Dante

by Guy Haley

  ‘But… then… this is a test for one,’ said Luis.

  ‘It was a test for you, not for Florian.’

  Florian sobbed and sank low to the floor.

  ‘You have passed. Your comrade here could not. Either you killed him and spent your days reflecting on your actions as a guardian of the Place of Challenge, or you spared him and joined us. He cannot join us.’

  ‘Why?’ Florian cried. ‘Why did you do this to me?’

  Malafael turned his skull face to the beaten boy. ‘Because we had to. You are but one of trillions of men. All have their purpose. You have served yours. This is a time of all-out war. You are privileged to have found such meaningful service.’ Malafael turned back to Luis. ‘The other aspirants face tests of their own. Every one is different. Protestations of service often mask a desire for power in the cunning. This is why your test took the form it did.’

  ‘He will die. He is sick,’ said Luis.

  ‘This is true. I am sorry. It was his determination to seek out a place with us for survival’s sake that made him an unsuitable candidate. Your friend has many qualities, but the desire to live he has exhibited would endanger his brothers should it come to the fore again. Self-sacrifice is important in our Chapter. So I have judged, and my judgement is irrevocable.’

  ‘Florian, I…’

  Florian turned his face down. Blood, snot and tears mixed freely and ran onto the floor. ‘It’s true. What he says is true! I came here to live. You know that.’

  ‘But Florian, you are a good person. You are my friend. You are worthy!’

  ‘I say not,’ said Malafael.

  ‘Go, Luis. Leave me,’ said Florian. ‘I am sorry. I would have killed you. I… I could never have passed the test.’

  ‘He is my brother,’ said Luis.

  ‘And that is why he lives for now.’ Malafael extended his open hand to Luis. ‘He will live what little life he has in sacred duty, as important as yours in its way, and his sacrifices will be less. If you could see his life and yours laid side by side from beginning to end, you would envy him. You have been chosen for great and onerous duty. Do you accept? Are you willing to become a Blood Angel? If you have doubts, best unburden yourself and I shall end your suffering.’ His armoured fist creaked as he gripped his crozius and lifted it from the floor.

  Luis looked again at Florian. The other boy pulled himself into a painful crouch, smiled through his broken black teeth and nodded encouragingly. ‘Go. Do what you can. Serve the Emperor.’

  The black-clad hand of Malafael waited unwaveringly. The Space Marine was as still as a statue. Luis reached up and grasped the armoured hand. The metal was warm as living flesh, and vibrated slightly with the workings of hidden machinery. Malafael folded his fingers around Luis’ hand, engulfing it completely.

  ‘I accept,’ said Luis. ‘I will become an angel and serve the Emperor.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE RED COUNCIL

  998.M41

  Asphodex High Anchor

  Cryptus System

  There were twenty-five chairs in the Chamber of the Red Council aboard the Blade of Vengeance. The total number required, should the entire council be gathered together at once. There were times when there were fewer than twenty-five members, but there had never been an occasion when there were more. At its fullest, the Red Council was made up of all ten company captains, and those captains with offices beyond company command, the Keeper of the Heavengate and the Warden of the Gates. Further seats were reserved for the Master of the Blade, the Exalted Herald of Sanguinius, the Sanguinary High Priest, the Chief Librarian, the High Chaplain and the Reclusiarch of the Lost. The remainder were drawn variously from captains assigned to command the mightier ships – always Blood Angels themselves – and whichever of the Chapter ancients remained lucid enough to pass on their wisdom. History had witnessed few occasions when all the Red Council had gathered together aboard one battle-barge, few even when all were present together on Baal, but there was a replica of this room on board the Bloodcaller, the Blood Angels’ other battle-barge, itself a copy of the chamber on Baal. The symbolism of what the council represented, and who was entitled to sit upon it, was more important than its actual membership. In practice the Blood Angels’ war council comprised whoever was available to represent the various sub-orders of the Chapter on any given campaign.

  Filling much of the room beneath an armoured dome was a table, round so that the voice of every man might be heard. Though the throne of the Chapter Master was larger than the rest, it was not so grand as to set him apart. As with all the effects of the Chapter, the room was richly decorated, luxurious by the standards of the age. Banners hung around the wall. Bowls of loose rubies were set into the surface of the table before every chair, each gem a perfect blood drop marked at the atomic scale with the name of a lost brother. From the apex of the dome a huge, simple flag depended, bearing the Chapter badge of winged blood drop, black on red. Finely made rugs covered the floor. The paving they hid was also masterfully wrought: red-veined black stone cut into triangles and squares, arranged into complex geometries.

  For the moment, the Chamber of the Red Council was quiet as the grave, lit with thick, bloody light that blurred the outlines of its fixtures. There was not a soul inside. It was the chamber of a stilled heart, red and black and lifeless.

  The noise of steel on steel penetrated the gloom. The scrape of a key as long as an arm entering a lock designed to hold shut not just doors of earthly plasteel, but the gates of reality. Intersecting psychic null fields ensured no psyker or sorcerer could scry what went on within the chamber.

  A stuttering whine followed. With an audible boom, the gates cracked open, polluting the red purity of the chamber’s illumination with yellow lumen glow.

  The gates yawned wider and wider with a building creak. Beyond, in the outer vestibule, waited the council.

  Present were Commander Dante; Chaplain Ordamael, speaking for the Chaplaincy; Sanguinary High Priest Corbulo; company captains Karlaen, Aphael and Phaeton, of the First, Second and Seventh Company respectively; Brother Bellerophon, the current Keeper of the Heaven Gate; Captain Asante of the Blade of Vengeance; Techmarine Muziel, speaking for the Armoury; and Chief Librarian Mephiston. Attending as honoured guest was Master Gabriel Seth of the Flesh Tearers, whose own brotherhood had fought so hard in the Cryptus campaign alongside its father Chapter. In the shadows of these inhuman heroes came Sister Superior Amity Hope of the Order of the Sacred Rose, her battered power armour porcelain-delicate next to that of the giant Space Marines. General Dhrost of Cadia walked by her side. For all his rank and experience, in his uniform he looked like a prematurely aged scholum boy.

  Dante entered first, his battleplate shining with red and golden highlights in the mixed light. All the Adeptus Astartes were armed and armoured as if for battle. This was a council of war.

  Flights of herald cherubs swooped under the door lintel and into the room, singing out the names of those in attendance. Vat-made seraphs trailed censers that filled the air with smoke. Servo-skulls examined every nook and cranny for threats while servitor-recorders, brains stripped to the barest language processing and movement functions, clumped into position where they would record the proceedings.

  ‘Draw back the shutters!’ commanded Dante.

  The Chamber of the Red Council boomed again to the activation of giant gears. A tremendous groaning reverberated throughout. Armaplas shutters the size of city gates drew back into their housings either side of exquisite traceries, revealing the domed roof to be a wide cupola breaking out from the greater body of the ship’s command spire.

  One of the shutters caught and juddered as it opened, snagged by battle damage. The tyranids had assailed the battle-barge in great numbers. It had emerged triumphant. Gears ground until they bit. The penetration spines of slaughtered voidbeasts sheared off and floated away into the mess of debris crowding the fleet.

  The Blade of Vengeance’s dorsal aspect angle
d towards the planet, affording a view of its battered surface. More yellow light flooded in to compete with the blood-red glow of the chamber’s lamps. Fire still raged on Asphodex.

  Dante marched to his throne. The others stood behind their seats, waiting for the commander to sit. Once he had, they sat as one. All but Dante and Ordamael removed their helmets, exposing faces that bore the genetic stamp of Sanguinius, all handsome beneath their networks of scars and the thickening effects of age.

  Blood thralls moved into the room silently, bearing steaming salvers of scented water. They ritually washed the lips and gauntlets of their masters, and laid fine white linen over their left arms. Other servants followed, carrying ewers of wine and silver goblets chased with rubies and gold. The Blood Angels believed in beauty in all things. Beauty also comes from excellence, and the servants worked flawlessly, their procession around the table and ministrations to their masters well choreographed. When they set the metal bases of the goblets on the stone, they made no noise. Dhrost and Amity Hope were provided with drinking vessels suited to mortals, and their own small ewer of wine. They would not care for the Blood Angels’ drink.

  Dante waited for the sacred ablutions to finish. A senior Chapter servant brought him a silver basin where lay thirty-four rubies. Stones bearing the names of the newly dead. Dante picked them out and let them run through his fingers into the bowl before him.

  ‘Let them be remembered,’ Dante said.

  The senior servant bowed. The blood thralls filed out.

  ‘We speak with truth on our lips,’ Dante intoned.

  ‘No blood shall stain our words,’ the Space Marines responded. ‘Rage shall not colour our judgement.’

  ‘The Emperor shall judge our words,’ said Amity Hope. Her armour was scratched down to silver ceramite. Only traces of its white paint remained, and the bare metal was scorched with acid burns. She was exhausted, but defiance burned in her eyes.

  The sons of Sanguinius bowed their heads in silent communion with the spirit of their father. Amity sought out Dhrost’s hand and clasped it while she recited holy psalms. Falteringly at first, he joined in. When all lifted their heads again, their attitudes had changed, becoming relaxed. They shifted in their seats and took their wine. Dante drew in the scent of his through his mask’s filters. A fine vintage from the Chapter’s oasis gardens, subtly spiced and flavoured with blood. His mouth watered, but he did not wish to remove his mask and reveal his aged face to his warriors. Furthermore, even the small amounts of dead blood mixed into the Blood Angels’ wine had of late fired his thirst to intolerable heights, and he had come to eschew its drinking altogether except for the most sacred rituals, for fear of what might follow. He pushed the drink aside.

  Mephiston picked up his goblet. Leaving the table, he went to stand by the armourglass windows, apart as always, staring through the dome at the dying planet.

  ‘The tyranids have suffered a blow. We cannot call it a victory,’ said Dante. ‘In depriving the hive fleets of biomass to replenish their armies, we have borne witness to the destruction of a productive and populous Imperial system. I did not come here to utilise the Kryptmann strategy, and yet we leave a devastated system in our wake. No choice has been given us, and our empire suffers. This is my interpretation of the events here. I will have no one refer to victory at Cryptus. Is that clear?’

  His officers murmured their assent.

  ‘Captain Phaeton. You will address the council first. Tell us how many civilians were saved.’

  Phaeton was younger than the other captains, his pristine face unmarked by scars, and his hair still Sanguinius’ golden colour. He was the image of an angel encased in ceramite.

  ‘Some two million, my lord. There were more. Several of the evacuation craft were destroyed before we could reach them.’

  ‘Two million from a population of billions,’ emphasised Dante. ‘More of them will die. I have looked over the provisioning of these ships. It is inadequate. Starvation will set in soon. They must be taken to other systems as soon as we are through the Aegis Diamondo, or the blood we spilt in saving them will be wasted.’

  General Dhrost spoke up. ‘I cannot speak on behalf of Cadia, but we shall do what we can to take some of them in.’

  ‘Cadia is a long way from here,’ said Karlaen. ‘And threatened by the Eye.’

  ‘It is clear they do not have enough food for all of them to travel all the way, but we shall do what we can,’ said Dhrost. ‘Cadia is safer than many other worlds.’

  Karlaen shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Most will have to be settled nearer,’ said Dante. ‘Preferably away from the line of tyranid incursion.’

  ‘Who will take them in?’ said Karlaen. ‘Charity is not a word many Imperial commanders are familiar with. Those close to the invasion will refuse to burden their planets with extra mouths, those further away will not see the urgency.’

  ‘Dhrost will take them away from the front. You intend to return to Cadia?’

  ‘I do, my lord.’

  ‘And you will do this duty in our name?’

  ‘I shall,’ said Dhrost. ‘But your word will sway other systems better than mine, my lord. A personal communication from you will aid us.’

  ‘Time grows short,’ said Dante. ‘I cannot speak with every Imperial commander.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Dhrost humbly.

  ‘I shall provide you with a letter of demand. Many of the worlds beyond the Red Scar will petition us for aid once the tyranids are through. I will make it clear our aid is contingent on their mercy. Bellerophon,’ said Dante.

  ‘My lord,’ replied the Master of the Fleets, an old warrior whose golden hair was grizzled with streaks of grey.

  ‘Contact the Logisticiam on Baal. See how many we might take across the three worlds. I shall leave it to you and Lord Adanicio to work out the details. Perhaps there are some within the survivors who might be taken as aspirants. We must accelerate our recruitment process.’

  ‘As soon as we are free of the warp shadow, it shall be done, my lord,’ said Bellerophon.

  ‘We shall turn our attention to the defence of our home. Satys has fallen, Vitria and now the Cryptus System. The shield of Baal is buckling. The Oculus Stars have almost certainly been overrun.’ Dante gestured a hololith of the Red Scar into being over the table. The scarlet veil that gave the region its name was pierced by graphical representations of the questing tendrils of Leviathan in half a dozen places. Scores of star systems were contained within. Those to the galactic south of Cryptus had their names greyed out.

  ‘Cryptus was the last bastion system between the tyranids and Baal,’ said Dante. ‘The Red Wilderness is to one side, interstellar deeps to the other. There are few places the enemy can go. These were the positions of the Leviathan swarms before we entered the warp shadow.’ Dante set a chronograph into action. The ghostly limbs of the hive fleets began to move sinuously. Every inhabited system they crossed blinked twice and went dark. ‘This is their projected position now,’ he said, freezing the movement. He restarted the sequence. ‘And this is where I project the tyranids will have reached within the next month.’ The tyranid fleets, spread like the arms of some great cephalopod, converged into a dagger tip half a light year across aimed directly at the Blood Angels’ home system. Baal blinked. ‘Our future hangs in the balance.’

  ‘If I may petition you, lord commander. We could concentrate our efforts on the guiding minds of the ships, the norncraft and their queens, as we depart,’ said Dhrost. ‘If we might dismantle their command network, it shall afford you more time to reinforce Baal.’

  Phaeton and Aphael shared a worried look.

  ‘Speak!’ said Dante to his brothers, holding up his hand. ‘While Dhrost is here, he is to be accorded the same rights as a member of our Chapter. Let the record state that the Red Council will speak freely.’

  ‘We have accounted for eighty per cent of the norn, brood and hive ships seen in the system, general,’ said Aphael. �
��As per standard engagement strategy when making war upon the tyranids.’

  ‘The hive fleet recovers quickly. How?’ said Dhrost.

  ‘We lack sufficient intelligence to say exactly, general, but we are certain that adaptive evolution among the tyranid swarm has made the previous strategy unworkable. It appears the tyranids have found a means to counter our destruction of their largest vessels,’ said Phaeton.

  ‘Theories?’ said Dante. He toyed with the bowl full of rubies set into the desk before him. The glassy rattle of them against each other was supposed to aid meditation.

  ‘I have two,’ said Phaeton. ‘The first is that the hive mind has devised a way of exerting its will over a larger area, with fewer intermediary vessels required as nodes in its neural network. If this is true, it may be used to our advantage. If we were to commit to multiple strikes across a broad front of several infested systems, the operation of the hive mind might be greatly disrupted. By extending its range, the hive mind has increased its vulnerability.’

  ‘Provide the second theory,’ said Dante.

  ‘They have evolved a way of spreading their neural network more widely across a given area, making it harder to disrupt,’ said Phaeton. ‘The larger ships are no longer the only nexus points for the broader synaptic web of the fleets.’

  Karlaen slammed his goblet onto the table with a growl. ‘You mean that shooting the big ones will no longer work, brother-captain. Speak plainly, Phaeton.’

  ‘In fleet actions, yes, brother, that is the case,’ said Phaeton. ‘Shooting the big ones will no longer work.’

  ‘We have yet to witness this change in the ground swarms,’ said Aphael. ‘Can we expect it? Engaging swarms that remain coherent even when deprived of their leader beasts will be difficult.’

  ‘That will not happen for a while. Unlike the ships, the smaller organisms are not large enough to carry psychic nexuses,’ said Corbulo. ‘Instead we have seen the ships produce increasingly larger numbers of the warrior strain. According to the latest information I have from the rest of the Imperium, they remain the smallest species to be fully linked with the hive mind, and capable of projecting its influence.’