Cartovandis shifted in his seat, his reaction visceral and subconscious. The noisy scrape of chair legs drew all eyes to him.
‘This cannot be…’ he whispered, fighting down a growl of disbelief.
‘It is,’ Zayadian replied. ‘It is the speculum obscurus. Our conclave has determined it.’
Cartovandis was about to object more strenuously and even Varogalant had a query forming in his expression, before Valoris finally turned to regard them.
His bloodshot eyes spoke of anger, but his voice was calm, his tone measured.
‘Word has reached me from an old ally, one of the Eyes,’ he explained. ‘A threat to the Throneworld,’ he looked pointedly at Varogalant, ‘and the discovery of a relic of Old Night, stolen from the Dark Cells.’
Cartovandis noticed the slightest clenching of Varogalant’s fists and knew that the Shadowkeeper would voice no concern at leaving Terra now. In his mind, he was already on the hunt.
‘It is the Emperor’s will that you three meet this threat,’ said Zayadian.
Valoris turned his gaze on Cartovandis and Adio. If possible, he looked sterner than before.
‘Kazamende is dead.’
‘Mercy of the Throne,’ Adio hissed, leaning forwards in his seat. ‘How?’
‘It doesn’t matter how,’ snarled Valoris. ‘All that matters is what happens now. He was of your host, Adio. He must be avenged. The protection of the Aquilan Shields must be absolute.’
‘And what of me, captain-general?’ asked Cartovandis.
Valoris raised an eyebrow and it pulled at his scar tissue, rendering it even uglier and more savage. ‘I assume you do not question the Emperor’s will.’
‘I only wish to know. I have never ventured beyond the Throneworld. My place is by His side. What has changed?’
‘A great deal, I think you know.’
A great deal, echoed Cartovandis in his mind, choking back the grief of his isolation from the Emperor’s voice. A single word tore him from reverie. A name.
‘Meroved,’ said Valoris.
Cartovandis’ eyes widened a fraction. His jaw stiffened.
‘Yes…’ added Valoris. ‘I thought that might get your attention.’
Cartovandis’ gaze hardened. Even if he could, he would not refuse to come to the aid of his old comrade. He owed Meroved his life, but also his pain.
‘When do we leave?’
‘Immediately. A ship is being prepared for departure as we speak,’ said Valoris.
‘Then we should make ready,’ Adio cut in, eager to be under way. He spared a glance for his brother but then looked away.
‘And where are we bound, captain-general?’ asked Varogalant, showing none of his brother’s unease.
‘Kobor, at the edge of the Sol System. Meroved’s report will be made known to you on the way.’
Cartovandis was the first to rise.
‘If there’s nothing further…’
Valoris nodded, bidding them on their way.
Adio and Varogalant followed, the latter waiting for the former and last to leave as they exited the triumph hall headed for the transport bay and the Coronus grav-carrier that would ferry them to their voidship.
Trajann Valoris watched them go.
‘A long time since they fought together, captain-general,’ remarked Zayadian.
‘The Emperor’s will is not without its quirks.’
Zayadian gave a mirthless laugh.
‘It was at the Lion’s Gate,’ said Valoris.
‘I remember it.’
‘As do I, Zayadian,’ Valoris replied, his words thickening with anger and grief. ‘As do I.’
Chapter Eighteen
The Lion’s Gate, Terra
Evil had taken on corporeality in the army of screaming Neverborn awaiting the Custodians.
Meroved could hear them, despite the thickness of the gate in front of him.
Every one of the Ten Thousand waiting in the grand entrance hall could hear them. Whispers of damnation, curses and promises – all fell on deaf ears.
Four shield hosts stood together, a mustering not seen since the War of Shame, almost four thousand Custodians in full battle panoply. A gilded sea of Hykanatoi with spears, blades and shields looked to their general.
Blood-red light coursed through openings in the wall where gun emplacements had begun to engage, and it bathed Trajann Valoris in a murderous aura, as if he could appear any more belligerent.
He uttered no war cry, standing atop an ornate dais for all his warriors to see. Instead, he cast his gimlet gaze across the pristine banners, the war engines and the Revered Fallen, and as if satisfied with what he saw, he raised his guardian spear aloft. At his signal, the Lion’s Gate began to open. Mechanisms unused for millennia churned with metallic agony, shrieking loud enough to eclipse the hellspawn beyond for a short while.
As the shield host began a slow march, Meroved felt a hand upon his right shoulder. He turned to Syr Cartovandis.
‘We must annihilate them, shield-captain.’
Meroved nodded. ‘Aye, and we will.’
‘Terra must be rid of this filth.’
The gate’s aperture widened; more light and air fed in, thick with blood and brimstone. The wailing of the lost and damned became so loud it was difficult to hear.
In the end Meroved did not answer with words, but slammed his spear haft against his shield and saw it echoed amongst his gilded brothers as hundreds of struck shields stirred up a strident chorus. The daemons began to wail.
Let them suffer.
Favouring a glance to his left, Meroved saw Adio at his other shoulder, the banner clenched tightly in the Vexilus Praetor’s fist. The effigy of the Eagle Resplendent shone golden despite the bloody light.
Hold it high, brother, Meroved willed, the furore beyond the slowly opening gate almost overwhelming now.
Adio spared a glance to the only patch of darkness amongst the gold, the grim ranks of the Shadowkeepers, clad in black and summoned from the Dark Cells to stand and fight on Terra’s soil for the first time in millennia. The distraction was fleeting; Adio turned away as if he’d found what he sought and returned his attention to what lay ahead.
The slow march became a steady run, the tracked Land Raiders and hovering Vertus Praetors astride Dawneagles keeping pace. Contemptors amongst the throng, side by side with warriors in Allarus Terminator plate, sped up into a lumbering gait.
With every step, the light grew brighter and more visceral. A sense of moment fell upon Meroved, his storm shield thrust to the fore and his spear at shoulder height, poised to strike. The steady run became a sprint, the gate yawned wide unleashing the Emperor’s Legion in full fury. Hundreds of guardian spears drew level, ready for the initial thrust.
The Ten Thousand passed through the towering arch above the Lion’s Gate and into a cacophony.
Hellspawn in their multitudes surged against them like an unclean sea. The entire processional that led to the Lion’s Gate was choked with red-skinned daemons capering on reverse-jointed legs, with brutish flesh hounds swathed in brimstone scales and hulking mechanical beasts that bellowed metallically, spewing smoke and ash.
For Meroved, the conflict came in violent flashes, his vision shrinking to myopic focus but his awareness of the greater battle acute on account of his Emperor-given gifts.
Above, a flock of winged creatures duelled with golden gunships. Leathery bodies fell like burning rain. One of the craft exploded, violent and terrible, as it was overwhelmed. It took the harpies with it, and crashed beyond sight of the walls.
On one flank, Venerable Uriaxes wrestled a beast to the ground, hurling it onto its side before he tore open its chest and ripped out the foul organs within.