‘So he fears us?’
Olort shook his head.
‘Nen. He will take the key from you. For the woe is already within you.’
‘Woe?’
‘The Herit ver Tenebal Mor!’
‘The bad shadow? The Heritor’s bad shadow?’
‘Yes. It was cast upon you a long age ago, mortekoi.’
Mkoll glared into the damogaur’s eyes. He relaxed his grip.
‘Next question,’ he whispered. ‘How do we get out of here?’
Two: Other Business
‘Enough,’ said the First Lord Executor.
More than forty people were present in the chamber, and all of them had been talking. At his word, most of them stopped: all the regimental commanders, tacticians, adepts and advisors at least. Only the lords general and militant kept going, because they were used to being the senior figures in any room.
As quiet descended, even they trailed off. Someone coughed, uncomfortably.
‘It seems there’s been a misunderstanding,’ said Lord Executor Ibram Gaunt quietly. He sat at the head of the table, the area in front of him stacked with data-slates, folders and strap-bound blocks of Munitorum forms. He was studying one of the data-slates. His long, lean face carried no expression. ‘This isn’t a discussion. Those are orders.’
Gaunt looked at them. Everyone at the table, even the most senior lords, winced. There was still no expression on Gaunt’s face. But no one liked to be fixed by the fierce and cold gaze of his artificial eyes.
‘Go and execute them,’ he said.
Chairs scraped across the etched black stones of the floor. Staff members rose to their feet, and gathered their papers. There was some quick nodding, a few salutes. Murmuring, the personnel left the Collegia Bellum Urdeshi.
Only Adjutant Beltayn remained, perched on a chair by the wall. He clutched data-slates in his lap, and a portable field-vox sat in its canvas carrier at his feet.
‘Me too, sir?’ he asked.
‘Stay,’ said Gaunt.
The four Tempestus Scions assigned to him as body-men stayed too. They closed the hall doors after the departing officers, and took up their stations, silent and rigid, hellguns locked across their broad chests. There was no point dismissing them. They went wherever Gaunt went.
Gaunt had come to consider them as furniture, the dressing of any room he occupied. Sancto and his men were humourless, sullen and unyielding, but that was the product of indoctrinated loyalty, and such loyalty ensured confidence and discretion. Gaunt had been First Lord Executor for little more than three days, but in that time he had learned many things about what his life would be like from now on, and one of those things was that the Scions were simply bodyguard drones. However annoying their constant presence, he could speak freely around them.
Gaunt sat back and steepled his fingers. He could hear the distant crackle of the void shields surrounding the Urdeshic Palace and, more distant, the moan of raid sirens echoing across the city of Eltath. Occasionally, a burst of klaxon welled up from the palace beneath him. A recurring fault, he had been told.
The air in the Collegia smelled of stale cigar smoke and hot wax. The many candles flickered, shimmering the more constant light of the hovering lumen globes.
‘What’s done?’ Gaunt asked.
Beltayn rose to his feet, and consulted one of his slates.
‘Called in Militarum reinforcement to Eltath, Zarakppan, Orppus and Azzana. Despatched Lords Kelso and Bulledin to secure the Zarakppan front. Instructed Lord Grizmund to consolidate the south-west line of the Dynastic Claves. Sent Lord Humel to coordinate the liberation of Ghereppan. Brought the war-engine legions up to the ninth parallel. Asked Lord Van Voytz to prepare for the arrival of the Saint–’
Gaunt watched his adjutant read down the list. There was no sign of it ending in the near future.
He raised his hand.
‘That was sort of rhetorical,’ he said.
‘Ah,’ said Beltayn. He lowered the slate. ‘Not clear from context, sir.’
‘My apologies,’ said Gaunt. ‘I was looking for concision. Your answer could have simply been “everything on the day list”, Bel.’
‘Noted, sir,’ said Beltayn. ‘Except–’
‘What?’
‘Well, it’s not everything on the day list. Generals Urienz and Tzara have both requested audience, the Munitorum has a list of queries regarding resupply quotas, an inquisitor called… umm…’ He checked the slate. ‘…Laksheema, Inquisitor Laksheema, has asked for urgent attention–’
‘Concerning?’
‘Unstated. Above my pay grade, sir. There’s also, of course, the other regimental business you asked me to note–’
‘Ah, that,’ said Gaunt.
‘Yes, and also the matter of your staff personnel selection.’
Gaunt sighed.
‘I just need good people,’ he said. ‘Tactical. Communication. Administration. Can’t they be assigned?’
‘I think the feeling is you should appoint them, sir,’ replied Beltayn.
Which meant interviews, evaluations, isometrics. Gaunt sighed again.
‘This is the Astra Militarum,’ he said. ‘People are supposed do what they’re ordered to do. It’s not a personality contest.’
‘There’s a certain… prestige involved, sir,’ said Beltayn. ‘Appointment to the private office of the Lord Executor. It carries… significance. You’re the chosen instrument of the warmaster…’
‘I am,’ said Gaunt. He rose to his feet. ‘I set the rules now. Rule one. People follow orders. I don’t care if it’s front line grunts or lofty staff level Astra Militarum. Do as you’re told. I need a good tacticae core.’
‘Biota seemed willing, sir,’ said Beltayn.
‘Well, he’s very capable. But he’s been Van Voytz’s man since forever.’
‘I think Tactician Biota is eager to distance himself from the lord general since… since the lord general’s disgrace.’
‘Van Voytz is not disgraced.’
‘Well, you know what I mean, sir.’
‘Tell Biota he’s got the job. Tell him to hand pick three… no, two advisors he deems capable.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell Urienz and Tzara I’ll see them in an hour.’
‘And this inquisitor?’ asked Beltayn.
‘The inquisitor can go through channels and make the nature of the matter clear. Then I’ll assign time.’
‘Yes, sir. Uhm, I expect you’ll want a staff adjutant assigned too. I mean, I’m happy to fill in for now–’
Gaunt looked at him.
‘You’re my adjutant.’
Beltayn pursed his lips. ‘I’m a company level vox-officer, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m not–’ he gestured at the hall around him, as if the grandeur of it somehow made his point for him.
‘You’re my adjutant,’ Gaunt repeated.
‘Yes, but you’ll be transferring me back to First Company soon,’ said Beltayn. ‘I’m a line trooper. Lord Grizmund did advise about–’
Gaunt looked at Beltayn sharply. He was well aware of the off-the-record conversation he’d had with Grizmund a few hours earlier.
‘You’re not Tanith any more, Ibram,’ Grizmund had said with a sad smile. ‘Your line days are over. Oh, the Tanith will remain in your purview, but the scale has changed.’
‘You remain the commander of the Narmenians,’ Gaunt had replied.
Grizmund had nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s fifteen armoured and eighteen infantry regiments. Brigade level. Backbone of my divisional assets numbering seventy thousand men. I don’t ride a tank any more. Nor do you personally command a little recon scout force. Put someone else in the top spot, form up division assets – in your position, you can have a free choice – and put your Ghosts somewhere in the midst of them. They’ll still be yours, but they’re a small part of a much bigger picture. Regimental business is no longer your business, Ibram. Make the break. No sentiment. And make it fast. That’s my honest advice. Take it from me, it’s heartbreaking otherwise. All those years of toil together then you elevate above them. Make the break, and make it fast and clean.’