THE WARMASTER

by Dan Abnett

  ‘You have a report for us, Bram,’ said Van Voytz.

  ‘I have, sir,’ said Gaunt. He took his encrypted data-slate from his pocket. ‘If you’re all ready to receive.’

  ‘We are,’ said Cybon. He lifted a wand to alter the setting of the cyberskulls. They began to whirr and murmur, erecting a crypto-field that insulated the chamber from all prying eyes, ears and sensors. Gaunt activated the slate, and forwarded his confidential report to the data machines in the room. The lord generals took out or picked up their various devices. Some began to read.

  ‘A personal summary, I think, Bram,’ said Van Voytz, ignoring his own data-slate, which lay beside his ashtray on the table.

  ‘By order of high command,’ said Gaunt, ‘specifically the authority of Lord Militant General Cybon and Lord Commissar Mercure of the Officio Prefectus, my regiment departed Balhaut in 781 relative. Target destination was an Archenemy manufacturing base in the Rimworld Marginals.’

  ‘Salvation’s Reach,’ said Bulledin.

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Gaunt. ‘The objective was threefold. To neutralise the enemy’s manufacturing capacity, to retrieve, where possible, data and materials for examination, and to create prejudicial disinformation that would destabilise the enemy host.’

  ‘Of which,’ said Cybon, ‘the third was the most particular. The Reach mission was part of a greater programme of false flag operations.’

  ‘This devised,’ said Bulledin, ‘by you, Cybon, and by Mercure?’

  ‘And sanctioned by the warmaster,’ replied Cybon. ‘But the germ of the notion came from Gaunt.’

  ‘By way of an enemy combatant,’ said Lugo. He glanced at Gaunt, his eyes glittering. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? There was a high-value enemy asset involved?’

  Gaunt cleared his throat. He had a feeling he knew which way this could turn.

  ‘A high-value asset is only high value if that value is used, sir,’ he replied. ‘The enemy officer had surrendered to our forces. A change of heart. He had been one of us, originally. He offered information.’

  ‘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 mad
e 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.’

  ‘Do we have munitions now?’ asked Rawne.

  ‘We’ve got lights, a food drop and a medical trailer for Curth,’ said Kolea. ‘No ammo train yet.’

  ‘I’ll get onto it,’ said Hark.

  ‘We’ve made repeated calls, Viktor,’ said Kolea.

  ‘They haven’t heard from me yet, Gol,’ Hark said in a soft but dangerous tone. ‘I’ll get onto it.’

  As Hark stalked away, Rawne looked around at the area. He could hear rain beating on the roof of the medicae unit and the plastek awning, and water gurgling down the broken chutes and water pipes of the ancient buildings.

  ‘Did we–’ he began.

  ‘I’ve got perimeter guards and sweep patrols, yes,’ said Kolea. ‘They won’t get at us again.’

  ‘I thought this was a safe city,’ said Ludd.

  Kolea looked at him.

  ‘Apparently, this is common here,’ he said. ‘The main front lines are porous. Insurgent cells are getting into the habitation and safe zones.’

  Rawne nodded.

  ‘Gaunt?’ he asked.

  ‘Still up at staff,’ said Kolea. ‘We’re deciding who gets to talk to him when he gets back.’

  Rawne narrowed his eyes quizzically.

  Kolea jerked his head towards the medicae unit.

  ‘Probably you, Eli,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He hates you anyway,’ said Kolea.

  Rawne sniffed and walked up to the door of the medicae unit. Ludd shot a puzzled look at Kolea, then followed. He stopped short when he saw Felyx standing with Dalin beside the entrance.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ludd asked.

  ‘They won’t let me see her,’ said Felyx.

  ‘He’s fine,’ said Dalin. ‘Let him be.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do, trooper,’ said Ludd. He looked at Felyx again.

  ‘They won’t let you see who?’ he asked.

  Rawne stepped into the cramped medicae unit. Kolding was suturing the face wound of a Munitorum driver. Curth was slotting instruments into an autoclave. She looked up as Rawne entered, her face cold and drawn, then jerked her head towards the nearest of the gurneys racked up in the back-bay of the unit.

  Rawne crossed to it, and lifted the end of the sheet.

  ‘Feth,’ he said.

  ‘Gone before I got there,’ said Curth.

  ‘Who else?’ asked Rawne.

  ‘List’s on the side there,’ said Curth.

  There was a thump in the doorway as Criid entered. She handed a set of medical clippers to Curth.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t imagine she took it well,’ said Curth.

  ‘Yoncy’s hair will grow back, Ana,’ said Criid.

  ‘You used the salve?’

  ‘Yep. You’ll be using those clippers a lot in the next few days,’ said Criid.

  ‘I’ll do a full inspect,’ said Curth. ‘I’ve ordered powders from the depot so we can treat all bedding. Lice should be easier to control here than on the ship.’

  Criid noticed Rawne. He was lowering the sheet.

  ‘She was brave,’ said Criid. ‘Went right for them, defending. Defending the boy, more than anything. Taking out a threat to him. And the regiment, but he was the point. She was fast. Trained for intense close protection. Of course, she knew feth-all about street fighting. And in that red suit…’

  ‘I’ll talk to Gaunt,’ said Rawne.

  ‘No, I’ll do it,’ said Criid. ‘I was with her at the end.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Curth. ‘It’s the chief medicae’s job.’

  They both looked at her.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Rawne, more firmly.

  ‘Sir?’

  Rawne glanced around. Ludd was in the doorway.

  ‘Felyx… that is to say, Trooper Chass, he wants to see the body.’

  ‘There’ll be time for that later,’ said Curth.

  ‘She was like a mother to him,’ said Criid quietly. ‘I mean, probably more of a mother than his actual mother. Even if she was a psycho b–’

  ‘Stow that, captain,’ said Rawne. He looked at Curth. The medicae took a thoughtful breath, then nodded.

  Rawne beckoned Ludd. Ludd brought Felyx up the steps into the trailer. Dalin hovered behind them in the doorway.

  Felyx looked especially small and slender, more like a child than ever, Rawne thought. He went across to the gurney where Rawne was standing.

  ‘You don’t have to look,’ said Curth.

  ‘He does,’ said Rawne.

  ‘He probably does, Ana,’ said Criid.

  ‘You fething soldiers,’ murmured Curth. ‘You think horror inoculates against horror.’

  ‘It’s called closure, Ana,’ said Criid.

  ‘If you ask me, there’s far too much of that in the world,’ said Curth.

  Rawne reached out to lift the edge of the sheet again, but Felyx got there first. Rawne withdrew his hand as Felyx raised the hem of the bloodstained cover.

  He stared for a moment at the face staring back up from the cart.

  He said something.

  ‘What?’ asked Rawne.

  Felyx cleared his throat and repeated it.

  ‘Did she suffer?’

  ‘No,’ said Criid.

  ‘She was protecting you,’ said Rawne. ‘That was her job. Her training. Her life.’

  ‘She died protecting me?’ asked Felyx.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it any better,’ said Felyx.

  ‘It was going to happen eventually,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Oh, for feth’s sake, Eli!’ Curth snorted.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Kolding, from the far side of the trailer. ‘A lifeward’s life belongs to the one he or she wards. They put themselves in the line of danger.’

  ‘There are ways of doing that…’ Criid began.

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Felyx, glancing at her sharply.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Criid.

  ‘Tell me what you meant,’ said Felyx.

  Criid shrugged.

  ‘Your lifeward excelled at close protection. I
mean, she was hard-wired trained for it. Sneak attacks, assassinations. In the environment of a court, or a palace, or an up-spire residence, she was built to excel. But she was no soldier. A warzone like this is a very different place. You don’t run in, heedless and headlong. You don’t rely on speed and reaction alone. You don’t wear red and make yourself a target.’

  Felyx’s lip trembled slightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Criid. ‘She was brave.’

  ‘She’ll need a funeral,’ said Felyx.

  ‘They’ll all get funerals,’ said Curth. She reached for a data-slate on her crowded workstation. ‘The Munitorum has issued interment permits, and assigned spaces in… Eastern Hill Cemetery Two.’

  ‘No,’ said Felyx. ‘A formal funeral. With a templum service and a proper ecclesiarch to say the litany, not that idiot chaplain of ours. I won’t have her laid to rest in some mass war grave zone.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with a military funeral?’ asked Rawne.

  ‘Or our fething ayatani?’ muttered Criid.

  ‘Felyx,’ said Ludd, ‘the Astra Militarum provides for all who fall in its service. The services are simple but very honourable. There is a dispensation allowance from the Munitorum–’

  ‘A private service,’ said Felyx. ‘A private funeral. I have… I have access to funds. Through any counting house here on Urdesh, I can transfer sums from my family holdings. From House Chass. She will have a proper funeral.’

  ‘She died with us,’ said Rawne. ‘She served with us. She’ll be set in the ground with us, in our custom.’

  ‘As has been pointed out, major,’ said Felyx, his eyes bright, ‘she was not a soldier. She will be buried as I deem fit.’

  Rawne seemed to be about to reply, but stopped as Criid gently caught his arm and shook her head.

  ‘Uhm,’ Ludd began after a moment. ‘I’d request that Trooper Chass be taken into the supervision of the Commissariat for the time being.’

  ‘Your care, you mean?’ asked Rawne.

  Ludd’s face became hard and unfriendly.

  ‘I was charged with the trooper’s welfare, given his particular circumstances. With his lifeward gone, there is the matter of his ongoing protection. I will stand as his guardian until–’