‘I know, I know,’ said Gaunt, getting up, ‘I’m late.’
‘No, sir, you need to read this.’ Beltayn held out a signal sheet. ‘It was just received. I brought it to you at once.’
Gaunt took the sheet and read it. Then he held it up so Rawne could read it too.
‘Well,’ said Rawne. ‘There’s your confirmation. An unequivocal victory. What does this part mean, the bottom here? ‘Execution undertaken by unidentified Astra Militarum personnel’?’
A Munitorum aide directed him to the new Tanith billet as soon as he stepped off the landing field.
It was a fine set of chambers, just off the palace’s Circular Court. Sunlight at the windows, rows of clean cots, a scrubbed floor.
The place was empty. He walked in, in his clean but borrowed clothes, down the length of the first chamber, between the lines of cots, each one laundered and made-up with precision.
A man, the only person around, sat on a cot at the end of the long line, buttoning the jacket of his dress blacks. He looked up.
He barely reacted. Just a flicker of surprise. Mach Bonin rose to his feet, smoothing out the front of his dress uniform.
‘There you are,’ he said, as if Mkoll had only stepped outside for a smoke. ‘There’s a parade about to start. I’m late as it is.’
He reached down and slid an old kitbag out from under his cot. He dumped it on the next cot along.
‘I was holding this for you,’ Bonin said, matter-of-factly. ‘That cot’s free, so you can have that.’
Mkoll nodded. ‘We’ll need another bed,’ he said.
‘Yeah?’ asked Bonin.
Mkoll pointed down the hall. Brin Milo was standing in the doorway. He looked reluctant to step inside.
‘Where did you find him?’ Bonin asked.
‘Long story,’ said Mkoll.
A strong wind was blowing in across the High Parade behind the palace. A hard sun burned high in the sky. The pale skies of Eltath were clear of smoke for the first time in months.
Years, probably.
Ibram Gaunt, Lord Executor, walked out onto the field, his camo cloak billowing behind him. Drill officers barked, and the assembled companies snapped to attention. Brigades of Jovani, Helixid, Narmenian, Vitrian, Keyzon and a host of gleaming Urdeshi regiments. To one side, the small formation of Tanith, in perfect order. A row of field guns stood ready to fire the salute.
Gaunt stepped up onto the podium. An Imperial flag had been draped over the lectern. Overhead, huge standard banners swayed and cracked in the wind.
He nodded to the honour guard as he walked past them, and to the seniors of high command in attendance: Urienz, Blackwood, Cybon, Tzara and Grizmund, each one of them regal in their ceremonial uniforms.
Gaunt stepped to the lectern. He took out a sheaf of papers. He looked out at the assembled regiments, then down at his notes. He paused, and gestured to Ludd, who was leading the honour guard. Ludd hurried forwards.
‘My lord?’ Ludd whispered.
‘Take these, Ludd,’ Gaunt said. ‘I won’t need them.’
Ludd took the sheaf of papers, careful not to let any of them blow away in the wind.
‘Isn’t this your speech, sir?’ he asked nervously.
‘It’s someone’s speech,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not mine.’
Ludd stepped back into line, stuffing the papers into his coat pocket. The lords militant and high officers looked at each other, baffled.
‘Astra Militarum,’ said Gaunt, speaking into the vox mic. His words boomed out across the field. ‘Guardsmen. Lasmen. I have been asked to address you today. To deliver thanks for the struggles we have all endured together on Urdesh Forge World, and to celebrate our accomplishments here. Death is a part of those struggles, and that makes it hard to celebrate, even in a time of triumph. I wrote a speech. It was shit, so let’s draw a veil over that.’
A murmur rippled across the field.
‘It was just words,’ Gaunt went on. ‘They rang false to me, so I know for sure they’ll ring false to you too. I’ve heard enough generals speak in my time. It usually means nothing except that they like the sound of their own voices. You all know what you’ve done.’
He paused. He reached into his pocket and took out the signal paper Beltayn had handed to him. He began to unfold it.
‘A few minutes ago,’ Gaunt said into the vox, ‘I was passed a signal. Information that has just been received. I want to share the contents of that signal with you, because it will mean more to you than any glowing words I can muster.’
He cleared his throat, reading off the thin paper, which fluttered and flapped in his gloved hands.
‘Just before noon today, the Astra Militarum Intelligence Service confirmed a report received yesterday from an Aeronautica Imperialis patrol in the Southern Oceanic Zone. The report, which has been verified, declares that seven days ago, on an island called Orchidel, in the Faroppan archipelago, the Archenemy Anarch, known as Sek, was apprehended and terminated by Astra Militarum troops.’
He looked up. The wind blew across the field. The banners whipped and cracked.
‘I repeat,’ he said, ‘the identity is verified and the termination is confirmed. The Anarch is dead. Today, we have achieved a victory that has not been paralleled since Balhaut. Perhaps, the victory of this crusade. I feel that’s the only thing you need to hear from me today.’
He stepped back from the lectern. Despite the wind, he could hear that the applause and cheering had already begun to spread through the lines.
He turned, and beckoned Trooper Perday forward from the honour squad. She looked so nervous and afraid he thought she might faint. In her arms, she clutched the battered old set of Tanith pipes he’d given her three days before, and which she’d been practising on ever since, enough to master the basic skills. The boy was never coming back, but Gaunt felt that the original Tanith traditions ought to be respected.
‘Trooper Perday?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Ree Perday replied, swallowing hard.
‘Now you can play something,’ he said.
About the Author
Dan Abnett has written over fifty novels, including Anarch, the latest instalment in the acclaimed Gaunt’s Ghosts series. He has also written the Ravenor and Eisenhorn books, the most recent of which is The Magos. For the Horus Heresy, he is the author of Horus Rising, Legion, The Unremembered Empire, Know No Fear and Prospero Burns, the last two of which were both New York Times bestsellers. He also scripted Macragge’s Honour, the first Horus Heresy graphic novel, as well as numerous audio dramas and short stories set in the Warhammer 40,000 and Warhammer universes. He lives and works in Maidstone, Kent.