Despite the pain of his exile, he knew he owed Meroved a debt. Though as the venerable shield-captain had left the Throneworld soon after, together with his rank, his armour and all the trappings that made him a Custodian, Cartovandis doubted it would ever be repaid. Meroved had slipped into obscurity, his watch ended as his body surrendered to the rigours of duty at last.
‘Syr…’
A voice that was not the Emperor’s drew Cartovandis from the bleak reverie. Adio smiled warmly across the softly lit expanse of a statue-lined gallery rendered in umber stone.
‘I had thought you might not come,’ Adio said as he approached, and gestured to a semicircle of stone benches.
‘I almost didn’t,’ said Cartovandis, following Adio to where they both sat down.
‘You prefer the violent solitude of the lower depths then?’
‘There is no shame in preparation.’
‘True, and yet you refuse to leave Terra and join your brothers out amongst the stars. What is it, I wonder, that you are preparing for then, Syr?’
It was asked honestly, without agenda, though Cartovandis felt the bite of the question like it was an accusation.
‘Our place is here, Adio, by the Throne, by His side.’
‘And can we not serve Him still by venturing beyond our own borders?’ Adio countered. ‘Should we let His enemies come here, to our sovereign earth, or would you seek them out and kill them before they have even glimpsed at Terra’s light? The galaxy has changed, Syr. Nothing is as it once was.’
‘We remain as we were, as we are. Our role unchanged.’
Adio gave a short, sad laugh. ‘Would that it were true. We can no longer linger here in His gilded tomb, no more than worms creeping through darkened hollows.’
‘It is no tomb!’
‘It is decay and it is decrepitude. I know your belief, Syr Cartovandis. It is not as unpopular amongst our order as you might think.’
‘Are the tongues of the Ten Thousand made bolder the farther they venture from the Throneworld?’
‘Listen, Syr. You can hear it in these very halls. If Lord Guilliman can return from the brink of dissolution… then why not Him? I know you think it.
‘You say nothing has changed. All of it has changed. Long past are the days when we were His confidants, His counsellors, when we shared His wisdom and offered our own meagre insights in return. We were an ideal before He made His lesser creations. Instead we are forced to derive scraps of meaning from the Emissaries Imperatus. I say we are deaf, Syr. I would not also be blind. Unlike you, however, I believe this is the state of things and this will not change. So, we must.’
Cartovandis shook his head, unconvinced.
‘Soldiers over companions, over protectors, is that it? We renege on one oath to embrace another? His blood is our blood. You forget, Adio, I served at His side, amongst the Companions. I felt it, His will, His desire to rise up from the Throne and command the stars anew.
‘The son is reborn, why not the father? Blood will out, blood will bring Him back to us and lift Him from out of this torpor.’
‘You speak of resurrection, of a second coming, Syr.’
‘I speak of revival, of waking from a deathly slumber. The Emperor is Terra, and Terra is the Emperor. The blood-red tear that glows above our heads, Adio, it represents a wound. The Neverborn trod here… here, brother, on this very soil. Their taint extends beyond the physical. It is a malaise of the spirit. Ever since the Lion’s Gate I have not heard His voice. Only silence remains.’
Adio’s expression darkened. ‘I cannot subscribe to this, Syr. The Emperor is absolute. He is all. He is eternal. He is wounded, yes, but it is from a blow struck ten thousand years ago. Few remember it as we do, but it is still the truth. No divine vessel will see this undone. No blood of His can heal it.’ He frowned, suddenly pained. ‘The silence is torturing you, Syr. It is merely His will, and you must accept it.’
‘I cannot,’ said Cartovandis.
Adio sighed, and put a hand on Cartovandis’ shoulder.
‘Then I am sorry, old friend. It is a heavy burden. But do not seek His voice in that place, in the Oblivion Vault. You will not find it in shadow or the gibbering of daemons.’
‘I will not find it beyond the Throneworld either.’
‘Do not be so sure.’
Cartovandis smiled, shrugging off his melancholy like an ill-fitting cloak. ‘Have no concern for me, Adio. I do not seek destructive ends. I am merely a sword unsheathed that wishes to remain sharp.’
‘Those depths have a way of holding on to a man, and dragging upon him. Do not leave a piece of yourself in that cage, Syr, that’s all I’m asking. By severing their chains you unknowingly forge your own. Do not underestimate the Neverborn.’
Cartovandis raised a placatory hand. ‘I heed you, Adio. I acknowledge I was reckless, and vow to be more mindful. There. Does that set your mind at ease?’
Adio raised an eyebrow, suggesting it did not.
Cartovandis gave a dark laugh, full of grim humour. ‘It could be worse. There are direr hollows beneath the Palace than the Oblivion Vault. And terrors more fell than daemons. You know of what I speak, and the one who keeps them. How long has it been, Adio?’
Adio fell silent, his expression one of inner turmoil.
‘How long since you last spoke to your brother?’
Chapter Four
The Imperial Palace, The Dark Cells, Terra
Even the echo of his steps felt wrong. At first they would reverberate in a seemingly endless refrain, only to cease abruptly and fall still and heavy like footfalls in a sound-deadened room.
Varogalant ignored it. Clasping Vigilance to his chest, like a standard-bearer drawing strength from the colours of his regiment, he maintained his watch. He passed another of his order, the warrior lost momentarily to the creeping shadows, his sable-black armour blending with the dark.
Varogalant nodded once, solemn, and saw the gesture returned. No words were exchanged. Few words were ever spoken in this place. But listen. Oh, yes, they would all listen. Silence prevailed at first, but only at first. Then the half-heard voices would drift through the iron-grey corridors in languages older than mankind itself. Try to attend, to fathom the nature of the imparted message, and the silence would fall again like a dolorous veil. Deafening, absolute… until the voices returned, at the barest edge of hearing. Lesser men would have been driven to madness.
The voices belonged to the eldritch creatures, to the horrors and grotesques, to the macabre and the profane. Not all had flesh, not all were truly alive, but every wretched thing incarcerated behind the wards and santic circles, the rune-locked gates, the binding chains, the null cages and obviation charms possessed anima.
Varogalant could feel it trying to worm in, to unpick the mental fastness he had raised around his mind. Every cell and oubliette held an abomination, a thing so terrible that it could not be killed or destroyed – either because no known method of annihilation had been found or because it was unknown if the very act of dissolution would unleash a greater calamity.