Luther first of the fall.., p.14
Luther: First of the Fallen, page 14
Luther frowned as he listened, his misgivings growing as Tatraziel continued his whispering.
‘You misunderstand,’ said Luther. ‘I mean that you must set behind all in your past. The Legion cannot become what it needs to become unless it starts anew.’
‘Indeed!’ said Tatraziel. ‘When the last of the Fallen has repented we shall close that chapter of ancient history forever. And to do so, we must be dedicated to the hunt beyond all else. Our past lives, where we come from, mean nothing. Caliban is gone, there is no home but the Rock.’
Luther groaned and shook his head, but before he could protest, Tatraziel was heading for the door.
‘No more stasis!’ Luther begged, running after the Space Marine, but his pleas fell on ears deaf to them as the door swung shut.
TALE OF THE HUNT
Tatraziel did not come back, but a succession of others did. Amathiel, Duremis, Hazrael, Tyrhis, and then Anaziel. Luther concentrated as best he could on each, learning their mannerisms, dislikes and predilections. He tried to engage them more, to learn from them even as they learned from him. It was difficult, for even within stasis his mind continued to move, albeit with glacial slowness. The visions returned in sporadic fashion, but Luther was able to identify them as such and came to recognise the signs of their imminent arrival. Coming out of stasis often triggered a brief episode, so that despite his efforts to remain conscious and sane during his interrogations, more often than not he would experience several minutes of temporal disorientation first.
Always they wanted know about his followers, the ones they had called the Fallen. He tried to help as best he could, from what scattered intelligence he gained from his uncontrollable forays into the future. A few he knew by name from Caliban, but could advise little on their current plans or whereabouts.
Decade by decade, century by century, his life continued in brief episodes and he gleaned what he could from his interrogators about the galaxy beyond his prison. In time it all blurred into a single unending story of decline, brief resurgence, crisis and war. Luther wondered if it seemed this way because they came to him only when in need but eventually he was forced to concede that whatever the Emperor’s plans had been for His Imperium, they most definitely had gone awry a long time ago.
The way the Space Marines talked about the Emperor was confused as well. They venerated Him, speaking His name as an all-powerful being, but also spoke of His sacrifice, as though He were dead. With each generation of Dark Angels it was clear that the grip of blind tradition grew, the reason and Enlightenment of the Imperial Truth no longer even a distant memory, their changing character revealed through Luther’s stark bursts of acquaintance with their line of commanders.
Luther was sometimes able to warn them of coming tragedy, but it was hard to act upon passing glimpses of destruction, to locate the demagogue that stirred war or the alien fleet lurking in the shadow. Not once did they thank him, though he tried his utmost to oblige their questions as best he could. Their interrogations were always rooted in the false notion that the Fallen were still acting to some grand plan Luther had created in the last days of the Order. Whenever he tried to disabuse his captors of this notion, he was accused of further deceit.
The routine changed with Anaziel, or more specifically with Orias, for it was the first time any Dark Angel had come to him accompanied by one other than the Watchers in the Dark. So shocked was Luther that he thought he was caught between the present and some future sight, the one overlapping the other.
‘Apologies, Master Anaziel, but I am at odds with myself today,’ said Luther when the nausea of stasis-slip had faded. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the apparition of the second Space Marine. ‘I think I am temporally dislocated once more.’
‘This is Grand Master Orias,’ said Anaziel. ‘My finest captain and soon to be Chapter Master.’
‘I…’ Luther was at a loss what to think. ‘I have never been introduced to a successor before. As I recall, one does not simply stand down from the position of Supreme Grand Master. It is, if you’ll excuse the expression, a position inherited post-mortem.’
‘Not Supreme Grand Master,’ said Orias, stepping closer. He looked older than Anaziel, a grey beard close-cropped to chin and cheeks, hair swept back by a band. ‘Just Grand Master. I am to lead a new founding, the Disciples of Caliban. Anaziel thought my particular objective warranted learning of your existence, though I will be the first and last of my Chapter to know of it.’
‘It sounds like I should be flattered,’ laughed Luther. ‘I did not realise I was so important.’
‘You are our darkest secret, Luther,’ Anaziel said heavily. ‘Only by the journals of the Supreme Grand Masters and the guidance of the Watchers does anyone know of you. Only one has guarded that knowledge.’
‘Until now?’ said Luther. ‘What has changed?’
‘Nothing, and that is the problem,’ said Anaziel. ‘We chase the Fallen. We catch some, others elude us. Some repent, many do not. We break open their schemes and extract their secrets, and yet we are no closer to learning what they intend.’
‘Seven thousand years since Caliban died,’ said Orias. ‘Yet there are more Fallen than ever.’
‘The Order numbered more than thirty thousand on Caliban,’ said Luther. ‘And from what I have heard, they were scattered in time as well as space, much like my thoughts. The last of them may not come to light for another seven thousand years.’
‘Which is why we need a more definitive strategy,’ said Anaziel. ‘We cannot just react, we must actively seek the enemy.’
‘And that is your task?’ Luther looked at Orias. ‘The hounds of the hunt? You are going to round up the rest of the Order?’
‘No, the Hunt for the Fallen remains the pursuit of all the Dark Angels and our successors,’ said Anaziel. ‘That is a task beyond a single Chapter. The Disciples of Caliban have a singular role in addition to their duties to the Imperium.’
‘We’re going to hunt down and capture Cypher,’ declared Orias, with more confidence than Luther thought was warranted. ‘Your protestations no longer fall on deaf ears, Luther. We do not think you are the architect of the Fallen’s plans.’
‘The Lord Cypher is?’ Luther said.
‘To some extent. As far as any is in command. Cypher knows more than any other Fallen,’ said Orias. ‘He seeks them out. He has crossed paths with hundreds, thousands of them. Sometimes alone, sometimes with allies, often recruiting as well as advising.’
‘Cypher’s interrogation will prove far more useful than yours,’ said Anaziel.
‘So you are going to be utterly dedicated to the hunt?’ Luther looked at Orias with a sigh. ‘I know the toll it can take.’
Humans were scattered across a whole world in small settlements that lacked anything but the most primitive means to communicate with each other, yet a single dominant principle remained: the hunt. It bound together the culture of Caliban across generations, dialect and geography. Outside of the Order, the ability to hunt and slay the Great Beasts was reserved for nobility, and from that power derived their authority and rights. Some were dutiful lords and ladies, others not so much, but any ruler that allowed the training of their knights to falter swiftly paid the price when a Great Beast entered their lands.
As well as these household forces, news of a Great Beast attracted any number of would-be knights seeking to complete their quest, and contingents of Wandered hoping to earn a wage. Trackers and guides, trappers and lure-mates all played their part, but tradition denied these commoners the right to kill a Great Beast.
Except for the Order, which cared nothing for bloodlines or name. For those not of high birth, entry was possible by squiredom after proving oneself worthy to a knight of the Order, or by surviving the perilous journey to Aldurukh itself, a feat which thinned out all but the most courageous and intelligent low-born.
Technically I was a noble, the son of knights, but both my mother and father were of common stock. My father spoke little of his background and my mother respected his wishes, but taught me that she was the daughter of a cooper. They grew up together somewhere south and east of Aldurukh, so far away that its highest peak had been hidden beyond the horizon.
A Great Beast, one almost as fearsome as the Horn of Ruin, attacked their fort. Their ruler did not take her duties seriously and fled with her knights, abandoning those she should have protected. Most of the common folk resolved to stay in the castle though they had only ploughshares and fowl-hunting arms to protect themselves. My grandmother was not content with this, and with her children and several other families set off to seek protection from another lord.
Great were their trials, as can be imagined, but some of them survived the ordeals of the forest to make new homes in the foothills. Now teenagers, my mother and father decided that they would never again be reliant upon the faithless nobles, and when Sar Koralis and his troop passed through their settlement they learned of the Order. They ran away from their families and, as best they could, made their way into the mountains and eventually to the gates of Aldurukh itself.
I say this because it is important to know the beginnings of their knighthood to understand its end. They took seriously their vows to protect all others and they were always eager to join any expedition from Aldurukh, no matter how far afield it would take them, or for how long. The only time they spent more than a few months in the Angelicasta was during my mother’s pregnancy and after my arrival. Even so, when I had been weaned off my mother’s breast I was entrusted to the Order for my education both militant and moral, and my parents were as likely to be away on the hunt as at home to tend me. As it was said: blood shared between us is not as thick as blood spilled between us.
It is true to say that I probably had deeper feelings for my gain-parents than my birth family, for I spent more time with them of an age to appreciate the relationship. Even so, when I returned to Aldurukh and was accepted as a knight of the Order, I sought out my parents immediately so that they might know of my achievement, and they were proud of me. It was with the same eagerness that I put forward my name alongside theirs when next the Grand Master prepared a company for expedition into the forests.
These expeditions are not to be confused with the patrols that the Order conducted. Such routine ventures covered only the relatively small territory around Aldurukh, a cordon that ensured the safety of the Order and supported the neighbouring settlements. The patrols lasted many days, but the Order’s mission was to quest across all of Caliban, to the furthest coasts, and even across the seas. Some expeditions lasted years, though the one to which I had committed myself was not so grand – perhaps six hundred kilometres west and south, to the area known simply as the Chasms.
Grand Master Dedrik died when I was but a youngster, and I have only vague recollection of the great funerary event that marked his internment into the Vaults of Thandor. Sarl Enneriel was slain by the Spiked Ironskin while I still lived away at Storrock. So I served Ocedon. He called me to his chambers alone, the night before we were due to leave.
Ocedon was short, perhaps one of the shortest knights I had known, but made up for that with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Like those that came before, he was no administrator but a man of battlecraft and strategy. It was claimed that as a youth he had scandalised his noble family by seeking out manual labour – in the fields, hauling kegs, at the smithy bellows – so that he might build his body stronger than any man taller than him. He had sideburns that came nearly to his mouth but very little hair remained on his scalp, and his eyebrows were prominent enough that we younger knights joked they could still be seen poking through the closed visor of his helm. He was fierce in battle, a terror on the training ground, but softly spoken in private.
‘You are warriors and ambassadors,’ Grand Master Ocedon told me on the eve before our departure. ‘With chainsword and bolt pistol you will slay the beasts of the forests. With your words you will spread the message of the Order.’
‘What is the message of the Order?’ I responded. Born in Aldurukh and having spent my life in its metaphorical shadow, the idea that the Order was not known the world over was alien to me.
‘Equality and alliance,’ Ocedon said.
We were sat by an electrical fire, one of only a few in Aldurukh, the buzz of its blue bars accompanying the clattering of plates as his companion, Sarl Fel, and half a dozen serfs readied the great table for our departure feast in the neighbouring hall.
I was not sure what to say so I simply nodded. The Grand Master frowned in reply.
‘Do you understand what I mean with those words?’ he asked me.
‘I know what they mean to me, Sar Ocedon, but I cannot say what they mean to you,’ I confessed.
His frown became a bemused smile.
‘I am never quite sure whether you are clever, Sar Luther, or too clever,’ he told me. There was wine in cups on a small table between us and he passed me one. ‘You are by far the most remarkable knight the Order has seen for an age. Your natural skill with blade is equalled by your aptitude for diplomacy and mind for tactics. I have no fear in telling you this because I know that there is no arrogance in you, either.’
He leaned forward then, voice dropping conspiratorially.
‘It is not for a Grand Master to name a successor, Luther, but should I persist for a few more years until you have more maturity, I cannot see how any other would replace me but you.’
It was quite the most remarkable endorsement I had heard and a great encouragement. I proved him right, years later, though my time as Grand Master was brief before we elevated the Lion to the new position of Supreme Grand Master. But the Lion was yet still a savage in the woods at that time and our paths would not cross for two more years, so I had no other measure of greatness than the man that had paid me these compliments.
‘I am honoured that you regard me so highly, Sar Ocedon,’ I told him, raising my wine in toast to him before taking a mouthful. ‘I will do all I can to earn the trust and respect of the other masters so that, if they will it, your forecast becomes reality. But you did not explain to me what you mean by equality and alliance being the message of the Order.’
‘Across Caliban, the nobles maintain control by dint of military power. Without the protection they offer, the common folk are vulnerable. Access to the best arms and armour, and the training to use them, is restricted to the knightly class, perpetuating their dominance. The Order does not arrange itself in this way, for we believe that every Calibanite has a duty to fight the Great Beasts, but also the right to do so. We offer a place to any man, woman or child that can prove themselves capable of that ideal.’
‘That must make some of the nobles nervous,’ I remarked, eliciting a nod from the Grand Master.
‘It does indeed,’ he said. ‘But the Order is not so large, our recruits from the common folk not so many, that it really presents a threat to their power.’
‘Yet the very idea that commoners can become knights is a notion they do not wish to encourage,’ I persisted.
‘Which is where the twin principle of alliance comes into it,’ Ocedon told me, raising a hand with two split fingers as he made a point. He brought them together. ‘The Order and the nobles fight beside each other. We enter their lands only by their permission. We pay for fodder and stabling. And, should any of their common folk voice discontent at their situation, we provide outlet for their dissatisfaction. Rather than foment insurrection in their homes, they can join us or set forth to Aldurukh to seek that life. In truth, very few question the roles they are born into and as many commoners are suspicious of the Order as the nobles. Some even believe we spirit away their sons and daughters and convert them into warriors! Peat burners, farmers, coopers, all the craft folk want to see their children succeed them or at least safe and well, not leaving on beast quests or slain on some distant castle wall.’
I had not considered this. Knighthood had been my preoccupation since I was old enough to conceive of my surroundings. The idea that others could seek contentment, even renown, in less martial pursuits was a revelation.
‘Equal not just as individuals but also as cultures,’ Ocedon continued, dropping his hand to his knee. ‘The Order does not seek to replace the knightly class, but to work with them. That is why we must ever be humble in our approach. It is not for us to sit in judgement of the world, nor to say how others must live. If others wish to emulate us, it will be because they are inspired not because they are cajoled. The moment that the nobles suspect the Order desires dominion, our cause is lost.’
I thought on these words until the banquet was announced, and then the merriment swiftly overtook me as I feasted with the nine other knights that would be setting out. As well as my parents, the expedition included three others more dear to me than most of my peers. Fyona, whom I had loved since adolescence. We were adults now and had spent years apart, but reunion had been sweet and our relationship was maturing. Then there was Maegon, who had come with me from Storrock. Last of that inner circle of companions was Sar Samael. He was a little older than I, and had been accepted into the Order during my absence, but we had swiftly become friends on our first patrol together.
The next day we headed out for the Chasms and for some it was the last time they set eyes upon Aldurukh.
The ride to the Chasms had event aplenty, such as would make a fine telling, but its conclusion is the point to which I must hasten while I can still distinguish memory from hallucination.
We were not the first to make the journey, and previous forays into the area had returned with the news that the principal ruler held court from Neortukh, the Peakgate. It had been years since that last contact and we did not know what welcome to expect as we came upon the broken landscape. The Chasms were so named for a combination of geological phenomena, being a range of high hills that had at some time in the past been rent by catastrophic movement, so that their valleys delved up to a kilometre below sea level. This instability continued, so that rarely a few years went past without some tumult in the depths that sent landslides tumbling and toppled watchtowers.
