‘What the feth is this about?’ asked Hark.
‘Please stand aside, commissar,’ said Grae, showing more composure in the face of an angry Viktor Hark than many would have been able to summon. ‘By order of Astra Militarum intelligence, Major Kolea is under arrest.’
Twenty: Offensive
The main keep of the Urdeshic Palace loomed over Gaunt as he stepped out of the transport into the High Yard. The day was turning into what seemed to be a vague haze typical of Urdesh. The sky seemed flat and back-lit, as if bandaged with cloud, smog from the city’s plants and refineries, and fyceline smoke from the bombardments in Zarakppan. It made the keep seem like a black monster, improbably tall, a void designed to swallow up his life.
He’d brought Daur, Bonin and Beltayn with him. Beltayn, because he was Gaunt’s aide and adjutant, Bonin to represent the regiment’s scouting speciality, and Daur as a member of the officer cadre. Those were the nominal reasons, anyway. It was more because Gaunt felt comfortable having good soldiers at his side. The four Tempestus Scions followed them up the steps. They were good soldiers too. The best, depending on how you measured such things, but Gaunt didn’t know them, and they smacked too much of the zealous indoctrination of the Prefectus. They reminded him of his own early days, his training in the Commissariat Scholam. He might have become a Scion too, had he not shown brains.
Or perhaps if he had shown more ferocious, unquestioning fervour.
Bonin sniffed the air. There was a pungent, vegetable stink that was undoubtedly the sea, and a sharper reek of sulphur. He wrinkled his nose.
‘The volcanic vents leak sulphur,’ said Beltayn, noticing.
‘Volcanic?’ asked Daur.
‘The Great Hill,’ said Gaunt. ‘This entire precinct is built in the plug of the volcanic cone.’
‘Great,’ said Bonin.
‘Geothermal energy, Mach,’ said Gaunt. ‘That’s what drives the industry of this great world. That smell is the reason Urdesh is such a critical holding.’
‘Just adjusting to the idea we’re standing on a volcano, sir,’ said Bonin.
They entered the palatial atrium, Sancto and his Scions in match step behind them. The bare stone walls rose to soaring arches, lined with regimental flags that draped down their mast-like poles now they were sheltered from the wind. Four immense iron siege bombards sat on stone plinths, yawning at the doors. Officers stood in groups, talking in low voices. Messengers scurried to and fro. An aide informed Gaunt that Biota would attend him shortly, and that he should wait in the White Hall.
The White Hall was a banqueting room of considerable size, its walls whitewashed plaster. The room had been cleared of all furniture, except a long trestle table and a bench, and the emptiness made the place seem bigger.
The walls were covered in framed picts. Gaunt wandered over to examine some as he waited. They were regimental portraits: dour-faced men in stiff poses and stiffer formal uniforms, grouped in rows like sports teams. No one was smiling. Gaunt read the hand-scripted titles. Pragar, Urdesh Storm Troop, Jovani, Helixid, Narmenian, Keyzon, Vasko Shock, Ballantane, Volpone, Vitrian, Gelpoi… The history of the crusade in the form of the faces that had waged it.
Ban Daur joined him, and looked at the pictures thoughtfully.
‘I wonder…’ he began, ‘I wonder how many of the men in these pictures are still alive.’
Gaunt nodded.
‘Indeed, Ban,’ he replied. He had been wondering how many had been long dead before their images were unpacked in this room and hung on hooks.
Along the base of the wall were stacks of old frames that had been taken down at some point to make room for the Imperial display. The whitewash of the wall was marked with smoke lines and faded oblongs where other pictures had once hung and their replacements had not matched in size. Daur bent down and tipped through the unhung frames.
‘Look, sir,’ he said. Gaunt crouched next to him.
These pictures were much older, dusty. Some were paintings. Images of proud warbands, and gatherings of stern industrialists. Gaunt lifted a few to read the captions. Zarak Dynast Clan, Ghentethi Akarred Clan, Hoolum Lay-Technist, Hoolum First Army, Clan Gaelen Dynast…
‘I don’t recognise the names,’ said Daur, ‘or the uniforms.’
‘This is Urdesh’s history, Ban,’ said Gaunt. ‘Its long and troubled history.’
‘They aren’t all military,’ said Daur.
‘Urdesh has always been a place of industry, from its first settlement onwards,’ Gaunt replied. ‘The Mechanicus has been here from the start, exploiting the planet’s energy sources, building enclaves and forge manufactoria. But Urdesh… It’s a geographical mosaic of archipelagoes and island chains.’
‘A mosaic?’ asked Daur, confused.
‘A patchwork,’ said Gaunt. ‘Balkanised, without central government. I mean, for the longest time, there was no central authority. Urdesh was riven by low-level conflicts as warlords and feudal dynasties vied with each other.’
‘Noble families held local power?’ asked Daur.
‘Right, they did, controlling city states, and squabbling for resources. Eventually, as Urdesh’s importance grew, the Mechanicus exerted its influence, forcibly unifying the world under its control. The dynast families and city states were brought into line or eliminated.’ Daur frowned.
‘So the Mechanicus made Urdesh?’ he asked.
‘They made it the pivotal world it is now,’ said Gaunt, ‘and are regarded as the planet’s owners and saviours.’
‘What happened to the nobility?’ asked Daur.
Gaunt shrugged.
‘The most powerful families retained power in partnership with the Tech Priesthood,’ he replied, ‘providing ready work forces and standing armies. The dynasts that survived unification prospered, building their enclaves around the Mechanicus hubs, and even forming brotherhoods.’
‘Brotherhoods? What does that mean?’
‘Unions, allied labour groups… even some technomystical orders as the Mechanicus shared and farmed out its lesser mysteries in return for loyal service. Some of the most able weaponshops on Urdesh are not Mechanicus, Ban. They’re dynastic lay-tech institutions, where the old warlord families of Urdesh machine weapons the Mechanicus has taught them to make.’
They rose from the pictures.
‘You’ve studied your briefing material, I see,’ smiled Daur.
‘I read up as best I could,’ said Gaunt. ‘To be honest, I attempted to read the precis background of the world, but I cast it aside. The history and fractured politics are more complex than the damn crusade.’
Daur chuckled. He’d had briefing packets like that come across his desk.
‘Besides, it’s pointless,’ said Gaunt.
‘Pointless?’ asked Daur.
‘Whatever Urdesh has been, Ban, that era is dying. The crusade will either fully liberate the world and centralise its control in a new Imperial order, or the world will become extinct. These pictures, relegated to the floor, are a footnote to a complex and involved chronicle that has ceased to be relevant.’
They turned as the door opened. Urienz strode in, acknowledging the smart salute of Gaunt’s Scions. He left his own entourage of aides and soldiers waiting in the hall. Gaunt stepped to meet him, Daur, Beltayn and Bonin hanging back.
‘Heard you were here, Gaunt,’ Urienz said.
They shook hands.
‘Just passing by,’ said Urienz. ‘I’m called to Zarakppan. It’s hotting up. The devils are pushing closer.’
‘A futile effort, surely?’ said Gaunt.
Urienz shrugged.
‘Anyway,’ he said, producing a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘The address of my tailor, as promised.’