His legs buckled and he reached out to steady himself with his free hand. His other palm hissed as it came into contact with the cauldron's side and Uriel bit back a scream of agony. He could feel his skin blistering and melting in the oil as his fingers sought out the hilt of the dagger. The pain was unbelievable, almost too much for him to stand. It felt as though his arm was dipped into the heart of a volcano and he almost wished for the oblivion of unconsciousness to spare him from enduring it for a second longer.
But then, wasn't that as much part of the ordeal as being able to grasp the weapon?
Wasn't his ability to overcome such pain further proof of his innocence?
Uriel fought through the pain, embracing it, welcoming it, and he opened his eyes to see Leodegarius staring at him. He felt the Grey Knight's approval and knew with utter certainty that Leodegarius wanted him to succeed in this ordeal. He wanted to find a reason not to kill him.
His fingers brushed metal and Uriel closed his grip on the wire wound hilt of the dagger. Though he could barely feel the apparatus of his hand any longer, the tendons and muscles of his wrist obeyed him enough to hold the weapon firm.
With his grip secure, Uriel lifted the dagger from the oil and held it before him, his breath coming in hot spurts from the heart of his chest. His hand was a raw, red thing, the meat boiled and layers of oily skin dripping from him in glistening, jellied strings. The pain was like nothing he had known before and the sight of his ruined flesh made it even worse.
Though every nerve in his body told him to release the burning weapon, Uriel held it out towards Leodegarius.
'There,' hissed Uriel. 'Is this what you wanted?'
Leodegarius nodded and took the weapon, his armoured gauntlets protecting him from the blazing heat of the dagger.
'It is indeed,' said Leodegarius, sheathing the weapon at his side and taking Uriel's wrist.
Leodegarius examined the wound and Uriel flinched, gritting his teeth against the pain, but willing himself to remain standing.
'So?' asked Uriel. 'Is my flesh pure?'
'Maybe,' said Leodegarius, releasing Uriel's hand. 'In three days I shall return and we will examine your wound. A warrior whose flesh is pure will have begun to heal, whereas one whose flesh is unclean will have begun to fester. We will know then whether you are ready to face the final ordeal.'
'The final ordeal?' asked Uriel, wondering what could be worse than the ordeals he had already endured.
'Your mind is free of taint and I believe your flesh to be pure,' said Leodegarius, 'but ordeals devised by Man can tell us only so much, so we must now allow the Emperor to judge the strength of your soul.'
'How do we do that?'
'In the Judicium Imperator,' said Leodegarius. 'In three days you will fight me, and on the outcome of that shall final judgement be made upon you.'
SEVENTEEN
Over the next three days, the pain in Uriel's hand pulsed steadily at the edge of endurance. With the Ordeal of the Holy Oils complete, he had been returned to the darkness and isolation of the cold, underground space.
Except, it wasn't really isolation, not when the maddening chants and low level buzzing that kept him from sleep were his continual companions. He had been left alone, as far as he could tell, though he knew there must be weapons trained upon him and armed gaolers standing ready to obliterate him should he make any attempt to escape.
Escape was not on Uriel's mind, however, not when his loyalty and faith were in question.
Time passed slowly in the darkness, and Uriel's thoughts turned from his own predicament to that of Pasanius and events in the world at large. What had become of his friend? Had he suffered through the two previous ordeals as Uriel had?
Uriel had no reason to suspect that Pasanius would fail the ordeals. He only hoped that when the dark surgeons of Medrengard had taken the xeno-infected arm from his body, they had taken the full extent of its taint.
If any lingering trace of the Nightbringer's essence remained within him, would that be enough to condemn Pasanius in the eyes of the Grey Knights?
He tried to put such doubts and worries from his mind, wondering what was happening on the streets of Barbadus. His chronology of events from the bar's collapse onwards was piecemeal and he could not say for certain what had occurred. Had the Grey Knights killed the Unfleshed or were they still at large?
Barbadus was such a warren of twisted paths and darkened hiding places that it was entirely likely that the Lord of the Unfleshed and his tribe could have evaded capture or destruction. If that were the case what would their next move be? To hide and lie low? To kill again?
In the space of a single night, the Unfleshed had butchered most of the Screaming Eagles, Colonel Verena Kain and Mesira Bardhyl. Who would be next to die?
It all came back to the Killing Ground.
Those who had taken part in the massacre of the people of Khaturian were being killed and a chain of events had been set in motion that might see Salinas engulfed in flames of battle. Worse, Leodegarius obviously thought that whatever had possessed the Unfleshed might be serious enough to warrant the destruction of Salinas.
Uriel had watched one world burn at the hands of the Inquisition and was in no mood to see another die. Whatever the truth of what was happening on Salinas, he would fight alongside the Grey Knights to prevent further death, assuming he passed the Judicium Imperator.
His very soul rebelled at the idea of fighting Leodegarius, but what choice did he have? To refuse to fight would condemn him, but to take arms against a fellow warrior of the Imperium was anathema to him.
To even fight such a sublime warrior was galling, but the idea of besting him seemed inconceivable, ludicrous even. Uriel was wounded, battered and drained, where Leodegarius was in peak condition. It would not be a fight; it would be a shaming defeat.
Uriel Ventris, however, was not a warrior who gave up easily.
On Pavonis, when faced with the awesome, star-destroying, power of the Nightbringer, he had stood against it and denied it a vessel that would have magnified its powers a hundredfold. He had faced the might of a Norn Queen in the depths of a hive ship and defeated her. He had marched into battle on the blasted surface of a daemon world and defeated the daemons and devils that populated its blasted hinterlands.
He would face this challenge and meet it head on.
It was the only way he knew.
Questions of the outside world were irrelevant, for he could do nothing to alter the outcome of what was happening beyond these walls. He could do little enough to alter his own circumstances, but he settled himself upon the cold stone floor and began to prepare for the coming fight.
Uriel closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, directing his body's energies into healing and restoration. Time slowed to a crawl and Uriel felt every muscle, bone and hair on his body as his awareness turned inwards.
He could not actually heal his wounded flesh in the manner of some psykers, but the mental energies of a Space Marine were such that with carefully directed thought patterns, learned over decades of study and application, he was able to focus his energies in replenishment.
Uriel's throat ached where a blade had pierced it on Medrengard, the wound long since healed, but the scar and memory of it remaining. The burning ache in his hand where the holy oils had scalded him terribly faded to a dull ache. His chest tightened where a vengeful spine of the Norn Queen had pierced his flat, ribless torso, and amongst all these hurts, he recalled the memory of a hundred others.