by Gav Thorpe
Galedan nodded and then lifted a fist to his chest in salute. The Chapter Master departed without a further word, his brow no less furrowed than when he had entered.
Circumstances indeed, pondered Astelan. Whether it boded well or not for his personal future, the arrival of the ships surely marked a change in the tale of Caliban. His eyes returned to the cathedral-like upper storeys of the Angelicasta and his thoughts turned to plans and motions that would ensure his continuing part in that tale.
SEVEN
The search continues
Caliban
To the casual observer, the conclave of individuals gathering in a near-forgotten dungeon on the outskirts of Stormhold might have looked suspicious. The four Space Marines arrived separately, robed and cowled in heavy cloth. Their bulk was impossible to hide, even without war-plate, but they moved with quiet ease down the brick-lined passages of the ancient sublevel.
They came together in the light of a few candles, in a circular chamber beneath the northern wall of Caliban’s third largest city. The four warriors arrived in silence and remained unspeaking for some time.
To the casual observer, such would have been the scene. To Vassago, the gathering was anything but covert.
The psyker had brought his fellow Librarians to this place to escape the mental noise of Stormhold’s four million souls. The age-old stones around the psykers acted as a buffer against the whirling thoughts of the masses of humanity above. Here they were closer to the stone of Caliban, the roots of the mountains.
There might have been silence to the ears, but to any observer with psychic sense, the agitation and concern of the gathering brothers was like a babble that washed down the dilapidated passages. Like a bow wave before a ship, the thoughts of Vassago’s gifted brethren moved ahead of them, betraying their presence.
There was much to worry the psykers, but Vassago did his best to quiet their concerns with an aura of calm and authority. His mind touched briefly on each of his three companions, reminding them to calm their thoughts, to be the serene pool into which the power of the warp would swell.
+It is difficult,+ Tanderion replied to this psychic easing, his words conveyed by thought not sound. +All around us the warp roils and swirls. How do we keep that anarchy from entering our minds?+
+With practice,+ Vassago answered. +With strength. These are lessons Master Israfael taught us, why do you forget them now?+
+Master Israfael is dead, Master Zahariel is missing.+ Brother Cartheus was the youngest and newest of their company, his talent discovered only ten years before. His jade eyes and fair hair made him look remarkably like the Lion, unusually pale amongst the bloodstock of Caliban. Cartheus’ thoughts were jittery, jumping from one thing to the next. +The ships were detected, why do they not contact us?+
+Calm extends from within,+ Vassago told them sternly. +Cease the pointless speculation of these things. Focus your thoughts on our purpose.+
+We have tried to find Master Zahariel before – why do you think we will succeed this time?,+ asked Brother Athadrael. +When will you accept the truth of what has happened? Master Zahariel is dead, most likely murdered by that traitor, Lord Cypher.+
+Why?+ asked Cartheus. +Lord Cypher obeys Luther – why would the Grand Master wish our leader disposed of? To what end?+
+Perhaps the Lord Cypher did not act on the orders of Sar Luther, but to protect his own position out of jealousy,+ suggested Tanderion. +Master Zahariel said that Luther was relying heavily on the work of this company.+
+Zahariel is alive.+ Vassago sent a pulse of admonishment with the thought, silencing the others. +We have come to Stormhold to be closer to the ruins of the Northwilds. If we cannot locate him from here, our next step will be to travel to the Northwilds arcology itself.+
+If our intent is supported by Sar Luther, why do we conduct our rituals in secret?+ asked Tanderion.
+Knowledge of our powers needs to be closely guarded, brother. Others would seek to control us, to manipulate us to their ends. It is common for the mundane to be fearful and jealous of psykers, it serves no purpose to flaunt our abilities openly.+
+And this “Edict of Nikaea”, of course,+ added Athadrael. +Our company is still banned under threat of censure from the Emperor. That Luther bade us continue in our extraordinary duties is already an act of treason against the Throne.+
This sobering fact quieted the mental tumult as the group were united by a singular unease at this thought. Vassago used the lull to try once more to focus his brothers on the task at hand.
+We must search for the trail,+ he announced. +I shall ride as the horseman, Tanderion bears the spear, Athadrael and Cartheus are the hounds.+
There was no more dissent and the other psykers fell to their familiar roles, conjoining their powers through Vassago. As the strongest of them, though far inferior to Zahariel, he bore the brunt of the psychic shock as power poured from the warp into the minds of the Librarians. Each was trained in deflecting that power, harnessing its passing strength, but Vassago was like a reservoir, taking all of the energy from their dammed minds to direct into a single conjuration.
He pictured himself on Caliban-as-was, riding through the forests like a knight errant seeking one of the Great Beasts. The combined power of his brothers was the black destrier between his legs, the mind of Tanderion a broad-headed golden spear held aloft in his hands. Cartheus and Athadrael followed behind, loping along as smooth-coated coursers ready to chase down any spoor they encountered.
The illusion carried his thoughts out from the grey-walled castle of Stormhold and into the deep forest, heading north along the mountain valleys. Athadrael and Cartheus streaked ahead to pick up whatever scent they could find of Zahariel.
He had been here, the shuttle logs showed as much. The Master Magus had left with Lord Cypher by special command of Sar Luther. Their destination had been listed as Windmir, but the psychic trail led in the opposite direction, into the Northwilds.
Vassago slowed, calling back his hounds so that they might scour the track with more rigour. Across Caliban the warp was imprinted like a layer of snow that only the psychically gifted could see. The footprints and drag marks and criss-cross of trails recorded a hidden past. Beneath them, the frozen mud captured a yet older history, and down into the rocks themselves it was possible to feel the echoes of what had been, from before the time of the Lion, even to the days of Aldurukh’s founding.
It was tempting to get dragged down into those depths, to explore the hidden roots of Caliban, but Vassago chained his curiosity, pulling tight the reins of his imaginary destrier.
Around the Northwilds it was as though a blizzard had passed, obliterating almost all previous signs. The faintest of traces remained of Zahariel’s passing – like two lines of footprints so shallow they were barely discernible. Both entered, only one departed.
Vassago wanted to push on but felt resistance. The hounds were before him, hackles raised, teeth bared, chests emanating deep growls. The knight raised his eyes from the path and saw a figure stood before him, clad in armour chased with green, a cloak and hood of leaves swathing him. A naked sword with an emerald blade flashed in the sunlight…
Shocked, Vassago dispensed with the conjuration, letting the illusion fall into splinters around him, leaving the four psykers standing in a circle facing each other. They hurriedly turned as one towards the door.
A solitary figure stood there, one hand resting on the pommel of his blade, the other lightly placed on the grip of a bolter at his other hip. He wore powered war-plate, painted black and marked with the sigil of the Order – a red sword vertical over a white escutcheon. Much was covered with a heavy green robe, tied at the waist with a white loop of rope, as free of blazon as the armour.
‘Lord Cypher.’ Vassago forced the words through gritted teeth.
‘Brother Vassago,’ replied the warrior known to act as Luther’s right hand. ‘I believe you were told by the Grand Master to concentrate your efforts on identifying
the ships that have broken warp. Yet, here I find you have slunk away from Aldurukh on some quiet errand.’
‘It is no business of yours,’ said Vassago. ‘Regardless, we continue to seek Master Zahariel. An effort that would gain Sar Luther’s approval.’
‘It is not for you to decide what would or would not be to the liking of the Grand Master. These rites are dangerous.’
‘What would you know of the dangers of warpcraft?’ said Tanderion. ‘Your mind is as blank as fresh vellum.’
‘To that point, how was it that you blocked my projection?’ Vassago sent a wordless command to his companions, who stepped to the left and right, forming a line in front of Lord Cypher. ‘Have you concealed something from us? From the lords of the Legion? That would be a very serious matter.’
‘It would,’ said Lord Cypher. ‘However, the power to interrupt your ritual was not mine. It was borrowed.’
Before anyone could ask from whom Lord Cypher might borrow psychic power, the chamber underwent a subtle change. Vassago could not pinpoint exactly what had happened, or when, but it felt very much like a door being quietly closed, cutting off the sound from a neighbouring room. One moment everything was normal, the next he felt his psychic sense muffled.
Half a dozen figures had appeared in the shadows between the pools of candlelight. Each was no taller than waist-high to the Space Marines, clad in a deep robe that showed nothing of the face or hands. Six pairs of eyes glowed scarlet in the gloom.
Watchers in the Dark.
As much part of Aldurukh and the Order as stone walls and boltguns. Vassago had never before heard of them venturing beyond the fortress of the Order, and their presence was deeply unsettling.
‘I…’ He mastered his discomfort. ‘No disrespect was meant, Lord Cypher. Forgive my confrontational attitude, you took us unawares and returning from the midst of a psyquest leaves one’s nerves in disarray.’
‘I see.’ Lord Cypher relaxed, his hands moving from his weapons. ‘A misunderstanding.’
As imperceptibly as they had arrived, the Watchers were gone. Visibly at least. On the very edge of awareness, Vassago could still feel them, like the echo of old footfalls heard through a wall. Or perhaps it was the sound of someone approaching from afar but yet to be seen. Past and future seemed blurred.
‘We will concentrate our efforts on establishing contact with the arriving ships,’ said Vassago. ‘I cannot give you much hope, Lord Cypher. It would require another of our special talent to receive such messages at this distance, and no means other than conventional communication to reply. Since we have received no contact, mundane or otherwise, it’s reasonable to conclude that the ships are not willing, or able, to send a message. It was the reason I thought it prudent to locate Master Zahariel. He is the most powerful of our company and might succeed where we have failed.’
Lord Cypher looked from the face of one psyker to the next, gauging each of them in turn.
‘I see. Should you contact Master Zahariel, or otherwise discover what has happened to him, you will inform Sar Luther immediately?’
Vassago thought about the Watchers. If they were assisting Lord Cypher, there was very little that would pass within the walls of Aldurukh unknown to Luther’s right hand.
‘Of course,’ the Librarian assured Lord Cypher. ‘We serve the Order and Caliban.’
‘I have a gunship waiting,’ said Lord Cypher, turning slightly to invite them towards the arched door. ‘Unless you have anything else to keep you in Stormhold?’
The psykers did not look at each other, but exchanged the mental equivalent of nervous glances. Without comment, Vassago stepped towards the door and the others followed.
EIGHT
Contingencies
Caliban
All factors considered – the main one being that it was a prison – the dungeon beneath Aldurukh was quite hospitable. There was a clear, antiseptic tang on the air and the gleam of fresh polish under bright lumenstrips. The majority of the guards were clothed in the uniform of Lady Tylain’s auxilia. It was a waste of resources to have Space Marines on guard duty.
At least that was a good enough reason given by Luther, but Astelan suspected that the Grand Master was wary of allowing legionaries to act as wardens for legionaries. In this instance, the loyalty of the auxilia was probably more secure. They were overseen by a few captains of the Order, chosen by Luther with due care, as were the Techmarines who were the architects and installers of the cells.
The walls and ceiling were freshly whitewashed, the signs and maps as clear and bright as anything else. The style of Old Caliban had inevitably crept in, with curved archways and tunnel-like passages, but the security doors, force field projectors and scanning arrays were all Terran-standard technology.
Coming to another checkpoint Astelan stopped to allow a retinal scan of his right eye. The system acknowledged his identity and did likewise with Galedan a moment later. The two of them stepped past the solid plasteel door as it slid aside. With barely a hiss it closed behind them, sealing them into the inner dungeon where the officers were held.
‘It’s always puzzled me,’ said Galedan as they continued down the corridor, passing locked doors to the left and right. The passage branched every ten metres, more cells lining the side tunnels. ‘The lack of tech-priests. Mechanicum, I mean. The other Legions are full of them, but ours… Why so few?’
‘The First existed before the alliance with Mars,’ said Astelan. ‘Before even you were born, when they were not even the First, but simply the Six Hosts. Our earliest wargear came from the laboratories and manufactories of the Emperor, not Mars. I suppose it helped keep the First independent to continue like that even after the Sol system was united.’
‘It’s impossible to imagine,’ continued Galedan as Astelan turned left down a branching corridor. ‘What was it like in those days before the Legions?’
‘It was bloody, and it was anarchic, and life was short for many,’ the First Master replied quietly. He smiled. ‘And it was amazing. You can never understand, my friend, what it was like to fight for the Emperor Himself. The Thunder Warriors did well, but they could never conquer the galaxy. They had uses, but the Emperor needed something more, someone better. Space Marines. Warriors to take the fight beyond Terra.’
They stopped outside a cell and Astelan looked steadily at his companion. A thought occurred to him.
‘We have always been mutable, my friend. The Dark Angels, the First, the Six Hosts of the Angels of Death. Different names for the same thing. The Emperor’s finest. The vanguard. The first blade unsheathed.’ He laid a hand on Galedan’s arm. ‘Try for a moment to see the galaxy as I saw it. Forget the primarchs. We did not know they existed. Perhaps the Emperor thought them lost forever. We were not even the First Legion yet.’
‘That, I don’t understand,’ confessed the Chapter Master. ‘Surely you were always the First?’
‘Why would we be the First unless to distinguish us from the Second? We were not even a Legion at the outset. Six Hosts, each with its own purpose and structure, but linked by common origin and purpose. Perhaps the Emperor always intended matters to take the course towards the formation of the Legions, or perhaps He simply learned how to organise His crusade as it unfolded. We were not legionaries. He did not even call us Space Marines, not at first. When He addressed us, when He spoke of us to His last few enemies, He simply called us His Angels of Death.’
Galedan shook his head slowly, not out of disagreement but simple amazement.
‘There are few left in the galaxy that have seen what you have seen, First Master. The first steps from Terra, into the void. The pacification of the lunar colony, the pact with Mars, the clearance of the Solar System. The foundations of the Great Crusade itself!’
‘And so much else,’ Astelan said with a nod. ‘Who do you think first took Zaramund? Sailing the warp into the unknown with only the light of the Astronomican to reassure us of the way back? Did you think it was the Luna Wolves th
at found Horus?’
‘You were there?’ Galedan was open-mouthed with astonishment.
‘No,’ said Astelan. He let out a short laugh. ‘I was speaking more generally, not of my own exploits. My earliest campaigns were on Terra. For others to go to the stars, some of us had to make sure there was a world to come back to.’
‘All of the years we have served together, it never occurred to me to ask such questions. We were all Dark Angels. I never thought of the time before I became a legionary, I assumed it had always been the same. What did you do on Terra?’
‘No.’ Astelan’s expression hardened. ‘It is not a conversation for this time. Just remember that the Lion, the Order, anything that happens next is irrelevant. We are still the Emperor’s Angels of Death.’
The First Master raised a hand to the keypad next to the door. He glanced at Galedan.
‘Say nothing when we are inside.’
‘Of course, First Master. My silence will be golden.’
There seemed to be the smallest hint of insincerity in Galedan’s quick nod of the head, but Astelan forced himself to assume it was imagined. The biggest risk with any change to the chain of command was the encroachment of ill discipline. On Caliban, loyalties were becoming so fractured, the web of power so convoluted, Astelan saw everyone as a potential threat now. Paranoia was not just a consequence of the changing times, it was a necessity.
The First Master keyed in the lock code and pulled the door open. On the metal bench inside sat a grey-haired Space Marine, clad in a baggy pair of linen trousers and short, buttonless tunic of the same pale material. He turned his head slowly and his lips formed a sneer as he saw who was visiting. His hands formed fists in his lap.
‘Chapter Master Tukon,’ said Astelan, stepping inside. ‘You know Chapter Master Galedan?’
