“It’s time,” the tech-priest intoned, artificial eyes glowing. They will reach the concilium chamber shortly.”
Constantine nodded and threw a sidelong glare at Ardias. “Are you joining us for the negotiations?”
“I think not.”
“Oh?”
“Talking is not my strong point.” He fingered the bolt pistol at his huge waist absently. “I shall monitor events from the Observarius. Our mutual acquaintance is already there.”
“Mutual acquaintance?”
Ardias smiled grimly and pointed towards Constantine’s throat, leaving him self-consciously adjusting the ruffle he’d employed to conceal the ugly wounds on his neck. The admiral remembered the firm alien grip on his shoulder, its accented voice in his ear. He shuddered.
“I thought you killed it,” he muttered.
“You thought incorrectly.”
“It almost murdered me. It slaughtered the bridge personnel, by the throne!”
“Indeed. It is a great warrior.”
“You’re impressed!” Constantine regretted opening his mouth instantly. For a second he really thought Ardias was going to kill him, eyes flashing dangerously, fist clenching with a metal-on-metal groan.
“No,” the Marine said eventually, visibly controlling himself, i am not. “But one does not open a peace negotiation by slaying the enemy’s finest soldiers.”
Constantine didn’t dare reply. The clutching gauntlet looked as though it could mash his head in a second.
“Just leave it,” Ardias snarled, perhaps unconvinced by his own explanation. “I have my reasons. Now get going.”
The Ultramarine turned his huge back and stomped away towards the observation galleries. Constantine watched him go, summoning the shreds of his dignity. He rearranged his dress uniform meticulously and stepped through into the concilium boardroom to await his guests.
Shadows curled claws and tentacles around his face.
Someone, far distant, said “Welcome.”
He was falling, perhaps. Tumbling head-over-hooves into an endless pit.
Someone said, “Please accept the returned greetings of his Eminence Aun’el T’au Ko’vash, who trusts his noble host is well.”
The words made sense, possibly. He struggled to turn over, to stare upwards to the top of the hole as it receded into a distant, impossible point.
Someone said, falteringly, “Many thanks... I am Benedil Constantine — admiral of the fleet. Won’t you... Won’t you take a seat?”
There was light up there, at the entrance to the pit. He thought he could see something moving.
Someone said, uncertain, “Take a seat? A gift, admiral?”
Someone said, “Oh, no... I mean, would you like to sit?”
Behind him, deep in the abyss, something rustled and giggled and hissed.
Someone said, “His eminence prefers to stand, but is grateful for the offer.”
Someone replied, a little too sharply, “I wonder if his Eminence is able to speak for himself?”
The thing behind him, the Mont’au devil (he knew it!), stretched out a scaly hand for him, scythe-like claws grasping upwards.
Someone said, “His eminence prefers to speak through me. I am his tongue and his hand, in this circumstance.”
Someone said, angrily, “And you are?”
He concentrated on looking upwards, willing himself to rise, praying for the world to return to him, for his cascading form to levitate into the light.
Someone said, “I am Por’el T’au Yis’ten.”
The words made sense. They were important, he knew.
Someone said, “Fine, fine. Uh. As you wish. Allow me to begin proceedings, then, by protesting in the strongest terms at the unprovoked hostility demonstrated by your people, that has brought us to this poi—”
Someone said, “Admiral, perhaps you are confused. Our hostilities were the result of provocation.”
You’re asleep, Kais. You need to wake up now.
Someone said, “Well, I disagr—”
Someone said, “Admiral, his eminence is unconcerned whether you agree or not. Let us not mince words. We are in a position of superiority. We have all but seized your flagship and possess the ability to cripple your fleet further still. Let us not waste our time with protests and accusations.”
He could see, now, in the light at the pit’s head. Something opening, breaking apart like mighty doors in the sky.
He could see...
Someone said, voice thick with indignation, “If you’re so convinced that you can defeat us, why are you even here, begging for peace?”
Someone said, “Admiral, we have no great fondness for genocide. A withdrawal is all we desire.”
He could see...
Oh, by the One Path, it was eyes. Great, dark, bottomless eyes; his father’s scowling face filling the sky. Filling the world. Filling his mind with expectation and disappointment.
Flawed, the eyes said. Useless.
The devil behind him cackled and warbled and giggled, and its claws closed around his waist.
Kais lurched awake with a hiss, hands clawing at the air to ward off the nightmares. Cool air brushed across his skin with a bizarre freshness: a sensation of newborn helplessness. He realised slowly that his helmet was gone, his gun had disappeared and he lay in—
He blinked.
The room was gue’la, unmistakably. All the usual ugliness was apparent: a tumbling intestine of tubes and pipes infesting the ceiling, grille-striated walls of bleak gunmetal, stone block recesses surrounded him on three sides and the usual damp, musty smell of humanity (now unfiltered by the helmet’s breathing systems) hit his senses like a fist.
But there was something different about this place. As he levered himself upright his hooves made contact with a soft, spongy floor covering, momentarily unset-ding him as he ascertained its solidity. Here and there plush crimson tapestries and drapes decorated the bulkheads, spiderlike icons of meaningless heraldry blistering their surfaces. The chamber was better lit than any he’d seen aboard the Enduring Blade thus far, giving it a sense of cleanliness and regality that was out of place in such grim surroundings.
There was a conversation going on, somewhere.
Someone said, “I see... so... You expect us to retreat, is that it?”
Kais turned his head towards the sound, still shaking off the torpor. The fourth wall of the room was a window. Bathed in the light from whatever luminous chamber lay beyond, standing with colossal hands on hips, a Space Marine stood and stared. Kais felt the panic rising in his belly.
He straightened with a hiss, frantic sleep clouded thoughts racing, eyes seeking out a weapon, a hiding place, anything!
“Relax.”
The Marine was staring at him, helmetless features grizzled and scarred. It cocked an eyebrow and gave what, to Kais, seemed an insincere, unimpressed grimace.
“I thought you might appreciate seeing this.” The figure jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the window and turned away. A disembodied voice, relayed through a small speaker set above the window, said: “In essence, admiral, yes. His Eminence feels there’s little to be gained from continuing our hostilities.” Kais, staying alert and wary of traps, edged towards the window, curiosity piqued. “Our resources,” the voice continued, “are more than enough to overcome your own, highly effective though they undoubtedly are. We feel, nonetheless, that even in victory there would be great cost to all concerned. We’ve demonstrated our seriousness, and offer our gratitude that you agreed to negotiate... despite the initial delay.”
The window looked out onto a wide circular room full of standing figures. Kais crept closer, expecting a trap, throwing furtive glances at the Marine. The figure, clad in blue armour with inverted hoof-arch icons on its shoulder guards, maintained its appearance of dismissive nonchalance.