Watchers of the Throne: The Emperor’s Legion
Page 16
The ship bucked again, as if we’d somehow slammed over an obstacle in our path. I heard the scrape and screech of things outside, and the long whine of what might have been talons down our spine. A bulkhead started to crack – I could see a filigree of microscopic lines spreading across it like age wrinkles.
Slovo’s strained voice crackled into my earpiece. ‘Get us out,’ he warned. ‘Get us out now.’
Still I waited. This was what they wanted. They were like a pack of hunters, flushing us from the thicket and into the open plain.
Something broke up high, over where the lumen-clusters hung, and the deck was showered with splinters of glass. I felt the deck keel over, swinging us down and round, and the warp shutters rattled in their armatures.
Erefan gave me a sharp look. ‘Orders?’ he asked, pointedly.
I wanted to wait. I wanted to let them in, and take them on again. I liked ending the shedim. I liked the look of outrage on their bestial faces as they realised that I would not be their victim but would be sending them back to their hell-realm to gnaw on failure. Such fights were the reason I had been made, after all.
Warning runes glowed into life, klaxons kicked off. Crew members scrambled to keep us flying straight, buffeted now by winds that were not winds.
‘One minute to Geller failure,’ came the tinny voice again.
The wall of the bridge began to bulge inwards, only metres from where I stood. I watched the metal stretch into the shape of a fist, curled and ready to slam its way in. From below us, the shouting had already started.
‘They’re latched on the hull!’ Slovo blurted. ‘They’re getting inside!’
Erefan lost patience. ‘Begin crash out of warp,’ he ordered, looking at me the whole time.
The crew didn’t react. Some looked at him, others looked at me. A cogitator station exploded, sending static skittering across the deck, and still they waited for the order.
They were a good crew, all told. They had worked faithfully for a woman they instinctively despised, and even now they held off until I gave them the command.
They deserved to live a little longer.
Crash out, I signed, beginning a flurry of concise orders. Void shields up on exit. Route plasma drive power to gunnery banks. Begin fire-sequence. Await targeting matrix on materialisation.
Erefan barked out the rest of the orders, beginning the wind-down that would see us hurtling back into reality. Fresh warning-blares sounded and the rune lenses streamed with screeds of trajectory data. The ship yawed again, wildly this time, and the swelling fist extended further, ripping the wall-matter wider until I thought it would surely split apart.
‘Out now! Out now!’ I heard Slovo squawking.
Erefan worked quickly, powering down the warp drives and sending us into a real space spiral. It was a violent exit, smashing and battering the Cadamara’s already bruised superstructure. Once across the threshold we flew into reality as if spat from the scabrous mouth of the gods themselves.
‘Shutters up!’ Erefan shouted. ‘Run out macrocannons! All crew to combat stations!’
Everything burst into motion – the crew were running, skidding across a teetering deck. Our internal grav-pull stuttered, our undercooked plasma drives blasted emptily. The damage wrought by the emerging shedim exploded as the nascent manifestations were ripped back into the warp – the bulkhead blew apart, the bulging wall collapsed in a rain of tumbling brace-spars. Augur lenses filled with flickering representations of local space, and for a moment I saw nothing, and dared to hope we’d crashed out far enough away for a fix to fail.
I stumbled over to the nearest full-spectrum scanner and widened the lens aperture. The real-view shutters clanged open, and across the forward oculus we saw a swath of space yawn away from us, empty and star-strewn.
‘Full burn ahead!’ Erefan bellowed. ‘Clamp that bulkhead down!’
We were out. We were alone. The daemon-scraped hull was still voidtight. We were going to make it again.
Then the oculus blazed with a riot of false colour, shining like multihued suns going nova.
‘Down nadir!’ roared Erefan, his voice cracking now. ‘Full hard-
burn and roll out starboard gunnery!’
I saw the pursuing vessel shoot from the gaping wound in real space. I had no idea exit-precision like that was possible – it swung into visible range, huge and smouldering, its ancient, char-black hull still burning with warpfire. One look at that ship and I knew we weren’t getting out of this.
Open fire, I signed. Enact first-stage evasion pattern.
It was already too late. I saw our macrocannon array loose, sending a spread of ordnance skittering wide of the target, and watched the stars smear away as we tumbled into a steepling dive. They were better shots – a barrage of high-energy lances smacked into us, exploding our still-charging void shields and blowing their coverage into a hail of electrostatic.
We were dead in the void now, our protection gone and our weapons of little use against the slab-hulled horror that loomed over us. We were whirling so fast it was hard to get a glimpse of it in the real-viewers, but I could see terrifying banks of esoteric weaponry hanging like withered fruit under twisted boughs.
They wouldn’t destroy us – a voidship was too valuable – but it took only seconds for the lock-on detectors to blare, signifying a teleport locus.
‘Stand by to repel boarders!’ ordered Erefan, reaching for his weapon and crouching down by the command throne.
Then the air ripped apart in a hard shiver of displacement. The space over the command dais froze into a blaze of white-silver, and ether-lightning snarled out across the decking. Out from the heart of the cold inferno strode six figures. I’d already zeroed in on the leader, marking him for both flame and blade, and my calves tightened for the leap that would take me into contact.
‘Stand down, in the name of the Throne!’ boomed a voice that chilled me to my core. I froze, suddenly bewildered, before the last slivers of ether-matter ripped away.
Sisters of Silence emerged from the breaking clouds, four of them, clad like I was in full battle-amour and carrying great zweihanders that ran with blue flame. They spread out calmly, covering every strategic point and radiating such an aura of psychic blankness that the mortal crew recoiled as if struck by fists.
The two others were different. They were huge, towering above us all, encased in full-bodied golden armour that swam and winked with scattered warp-light. For a moment I thought they might be shedim, clad in aspects of deception and glory, sent to baffle me before they pulled my mortal frame apart. I aimed my flamer at the leader’s baroque helm, ready to empty my promethium reserves into that terrible mask of wonder.
He came towards me. He carried a crackling force spear, a weapon so grotesquely over-engineered that I would not have been able to lift it, let alone use it.
‘You were of the Arraissa convent,’ the creature said.
My finger still lingered over the trigger. I nodded.
The creature reached up and removed its helm. I saw a human face revealed, though greater, like a Space Marine’s to look at, only less brutal and more beautiful. It was a courtier’s face as much as it was a soldier’s, betraying both power and subtlety.
He deactivated the energy field over his blade.
‘Are you the last?’ he asked.
I didn’t know the answer to that, and hesitated. Then, to my complete surprise, he asked the question again, this time in flawless Thoughtmark – Are you the last?
To the best of my knowledge, I replied, my fingers dancing. It had been a long time since I’d been able to make use of the medium’s full fluency, and despite everything I felt an almost emotional release.
Then we were fortunate to find you, the golden one continued. I am Navradaran of the Ephoroi of the Adeptus Custodes, and I am here to take you home.
Deactivate your weapon, please, he signed. Time is short, and if you will refrain from immolating me, there is much I have to tell you.
Tieron
Later we would call them the Days of Blindness. That was the time when we saw nothing and heard nothing. We were as alone as we had been before the Emperor had delivered us, sundered from our grand Imperium and cast adrift on the face of the abyss.
It was a time of terror. All laws were suspended, even those of time and space. We discovered later that all worlds had experienced the same horrific isolation, but the duration varied wildly. Some reported mere days of blindness, others months. For all I know, there may be many systems still in that terrible grip of nothingness.
It was caused by the warp, of course, staining into the void like blood in water. Everything it touched became mad, and the old boundaries flexed and broke around it. We discovered then how prescient the warnings of the old seers had been, as our many sins finally caught up with us.
On Terra, at the source of it, the blindness lasted just over a month. Thirty-three days of fear and violence overlooked all the time by our new skies of blood-red. The rioting became uncontrollable, spreading like wildfire and fuelled by false guides. The entire planet was placed under martial law, and every available member of the Astra Militarum was pressed into immediate action. Regiments still being raised for deployment to Cadia and Armageddon were recalled from their orbital musters and sent into the whirlwind of the hive-zones, forced to open fire not on xenos or heretics, but on their own kind storming supply bunkers or ransacking cathedrals for gold.
Thirty-three days seems such a short time, set against the span of years before and after, but in truth it felt like an eternity. I barely slept during the whole period, and only staved off mania due to heavy self-dosing of narcotics. The air fizzed with fevered energies, making true rest or contemplation impossible. Every glance seemed to disclose fresh terrors in the dark. I would wake from snatched half-hours of slumber crying out, clutching at my sweat-dank sheets. On one occasion I looked in the mirror while shaving to see a leering daemon-face staring back at me, and I had to shatter the glass to get rid of it. Another night I nearly choked on my own nightmares of being skinned alive by laughing butchers in winged helms, and it took Jek to calm me down and stop me chewing my own tongue off.
Yes, Jek was sharing my bed. Do not judge us harshly for that – we had not given into base lust, but had been thrown together by something like need. Back then she was the only one I could trust completely, and I think she felt the same way about me. If she had not been there, I do not know what would have happened to me. I clung to her, and she clung to me. We were like neophytes again in the face of that maelstrom, stripped of our offices and pretensions and reduced to what we had always really been.
‘I should be able to shake free of it,’ I told her, lying in the dark.
‘The worst will pass,’ she said, not sounding at all certain.
I chewed my lip nervously. The shadows in my chamber seemed unnaturally black, as if they would suddenly slither up on to the bed and strangle me.
‘I was so sure,’ I said.
‘Sure of what?’
‘The Council. I was so sure the Legio would be remade, and I would be its architect, and then all would be well.’
‘There was never a guarantee.’
But I remembered what Valoris had told me. He had thought I was the conduit for His will. I had come to believe it too. What else could explain my extraordinary certainty, emerging from a life in which certainty had always been absent?
Such hubris.
‘Perhaps He no longer even lives,’ I murmured.
‘Hush!’ Jek chided urgently, sitting up and pressing her finger to my mouth. ‘Do not even think it.’
Once I would have found the notion itself absurd. I would not have uttered it even in private, wary of the listening devices of the Ordo Hereticus. Now I found I cared nothing for spies and inquisitors. All was undone, and there was no greater terror to be unleashed than that which already had been.
I rose. It was still early, several hours before dawn, but the sickly red glow, now permanent, leaked through the drapes and across my chamber. I padded to the pulse-shower cubicle and washed the worst of the night-sweat from my skin. Under the harsh lumens I looked pastier and flabbier than ever, and my cheeks hung from my bones like rags.
By the time I returned to dress, Jek had fallen asleep again. I looked at her for a while. She was so much younger. Perhaps that made it harder for her. I had seen too much hope drain away over the years already – she should have lived to see better times.
I could not linger, of course. Despite the fatigue and the sickness, we were busier than we had ever been. The Council was feverish with activity, passing resolution after resolution. Martians were crawling through the deeps of the Throne and the conduits of the Astronomican, prying and testing and trying whatever they could to restore the sacred beacon. I had guessed for some time that they were charlatans in many ways, dabbling in things they no longer understood, and their hapless tinkering during that time only reinforced my view. When I looked Raskian in the eye – or rather, what passed for his eyes – I detected a real fear there: not of death or pain, but of being discovered, found out as ignorant and deluded about that which they so jealously guarded as their own realm.
Once I had made myself as respectable as possible, I left my bedchamber and limped to the audience rooms. Guards were everywhere, all carrying their weapons unholstered and ready for use. They were twitchy, shadowing even senior officials like me until they were sure I was not some simulacrum sent to deceive them. They weren’t entirely stupid to think that – reports were rife of body-wearers infiltrating the Palace then opening fire and slaughtering dozens. No one trusted anyone, and every order was checked and counter-checked before being followed. That made us slow to react. We were living in a fog of confusion, something no doubt intended by our enemies.
The first meeting I had that day was with Representative Arx, the mistress of the Inquisition. I had barely made myself comfortable when she entered, gliding into the chamber like a black swan.
Arx was a strange one, and I did not know her well. I always found inquisitors hard to deal with – they were intense souls, driven by forces that I didn’t fully understand. The Representative was drawn from the ranks of the Ordo Malleus, the daemonhunters, a fact that I found gave some rare comfort during that hard time. Of all the High Lords, she was amongst the most composed just then, having been exposed to malign phenomena throughout her long career in the Imperium’s service and thus inured to its worst effects.
‘Cancellarius,’ she said, bowing slightly.
‘Representative,’ I replied, gesturing towards a low leather armchair close to the fireplace.
In times past we might have indulged in small talk, asking after one another’s staff or relations, musing on the absurdities of life in the Administratum, but no longer. She came straight to the point.
‘There are daemons on this world,’ she said, flatly. ‘Consider that. No planet has had more scrutiny than this one. The merest hint of heresy was punished without pity. And now there are the foulest creatures in all eternity capering within sight of the Palace.’
I knew it. I’d seen the classified documents, and heard the testimony from those brave enough to venture into the restive hives. I’d even seen them myself, unless that mirror had been a hallucination.
‘Can it be contained?’ I asked, feeling groggy and wanting more sleep, knowing I had hours of meetings ahead of me.
‘I’ve mobilised all my inquisitors in-world. Dozens more are being pulled back from stations elsewhere, but we can’t go beyond the Sol System. I dread to think what’s happening outside.’
‘Titan, then,’ I said.<
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I was not supposed to know about the Grey Knights. Only a few of the High Lords were, plus the highest echelons of the Ordo Malleus. It’s funny what you pick up, though, over the centuries. For all its undoubted efforts, the Imperium’s never actually been very good with secrets.
Arx knew the score, of course. ‘The request’s already been made,’ she said. ‘Valoris spoke to me. You credit that? Our golden protectors, those whom you wished to send off into the grinder of Cadia, are already asking for help.’
I could have done without the sarcasm. It was bad enough to see my hopes dashed so publicly without a reminder that my proposal would also have stripped us of our most capable defenders.
‘And what was their response?’
At that, Arx laughed. I’d never seen her laugh before, and I never wish to again. It was entirely without human qualities – a cynical expression of bleak amusement that exposed more of her soul than I think she’d intended.
‘Their response? They’re sending forces to Luna.’
I was momentarily taken aback. ‘I’ve had no reports of disturbance on Luna.’
‘No. That’s the point. The Grey Knights have… capabilities. That’s where they think the next move will play out.’
I rubbed my hands over my eyes. Throne, I was tired. ‘Then we’ll need to reinforce the dockyards–’ I began.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, we’ll need our forces here. They’re sending what they can spare. Grand Master Anval Laraon has divided his forces three ways – a standing defence on Titan, a major attack group for Luna, and a reserve detachment for Terra. The latter will be the weakest of the three – little more than a sop for Trajann Valoris, to keep relations sweet.’
I couldn’t help my smile – it slipped out, a sly one, released through exhaustion. ‘I’d like to see those two meet,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Arx said, primly. ‘So here it is. We’ll have minimal Grey Knights support. The Palace is the priority. That, and the Fortress of the Astronomican. We can plausibly keep those secure. The rest…’