Dark Imperium: Godblight

by Guy Haley

  The officers of the Iaxian Astra Militarum Ultramarian Auxilia lined the stairs leading from the Spiral Way to the Palace of Flowers. The palace’s name was well earned, for in normal times it was covered in blooms of all kinds, a colourful, living architecture; but it was sick like everything else, and all the colour had died upon the stalk, leaving stringy black slimes to dribble from the planting boxes. Yet even streaked with ooze the palace was magnificent. In fact, Diamider thought, as he looked out over his aching arms, beneath the shining peak of his helmet that restricted his view, it looked better like that, as if the stains accentuated the glory of what was, and what might one day again be. It was symbolic, he thought, of the eternal wheel of death and rebirth, and how the works of mortals could not hope to stand against entropy…

  Then he thought, What by the Throne am I thinking?

  Trumpets blew down the stairs. The voices of auxilia captains stationed at every landing barked orders to present arms for the primarch. Feet stamped. Entire troops praised him. The trumpets neared, the voices neared, and behind them came the heavy tread of armoured gods.

  When it was Tefelius’ turn to shout out the order of welcome he almost missed it; he would have, had his cornet not elbowed him forward before he put his lips to his silver trumpet. The trumpet blasted in his ear. Shocked out of his fugue by the sound, Tefelius stamped his feet, and bellowed in his best parade-ground voice.

  ‘Present arms for the Lord of Ultramar! All hail the Lord Commander. All hail the Imperial Regent!’

  His troops turned on their heels to face the last living primarch, and stamped, shaking the stairway. They thrust out their weapons before them in presentation of arms. The position of his fellows and the high plumes of their dress uniforms obscured everything but the bobbing forest of standards coming up the stairs behind the primarch. They were magnificent in their profusion and variety, representing every part of the Imperial military.

  All to be tarnished. All to be cast down, Tefelius thought, to his own alarm.

  As Guilliman climbed towards them, the officers stepped back and swivelled into their prior positions, pulling in their guns across their chests, then shouldering them, for which the aching arms of Tefelius were profoundly grateful.

  ‘All hail Lord Guilliman!’ they shouted. ‘All hail the saviour of Iax!’ though he had not saved the planet yet. That was Costalis’ idea, giving thanks for a gift not yet given. The Imperial commander had been almost pathetic in his enthusiasm for the primarch’s arrival.

  Again Tefelius was taken aback at his train of thoughts. Why was he thinking this? He had nothing but respect for Costalis. Sweat trickled from under his helmet. He felt faint. He feared he would pass out before the regent came.

  The procession was on him, a confusing mass of people in robes of all kinds, priests at the head, administrators after, then Lord Guilliman himself, huge and impatient among these scurrying rodents, yet obliged to keep to their pace. For a moment Tefelius beheld him, this son of god, this titan in blue armour, and in that moment he felt a raw and unbounded terror that was not his own. Something squirmed in the back of his head.

  He just about managed to stay upright as the primarch swept on, and other voices and other trumpets higher up welcomed him, while a long train of mighty lords and the Angels of Death tramped by.

  Tefelius slowed his breathing. After today was done, he was going to have to see the medicae.

  ‘Captain? I say, sir? Are you all right?’

  He blinked. His colour sergeant was speaking out of the corner of his mouth at him. Tefelius had not a clue for how long.

  ‘You’re supposed to join the other officers in the procession, sir, is that not correct?’

  A long tail of Iaxian officers were heading up the stairs. Tefelius should have been at the back of them.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, and hurried to join them, wondering what in the Imperium was wrong with him.

  Tefelius’ troops were to serve as ceremonial guard ringing the Palace of Flowers, and though he was due to stay with them before heading to the primarch’s briefing, missing Guilliman’s address to the wider people, Tef­elius did not remain there for long. There was a squirming urgency in him, as he remembered from being a youth – those times when he wished to act but did not know why or what he wished to do. He told one of his lieutenants to take his place, and hurried off.

  The Palace of Flowers was a large, round building, with many arches in stacked rings making up the sides. Those above the ground floor were filled in with brick, and hung with horticultural boxes, all full of wilted stalks in those difficult days, and with recessed niches from which trees grew, these also mostly dead. Stumps filled many of the recesses where cultivators had removed them.

  The lower ring of arches was open, so that the Palace of Flowers perched on many columnar legs so finely made it appeared to float. Tefelius went through, and came to an inner ring of similar arches, these all barred with iron. One was gated, and the way was open, leading to a fantastic hall of inlaid stone lit by ornamental lumens: the palace’s main entrance. A huge door of Macraggian pinewood closed the way into the Great Hall, but through it he could hear the rumble and boom of transhuman voices, and his heart quickened.

  The gate was held by warriors of the gubernatorial guard, pikes crossed to bar the way, and that day they were supplemented by a pair of Space Marines. Tefelius knew his heraldry, recognising them as members of the Doom Eagles and the Aurora Chapter. There was a certain degree of fear engendered by their presence – Astartes Dread, some called it. They were enormous, heavily armoured and bred to kill, but chiefly his feelings were usually of religious awe, and safety, for though dangerous they had been made to protect men like him.

  Just then, though, he felt utter terror, and he faltered, unable to process why he was going within. He stood, mouth agape, and began to sweat again.

  ‘Captain Tefelius?’ one of the guards asked, for he was well known in the city.

  ‘I…’

  ‘What business do you have in the hall, sir?’ asked the second guard. ‘Are you not to walk the perimeter?’

  Tefelius caught a slight movement in the corner of his eye, and realised with growing worry that the Doom Eagle had turned his silver helm towards him, and was regarding him with pitiless, glowing eye-lenses.

  Sweat poured down his neck.

  ‘The primarch,’ he blurted. The words came from that place at the back of his head, the place where his fear spewed uncontrollably. It was his mouth that moved, and his tongue that flapped. The voice was his, familiar as breathing, but the words were not his own. He felt something rearrange his face into a grin. ‘The lord of all the Imperium is here, excepting the Emperor Himself.’ These last words hurt somehow, and his grin stretched uncomfortably, feeling more and more transparently false. ‘I wish to go into the observer’s gallery, and see him. A minor abuse of privilege, I admit. I volunteered to stand guard, but having seen him, I cannot let the opportunity pass.’

  The Doom Eagle spoke up.

  ‘Why did you change your mind?’ he said. His deep voice shook Tefelius’ bowels, threatening to open them.

  ‘With respect, my lord angel,’ said Tefelius, standing taller. ‘I am among Iax’s most celebrated officers, and have fought with Lord Agemman himself. I bear his medal, and have the rank to make my entrance permissible. I would never dream of entering such a place were it not allowed. I am due to attend the briefing in the strategium after the address. What harm is there to see him speak now, when he only wishes to raise our spirits?’

  There was a click inside the Space Marine’s helm. Tefelius saw the telltale flash of retinal laser writers, suggesting the warrior was recovering files on the captain.

  ‘What you say is true,’ said the Doom Eagle. ‘His clearances are valid. Let him through.’

  ‘You may pass, captain,’ said the human guards, and uncrossed the
ir pikes.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Tefelius.

  He stepped forward. An armoured hand grabbed his shoulder, gentle as a mother’s touch, but there was strength waiting there to crush his bones. The Aurora Marine.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘You are sweating.’

  ‘These damned illnesses that come among us from the enemy’s camp,’ said Tefelius. ‘It is nothing. A mild fever. Half the population is ill here at any time.’

  The Aurora Marine looked at him carefully. ‘Make sure you are examined by a medicae at the first opportunity. We have experience of the Death Guard’s diseases. The most minor of symptoms can be a sentence of death.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will, I promise,’ said not-Tefelius.

  ‘You may go now,’ said the Space Marine.

  Sweating more heavily than ever before, Tefelius saluted them all and went within.

  He did not approach the great doors, for these were guarded by an entire squad of Ultramarines, but walked up the stairs to the second floor observer’s gallery. He passed men from his own regiment standing guard on the stairs, and they saluted him. On the thick carpet his booted feet made no sound. The doors to the upper gallery were equally quiet, and he slipped inside.

  The Great Hall of the Palace of Flowers was a giant, circular auditorium arranged around a stage. The centre was hollow, and vast. Multiple, thin circular galleries looked down upon it. The seats were arranged to match the building’s curve, and set steeply above each other so that everyone within had an unobstructed view. The place was full of military officers and administrators. The hall was used for performances, but it suited as well for oratory, and Guilliman’s voice carried clearly throughout the building, raising equal parts devotion and terror in Tefelius. The primarch’s voice made him feel unsure on his feet, and he grabbed the nearest seat, not checking to see who occupied it. The man leaned forward when Tefelius sat, and squinted at him in the gloom.

  ‘Hello, captain, I thought that was you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Colonel Etander?’ Tefelius’ heart skipped a beat, and he had the ridiculous notion he had been found out.

  The colonel leaned in close. ‘I’m surprised to see you in here. A few weeks ago, you were adamant that you wished to guard the exterior – you didn’t trust anyone else, if I recall. You rather put Dius’ nose out of joint suggesting you were the better man than he.’

  ‘Well, I am,’ said Tefelius.

  The colonel shifted in his seat and sniggered. ‘Ah, you always were bold, Tefelius, just the right mix of arrogance and duty. A man like you goes far. But you couldn’t resist could you, when it came down to it, coming in here to see him?’

  The colonel looked down on Guilliman with a look of pure devotion. Guilliman stood upon the central stage in gleaming blue and gold lit by startling lumen beams. The stage turned slowly so all in the audience could see him. His guardians surrounded him, scarcely less intimidating than their lord. Flocks of cyber-constructs whirred through the air, some recording the occasion for posterity, others watching for threats.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tefelius’ new inner voice through his mouth. ‘I wanted to see him before the briefing. Do you mind?’

  ‘Is there someone in your place?’

  ‘Lieutenant Tethermere,’ he said.

  ‘A good man. No, I don’t mind. I’ll let it go. I understand.’ He smiled. ‘Magnificent, isn’t he?’

  Guilliman was speaking of brotherhood, victory and new beginnings.

  ‘We will win with him on our side,’ whispered the colonel. ‘Mark my words, a new era is coming for the Imperium, whether Iax recovers or not. It is worth the loss of our home to know our species will rise again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tefelius, dazedly, while his inner passenger seethed. Guilliman’s words were naught but platitudes for the masses, nothing of worth at all.

  They listened in silence as the primarch spoke his rousing, empty speech.

  ‘He’s not giving much away, is he?’ said Tefelius.

  ‘This is just the appetiser,’ said the colonel. ‘We will see him closer. You are due to attend the briefing?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Then you may accompany me if you wish. There’ll be an informal meeting afterwards, which you may attend with me. You’re going places. I don’t mind acknowledging that. It’s time to let people know. You’ve earned it.’ Colonel Etander smiled. ‘And if I may, it makes me like you more now I know you’re not so upright all the damn time.’

  The something in the back of Tefelius’ head did tiny somersaults of joy.

  ‘Yes, colonel,’ Tefelius said. ‘I would like that very much.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  A STRATEGY BETRAYED

  Piloting the human was boring. The Tattleslug had an eternity of experience parasitising other beings, and could manipulate them without paying much attention to their stupid limbs. There was something about humans it found particularly objectionable. Probably because there was so little potential there. No challenge. They were already halfway damned the moment they were born. Where was the fun in corrupting something already corrupt?

  What a dullard this Tefelius was. No great passions apart from his love-mate and his dreary duty. But Tefelius would realise he’d betrayed the godling, the Tattleslug would make sure of that. That would have to do for fun. There’d be a little delicious despair there, before its host died.

  Tefelius-Tattleslug followed the colonel from the auditorium to the governor’s strategium. From the grumbles of disapproval of the altered humans, it assumed this room was not an impressive example of its kind. Personally, the Tattleslug had little idea. It had seen so many variations on the theme of strategic conference areas, from damp caves to living, networked brains the size of moons, that they were all unimpressive to it.

  Guilliman took the only seat big enough to accommodate him, at the head of the room’s large central table. The most senior of his advisors and the planet’s government were permitted to sit at the table with him. Otherwise, the room was the same design as the auditorium, round and clean and boring. This task was not half as much fun as the Tattleslug had hoped. It was only doing this to elevate itself in the hierarchies of Nurgle.

  It snickered to itself. Elevation was the reason it did everything! Its giggles came out of Tefelius’ mouth as a burp he only just managed to cover.

  Careful now, Tattleslug, it told itself. There were several powerful human witches in the room. Their souls tempted it with their brightness, but it must not venture close, oh no, for if it did, it would be seen, and that would provide a less than optimal outcome for its mission.

  The Tattleslug had chosen well. Tefelius and his master were important enough to be in the room, but not important enough to sit close to the godling, and they took seats right at the back, far away enough from the primarch and his daemon-killing friends that the Tattleslug almost felt safe.

  Almost, it reminded itself, was not as good as certainty. It must be cautious. There had been more like it once, hatched from the same magic-blasted corpse. Its siblings had not been cautious enough, and it was one of a few left. Mortals didn’t like spies, and it was not impossible to kill a Neverborn. One of the witches in the room would see to that. Then there was that terrible sword…

  It tried not to look at the sword.

  Wriggling a little closer to the front of Tefelius’ awareness, the Tattleslug settled in to listen.

  Guilliman made a few acknowledgements of those present, picking out the more powerful men and women in the room to flatter them, the Tattle­slug thought; the officials of this world, people who clung to the idea of Iax while Pestiliax was already born.

  The Tattleslug fidgeted through the introductions and the platitudes, causing Tefelius to cough. He struggled to hide it with his fist, chest heaving, face reddening. The host was strong, but soon enough it would succumb to the gifts
of Nurgle. It was always the way. The frailties of mortals limited the Tattleslug so much.

  Guilliman finished his opening drone, and turned to the matter at hand.

  ‘My lord Planetary Governor Costalis, lords and ladies of Iax, I will not coat what I must say in sweetness, for the truth of it would be unpalatable even were I to do so.’

  He looked about the room, his brow beetling, so serious, so stern. The Tattleslug rolled Tefelius’ eyes.

  ‘Iax is in danger of falling into the warp and all of Ultramar with it,’ said Guilliman. ‘I have come here to prevent that from happening.’

  A pretty picture sprang into being above the table. The Tattleslug recognised it as a map of Ultramar, and though many of its stars shone with a less healthy, more pleasing light in real life, this was not reflected by the cartolith. Faint, globular glows marked the boundaries of Imperial systems, which were isolated by dark wilderness. Presented that way, with its borders lit up, Ultramar looked imposing. In truth, it was thinly spread and vulnerable, a few hundred systems in an area of space that supported tens of millions of stars. These creatures were fools for believing themselves masters of the galaxy. Even this limited reality was beyond their reach to encompass. They were doomed, like so many others before them.

  ‘Mortarion established a sorcerous network across our domains, corrupting the minds, souls and bodies of Ultramar’s subjects as much as its worlds,’ Guilliman continued.

  Across the map a web spread, tinting each star system it touched with a lurid green. The tendrils between split and spread further, fracturing the void. The Tattleslug approved of this greater accuracy.

  ‘This web of power stretched from world to world,’ Guilliman went on. ‘Each centred upon a nexus point of potent corruption.’

  A number of clocks appeared in succession next to the map, each exquis­itely ugly.