Ignis’s servitors now seemed to shun the passages around Ahriman’s chambers.
He turned a corner and almost cannoned into Ignis. The Master of Ruin pulled back sharply, electoos shivering across his face in surprise. Behind him Ctesias was a hunched shadow.
‘Brothers,’ breathed Gaumata. A frown formed on Ctesias’s wrinkled face, and his mouth began to open with a question. Gaumata cut him off. ‘You have to bring him. You have to bring him now.’
The Rubricae stood in perfect silence and stillness. Some still showed the marks of battle on their armour. Others were pristine, their blue lacquer gleaming under the stablights. Ignis did not look at them. His eyes, and the eyes of all the others, were focused on the figure who stood at the centre of a circle that had formed in their ranks.
The lone figure’s armour was the same as the others, its plates etched with Prosperine runes, and edged in silver and gold. Only the chains leading from its wrists to cleats in the deck marked it apart. The chains, and the high-crested helm that sat on the deck beside it.
Ignis found that he could not look away. Ever since they had followed Gaumata into the hold he had been able to do nothing else but stare at the figure. What else was there to do in the face of the impossible, in the face of a miracle?
+He is the only one?+ asked Ahriman.
+Yes,+ replied Gaumata. +I do not know how I did not sense it before, but every other Rubricae on our ships has been examined. This…+ his thought voice trailed off, and Ignis could feel Gaumata reaching and failing to find a concept. +This is the only one. He must have been brought up with the rest of the Rubricae we re
covered from the surface. I do not know how I missed the… difference.+
Ahriman did not answer, but stepped towards the chained figure. Ignis felt a pulse of will and the chains crumbled. The lone figure flinched, eyes flicking to the vanished chains, and then up to Ahriman.
+It is all right,+ sent Ahriman, and then spoke with his true voice. ‘There is nothing to fear.’ He extended a hand, and the lone figure flinched again. ‘I am your brother,’ said Ahriman, and then nodded to where Ignis, Ctesias and Gaumata stood behind him. ‘We are your brothers.’
The lone figure’s eyes moved across Ignis and the others, and then back to Ahriman.
‘My brothers?’ said the figure.
‘Yes,’ said Ahriman. ‘Do you not remember?’
‘I remember…’ Frowning eyes darted across the empty air. ‘I remember… light… bright light…’ Jaw and lips moved for a second, but no more words came.
+When I discovered him that is all he would say,+ sent Gaumata. +I touched his mind. It is blank, no memories, besides that of a bright light. It is as though nothing existed for him before… before the Rubric.+
Ahriman shook his head slowly, and reached out and grasped the figure’s shoulder. Armoured fingers clacked on ceramite.
‘No, you remember one other thing, don’t you, brother? I can see it in you. Deeper down, just beyond the light. You remember something else.’
The figure glanced down at Ahriman’s hand on his shoulder. Muscles moved smoothly beneath unscarred skin. Ignis could see the slow beat of blood in his neck.
Impossible. The thought echoed in his head. Impossible…
‘Who are you, my brother?’ asked Ahriman.
The figure looked up into Ahriman’s shining eyes.
‘I… I am Helio Isidorus.’
Ahriman breathed out slowly.
‘Yes. You are.’
EPILOGUE
A FINAL BEGINNING
+I wondered if you would come here.+ The Oracle’s thought echoed across the spherical chamber. Ahriman did not look up as he crossed to stand at its centre. His head was bare, and each breath he took tasted different: smoke, burnt spice, and ozone warring in his senses. The walls were black stone, polished to a mirror shine so that they pulled reflections of him from the air. Some burned with haloes of luminous fire, some seemed to scream, and one was not looking at him. He did not let his eyes linger on them.
Menkaura, the Oracle of Many Eyes, floated above him. Silver armour covered the Oracle’s body, its surface bright but reflecting nothing. A smooth, blank-fronted helm covered his head. Eyes spun about him in circular arcs. The iris of each eye was bright, vivid blue, and all of them were fixed on Ahriman.
+It has been a long time.+ The Oracle’s thought voice came from every direction.
‘Since we saw each other?’ Ahriman asked. ‘Or since the Banishment?’
+Both.+
Ahriman nodded once, but remained silent. The Oracle’s eyes slowed in their orbits.
+You have been here before,+ said the Oracle. +We have met already, but while that meeting is in the past for you, it is in the future for me. That explains much. How many times have you come here?+
Ahriman paused, and blinked slowly.
‘Twice.’
+Such is time. Mortals think it a river, but it is not. It is an ocean. An ocean twisted by storms, and churned by whirlpools. We meet in the future, but in the past that has already happened. Perhaps you are even here now because of what I said, but have not yet said. I see futures. I see them stretch into the dark, their golden threads ever thinning, ever tangling, and ever breaking. But if I watch from the past then what do I see? Past? Future? Neither?+
‘A fine explanation.’ Ahriman paused, the brief shadow of a smile forming at the edge of his mouth. ‘I will take your recitation of my own words as a compliment.’
+Take it as you will.+ The Oracle’s eyes paused, and then reversed direction. +You have questions.+
‘Who does not?’ he said.
+Questions have no cost, but truth must be paid for.+
‘It always must.’
Silence and stillness formed in the chamber. Ahriman saw the pupils of the eyes narrow.
+You are not as I thought you would be, Ahriman.+
‘Time, Menkaura. Time and choices change everything.’
+Truth.+ The Oracle floated slightly closer to Ahriman. +Why are you here?+
‘I come for answers.’
+I am an Oracle.+ The thought voice was cold and emotionless. +Ask and I will answer.+
Ahriman nodded.
‘What will happen now?’
The Oracle’s eyes went still.
+Do you give your bond in payment?+
Ahriman bowed his head.
‘I do.’
+As you wish,+ sent the Oracle.
The eyes rolled in the air so that Ahriman could only see the vein-threaded whites. They began to turn, spinning on new paths and in patterns. Some began to burn, the jelly within cooking to steam, others crumpled into ash or swelled to bulging spheres. Every colour of pupil flashed past Ahriman, yellow split by black, red, black without edge or break. When the Oracle spoke, his thought voice was thin, as though it were calling from far away.
+I… I cannot see…+
Ahriman shivered at the words. There was panic in them, the blind panic of a creature drowning in dark water. Threads of black tarnish spread across the mirror of Menkaura’s armour. He was vibrating in the air, his body flickering like a stuttering projection. Ice spread across Menkaura, cracking as it thickened and fell, flashing to steam before it hit the floor.
+Ahriman!+ called Menkaura. +I cannot see!+ The Oracle was moving, juddering through the air, his hands opening and closing as they reached into emptiness. Shattered-glass images of dead futures exploded in Ahriman’s mind, spinning as they tumbled past without end.
Then sudden calm, and ringing silence.
Menkaura was shivering in the air, his orbiting eyes moving with weary slowness.
+I cannot answer you,+ sent Menkaura, and the voice was filled with exhaustion. +Your future is closed to me. The paths you will walk are now the paths of thorns and shadow, and whether they will end with victory or defeat I cannot see.+
‘A question that cannot be answered is an answer in itself.’ Ahriman nodded, and turned to walk away. ‘You have my thanks, Oracle.’
+If you find what you seek it will not be as you imagine,+ called Menkaura. Ahriman turned. The Oracle was rising higher, his eyes gliding in smooth orbits. +You were right. Time and choices leave nothing unchanged. You are not unchanged, Ahriman, and neither is your dream. You should not begin again without realising that.+
Ahriman paused.
‘You said that you cannot see what will happen. The future remains to be written.’
+I do not foretell, Ahriman. This is not prophecy. I do not need to be able to see the future to speak truth.+
Ahriman stared at him for a long moment.
‘I apologise. I have not given payment for your answers.’
A sound shivered on the edge of Ahriman’s mind. It took him a second to realise it was a dry chuckle.
+But you have, Ahriman, and you will. That I do know.+
Ahriman did not answer, but walked away. After several steps he felt the spherical chamber fade, the image of the floating Oracle a presence vanishing behind him. He did not look back, even when he heard Menkaura’s voice call to him out of the distance.
+Good fortune, old friend. I will wait for us to meet again.+
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John French has written several Horus Heresy stories including the novels Praetorian of Dorn and Tallarn: Ironclad, the novellas Tallarn: Executioner and The Crimson Fist, and the audio dramas Templar and Warmaster. He is the author of the Ahriman series, which includes the novels Ahriman: Exile, Ahriman: Sorcerer and Ahriman: Unchanged, plus a number of related short stories collected in Ahriman: Exodus, including ‘The Dead Oracle’ and ‘Hand
of Dust’. Additionally for the Warhammer 40,000 universe he has written the Space Marine Battles novella Fateweaver, plus many short stories. He lives and works in Nottingham, UK.
A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION
Ahriman: Exile first published in 2013.
Ahriman: Sorcerer first published in 2014.
Ahriman: Unchanged first published in 2015.
‘Hounds of Wrath’ first published in Honour of the Space Marines in 2014.
‘King of Ashes’ first published in Renegades of the Dark Millennium in 2014.
‘All is Dust’, ‘Hand of Dust’, ‘The Dead Oracle’ and ‘Gates of Ruin’ first published as eBooks (2012-2014)
‘The First Prince’ first published as an MP3 audio drama in 2014.
‘Fortune’s Fool’ first published in Ahriman: Exodus in 2015.
This eBook edition published in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustrations by Toni Deu and John Michelbach.
Ahriman: The Omnibus © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Ahriman: The Omnibus, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78572-633-0
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
The Omnibus - John French Page 99
