‘I won’t. I’m going to get out of here,’ whispered Haas.
Marast shook his head sadly. ‘Not once you’ve seen the gate, you won’t. It’s hopeless.’
‘Gate?’
‘The place they come through. A flash of light, and they’re there. As many orks as they need. There’s no army in the galaxy that can stop them.’
In the boundary zone between the Oort cloud and the dwarf planets parading around the edge of the Sol System, space convulsed. Vile lightnings cracked around a puckering in the fabric of real space. With a silent scream, the universe tore.
Hundreds of warships arrowed into reality, diabolical vapours spilling off their glowing Geller fields. Behind them boiled the cauldron of the warp, a pit of madness none should cross. Reality sealed itself in a blinding flash of non-light, shuddered, and was still.
‘High Marshal, my lord Chapter Master, we have arrived in the Sol System, praise be,’ announced Bohemond’s shipmaster. Other reports followed.
‘All decks report unproblematic translation.’
‘Warp engines powering down.’
‘Geller field deactivation in three, two, one. Geller field deactivated. All praise the Emperor, most holy Lord of Man.’
From the corner of his eye, Koorland saw Bohemond’s twisted lips mouth the words silently along with his bondsmen.
The High Marshal of the Black Templars strode along the sweeping command deck of the Abhorrence. Fans of workstations spilled down from the command dais at the centre. A window of armourglass a dozen metres across filled the front of the deck, showing the blackness of space. At this far removed, Sol was merely a bright dot, hard to tell apart from any other star. Koorland stared at it, searching for the dim flicker that would mark out the location of Holy Terra.
‘All Black Templars vessels, state arrival and status,’ commanded Bohemond. ‘Issachar, Quesadra, Thane. How do you fare?’
Cyber-constructs carrying holoprojectors swooped in on Koorland and Bohemond’s position, their projection gems bursting into life. The shoulders and heads of his fellow Chapter Masters assembled themselves in the air from striped pulses of laser light.
‘All my vessels report zero casualties, no damage,’ said Thane.
‘The warp was unusually calm. Not a single vessel lost,’ said Issachar.
‘Fortune is with us,’ said Quesadra.
‘Fortune has nothing to do with it! It was the will of the Emperor. He knows we come to aid beleaguered Terra,’ said Bohemond. ‘Time check reports a warp transition of four days. Unprecedented. Your judgement was well founded, Brother Chapter Master Koorland.’
‘I believe that was an apology, Brother Chapter Master,’ said Quesadra quietly.
‘My augur master has detected signs of recent fleet combat around Terra, minimal weapon discharge, and large informational exchange around the Martian noosphere. Where are the defence fleets? Why has Mars not mobilised its armies?’ said Thane.
Koorland looked past the floating light spectres of his brothers.
‘What are our orders, Imperial Fist?’ said Issachar.
‘The attack moon still orbits Terra,’ said Koorland. ‘We cannot let this insult stand. Brothers of the Last Wall, adopt attack formation,’ he said. ‘We make for the ork moon without delay. Send messages to Mars and Terra that we have come. As soon as we are close enough, open lithocast communications. We must learn how Terra can be held to ransom so easily.’
Six
Dance’s end
Lhaerial sat in the middle of a spherical room in a pool of brilliant light, bound by ankle, calf, and thigh to a high-backed chair. Her hands were imprisoned within a metal cylinder and pulled up over her back, so that she was forced forward, an uncomfortable position that seemed not to trouble her. Her mask had been taken from her, and her slender, pale-skinned face was visible, flawless but for a single black tear tattooed beneath each of her huge brown eyes. A male interrogator paced up and down in front of her, hands sweeping in expansive gestures, lips working hard. Veritus had the vox-link disengaged, and so Vangorich could not hear what he shouted at her. Instead they watched a pantomime: the angry enforcer, the apprehended villain.
‘Shockingly young-looking, isn’t she?’ said Veritus. He and Vangorich stood behind a pane of psychically warded, one-way armourglass.
‘Yes,’ said Vangorich. He was fascinated by the eldar, never having seen one in the flesh before.
‘And beautiful. I see it in your face, Vangorich, even in a cold-hearted killer like you.’
‘I am not blind to beauty,’ said Vangorich.
‘Better to be!’ said Veritus. ‘Beauty is the cloak of many an enemy. Do not be deceived.’ Veritus removed his hand from his chin and gestured at Lhaerial, the servo-motors aiding his ancient body burring softly in the quiet of the observation suite. ‘She could be ten thousand years old. Only the most ancient of them show signs of ageing at all, and I hear that some never age a day. They are immortal, kept alive by black alien arts.’
‘They are not immortal, inquisitor.’
Veritus spun on his heel, face darkening. Wienand stepped into the room, elegantly attired as always, her features set under her steel grey fringe. A few fresh lines had come to mark her face since the start of the crisis, yet still she seemed young to bear so much responsibility. The black matt metal door to the observation suite slid silently closed behind her. Vangorich glimpsed a pair of Inquisitorial storm troopers standing at guard outside. They had not been there when he and Veritus had arrived. Protection against Veritus.
‘If you had thought to consult me, then you would be better informed, Lord Veritus,’ said Wienand. ‘If you weren’t seeking my death.’
Veritus and Wienand stared at one another with hard eyes. Vangorich was hopeful of a rapprochement between the two, as matters were bad enough without the Inquisition falling to war with itself. But if there were to be one, there was little sign of it as yet.
‘Yes,’ said Veritus with a cold smile. ‘They are your area of expertise. I would expect nothing less than a deep understanding from someone who has so freely collaborated with the enemies of the Imperium.’
‘Not all xenos are our enemies, unless we choose to make them so. They can be useful to us. Allies.’
Wienand stepped up to the glass to stand next to Veritus.
‘You are tainted by your association, Wienand,’ said Veritus. ‘You should not be here. Should I be on my guard in case you attempt to free her?’
‘What would you do if I did? Never trust them, but do not let hatred blind you. The eldar have aided us on many occasions.’
‘They are manipulators, they use us for their own ends,’ said Veritus.
‘Then we must manipulate them back!’ said Wienand. ‘Better that than open war.’
‘Is it?’ said Veritus. The inquisitors stared fixedly into the room, neither looking at the other as they argued. Vangorich was trapped in the middle, witness to a sour lovers’ tiff.
Vangorich held up his hands. ‘Please. Stop.’
The inquisitors took his rebuke without comment, to Vangorich’s relief. Even he couldn’t fight his way out of the Inquisitorial Fortress. But there was plenty of time for one or both of them to turn against him, he thought. ‘Wienand, it is good to see you again.’
‘You too, Drakan, although I think very little of the company you are keeping.’
‘Can we not concentrate on the matter at hand here?’ said Vangorich wearily. ‘What’s an assassination attempt or two between friends?’
‘So speaks the Assassin,’ said Wienand.
‘He has a point, Wienand,’ snarled Veritus, then calmed. He turned to face Wienand but did not look her in the eye, instead gazing fixedly over her shoulder. ‘Maybe I acted hastily, but things had come to a shocking pass and—’