THE WARMASTER

by Dan Abnett

  ‘That’s what I seem to be doing, yeah,’ he said.

  ‘I never asked to–’

  ‘I pick the Tanith scouts, Zhukova. I don’t take volunteers. You’d keep your rank, but you’d answer to me. You’d give up your company command.’

  ‘What… what does Pasha say? Or Gaunt?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, with a careless shrug. ‘I haven’t asked anyone yet. I’m asking you first. Say no, and no one needs to be any wiser. Say yes… Well, Gaunt has very seldom not taken my recommendations.’

  ‘I‘m saying yes,’ she said.

  He nodded. He tried not to smile, but her smile was bright and infectious.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, no, Zhukova. Don’t thank me. No one ever thanks me for making this their life.’

  ‘Well, I am. I’d kiss you, but that would not improve my terrible reputation.’

  ‘It would not.’ Mkoll shook out his mug and turned away.

  ‘Enjoy your run,’ he said.

  Mkoll walked back to the billet habs.

  ‘You ask her?’ asked Bonin. He was watching Zhukova extend her stride as she made off along the entry track.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said yes.’

  Bonin nodded and smiled.

  ‘Good news,’ he said.

  ‘About time we had some,’ Mkoll agreed.

  The eagle took flight overhead.

  ‘Look sharp,’ Bonin said.

  Vehicles were coming down the track towards the camp. Two Tauroxes, front and back of a Chimera.

  ‘They’re flying pennants. Staff vehicles,’ said Bonin. ‘We’ve got some fething lord fething general inbound.’

  ‘Go get Rawne and Kolea, quick,’ said Mkoll.

  The vehicles pulled up in the yard, engines juddering to a stop. Rawne and Kolea had hurried out to join Mkoll, and Hark followed them. Startled troopers were hurrying out behind them, some yawning, some not fully dressed.

  ‘Guard line, if you please!’ Hark yelled. ‘Come on, you fethers! Dress it up, dress it up! Vadim? Where’s your weapon? Well, go and fething get it!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Pasha.

  ‘Feth alone knows, ma’am,’ said Obel.

  ‘You want me to rouse the whole regiment?’ Kolosim asked in Rawne’s ear.

  ‘No. If they’re not up and tidy, keep ’em hidden and tell them to smarten up. We’ll gussy up what we have here.’

  He turned and called, ‘Hark? Can we try to make this look reasonably professional?’

  Women and children were looking out of the middle floor windows of the hab blocks.

  ‘Back inside, please!’ Rawne yelled, pointing at them.

  The Chimera’s hatch swung open. Two Tempestus Scions in gleaming grey carapace armour stomped out, followed by two more. They glanced around the yard, eyed the assembling Ghosts with mute contempt, then took up a line, four abreast, facing the company, hellguns across their chests.

  ‘What are the fething glory boys here for?’ Elam whispered.

  ‘Something’s awry,’ murmured Beltayn.

  Gaunt stepped down the Chimera’s ramp. He winced into the sunlight, and pulled his storm coat close around him. Then he strode past the motionless Scions and stopped, face to face with Rawne and Kolea.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Sir,’ said Rawne. ‘What’s the big fuss?’

  Gaunt glanced over his shoulder at the Scions.

  ‘Them?’ he said. He grunted. ‘They’ve been assigned. To me.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Kolea.

  ‘Close protection.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Rawne.

  Gaunt smiled, and shook his head.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself that,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no one else in the transport?’ asked Kolea. ‘No lord general about to surprise us with an inspection?’

  ‘No,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘No one important?’ asked Rawne.

  ‘No,’ said Gaunt, more emphatically. ‘Everyone can stand down. Just relax.’

  He glanced at the ranks Hark had assembled, and the officers waiting with them.

  ‘Stand down!’ he called, pointing to them. ‘Please, stand down and go back to your breakfasts.’

  He started to turn back to Rawne and Kolea.

  ‘This is going to get aggravating very quickly,’ he began.

  But Rawne grabbed at him. He grasped the front of Gaunt’s storm coat and dragged it open. As Gaunt had pointed to the ranks, the coat had parted slightly, and Rawne had seen something.

  ‘What the feth is this?’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’m going to tell you about that…’

  ‘Is that real?’ asked Kolea, wide-eyed, staring at the gold eagle crest pinned to Gaunt’s chest that Rawne was unveiling.

  The four Scions were suddenly all around them, aiming their weapons directly at Rawne. Rawne froze.

  ‘Remove your hands,’ said their leader, his grinding voice amplified by his threatening visor, ‘from the person of the militant commander now!’

  ‘You heard the instruction, scum!’ barked another. Their optics glowed pinpoint red as auto-aiming systems kicked in.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ said Kolea.

  ‘I’m letting him go! I’m letting him go!’ Rawne exclaimed, releasing his grip.

  Gaunt looked at the lead Scion.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Sancto, lord.’

  ‘Tempestor Sancto, this “scum” is my second in command. You will extend him every courtesy you extend to me.’

  ‘Lord.’

  ‘Now go and stand by the truck. No, go and face the fething wall. All of you!’

  ‘Lord?’

  ‘Did you not fething hear me, Scions? I’m a fething militant commander and you will do as I fething say, without question!’

  ‘Yes, lord!’

  The four turned, marched away, and stood in a perfect line facing the fabricatory, their backs to the yard.

  Gaunt looked at Kolea and Rawne.

  ‘Clearly,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘clearly, I have to get a better handle on that. Not going to win friends that way.’

  ‘You’re a fething militant commander?’ asked Rawne.

  ‘I fething am, Eli,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Are you… fething kidding?’ asked Kolea.

  Gaunt shook his head. He looked at them. It had gone extraordinarily quiet in the yard.

  ‘Throne, your fething faces…’ Gaunt smiled.

  ‘I don’t know whether to punch you or hug you,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Saluting would probably be the best option,’ whispered Kolea. He turned. ‘Commissar Hark?’

  Hark swung to face the ranks, straight-backed.

  ‘Tanith First, attention!’ he bellowed. ‘Tanith First, salute!’

  The men snapped to attention and made the sign of the aquila.

  ‘Tanith First, three cheers for our militant commander!’

  Applause and cheering erupted across the yard. In the windows, the retinue and troopers too late to reach the parade whooped and waved. The chant ‘First and only! First and only!’ started up.

  Gaunt shook Rawne’s hand.

  ‘You fething bastard,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Congratulations, sir,’ said Gol, shaking Gaunt’s hand as soon as Rawne had let it go.

  Mkoll patted Gaunt on the shoulder.

  ‘Tears in your eyes, chief?’ Gaunt asked.

  ‘Not a one, sir,’ said Mkoll.

  ‘Are you lying, Oan?’

  ‘Allergies, sir.’

  The men came over, clapping and chanting, mobbing around him.

  ‘You cheeky fether!’ Varl laughed, then added, ‘sir.’

  ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day, sir,’ said Larkin. Gaunt gave the old marksman a hug.

  ‘I see high command’s finally made a decision I approve of,’ cri
ed Hark.

  ‘I hope you don’t come to regret that remark, Viktor,’ replied Gaunt. They embraced, Hark bear-hugging Gaunt so tightly he lifted him off the ground for a moment.

  From the doorway of the hab, Criid and Curth watched Gaunt moving through the mob of applauding, cheering troopers. Criid’s grin was broad, Curth’s smaller and sadder.

  ‘Rawne’s got to tell him,’ she said.

  ‘He will,’ said Criid.

  ‘He’s got to do it now. It can’t wait. He’ll find out any moment.’

  ‘He’ll tell him, Ana,’ said Criid.

  ‘Let him have this moment,’ said Blenner from behind them. They turned. Blenner looked very bleary and hungover, but there was a look of pride on his face, and he was welling up.

  ‘Let him have this one moment, for feth’s sake,’ he said.

  He pushed past them into the yard, walking towards the crowd, raising his hands and clapping enthusiastically.

  ‘I’ve got a band somewhere, I seem to think!’ he was yelling. ‘Why aren’t they gakking well playing? Come on! Ibram, you old dog! You old dog!’

  Wet from the freezing shower, a towel kilted around his waist, Dalin raced down the hab hallway, his wet feet slipping and slamming him off the walls. The hab around him was rocking with chanting and cheering. Down in the yard outside, the band had started playing, not well but exuberantly.

  ‘Felyx!’ Dalin yelled. ‘Felyx, get up! Get up! Get up now!’

  He burst into the room. Felyx was out of bed and half dressed. As Dalin crashed in, Felyx let out a howl and grabbed a blanket, dragging it around himself.

  ‘Oh my Throne!’ Dalin gasped, stopping in his tracks.

  ‘Don’t you ever fething knock? Don’t you?’ Felyx yelled at him.

  ‘Oh my fething Throne…’ Dalin stammered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry!’

  He turned to exit, floundering.

  Wrapped in the blanket, Felyx pushed past him and slammed the door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Dalin, staring at the inside of the door.

  ‘You don’t tell anyone,’ said Felyx. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Y-yes!’ said Dalin.

  ‘Do you understand? You don’t tell anyone,’ she said.

  EIGHTEEN: AND STONES

  The stronghold of the ordos in Eltath lay in the Gaelen district. It had once been a gaol and courthouse, but its thick walls and private cells had long since been converted to Inquisitorial use. Fazekiel, Baskevyl and Domor were left waiting in the main atrium, a cold, marble vault. They sat together on high-backed chairs beside the main staircase.

  ‘This is where they used to bring prisoners in,’ said Fazekiel, ‘you know, for trial.’

  ‘Stop trying to cheer me up,’ said Domor.

  After an hour, Onabel came to fetch them, and led them to a long, wood-panelled bureau where Inquisitor Laksheema was waiting.

  Three chairs had been set out in front of her heavy desk. Laksheema gestured to them, but did not look up from the data-slate she was reading. Several dozen more, along with paper books and info tiles, covered her desk. Colonel Grae of the intelligence service stood by the window, sipping a thimble-cup of caffeine.

  They took their seats.

  Laksheema looked up and smiled. It was disconcerting, because only her flesh-mouth smiled. Her eyes, gold augmetic and fleshless, could not.

  ‘Thank you for your attendance,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t think it was optional, ma’am,’ said Domor.

  Grae chuckled.

  ‘We have been supplied, at last, with a copy of Gaunt’s mission report,’ said Laksheema. ‘The Astra Militarum was kind enough to share.’

  ‘Now the report has been delivered to the Urdeshic Palace, and lies in the hands of the beloved warmaster, protocol permitted it,’ said Grae.

  ‘So we are now aware of all additional particulars,’ said Laksheema. ‘The matters you were reluctant to discuss yesterday, Major Baskevyl.’

  Baskevyl felt his tension begin to mount.

  ‘We have begun reviewing the materials you handed to us,’ Laksheema said. ‘Well, Versenginseer Etruin is conducting the actual review. It will take months–’

  ‘Versenginseer?’ said Baskevyl. ‘You said that before. I thought I had misheard. You mean “enginseer”?’

  ‘I spoke precisely, major,’ she said. ‘Etruin’s specialty is reverse-engineering. The deconstruction, and thus comprehension, of enemy technologies and materials. As I was saying, it will take months, if not years. But we have focused our immediate attention on the stone tiles that you discovered so memorably.’

  ‘We would have interviewed you in due course,’ said Grae. ‘You, and every member of the squad present at the discovery, and everyone else who came in contact with the materials. Just ongoing data-gathering in the months to come. But you collated the materials, Commissar Fazekiel, and you two – Major Baskevyl and Captain… Domor – you were in command when the disruption was discovered.’

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Even on cursory examination,’ said Laksheema, ‘Etruin assesses there to be great worth in the materials, collectively. Who knows what wars we may win and what victories we may achieve thanks to their secrets. Time will tell.’

  She looked very pointedly at Baskevyl.

  ‘The stone tiles seem to be key,’ she said. ‘And it would appear that the Archenemy thinks so too. Wouldn’t you say, major?’

  Fazekiel saw Baskevyl’s unease.

  ‘You’re being remarkably forthcoming, ma’am,’ she said.

  Laksheema pursed her lips, an expression Baskevyl read as ‘puzzled’.

  ‘Well, commissar,’ she said, ‘circumstances have changed somewhat overnight, haven’t they?’

  ‘Have they?’ asked Domor.

  ‘I’ll be honest,’ said the inquisitor, ‘given what I’ve read in the mission report, the interviews with all three of you should have been conducted individually, in less… comfortable surroundings, and with rather greater persuasion.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Domor.

  ‘Do not test me, captain,’ said Laksheema. ‘That ship has not yet sailed altogether. But, due to circumstances, I find I am obliged to offer a greater level of cooperation, be less territorial. Colonel Grae is present to oversee that cooperation. And you three are now, of course, entitled to greater levels of confidence. You can be read in. So can any members of your regiment at company and particular grade or higher. That’s correct, isn’t it, colonel?’

  ‘It is, ma’am inquisitor,’ said Grae. ‘As of midnight-thirty last night, the clearance rating of the Tanith First at company and particular level was raised by default to cobalt.’

  ‘Cobalt,’ said Laksheema. ‘Which is a shame for me, because I felt I was likely to get a great deal more out of you all if I was permitted to function at a standard, basic level. Especially you, I think, captain.’

  She smiled her non-smile at Domor.

  ‘You think you’d acquire more and better information from us through enhanced interrogation than through… what?’ said Fazekiel. ‘Our honest cooperation?’

  Laksheema shrugged. ‘Probably not. Cooperation is always the most effective. It’s just a matter of trust, and I suppose I must trust you now you’re cobalt cleared.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Baskevyl. ‘I’m sorry. Could you start again?’

  ‘From where, major?’ asked Laksheema.

  ‘The start?’ suggested Domor.

  ‘The point at which we could be suddenly read in at upper echelon level,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Laksheema. ‘I don’t understand what you don’t understand.’

  ‘Is this… is this part of the enhanced interrogation?’ asked Domor, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Shhhh, Shoggy,’ said Fazekiel.

  ‘I’m just all confused,’ he said.

  ‘Inquisitor,’ said Grae. ‘I believe they don’t actually know.’

  ‘Really?�
� said Laksheema, exasperated.

  ‘Know what?’ Fazekiel asked.

  ‘Last night, Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt received promotion to the rank of militant commander, and your regiment automatically becomes marked out for special status, with commensurate clearance.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘He’s a what now?’ asked Domor.

  ‘Are you going to say anything?’ asked Rawne.

  Gaunt took a deep breath and let it out. He stood facing the window of the small room in the hab block they’d cleared as his billet. Rawne stood by the door.

  ‘It’s done,’ said Gaunt. ‘I can’t change it.’

  ‘She, uhm… she was protecting the boy, of course. Her skills were not, I suppose, the right ones for urban war. She should have left it to us.’

  ‘She was not one to be told,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Others died?’

  ‘Seven others, sir. Some Helixid nearby too.’

  ‘I’ll see the list of names.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Rawne paused.

  ‘Criid, she wanted to explain it all herself. She was there when… She was there. And Curth, she wanted to break it to you. I decided it should come from me. I wanted to inform you straight away, but that was a moment down there in the yard and it felt wrong to ruin it. I’m sorry I had to kill your mood so soon after.’

  Gaunt looked at him.

  ‘It’s fine. It’s sad. It’s fine. It’s a life lost. Something to mourn. And I’ll miss her. I will. But, in truth…’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘That was a moment down there. To see the Ghosts uplifted like that. To see a celebration. We get so few.’

  ‘There’ll be more, sir,’ said Rawne. ‘I think Blenner wants a feast. I think he said a feast. Or a series of feasts.’

  Gaunt laughed dryly.

  ‘The truth, Eli,’ he said, ‘I’m glad for the Ghosts. I’m glad this cheers them. And vindicates them too, for all the years of courage and sacrifice. We are now a regiment of esteem, with special status, and that comes with benefits. But I am not as overjoyed by this day as I might have been. As I expected to be. It has come with other issues attached.’

  ‘Issues, sir?’

  ‘We’ll discuss them, in time. Maddalena’s death has not ruined a good day. The day, despite its apparent glory, was ominously marked already. Her loss simply seals that.’