Galaxy in Flames (8 page)

‘It will be, Warmaster,’ assured Erebus, paying no heed to the threat. ‘Our allies are keen to finally speak to you directly.’

Erebus stooped to stare into the fire, the flames reflecting from his shaven, tattooed head and in his armour, recently painted in the deep scarlet colours now adopted by the Word Bearers Legion. As confident as he sounded, he allowed himself a moment of pause. Dealing with creatures from the warp was never straightforward, and should he fail to meet the Warmaster’s expectations then his life would be forfeit.

The Warmaster’s presence filled the lodge, armoured as he was in a magnificent suit of obsidian Terminator armour gifted to him by the Fabricator General himself. Sent from Mars to cement the alliance between Horus and the Mechanicum of Mars, the armour echoed the colours of the elite Justaerin, but it far surpassed them in ornamentation and power. The amber eye upon the breastplate stared from the armour’s torso and shoulder plates, and on one hand Horus sported a monstrous gauntlet with deadly blades for fingers.

Erebus lifted a book from beside the fire and rose to his feet, reverently turning the ancient pages until he came to a complex illustration of interlocking symbols.

‘We are ready. I can begin once the sacrifice is made.’

Horus nodded and said, ‘Adept, join us.’

Moments later, the bent and robed form of Adept Regulus entered the warrior lodge. The representative of the Mechanicum was almost completely mechanised, as was common among the higher echelons of his order. Beneath his robes his body was fashioned from gleaming bronze, steel and cables. Only his face showed, if it could be called a face, with large augmetic eyepieces and a vocabulator unit that allowed the adept to communicate.

Regulus led the ghostly figure of Ing Mae Sing, her steps fearful and her hands flitting, as if swatting at a swarm of flies.

‘This is unorthodox,’ said Regulus, his voice like steel wire on the nerves.

‘Adept,’ said the Warmaster. ‘You are here as the representative of the Mechanicum. The priests of Mars are essential to the Crusade and they must be a part of the new order. You have already pledged your strength to me and now it is time you witnessed the price of that bargain.’

‘Warmaster,’ began Regulus, ‘I am yours to command.’

Horus nodded and said, ‘Erebus, continue.’ Erebus stepped past the Warmaster and directed his gaze towards Ing Mae Sing. Though the astropath was blind, she recoiled as she felt his eyes roaming across her flesh. She backed against one wall, trying to shrink away from him, but he grasped her arm in a crushing grip and dragged her towards the fire. ‘She is powerful,’ said Erebus. ‘I can taste her.’

‘She is my best,’ said Horus.

‘That is why it has to be her,’ said Erebus. ‘The symbolism is as important as the power. A sacrifice is not a sacrifice if it is not valued by the giver.’

‘No, please,’ cried Ing Mae Sing, twisting in his grip as she realized the import of the Word Bearer’s statement.

Horus stepped forwards and tenderly took hold of the astropath’s chin, halting her struggles and tilting her head upwards so that she would have looked upon his face had she but eyes to see.

‘You betrayed me, Mistress Sing,’ said Horus.

Ing Mae Sing whimpered, nonsensical protests spilling from her terrified lips. She tried to shake her head, but Horus held her firm and said, ‘There is no point in denying it. I already know everything. After you told me of Euphrati Keeler, you sent a warning to someone, didn’t you? Tell me who it was and I will let you live. Try to resist and your death will be more agonizing than you can possibly imagine.’

‘No,’ whispered Ing Mae Sing. ‘I am already dead. I know this, so kill me and have done with it.’

‘You will not tell me what I wish to know?’

‘There is no point,’ gasped Ing Mae Sing. ‘You will kill me whether I tell you or not. You may have the power to conceal your lies, but your serpent does not.’ Erebus watched as Horus nodded slowly to himself, as if reluctantly reaching a decision.

‘Then we have no more to say to one another,’ said Horus sadly, drawing back his arm.

He rammed his clawed gauntlet through her chest, the blades tearing through her heart and lungs and ripping from her back in a spray of red. Erebus nodded towards the fire and the Warmaster held the corpse above the pit, letting Ing Mae Sing’s blood drizzle into the flames.

The emotions of her death flooded the lodge as the blood hissed in the fire, hot, raw and powerful: fear, pain and the horror of betrayal.

Erebus knelt and scratched designs on the floor, copying them exactly from the diagrams in the book: a star with eight points that was orbited by three circles, a stylized skull and the cuneiform runes of Colchis. ‘You have done this before,’ said Horus. ‘Many times,’ said Erebus, nodding towards the fire. ‘I speak here with my primarch’s voice, and it is a voice our allies respect.’

‘They are not allies yet,’ said Horus, lowering his arm and letting the body of Ing Mae Sing slide from the claws of his gauntlet.

Erebus shrugged and began chanting words from the
Book of Lorgar
, his voice dark and guttural as he called upon the gods of the warp to send their emissary.

Despite the brightness of the fire, the lodge darkened and Erebus felt the temperature fall, a chill wind gusting from somewhere unseen and unknown. It carried the dust of ages past and the ruin of empires in its every breath, and ageless eternity was borne upon the unnatural zephyr.

‘Is this supposed to happen?’ asked Regulus.

Erebus smiled and nodded without answering as the air grew icy, the whisperers gibbering in unreasoning fear as they felt the arrival of something ancient and terrible. Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, although no light shone to cast them and a racing whip of malicious laughter spiraled around the chamber.

Regulus spun on hissing bearings as he sought to identify the source of the sounds, his ocular implants whirring as they struggled to find focus in the darkness. Frost gathered on the struts and pipes high above them.

Horus stood unmoving as the shadows of the chamber hissed and spat, a chorus of voices that came from everywhere and nowhere.

‘You are the one your kind calls Warmaster?’

Erebus nodded as Horus looked over at him.

‘I am,’ said Horus. ‘Warmaster of the Great Crusade. To whom do I speak?’

‘I am Sarr’Kell,’
said the voice.
‘Lord of the Shadows!’

T
HE THREE OF
them made their way swiftly through the decks of the
Vengeful Spirit
, heading down towards the tiled environment of the medicae deck. Sindermann kept the pace as brisk as he could; his breath sharp and painful as they hurried to save the saint from whatever dark fate awaited her.

‘What do you expect to find when we reach the saint, iterator?’ asked Jonah Aruken, his nervous hands fingering the catch on his pistol holster.

Sindermann thought of the small medicae cell where he and Mersadie Oliton had stood vigil over Euphrati and wondered that same thought.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ he said. ‘I just know we have to help.’

‘I just hope a frail old man and our pistols are up to the job.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sindermann, as they descended a wide screw stair that led deeper into the ship.

‘Well, I just wonder how you plan to fight the kind of danger that could threaten a saint. I mean, whatever it is must be pretty damn dangerous, yes?’

Sindermann paused in his descent, as much to catch his breath as to answer Aruken.

‘Whoever sent me that warning obviously thinks that I can help,’ he said.

‘And that’s enough for you?’ asked Aruken.

‘Jonah, leave him alone,’ cautioned Titus Cassar.

‘No, damn it, I won’t,’ said Aruken. ‘This is serious and we could get in real trouble. I mean, this Keeler woman, she’s supposed to be all saintly, yes? Then why doesn’t the power of the Emperor save her? Why does he need us?’

‘The Emperor works through His faithful servants, Jonah,’ explained Titus. ‘It is not enough to simply believe and await divine intervention to sweep down from the heavens and set the world to rights. The Emperor has shown us the path and it is up to us to seize this chance to do His will.’

Sindermann watched the exchange between the two crewmen, his anxiety growing with every second that passed.

‘I don’t know if I can do this, Titus,’ said Aruken, ‘not without some proof that we’re doing the right thing.’

‘We are, Jonah,’ pressed Titus. ‘You must trust that the Emperor has a plan for you.’

‘The Emperor may or may not have a plan for me, but I sure as hell do,’ snapped Aruken. ‘I want command of a Titan, and that’s not going to happen if we get caught doing something stupid.’

‘Please!’ cut in Sindermann, his chest hurting with worry for the saint. ‘We have to go! Something terrible is coming to harm her and we have to stop it. I can think of no more compelling an argument than that. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to trust me.’

‘Why should I?’ asked Aruken. ‘You’ve given me no reason to. I don’t even know why I’m here.’

‘Listen to me, Mister Aruken,’ said Sindermann earnestly. ‘When you live as long and complex a life as I have, you learn that it always comes down to a
single moment –
a moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he really is. This is that moment, Mister Aruken. Will this be a moment you are proud to look back on or will it be one you will regret for the rest of your life?’

The two Titan crewmen shared a glance and eventually Aruken sighed and said, ‘I need my head looked at for this, but all right, let’s go save the day.’

A palpable sense of relief flooded through Sindermann and the pain in his chest eased.

‘I am proud of you, Mr Aruken,’ he said, ‘and I thank you, your aid is most welcome.’

‘Thank me when we save this saint of yours,’ said Aruken, setting off down the stairs.

They followed the stairs down, passing several decks until the symbol of intertwined serpents around a winged staff indicated they had arrived at the medicae deck. It had been some weeks since the last casualties had been brought aboard the
Vengeful Spirit
and the sterile, gleaming wilderness of tiled walls and brushed steel cabinets felt empty, a warren of soulless glass rooms and laboratories.

‘This way,’ said Sindermann, setting off into the confusing maze of corridors, the way familiar to him after all the times he had visited the comatose imagist. Cassar and Aruken followed him, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone who might challenge their presence. At last they reached a nondescript white door and Sindermann said, ‘This is it.’ Aruken said, ‘Better let us go first, old man.’ Sindermann nodded and backed away from the door, pressing his hands over his ears as the two Titan crewmen unholstered their pistols. Aruken crouched low beside the door and nodded to Cassar, who pressed the release panel.

The door slid aside and Aruken spun through it with his pistol extended.

Cassar was a second behind him, his pistol tracking left and right for targets, and Sindermann awaited the deafening flurry of pistol shots.

When none came he dared to open his eyes and uncover his ears. He didn’t know whether to be glad or deathly afraid that they were too late.

He turned and looked through the door, seeing the familiar clean and well maintained medicae cell he had visited many times. Euphrati lay like a mannequin on the bed, her skin like alabaster and her face pinched and sunken. A pair of drips fed her fluids and a small, bleeping machine drew spiking lines on a green display unit beside her.

Aside from her immobility she looked just as she had the last time he had laid eyes on her.

‘Just as well we rushed,’ snapped Aruken. ‘Looks like we were just in time.’

‘I think you might be right,’ said Sindermann, as he saw the golden-eyed figure of Maggard come into view at the far end of the corridor with his sword unsheathed.

‘Y
OU
ARE
KNOWN
to us, Warmaster,’ said Sarr’Kell, his voice leaping around the room like a capricious whisper. ‘It is said that you are the one who can deliver us. Is that true?’

‘
Perhaps,’ replied Horus, apparently unperturbed by the strangeness of his unseen interlocutor. ‘My brother Lorgar assures me that your masters can give me the power to achieve victory.’

‘Victory,’
whispered Sarr’Kell.
‘An almost meaningless word in the scale of the cosmos, but yes, we have much power to offer you. No army will stand before you, no power of mortal man will lay you low and no ambition will be denied you if you swear yourself to us.’

‘
Just words,’ said Horus. ‘Show me something tangible.’

‘Power,’
hissed Sarr’Kell, the sound rippling around Horus like a slithering snake.
‘The warp brings power. There is nothing beyond the reach of the gods of the warp!’

‘
Gods?’ replied Horus. ‘You waste your time throwing such words around, they do not impress me. I already know that your “gods” need my help, so speak plainly or we are done here.’

‘Your Emperor,’
replied Sarr’Kell, and for a fleeting moment, Erebus detected a trace of unease in the creature’s voice. Such entities were unused to the defiance of a mortal, even one as mighty as a primarch.
‘He meddles in matters he does not understand. On the world you call Terra, his grand designs cause a storm in the warp that tears it asunder from within. We care nothing for your realm, you know this. It is anathema to us. We offer power that can help you take his place, Warmaster. Our aid will see you destroy your foes and take you to the very gates of the Emperor’s palace. We can deliver the galaxy to you. All we care for is that his works cease and that you take his place.’

The unseen voice spoke in sibilant tones, slick and persuasive, but Erebus could see that Horus was unmoved. ‘And what of this power? Do you understand the magnitude of this task? The galaxy will be divided, brother will fight brother. The Emperor will have his Legions and the Imperial Army, the Custodian Guard, the Sisters of Silence. Can you be the equal of such a foe?’