by Gav Thorpe
‘Perhaps.’ The servitor closed its eyes, face going slack as Tuchulcha withdrew some of its attention. As though waking, the puppet stirred into life a few seconds later. ‘I can see them.’
‘Can you take us after them?’ asked the Lion.
‘I can.’ Tuchulcha’s puppet shrugged and pouted. ‘I do not think I should.’
‘Why not?’ The Lion remained calm, his agitation kept in check by monumental willpower. Redloss wondered if his primarch was always in such a state – holding back a tide of frustration at the mortal limits of his gene-sons. Dealing with Tuchulcha required another level of self-restraint.
‘You will know, in a moment,’ the servitor replied with a weak smile.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Holguin.
The Lion turned away, brow knotted in thought.
The vox-bead in Redloss’ ear chimed with an incoming message. The others were instantly alert too, receiving the same transmission.
‘I have an urgent command channel request from Lady Fiana,’ announced one of the comm-adepts in the strategium. ‘You requested command channel restrictions, my liege, but she is very insistent.’
‘I grant audience,’ the Lion growled in reply.
Lady Theralyn Fiana of House Ne’iocene had temporarily adopted the role of Chief Navigator on the Honoured Deeds, leaving the Invincible Reason behind at Macragge. As she was matriarch to many of the Navigators of the fleet, none had opposed the move, which was fortunate, since the fewer people that knew about Tuchulcha, the better.
Her voice was refined, her accent unmistakably that of a prosperous Terran despite spending most of her life abroad in the warp. She was also extremely upset.
‘The beacon, it’s gone!’ she told them over the vox. ‘I can’t find Sotha!’
‘Calm down,’ said Redloss. ‘What is happening?’
He heard Fiana taking in a deep breath before continuing. ‘The Pharos beacon on Sotha that we have been using instead of the Astronomican. It’s gone out.’
‘Gone out?’ The Lion narrowed his eyes as he turned his head towards Tuchulcha. ‘You mean the signal has been blocked locally?’
‘No, my liege, not at all. It has ended at the source. Something has happened at Sotha.’ Fiana sounded afraid, and it made Redloss uneasy to consider what might frighten a woman who had been raised looking into the madness of the warp. ‘The warp has gone dark. I cannot find our way back.’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Lion demanded of Tuchulcha’s puppet-servitor. ‘What have you done?’
‘Not I, Lion.’ The puppet cringed in genuine dread and black smears marred the surface of the artefact. ‘The moon of the warp has set. Midnight-clad are the Five Hundred Worlds.’
‘Midnight-clad?’ snarled Redloss, remembering Stenius mentioning the phrase before.
The Lion growled, a feral noise that startled the Dreadwing voted lieutenant. The primarch’s look was equally savage, as though he wanted to punch a hole through something.
‘What a fool I am,’ he snarled. He clenched his fists, overwhelmed by emotion. ‘Here we are, at the far end of the Five Hundred Worlds, hundreds of light years from Sotha. How could I have been so gullible, so ready to play the part of the ravaging hound chasing the trail that the Night Haunter left for us?’
‘You think this is Curze, my liege?’ said Redloss. ‘He deliberately drew us away?’
‘We have to get to Sotha,’ said Stenius. ‘Something has gone terribly wrong.’
‘Macragge.’ The Lion started to reach a hand towards the puppet but restrained himself. ‘Tuchulcha, you must pave a road for us, to Macragge.’
‘Pardon, my lord, but why not Sotha?’ Stenius asked.
‘Because I will not be fooled twice. If Curze has destroyed the beacon at Sotha it is because he wants all eyes turned there. And that means his intent is elsewhere. Macragge. What he wants has always been on Macragge.’
He gave vent to his pent-up frustration at last, slamming a fist into the wall. He withdrew his hand, a deep dent left in the bulkhead.
‘Not this time, Konrad. This time I will catch you.’
Tuchulcha’s servitor bowed, gawky and unbalanced. ‘As you wish, Lion. We go to Macragge.’
Tuchulcha’s warp-tainted avatar speaks
TWAIN
SIX
No news is ill news
Caliban
It had once been merely a castle.
Less than that. In an age forgotten by even the oldest legends of the most ancient chronicles it had merely been a house. A cave, more to the point, sitting close to the summit of a mountain weathered by the storms and winds of a timeless age. This crag sat alone, as though exiled by its gigantic neighbours several hundred kilometres to the north, to sit out its existence in the forested hills.
Of its nature before then, in the darkest depths of Old Night and in the Time Before, everything was lost.
But at this place, in that cave near the peak, a warrior had found sanctuary from the enraged monsters that stalked the forests below. Beasts that had once been held at bay by arcane technologies, freed to roam again with the fall of Mankind’s great empire.
Overlooking an ancient road, that cave proved a superb vantage point from which to sally forth to protect the survivors fleeing from the depths of the forest. The warrior, clad in the last armour of his division and bearing the last weapons, laid claim to the land that he could ride out to patrol and offered protection to all that came under his auspices.
The cave was big, but not big enough for homes and foundries and schools, and so the people delved deeper into the rock and built up walls around it, to make a tower, and a keep and then, yes, a castle.
The warrior, his name no longer remembered, trained others and forged wargear for them, so that the patrols could range further and the watch strengthened. As their numbers grew, their tale spread and there came to this place people brought by the rumour of salvation and hope.
From anarchy they fled. From the barbarism of petty warlords and the predation of the Great Beasts. Here was solidity, and surety, and potential. Here was hierarchy and calm. From this, the warriors named themselves.
The Order.
And it seemed that this place would outlast them all, a foundation of stone unbreakable by the vicissitudes of war and time. They were strong, but their strength came from their fortress, where their numbers swelled, the wounded healed and the lessons of hard-won battles could be laid down for future generations to learn.
Enduring, endless, unmoving. That was the nature of the place and so that was the name they gave it in their ancient tongue.
Aldurukh.
It had changed much over the millennia, except in name and character. It was a city now. A metropolis-stronghold of a million souls, part of the mountain itself and extended into the plains at its feet – lowlands that had once been highlands, levelled by the tetradozers of Terra’s planetary reclamation corps to make way for highways and landing strips and megafarms. Of the forests, only specially preserved remnants dotted the landscape, a few thousand hectares of what were once millions of square kilometres of native greenwood. The distant horizon was broken by the rearing forms of arcologies that delved into the ground even further than they stretched into the air, each surrounded by its own satellites of mineworkings, ore processing plants, smoke-belching foundries, solar arrays, power generators and cereal refineries.
From his new haunt, the summit chamber of a watchtower on the outer wall of Aldurukh, Chapter Master Astelan could see all of this.
‘What a dismal hole.’
His companion said nothing. Marchesa-Colonel Tylain wore the livery of the Imperial Army auxiliaries stationed on Caliban since the arrival of the Imperium, her hair cut short and hidden beneath a cap with an eagle-faced brim, just a few wisps of auburn and grey showing. She held herself straight, back rigid and eyes set, but her slim build and short stature were even more obvious next to the gigantic frame of the Space Marine. Her cuf
fs bore the golden-threaded marks of high rank and the colours of medals and commendations adorned her chest.
‘The Calibanites claim it was beautiful, of course,’ Astelan continued. ‘Emerald forests, sapphire rivers, pristine mountains. All of that. I’ll have to take their word for it, the reclamation pioneers had already torn most of it down and built half a dozen arcologies before I ever set eyes on the planet.’
‘What is Terra like, First Master?’ asked Lady Tylain.
The title was only a bauble really, presented to him by Luther to mark out Astelan amongst the other Chapter Masters, but lacking any authority beyond the favour of the Grand Master. It was an old Calibanite rank, like seneschal and Lord Cypher and Grand Master, resurrected by Luther. Astelan had known many titles over his long years, but took particular pleasure in this one. Not in itself, but in the mark of trust and respect it represented. Trust and respect he had worked hard to earn from the head of the Order.
Also it reminded him of the time when his Legion had not been the Dark Angels, when the Emperor himself had commanded them simply as the First.
‘Like?’ Astelan turned his head to look at Tylain. He had broad features, the skin currently darkened by exposure and the activity of the melanchromatic system of his gene-seed. His hair, also dark, was longer than usual for the Dark Angels and hung to his shoulders in tightly wound braids held by simple grey beads. ‘Which part? When? Where I grew up, by the Dynepri River, it was much like old Caliban, I suppose. More snow, more ice a lot of the year. But coniferous forests, wide plains. Beautiful. But much like here, the rise of the Emperor brought civilisation and society back to the wilderness. Cities, strongholds, transport networks.’
He turned fully and crossed his arms, wrinkling his heavy robe, the voluminous sleeves sliding back to expose immense forearms criss-crossed with faint scars.
‘Most of the planets I’ve seen are disappointingly alike, Lady Tylain. Land, air, water. We wouldn’t be interested in them otherwise. You really haven’t missed much.’
If the Marchesa-colonel was disappointed by this response she hid it well. With a shrug, she handed Astelan the data-slate she had brought to the watch chamber.
‘Fourteen more cells have been completed, First Master,’ she told him, even as he read the same from the digitised report. ‘Seventy-three more are ready to be fitted with secure access and monitors but there have been delays from the forgeworks.’
‘How many in total?’ Astelan knew the answer. He wanted to know if Tylain knew it too.
‘One thousand and forty-eight multiple dorters, another seven hundred and fifty officer confinement cells.’ She had not hesitated or looked at the report. ‘Only space for three hundred and seven more needed. It would be easier if we did not separate out the ranking warriors.’
‘And that would make it easier for them to foment further rebellion, Marchesa-colonel. Time spent now will be rewarded with better security later. The disaffected have raised arms against Sar Luther once already. They shall not be given a second chance.’
‘Then why keep them at all?’
‘They were misguided, not treacherous.’ The lie came easily. In truth, Astelan knew that if he simply eliminated Luther’s rivals his own position would become far more tenuous. Better to have them if needed, a weapon in its sheath. ‘When the Lion returns he would not think kindly of us if we had slaughtered his warriors out of hand.’
‘Most of them are Terran, like you, First Master.’
‘You have a point to make?’
If Lady Tylain did, she kept it to herself as a buzz indicated another person was entering the watchtower. Moments later the chamber door slid open to reveal an ascender cage. Chapter Master Galedan, Astelan’s direct subordinate and executive officer, stepped into the room.
The First Master waited for Galedan to say something, but the Chapter Master stood in silence. Galedan darted a look at Tylain.
‘It appears the Chapter Master wishes to speak to me alone,’ said Astelan. Galedan shot him an irritated look, which he ignored. ‘Thank you for the report, Marchesa-colonel, I expect the delays at the foundries to be made up within the week. If not, Sar Luther will be informed, and I do not think he will take kindly to the news.’
‘I shall pass that on to the overseers’ guild, First Master,’ said Tylain. She saluted Astelan and then Galedan, who watched her out of the chamber and did not speak until the clank of the conveyor rattled through the floor.
‘Ships have been detected breaching warp at the edge of the system,’ he said, before Astelan had a chance to say anything else. ‘Zahariel’s band of Librarians detected the warpwash against the storm this morning.’
‘Zahariel is back?’ This would be portentous news. Much effort had been spent trying to locate the head of the Librarius since his disappearance some days earlier. Astelan had seen him leave with Lord Cypher, but both the Guardian of the Order and Luther himself were being tight-lipped on the entire matter, and had ordered that knowledge of the Librarian’s absence be carefully controlled.
‘Not yet. His second, Vassago, broke the news.’
‘You seem unduly excited about the return of supply ships.’
‘A warship, First Master,’ said Galedan. ‘At least one. Definitely several ships, larger than any freighter. Sar Luther has ordered the system defences onto full alert. Monitor patrols have been launched to intercept the incoming flotilla.’
‘Luther knows already? That was unwise, Galedan. You should come to me first with any information of prominence.’
‘I didn’t inform Sar Luther,’ Galedan growled back. ‘It came straight from Vassago. Were I not duty Marshal of the Watch I would not have found out at all.’
Astelan noted the annoyance of his companion and raised a conciliatory hand.
‘I spoke out of turn. The blame is not yours. It irks me, is all, that Vassago and his pseudo-Librarius keep such close counsel. And Lord Cypher, there’s another that seems to go out of his way to put obstacles in my path. If we are to have the ear of Luther, our voice must be clear and consistent. The management of intelligence is essential to that.’
‘It will be ten days before they reach orbit. What difference would it make, knowing this a few hours earlier?’
‘A lot can happen in a few hours. The first orders to the defence commanders, for example. Who issues them, and what is their exact wording? Should we run them through extra gunnery drills to make sure they are good and ready to open fire at a moment’s notice? Could we time the announcement of the ships’ arrival to coincide with a duty roster of pliable officers in the key positions? If we take control of these things, we are the masters of perception. There are factions developing, Galedan, vying for a majority of power on Caliban.’
Astelan returned his gaze to the window, his eyes moving east, towards the high towers of Aldurukh’s central citadel, the Angelicasta.
‘When you remove the Emperor, who is left worthy of service? Would you wish to give your life for Luther and Caliban? Or shall we put our purpose to a higher cause, Chapter Master?’
‘I swore oaths to the Lion and the Emperor,’ Galedan said. He frowned. ‘I have always been proud to serve at your side, but I don’t understand what we are doing now. If we support Luther, we are supporting Caliban’s independence and betraying the Emperor. I’m not saying it was wrong, but why did you turn on Melian and the others that were going to unseat Sar Luther?’
‘Their insurrection was doomed to failure. Their stirrings and agitation would have engendered a paranoia in Luther. He would cloister himself with Lord Cypher and the other traditionalists. Those of us shunned once already by the Lion would be shunned again, or worse.’
‘Worse, First Master? What is worse than this meandering existence? Exiled and imprisoned at one and the same time.’
‘We have our lives, and so we can remain hopeful, Galedan. I have my reasons for contesting the will of the Lion, but Luther is the greatest victim of the primarch. His world lost, the
Order that gave him meaning destroyed, the loyalty he showed to his liege-son rebuffed and humbled. Luther nurses a hatred deeper than any of us, even if he hides it well. Any that stand in his way will be crushed.’
Galedan considered these words for several seconds, obviously wrestling with the nature of divided loyalties.
‘The important thing to bear in mind, my friend,’ Astelan assured him, ‘is that we remain alive and close to Luther to contest or exploit whatever developments occur. We do not need a grand strategy, the tides of war are rising and only a fool predicts where everything will get washed. We wait, we watch and when the time comes to act, we will be decisive.’
‘The human heart is like a ship on a stormy sea driven about by winds blowing from all four corners.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something Luther said in one of his recent addresses. What do we do about these ships, First Master?’
‘There is little we can do at the moment, is there? Continue to covertly monitor all communication through the orbital platforms to find out who is on the ships and why they are here. If the Lion has returned, then it’s all over for Luther.’
‘And for us? You just explained how we are getting closer to the Grand Master. We actively put down a move against Luther’s push for independence. The Lion needs little enough reason to judge against us as it is.’
Astelan’s stare slid skywards, as if his eyes could pierce the low grey clouds and see into the ships millions of kilometres away.
‘You are right, of course,’ the First Master said quietly. ‘We could be labelled traitors too. We must tread warily for the next ten days, or until we know who is coming to visit.’
‘And if we learn the Lion is not aboard? He would not come unannounced, surely.’
‘My recollection of Zaramund tells a very different story, Chapter Master. We must prepare for whatever eventualities we can think of. I will do what I can to ensure our true loyalty can be proven if needed. I require you to keep a close eye on matters in the Angelicasta. There are too many unknowns for my liking. Zahariel still missing, ships returning, Lord Cypher spending nearly every waking hour with Luther. Circumstances are unfolding, Galedan, and we must endeavour to stay abreast of them.’
