Fallen Angels

by Mike Lee

  Luther’s eyes widened in anger. ‘How did these rumours start?’ he demanded. ‘I ordered this knowledge kept secret! Who is responsible?’ Zahariel took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘I am,’ he said gravely. ‘The fault is mine.’

  The admission took Luther aback. ‘You?’ he said disbelievingly. ‘But why?’

  All eyes turned to Zahariel. Head high, the Librarian reported everything he’d seen and done at the arcology. Luther listened, his expression growing harder by the moment. He gave no reaction to the proposed truce with the rebels, though both Astelan and Israfael glowered angrily at the news.

  Zahariel concluded by relating what they’d recently heard from the Northwilds. ‘Things are balanced on a knife’s edge, my lord,’ he said. ‘If we strike quickly, we might still be able to contain the situation.’

  ‘No, we can’t,’ Luther said flatly. He shook his head, his expression bleak. ‘It’s far too late for that. I don’t fault you for what you did brother, but there’s no going back now. Caliban’s fate is sealed.’

  Luther turned in the stunned silence that followed and walked to one of the heavy reading tables. He bent over a massive, leather-bound tome, brushing the tips of his fingers across one of the thick, vellum pages. Zahariel caught a better glimpse of Luther’s hands, and saw that the ink marks there were actually symbols of some kind, laid out in a geometric pattern. A chill raced up the back of his neck.

  ‘They wanted me to kill him, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘I can still hear their voices as though it were yesterday.’

  Zahariel gave Luther a bemused frown. ‘Kill who, my lord?’

  The Master of Caliban glanced up from the book. ‘Why, Jonson, of course,’ he replied. ‘There we were, in the worst part of the Northwilds, so deep in the forest that we hadn’t seen the sun for a week. We’d already killed two beasts by then, and lost Sar Lutiel in the process. Most of us were wounded and feverish, but we pressed on nonetheless.’ He smiled faintly. ‘No one had ever gone so far into that part of the wilderness, and we were all hungry for glory.’

  Luther eyes grew unfocused as the memories took hold. ‘We’d come upon a stream at midday,’ he continued. ‘A prime spot for predators, but our water bottles were empty, so we decided to take the risk. I was standing watch, sitting in the saddle with my pistol ready. And the next thing any of us knew, there was this little boy standing with us. He’d walked right out of the woods into our midst, as silent as you please.’

  The Master of Caliban chuckled ruefully. ‘We just gaped at him for a moment. I think everyone believed he was a fever dream at first. Naked as a babe, his golden hair matted with twigs and leaves, and his eyes…’ Luther shook his head. ‘His eyes were cold and knowing, like a wolf’s, and utterly unafraid. Sar Adriel looked into those eyes and turned white as a sheet. He and Sar Javiel’s hands were laden with water bottles, and couldn’t protect themselves. “Kill him!” Adariel said to me. I’d never heard him sound so frightened in his life. And I nearly did,’ Luther confessed. ‘You don’t know how close I came, brothers. I knew what Adriel was thinking; we were more than a hundred leagues from the nearest village, in the deadliest forest on Caliban, and here was a child, barely tall enough to touch my saddle, without a single mark on his body. He couldn’t have survived in a wilderness like that alone. It wasn’t possible. I remember thinking he was a monster,’ Luther said. Tears welled in his eyes. ‘What else could he be? So I raised my pistol and took careful aim. One shot to the head was all it would take. My finger was tightening on the trigger when he turned and looked at me. He didn’t flinch at the sight of the pistol, and why would he? He didn’t have the faintest idea what it was.’ Luther drew in a great, wracking breath. ‘That’s when I realised what I was about to do, and I was ashamed. So I tossed the pistol to the ground.’

  Tears were flowing freely down Luther’s cheeks. Zahariel glanced back at Israfael and Astelan; the Astartes were just as unnerved by Luther’s strange demeanour as he was. He struggled to come up with a reply, but it was Remiel who spoke first. ‘There is no shame in sparing the innocent,’ the old master said softly.

  ‘But he wasn’t innocent!’ Luther cried bitterly. ‘He knew. Jonson knew about the taint all along and he’s spilled an ocean of blood to keep the truth from us.’

  Zahariel reeled in surprise at the vehemence in Luther’s voice. ‘You can’t possibly mean that, my lord,’ he protested numbly.

  ‘Why else would he have goaded the Knights of Lupus into war, then annihilated them? Why else take their books—’ he picked up the arcane tome and brandished it at Zahariel ‘—and hide them from our eyes? Because of what they could tell us about the planet’s taint. Lion El’Jonson went to great lengths to silence those who knew too much, and it only got worse once the Emperor arrived.’

  ‘That is enough!’ Brother-Librarian Israfael shouted. ‘I will not have you defame our primarch in this fashion, much less the Emperor!’ Pain blossomed in the back of Zahariel’s head, so sudden and intense it nearly overwhelmed him. He groaned, pressing a hand to his temple and trying to push the agony aside, then turned to see Israfael standing well apart from the others, his fists clenched. Chapter Master Astelan stood to one side, his gaze shifting from Israfael to Luther as though unsure whom to believe. The room seemed to shift beneath Zahariel’s feet. Things were spinning out of control, he knew. He’d never meant for things to come to this.

  ‘Not everyone was silenced,’ he protested. ‘What about Nemiel? What about me? We were the last people to speak to Lord Sartana, and nothing befell us.’

  ‘Brother Nemiel may lie dead on some distant world for all we know,’ Luther said grimly. ‘And you are here, exiled to a world that will soon be consigned to the flames.’ His voice rose, teetering on the edge of madness. ‘Don’t you see? Jonson knew that the Imperium would one day destroy Caliban. That’s why we’re here. He didn’t just forsake us, brother. He sent us here to die.’

  ‘Not another word!’ Israfael roared. Arcs of psychic power danced around his head, crackling like miniature thunderbolts. ‘My lord, you are unwell, and no longer fit for command!’ He turned to Zahariel. ‘In the name of the primarch, and for the honour of the Legion, you must assume control and order Luther to submit himself to the Apothecarium at once.’

  ‘It’s too late for such treacheries, Terran!’ Luther snarled. He tossed the book aside and came around the edge of the table, his dark eyes blazing. ‘He knows the truth now. Don’t you, Zahariel?’

  An invisible storm of psychic power swelled within the room. Zahariel’s mind reeled. He saw Master Remiel and Sar Daviel just a few metres away, caught in between the two furious warriors. A thought came to him through the growing haze of pain. ‘This is a mistake, my lord!’ he said to Luther. ‘Sar Daviel!’ he cried. ‘Your friend, the knight who read these same books. Who was he? Where is he now?’ Daviel turned to the Librarian with a haunted look in his eyes. ‘His name was Ulient,’ the old knight said. ‘He disappeared on the day the Emperor came to Caliban, and was never seen again.’

  A spear of pure, burning pain lanced through Zahariel’s mind. He cried out, pressing his hands to his temples. It felt as though a dam had burst in his brain, unleashing a torrent of pent-up memories.

  …Darkness. Armoured hands gripping him, holding him upright…

  …Israfael’s voice, echoing from the blackness. ‘…The plot failed and the conspirator is being interrogated. We will soon uncover those who sought to do us harm and deal with them…’

  …Another voice. Brother Midris. ‘…Tell us everything and leave nothing out, or it will go badly for you. Start with how you knew what Brother Ulient was planning…’

  ‘…Brother Ulient?’ he said. ‘Is that his name? I didn’t know him…’

  …Except that he did. He’d seen him in the secret room beneath the Circle chamber. Nemiel had taken him there to meet with the members of the conspiracy. He remembered the hooded men in white surplices, talking of killing the Emper
or of Mankind…

  ‘…The Imperium is not to be trusted. We know they are plotting to enslave us and take this world for themselves…’

  …He remembered the shining figure that had appeared at the door of the interrogation chamber, his face too glorious to behold. The voice of the Emperor of Mankind rolling over him like an ocean wave…

  ‘…be sure he remembers nothing of this. No suspicion of any dissent must exist within the Legion. We must be united or we are lost…’

  Zahariel fell to his knees, his body trembling as the last vestiges of the psychic block unravelled. Israfael and Luther had fallen silent, and every eye was upon him.

  The sense of violation, of betrayal, was almost too terrible to bear. He turned to Israfael. ‘You tampered with my mind, brother,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘Of course,’ Israfael said, his tone unapologetic. ‘The Emperor himself commanded it. I would expect you to do the same.’ ‘Couldn’t he have simply trusted me?’ Zahariel cried. ‘Wouldn’t my oath have been enough? Has he no honour?’

  ‘Honour has nothing to do with it!’ Israfael snarled. ‘We are his Astartes, Zahariel. It’s not for us to question his will!’

  ‘That is where you are wrong, Terran,’ Master Remiel said. ‘You and your kind may be content to live as slaves, but we never will!’ Zahariel felt the surge of psychic power a heartbeat before Israfael struck. Time slowed, and everything seemed to happen at once. Bellowing in rage, Israfael rounded on Master Remiel and flung out a gauntleted hand. Skeins of searing white fire leapt from the Librarian’s fingertips, but Sar Daviel was already moving, putting his body between Israfael and Remiel. The psychic blast tore into his chest, searing his flesh and setting his robes on fire.

  Luther shouted a command, and Zahariel felt his body respond even before his mind registered what he’d heard. He leapt to his feet and focused his will into his armour’s psychic hood. The hood’s dampener was not only for self-protection; it could also be used to combat the power of other psykers within a certain distance from the device. Zahariel turned its power on Brother Israfael, and the Librarian’s energies faltered. At the same time, Chapter Master Astelan rushed at Israfael from the side, his pistol raised.

  But the senior Librarian would not be overcome so easily. Israfael ducked as Astelan tried to strike him with the butt of his bolt pistol and lashed out with his hand. His fingertips seemed to brush lightly against Astelan’s breastplate, but Zahariel felt the psychic discharge that flung the chapter master through the air at him. Zahariel ducked barely in time, but his concentration on the dampener faltered for a fleeting instant.

  That was all the opening that Israfael needed. With a savage cry, he raised his hands and unleashed a torrent of crackling energy upon Luther.

  Zahariel felt the heat of the blast as it burned through the air past his head and struck Luther full in the chest. But the knight did not burn – instead, the wards painted upon his skin flared with an icy luminescence, deflecting the energy in a boiling wave away from his body.

  He saw Luther bare his teeth in a wolfish grin, then he opened his mouth and uttered a single word. The sound smote Zahariel like a hammer; he felt a searing pain in his ears and at the corners of his eyes, and he reeled under the blow.

  Israfael did as well. Bleeding from the eyes and ears, he staggered backwards before a searing bolt of plasma struck him full in the chest. The Librarian’s eyes went wide. There was a crater in his breastplate as large as a man’s palm, its edges still molten. He swayed on his feet, his lips working as though trying to speak, then sank slowly to his knees and toppled onto his side.

  Zahariel glanced back the way the shot had come. Lord Cypher slowly lowered his plasma pistol and cast a wary glance towards Luther. ‘Are you well, my lord?’ He asked.

  Luther didn’t answer. Smoke curled in thin tendrils from each of the hexagrammic wards covering his body.

  ‘How is Sar Daviel?’ he asked.

  Master Remiel was kneeling beside the charred body of the old knight. ‘Gone to the halls of honour,’ he said quietly.

  Zahariel tore his gaze away from Cypher and staggered over to Israfael. The wound in his chest was grave, but he checked the Librarian’s life support systems nevertheless and was surprised to find a faint reading. ‘Israfael still lives, my lord,’ he said. ‘What shall we do with him?’

  Lord Cypher took a step towards the fallen Librarian, his pistol still in hand. Luther stopped him with a hard glance.

  ‘Summon a pair of servitors to take him to the Apothecaries,’ Luther commanded. ‘When he’s recovered enough we’ll transfer him to a cell in the Tower of Angels and see if we can convince him of the error of his ways.’ Then he turned to Astelan.

  ‘Are the strike teams ready, brother?’

  The chapter master nodded. ‘All is in readiness, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘Then your first orders are to arrest General Morten and his staff, as well as Magos Bosk and the senior officials of the Administratum,’ the Master of Caliban said. ‘Spare their lives if at all possible, but do what you must to secure them. From this moment forward, Caliban is a free world once more.’

  Astelan hesitated. Zahariel could see the struggle in the warrior’s eyes, but in the end, his loyalty to Luther won out over years of unthinking obedience. ‘It shall be done,’ he said.

  Master Remiel rose wearily to his feet. Tears streamed down his face as he walked up to Luther.

  ‘The knight of old has returned,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He reached out and gripped Luther’s arms. ‘Behold the saviour of Caliban!’

  NINETEEN

  LION RAMPANT

  Diamat

  In the 200th year of the Emperor’s Great Crusade

  THEY DISCOVERED THE foundry sector entirely deserted upon their return. The Dark Angels found many of the perimeter outposts still intact, shielded from the blast wave of the bombardment by virtue of being sheltered in the lee of thick-walled manufactories, but the soldiers who manned them were gone. Jonson sent 1st Company and Brother Titus ahead with orders to secure the assembly building while 2nd Company moved along at a slower pace; they’d recovered three Rhinos from outside the warehouses and loaded them with the most seriously injured battle brothers, while the rest of the company followed along behind the vehicles with the bodies of the fallen. Nemiel and Kohl, reunited with the rest of their squad, found the body of Brother Marthes on the way back and made him a part of the sombre procession as well. As they made their way into the foundry precincts they began to hear the faint rumble of thrusters off to the south. Now and again Nemiel and the others would look back in the direction of the far-off star port, and search for telltale streaks of light that would signify the descent of an orbital transport. The Dark Angels knew that with every passing minute the wolves were gathering at their backs. It would only be a matter of time before they began to close in.

  Force Commander Lamnos, who was also the commanding officer of 1st Company, was waiting outside the assembly building when Primarch Jonson and 2nd Company arrived. ‘The building has been secured, my lord,’ he reported. ‘We encountered several squads of stragglers inside, but they weren’t in much shape to put up a fight.’

  ‘What about the siege guns?’ the primarch asked.

  ‘All present and accounted for. The building weathered the blast very well, and the vehicles sustained no damage.’

  Jonson nodded. ‘Well done, Force Commander. Let’s get the wounded inside, then begin developing a defence strategy.’ He cast a wary eye to the south. ‘I believe we’ve only got two or three hours at most before the Sons of Horus begin their attack.’

  The Astartes went to work immediately, scouting out the terrain and scavenging working heavy weapons from the abandoned enemy emplacements. Jonson and the company commanders assembled outside the assembly building along with Nemiel and Brother-Sergeant Kohl, to review the terrain and develop a proper defensive perimeter. The primarch favoured a lay
ered defence, with an outer defensive ring encompassing the entire sector, and an inner ring centred solely on the assembly building. The 1st Company was put to work on the outer ring, while the 2nd Company was assigned the inner ring.

  ‘At this point, we only have enough strength to successfully defend about half of the outer ring,’ Jonson said. In the absence of a hololith table, one of the Astartes had scratched a crude map of the foundry sector into the permacrete with the point of his power knife, and the Dark Angels had gathered in a circle around it.

  ‘Naturally, we’ll orientate our defence to the south, because the rebels will use the most direct approach – at least initially,’ the primarch continued. ‘We’ll site our captured lascannons and heavy stubbers on rooftops here, here and here.’ He indicated a series of buildings on the outer edge of the sector that provided commanding fields of fire down the main avenues of approach. ‘The lascannon gunners’ priority is to knock out as many vehicles as possible and strip the attackers of their support. Most of 1st and 2nd Companies will be arrayed in a wide arc covering all the southern routes into the sector. Three squads will be kept in reserve and mounted in our Rhinos to provide swift reinforcement to weak parts of the line.’ He paused, studying the map thoughtfully. ‘As the battle wears on, we can expect that they will probe around our flanks, looking for less well-defended areas. We’ll have to stay flexible and be ready to re-orientate our squads at a moment’s notice, falling back to the inner line if necessary.’

  ‘What about Magos Archoi and the remaining skitarii?’ Force Commander Lamnos asked. Since taking the assembly building there had been a few brief skirmishes with skitarii units from the north.

  Jonson shrugged. ‘Archoi himself is most likely dead,’ he replied. ‘I expect he fled right back to his stronghold and was caught in the bombardment. Just in case, however, I want to post a squad of wounded battle brothers onto the roof of the assembly building to act as observers. If they detect a serious threat from the north, we’ll despatch our mobile reserve to deal with it.’