‘Shadhek,’ said Mabbon.
‘You recognise me.’
‘It’s been a long time. Fefnag Pass. Scouring the archenemy into the sea.’
‘You are the archenemy now,’ said Shadhek.
‘No, not to anyone,’ said Mabbon. ‘And yet, to everyone. My end is sought by everyone under the stars.’
‘Do you want me to pity you?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘I will not understand you, Mabbon,’ said Shadhek. ‘Not in a thousand thousand years. You were etogaur. A great warrior. No soul more loyal, no commander more shrewd. It was an honour to serve at your side. There were the makings of a magister in you. All who knew you said so.’
‘That’s consolation, I suppose,’ said Mabbon.
‘And then,’ Shadhek murmured. He shrugged. ‘Pheguth. Lowest of all. Lower than filth. A traitor. A betrayer of all trust. You turned.’
‘I have turned more than once in my life. Neither path ever took.’
‘Why, Mabbon?’
‘Because no one ever offered me an answer, Shadhek,’ Mabbon replied.
‘An answer? What answer?’
‘To the most simple of all questions. Why.’
‘Why?’
‘Why all of this? Why any of it? Why do we kill with such consuming intent? Why does this galaxy burn? Imperium and Archonate, eternally locked in rage. No one ever asking why. Who is right? Who is wrong? What secret domain of truth lies between those two extremes?’
Shadhek sneered.
‘You have lost your mind,’ he said.
Mabbon smiled.
‘I think I am the only sane soul alive,’ said Mabbon, ‘but that amounts to the same thing.’
‘Well,’ said Shadhek, ‘now you won’t even be that.’
He raised the lasgun until the muzzle was just a hand’s length from Mabbon’s face. Mabbon did not cower. He did not try to shy away from it. He sat in place, back straight, staring into the notched barrel.
‘Vahooth voi sehn,’ Shadhek said.
The sound of the shot boomed in the close confines of the cell.
Mabbon’s head snapped sideways. The las-bolt had scorched his right cheek and torn through the fleshy lump of his right ear before stroking the back wall of the cell. Blood poured down the side of his head.
He blinked.
Shadhek had been wrenched backwards at the last second, enough to swing his aim aside. The tip of a silver warknife protruded from the middle of his chest, neon blood oozing out around it. A man was clinging to him from behind, one arm locked around his throat, bending him back, the other driving the warblade into his back.
‘Feth me, what are you?’ snarled Varl.
The Qimurah still had his weapon. It fired twice as Varl wrench him backwards. One las-bolt missed Mabbon’s shoulder by a centimetre. The other hit the stone block he was sitting on. Mabbon didn’t flinch. He didn’t even move.
‘Ah,’ he murmured wearily.
Cursing and raging, Varl hauled the Qimurah backwards, trying to turn him away from Mabbon before he fired again.
‘Fething feth-bag shit-stain won’t fething die!’ Varl yelled through gritted teeth.
Shadhek snarled and shoved himself back, mashing Varl between himself and the door frame. Varl barked as all the air was crushed out of him. Shadhek tried to shake him off and turn. Gasping, Varl managed to jerk his straight silver out of the Qimurah’s back before he lost his grip on it completely. As the reworked turned, Varl raked the blade in a frantic slash that opened a diagonal slit across Shadhek’s chest and cut through the strap of his lasgun.
Varl kicked, planting the entire sole of his left boot in the Qimurah’s belly. Shadhek lurched backwards and slammed into the cell wall. The impact forced neon blood from his chest wound. His rifle tumbled out of his grip and clattered across the floor.
Jaws wide, he lunged at Varl.
‘Feth–’ said Varl a second before he was driven into the corner of the cell. He’d been reaching for the lasrifle looped over his shoulder, but Shadhek didn’t give him time to act.
Shadhek’s paws locked around Varl’s throat, squeezing to snap his neck. Thrashing, Varl rammed his warknife into Shadhek’s sternum and shoved with both hands until the blade was buried to the hilt.
An agonised, mangled sound came out of Varl’s mouth as the Qimurah throttled him.
Mabbon looked down at the keys again. He looked at the cuff on his left wrist.
He looked at Varl, as the Ghost sergeant reached the final moments of his life.
With one last burst of near inhuman effort, Varl shoved. Shadhek staggered back, his hands still locked around Varl’s throat. Varl’s hands, soaked with neon blood, were clenched around the grip of the warknife buried in Shadhek’s solar plexus.
Mabbon stood up. He looped the heavy floor chain of his remaining cuff around Shadhek’s neck, took up the slack, and wrenched the Qimurah away from the Ghost.
Shadhek stumbled, the loop of chain biting into his neck. Mabbon kicked the back of his knees and brought him down, then stood on his chest and pulled the chain as tight as he could.
‘Gun,’ he said.
Varl was coughing and retching. He snatched his dangling rifle and aimed it down at the Qimurah.
‘Hurry,’ said Mabbon patiently. ‘I can’t hold him for long.’
Varl roared, and put three rounds into the Qimurah’s grimacing face. Incandescent blood sprayed out across the flagstones and spattered them both. Half of the Qimurah’s face was a smoking ruin of neon gore.
Mabbon kept the chain tight.
‘More,’ he said.
‘I’ve fething–’ Varl gasped.
‘More,’ said Mabbon.
Varl fired again. Four shots, five, six. When he stopped, very little of the reworked’s head remained. Broken tusk fangs stuck at angles in the shapeless, bloody mess.
Mabbon let the chain go slack, and took his foot off the body.
‘They’re hard to kill,’ he said.
‘No shit.’
‘Qimurah. Their tolerances are beyond human.’
‘Uh huh,’ said Varl. He coughed, then turned and threw up on the floor. He stood bent over for a second, heaving and gasping.
‘You had a rifle, sergeant,’ said Mabbon. ‘Why didn’t you use that? Why did you lead with the blade?’
Varl spat on the floor. He straightened up.
‘You were right in the line of fire,’ he replied, his voice hoarse. ‘I might have hit you too.’
‘That seems to bother a surprising number of men today,’ said Mabbon.
Varl saw the keys lying on the floor. He picked them up and reached for Mabbon’s cuff.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘These fethers are all over the place. It’s fething murder outside. Shift your arse.’
‘I am not sure why you’re saving me,’ said Mabbon.
‘Me neither,’ said Varl. ‘Gaunt’s orders.’
‘Ah.’
‘Come on,’ Varl said, stripping off the remaining cuff.
‘I am resigned to die, Sergeant Varl,’ Mabbon said, not moving. ‘I have been waiting for it. Longing for it, probably. All of this is entirely unnecessary. You’ve risked your life and wasted your time–’
‘Come. The feth. Along,’ said Varl.
Mabbon looked at him.
‘Please, I… I’ve had enough,’ said Mabbon.
‘Yeah? Really?’ asked Varl. ‘Then why did you step in? You sat there like a dozy fether while all of that went down, then at the last moment, bang, in you come. Why do anything if you want to fething die?’
Mabbon hesitated.
‘I don’t care about my life any more,’ he said. He looked at Varl. ‘But you were always decent to me, Sergeant Varl. Fair. One of the very few who were. My submission would have meant your death too.’
‘Oh, gee,’ said Varl. ‘I’m touched. I’m getting a nice warm feeling in my… no, that’s vomit. Move your fething arse now, Mabbon. We are leaving and it’s not going to be pretty.’