‘Give it back to Melmoch,’ Kersh ordered.
‘It wasn’t Melmoch,’ Ezrachi said. As the Scourge continued marching up the cloister, the Apothecary stopped. He opened a nearby door and called, ‘Kersh!’
Scowling, the Scourge returned and looked in through the open door. It was the small sanctuary chamber Ezrachi had converted to a temporary apothecarion. Epistolary Melmoch lay upon a hermit’s slab, arms across his chest.
‘Is he…’
‘No,’ Ezrachi interjected as the two Excoriators entered the room. ‘But he is out cold. He breathes but fails to respond to drugs or stimuli.’
‘What happened?’ Kersh asked as Bethesda and Old Enoch began running in pieces of plate from the rack outside.
‘He was found like this,’ Ezrachi replied. ‘I believe it might have something to do with this,’ the Apothecary said, picking up a small, ornately decorated urn from a dormitory shelf. He handed it to the Scourge who examined it with interest. ‘It was reported stolen from the Memorial Mausoleum by the Sisters but found here with Melmoch.’
‘What is it?’
‘The Palatine was short on detail but I gather it is used in an annual, ceremonial capacity to dust the Ecclesiarch’s shrine. The material inside the urn is formulated from a by-product of the Emperor’s metabolism, if you believe that. The dust particles are impregnated with negative psychic energy, so I’m told. For all I know there could be bread crumbs inside, but for the fact that the Palatine and her Sisters were almost on the verge of charging down the hermitage door to recover it and the effect exposure has had on Melmoch here.’
‘Why would he do that to himself?’ Kersh asked as his serfs worked fast about him.
‘This is nothing. Ever since the comet appeared, witchbreeds have been dying,’ Ezrachi told the corpus-captain.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Astropaths hanging from cloisters, Navigators stepping unsuited into airlocks. All kinds of insanity.’
‘What about the Angelica Mortis?’
‘Zaragoza’s dead. That bird of his went mad and tore his throat out,’ the Apothecary said.
‘Something wrong with the pet?’
‘Or with Zaragoza,’ Ezrachi said. ‘Who knows? Shadrath recalled the Angelica Mortis back to the cemetery world. She has the sprint trader Avignor Star under her guns. The captain wishes to leave with the last of the great and good, but the trader carries the only remaining Navigator. Commander Bartimeus is under orders to destroy her if she attempts to leave. With the pontifex’s chief astropath, Melmoch and this Navigator are the only psykers left on or around the planet.’
‘Chaplain Shadrath has been in command?’ the Scourge asked.
Ezrachi nodded. ‘He charged me with your care and completed the destruction of the Ruinous monument.’
‘The monument,’ the corpus-commander repeated, looking down at the Librarian. ‘Melmoch said it was a beacon.’
‘Well, now we know what it was beckoning,’ the Apothecary said.
‘Why didn’t Shadrath just leave?’ Kersh asked. ‘That’s what he wanted.’
‘He had no orders to leave,’ Ezrachi insisted. ‘I told him your symptoms were likely to be short-term. He restricted his commands to the execution of your wishes and precautionary measures. The Gauntlet sits on the rockrete, fuelled and ready to go. The strike cruiser awaits your order to leave. We are leaving, aren’t we?’
Kersh’s mind seemed elsewhere. He was looking down at the small urn.
‘We should return this…’
‘Kersh!’ Ezrachi said. ‘We’re leaving, yes?’
‘You would have me abandon one of the Emperor’s worlds at the sight of an omen in the sky?’ Kersh grizzled.
‘Whatever is ending worlds in the wake of the Keeler Comet, I fear we are too few a number to dissuade it from taking this tiny planet of the dead,’ Ezrachi barked back. ‘We have a ship. We have a Navigator. We should alert the cordon at Vanaheim. There – shoulder to shoulder with our brothers – we can make our stand.’
‘We have an astropath – you said it yourself,’ the corpus-captain persisted. ‘And we have a message for him to send. The Viper Legion are nearest.’
‘There is an astrotelepathic blackout for light years around,’ Ezrachi shot back.
‘Then he shall have to double his efforts!’
‘Kersh, don’t do this.’
‘Do what, Ezrachi? Carry out my Chapter Master’s orders?’
‘Our purpose here is fulfilled. Events are unfolding on a larger canvas. We must make a run for Vanaheim–’
‘We are Excoriators,’ Kersh seethed. ‘Attrition fighters. Our gene-kindred fought before the walls of the Imperial Palace. We are not heralds and harbingers. We are Excoriators and this is the Imperium beneath our feet. We stand our ground and we fight, whatever the odds. As though this were the palace itself. I have failed my Chapter Master. I will not fail my Emperor.’ The two Space Marines burned into each other with searing eyes as Kersh’s serfs pressurised his seals and attached his weapons to his belt. ‘And neither will you.’
Ezrachi looked away as Brother Micah appeared at the doorway. The champion looked unsure of himself amongst the heated exchange. The corpus-captain turned to the young Excoriator. ‘Have word sent to Chaplain Shadrath. Tell the Chaplain I need him and Brother Toralech at the pontifex’s palace, immediately. We shall meet them there.’ Micah nodded. ‘You too,’ Kersh added before looking back at the livid Apothecary. ‘And you.’ Ezrachi looked down and nodded gently. ‘We have words and deeds for Pontifex Oliphant and his chief astropath.’
Chapter Nine
Harbinger
Before the Obelisk Ecclesiarchical palace – which served Erasmus Oliphant as both pontifex and planetary governor – two groups of Excoriators marched out of the darkness towards one another. Kersh was flanked by his Apothecary and Brother Micah, who walked a little out front with his bolter and combat shield attachment held out before him. Chaplain Shadrath had with him the Fifth Company’s standard bearer, Brother Toralech, holding his banner proudly above them. A little way behind them, Second Squad Whip Ishmael and Brother Levi – from Squad Castigir – marched across the cobbles. The two Excoriators were helmetless and scorn was etched into their sour faces.
‘I won’t offer my gauntlet, brother, for fear you would not take it – and that would only shame us both,’ Kersh opened aggressively, ‘but I thank you for the care you have given to the Fifth in my absence and my existing orders.’
Shadrath came to a halt. His half-skull helm remained fixed on the corpus-captain but did little to acknowledge the appreciation.
‘I did no less than Katafalque expected,’ Shadrath said finally.
‘And no more,’ Kersh admitted.
‘What are we doing here?’ Ishmael spat, the veteran’s face contorting itself around the expression of disgust.
‘Our duty, Brother Ishmael,’ the Scourge informed him. ‘Which I am not about to debate here. The Adeptus Astartes is not a democratic institution. Neither is the Emperor’s Imperium – I’ll have you remember that. You and your Excoriators will do as you’re damn well ordered.’
Ishmael and Levi exchanged dark glances.
Twin columns of Charnel Guard jogged across the plaza carrying the lengths of their lasfusils and in the full sobriety of ceremonial dress. A helmetless lieutenant led them across to the palace doors, replacing the powerpack in his taper-barrelled pistol.
‘What is it, lieutenant?’ the Scourge demanded to know.