Anarch

Six: Protection

‘You’re conducting a Hereticus investigation of my regiment?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Your specificity is wrong, Lord Executor,’ replied Inquisitor Laksheema. ‘It is a more–’

‘You’re running an investigation?’ Gaunt asked more firmly. The sharpness of his question stilled the room. They sat across a table in an empty ward room a short distance along the hall from Gaunt’s chambers. Daur had claimed the ward room for what clearly had to be a private meeting.

Daur sat at Gaunt’s side, his face impassive. Colonel Grae sat beside the inquisitor. Hark occupied a chair at the table’s end, as if he was somehow moderating the discussion. He had chosen the seat himself. His eyes were narrow. He could see how Laksheema was testing Gaunt’s patience, just as she had tested his.

Gol Kolea sat alone on a low-backed chair in the corner, staring at the floor.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Laksheema. The burnished golden sections of her partly augmetic head glowed in the lamplight. She was impossible to read. Was she smirking? Annoyed? Amused? Viktor Hark knew there was no way of telling. Her face was a mask. That made her very good at her job. It was probably why she’d had herself rebuilt that way, after whatever grievous damage she’d suffered.

No doubt deserved, Hark thought.

There was no misreading Gaunt’s annoyance.

‘An investigation of my regiment? And of the Astra Militarum dispositions on Urdesh?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Without approval? Without notifying anyone in high command?’ asked Gaunt.

‘The matter is sensitive–’

‘So high command itself is under suspicion?’

‘I didn’t say–’

‘You’re not saying much, inquisitor,’ said Gaunt. ‘But you would have informed senior staff militant unless you thought senior staff were also potentially complicit.’

‘I am informing you now, lord,’ said Laksheema. ‘I have come to you directly.’

‘Not directly,’ said Gaunt. ‘First, you detained one of my officers.’ He looked at Kolea, whose attention remained resolutely fixed on the floor. ‘Then you come to me with questions, and not through official channels. That’s not informing me. My man, my regiment. I fall within the compass of your investigation too, don’t I?’

‘Lord, this is a formality to expedite the–’ Colonel Grae began.

‘I don’t think it is, colonel,’ said Gaunt. Grae closed his mouth. Gaunt turned his unnerving stare back to the inquisitor.

‘Ask. Speak. Inform,’ he said. ‘If you wish to expedite, get on with it and I’ll cooperate.’

‘You are correct, my lord,’ said Laksheema calmly. ‘We have issues of concern that involve the Tanith First and so, by extension, you. Those concerns stretch into other departments of the Astra Militarum and other regiments, and simply due to your status, to high command.’

‘Lay these concerns out for me,’ said Gaunt.

‘There are issues of strict confidence that–’

‘No,’ said Gaunt. ‘You’re cleared, Grae is cleared, and I am cleared, all at the highest level. Because of my status, which you so delicately point out, the officers of my regiment present are also, by extension, authorised.’

Laksheema shrugged slightly.

‘Certain ratification would be necessary,’ she said. ‘For Commissar Hark, Captain Daur and Major Kolea… paperwork and disclosure approval–’

Gaunt shook his head. ‘Again, dissembling. If your investigation encompasses the entire Astra Militarum on Urdesh, who stands outside that purview to warrant and approve such authorisation? You’re hiding behind the rules you’re seeking to subvert, asking us to chase our tails through the Administratum, knowing we’d never get an answer. Let’s be clear. I am ratifying them. Right now. With these words.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Laksheema.

‘And you are clearing them with yours, on behalf of the ordos,’ Gaunt added.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Laksheema. ‘We will consider them cleared to both our satisfactions.’

‘Good,’ said Gaunt. ‘Begin.’

‘There has been a crisis on Urdesh for some time,’ said Laksheema, ‘one that existed before your return. The obvious challenge of overcoming the Anarch’s military threat, matched by a lack of understanding of his tactics. This is now, for the most part, resolved. It is clear that the Anarch’s strategy on Urdesh was a mirror of our own, to whit, the enticement, containment and elimination of the opposing leaders. The obliteration of the warmaster and his high command. The neutering of this crusade.’

‘I think we can agree that the Lord Executor played no small part in the revelation of that stratagem,’ Grae said to Laksheema. ‘He saw Sek’s trap, and prevented it from springing shut, and–’

‘Please, don’t,’ said Laksheema.

‘Don’t what?’ asked Grae.

‘Attempt to flatter and support these men,’ said Laksheema. ‘They are of your institutions, Grae, not mine. I serve the Throne, directly. My intentions are not filtered through the strata of a vast and hidebound organisation like the Astra Militarum.’

‘I advise you not to push that point,’ said Hark quietly. ‘Say your fething piece or get your fething arse out of the door.’

Laksheema looked at Gaunt. ‘Will you not reprimand your man for such–’

‘I find,’ said Gaunt, ‘as I grow older, the Astra Militarum indeed to be a vast and hidebound organisation, inquisitor. Starched with needless formality and protocol, and strangled by the chains of command. So, in this room, Viktor can speak his mind with my entire support. Say your fething piece.’

Laksheema sat back, her eyes fixed on Gaunt.

‘Whatever your accomplishments in revealing the truth of the Anarch’s stratagem,’ she said, ‘I do not believe it is ended or even halfway done.’

‘Then we agree on something,’ said Gaunt.

‘And your very return is an issue,’ Laksheema said. ‘For it changed the nature of things. Of the crisis. Whatever long game Sek is trying to win on Urdesh, it altered overnight to accommodate you.’

‘Me?’

‘The material you brought with you from Salvation’s Reach,’ said Laksheema. ‘Its import is unknown to us, but it is clearly of great significance to the enemy. Such significance, in fact, that he is willing to abandon – or at least, delay and modify – a scheme of war that he has been preparing and executing over a period of years.’

‘The eagle stones,’ said Gaunt.

‘Yes, those artefacts,’ said Laksheema.

‘Apparently, a Glyptothek–’ Grae began.

‘Whatever,’ said Gaunt. He looked at Laksheema. ‘Again, agreed. I believe the late assault on Eltath was as much about recovering said items as it was about annihilating high command.’

‘The attack was repulsed,’ said Daur.

‘Was it, captain?’ asked Laksheema.

‘Yes, Ban, was it?’ Gaunt said, glancing at Daur. ‘The main assault was repulsed. Perhaps. It certainly fell back without warning. Secured objectives were not capitalised on. It may have been a feint. A cover for some clandestine objective now invisibly secured.’

‘But the Beati struck a blow at Sek at Ghereppan,’ said Daur. ‘That surely was the decisive factor? The timing was no coincidence.’

‘It seems likely,’ said Gaunt. ‘He may have been disadvantaged by the Beati’s work. Feth knows, he may even be dead. But his strategy isn’t. My gut says so. Sek wasn’t defeated four nights ago. He didn’t walk away from Eltath and Ghereppan empty-handed with his arse whipped. Whatever it cost him, he achieved something.’

‘And we don’t know what it is?’ said Daur.

‘And we don’t know what it is,’ said Gaunt. ‘But like an enemy under cover of darkness, we don’t need to know where he is. We just need to prepare.’

‘This is the thinking of high command?’ asked Laksheema.

‘This is my thinking,’ said Gaunt. ‘That’s enough.’

Laksheema was about to speak when there was a knock at the door.

‘Ignore it,’ said Gaunt.

The knock came again. Both Daur and Hark were in the process of rising, but Gaunt shoved back his chair and strode to the doorway.

Sancto and the other bodymen stood in the hallway outside. Nearby stood Beltayn and Merity and the members of Laksheema’s entourage, waiting where they had been told to wait, along with the tactician Biota and several Officio Tacticae officials Gaunt didn’t know. Behind them stood two officers from the command echelon, their braid denoting them as members of Van Voytz’s staff.

‘My lord–’ Sancto began.

‘Not now,’ snapped Gaunt, and slammed the door in his face.

He walked back to his seat slowly.

‘What are the eagle stones?’ he asked.

‘We don’t know,’ said Laksheema. ‘They are currently subject to detailed analysis.’

‘Where are the eagle stones?’ asked Gaunt, sitting down and straightening his chair.

‘Secure,’ said Laksheema.

‘Where?’

‘That’s classified.’

‘But they are of strategic significance?’

‘My lord,’ said Laksheema, ‘they could be lumps of broken brick, but if the enemy considers them significant, we must too. Even if they are sacred objects of no intrinsic value or power, they may still provoke the Archenemy into action and response, to our disadvantage.’

She paused.

‘We believe, however,’ she said, ‘that they are malign.’

‘Malign?’

‘My inquiry into their nature and purpose revealed a connection to your Major Kolea, which is why I had him detained for interview. Major Kolea has revealed, reluctantly, that he knows more about the stones and adjacent matters than he has admitted to you, or to anyone.’

Gaunt looked over at Kolea. Kolea was still staring at the floor. Gaunt saw the muscles of his jaw clench.

‘A malign influence,’ said Laksheema, ‘one that has been exerting its power over your man there, and by extension your entire regiment, since you first obtained the objects. By the reckoning of world-time, Lord Executor, that’s ten years. Some of the precarious events of your odyssey home may be connected to it. Your warp-translation accident… the curious sparing of your vessel by the Archenemy battlecruiser, which surely failed to annihilate a clearly identified enemy because it knew something valuable was aboard… even the replenishment drop to Aigor 991, a mission Major Kolea was personally involved with.’

‘So,’ said Gaunt, ‘you wish to arraign the Lord Executor for heretical contamination?’

‘My lord,’ said Laksheema, ‘you and your regiment have a worrying record of straying outside the safety of approved behaviour. I might cite your mission to Gereon in 774, and the suspicions that followed your return from that mission, that you had spent too long in the tainted environment of a Chaos-held world.’

‘Cite all you like,’ said Gaunt. ‘Those matters are closed. We have been determined as loyal and true. I was reinstated, and my regiment returned to me, despite the naysayers.’

‘Dirt and rumours cling to a man,’ she replied, ‘even one of your rank.’

‘Perhaps you should discuss this with Warmaster Macaroth,’ said Gaunt. ‘He appointed me to this station. He has faith in me.’

‘Your unorthodox reputation goes back a long way, lord,’ said Laksheema. Her haunting non-smile ignited. ‘Your unusual career path of colonel and commissar. Reports from 765 and thereabouts – I have Inquisitor Abfequarn’s files at my disposal – suspicions that, for a considerable period, you sheltered in your regiment, and close to you, a suspected psyker. An unregistered boy. Also, the business of a Major Soric–’

‘A boy? You mean Brin Milo,’ said Gaunt. ‘I haven’t seen him in years. He left my company on Herodor, and joined the personal retinue of the Beati. I think that’s a fairly glowing reference for his good standing. Or do you intend to interview the Saint when you’re done with the warmaster?’

‘I do not,’ said Laksheema.

Gaunt sat back. He watched her. She betrayed nothing.

He got up.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Stay here please, all of you. I want to talk with Major Kolea. In private.’

‘We… wait here?’ asked Laksheema.

‘I’m sure we can entertain ourselves, ma’am,’ said Hark.

Gaunt led Kolea out of the room. Biota and the other officials were still waiting expectantly outside the ward room. More had joined them, ­carrying data-slates and reports.

Gaunt could see questions and requests about to explode at him from all sides.

‘Not now,’ he growled.

‘My lord,’ said Sancto. The Scion stiffened as Gaunt turned to look at him.

‘Sancto?’

‘I appreciate this is not the time,’ Sancto said quietly, ‘but there are matters that demand your attention. Many matters. I hesitate to detain you, but–’

Gaunt raised a hand and Sancto shut up.

‘Quickly,’ Gaunt said to the rest of them.

Beltayn shrugged. ‘Oh, just stuff. It can wait, sir,’ he said.

‘You requested my presence, lord,’ said Biota. ‘To form a tactical cabinet and–’

‘I did,’ said Gaunt. ‘I wanted you specifically, Biota.’

‘I’m honoured, sir,’ said Biota. ‘It will be a pleasure to serve. May I introduce–’

He had started to turn to the Tacticae officials with him.

‘No,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not now. Just get to work. Choose effective people you can trust. Triage the data for me. Deal with the stuff that doesn’t need my personal attention. My adjutant Beltayn has been doing your job single-handedly for the last four days, so use him. He can bring you up to speed.’

‘My lord,’ said one of the officers from Van Voytz’s echelon. ‘The lord general wishes you to know that the Beati is inbound to the palace and will be arriving shortly. He thought–’

Gaunt’s hand came up again. He looked at Biota.

‘Things like that, Biota. I’m delegating. Get everything in order. I will, of course, greet the Beati as soon as she’s here.’

‘Of course, sir,’ replied Biota. ‘And, uhm, if there are matters that do require your personal attention…?’

Gaunt sighed, and looked at the faces around him. He pointed to a figure at the back of the group.

‘Along with Beltayn, add her to your cabinet,’ he said. ‘Merity Chass, of House Chass. Well-versed in administrative duties, and entirely familiar with the immediate business of my regiment.’

‘Her?’ said one of the officials, bewildered.

‘Sir,’ said Biota, looking pained, ‘this is entirely unconventional. The personal cabinet of a Lord Executor can’t be thrown together as a makeshift–’

‘We’re improvising today, Antonid,’ said Gaunt. ‘This is just expediency to keep things from leaving the rails. We can refine it all later. For now, get on with it.’

He looked at Merity.

‘Are you all right with this?’ he asked.

‘I will be delighted to have something practical to do, sir,’ she said.

‘But why her?’ asked one of the officials.

Gaunt glared at him. ‘Because she’s the only one of you that could knock on my door and not make me want to shoot them in the face. So use that advantage.’

‘This is highly unorthodox, my lord,’ said Biota.

‘Apparently, that’s my reputation,’ said Gaunt. ‘Run with it and let’s see where it gets us.’

He turned to Kolea.

‘With me,’ he said.

Jan Jerik tapped his fingers on the head of his cane as he waited for the freight elevator to ascend. They could hear it grumbling and clanking its way up from far below.

Corrod stood with him in the dank chamber of the lift-head, a chamber seated deep in the basement crypts of House Ghentethi. They were the last to descend. His men, and those who had arrived with his second, Hadrel, had already gone down, escorted by house footmen and the subordinates of the clave. All told, Corrod’s company numbered sixty-four, all scrawny, emaciated and filthy individuals who had seemed barely able to lift and load the crates of equipment Jan Jerik had provided for them. A singularly unimpressive mob, Jan Jerik concluded. The gear and uniform his people had procured, most of it standard-size trooper fit removed from an abandoned Munitorum depot in Albarppan, wouldn’t fit them. They’d look like children dressing up in adult clothes. Jan Jerik’s disappointment and unease had risen considerably. They were vagabond heathens clad in rags, stooped and bone-thin like the victims of famine, weak and frail. Beggars. They all reminded him of beggars. He hadn’t expected beggars, and he hadn’t asked for them. These wretches wouldn’t be physically able to conclude the endeavour, and he doubted they’d make good on any promises. The deal was sour, and he should never have made it.

Still, the clave’s thermal junction, far below, was quiet and out of the way. A good place to divest himself of this mistake. Five minutes before, he’d spoken quietly with one of his subordinates, out of earshot of his guests. His staff were set and ready. They’d make short work of the business, and dispose of the corpses in the geotherm vents.

Jan Jerik had pulled on a work-suit and protective boots for the descent. He carried a glowglobe set in a lantern holder. When he’d buttoned up the work-suit, he hung his keys and ciphers on the outside.

‘Why do we go last?’ Corrod asked.

Jan Jerik shrugged. ‘Just a custom of the house, sir,’ he said. ‘The ordinate always comes to the workface last, once his crews have prepared the area. A protocol.’

‘Damogaur,’ said Corrod.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Jan Jerik, looking up.

‘You called me “sir”,’ said Corrod. ‘I hold the office of damogaur. That is the correct form of address.’

‘Of course.’

‘A protocol,’ said Corrod.

Jan Jerik smiled thinly. Corrod was watching him. His eyes were dull and lifeless. The weather-beaten skin of his face had shrunk back to every promontory of cheekbone and jaw. His neck was like a reed, and his throat the slack, wrinkled wattle of a nonagenarian.

‘A military rank?’ said Jan Jerik. The elevator finally arrived, rattling into place. He stepped forward and dragged open the folding metal shutter of the cage.

‘Yes,’ said Corrod.

Jan Jerik ushered him into the freight car, and Corrod shuffled past him. The ordinate closed the cage, secured the lock latch, and pulled the lever down to the indicator for the lowest level. With a lurch and a whir of cable gears, the car started its descent.

‘I hadn’t realised,’ said Jan Jerik.

‘What?’

‘That things had gone so badly for… for your forces. I now see why you would be so desperate to engineer a deal with men of, uh, Imperial leanings.’

‘Your leanings seem quite fluid,’ remarked Corrod.

Jan Jerik shrugged. ‘Our loyalty is always to Ghentethi,’ he said. ‘Ghentethi before all. Our house has stood, like many of the dynastic claves, since the early times of settlement. We consider ourselves independent, and ally with those who will benefit us most. My dear s– damogaur. You know well that the mastery of Urdesh has changed many times over the centuries. The Throne, the rimward tribes, and back, and forth. We have worked with and for the Sanguinary Brood as often as we have distant Terra. Indeed, in some golden eras, past gaurs have favoured us more than the Throne or the forge-priests of Mars have ever done.’

The elevator continued to rumble down into the darkness.

‘What did you mean?’ asked Corrod.

‘Mean?’

‘Your comment… that you see now why we are desperate?’

Jan Jerik smiled. ‘Oh, I meant no offence, damogaur,’ he said. ‘Merely an observation. I was expecting warriors. Soldiers. Strong and able men. But your forces are clearly so depleted that they send us old men. Veterans, I presume. I doubt not your courage, but you are a flimsy bunch. Presumably all that could be spared. I am sad to see the might of the tribes so wasted and reduced.’

‘My lord Anarch has sent his best to accomplish this deed,’ said Corrod, without emotion.

Jan Jerik chuckled. ‘Rather my point, damogaur. If you are his best, then woe betide the Anarch’s host. I had heard that the Guard had the measure of you, that the war had swung hard to the Throne on this world, and others. I had no idea that it was quite so parlous. Just dregs remaining. I am surprised the Administratum hasn’t broadcast this jubilantly to raise the public mood. That the Archenemy in these parts is reduced to a tattered relic, and that the fire is gone from them.’

Corrod looked at him almost blankly for a second, then shuffled across the car and threw the lever into neutral. The elevator halted abruptly, between levels. It rocked and creaked gently on its cables.

‘What are you doing, sir?’ Jan Jerik snapped. ‘Have you taken umbrage at my words? Have I offended you? Well, then, forgive my spirit and my honesty. Let us resume.’

Corrod turned to face him.

‘We came to you in guise, ordinate,’ he said. He grimaced slightly, his lips curled back from his dirty teeth for a second, as if suffering some quiet anguish. ‘We entered this city masked, so that we might pass unheeded. You have made a misapprehension.’

The ordinate chuckled, nervously.

‘I crave your pardon, then,’ he said lightly. ‘Let us continue on. The lever, sir–’

‘I wish to reassure you, ordinate,’ said Corrod. He grimaced again.

‘No need, no need! Let us–’

Jan Jerik stopped speaking. His eyes and mouth opened wide, and he took two or three involuntary steps backwards.

Corrod’s eyes had lit. They shone with an ugly yellow light. There was acute intelligence in them now, and a predatory precision. He began to twitch, his thin arms pressed into his ribs, elbows bent, hands spavined into shaking claws. His lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl, and his mouth slowly opened under tension, as if he was screaming silently.

Neon tears began to well and drip from his eyes, the same luminous yellow that glowed inside his sockets. His skin began to ripple. Jan Jerik could see muscle, fibre and bone shift and undulate beneath the surface, bending and poking, twitching and pulsing. He heard a series of ugly cracks, the snap of bones and the click of joints, that made him flinch.

Corrod was growing taller. The weak, slack musculature was filling out and growing taut. Ribs stretched, and vertebrae rattled like beads. The dirty rags he wore tore in places across his shoulders as he grew within them. He tilted his head back in a rictus, mouth wide, spittle flecking from his brown and broken teeth. Neon tears ran from his hollow cheeks. His jaw clicked forwards.

‘The Emperor protects!’ Jan Jerik whispered. His voice shrunk to nothing.

‘No,’ said Corrod. ‘He does not.’

The alchemy was done. Corrod towered over the ordinate, staring down at him. He was more than two metres tall. His limbs were longer. He was still cadaverously lean, a tall, thin spectre, but the muscles were hard under his fat-less flesh. His nose had all but receded into a cavity, and his mouth had extended like a snout, with a long, narrow chin. The teeth, top and bottom, were a tangled mess of canine points, some as long as the ordinate’s little fingers.

Corrod’s neon eyes glowed, yellow heat behind a milky surface.

‘Now you may see us,’ he said.

‘What are you?’ Jan Jerik stammered.

‘We are the Anarch’s chosen of chosen, the blessed reworked, the blessed of his voice, which drowns out all others.’

‘I don’t…’ Jan Jerik gasped.

‘We are his favourite sons. And we are few,’ said Corrod, ‘granted our rare and precious gifts by the holy Changer of Ways through the Ministry of the Great Anarch. We are the Qimurah, and within the Sabbat Worlds, a mere sixty-four of us exist as the Anarch’s elite.’

Corrod paused, wiping a neon tear off his cheek with the back of his thumb.

‘And all of us,’ he said, ‘all sixty-four, in unprecedented unison, have come to perform this task.’

‘I’m sorry!’ said Jan Jerik. ‘I’m sorry!’ He had backed to the far wall of the car in terror, and was pressed against the cage.

‘Apology accepted,’ said Corrod. He reached for the lever. ‘Shall we continue?’

Gaunt led Kolea into his quarters, took one warning look at Sancto and the Scions as they took up position outside, and shut the door.

‘Sit,’ he said.

Kolea breathed heavily, and sat down on one of the chairs.

‘Talk,’ said Gaunt. He crossed to a cabinet and poured two cap glasses of amasec.

Kolea looked like he was in pain. He couldn’t make eye contact.

‘I don’t know where to start, sir,’ he said.

‘Try,’ said Gaunt. He handed one of the glasses to Kolea, who took it carefully, but didn’t sip. Gaunt dragged over another chair and sat down, facing Kolea.

‘Gol?’

Kolea sighed.

‘What has she got on you?’ asked Gaunt.

‘I don’t know. Falsehoods, lies.’

‘She’s making it up?’

‘No. I mean… there are things that I don’t… I don’t even know if they’re true. Things that have haunted me.’

He looked up into Gaunt’s eyes for the first time.

‘Things I should have told you long ago,’ he said.

‘About Aigor? The supply drop?’

‘Mostly. Yes.’

‘Now’s the time, major,’ said Gaunt.

Kolea looked down at his drink. He paused, then he sank it in one gulp.

‘There was something there,’ he said.

‘You told me that. It was in your report.’

‘A voice, that demanded the eagle stones.’

Gaunt nodded.

‘Demanded they be brought to Urdesh.’

‘All this I know, Gol.’

‘It said it was the voice of… of him. Sek. It said it had power over me.’

‘To deliver the stones?’

Kolea hunched his shoulders. ‘We brought them anyway,’ he said. ‘To Urdesh, I mean. It’s what we were doing. It’s not like I had to steal them, or break orders, or do its bidding…’

‘And this was all in your report, Gol. So what has Laksheema got hold of? What didn’t you tell me?’

‘It said I was marked,’ said Kolea, his voice thin. ‘It knew my name, and said I was… susceptible. That the harm done to me on… the injuries that were healed on Herodor, that they had made me vulnerable.’

‘To Sek?’

‘To the warp. Throne help me. The voice told me I was… I was a conduit for daemons.’

He looked up at Gaunt.

‘How can a man say that? It damns him. It walks him to the scaffold or the stake.’

‘Probably better to say it than to hide it, Gol. This is late to learn it.’

‘I know!’ Kolea snapped. He subsided. ‘I know. But I told myself… I told myself it was all lies. Sir, we both know how the Ruinous Powers game us. Play with our minds. Whispering and polluting. I thought it was that. The warp trying to… to play me.’

‘So your report was incomplete because you were protecting yourself?’ asked Gaunt.

‘No,’ said Kolea, in the tiniest whisper.

‘What, then?’

‘The voice told me that if I didn’t comply, it would kill my children.’

‘Your children?’

‘Dalin and Yoncy. It told me they’d perish, if…’

Gaunt nodded. ‘They’re safe, you know?’ he said. ‘Both of them. They got here safely. It was lying to you.’

‘It’s what I thought.’

‘But what? Gol?’

Kolea sighed again.

‘It’s like I don’t know what to trust any more. I thought it was my head, the old damage… so many things that don’t make sense. I just locked it all up. Kept it to myself.’

Kolea rose to his feet abruptly. He fiddled with his empty glass, as if wondering where to put it down.

‘I thought if I told you, you’d execute me,’ he said. ‘That, or the Black Ships. And the kids too, by extension. Named by the darkness. Feth, what? The Black Ships for them too?’

‘So you told yourself it was all lies?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Yes,’ Kolea replied. ‘But I made a promise to myself. An oath, that I’d keep the children safe. Protect them. That if this darkness, this bad shadow, was real, I’d deny it and kill it. That’s what we do. We’re soldiers of the Throne.’

He looked at Gaunt.

‘Aren’t we?’ he asked.

‘We are,’ said Gaunt.

‘But it was getting too… too hard,’ Kolea said. ‘Spinning out of control. Just so much. Once Laksheema got her claws in me, I knew it was just a matter of time. That it would all come out.’

Gaunt got up, took the glass from Kolea’s hand, and went to refill it.

‘We didn’t know what the eagle stones were, Gol,’ he said. ‘Not back then. Not at Aigor. It was much later we made that connection. Bask saw them after the accident. Spread out like wings.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kolea. ‘That’s when it all really started to unravel. Sir, I should have told you right at the start, damn the consequences. I was a coward.’

Gaunt held out the refilled glass. ‘You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever served with, Gol,’ he said. ‘Whatever you are, you’re no coward.’

‘What happens now, sir?’ Kolea asked. ‘I’ll resign my pins. You’ll want me in the stockade at least.’

Gaunt wiggled the glass he was holding out slightly, reminding Kolea to take it.

‘What happens now, Gol,’ he said, ‘is you tell me the rest.’

‘The rest?’

‘What started to unravel?’

Kolea took the glass. ‘Have you heard…’ He began, then winced as if he couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud. ‘Have you heard the rumours? About Yoncy?’

‘Rumours?’ asked Gaunt.

‘I thought Dalin and Yoncy were dead and gone with Livy on Verghast,’ Kolea said. ‘Lost and gone. But then, like a miracle, it turns out Criid had saved them. Brought them into the fold. Raised them.’

He sighed.

‘I guess a man can only have one miracle in his life, and mine was the Beati saving me. The kids were alive after all. I blessed the Throne for that. I let them be. I stayed back. They were too young to remember me, and they’d been through too much. But, you know, Dalin’s grown into a fine man. A good lasman.’

‘There’s distinction in him,’ Gaunt agreed.

Kolea nodded. ‘And Yoncy. Everyone’s favourite. More of a damn mascot than that fething bird. All the women dote on her. And Criid, well, she coaxed me back into their lives. Said it was dumb for me to be apart from them. So I made that connection again and… well, I was glad of it. For all the obvious reasons. I don’t need to tell you how it is to make a bond with a child you didn’t know existed.’

Gaunt pursed his lips. ‘No.’

‘But it got me close to them, you see?’ Kolea went on. ‘And I thought, “here’s how you look after them, Gol. If there’s any fething truth in that voice’s threat, I can be here. Right with them. Protect them, like I promised.” Because I thought… thinking like a solider, you understand, that the threat would be violence. An attack.’

‘But?’ asked Gaunt.

‘I think the threat was more venomous than that,’ said Kolea. ‘More… what’s the word? Insidious.’

‘How?’

‘This rumour,’ said Gol. He took a sip of amasec and glanced at his seat. Gaunt nodded, and Kolea sat back down. ‘This rumour. Don’t know where it started, but some women in the entourage, Verghast women, they thought my kids had both been boys. Two boys. Well, this got back to me, and I laughed. No, a boy and girl…’

He looked at Gaunt again, solemn. ‘Now I’m not so sure. I can’t trust my memory. I can’t trust anything in my mind, not since the harm done to me, or since the voice was in my head. I get headaches and… well, anyway, I think it’s right. There was no girl child. Two boys. I asked Hark to check, but there’s been no word back from the Administratum.’

‘It was just a mistake,’ said Gaunt. ‘You’d know. The women got it wrong. You know what camp rumour is like.’

‘I don’t reckon so,’ said Kolea.

‘Why would you think like that?’ Gaunt asked, sitting down again and leaning forward.

‘Yoncy, she’s an odd child. Always has been. A little girl, reluctant to grow up.’

‘She’s had a tough life.’

‘Not just that.’

‘Exactly that. Lost her mother. Lost you. Been through hell. Her life now as part of a nomad regiment.’

Kolea shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘I do,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’ve seen her. She acts young because it’s safe. Subconscious, I’m sure, but she acts like a little girl, because people always look after the little girl. It’s just a defence mechanism.’

‘No, sir,’ said Kolea. ‘I’ve had… I’ve had memories. I’m increasingly sure she isn’t my Yoncy. Before you say it, I know. Maybe that’s the punishment. Maybe that idea, that uncertainty, is the cruel trick the voice threatened, playing with me. In which case, I’m tainted and damned. But maybe…’

‘Maybe what?’

‘Maybe I’m right,’ said Kolea. ‘Maybe the true punishment is this. This is what the voice promised on Aigor. My girl, my Yoncy. Not mine at all. Maybe this is the way the warp shreds me.’

‘What do you think she is, then?’ asked Gaunt.

Kolea exhaled hard, his eyes wide and wondering.

‘Who the feth knows?’ he said. ‘Something placed among us? Some changeling thing. Something malevolent.’

Gaunt smiled. ‘Yoncy?’ he asked. ‘You think the Ruinous Powers planted her among us years ago? Years, Gol. As what? Some elaborate plan to destroy us from within? That it’s just been waiting?’

‘Well…’

‘Come on! If Yoncy’s a daemon, Gol, or whatever… she’s had plenty of chances. We’d know by now. The warp plays games, but not long-term games like that. And for what? To cripple or destroy a regiment that, until recently, was just another Guard unit? We’re not that important.’

‘We are now,’ said Kolea. ‘You are now.’

‘So it could see the future too?’ Gaunt laughed. ‘Predict? Project? Put an agent in place waiting for the day, the remote chance, years to come…?’

‘The eagle stones–’

‘Feth’s sake, Gol!’

‘I know how it sounds. But I know what my heart says.’

‘We’re sheltering a creature of the warp?’

‘All right, when you put it like that…’

‘Gol, you’re all mixed up,’ said Gaunt. ‘I get why. I understand. We’ve been through many hells, all of us. We’ve all faced the darkness and felt it mess with us. It’s what it wants. It’s what the Archenemy does to us. It wants to ruin our bonds, our trusts… it wants us to suspect each other and collapse in fear and hatred. And we’re not going to let it. That’s our job, after all. Our calling. Of all the citizens in the Imperium, we’re the ones that hold fast. The Imperial fething Guard. We’re the ones that are supposed to fight. You’re just messed up.’

‘But–’ Kolea began.

‘Whatever state your mind’s in,’ said Gaunt, ‘whatever confusion, maybe you don’t know. But Dalin does.’

Kolea blinked.

‘He’d know, wouldn’t he?’ asked Gaunt. ‘Forget your doubts. A brother would know his sister.’

Kolea wiped his mouth. He took a few deep breaths.

‘I suppose there’s that,’ he admitted.

‘Fething right there’s that,’ said Gaunt.

‘So what do we do?’

‘We fix this. We deal with the actual problem. Coordinate with Laksheema and divine Sek’s true intention. I need all the good men I can get, so I’m not losing you. And I have a way to get the inquisitor off your back and clear your mind about this.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. Drink up, then come with me. I’m going to talk to Laksheema again. Later on, you can go down to the billets and see your kids. See them and hug them and know that everything’s all right.’

Gaunt raised his glass.

‘You know why?’ he asked.

‘Because you’re Lord Executor and you said so?’

‘No. Because the Emperor protects.’

The glasses clinked together.

They all rose to their feet as Gaunt walked back into the ward room with Kolea.

Kolea stood by the door. Gaunt resumed his seat, and gestured for them all to sit.

‘So here we have it, inquisitor,’ he said. ‘I believe, absolutely, that we share the same desire. To serve the Throne. To deny and destroy the Archenemy of Mankind. To end the pernicious blight of Anarch Sek, and to achieve victory in this crusade for Terra. Sek, or at least his schemes, live on. Only a fool would believe the eagle stones play no part in them. So let’s combine our efforts. Identify the nature and value of the stones, their use and implication. Defend them. And ascertain through that effort the Archenemy’s intent, so that we may not only block it but also accomplish a total victory.’

Laksheema nodded. ‘The Holy Ordos would find the cooperation and assistance of the Lord Executor invaluable.’

‘Good. Where are the stones?’

‘As I said previously, sir, the location is necessarily classified–’

‘Laksheema,’ said Gaunt. ‘No more games. The ordos do not have combat forces of sufficient scale present on Urdesh to defend a location against mass attack. The Astra Militarum does. Please don’t presume that keeping their location a secret is an adequate defence against a monster who deals in secrecy.’

‘My lord,’ Laksheema began to protest.

‘You said it yourself,’ said Gaunt. ‘The Archenemy battleship withheld fire from my vessel – indeed, perhaps fought to save it – because something valuable was on board that it could not bring itself to destroy. We can safely assume it was the eagle stones. It knew they were aboard without even seeing them.’

‘I will supply data on the location,’ said Laksheema. ‘But it must remain classified, even within the Guard and the high command. We are certain the enemy has spies throughout Eltath. It has been enemy ground for too long.’

‘And the city leaks like a sieve,’ agreed Gaunt. ‘I have a regiment at my disposal that is cleared at my level. Have Grae give the data to Captain Daur.’

‘What about the pheguth?’ asked Hark quietly.

‘The traitor general?’ asked Laksheema. ‘I think his uses are exhausted.’

‘He’s scheduled for termination,’ said Grae.

‘Mabbon led us to them,’ replied Hark. ‘He was the key that allowed the Salvation’s Reach mission to happen. The strategy of division between Blood Pact and Sek came from him. I’m not saying he’s lying, or withholding, but… he’s still an asset. He may know things that can help us, even if he doesn’t realise it.’

‘Do you want him brought here?’ asked Grae.

‘Again, I want his location,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’ll have him delivered to the palace by an escort who knows how to handle him.’

He turned to look at Daur.

‘Go fetch Beltayn,’ he said. ‘I want a secure link to Rawne in five minutes.’

Jan Jerik wrenched the cage door open, and stepped out of the freight car. Corrod followed him, stooping slightly to move under the door frame.

The air stank of sulphur, and it was unpleasantly hot. Jan Jerik was already sweating. He led Corrod across the rockcrete loading bay outside the elevator and into a broad chamber where the others were assembled and waiting.

Corrod’s men, under the supervision of Hadrel, were busy equipping themselves from the crates House Ghentethi had provided. They were pulling on drab Guard fatigues and regulation boots, and unshipping lasrifles and hellguns from the munition crates. Each packson was checking his chosen weapon with assured ease and familiarity.

Like Corrod, they had all changed. Each one was a towering spectre of tall bones and hard muscle, and taut; too tall, too thin. The uniforms, which Jan Jerik had feared would be too big for them, were, if anything, too small. Some had rolled up sleeves where cuffs fell far short of their bony wrists. Their eyes shone, like those of wild animals caught by lamp light in the dark. On the deck plates, Jan Jerik saw spattered drops of neon tears.

The ordinate’s men, a dozen or more footmen and subordinates, were standing watch. Jan Jerik could see the pallor of their faces, and smell the fear. They were all armed with carbines as per his earlier private instruction, but they carried the guns as if ashamed of them.

‘My ordinate,’ said one of the footmen, coming forward quickly in concern.

Jan Jerik waved him off. They were committed now. He didn’t dare think what might befall him and his men if he reneged, or tried to purge his guests.

‘You… you have everything?’ he asked.

Corrod was pulling on a faded Guard jacket and checking its fit.

‘It would appear so,’ he said. ‘Sirdar?’

‘Most of what we requested, my damogaur,’ said Hadrel. ‘Though the quality of the weapons and clothing is merely serviceable. Just standard lasrifles. And no support weapons or grenades as stipulated.’

‘We got what we could,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘Sources are few at a time of war. And to ransack Munitorum property without detection–’

Corrod raised a lasrifle, checked its aim and feel quickly, shortened the carry-strap, then opened the receiver to load a powercell.

‘It will suffice,’ he said. ‘Sirdar, share the ammunition equally between all. Hacklaw? Make sure everyone has a blade.’

His officers moved to their tasks.

‘This… this is the lower level,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘From down here, we draw power from the geothermal vents to run our lathes and processors.’

‘And the vent system links all Mechanicus and forge facilities in the city?’ said Corrod, strapping on an ammunition belt.

‘All of them, and beyond the city too,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘It was a network constructed by the earliest settlers, to harness the power of the mountain and–’

‘Yes,’ said Corrod, cutting him short. ‘Let’s begin. Give me the chart.’

Jan Jerik handed it over, then lit his lantern and walked through the preparing group towards a large hatch at the end of the chamber. He selected a silver cipher key from his chain, and unlocked the hatch. Stinking gases and heat billowed out.

Corrod gestured, and his men assembled.

Jan Jerik unhooked a rebreather mask from a rack on the wall. His subordinates did the same.

‘You’ll need these,’ he said to the damogaur.

‘No,’ said Corrod.

‘Damogaur, the heat alone can be treacherous,’ said Jan Jerik. He adjusted a toggle on his worksuit to activate its cooling system. ‘And the accumulated gases are noxious. They can blind and choke. More­over, if there is unscheduled system venting or an upwelling from the–’

‘No,’ said Corrod again. He began to blink rapidly, and the neon glow of his eyes increased in intensity. His jaw clenched tightly, as if he was suffering discomfort. There was a sudden, wet, sticky noise of bubbling fluids.

Milky secondary eyelids formed over his eyes, a tough organic membrane oozing with mucus that resembled the bulbous, glassy stare of a deep sea fish. The lids dulled the light of his eyes a little. Another film of mucus oozed out to cover his raw stub of nostrils and his mouth, hardening like resin. It formed a bony sheathe across his nose and mouth, like a muzzle on a dog woven from intestine and coral.

Hadrel and the other men had all done the same.

‘We will manage,’ he said to Jan Jerik, his voice muffled to a low murmur.

Jan Jerik winced with distaste.

He raised his lantern.

‘Then follow me,’ he said.