‘To you?’ asked Lugo.
‘He trusted me.’
Several of the lords militant muttered.
‘I can make no sense of that remark that is comforting,’ said Lugo. ‘Or that reflects well on either side of this war.’
‘The truth can often be uncomfortable, sir,’ said Gaunt.
‘Why did he trust you, Colonel-Commissar Gaunt?’
The question came from a cruel-faced woman that Gaunt recognised as Militant Marshal Tzara, het-chieftain of the Keyzon Host, and Mistress of the Seventh Army. Her hair was a fading red, cropped very close, and her crimson cloak was fringed with a ruff of thick animal fur. Metal-wire patterns decorated the armoured front of her high-throated leather jacket.
‘Do I need to repeat the question?’ she asked.
‘He trusted me because he understands warfare, and respects an able commander, marshal,’ he said. ‘I bested him, on Gereon. I was tasked to eliminate the traitor General Noches Sturm. The asset failed to protect Sturm from my justice. I won his respect.’
‘So he brought this plan to you?’ asked Bulledin. ‘The Archenemy brought this plan to you?’
‘I was wary at first, sir,’ said Gaunt. ‘I still am. I supported the plan only when I had brought it to Lord Cybon and Lord Mercure for consideration.’
‘It was mercilessly analysed before we committed,’ Cybon rasped. ‘Mercilessly.’
‘But the theory was to create a division between Gaur and Sek?’
Gaunt looked towards the speaker, a younger man seated towards the right-hand end of the line. This was Lord General Urienz, one of the shining stars of the Sabbat Crusade, a brilliant commander who had risen to glory on the tide of Macaroth’s ascendancy. They had never met, and Gaunt was surprised to see him present. He imagined Urienz would be off commanding a warfront of his own, gilding his considerable reputation even further. For twenty years, Vitus Urienz had been marked as the warmaster in waiting.
He was Gaunt’s age. His hair and goatee were black, and his broad face pugnacious, as if he had boxed as a junior officer – boxed without the speed to fend off the blows that had flattened his nose, brows and cheekbones, but with a constitution that had let him soak up punishment without a care. There was menace to him, weight. His uniform was dark blue, tailored and plain. No medals, no cloak, no brocade, no show. Nothing but the simple gold pins of his rank.
‘Just so,’ said Gaunt. ‘Gaur was unassailably powerful among the magisters of the Sanguinary Tribes. He won his rank as Archon through his military ferocity, but also by appeasing his key rivals. Sek, Innokenti, Asphodel, Shebol Red-Hand. He made them trusted lieutenants. It is reasonable to say that Sek was a far more capable military leader. By the time the asset approached me, Sek was ascending, and building his own power base. We knew that rankled with Gaur, and that friction was growing. The proposal was to fully ignite that rivalry, and trigger an internecine war.’
‘To make our enemies fight each other, and thus weaken them overall?’ asked Lord General Kelso.
‘Exactly that, sir,’ said Gaunt.
Kelso, venerably old and distinguished in his grey formal uniform, nodded thoughtfully.
‘A wild scheme,’ said Van Voytz.
‘An understatement, old friend,’ chuckled Lugo.
‘It was inspired madness,’ said Cybon quietly, ‘even desperation.’
He turned, and looked down the table at Lugo.
‘But it damn well worked.’
‘In… a manner of speaking,’ Lugo admitted.
‘In no “manner of speaking”, my friend,’ said Van Voytz. ‘Though we face fury ten years on, it is a different fury. Sek’s forces would have broken us eight years ago if they had not been riven. What we face now, to use my friend Cybon’s word, is desperation. The frenzy of a corpse that refuses to acknowledge it is dead.’
‘A weakness we do not capitalise on,’ said Marshal Blackwood. It was the first thing Gaunt had heard the celebrated commander say. Blackwood, in his storm coat, was the only man present who had not removed his cap. He was slim and saturnine, and his tone was a blend of sadness and malice.
‘Let’s not get back to that,’ said Kelso.
‘Let’s not indeed,’ said Bulledin. Blackwood shrugged diffidently.
‘It can wait, Artor,’ he said.
‘It can, Eremiah, and it will,’ said Bulledin. ‘A more fundamental duty requires our attention before we descend into another round of tactical arguments and bickering. Gaunt’s mission, however desperate some of us might consider it, was a success. A success of staggering consequences. It was deemed so back in ’84. That was the official report, stamped and sealed by our warmaster. The Salvation’s Reach venture was added to the honour roll of critical actions in this war.’
‘It’s there on the floor somewhere,’ said Cybon with a casual gesture. ‘You can read it for yourself, Gaunt.’
‘You were presumed lost, colonel-commissar,’ said Tzara.
‘A warp accident befell us, marshal,’ said Gaunt.
‘And though you now appear again, as by some miracle, we are conscious of the immense risks–’
‘Suicidal,’ growled Cybon.
‘–immense risks,’ Tzara finished, ‘that you embraced to achieve it.’
‘And the considerable losses you incurred,’ added Bulledin.
‘You missed it all, Bram,’ said Van Voytz. ‘In the years you were missing, you were celebrated as an Imperial hero, lost in glory, your name and the name of your regiment to be venerated for all time. There were posthumous citations, feasts in your name, dedications. Glory was heaped upon you, Bram.’
‘Only in death, sir,’ said Gaunt.
‘As is so often the case with our breed,’ said Bulledin.
‘It is rare for a man to return to see the laurels that were placed upon his tomb,’ said Cybon.
‘I… thank you, lord,’ said Gaunt. He bowed curtly and made the sign of the aquila again. ‘I am humbled by your words.’
The marshals and generals glanced at each other. A few chuckled.
‘Come now, Bram,’ said Van Voytz. ‘Take your seat.’
‘There is only one, sir,’ said Gaunt. ‘We are waiting for the warmaster and–’
‘The warmaster is indisposed, Bram,’ said Van Voytz. ‘He’s busy with his strategising. This seat is not waiting for him.’
Van Voytz rose to his feet.
‘In death, Ibram Gaunt,’ he said, ‘you were commended at the highest level, and awarded with a posthumous rank to honour your deeds and selfless contribution. Now that you have come back to us, alive and whole, it would be the height of disdain to strip you of that rank and pretend it was not earned. Take your seat amongst us, Lord Militant Commander Gaunt.’
They all rose, every one of them shoving back their seats. They began to clap, thirty lords general, marshals, lords militant.
Gaunt blinked.
Sixteen: The Inner Circle
The Munitorum had set up light rigs around the yard of the K700 billet. They cast a foggy white glow that caught the streaking rain. Rawne dismounted from his cargo-4, and walked with Hark and Ludd towards the mobile medicae unit that a Munitorum transporter had hauled in just before dark. Gol Kolea, waiting under the awning, nodded to them.
‘What happened?’ asked Rawne.
Kolea shrugged.
‘Insurgents,’ he replied. ‘Sons of Sek. Eight dead here, another four over in the neighbouring billet. The Helixid.’
‘Feth,’ said Rawne.
‘Did we get them?’ asked Hark.
Kolea nodded.
‘We got ’em all,’ he said. ‘A mess, though. I wasn’t on site when it went down, but Pasha says it was a shambles because our ammo was so low. They were scrambling around for munitions.’