Assassinorum kingmaker, p.1
Assassinorum Kingmaker, page 1
By the same author
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DIVINE SANCTION
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THE INFINITE AND THE DIVINE
A Necrons novel
WAR IN THE MUSEUM
A Necrons short story
BLEEDOUT
A Warhammer Crime novella available in the Warhammer Crime anthology Broken City
GLORY FLIGHT
A Sabbat Crusade short story available in the Warhammer 40,000 anthology Sabbat War
CUT AND GUT
A Necromunda short story available in the Necromunda anthology Uprising
Other great Warhammer 40,000 fiction
• DAWN OF FIRE •
Book 1: AVENGING SON
by Guy Haley
Book 2: THE GATE OF BONES
by Andy Clark
Book 3: THE WOLFTIME
by Gav Thorpe
KINGSBLADE
An Imperial Knights novel by Andy Clark
KNIGHTSBLADE
An Imperial Knights novel by Andy Clark
DAY OF ASCENSION
Adrian Tchaikovsky
CONTENTS
Cover
Backlist
Title Page
Warhammer 40,000
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Part One
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Part Two
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Part Three
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Part Four
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Mission Debrief
About the Author
An Extract from ‘Dawn of Fire: Avenging Son’
A Black Library Publication
eBook license
For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind. By the might of His inexhaustible armies a million worlds stand against the dark.
Yet, He is a rotting carcass, the Carrion Lord of the Imperium held in life by marvels from the Dark Age of Technology and the thousand souls sacrificed each day so that His may continue to burn.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. It is to suffer an eternity of carnage and slaughter. It is to have cries of anguish and sorrow drowned by the thirsting laughter of dark gods.
This is a dark and terrible era where you will find little comfort or hope. Forget the power of technology and science. Forget the promise of progress and advancement. Forget any notion of common humanity or compassion.
There is no peace amongst the stars, for in the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE ASSASSINORUM
Sycorax – Callidus Temple – [REDACTED]
Absolom Raithe – Vindicare Temple – [REDACTED]
Avaaris Koln – Vanus Temple – [REDACTED]
The Liaison – [NO RECORD] – [NO RECORD]
Master of Operations – [NO RECORD] – [NO RECORD]
Tessenna Starne – Embedded Agent – Dominion Station
THE FREEBLADES
Sir Linoleus Rakkan – Knight of Stryder-Rau – Jester – Warglaive
Gwynne – Sacristan
THE COURT
Lucien Yavarius-Khau (Stryder-Rau) – High Monarch – Crown of Dominion – Castellan
Baroness Sylva Achara (Rau) – Herald – Voice of Authority – Paladin
Baron Titus Yuma (Rau) – Kingsward – Throneshield – Warden
Baroness Symphonia Dask (Stryder) – Gatekeeper – Basilisk’s Gaze – Errant
Baron Rallan Fontaine (Stryder) – Master of Judgement – Axefall – Gallant
Dorthiya Tessell – Arch-Maintenancer
HOUSE STRYDER
Baroness Hawthorn Astair-Rakkan – Mother of Rakkan – Greyhound – Crusader
Sir Ishmayl Galvan – Squire to Astair-Rakkan – Skystrike – Warglaive
Sir Luca Sangraine – Knight – Fencer – Helverin
Sir Hortius Sabban – Squire to Dask – Mauler – Warglaive
Sir Viss Andricus – Knight – Soaring Blade – Helverin
HOUSE RAU
Baron Tiberius Kraine – Head of Rau – Firedrake – Errant
Dame Lidya Vossa – Daughter of Kraine – Stormrider – Helverin
Sir Selkar Fang – Father of Rakkan – Jester – Warglaive
Sir Sev Firscal – Knight of Rau – Sprinter – Warglaive
THE LISTS
Lord Bazile Daggar-Kraine – Son of Kraine – Holdfast – Crusader
Lady Lisille Lycan-Bast – Cousin of Rakkan – Blood Oath – Paladin
Sir Mauvec Kawe – Knight – Typhoon’s Teeth – Gallant
Renauldus Tarn-Kegga – Lord – Horned Hunter – Warden
Lady Vagara Sakas-Varn – Lord – Song of Renown – Paladin
Lord Juul Lambek-Firscal – Lord – Galeforce – Crusader
Lady Baldonna Katline-Denshain – Lord – Hand of Fury – Gallant
Lord Sammel Tavona-Akava – Lord – Chivalric Path – Errant
>>INDEX Alpha-13+
>>File No. 5782-Gamma-KMKR+
Imperial Knight Classifications and Armaments
>>Cleared for Reading: Koln, Avaaris; Raithe, Absolom; Sycorax [LIST ENDS]
>>Clearance Level: Vermilion Special Privileged
>>DO NOT TRANSMIT<<
>>DO NOT DUPLICATE<<
Primary Armaments in bold, alternate and/or optional armaments in italics.
DOMINUS-PATTERN KNIGHT
CASTELLAN:
ARM MOUNTS: Volcano Lance / Plasma Decimator
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Siegebreaker Cannon / Shieldbreaker Missile
CHEST MOUNTS: Twin Meltaguns
QUESTORIS-PATTERN KNIGHT
CRUSADER:
ARM MOUNTS: Rapid-Fire Battle Cannon / Avenger Gatling Cannon [OR] Thermal Cannon
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Ironstorm Missile Pod [OR] Icarus Autocannons [OR] Stormspear Rocket Pod
CHEST MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
ERRANT:
ARM MOUNTS: Thermal Cannon / Reaper Chainsword [OR] Thunderstrike Gauntlet
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Ironstorm Missile Pod [OR] Icarus Autocannons [OR] Stormspear Rocket Pod
CHEST MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
PALADIN:
ARM MOUNTS: Rapid-Fire Battle Cannon / Reaper Chainsword [OR] Thunderstrike Gauntlet
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Ironstorm Missile Pod [OR] Icarus Autocannons [OR] Stormspear Rocket Pod
CHEST MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
GALLANT:
ARM MOUNTS: Reaper Chainsword / Thunderstrike Gauntlet
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Ironstorm Missile Pod [OR] Icarus Autocannons [OR] Stormspear Rocket Pod
CHEST MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
WARDEN:
ARM MOUNTS: Avenger Gatling Cannon / Thunderstrike Gauntlet [OR] Reaper Chainsword
CARAPACE MOUNTS: Ironstorm Missile Pod [OR] Icarus Autocannons [OR] Stormspear Rocket Pod
CHEST MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
ARMIGER-PATTERN KNIGHT
WARGLAIVE:
ARM MOUNTS: Thermal Spear / Chain-Cleaver
CARAPACE MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
HELVERIN:
ARM MOUNTS: Twin Helverin Autocannons
CARAPACE MOUNT: Heavy Stubber [OR] Meltagun
PROLOGUE
‘A Knight who breaks their oath, must themselves be broken in atonement.’
– Lucien Yavarius-Khau, High Monarch of Dominion, from his Meditations on the Code Chivalric
questor imperialis world of dominion
It was hot in the forgeshrine.
Hot like the steam vents near Rau Manor, in the volcanic highlands. Hot like sweaty sheets. Hot like Jester’s cockpit had been during the summer tournament.
It had got even hotter when Rakkan had torn into Sir Mauvec Kawe’s Knight, Typhoon’s Teeth, during the challenge match, taking the big Knight down, Jester’s chain-cleaver burrowing into the ablative tournament armour welded
Arranging it had not been easy. After all, an Armiger Warglaive was a third the size of a Knight Gallant like Typhoon’s Teeth. For one to emerge victorious in single combat was a prospect so remote, so entirely bizarre, that it had not been attempted in centuries. When last it had, the challenger – Sir Tusaveta Rawlin – had died in the attempt, chest crushed by a sweep of a reaper chainsword.
It had not been intentional. According to the songs, Rawlin’s killer had mourned the young woman’s death. But the simple truth was that while the tournament rules stated that any Knight could challenge another, the assumption had always been that the little fifty-ton Armigers would never choose to go plate-to-plate with a machine more than thrice their weight.
There was no way to do it safely.
With weapons at half-strength, chainblades slowed down, and ablative armour doubling their protection, two Questoris Knights could do nearly anything they wanted to each other with the pilots in relative safety.
There were still injuries of course. Broken limbs, ribs, internal bleeding – that should be expected in a tournament – but an Armiger was simply no match for the heavier builds, even with safety taken into account.
But there was a reason to try.
By the customs of Dominion’s Code Chivalric, a victorious challenger could opt to take the defeated opponent’s Knight suit. Indeed, the bested pilot would need to offer it freely.
Generally it was a courtesy. Knight pilots liked their suits. Grew attached to them, and knew best how to carry them into battle. No pilot truly wanted to undergo the Becoming ritual a second time, their consciousness merged with ancestors who had piloted the Knight in the past. Indeed, some of these venerated ancestors might even reject the usurper, angered by the sudden change of pilot.
And it carried a social stigma – it just was not done. The offer was a formal courtesy, never accepted.
Sir Linoleus Rakkan, though, had intended to accept. He’d challenged Kawe specifically because he wanted to steal Typhoon’s Teeth. To finally be rid of the little Knight Armiger that had been his father’s, and that of the Fang line for millennia. Forever squires and skirmishers, never piloting the towering Questoris Knights.
Linoleus Rakkan had sworn to rise from his blood.
And, he thought, as he turned a corner in the forgeshrine and saw his suit, he had almost succeeded.
It stood in the forgeshrine cradle, its left pauldron removed and laying at its feet.
Jester. The little Armiger’s split colours indicated that Rakkan was in the Lists, a man with no house, no loyalty. The removed pauldron had a motley pattern of cross-hatched diamonds that, legend had it, gave the Knight suit its name. It hung in chains, lifted off the marble and wire-mesh floor by hoists secured beneath its massive arms. The left leg was gone below the knee servo, where Typhoon’s thunderstrike gauntlet had torn it off as though it were the drumstick on a game bird.
Jester. Rakkan’s blessing. Rakkan’s curse. A perfect name for a Knight suit so notoriously troubled. Once Rakkan had been so promising. Flown through trials of wits when he reached his majority, gritted his way through the trials of strength and combat, relying on his head rather than raw power. Even with his questionable bloodline, he might’ve been accepted if he’d taken Typhoon’s Teeth for his own.
But they’d not wanted it. Low-born Rakkan, with his foreign grandfather, always striving for more. Put him in a Questoris Knight, he might rise high enough in the Lists to be eligible for succession.
House Stryder always preached achievement, and Rau droned about honouring the ancestors, but the truth was that neither liked the idea of this boy with his debased bloodline and insolent smile being a serious candidate for the throne.
It had still been worth it, though, to see the expressions on their faces.
‘Gwynne,’ he called. ‘Did Typhoon do us a permanent injury?’
Rakkan saw the sacristan’s shadow before he saw her. She leaned out from a motorised ladder, her red robes lit by the sparking of a pinpoint welding torch in her right hand.
Black protective shielding retracted from the lenses of her metal eyes.
‘By the blessed protection of the Omnissiah, it is reparable. Given time you will fight again.’
‘Jester will fight again, you intend.’
‘It is the same,’ Tannah Gwynne said. She descended the ladder in a slide, augmetic hands scraping on plasteel uprights.
Rakkan winced, but appreciated the sprightliness.
Most sacristans, most tech-priests for that matter, were dull. Slow. Missing whatever quantum of humanity gave living people a spark, their decade of Cult Mechanicus training seeming to snuff out their personality. Even the young ones seemed impossibly old.
Gwynne was not like that. She was full of energy and enthusiasm. Not warm, precisely, but full of excitement. Her family had been vassals looking after the limited motor pool in the House Stryder garages – enginebikes and auto-carriages, with the occasional Taurox armoured transport. To service an Imperial Knight, even an Armiger, was an elevation of status beyond imagining. The very act of ministering to the machine made her bubble over with enthusiasm and joy.
‘But sir,’ she said when she hit the ground. ‘It was close. Thunderstrike gauntlets are nothing to tangle with. Had the fracture occurred two feet higher, we would need to replace the entire leg.’
‘If it had, then we would.’
‘Leg assemblies are in short supply, my lord. I’m merely warning you that the challenge was fraught with risk. Honourable Machine Lord Jester could have been crippled, cursed with a limp for the rest of its service life. Would that have been worth the small chance of success?’
‘Small chance?’ he sniffed. ‘If they hadn’t stopped the bout, you and I might be working on Typhoon’s Teeth right now.’
‘Yes,’ Gwynne nodded. She had been with him. Watched as he leaned on the edge of the box seat, elbows to the wood, his untouched vin goblet swirling in his left hand. Knew what he had seen – the slight servo malfunction in the hip traversal gears of Honourable Machine Lord Typhoon’s Teeth. Heard him mutter that, with Jester having ranged armaments and the Typhoon having none, he could bait the bigger Knight suit into the soft, sloping ground of the lower field. Run around it so it twisted towards him and activated the malfunction, pausing in its traversal in an unbalanced moment.
And if his Armiger slammed into the big Knight Gallant during that two-second window, he could topple it and render the big machine temporarily defenceless. Face down, its broad back ready for his Armiger Warglaive to leap upon it like a wolf on the back of a wounded grox, pinning the bigger animal and chewing for arteries.
But just like they would not let Rakkan place high in the Lists, they would not let him take a Knight suit from a more ‘deserving’ candidate.
‘The problem,’ Gwynne said, ‘is one of readiness, my lord. While it is true you would have defeated Lord Kawe, the result would have been two damaged…’
‘Nonsense,’ he snapped. ‘If we worried about damage, we would not conduct tournaments. They simply didn’t want one of my blood–’
‘Lord!’ Gwynne seized him by the arms.
For an instant, he was shocked. Sacristans did not touch nobles. Not even if they served together. Different classes. Different codes of…
But then the violence of her enhanced strength threw him to the side and he realised she’d tackled him, the awkward tangle of them staggering towards the mechanical ladder.
The force twisted him around, and he saw the hooded figure emerging from the shadows, a matt-black laspistol extended in one hand.
He swore he saw the bone-white finger slam down on the trigger.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The gunfire brought footmen, voices shouting, boots scuffing the floor. The hooded figure had already disappeared.
‘Gwynne,’ said Rakkan. ‘I… the pain. I can’t.’
But then he felt the hole in Gwynne’s back, a hole leaking oil and coolant. And his knees buckled.
Noble and sacristan fell in a tangle at the feet of the deactivated Knight suit, blood and oil spreading across the floor.
Their bodies reflected in the dark glass of Jester’s single cyclopic eye.
ONE
Tessenna Starne figured she had about twenty minutes to live. Thirty, if she’d lost them on the moor.
The headlumen on her dirtcycle, hooded with a cap and its lens red to avoid detection at range, cast a thin crescent of light ahead.
