Servants of the imperium, p.8
Servants of the Imperium, page 8
‘I said… stop!’ she yelled, and fired three times.
Gedd could scarcely see, but she knew at least one of her bullets had found its mark when the figure slumped and fell. Dark red spilled across the snow.
‘I’m sorry…’ she whispered, breathless and afraid, driven to her knees. The pounding in her head became a roar of nerve-shredding tinnitus, failing to abate even though the figure she had thought was causing it was dead. She dropped the gun to press at her ears, her mouth wide in a wordless scream for help. Her entire world was pulsing, and it hurt just to open her eyes. From her knees she slumped onto her back, willing the throbbing agony to stop but knowing she was powerless against it. She curled into a foetal ball. Her teeth clenched and her fists tightened as she was wracked by spasms.
I’m going to die here, she thought, alone, in the snow, next to some bloody cultist’s den.
Something warm touched her neck. She heard a faint click and then the whirr of mechanical activation. The pain lessened almost instantly. It diminished so much that Gedd could open her eyes. She could function. She saw Meroved crouching beside her, a gun-cutter in the distance, sat up on its landing stanchions at the edge of the asphalt with engines humming.
‘Gedd…’ he was saying. His voice sounded muffled at first, as though they were conversing under water.
She nodded to show that she was rational.
‘What happened? Everything sounds muted.’
‘It’s the dampener,’ he told her, and she felt the collar he had placed around her neck. ‘You’ll adjust.’
Her eyes widened when she at last managed to focus.
‘Saint’s piss, what happened to you?’ She reached up to touch his ragged eye socket, but Meroved leaned back and Gedd withdrew her hand.
‘The fraying at the edges… It has begun.’
‘What the hell does that mean, Meroved?’ She winced as a fresh spike of pain hit her. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The veil is thinning. We have to leave here now.’
‘Not until I get answers. I felt something in the warehouse… A presence. Is this the thinning veil? Is that what we’re fighting?’ She took a deep breath. ‘I saw something too…’
‘Four crosses.’
‘You knew?’
‘I guessed. You’re not the only one who had an encounter. Each sacrifice is devoted to one of the cardinal aspects of Ruin. The effigies represent the four temptations, the four great sins. There is the changed and the agonised, and the bloated and the flayed,’ said Meroved. ‘These are old names, but there are many others. Each is a benediction to a presence beyond the veil.’
‘Again with the veil. Throne… What I felt, what did it–’
Meroved took a small, stoppered bottle from a wooden casket hooked to his belt.
‘Drink this,’ he said. ‘You will feel better.’
Gedd took the bottle and pulled out its stopper. She sniffed at the contents.
‘It stinks… What is this?’
‘Potent. It will help. You’re not the first in my employ to have had this reaction.’
‘How am I faring?’
‘Better than most.’
Gedd swigged it in one. It went down hard and lit up her nerve endings like wildfire. Her senses heightened briefly, painfully, but it was warming, like the sudden relief of a balm applied to an enflamed tooth. ‘Saint’s piss! It burns! Do you drink this?’
‘My constitution has a greater tolerance for alcohol.’
‘Are you sure it’s not fuel for that gun-cutter?’
Meroved did not answer. He merely watched.
Gedd nodded. ‘That does help. Thank you.’ She glanced at the warehouse. It loomed with an animus she hadn’t felt before, but her terror of it had lessened since taking Meroved’s draught.
‘What’s happening, Meroved? Why are you unaffected by whatever this is?’
‘I am not like you.’
‘That is something of an understatement.’
‘We have to leave.’
He got to his feet and made for the idling gun-cutter. Through the drifts, Gedd saw a servitor at the pilot’s controls.
Meroved kept walking. Gedd noticed a limp.
‘You’re really hurt.’
‘Yes.’
‘Saint’s piss… You can be hurt.’
‘Yes.’
Gedd saw more figures emerging, staggering into the storm. She gestured.
‘Ignore them,’ said Meroved. ‘They won’t reach us.’
Meroved had made it to the ramp and waited there for Gedd to catch up.
‘Shouldn’t we try to help them?’ she asked, calling after him.
He stared back at her, impassive.
‘They are beyond that now. Get aboard. This is just the beginning.’
Gedd took the ramp, which slowly closed behind her. The gun-cutter rose on its wing turbines, its thrusters building to a scream before levelling off again as it soared away, leaving the Hoard behind.
Gedd sat down, strapped in and hung her head by her knees.
‘What was that out there? It felt like my skull was about to split open.’
‘That would be accurate,’ Meroved replied. He had also taken a seat and was starting to shed his cloak and armour.
Gedd gave him a scathing look to suggest she did not appreciate his candour.
‘What causes it? Is it a weapon of some kind? How does it work?’
‘Those you know as wyrds are more severely affected. Their connection to the warp and their powers are greatly amplified. Too much and–’
‘Violent cranial explosion death, like my fake suicide on the down-trans.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But I’m not a wyrd… Am I?’
‘No, you’d be dead if you were.’
‘I’d be dead if I were still out there too.’
‘Possibly.’
Gedd tapped the null-collar. ‘So I assume I shouldn’t take this off any time soon.’
‘That would be a very bad idea.’
‘You still haven’t told me what it is. I assume this is the other business you referred to earlier?’
‘You are very astute.’
‘I agree, but that’s not an answer.’
‘A relic, something very old, something mankind should not meddle with, was stolen. It has since reappeared here in Vorganthian. It’s an amplifier of sorts, a piece of arcana from a dark time in mankind’s past. Whatever is fuelling it must be potent.’
‘I don’t feel any better or wiser for knowing any of that.’
Meroved shrugged. He had stripped off his torso layer to reveal an ugly gash across his chest and even uglier goring in his flesh.
Gedd swore under her breath.
‘That wound… You should be dead. What happened to you?’
‘One of my brothers was murdered. The same thing that killed him tried to kill me. I survived.’
Gedd’s eyes narrowed. ‘When you say “brother” you mean brotherhood, don’t you, as in a fellow warrior?’
‘His name was Kazamende. He was regarded as a protector amongst my former order, one sent to watch over someone of importance.’
‘A duty he failed if he’s dead?’
Meroved nodded. ‘Yes, one he failed.’
‘And this person of importance… Where are they right now?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Could they still be alive?’
‘It’s possible.’
A brief silence fell as the events of the last few hours began to sink in. Gedd found the engine noise soothing and realised how close to exhaustion she was. If not for Meroved’s fortifying tonic, she would probably have collapsed by now. Instead, she watched in silence as he first washed then dressed his wound. It looked savage, like the kind of damage that never really heals.
After fifteen minutes of silence, Gedd decided she had to know.
‘Who are you, Meroved, or should I ask, who were you?’
‘I am my Emperor’s loyal servant, even in exile,’ he replied.
‘A Space Marine?’
‘No…’ said Meroved at length, looping the bindings tightly and methodically around his chest. ‘I am no wolf. I was a lion once.’
‘I don’t know what any of that means.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Gedd.’
‘Call me Sula.’
Meroved smiled, despite the obvious pain he was in.
‘Sula,’ he repeated.
‘It’s short for Ursula.’
He laughed. ‘I know.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
‘We wait. Word has been sent. Terra has heeded us. They are coming.’
Gedd frowned. ‘Who is coming?’
‘My former brothers in arms, the Adeptus Custodes.’
‘Former? But that would mean…’
Meroved nodded. ‘Now you have your answer.’
Gedd leaned back in her seat.
‘Saint’s piss…’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Imperial Palace, Tower of Hegemon, Terra
Trajann Valoris was already waiting for them as Adio and Cartovandis entered the triumph hall. He sat at the end of a long wooden table, remarkable for the fact that it was hewn from actual oak and preserved by the arcane science of Adeptus Mechanicus magi. A host of rigid banners flanked the captain-general on either side. Mosaics caught the lambent light of lume-sconces. Both described past victories, and hung heavy with dust or were faded with age.
He reclined in the easy manner of a king comfortable before his court, his left leg outstretched and the other tucked in, a gold-armoured knee protruding. A red cloak lay across one shoulder, partially hooding the sculpted eagle of his guard. His lion mantle sat at his feet, a predator at rest. His helm, a fearsome mask of auramite crested with a blood-red plume, sat on one arm of his throne; the other supported Valoris’ elbow, and his hardy chin was leant upon a clenched and gauntleted fist. He had the manner of a philosopher, an appearance which held some truth, though his musings tended inevitably to the bellicose, to war.
He appeared not to have seen the two Custodians as they passed through the soaring arch, also decorated with the now lustreless glory of old crusades, the dusty bricks of a fallen empire. And then he spoke.
‘Take a seat,’ he said without turning, his voice low and deep, his attention on the darkness that only partly occluded craggy features riddled with the fissures of scars. Even in this rare, pensive state he radiated aggression. Not towards his comrades – his ire did not extend to the Ten Thousand but rather was a form of restiveness, a palpable energy too volatile to shackle. Sinews in his neck stood out, thick as rope, his jaw tensed, a possible prelude to wrath.
Cartovandis glanced at Adio; they had just been about to leave the cerebratory when they had received the summons. Adio gave the slightest inclination of his head. Like Valoris they went unhelmed out of respect for their kind, and they sat at opposite sides of the table.
It was only at this point that Cartovandis realised Valoris had not been not alone before they had entered. His companion stood cloaked by shadows, his hands clasped in front of him as if resting them on the pommel of an unseen weapon, though he was not ostensibly armed. Unlike the other Custodians in the room, he wore his helm, his shield host easy enough to determine even in the gloom: red shoulder guard and grey-white robes, one of the Emissaries Imperatus. Cartovandis stifled a momentary pang of envy, deeming his thoughts unworthy. At least he knew why they had been summoned here – the Emperor had willed it through His gilded proxy.
Neither Cartovandis nor Adio spoke. They settled into their seats and did not stir. They trusted they waited for good reason and saw no need to breach the silence with idle and pointless words. Both had set their helms down upon the table, and done so reverently, the mask of each as impassive as the face of its owner.
Valoris would address them when he was ready. Cartovandis realised the captain-general was still waiting for someone.
Before long, footsteps echoed down the gallery that led to the triumph hall. A single set, clipped, precise and metronomic.
Adio turned, and his posture stiffened as he recognised the newcomer.
So did Cartovandis.
‘Syr…’ the newcomer said.
‘Varo.’
Then he turned his head to address Adio. ‘Brother.’
Adio did not move, not even to acknowledge Varogalant at first. At last, he gave a curt nod.
Varogalant bowed. ‘Captain-general.’
Valoris gestured for him to sit, which Varogalant did, removing his helm as the others had and revealing the same swarthy complexion as his brother, only the Shadowkeeper looked gaunter around the eyes, which were brown like his skin. He had close-shaven white hair and a seemingly perpetual frown furrowed his brow. The burdens of his calling were obvious to all.
‘Tell them why they are here, Zayadian,’ said Valoris to the emissary, his mind seemingly still on the dark and the enemies he imagined there.
The Emissary Imperatus stepped forwards into the light.
‘I have heard the voice of the Emperor. He speaks each of your names,’ uttered Zayadian with heavy solemnity, ‘and bids you away from Terra.’
Cartovandis shifted in his seat, his reaction visceral and subconscious. The noisy scrape of chair legs drew all eyes to him.
‘This cannot be…’ he whispered, fighting down a growl of disbelief.
‘It is,’ Zayadian replied. ‘It is the speculum obscurus. Our conclave has determined it.’
Cartovandis was about to object more strenuously and even Varogalant had a query forming in his expression, before Valoris finally turned to regard them.
His bloodshot eyes spoke of anger, but his voice was calm, his tone measured.
‘Word has reached me from an old ally, one of the Eyes,’ he explained. ‘A threat to the Throneworld,’ he looked pointedly at Varogalant, ‘and the discovery of a relic of Old Night, stolen from the Dark Cells.’
Cartovandis noticed the slightest clenching of Varogalant’s fists and knew that the Shadowkeeper would voice no concern at leaving Terra now. In his mind, he was already on the hunt.
‘It is the Emperor’s will that you three meet this threat,’ said Zayadian.
Valoris turned his gaze on Cartovandis and Adio. If possible, he looked sterner than before.
‘Kazamende is dead.’
‘Mercy of the Throne,’ Adio hissed, leaning forwards in his seat. ‘How?’
‘It doesn’t matter how,’ snarled Valoris. ‘All that matters is what happens now. He was of your host, Adio. He must be avenged. The protection of the Aquilan Shields must be absolute.’
‘And what of me, captain-general?’ asked Cartovandis.
Valoris raised an eyebrow and it pulled at his scar tissue, rendering it even uglier and more savage. ‘I assume you do not question the Emperor’s will.’
‘I only wish to know. I have never ventured beyond the Throneworld. My place is by His side. What has changed?’
‘A great deal, I think you know.’
A great deal, echoed Cartovandis in his mind, choking back the grief of his isolation from the Emperor’s voice. A single word tore him from reverie. A name.
‘Meroved,’ said Valoris.
Cartovandis’ eyes widened a fraction. His jaw stiffened.
‘Yes…’ added Valoris. ‘I thought that might get your attention.’
Cartovandis’ gaze hardened. Even if he could, he would not refuse to come to the aid of his old comrade. He owed Meroved his life, but also his pain.
‘When do we leave?’
‘Immediately. A ship is being prepared for departure as we speak,’ said Valoris.
‘Then we should make ready,’ Adio cut in, eager to be under way. He spared a glance for his brother but then looked away.
‘And where are we bound, captain-general?’ asked Varogalant, showing none of his brother’s unease.
‘Kobor, at the edge of the Sol System. Meroved’s report will be made known to you on the way.’
Cartovandis was the first to rise.
‘If there’s nothing further…’
Valoris nodded, bidding them on their way.
Adio and Varogalant followed, the latter waiting for the former and last to leave as they exited the triumph hall headed for the transport bay and the Coronus grav-carrier that would ferry them to their voidship.
Trajann Valoris watched them go.
‘A long time since they fought together, captain-general,’ remarked Zayadian.
‘The Emperor’s will is not without its quirks.’
Zayadian gave a mirthless laugh.
‘It was at the Lion’s Gate,’ said Valoris.
‘I remember it.’
‘As do I, Zayadian,’ Valoris replied, his words thickening with anger and grief. ‘As do I.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Lion’s Gate, Terra
Evil had taken on corporeality in the army of screaming Neverborn awaiting the Custodians.
Meroved could hear them, despite the thickness of the gate in front of him.
Every one of the Ten Thousand waiting in the grand entrance hall could hear them. Whispers of damnation, curses and promises – all fell on deaf ears.
