‘Those you know as wyrds are more severely affected. Their connection to the warp and their powers are greatly amplified. Too much and–’
‘Violent cranial explosion death, like my fake suicide on the down-trans.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But I’m not a wyrd… Am I?’
‘No, you’d be dead if you were.’
‘I’d be dead if I were still out there too.’
‘Possibly.’
Gedd tapped the null-collar. ‘So I assume I shouldn’t take this off any time soon.’
‘That would be a very bad idea.’
‘You still haven’t told me what it is. I assume this is the other business you referred to earlier?’
‘You are very astute.’
‘I agree, but that’s not an answer.’
‘A relic, something very old, something mankind should not meddle with, was stolen. It has since reappeared here in Vorganthian. It’s an amplifier of sorts, a piece of arcana from a dark time in mankind’s past. Whatever is fuelling it must be potent.’
‘I don’t feel any better or wiser for knowing any of that.’
Meroved shrugged. He had stripped off his torso layer to reveal an ugly gash across his chest and even uglier goring in his flesh.
Gedd swore under her breath.
‘That wound… You should be dead. What happened to you?’
‘One of my brothers was murdered. The same thing that killed him tried to kill me. I survived.’
Gedd’s eyes narrowed. ‘When you say “brother” you mean brotherhood, don’t you, as in a fellow warrior?’
‘His name was Kazamende. He was regarded as a protector amongst my former order, one sent to watch over someone of importance.’
‘A duty he failed if he’s dead?’
Meroved nodded. ‘Yes, one he failed.’
‘And this person of importance… Where are they right now?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Could they still be alive?’
‘It’s possible.’
A brief silence fell as the events of the last few hours began to sink in. Gedd found the engine noise soothing and realised how close to exhaustion she was. If not for Meroved’s fortifying tonic, she would probably have collapsed by now. Instead, she watched in silence as he first washed then dressed his wound. It looked savage, like the kind of damage that never really heals.
After fifteen minutes of silence, Gedd decided she had to know.
‘Who are you, Meroved, or should I ask, who were you?’
‘I am my Emperor’s loyal servant, even in exile,’ he replied.
‘A Space Marine?’
‘No…’ said Meroved at length, looping the bindings tightly and methodically around his chest. ‘I am no wolf. I was a lion once.’
‘I don’t know what any of that means.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Gedd.’
‘Call me Sula.’
Meroved smiled, despite the obvious pain he was in.
‘Sula,’ he repeated.
‘It’s short for Ursula.’
He laughed. ‘I know.’
‘So, what do we do now?’
‘We wait. Word has been sent. Terra has heeded us. They are coming.’
Gedd frowned. ‘Who is coming?’
‘My former brothers in arms, the Adeptus Custodes.’
‘Former? But that would mean…’
Meroved nodded. ‘Now you have your answer.’
Gedd leaned back in her seat.
‘Saint’s piss…’
Chapter Seventeen
The Imperial Palace, Tower of Hegemon, Terra
Trajann Valoris was already waiting for them as Adio and Cartovandis entered the triumph hall. He sat at the end of a long wooden table, remarkable for the fact that it was hewn from actual oak and preserved by the arcane science of Adeptus Mechanicus magi. A host of rigid banners flanked the captain-general on either side. Mosaics caught the lambent light of lume-sconces. Both described past victories, and hung heavy with dust or were faded with age.
He reclined in the easy manner of a king comfortable before his court, his left leg outstretched and the other tucked in, a gold-armoured knee protruding. A red cloak lay across one shoulder, partially hooding the sculpted eagle of his guard. His lion mantle sat at his feet, a predator at rest. His helm, a fearsome mask of auramite crested with a blood-red plume, sat on one arm of his throne; the other supported Valoris’ elbow, and his hardy chin was leant upon a clenched and gauntleted fist. He had the manner of a philosopher, an appearance which held some truth, though his musings tended inevitably to the bellicose, to war.
He appeared not to have seen the two Custodians as they passed through the soaring arch, also decorated with the now lustreless glory of old crusades, the dusty bricks of a fallen empire. And then he spoke.
‘Take a seat,’ he said without turning, his voice low and deep, his attention on the darkness that only partly occluded craggy features riddled with the fissures of scars. Even in this rare, pensive state he radiated aggression. Not towards his comrades – his ire did not extend to the Ten Thousand but rather was a form of restiveness, a palpable energy too volatile to shackle. Sinews in his neck stood out, thick as rope, his jaw tensed, a possible prelude to wrath.
Cartovandis glanced at Adio; they had just been about to leave the cerebratory when they had received the summons. Adio gave the slightest inclination of his head. Like Valoris they went unhelmed out of respect for their kind, and they sat at opposite sides of the table.
It was only at this point that Cartovandis realised Valoris had not been not alone before they had entered. His companion stood cloaked by shadows, his hands clasped in front of him as if resting them on the pommel of an unseen weapon, though he was not ostensibly armed. Unlike the other Custodians in the room, he wore his helm, his shield host easy enough to determine even in the gloom: red shoulder guard and grey-white robes, one of the Emissaries Imperatus. Cartovandis stifled a momentary pang of envy, deeming his thoughts unworthy. At least he knew why they had been summoned here – the Emperor had willed it through His gilded proxy.
Neither Cartovandis nor Adio spoke. They settled into their seats and did not stir. They trusted they waited for good reason and saw no need to breach the silence with idle and pointless words. Both had set their helms down upon the table, and done so reverently, the mask of each as impassive as the face of its owner.
Valoris would address them when he was ready. Cartovandis realised the captain-general was still waiting for someone.
Before long, footsteps echoed down the gallery that led to the triumph hall. A single set, clipped, precise and metronomic.
Adio turned, and his posture stiffened as he recognised the newcomer.
So did Cartovandis.
‘Syr…’ the newcomer said.
‘Varo.’
Then he turned his head to address Adio. ‘Brother.’
Adio did not move, not even to acknowledge Varogalant at first. At last, he gave a curt nod.
Varogalant bowed. ‘Captain-general.’
Valoris gestured for him to sit, which Varogalant did, removing his helm as the others had and revealing the same swarthy complexion as his brother, only the Shadowkeeper looked gaunter around the eyes, which were brown like his skin. He had close-shaven white hair and a seemingly perpetual frown furrowed his brow. The burdens of his calling were obvious to all.
‘Tell them why they are here, Zayadian,’ said Valoris to the emissary, his mind seemingly still on the dark and the enemies he imagined there.
The Emissary Imperatus stepped forwards into the light.
‘I have heard the voice of the Emperor. He speaks each of your names,’ uttered Zayadian with heavy solemnity, ‘and bids you away from Terra.’