Apocalypse - Josh Reynolds Page 8

  ‘True. Few of our brothers, whatever their Chapter, would admit such.’

  ‘I am not my brothers. Neither, I think, are you.’

  Suboden snorted. ‘You do not know many of us, then.’ He smiled. ‘We laugh as we kill. We find joy in the hunt. In war.’ He gestured to his mantle. ‘This is as much my armour as my battleplate. And this chamber – merely another field of war. I am happy here. You sons of Dorn find little joy in anything save your walls. At least, so goes the conventional wisdom.’

  Calder frowned, but refused to be baited. ‘Where is Karros?’

  ‘Sampling the local cuisine,’ Suboden said, nodding to one of the tables that lined the chamber. Karros hovered near it, peering at the food on display with seeming confusion. He was surrounded by a crowd of chattering nobles, talking around him.

  ‘He looks puzzled.’

  ‘An act. Our brother plays up his inhumanity, so that those watching him underestimate him. They think him blind to their jibes and ploys. He is taking their measure, even as we do, in our own ways.’

  Calder nodded. In that moment, he realised perhaps why Suboden and Karros had been selected to accompany him. Both, like him, had dealt with mortals extensively – Suboden, during the war for Armageddon, and Karros, during the Jottun Uprisings. Watching them at work, he saw new ways of approaching old problems.

  Then, that was the Lord Commander’s method of operation. Learn by observation. A strong tenet, if a touch more passive than Calder was comfortable with. The Imperial Fists preferred to learn by doing. Wisdom was earned through pain.

  He found his gaze drawn to the far corner of the chamber, where Eamon sat, surrounded by scribes and advisors. The cardinal-governor was dressed modestly, and speaking to one of his deacons. Suboden followed his look. ‘What do you make of him?’

  ‘Dedicated. If he is corrupt, he hides it well.’

  ‘He hides it not at all.’ Suboden looked around meaningfully. ‘Then, perhaps that is to his credit. He seems willing to listen, which is more than most of them.’ He set his goblet aside and upended the decanter, drinking straight from it. ‘Petty little men, with their petty little kingdoms. Sometimes I wonder why we waste time, playing the dutiful servants.’

  ‘Would you rule them, then?’

  ‘No. But it might make things easier.’ Suboden glanced up at Calder. ‘I have heard that Guilliman thinks along the same lines. He intends to set his sons above certain potentates, on certain worlds within the Ultramar System. Or so I’d heard.’

  ‘And how did you come to hear that?’

  Suboden tugged on his moustaches, grinning. ‘You think we do not have our eyes and ears, in the crusade? I expect you do as well.’

  Calder looked away. In point of fact, the Chapter did – something he had been unsettled to learn, upon rejoining his brothers. All Chapters, especially those with ties to Terra, had their own networks of spies these days. Some were more effective than others. In recent months, Calder had trained his own personal network of scribes – teaching them what to look for, and what to disregard, in the millions of reports he collected from across a variety of systems. ‘I know no more about what the Lord Commander intends than you do.’

  Suboden nodded. ‘That is not a denial.’

  Calder glanced at him. ‘What do your brothers make of it?’

  Suboden shrugged and took another swig from the decanter. ‘The khans have not held a council to discuss it. Indeed, what is there to discuss? Ultramar is his, and the gene-sons of Guilliman obey the edicts of their father. As we would, should the Great Khan return from the Hunt of Ages. As would your brothers, should Dorn return.’

  ‘Guilliman is not Dorn,’ Calder said.

  ‘Nor is he the Great Khan.’ Suboden peered at him. ‘The galaxy rests on a blade’s edge, brother… balanced between victory and defeat.’

  ‘Which side does it tip towards?’

  ‘I suspect we will not know, until the final moment.’ Suboden reached up and set a comradely fist on his shoulder. He smiled widely. ‘That is the fun of it.’

  Calder smiled, if only for a moment. It faded a heartbeat later, as Suboden said, ‘He’s hiding something, of course.’

  Momentarily puzzled, Calder said, ‘Who? The Lord Commander?’

  Suboden snorted. ‘Almost certainly. But no. Our host. He’s hiding something. I can smell it on him. He’s happy to see us… but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s worried.’

  ‘His world is under threat of invasion.’

  ‘That’s not it.’ Suboden snatched a goblet from a passing tray and handed it to him. ‘Drink. It puts them at ease.’ He tugged on his moustaches again. ‘They’ve all got their secrets, these little men. Can’t be a king without a few secrets.’

  ‘Secrets are not my concern. Only the defence of this world.’

  ‘Admirable. I– oh. The little king calls for you, brother. Best see what he wants.’

  Calder turned, and saw Eamon looking in their direction. He nodded to Suboden, and made his way to the cardinal-governor’s side. Eamon dismissed his associates with an impatient gesture, and they scattered. One or two of them shot baleful looks at Calder as they went. He pretended not to notice. He’d have had to kill them, otherwise. ‘Cardinal-governor,’ he said by way of greeting.

  Eamon gestured. ‘What do you think of it, then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The wine, lieutenant.’

  Calder looked down. He’d forgotten he was holding it. The goblet was perplexingly small in his grip. It was not gold, but was decorated to appear so, and deceptively soft. The slightest twitch would serve to crush it. He took a sip of the wine, and found it palatable, at best.

  ‘Not to your liking?’ Eamon asked. The cardinal-governor was smiling slightly, as if amused by the sight. ‘There are other vintages available.’

  ‘They would be wasted on me. My body isolates and neutralises toxins, rendering it an issue solely of taste and smell. And I find the taste of fermented grapes somewhat lacking.’ He gave the goblet an experimental twitch, but the odour did not alter.

  ‘And yet you continue to drink.’

  ‘One must be polite, in mixed company.’

  ‘Politesse,’ Eamon said.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I did not expect it. Your kind are not known for your decorum.’ He raised a hand before Calder could speak. ‘My apologies, that was uncivil. Yes, I was surprised.’ He looked down into his own goblet for a moment. Then, ‘What is he like?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Lord Commander. Guilliman.’ He hesitated. ‘It is him, isn’t it? It’s not just… propaganda, from Terra?’

  ‘If it were, do you think I would answer honestly?’

  Eamon frowned and looked away. ‘I suppose not.’

  Calder was silent for a moment. ‘I do not know him,’ he said. ‘I have met him only once, and then only briefly. But I knelt before him without thinking, such was the power of him. Though he is not my gene-sire, he is of the same… materials. They exude – exuded – the same strength. The same… sublime grace.’ His voice grew soft. ‘Had he ordered me to, I would have set myself against all the foes of mankind, barehanded and alone.’

  Eamon took a sip of his wine. Calder noticed that his hand was trembling. ‘Why did he send you here?’ Eamon asked.

  ‘You asked for aid.’

  ‘No. Why you, specifically?’

  Calder considered the question for a moment. Then, ‘I am a Huscarl. One of the first, for this new era.’ He flexed his free hand. ‘Once, that term was reserved for those chosen to guard our primarch, both on the battlefield and off. Now, it means something quite different. It is why I was chosen to lead this mission.’

  ‘You guard worlds, rather than lords,’ Eamon said.

  Calder nodded, pleased by the cardinal-governor�
�s understanding. ‘We are good at guarding things. And Guilliman is wise enough to allow us to do what we are best at, rather than forcing us into an unsuitable role.’

  ‘Are there… many of you?’

  ‘Not enough. Never enough. But there will be more, before the end of this crusade. We shall build a wall of worlds, to hold back the long night. And on each, a single watchman to ward it, come what may. We are Huscarls, and that is our oath.’

  Eamon was silent, for long moments. ‘Will you be enough, though?’

  Calder considered this. ‘You expected more of us,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Guilliman himself, come down in fire and glory to rescue you from the fiends in the night.’

  Eamon shook his head. ‘I expected nothing, lieutenant. Not you, certainly not the Risen Son. We are not important as worlds or systems go. And the reach of the Ecclesiarchy is not as long as we like to imagine. That Guilliman considered us at all is a blessing from the God-Emperor, though some do not see it so charitably.’

  Calder frowned and set his goblet down – gently. ‘Rebellion?’ he asked, quietly. He looked around the chamber, at the wide array of faces and titles on display.

  ‘I wouldn’t dignify it with that term, no.’ Eamon dabbed his lips with his napkin and sat back. ‘Discontent is a more accurate word, I think. I have been… soft-hearted.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘I have shown tolerance for the dissenting, and sympathy for the unhappy. I have… allowed certain members of the Ecumenical Council to abuse my favour, in order to keep the peace on Almace, and in the wider system. I have even spared the lives of those aristocratic families that sought to destabilise my position.’

  Calder considered this. ‘Unwise,’ he said.

  Eamon nodded. ‘Very much so, I expect. The Kabalevskys gave this world to the Ecclesiarchy. Some of their descendants decided that they wanted it back, some time ago. Tried every trick in the book to unseat me. I finally had to exile the lot of them. It taught the rest to be quieter about their ambitions. But…’

  ‘They still seek to undermine you.’

  ‘Not intentionally, I think. But yes.’ Eamon’s smile slipped. ‘Most of them aren’t even aware that we’ve been invaded. They would panic – or worse, incite panic in others.’

  ‘That is the reason for this feast, then.’

  ‘A bit of ceremony, before things become awkward.’ Eamon leaned forward. ‘Some of them will not believe it, even after we tell them. They will assume it is a game on my part, or some attempt to shore up what they consider my faltering regime. Already, there are whispers that the Holy Synod is to be petitioned for my removal, and a new dynasty installed. Some believe that the Kabalevskys will return in the world’s darkest hour, like the kings of Old Night.’ He chuckled and shook his head. ‘I did what was needed, and now I find that I can do nothing at all. Except wait.’

  ‘There is much you can do, cardinal-governor. Yours is the voice which commands. I will need you to use it, in the near future. Necessity is a bitter pill for the powerful and the weak alike.’ Calder looked down at him. ‘You are not what I expected, cardinal-governor. That is to your credit. Do not lose hope now. Not when salvation is but a handbreadth away.’

  Eamon nodded. ‘Huscarl indeed,’ he said. He turned, and Calder saw a soldier – a junior officer, by his insignia – hurrying through the crowd. The man bent respectfully over Eamon’s chair, and murmured quietly into his ear. Calder was able to hear his words easily enough, however, and when Eamon rose, he wasn’t surprised.

  ‘The enemy has been sighted.’ Eamon pitched his voice low. As Calder followed the cardinal-governor from the chamber, he signalled Suboden and Karros.

  The time for feasting was over.

  Scribes and messengers were hurrying through the halls of the cathedral-palace as they made their way to the strategium. Scrivener-servitors etched lines of ink across reams of parchment as officers spoke to one another in cramped alcoves. There was a sense of anticipation on the air – and not a little fear.

  ‘I’m told you brought a fleet,’ Eamon said as they approached the doors. ‘I fear we may need it, weak as our own system defence force is at the moment.

  ‘Two strike cruisers and a battle-barge, as well as escorts,’ Calder said.

  ‘A small fleet,’ Eamon said doubtfully.

  ‘The Silent Horseman alone could defend this system,’ Suboden said, his tone betraying his annoyance. ‘That battle-barge weathered the fire storms above Armageddon, and burst the heart of an ork rok with its prow.’

  ‘The Capulus and Raven’s Valour, while not so large, are equally blooded,’ Calder added. ‘Two strike cruisers and a battle-barge are a fleet unto themselves, not counting the dozen frigates that escort them.’

  ‘A better fleet than what you have now, at least,’ Suboden said. ‘Were the situation different, I might strike your head from your shoulders for such an insult.’

  Eamon nodded hurriedly, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘I meant no insult, my lords.’

  Suboden grunted and looked at Calder. There was a glimmer of cold amusement in the White Scar’s eyes, and Calder suddenly realised that Suboden was only pretending to be angry, though he could not fathom why. Perhaps simply for the fun of it.

  ‘We take no insult,’ Calder said, and Eamon gave him a grateful look. He stopped. ‘If you could go ahead, cardinal-governor. I wish to discuss a private matter with the khan.’ He nodded to Karros. ‘Karros will accompany you.’

  ‘I shall leave you to it, then.’ Eamon paused. ‘Lieutenant – I do not know whether or not you… eat as a man might, but if you would do me the honour, I would like to extend an invitation to break your fast with me tomorrow. I feel there will be much to discuss, and I find I often work best over a meal.’

  Calder nodded. ‘I will attend.’

  Eamon nodded. ‘Good. I will meet you in the strategium.’ He left them, his bodyguards falling in around him, and Karros following after. Suboden watched them go and chuckled. Calder frowned.

  ‘Why the pretence?’

  ‘You noticed.’ Suboden sounded pleased. ‘A man like Eamon needs reminding about our nature, every so often.’ He tapped his amulets. ‘They confuse their authority for true power. They cannot be allowed to chastise us, however mildly, and escape censure. Else they will grow bold.’ He frowned. ‘Our brothers, the Wolves, made that mistake once. We learn from their errors.’ He bared his teeth in a grin. ‘Too, it put you in his good graces. Where he fears me, or Karros, he will cling to you.’

  ‘He should not fear me, then?’

  ‘Not in the same way he fears us. We are wolves, prowling the dark. You are a mastiff, guarding the herd. You see?’

  Calder shook his head. ‘I should not have agreed to dine with him.’

  Suboden stroked his moustaches. ‘Never turn down food when your host offers it. It is rude. Besides, it will aid the illusion that you are on his side.’

  ‘Am I not?’

  ‘You serve the Lord Commander, brother. Last I checked, he wasn’t here.’ Suboden clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come. Let us see what games the enemy is playing.’

  Swordmaster Tyre was waiting for them in the strategium, along with Canoness Lorr. He was scowling as data scrolled across the floating projection. He glanced at them as they arrived, and the crowd of officers and scribes surrounding him evaporated at a terse gesture. ‘A long-range debris-trawler spotted them, my lords. It’s unmanned, save for an enginseer to keep the servitors functional. Luckily, he’s more observant than most of them.’

  The hololithic image flickered, and a pict-feed appeared. It showed a debris field – a graveyard of broken vessels and cosmic junk. Every system had them, places where forgotten things congregated and were picked over by salvagers for anything of value. Tyre pointed at a crimson dot on the feed. A brief flare, as of engines firing. ‘Telemetry indicates that they came out of the debris field here.
If they’re staying close to the rest of the fleet, that means that it should be… here.’ A set of coordinates was illuminated. ‘From that, we’ve extrapolated the position and formation.’ More runes flashed into sight.

  ‘What about the trawler?’ Calder asked.

  Tyre gestured dismissively. ‘They destroyed it a few moments after the feed was transmitted.’ He frowned. ‘That’s them, though. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘What world is that?’ Calder asked.

  ‘Pergamon,’ Tyre said. ‘It’s one of the larger worlds – a tithe-hub. There are orbital dockyards and numerous transit points. Captain Keel is already planning to take the system defence fleet out and meet them there – it’ll take him a day, maybe two to reach them. If we can hold them there, it might buy us a few days more.’

  ‘Pergamon has substantial orbital defences,’ Calder said, studying the data.

  ‘As I said, it’s a tithe-hub. There’s frequent pirate activity around that area. Too, there’s the library…’

  ‘The library,’ Eamon echoed. He closed his eyes. ‘Holy Throne bless and keep us.’

  ‘What library is this?’ Suboden demanded.

  ‘The Apostolic Libraria – a repository of liturgical texts, numbering in the millions,’ Calder answered, before Eamon could. ‘One of the largest of its type in this sector.’

  Suboden snorted. ‘Hardly a strategic objective.’

  ‘It is the most important thing on that planet,’ Canoness Lorr said, speaking up for the first time. ‘A commandry of my order guards it, and the Sisters Dialogous who see to the maintenance of its contents. The texts there are part of the foundation of Ecclesiarchial canon. The seeds from which the Imperial Cult germinated.’

  ‘They’re breaking the pattern,’ Karros said. He gestured to the pict-captures. ‘With the other worlds, they employed an epsilon-montero formation – static wedge, with an emphasis on alternating orbital strikes. They landed few troops, and only after most of the world was on fire. But here…’

  ‘A test run,’ Calder said. The others looked at him. ‘This world is the second largest in the system, and the most well defended next to Almace.’ He paused. ‘They’re practising.’