Master of sanctity, p.11
Master of Sanctity, page 11
‘I cannot ever conceive of the vile thoughts of such a creature,’ said Asmodai. ‘It is utterly alien to me.’
‘You really cannot, can you, brother?’ said Sapphon, with some sadness. Asmodai’s total lack of empathy was almost unique in Sapphon’s experience; even amongst the Adeptus Astartes, a group not chosen for their emotional depth nor trained in anything but the utter suppression of basic feelings. While it made Asmodai perfect in some ways, utterly lacking in compassion or conscience and able to inflict pain and misery without a moment’s regret, that same psychopathic propensity limited the Interrogator-Chaplain’s ability to exercise other levers of control. He never understood his subjects’ fears on anything but an intellectual level, and so could not fully exploit them.
‘Are you sure that Methelas is unaware of our monitoring of the conversation?’ said Asmodai.
‘The Librarium assure me the suppressor-helm curtails all psychic sense. Further, Brother Ezekiel is in the adjoining chamber exerting influence to ensure Methelas cannot extend any supernatural sense. The vox-transmitter is so low-powered not even a Space Marine can detect its energy source. You seem vexed, Asmodai, and I think the security arrangements are not cause but merely symptom.’
The other Chaplain did not reply. His face screwed up in concentration as he listened to the scrape-scratch-scrape-scritch of Astelan abrading his chain links. Sapphon gave up trying to encourage his companion to share any worries he might harbour and took a drink from the jug of water beside the vox-receiver. The gentle ticking of a tape-drive recording device overlaid the sound of metal on stone.
‘I knew it!’ raged Asmodai, surging to his feet, the sudden movement causing Sapphon to spill water down the front of his robe. ‘He betrays us yet again!’
‘Wait!’ Sapphon dropped the jug and lunged towards Asmodai to grab his arm as the Chaplain flung open the cell door. ‘Do not go down there, you will ruin everything!’
‘You are a blind fool, Sapphon. Your tricks have been turned against you.’ Asmodai tore free from the other Chaplain’s grasp and strode back to the table. With quick fingers he stopped the vox-unit and spooled back the tape. He activated the playback. ‘Listen!’
Sapphon heard the last part of the exchange between the two Fallen, and then half a minute of nothing but metallic scraping.
‘What do you hear, brother? Sub-vocals? I hear nothing.’
‘Listen closely,’ said Asmodai.
The Master of Repentance started to tap a finger on the table, just slightly quicker than once a second. After about fifteen taps the rhythm was in Sapphon’s head and suddenly he heard the pattern behind the sound of Astelan’s scraping. There was more than idle noise; it was a code of some kind, an ancient battle-cryptocom he did not recognise.
‘Clever,’ said Sapphon, intrigued.
‘You admire him?’ snarled Asmodai. He thumped a fist on the table, knocking over the vox and recording device. ‘He mocks us, treating us as fools, and you have words of praise for him?’
‘Stay where you are!’ barked Sapphon as Asmodai took several steps towards the open door. ‘You will not interfere.’
‘The Supreme Grand Master appointed me to oversee this debacle, and I will no longer allow it to continue.’
‘I am still your superior!’ Sapphon hated raising his voice, but it made Asmodai stop at the threshold. He lowered his tone when he continued. ‘Do you not understand what Astelan is doing? By communicating in secret he is feigning allegiance. A lie hidden within the truth. He is probably telling Methelas that we are listening in, and to say nothing.’
‘You argue my case back at me,’ said Asmodai.
‘But listen further. I laud your keen ear for detecting the code, but you did not follow its continuation.’
Asmodai frowned but did as he was told, listening intently to the static-layered noise still coming from the vox. Astelan’s scraping stopped after a few seconds. There was the briefest of pauses and then another scraping noise began, almost identical but not quite, the subtle difference nearly lost in the bad quality of the transmission. This also stopped after several seconds and the original scraping resumed.
‘Methelas is replying,’ said Asmodai, lip curling with anger. ‘It is this that I warned against, brother. You did not believe me then, but now allow me to act on proof of your error.’
‘No, we must let them talk,’ said Sapphon. ‘Our best crypto-servitors will decipher the code easily enough. There may even be record of it in the earliest databanks. There can be only one of two outcomes. Either Astelan works against us and with Methelas, or he does not. If the former, we know he cannot be trusted as you claim, and that gives us advantage. And if he has turned against Methelas, this may be the only way the traitor will let slip any information of value.’
Sapphon could see the indecision wracking Asmodai. It was clear that he hated not knowing what was being said between the two, his natural instinct to corral and control anything beyond his understanding. Weighed against that was the logic of Sapphon’s argument. After several seconds teetering one way and then the other in the doorway, he eventually relented to Sapphon’s will and returned to his stool, arms folded tightly, glaring at Sapphon. The Master of Sanctity righted the vox-devices and sat opposite, meeting Asmodai’s glare with a steady gaze.
‘Astelan has too much to lose to play me false,’ said Sapphon, assuring himself of this fact as much as he sought to convince Asmodai.
‘And we have everything to lose if he does,’ replied the other Chaplain.
To Catch a Fallen…
After the day allotted to him by Supreme Grand Master Azrael, Sapphon had Astelan withdrawn from the cell, cursing and kicking as he had been deposited. Returned to the cell within the solitarium, sitting with shackled hands in his lap, the Fallen was confronted not only by Sapphon but also Asmodai, and with the two Chaplains Chief Librarian Ezekiel and Azrael himself. The leaders of the Inner Circle wished to witness for themselves whether Sapphon’s plan had yielded any useful information, and the Master of Sanctity realised as he looked at Astelan’s relaxed smile that he was probably more intimidated by their presence than the Fallen.
‘You hold yourself as leader here,’ said Astelan, looking at Azrael. ‘Your heraldry declares as such also, though it is much changed from the time of the Order that I remember. Does it feel strange to bear devices from a defunct organisation that was based on a world now destroyed, to which you have no connection other than the fluke of being stolen from your family by a roving band of self-righteous murderers?’
Sapphon suppressed a wince and felt Asmodai stir with a growl, but Azrael greeted the question with a deep laugh.
‘You have a unique perspective, which I find refreshing,’ said the Chapter commander. ‘I like “self-righteous murderers”, particularly.’
Azrael stepped closer to the Fallen and his smile faded. Without warning, the Supreme Grand Master grabbed the front of the prisoner’s robe and drove his fist into Astelan’s cheek, knocking him sideways. He pulled him back upright and punched him again, repeating the attack three times more before letting go and stepping back.
‘Billions dead on Tharsis,’ said Azrael, flicking blood from his fingers. ‘All by your command and all for your ego. Do not call me a self-righteous murderer when there is so much blood on your hands. Asmodai, you and your brothers have had fifteen years to finish what Boreas began, and that is time enough. If this creature lies, evades or otherwise refuses to cooperate fully with Brother Sapphon you will kill him, not swiftly and with great infliction of pain if possible.’
Azrael stalked from the room, leaving tense silence in his wake. Astelan levered himself back to a sitting position and grinned, showing freshly bloodied teeth.
‘I probably deserved that,’ he said. ‘It was a rather rude thing to say.’
‘Enough of your flippancy,’ said Sapphon. ‘We know that you communicated with Methelas. What did you learn?’
‘And you expect me to divulge that information merely because you ask for it?’ Astelan shook his head, wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. ‘Wake me when you have a more tempting offer.’
‘You seem keen for death, and I will grant it,’ said Asmodai. Sapphon thought he detected something strange in his companion’s voice; genuine happiness perhaps?
‘I die a righteous man,’ replied Astelan. ‘Fifteen years wasted, my friend. I will not repent, not under threat of death.’
‘Too much time has been wasted on your account already.’ Asmodai flexed his fingers and stepped towards the captive. ‘I cannot deny that I will gain pleasure from bringing about your end. Be assured I will make suitable penance afterwards.’
‘Wait,’ Sapphon said quietly. He looked at Astelan through narrowed eyes, trying to gauge his prisoner’s conviction. For fifteen years the Fallen had duelled words and will against the greatest of the Chapter’s interrogators and they had not broken him. ‘Death is what he wants. Do not grant him that mercy.’
‘The Supreme Grand Master commands. I obey.’ Asmodai took another step but was stopped by a contemptuous laugh from Astelan.
‘Supreme Grand Master?’ The Fallen seemed genuinely amused. ‘Was “Grand Master” simply not pompous enough?’ The humour disappeared, replaced by a sneer. ‘Even the Lion, colossus of arrogance and ego as he was, was content with the rank of Grand Master of the Order. Perhaps your commander seeks to outrank even a primarch?’
‘He is goading you!’ Sapphon spoke quietly but urgently. He looked to Ezekiel for support. ‘Brother, you must see it as well.’
The Librarian turned his gaze on Sapphon, one eye a red-lensed bionic, the other glittering with the flicker of golden psychic energy. Sapphon had faced death and dread on countless occasions and had attained his position by dint of immense willpower, but even he had to look away from that eternal, damned gaze after only a moment.
‘I am here to ascertain the veracity of any statement the prisoner makes,’ said Ezekiel, returning his attention to Astelan. ‘I am a Librarian, not a Chaplain. I do not care to offer opinion on the conduct of his interrogation.’
‘Then tell me this,’ Sapphon said quickly. ‘Is he telling the truth? Is he willing to die rather than tell us what we need to know?’
‘Better still, why not prise it out of his head?’ demanded Asmodai. ‘Rip thoughts from the mind and leave the flesh to me.’
‘Not this one,’ Ezekiel said with a single shake of the head. ‘We tried before. Brother Samiel… It did not end well. There is a shell we cannot penetrate, no matter how hard we try. Something we have never encountered before or since.’
‘Kill me or make a bargain,’ said Astelan. ‘I am happy with either path.’
‘That is true,’ said Ezekiel.
‘You know that we cannot release you,’ said Sapphon. ‘There is no comfort we will give you. Your continued life is simply a stay of execution – a sentence that cannot be commuted. For what do you bargain?’
‘My honour, and a chance to restore it,’ said Astelan. He grabbed his chains in his fists and leaned forwards, speaking with earnest intensity. ‘We can argue for eternity about my actions but I never swore away my loyalty to the Emperor. I am not like Methelas and Anovel. I am not corrupt. They used me. Had I known to what depths they had descended I would have killed them. Let me prove it to you. Let me help you destroy this vile plot.’
Asmodai and Sapphon both looked at Ezekiel.
‘Truth,’ said the Librarian. ‘He believes what he says.’
‘How will you aid us?’ said Sapphon.
‘Enough of this!’ Asmodai interposed himself between the Fallen and the Chaplain. ‘He is a traitor! We do not negotiate with traitors. There is no good that can come of evil, no matter the intent.’
‘Ulthor.’
Astelan said the word quietly and it hung in the air like a stale odour. All three Dark Angels shared a glance with each other.
‘What do you know of this world?’ snapped Asmodai.
‘It is where you will find Anovel,’ said Astelan. The Fallen moved to the end of the bench and turned so that his legs were along it, resting with his back to the wall, entirely too confident for Sapphon’s liking. ‘When I did not send word of success from Tharsis, thanks to your untimely intercession, the others sought a fresh source of recruits. Anovel made a pact with the Death Guard, and was told to meet with them on the world of Ulthor. You know of it?’
‘It lies on the fringes of the Eye of Terror,’ said Sapphon. It seemed the ideal location for a trap and he looked to Ezekiel. The Librarian caught his glance and nodded.
‘It is as he was told. If there is deception, it is by Methelas,’ said Ezekiel.
‘Now that we know where to pick up the trail, we should dispose of this renegade and begin the hunt,’ said Asmodai.
‘Not yet,’ replied Sapphon. He stared at Astelan who met his scrutiny with a blank expression, affecting innocence. ‘You know that by divulging this to us you condemn yourself?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘What other truth do you possess to bargain?’
‘Myself. I know of passwords and codes that are to be used in exchanges. It seems to me that Ulthor would be a dangerous place to attack, but with my help perhaps that will not be necessary. Why thrust your fist into the maw of a beast when I can bring forth what is within?’
‘Absolutely not!’ For one so often ignorant of subtext Asmodai had caught Astelan’s meaning quickly enough. ‘No prisoner leaves the Rock. You will die within these walls.’
‘I concur,’ said Sapphon, amazed that this was Astelan’s gambit. Did he really hope that they would allow him out of his cell, offering him chance to escape?
‘Ask yourself a simple question,’ said the Fallen. ‘What am I worth to you? More specifically, how many of your brothers will you sacrifice to keep me? A dozen? A score? A company?’
‘Your threat is without basis,’ said Asmodai.
‘I can prevent their deaths,’ Astelan continued, looking directly at Sapphon. There was no trace of amusement anymore; the Fallen had a hard stare and his jaw was set firm. ‘Chain me, imprison me, do whatever you need to assure yourself that I cannot escape. Take me with you, or sacrifice the lives of your warriors to unfounded fear.’
Sapphon’s hatred of Astelan returned with a vengeance. Asmodai ranted about knowing no fear but the Master of Sanctity did not listen. His thoughts were whirling, chasing themselves around his head. Astelan had to be planning to gain his freedom – had to be. And that could be made impossible. Nothing else made sense, unless the Fallen genuinely wanted to prove he was not in league with the Ruinous Powers.
Part of Sapphon wanted to let Asmodai have his way; to let his brother kill this manipulative bastard and be rid of him. He could not, with clear conscience. He was not Asmodai, who could argue away the death of a hundred battle-brothers with talk of purity and duty. Sapphon recognised the need for sacrifices; he was still a warrior first and foremost. But he had been chosen because he walked into the darkness, daring to consider the terrible, imagine the unimaginable. The whole Chapter would be needed for an all-out assault on Ulthor, and the fighting for Piscina was not yet done. Swift action would be impossible. Any lesser force risked annihilation against an enemy of unknown strength. Astelan was offering a third alternative.
‘Brother Asmodai,’ said Sapphon. The Chaplain ceased his raving. ‘You swore an oath not so long ago. Do you remember it?’
‘Of course. I do not present binding words lightly.’
‘To what did you swear, by the shade of the Lion no less?’
‘To support your methods to ascertain what we require, whatever that demanded of me.’ Asmodai’s face twisted with disbelief as he realised what Sapphon had asked. ‘No! You swore there would be no trickery. You cannot use my honour against me like that.’
‘I must,’ Sapphon said with a sigh. He looked at Astelan sure in the knowledge that he was about to place his fate, partly at least, in the hands of a self-confessed genocidal megalomaniac. ‘It is likely that one or the other, or possibly both of us, will be dead before this matter is finished.’
‘Almost certainly,’ the Fallen replied with an insincere smile. ‘Do we have accord?’
Even as the Fallen uttered these words, Sapphon knew that the choice had already been made. The darkness, the unknown beckoned to him. Though he had not quite realised it, his choices for the past few days had been guiding him towards this moment with all the surety of a well-aimed bolt-round. What the Master of Sanctity could not know, however, was whether in reaching this point he would be hailed as one of the greatest heroes of the Chapter or forever reviled as a black-hearted traitor.
It surprised, relieved and then worried Sapphon that he did not really care which it was.
Oaths
Telemenus had no idea where he was. He had been led blindfolded to a chamber, his mnemonic sense of direction confused by the circuitous route, backtracking and, at one point, a period of weightlessness. He found himself in a circle of light, next to Menthius, Daellon on the other side of his battle-brother. A disembodied voice commanded them to pay respect to Grand Master Belial and they knelt as the Deathwing commander appeared from the shadow. There was no sound from his footfalls and nothing to hint of a door opening or what lay beyond in the utter darkness outside the circle of light.
Then the oath had begun, slowly spoken by Belial and repeated by the battle-brothers in hushed reply. Oaths of secrecy thrice-bound; oaths of fraternity until death; oaths mentioning names and places and ranks of which Telemenus knew nothing.
‘Unto the Order, the Founder and the Lords of the Keep I shall oblige myself to all truth, secrecy and trust.’
