Vaanes rose from his squatting position and said, 'I think you bring trouble with you, Uriel Ventris of the Ultramarines. This is a deadly world, but we can survive here. We steal what we need from the Iron Warriors, and they in turn try to hunt us. It is a fine game, but I think your coming to Medrengard has just skewed that game.'
'Then perhaps that is a good thing,' pointed out Uriel.
'I wouldn't bet on it,' cautioned Vaanes.
Pasanius sat alone on the rocks outside the blockhouse, more tired than he could ever remember being. He had been awake now for… days, weeks? He couldn't tell, but he knew it had been a long time. The sky above was still that damnable white, and how anyone could live on such a world, where there was no change to mark the passing of time, was beyond him. The crushing monotony of such a bleak vista made him want to weep.
He held his arms out before his chest, turning both hands before his face. His left gauntlet was torn and scarred, ruined by the constant climbing over razor-sharp rocks, but his right was as unblemished as the day it had been crafted to the flesh and bone of his elbow. Thus far he had been able to keep its unique ability to repair itself secret from his battle-brothers, but he knew it was only a matter of time before its miraculous powers became known. Pasanius hammered his fist into the ground, pounding a powdered crater in the rock, smashing his fingers to oblivion then watching in disgust as they reknitted themselves once more.
The shame of concealing such evil from his brethren had almost been too much to bear and the thought of disappointing Uriel terrified him. But to admit to such weakness was as great a shame, and the guilt of this secret had torn a hole in his heart that he could not absolve.
There was no doubt in his mind that it had been beneath the surface of Pavonis, facing the ancient star god known as the Nightbringer, that he had been cursed. He remembered the aching cold of the blow from its scythe that had severed his arm, the crawling sensation of dead flesh where once there had been living tissue. Was it possible that some corruption had been passed to him by the Nightbringer's weapon and infected his body with this terrible sickness?
The adepts of Pavonis had been quick to provide a replacement arm, the very best their world could produce, for Techmarine Harkus and Apothecary Selenus to reattach. He had never been comfortable with the idea of an augmetic arm, but it was not until the battles aboard the Death of Virtue that he had begun to suspect that there was more to his new limb than met the eye. What crime had he committed to be so punished? Why had he been visited by such an affliction? He knew not, but as he removed his breastplate and took out his knife, he vowed he would pay for it in blood.
Uriel lay back and tried to sleep, his eyelids drooping and heavy. At least in the blockhouse there were areas out of the perpetual light of the dead sky, where darkness and sleep could be sought. But sleep was proving to be elusive, his thoughts tumbling through his head in a jumble.
Uriel now felt sure that there was more to this quest than he had initially thought. He knew he should not have been surprised to learn that the Heart of Blood was more than just an artefact, that the schemes of daemons were never straightforward. Were he and Pasanius part of some elaborate vengeance the Omphalos Daemonium had planned for its ancient rival? Who knew, but Uriel vowed that he would not allow himself to be used in such a way. Dark designs were afoot and a confluence of events had come together to bring them to this point. Despite the dangers around him, he felt on some instinctual level that the will of the Emperor was working through him.
Why then did he feel so empty, so hollow?
Uriel had read of the many saints of the Imperium and had heard numerous sermons delivered with impassioned oratory from the pulpit of how the Emperor's power was like a fire within that burned hotter than the brightest star. But Uriel felt no such fire, no light burned within his breast and he had never felt so alone.
Sermons always spoke of heroes as shining examples of virtue: pure of heart, untainted by doubt and unsullied by self aggrandisement.
Given such qualifications, he knew he was no hero, he was outcast, denied even the name of his Chapter and cast within the Eye of Terror with renegades and traitors. Where was the bright light of the Emperor within him here?
He shifted his position, trying to get comfortable on the hard rockcrete floor so that he might be rested enough to press on to the fortress. He knew that the chances of their surviving the journey to the fortress of Honsou were minimal, but perhaps there was some way to entice these renegades to join them. In all likelihood they would all die, but who would miss such worthless specimens as them anyway?
As he turned over, he caught sight of a silhouetted Space Marine in the doorway and pushed himself into a sitting position as Ardaric Vaanes entered and sat resting his back on the wall opposite Uriel.
Thin light spilled in through the doorway, a fine mist of dust floating in the air where Vaanes's footsteps had disturbed them. The two Space Marines sat in silence for long minutes.
'Why are you here, Ventris?' said Vaanes, eventually.
'I told you. We are here to destroy the daemonculaba.'
Vaanes nodded. 'Aye, you said that, but there's more isn't there?'
'What do you mean?'
'I saw the way you and your sergeant looked at one another when Seraphys mentioned the Heart of Blood. That name has some meaning for you doesn't it?'
'Perhaps it does. What of it?'
'Like I said, I think you bring trouble with you, but I can't decide whether it is trouble I want to be part of yet.'
'Should I trust you, Vaanes?'
'Probably not,' admitted Vaanes with a smile. 'And another thing. I noticed that you very deliberately shied away from explaining why the Omphalos Daemonium went to such lengths to bring you here.'
'It is a daemon creature, who can say what its motives were?' said Uriel, reluctant to reveal the pact, even a false pact, he had made with the Omphalos Daemonium.
'How convenient,' said Vaanes, dryly. 'But I still want an answer.'
'I have none to give you.'
'Very well, keep your secrets, Ventris, but I want you gone once you have rested.'
Uriel pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to crouch beside Vaanes.
'I know that you have no reason to, but trust me. I know we are all here on the Emperor's business - too much is happening to be mere accident. Come with us, we could use your help. Your men fight well and together we can regain our honour.'
'Regain our honour?' said Vaanes. 'I had no honour to lose, why do you think I am here and not with the battle-brothers of my Chapter?'
'I don't know,' replied Uriel. 'Why? Tell me.'
Vaanes shook his head. 'No. You and I are not friends enough to share such shames. Suffice to say, we will not go with you. It is a suicide mission.'
'Do you speak for everyone here?' demanded Uriel.
'More or less.'
'And you would turn your back on a brother Space Marine in need of your strength?'
'Yes,' said Vaanes. 'I would.'
Suddenly angry, Uriel rose and snapped, 'I should have expected no less from a damned renegade.'
'Don't forget,' laughed Vaanes, getting to his feet and turning to leave, 'that you too are a renegade.'
'You're no longer one of the Emperor's soldiers and it's time you realised that.'
Uriel opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing as he remembered a line from the last sermon he had heard Chaplain Clausel deliver outside the Temple of Correction.
Softly he whispered that line as Vaanes left the room, 'He must put a white cloak upon his soul, that he might climb down into the filth to fight, yet may he die a saint.'