The Unforgiven - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer 40K

  Beneath the cowls both Space Marines were gagged and further blindfolded, to ensure there was no possibility of communication between them. A Deathwing Knight, in ivory-coloured robes rather than armour, stood between them to further restrict any possibility of them passing a message to each other.

  They were halted by a pair of large gates, wrought from black metal in the design of a winged sword that was mirrored on each side. Asmodai looked back, past the Thunderhawk, into the gulf of space. The spread of stars was slightly out of focus, distorted by the banks of energy shields that protected the Rock. Piscina’s star was no larger than his fist, dwindling imperceptibly as the fortress-monastery powered away from the abandoned world. They were outside the orbit of Piscina Five, Piscina Four just a blue speck barely visible in the light of the star. Five more days would see them at the gravitic boundary of the system, where the pull of the star was weak enough to allow a warp jump.

  It had been fortunate that the expedition had arrived in Piscina a scant few days before the Rock was due to transition to the warp. Azrael had decided the Chapter would move on to battle the emerging threat of a Varsine Bloodflock tearing across the Phyleaides Cluster seventy light years away. Though Ezekiel had despatched psychic transmissions concerning the imminent return of the Ravenwing and Deathwing – though no word of their special captive could be risked across the warp – the two strike cruisers had outpaced the astropathic message. Such were the vagaries of warp communication and travel at times.

  Azrael had decided against Exterminatus, a decision Asmodai thought weak but predictable. Even without knowing the events on Ulthor and Tharsis, the Supreme Grand Master had chosen to compromise rather than take decisive action. The Chaplain had not spoken to Belial since the Penitent Warrior had jumped in-system, but he knew that the Deathwing commander would bear the news with his usual phlegmatic manner.

  The Master of the First Company followed his Knights from the Thunderhawk, Ezekiel and Sapphon with him. Sammael and Malcifer had arrived at the Rock three days earlier, the Ravenwing’s transit through the warp slightly swifter than their brothers in the Deathwing. Asmodai could see them as the gates opened, standing beside Lord Azrael.

  The prisoner and escort halted as they reached the bare stone paving outside the dungeon entrance. Belial and his companions passed them, the Grand Master of the Deathwing with eyes only for the Supreme Grand Master. Asmodai had ensured that Belial knew nothing of what had happened with the arrival of Cypher, and they had not spoken since departing Tharsis. Their last conversation still troubled Asmodai.

  Belial was still in the semicomatose state induced by Asmodai’s psycommand words. The Interrogator-Chaplain approached and whispered in the Grand Master’s ear.

  ‘Somnalatus exaunt.’

  Belial straightened but there was still a glassy, faraway cast to his gaze. His catalepsean node was returning to normal function, but in the next few minutes Belial would be capable of interacting with the Chaplain, and also highly susceptible to any prompt or implanted thought. Asmodai chose his words carefully.

  ‘Master Belial, do you understand what I am saying?’

  ‘Yes,’ the Deathwing commander mumbled.

  ‘Do you recall what happened before sleep took you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me what happened from the time that you left your chamber to meet me.’

  ‘I assembled the escort squad as protocol dictates, mustering at the second guard chamber of the cell deck.’

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Asmodai asked.

  ‘I was concerned with the procedure of the incarceration. The prisoner is highly valuable and extremely dangerous. It was not the time to allow for any mistake.’

  ‘And your thoughts towards the prisoner at that time?’

  ‘I was not considering him as a person, simply a prisoner, an object that required careful handling. I did not have any thoughts towards him beyond that.’

  ‘You arrived with the escort party and waited at the door for my command, is that correct? How did you feel then?’

  ‘That is correct. I was expectant, curious to see what the arch-renegade looked like. Anticipation, a little apprehension that I did not welcome.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘When I entered, when I laid eyes upon the prisoner, I felt hatred boiling inside me.’

  ‘At that exact moment when you saw him?’

  ‘Yes. I realised that he had to die. I did not want my Knights to see what I was going to do, nor give them the chance to intervene. I closed the door. I moved to kill the prisoner with my blade and you protected him.’

  ‘Why did he have to die?’

  ‘I am not certain.’

  ‘Not certain? You showed no reluctance to slay him. You were possessed by conviction. Why did he have to die?’

  ‘It was an instinct, an overwhelming urge. He is the arch-renegade, the traitoris principe and death was his punishment.’

  Asmodai could see comprehension begin to return to Belial’s eyes. He had to act swiftly.

  ‘The prisoner misspoke, insulting the Chapter and the Lion. He provoked you.’

  Belial’s brow wrinkled in confusion but he parroted the line a few seconds later.

  ‘The prisoner tricked you into drawing your blade and tried to take it from you.’

  Again Belial, words faltering, recited the line.

  ‘I intervened to assist you and my hand caught on the exposed blade.’

  ‘He sliced off your fingers,’ said Belial, looking down at the Chaplain’s ravaged hand. That was a good sign. The Deathwing commander was starting to create the false memories himself, picking up the narrative implanted by Asmodai. The more he imagined for himself, the better the memory would sit in his mind.

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘I came to your aid and restrained the prisoner.’

  Asmodai bit back the instinct to correct this assertion. He suppressed his pride and allowed himself to be pictured as the victim in the exchange.

  ‘That is also correct.’

  Belial nodded, almost fully awake again.

  ‘You will not remember us having this conversation, only the events as you have related them. You have just sent the prisoner away with the escort and are going to inform the apothecarion of my injury. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘Mnemonis dialogis non memorianda est.’

  Belial came to consciousness like a man resurfacing from being beneath the waves. He looked around the flight bay and then back at Asmodai, his gaze straying to the wounded hand.

  ‘Apothecary, this is Belial. Master Asmodai is on his way for treatment. Digital loss. Inform the armoury master, active prosthetics will be required.’

  Asmodai flexed his artificial fingers, the movement still feeling stiff and unnatural. The Techmarines had removed his whole hand – easier than attaching individual digits – weaving the old tendons, reinforced with muscle fibres similar to those used in power armour, around a metal and plastic skeleton. Black tubing acted as veins and capillaries. The bionic was covered with a thin sheen of blood, though he had been assured that would dissipate as the biowelding healed fully.

  The ruddy glow of lamps flickered off thousands of skulls adorning the walls and ceiling of the vast sepulchre, gleaming in eyeless sockets and shining off polished lipless grins. Many were human, but most were not: a mix of subtle, elongated features, brutal, bucket-jawed aliens, eyeless monstrosities, horned, twisted creatures and many other contorted, inhuman stares looked down upon the assembled Dark Angels.

  The solitary toll of a bell brought the assembled guard to attention, both officers and Knights. The great gates in front of the prisoners opened inwards, another clanging of the bell drowning out the hiss of hydraulics and creak of ancient hinges. When the gates were fully open Belial ges
tured to the escort to advance. Under their prompting, Anovel and Cypher marched across the threshold into the dungeons of the Rock.

  Azrael’s hood was raised. Nothing could be seen of his expression.

  ‘Brother Malcifer, lead the escort to the prisoners’ cells,’ he said, his voice quiet, the softest of echoes returning from the walls of the dungeon vault. ‘The rest of you will remain with me.’

  Asmodai peeled away from the group with Belial, Sapphon, Ezekiel and Sammael to either side of him. They waited for further instruction from their lord, who followed the progress of the captives into the depths. When the last sound of footfalls had passed, the Supreme Grand Master turned silently and led his senior officers to a set of steps winding up from the entrance tunnel.

  Asmodai had never seen the stairwell before – he had always come either by shuttle or gunship, or down the steps located a few dozen metres further into the Rock, which descended from the Lower Reclusiam of the Tower of Angels that soared above them. He glanced at his companions and saw that they were similarly intrigued, the existence of the steps known previously entirely to Azrael. Only Ezekiel remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on the Lord of the Dark Angels.

  The stair did not ascend far, thirty steps in all, and brought them into a space illuminated by a dim, flickering light. Asmodai judged the chamber to be just below the Great Library where candidates for the Inner Circle were tested, and the successful were given their tuition in the innermost mysteries of the Chapter.

  There was a curtained archway to one side, probably leading to another secret entrance in the Grand Library. The room was round, a star inlaid in twelve alternating red and black points in the stone floor. Azrael stepped onto the white circle at the centre of the design and turned to face them. His officers halted just short of the star, looking around the chamber.

  Asmodai turned his gaze towards the ceiling and saw another star above, the colours reversed so that red was above black and black above red. The centre was formed by a large crystal that glimmered with pale light. It was inscribed with a ten-pointed star, and inside that another star with eight points, then six. The last, no larger than the tip of Asmodai’s finger, had four points.

  He detected a subtle intake of breath by his companions and he returned his gaze to the rest of the room. In the shadows at the edge of the chamber he saw diminutive figures, no taller than waist-high. There had to be two dozen of them, swathed in dark robes that hid any sight of the form within. Eyes gleamed like embers beneath their cowls.

  Watchers in the Dark.

  They had always been around the Rock, and Asmodai had never questioned their existence. They were as much a part of the Dark Angels as the green armour and the robes of office. The Watchers had been there when Asmodai had first been brought into the Chapter and a rarely seen but unremarkable sight ever since.

  It struck him now as odd that their presence had been so disregarded by everyone. Outsiders simply assumed that they were child serfs or some kind of Adeptus Mechanicus servitor-creation specific to the Chapter. Asmodai had never given them much thought until now.

  His speculation was interrupted by Azrael.

  ‘This is the Hidden Chamber. A banal name for a place of such importance.’ The Supreme Grand Master turned a full circle, arms wide. ‘Within these walls the first Inner Circle convened.’

  ‘To discuss Guilliman’s Codex Astartes and the break-up of the Legion,’ offered Sammael.

  ‘No,’ Azrael replied bluntly, completing his rotation. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face with dark eyes, gaunt cheeks and furrowed brow. ‘That is a lie. One of several likely to be exposed over the coming days and months. We were told the Inner Circle came together to discuss the formation of the Chapters, but that event predates the Inner Circle’s inception by several decades. Thus I have found in the private library of my position.’

  Asmodai looked as Azrael raised a hand and gestured to his right. The Watchers had parted and where there had been a plain wall there was now an archway leading into a small book-lined chamber. Sapphon took a step forward, entranced by this apparition.

  Several Watchers gathered between the Master of Sanctity and the library. They made no noise, said nothing, but their eyes glimmered a little brighter, though they revealed nothing more of their faces. An air of oppression, of chastisement filled the chamber and Sapphon hurriedly stepped back, muttering an apology. The Watchers parted again, their eyes dimming.

  ‘Do not think that this is the only secret library in the Rock,’ Azrael said with a lopsided smile. His gaze roamed across them all, and settled on Ezekiel. ‘I know that you each have records and tomes peculiar to your positions, and only one of us has access to copies of them all.’

  Asmodai wondered how Azrael had learned of the collection of lore volumes in the crypt of the Upper Reclusiam – databanks that expanded with every interrogation of the Fallen. He realised that the Lord of the Chapter was speaking generally, and did not know the location or contents of these additional knowledge banks. The intimation that the Chief Librarian knew the contents was a trifle unsettling, however, although it was obvious, now that he considered the possibility.

  ‘The Inner Circle was first drawn together to discuss a new and terrible threat to the Chapter. The existence of the Fallen.’ Azrael paused to allow his words to sink in. ‘Swallowed by a great warp storm as battle raged for Caliban, the traitors that had turned on the Lion were thought destroyed for a generation. Our predecessors had believed the rebels annihilated by the tempest they had summoned to aid victory, torn apart by the same energies that had ripped asunder our home world. And then the first of the Fallen was found and the truth of their scattering became known.’

  ‘Why would such a thing be kept secret?’ asked Belial. ‘We all know the purpose of the Inner Circle.’

  ‘I cannot answer that, because the records do not show, at least not to me,’ Azrael replied. ‘Many reasons for acts in the distant past have been lost. The shock of the revelation, the creation of the Hunt, these matters preoccupied the officers of the Chapter. The first Inner Circle consisted of twelve Grand Masters, the Chapter Master of the Dark Angels and his peers that ruled the eleven Successors of that time. From that first enclave the decision was made to pursue the Fallen with all vigour and secrecy, and the rule of the Inner Circle was disseminated to all the Chapters of the Unforgiven.’

  Asmodai gritted his teeth at mention of the secret name held by the descendants of the Dark Angels Legion. He despised the appellation, for it assumed that the Dark Angels were guilty of the sins of the Fallen. He did not cleave to that philosophy though many did, and preferred to think of the Dark Angels and their Successors as the Vengeance of the Lion, not the bearers of a hidden shame.

  ‘Why reveal this to us now, Master Azrael?’ asked Ezekiel, who knew much but clearly not everything. His bionic eye shone red as he glanced at his brothers. ‘It is the capture of Cypher, is it not?’

  ‘It is.’ Azrael moved a few steps and stopped at one of the points of the star, facing his library. Asmodai followed, an odd compulsion drawing him onto the point two to the left of the Supreme Grand Master. The others took up positions around the device, Ezekiel on the right hand of his lord, Sapphon directly opposite. ‘Cypher holds the key to our salvation. And our damnation.’

  Asmodai glanced down and saw that he was flanked by two Watchers in the Dark. So were the others. Their diminutive escorts bore identical articles. The one on the right of each warrior carried an empty silver goblet. The Watcher to the left bore a slender dagger.

  ‘You must all swear a new oath today. Rather, you must swear a very ancient oath, sworn first in this chamber and only by six more groups since.’

  ‘What oath could bind us to greater secrecy than we already have sworn?’ asked Sammael. ‘By what power higher than the Lion and the Emperor could we swear?’

  ‘A good question,’ Azrae
l said. ‘Our honour has been staked in the sight of the Emperor Himself, so what further demand could be made? The first Inner Circle were more pragmatic. They swore a blood oath, that death would find them if they broke their word.’

  The Watchers beside the Supreme Grand Master moved in front of him and turned, the one with the knife presenting its weapon. Azrael took the golden blade and held it to his palm while the second Watcher in the Dark held up the goblet beneath. A stream of crimson filled the cup as Azrael drew the blade across his hand.

  ‘With this blood I seal my lips. With this blood I still my tongue. I hold faith with my brothers present today that all I shall learn about the Dark Angels, the traitors of Luther and the breaking of Caliban will never be passed to another. Should I break this oath, shall my lips be sealed and tongue stilled for eternity.’

  When Azrael had returned the dagger to the Watcher, the two creatures moved away, disappearing into the shadows. One by one they each repeated the blood-pact, until it was Asmodai’s turn. Out of instinct he sought to replicate Azrael’s deed, but realised that he held the knife in his left hand, ready to slice the palm of his new bionic.

  He paused, taken aback by this, alarmed that this was a bad portent. He tried to dismiss the notion and swapped hands, quickly pulling the blade across exposed flesh. He was too hasty, the cut deeper than he wished. He hid the mistake, putting his hands behind his back when the Watcher had collected a goblet of blood, grasping the cloth of his robe tight to help his genhanced blood stem the flow.

  ‘So your life will be forfeit if you break the faith that has been sworn today,’ said Azrael. ‘Now I can tell you that this is not the first time Cypher has been captured. It was he that caused the first conclave of the Inner Circle to gather. He presented himself at the very gate we have just left, demanding audience with the lords of the Chapter. Another six times has he been in our grasp, yet on all occasions he has escaped retribution for his betrayal.’