The relentless dead, p.15
The Relentless Dead, page 15
The Korpsman was likely having similar thoughts about him. If he were possessed, he – or she – would have struck me by now. They came to the same conclusion simultaneously, turning away from each other. The Korpsman spied another beastman and made for it.
‘What good is a witch hunter who can no longer recognise a witch?’ Shadows coalesced three feet above Idelax’s head, and this time he was certain. His weapon’s light snapped on at that moment, and he fired into the heart of the malignant shape and through it, the shadows dissipating in a bright plasma burst against the roof. Had he done it? Had he just destroyed a spectre?
‘Never will you truly know. Doubt will forever haunt you, until the day you come to us.’ Another shape – the same shape? – was forming in the same spot as the first. A skeleton, cloaked, pointed a bony finger at him, and Idelax thought he recognised it, thought it looked somewhat like Djallon, his old acolyte. His dead and desecrated acolyte.
His gaze was trapped in the bottomless shadows of its eyes, and try as he might, he couldn’t tear it free. ‘You were tainted long ago and have known ever since that you were damned. Why fight it any longer?’
Idelax’s vision tunnelled and he saw himself assailed by daemons, unable to resist them. Their claws, their teeth, their horns rent his flesh, shredded his soul. Barely could he hear the whispered voice above his own heart’s hammering, but he realised that it was not Djallon’s voice but his own.
With a whimper, he sank to his knees. He felt the gun in his hand but let it go as it was useless to him now. Oddly, he felt no pain, just fear, fear like he had never known before, reducing him to helplessness. Almost. Surrender was the only way to end that fear. Not quite.
The spectre was doing this to him. Fear was its greatest weapon. Graven had warned of it. Graven had, in fact, resisted it – and was Idelax not an inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus? Fear was his weapon too. Even now, it was building in his chest, flowing along his every nerve. All he had to do was accept it, seize it, turn it outwards. Three times he had done so in the past, most recently chained to a black altar underground, when the power unleashed by his fear had repelled a daemon.
Accept it!
The power flooded from him, feeling wrong but at the same time very right. All Idelax could see was blazing green, although his eyes were closed; all he could hear was screaming, possibly his own, and when it was all over, once his fear had been released, he felt empty, drained of life.
He couldn’t lift his head. He needed a stimm, but couldn’t lift his arm to find one. Green faded to black. He couldn’t lift his eyelids either.
He sank into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
He came round briefly as a boot stamped down beside his head.
The smoke in the small cave had cleared and he saw Korpsmen fighting beastmen and no sign of spectres. There were bodies strewn about him, mutant bodies. One more added to the total as it fell beside him, dead eyes staring into his. He saw a beastman making a run for a tunnel, being slashed down from behind.
Relieved that things appeared to be in hand, he slept again.
When next he woke, it was to voices. The clamour of battle had ceased, and only one side remained standing.
The last surviving Vostroyan knelt with head bowed, hat in her hands. Colonel Graven and two Korpsmen stood around her. She had been disarmed. The other Krieg watched the tunnel mouths as they patched up their wounds.
‘I could see what I was doing,’ said the Guardsman in subdued tones, ‘but it felt right. It all made sense at the time. I… couldn’t reach myself to stop it.’
‘How did it happen?’ barked Graven. ‘How did the spectre take you?’
‘The same way they tried to take you, by waiting until we were distracted and then striking. I think now we were meant to find their temple.’
‘That much, at least, was true?’
The Vostroyan nodded. ‘We couldn’t defend against both witches and spectres together. I didn’t even see mine coming. When Sergeant Vanko fell as we were trying to retreat, I… Emperor forgive me, for a second I lost hope, and that was when it swooped upon me. It felt so cold as… as it forced its way into… I felt helpless.’
‘How long have you served, Guardsman?’ Graven asked.
‘Six months, four days,’ she said.
‘On how many battlefields?’
‘Oleris is my fourth.’
‘You have slain heretics and mutants for the Emperor?’
She raised her head, fear flickering across her face. ‘Colonel, the spectre is gone, completely gone. When the inquisitor… did what he did, unleashed his power, I heard it shrieking in my mind as it was destroyed with the others.’
‘I believe you,’ said Graven.
‘I feel no different than I did before.’ The Guardsman’s shoulders sagged in resignation. ‘I know what you have to do.’
‘The touch of Chaos leaves a mark that cannot be erased.’
‘I ought to have been stronger.’
‘Your life,’ said Graven, ‘was well spent.’ He put his laspistol to the Vostroyan’s temple. She closed her eyes and muttered a prayer to herself. He allowed her to finish it before he executed her.
‘Sir,’ a Korpsman said as her body crumpled, ‘the inquisitor.’
He had noticed Idelax’s open eyes, and now nine Krieg heads turned the inquisitor’s way. With an effort that made him perspire, he levered his head and shoulders up to rest against the wall. With two strides, Graven reached him, looming over him. His Korpsmen flanked him, lasguns readied. Graven noticed the dropped plasma pistol and his boot sent it skittering away.
‘So now you know my shame,’ said Idelax weakly, ‘but I saved all our lives.’
‘Yes,’ said Graven flatly. ‘Yes, you did, but you are still a witch.’
He winced at the descriptor. ‘Colonel, I have faced down daemons. I have looked into the warp itself. Of course I have been touched by Chaos.’
‘And it left its mark upon you.’
Idelax could not deny the charge. ‘The use of these… abilities exhausts me and threatens to one day overwhelm me. I keep them suppressed, keep my mind closed and shuttered, but for in desperate need.’
‘You were afflicted with this curse before Oleris?’
‘Some four years since now, and I have it under control.’
‘Sanctioned?’
‘I reported my symptoms when they first manifested, and of course I have been sanctioned. Had the witches not taken my rosette, I could have shown you the brand of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica.’
Graven glared down at him a minute longer, doubtless deciding whether or not to believe him. In other circumstances, Idelax might even have smiled at the irony of their role reversal.
‘Then,’ said the Krieg colonel finally, ‘it is none of my concern.’ He lowered his pistol and his comrades followed suit. ‘Can you stand unaided, inquisitor?’
Idelax thought he detected some disdain in his voice, but it was difficult to tell. It might have been his own projection.
He could not stand unaided, not for long. When he tried, his chest felt tight and his head spun. He sank back to the ground, needing to catch his breath.
‘We must get you to a medicae,’ said Graven.
‘No,’ gasped Idelax, ‘I only need a moment.’
But Graven had already turned his back to issue orders to his Korpsmen. He sent six out in teams of two to find an exit to the surface. He warned them that should they detect more foes, they should avoid them if they could.
It seemed to Idelax that they returned quickly, but then, he had rested his eyes and more time might have passed than he had felt. An exit had been found. In the meantime, the Krieg in the cave had improvised a stretcher using tent poles, ropes, and a red greatcoat still wet with blood.
That spurred him to try standing again. Halfway to his feet, a skull in the wall cracked under the pressure of his hand. He waved away the Krieg who rushed to help him. His head throbbed where Bukharin’s gun had struck it.
He reached inside his cloak for his bottle. ‘Inquisitor,’ said Colonel Graven, ‘I would strongly discourage–’
An explosion interrupted him, followed by a rockfall, like the one that morning but closer, close enough for them to feel it. Close enough to leave no doubt about its source. It had emanated from along the centremost tunnel in the wall across from their entry point. The one along which the possessed Vostroyans had attempted to lead them.
Graven despatched his engineer and two more to investigate. Their light soon disappeared around the tunnel’s bend, their footsteps fading. Idelax and the rest of the kill team waited in tense silence. It wasn’t long before first sound then light returned.
‘The way is blocked, sir,’ the engineer reported, ‘deliberately. Whoever, whatever was waiting for us down there, they no longer wish to be pursued.’
‘How far along? On what bearing?’ Graven turned to his mapmaker. ‘Mark the spot as precisely as you can. If the witches are bringing down tunnels in our path, there can only be one reason.’
‘They’re afraid of what we might find,’ the watchmaster surmised.
‘Their temple,’ said the colonel, ‘and whatever lies beyond it. Their stronghold. The seat of their dark power. That is our objective now.’
The route to the newly found exit took them back the way they had come for a few hundred yards before branching to the right. Idelax had insisted on walking, which he could just about do now, but Graven had insisted just as firmly on remaining close by him, for which he was secretly grateful.
Gravel shifted underfoot and Idelax lost his precarious balance. Graven caught him, kept him upright. ‘Again, inquisitor, I suggest you allow us to carry you.’
Embarrassed, he waved the offer away. ‘I’ve slowed you down enough. If not for me, my weakness, you might have reached the witches’ temple in time.’
‘Or been caught in the rockfall. You said yourself, you saved our lives.’
‘Even still,’ said Idelax gruffly as the pair struggled on, ‘leaving me behind might have been the pragmatic option.’
‘An option I considered.’
‘No doubt.’
‘Inquisitor… During the melee, in the cave, again a spectre chose me as its target. I knew it was behind me. I know their touch by now. That cold, which does not cool the skin but chills the soul.’
Idelax suppressed a shiver at the memory.
‘A beastman was in front of me. I should have turned my back on it. Better to be gored than…’ Graven left the thought unvoiced. ‘My focus was divided. The next thought in my mind was that my life was undeserved. I believed another soul, its own life unjustly curtailed, could do more with it.’
Idelax looked at him in surprise.
Graven kept his gaze fixed dead ahead. ‘In that moment, I knew I was lost. Then I saw flames, green flames. I feared I had been cast into the immaterium, until the flames burnt out and I…’ He took a breath. ‘Inquisitor, you are our best – our only – weapon against such warp-spawned horrors.’
The words gave Idelax heart, which lent him a modicum of strength. They walked on for a minute more in silence. Then, shrewdly, he guessed, ‘Your engineer told you of our talk last night.’
‘He did,’ said Graven.
‘Had you wished yourself rid of my scrutiny, I gave you a plausible excuse.’
‘Pragmatism dictates keeping you alive.’
‘Yes,’ said the witch hunter. ‘Yes, I believe it does.’
They had reached their goal: a drain cover in the tunnel roof. It was low enough to reach, but spikes had been hammered into the wall to assist. Graven’s spotters had confirmed that outside was an empty barn.
‘Inquisitor,’ said Graven, ‘I regret that I was not more open with you.’
‘You answered the questions I put to you,’ said Idelax.
‘I could, I should have made it clearer that my nightmares – the doubts that have been plaguing me, the guilt that haunts my soul – did not begin here on Oleris III, but long before.’
Idelax waved the confession away. ‘And, as I have explained to you already, Colonel Graven, such feelings are far from uncommon.’
XI
The watchmaster climbed the spikes first. He levered up the cover with his shoulders, setting it quietly aside. He listened for a moment. He could hear voices, but distant. He raised his head through the aperture.
As promised, he was in a barn. The afternoon sun streamed in between its walls’ loose-fitting slats. He saw grain sacks and tools.
Climbing from the hole, he signalled the all-clear down to his comrades. He crossed the barn to check outside it, but suddenly the door in front of him flew open, revealing two middle-aged women in grave worker’s smocks. One had stepped inside before she saw the watchmaster and froze. The other shrieked, ‘Intruder!’ and grabbed a pitchfork from beside the door.
The watchmaster snatched his bolt pistol from its holster. ‘Stand down. Drop the weapon. Show me your hands.’
‘Sergeant!’ shrieked the armed woman. ‘Sergeant, over here!’
Sergeant?
Footsteps converged upon the building and the watchmaster heard a horse’s snort. A third figure appeared in the doorway, lifting his hopes. He recognised her white-scarred face and unkempt hair, but she was pointing a laspistol at him.
‘What are you doing, sneaking up on us?’ demanded Sergeant Batu. More Attilan Rough Riders were running up behind her. If there was a chance they might have been possessed, the watchmaster had to act before he was outgunned.
He took a chance. ‘We didn’t know who might be here.’
‘I know that voice. Is that you, Watchmaster No-Name?’ Batu didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Pray with me. Adore the immortal Emperor…’
The Emperor’s Prayer. Slightly nonplussed, he joined in: ‘For He is our protector. Admire the immortal Emperor for His sacrifice to mankind.’
Together, they completed the recital. The Attilan lowered her gun and stepped forward with a grin. The worker set down her pitchfork too, but continued to watch with wary eyes. ‘Witches can’t pray. Nor can the possessed,’ said Batu. ‘They stutter and choke on the words.’
‘Is that true?’ The watchmaster reholstered his own weapon.
‘It’s what the folk here believe. Who knows?’
The rest of Graven’s kill team climbed up into the barn. Inquisitor Idelax needed some assistance, one Korpsman pulling from above, one pushing from below, and by the time he had made it he had to lie down again.
The barn stood on the edge of a hamlet, similar to all the other hamlets, only more populated than most. Workers were emerging from huts, with autoguns and forks and shovels. The Attilans called to them, telling them everything was fine, the new arrivals could be trusted.
‘The spectres came here five nights ago,’ said Batu, ‘but the workers were ready. Refugees had come from other hamlets, bringing warnings. They posted sentries through the night, and no one slept alone.’
‘We fortified our minds with prayer,’ the worker with the pitchfork boasted.
‘So, not all on this world are weak,’ said Colonel Graven.
‘A few were taken all the same, but dealt with,’ Batu added, darkly.
‘Where are we?’ asked the watchmaster.
Batu gave him the settlement’s official designation, but the same worker piped up, ‘We call it Sanctuary, now.’
‘Those refugees keep coming,’ said Batu. ‘Some find their own way, and our riders bring others as they find them.’
‘No sign of witches yet?’ asked Graven.
The Attilan shook her head.
‘They’ll come,’ he said. ‘They must know of this place by now and surely resent its defiance.’
‘That’s why we’re here. Protection.’
Each hut was over-occupied already, but in deference to Idelax’s exalted position, Batu cleared a downstairs room for him. Graven assigned a Korpsman to watch over him lest his condition worsen or a spectre come for him.
The inquisitor, his face drenched in sweat, slept fitfully. ‘Colonel,’ his guard reported, ‘he seems tormented. I don’t know whether I should wake him.’
‘No,’ said Graven. ‘His overtaxed heart needs some respite.’ And hopefully, that will be enough, he thought, but he was far from confident.
The hamlet had a vox-set, which Graven used to contact command headquarters. It was within range now, somewhat to his surprise. His squad’s underground explorations had led them back towards it. He requested that Idelax be airlifted back to the compound for medical attention. A terse voice told him that no flyer was available, but one would be sent as soon as possible. He stressed the urgency of the situation, but found himself cut off abruptly.
Two Korpsmen pored over their ossuary maps. Now that they had a surface reference point, they could refine them. The colonel inspected their work, especially interested in the locations of the two rockfalls, the one they had seen and the one they had only heard that morning.
He circled his finger over a blank patch on the dataslate. ‘This secret temple must be in this area. That suggests two potential routes to it – from the north-east here, or circling around to approach it from the south-east.’
The mapmakers concurred.
Graven pondered. Hours of the day remained. His squad was relatively unscathed by its battle. Thanks to Idelax. ‘Some witches may remain there,’ he considered, ‘no longer protected by their beastman servants nor their spectres, but believing we can’t reach them. If we are bold enough, and the Emperor smiles upon us, we may take them by surprise.’
So it was that, after a short break, seven Krieg descended back into the darkness.
