It seemed inconceivable that no one else was able to see this, that life was nothing to be valued so highly.
He alone had understood this stark fact when he had ordered the destruction of Khaturian, knowing that the scale of such killing would so inflame his enemy's passions that they would have no choice but to meet him in battle.
Sylvanus Thayer, who had proved to be a worthy adversary until the death of his family, had led his warriors into an unwinnable battle, and Barbaden smiled as he remembered the sight of the scorched battlefield that had seen the Sons of Salinas destroyed.
Once again, emotion had destroyed a potentially great general.
He read for another hour, sipping his raquir and flipping to quotes from Solar Macharius that he had long ago memorised. His finger trailed down the page until he found his favourite.
'There can be no bystanders in the battle for survival,' he read aloud. 'Anyone who will not fight by your side is an enemy you must crush.'
Barbaden smiled as he read the quote, recognising the genius inherent in those few words.
Brevity and clarity were traits he admired and attempted to emulate.
A knock came at the door and he said, 'Enter.'
The doors opened and the frock-coated Eversham entered, his face pale and his steps hurried. Barbaden lifted his head from his book, seeing that his equerry carried an encrypted data-slate and noting his unkempt appearance.
'Your formal attire is somewhat dishevelled, Eversham,' said Barbaden. 'Smarten up before I have you broken down to kitchen scrubber.'
Eversham looked set to speak without smartening up, but had the sense to pause and fasten his collar and straighten his coat first. As the man opened his mouth to speak, Barbaden cut him off.
'Are you familiar with the works of Lord Solar Macharius?' he asked.
Eversham shook his head, and Barbaden saw that it was taking all his iron control not to speak out of turn. 'No, my lord. I regret I am not.'
'This is one of my favourite quotes, ''The meaning of victory is not to defeat your enemy but to destroy him, to eradicate him from living memory, to leave no remnant of his endeavours, to crush utterly his every achievement and remove from all record his every trace of existence. From that defeat no enemy can ever recover. That is the meaning of victory''. Rather inspiring isn't it?'
'Yes, my lord,' said Eversham, 'very.'
'You are sweating, Eversham,' noted Barbaden. 'Are you unwell?'
'No, governor,' replied his equerry, holding out the data-slate, as though anxious to be rid of it.
'Tell me,' began Barbaden, ignoring the slate, 'what is the nature of the trouble at the Screaming Eagles' barracks?'
'We don't know yet, my lord. There are reports of gunfire and several explosions, but we have been unable to make contact with Colonel Kain or any of her staff.'
'Very well, order two companies of palace guard to find out what is happening and to secure the site.'
'Of course,' said Eversham, once more offering him the data-slate.
'What is this?' asked Barbaden.
'An astropathic communication,' said Eversham. 'The Janiceps received it earlier this evening and the Diviner Primaris has just finished his interpretation.'
'A communication from whom?'
'I don't know, my lord,' replied Eversham. 'It came in with the highest priority prefix. It is evidently for your eyes only. No sooner did the diviner transcribe the words than a telepathic mnemo-virus implanted within the message erased his mind, completely.'
Curious, Barbaden took the proffered slate and slid his finger into the reader, wincing at the pinprick of the gene-sampler. With his identity confirmed, the slate flickered into life and the words of the brain-dead diviner scrolled down the screen in silver letters.
He read the body of the message and his eyes widened in surprise.
Slowly, and with deliberate care, Barbaden handed the slate back to Eversham. He closed his book and laid it on the table next to the chair. He rose to his feet and smoothed the front of his tunic, struggling to control a rising panic that stirred in his breast.
'Prepare my private embarkation deck on the upper spires,' he said. 'We are about to receive some important visitors.'
The trail of the Unfleshed was not difficult to follow, for they had not been careful in their passage. Their tracks were easy to see, but even had they moved without leaving imprints on the ground, the debris of their course would have been easy to recognise.
Uriel rode in the commander's hatch of a Chimera, its width only barely able to accommodate his genhanced girth. He had been forced to leave his armour in the care of Enginseer Imerian back at the compound, for there was no time to encase himself within it and no telling how long the charge in the backpack would last. If he survived the night, he would return for it in the morning.
Beneath him, Pasanius and five soldiers rode in the Chimera's troop compartment, bloody and in shock at the ease with which their fastness had been breached and their colonel slain.
Two more Chimeras, laden with those soldiers still fit enough to fight, followed behind Uriel's, racing through the dim light of the city's outskirts as they followed the trail of destruction unleashed by their quarry.
In truth, Uriel didn't know exactly what he hoped to achieve by following the Unfleshed. If the entire company of Screaming Eagles could not defeat them, what chance did this ragtag assembly of force have?
He only knew that he had to catch them, if for no other reason than to salve his own conscience. The destruction wrought at the Screaming Eagles' compound was his fault, and the guilt of what his foolish trust had allowed to happen weighed heavily on his soul.
How could he have been so blind to the bestial core of the Unfleshed? Yes, their outward appearance was that of monsters, but Uriel had seen past that to what he had believed was the human nobility at their heart.
Though he felt sure that some darker power was at work within them, he knew it would have found no purchase in souls that were pure. Some rotten canker must have lurked at the heart of the Unfleshed for this power to latch onto, and Uriel cursed himself for a fool for not seeing it.
The deaths of these soldiers were on his conscience, no matter what they might have done in the past to be deserving of retribution. Uriel pushed such thoughts from his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
The Chimeras rumbled through the streets of the city, the buildings around them tall and metallic, squat and brick-built. The variegated architecture of Barbadus sped past them, flickering faces at shuttered, window-, less openings watching them fearfully as they passed. That death was abroad on the streets of Barbadus was common knowledge, the breath of its passing emptying the streets of all but the most curious. Even those few lingering pedestrians quickly abandoned whatever task they were about to be clear of the streets as Uriel's desperate procession sped past.
Death was hunting tonight and it would take whoever called its name.
Though it was too far away and too dark to make out any details, it was clear that a tremendous battle was underway at the Screaming Eagles' compound. Flames licked the sky and the rattle of gunfire had ceased.
'Whatever was going on over there's over now,' observed Pascal.
Nisato did not reply, staring into the distant flames as if to discern some answer from the darkness. Pascal Blaise claimed not to have any knowledge of what had happened, and, much as Nisato wanted to disbelieve him, he knew in his gut that the man was telling the truth.